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MEMOIR
OF TIlE
LIFE ANID CHARACITER
OF
REV. LEWIS WARNElR  GRIEEN, D.D.
WITS A
SELECTION FROM  ItlS SERMONS.
B1Y
LE ROY J. HALSEY, D. D.
PROFESSOR IN  TlHE TIIEOLOGICAL SEMINARY OF TIE NOItTIIWVEST.
NEW YORKi:
CHARLES SCRIBNER  & CO.
1871.




Enterced according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S71,
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER  & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C.




PREFA CE.
IN publishing the present volume, containing a selection of Dr.
Green's Discourses, with a Memoir of his Life, the purpose has been
twofold: first, to place in the hands of his numerous friends and pupils, some suitable memorial of one whom they greatly loved and admired; and secondly, to preserve for the wider circle of the public, and
especially of our young ministry, the record of a life singularly devoted
to the great work of education, and blessed of God in the varied
spheres of its influence. He lived in an eventful period of the Armerican Church, and filled successively many important positions in the
central and western portions of our country. It has been thought,
therefore, that some monument of this kind was due to his memory,
and that hundreds of his friends and pupils, in all parts of the land,
who had heard his living voice, would gladly welcome a volume of
his strikingly original and elevated discourses.
Our great and good men, especially at the West, live, labor, die,
and are too soon forgotten. The writer of the Memoir has felt that it
would be a service to the ministry, to the church, and to the country,
to place on record, along with these discourses, some fitting tribute
to a man of God, who served his generation well, and who had attained to a purity and elevation of character not often surpassed.
Amid the feverish excitements in which we live, the retrospect of a
life so consecrated to God, so lifted above the murky atmosphere of
earthly pursuits and ambitions, may come like an inspiration from a
purer world to teach us the value of things unseen and eternal. It was
a life eminently distinguished as one of thoughtful contemplation,
and, at the same time, intensely devoted to work, and to all active,
practical duty.




iv                         PREFACE.
The sermons of this volume are now published for the first time.
They had never been prepared for the press by their author; and they
are, almost without exception, what his own hand marked them"unfinished sketches."  They are selected from a large mass of simlilar manuscripts. Gifted in extemporaneous delivery, and able to
recall any trains of thought which had been once mentally composed,
he was accustomed to write only an outline of the intellectual and
argumentative portions of his discourses; and then to trust himself
without writing for all the emotional and exhortatory parts. This
will account for the fragmentary character of some of the sermons, and
for their apparent want of pointed application at the close. Though
it was in the unwritten applicatioas and perorations that he often rose
to his highest excellence of thrilling and impassioned eloquence,
still enough remains, in these uncompleted productions, to reveal
many of the striking characteristics which distinguished him as one
of the most original, impressive, and powerful preachers of his day.
The estimate here given of Dr. Green's ability, both as a teacher
and a preacher, is based upon the testimony of many competent
judges among his contemporaries. It will doubtless commend itself
as just, to such readers as may have enjoyed his instructions or heard
him in the pulpit. The writer has not aimed to eulogize, but to present a true picture of the man and the minister-avoiding the
extreme of an over-estimate on the one hand, and that of saying too
little on the other. At all events, it is a satisfaction to know that the
sermons are before the reader to speak for themselves; and from them,
though that powerful living voice can no more be heard, he will be
able to form his own estimate of what the lamented author preached,
and how he preached.




CONTE NTS.
CHAPTER I.
D)ANVILLE, 1806-1824.
Birth.-Parentage.-Early  Education.-Maternal Influence.-Orphanage.Judge John Green.-Schools and Teachers.-Studies at Dr. Lewis Marshall's.-Classical Attainments.-Conversion and Profession of Religion.
-Dangerous Illness.-Recovery.-Deep Religious Impressions.-Transylvania University.-Centre College.-Graduation.-Fondness for Philosophical Investigations....................................  age I
CHAPTER II.
DANVILLE AND PRINCETON, 1824-1832.
Choice of a Profession.-Deep Experiences.-Conflicting Plans and Purposes.
-Becomes a Student of Law.-Then of Medicine.-Settles on a Farm. —
Impediment of Speech.-His Marriage. —Death of his Wife.-A  Final
Decision. —Preparation  for the Ministry.-Studies at Yale College.At the Theological Seminary in Princeton.-Recollections of Drs. Boardman and Junkin............................................... 9
CHAPTER III.
DAN-VILLE, 1832 —1840.
Opening Years of his Ministry. —Licensure and Ordination.-Professorship in
Centre College.-Anecdote.-Punctuality.-Skill in Teaching.-Style of
Preaching. —Second Marriage.-Voyage to Europe.-Studies and Attainments Abroad.-Travels and Acquaintance.-Return to Danville-Call to
Shelbyville declined.-Professorship in the Theological Seminary at South
Hanover.-Professorship and Vice-Presidency in Centre College.-Presidency of Transylvania University declined.-Colleague-Pastor at Danville.
-Emancipation.............................................. 1iG




vi                           CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
ALLEGHENEY, 1840 —1847.
Election to a Professorship in the Theological Seminary at Allegheny.-Testimenial as to his Ability. —IIis Colleagues in the Facultv.-Inaugural Address.-German Philosophy.-G row ing Reputation.-Literary Addresses.
-Lectures on Popery.-The Title of Doctor of Divinity.-Standing
and Influence as a Preacher and Instructor.-Various Calls.-Testimonials fiom Dr. R. L. Breck.-From Drs. Wilson and Allison.-From Dr.
McGill.-From Dr. David Elliott.-Seven Years' Work......... Page 27
CItAPTER V.
BALTIMrORE, 1847-1848.
Resignation of Professorship at Allegheny. —Removal to Baltimore.-Preference of the Pastoral Work.-Labors in the Second Presbyterian Church.
-Congenial and Useful Employment.-Failure of Health.-Dissolution
of Pastoral Relation. -Noble Testimonial of his Church.-Poetical
Tribute..........................................38
CHAPTER VI.
PRINCE EDWARD, 1848-1856.
Election to the Presidency of Hampden Sidney College.-Intercourse with the
Professors. -Portraiture by Dr. Foote.-Restored Health. -Extended Labors.-Scholarships.-Successful Administration.-Influence on the Students.-Style of Preaching.-Anecdote. —lMethod otD.iscipline.-Account
of it by Dr. Dabney.-Testimonial of Dr. Wilson.-Various Calls.....43
CHAPTER VII.
LE-:XINGTON AND DANYILLE, 1856-1863.
Positions Declined.-Predilections for the WVest.-Strong Call from Kentucky.
-Resignation of his Presidency at Hampden Sidney.-Presidency of
Transylvania University.-Scheme for a Normal School.-Inauguration. —
Auspicious Befrinning.-Disappointments.-Resignation.-Called to the
Presidency of Centre College.-Inlauogural Address.-Joint Pastorate in
Danville. — Successful A.min:stration.i  Trials and Conflicts.- Testimonial...................................................... 51




CON TENTS.                             vii
CHAPTER VIII.
DANVILLE, 1863.
Last Sickness and Death. -Multiplied Labors. —The Church and College.Cause of his Illness.-Incessant Work.-The Closing Scene —His Last
Sermons.-Increased Spirituality.-Intense Sympathies.-Letters on the
War.-Ministry of Love and Consolation.-His Funeral.-Burial.-Resolutions of his Church and of the Faculty..................... Page 59
CHIAPTER IX.
Review of his Public Services.-Estimate of his Preaching.-Prominent Traits
of Character.-His Fervor.-High Sense of Honor.-Conscientiousness.His Beneficence.-His Learning and Eloquence.-His Excellence as an
Instructor.-Influence as a College President.-Testimony of Dr. Dabney.-I-Iis Strong Points.-His Elevated Tastes and Studies.-His Love of
Books. —His Religious Devotion.-Personal Appearance. —Iis Polished
Manners.-Easy Address. —Tact in Conversation. —Ministries of Love
and Mercy..................................................70
CIHAPTER X.
Dr. Green in his Family. —Members of his Home-Circle.-The -Husband and
Father.-Intensity of his Affections.-Picture of Domestic Happiness.Description by Dr. Foote. —Mrs. Green.-Poetry.-Education of his Dauglhters.-Religious Character of his Correspondence.-Beautiful Letters.. 8 1
CHAPTER XI.
I-Tis Writings. -Unpublished Sermons.-Inaugural Discourses.-Literary and
Educational Addresses.-Lectures at the University of Virginia.-Adverse Criticism. —Method of Preparation for the Pulpit.-Estimate of his
Preaching by Dr. Brank. —Estimate by Rev. W. G. Craig.-Closing
Tribute from a Lady..........................................91








SE 1R'MO N S.
PAGE
T. THE RESURRECTION OF C                  HHRIST............................... 103
The Lord is risen, indeed.-LUiKE, xxiv. 84.
II. THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.......................119
The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.-Ps. liii. 1.
IIT. NWTmiT WAS FINISHED  IN THE DEATII OF CHRIST...............   13
Hie said, It is fnished; and bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.JOlIN, Xix. 80.
IV. THE ANGELS INTERESTED IN MAAN'S SALVATION................ 149
Which things the angels desire to look into.-1 PET., i. 12.
V. PAUL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL, AND ITS LESSONS................... 165
I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness
in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in
my-heart. For I could wish that myself wvere accursed from Christ for
my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh: who are Israelites; to
whom pertaileth the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the
giving of the law, and the service of God, and the promises; whose are
the fathers, and of whom, as concerning the flesh, Christ came, who is over
all, God blessed forever. Amen.-RoasANs,    ix. 1-5.
Vr. TIIE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.............................. 1  6
Sirs, what must I do to be saved? —ACTS, XVi. 30.
VII. THE EXCELLENCY OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST............ 188
For I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and
him crucified.-1 Corn, ii. 2.
VII. PAUL VINDICATED FROM  THE CHARGE OF MADNESS............199
And as he thus spalke for himself, Festus said with a loud voice, P.ul, thou
art beside thyself; much learning hath made thee mad. But he said, I
amn not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the words of truth and
soberuess.-A cTs, xxvi. 24, 25.




x'SERMONS.
PAGE
IX. MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON........................13
And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did
eat. —LKE, xv. 16.
X. WORTII OF THE SOUL..................................... 226
For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose
his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?MARK, viii. 86, 3.
XT. THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.............................  239
Love not the world, neither the things of the world.-1 JoiiN, ii. 15.
XII. TEIE GROUNDS ON WHICH lIEN REJECT THE GOSPEL...........256
And they all with one consent began to make excusee.-LUKE, xiv. 1S.
XIII. THE  DUTY,  ENCOURAGEMENT, AND   RESPONSIBILITY  ARISING
FROM TIlE POSSESSION OF TALENTS........................... 271
Occupy till I come.-LuKE, xix. 13.
XIV. THE  FAITHFUL SAYING....................................               293
This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation. that Christ Jesus
came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief.-1 TIM., i. 15.
XV. THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL................... 302
I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ. for it is the power of God unto
salvation to every one that believeth. —oMANs, i. 16.
XVI. THE REM~ISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST...........318
To him give all the prophets witness, that through his name, whosoever
believeth on him, shall receive remission of sins.-ACTs, x. 43.
XVII.  THE EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL................336
The field is the world.-MATT., xiii. 38.
XVIII. THE PROVINCE OF FAITH................................. 347
Ye believe in God, believe also in me.-JoHN, xiv. 1.
XIX. HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED............................. 365
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.-Ps., xc. 12.
XX. DOES  GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?........................... 380
There is one event unto all. —EceL., ix. 3. There is a vanity which is done
upon the earth; that there be just men unto whom it happeneth according to the work of the wicked: again, there be wicked men to iwhorn
it happeneth according to the work of the righteous.-EccL., viii. 14.




SERMONS.                                      xi
rPAG 
XXI. TIiE  RELIGION OF THE BIBLE NOT OPPOSED TO REASON......389
Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord. —IsAIAI, i. 18.
XXII.L  CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION............................399
Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you
rest. —MATT., xi. 28.
XXIII. THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.......................408
Jesus answered and said unto him: Verily, Verily, I say unto thee, Excelt a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. —JOHN,
iii. 3.
XXIV. THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN........................ 417
Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? Not one.-Joe, xiv. 4.
XXV. THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL............................ 424
And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling.
-1 CoR., ii. 3.
XXVI. INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS...............................438
When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry
places seeking rest, and finding none he saith, I will return unto my
house whence I came out. And when he cometh he findeth it
swept and garnished. Then goeth he and taketh to him seven other
sIpirits more wicked than himself: and they enter in and d-well there;
and the last state of that man is worse than the first. —LUKE, xi. 24-26.
XXVII. THE FINAL AND UNIVERSAL TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.......467
And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting Gospel to preach unto them  that dwell on the earth, and to
every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people. —REv., xiv. 6.
XXVIII. CHRIST WXEEPING OVERI JERUSALE3.........................73
And when he was come near he beheld the city, and wept over it, saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things
which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid fiom  thine
eyes.-LuKsc, xix. 41, 42.
XXIX. AMBIssADORS FOR CHRIST.................................483
Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech
you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.
— 2 Corn, v. 20.








LIFE AND C(JIARACTER
OF TIE
REV. LEWIS WARNER GREEN, D.D.
CHAPTER I.
1)ANVILLE, 1806-1824.
Birth.-Parentage.-Early Education.-Maternal Influence.-Orphanage.Judge John Green.-Schools and Teachers.-Studies at Dr. Lewis Marshall's.-Classical Attainments.-Conversion and Profession of Religion.
-Dangerous Illness.-Recovery-Deep Religious Impressions.-Transylvania University.-Centre College.-Graduation. —Fondness for Philosophical Investigation.
LEWIS WARNER GREEN, of whose life and labors it is
proposed to give an outline, introductory to a volume of
his posthumous discourses, was born on the 28th of January,
1806, in a midland county of Kentucky, near the town of Danville.  He was the twelfth and youngest child of Willis Green
and Sarah Reed, who were married at that place in the year
1783, while Kentucky was yet an almost unbroken wilderness
and the few settlers about Danville still dwelt in rude forts.
This, it is said, was the first Christian marriage ever solemnized
on Kentucky soil. Both parents were of Scotch-Irish descent.
They were born and reared in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where their ancestors had long resided, closely connected
byinmarriage with some of the most prominent families of the
State.
1




LPARENTAGE.
His mother, Sarah Reed, was the daughter of John Reed, a
man of fine personal appearance and of superior intellectual
and moral endowments. At an advanced age -Mr. Reed removed
with his family of ten children from his home on the Shenandoah to the vicinity of Danville. He was, in fact, one of the
early pioneers of the place, and left, at his death, a family highly
distinguished for intelligence, social position, and moral worth
-his six daughters being all remarkable for personal beauty,
and his eldest son, Thomas Reed, rising to political eminence
as a senator in Congress from the State of Mississippi.
His father, Willis Green, was the son of Duff Green, and
grandson of Robert Green, who had been one of the early setlers of the Shenandoah Valley. Willis Green, when quite a
young man, catching the spirit of adventure, left his paternal
home in the Mother State to try his fortunes at the West.
Having obtained contracts to locate land warrants ill Kentucky,
he set out with his surveyor's commission and instruments,
and plunged at once into the pathless forest. Arriving, at
length, in the region of Danville, he selected a beautiful sweep
of land adjoining the farm of the old fort, which he cleared and
named "Waveland," firom its gentle undulations. Here, meeting and marrying Sarah Reed, he settled down for life and
built the family homestead. Here his twelve children were
borln. And here, also, he died at the age of fifty-one, after a
well-spent life, during which he had served in the Legislature
of the State, and filled other important civil offices. He was a
man of tried integrity and practical wisdom, whose Christian
principles and rugged virtues were powerfully felt in the new
and forming society around him.
Of this sterling Christian stock, and under these circumstances, so auspicious for the development of a noble character, the subject of this memoir was born, and here he received
his earliest impressions. He was the child of faith and prayer.
From  his infancy he was devoted by his Christian mother to
the work of the ministry. Upon this child of promise, this son
of her declining years, the very Benjamin of her heart, she
lavished the whole wealth of her strong and loving nature.




PARENTAGE.                        3
Gently, prayerfully, and hopefully did she perform the faithful
mother's part and sow the seeds of instruction and sacred influence in the young heart.  During the few years she was
spared to him she lost no opportunity of impressing his opening mind with a sense of religious things, thus early leading him
along that path which he was afterward to tread, and preparing him for that career he was destined to illumine by a life of
consecration to God.
But her instructions were of short duration.  When but five
years old he was deprived of a father's care; and at seven this
loving, faithful mother was also summoned to the skies. It was
not, however, until her life-work of lasting impressions had been
successfully accomplished on his young and plastic heart. Her
own life was a beautiful illustration of the truth she sought to
inculcate and its lessons were not soon lost upon the thoughtful child. Her death wrung his heart with anguish. But her
sweetness of temper, her patience under suffering, her unmurmuring resignation to the will of God were indelibly engraven
on his memory. Like seeds in genial soil, they sprang up and
bore fruits in subsequent years. To her death he was accustomed, through life, to trace back his firlst serious impressions
on religion. The saintly influence of her character lingered in
his memory as that of some tender and sympathizing guardian
angel. To that influence, and to the seeds sown by her fhithfhl
hand, during the first seven years of his existence, he never
failed to attribute, under God, whatever fruit of good or of
usefulness his subsequent years may have borne.
Seldom has a mother's influence over a son, though brief in
its opportunity, been more signally crowned with blessings
after she was gone. It is another added to the many examples of
that living power which flows from a faithful mother's influence,
and shows how God answers prayer and rewards faithful toil
long after the heart has ceased to pray and the hands to labor.
In the toils and conflicts of life, amid the darkest hours of
doubt and temptation, he loved to think of her as some blessed
visitor from heaven, who had been permitted to smile upon
him for a few brief years, as if to allure to that better world




4                  EARLY EDUCATION.
and lead the way. From every struggle with the tempter, and
from every scene of discouragement and trial, he arose with a
stronger confidence in his mother's God.and a warmer love for
that faith which he had first learned at a mother's knee.
His early orphanage, depriving him of' both parents, threw
him into the family of his oldest brother, Judg'e John Green,
who became his guardian. He was a gentleman of high character
adorned by many noble virtues;.and he felt the kindly interest
of a father in the education of the orphan brother now committed
to his care. Though in later years Judge Green became a
devoted Christian-two of his own sons afterward entering thle
ministry-his views at that time were somewhat tinctured with
the prevailing skepticism of the period. About the opening of
this century a phase of unbelief, originally imported firom
France and indorsed by Mr. Jefferson and other prominent
statesmen, had taken strong hold upon many of the educated
minds of our country, particularly in Virginia and Kentucky.
Religion found few advocates among the more elevated classes.
Still, there were some shining examples of evangelical piety.
Conspicuouss among these was the wife of Judge Green. She
was a lady of rare accomplishments, both of mind and manners,
and of the most lovely Christian character. In her own household and in the social circles around her she threw the whole
-weight of her influence on the side of evangelical religion, and
used all the means within her power to check the prevailing
worldliness and ungodliness of the times. Dr. David Nelson,
who, in subsequent years, became pastor of the church of
Danville, remarked of her, that she had probably done more
than any other person in Kentucky to stem the current of infidelity and irreligion and to mould the society at Danville into
that evangelical character for which it became distinguished.
Into this home of refinement and culture, presided over and
adorned by so much that was attractive in piety and womanly
influences, the orphaned boy was now brought; and here he
spent the greater part of his youth.  While there was much to
develop and stimulate his opening mental faculties in the associations and companionshil)s of such a family, there was not




SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS.                  5
wanting that gentle guiding hand of Christian love, which
might take up the work where his mother's hand had left it,
and carry forward the religious training which had been so well
begun. In this noble Christian lady he found a friend and his
second religious teacher. To her example and influence he was
indebted for many of the elements and impressions that entered
into the formation of his character and at last prepared him for
the great work of life. If she had done no more, this alone
would have been an object worth living fort-that fiom her
home circle, and through her humble yet potential influence,
had been given to the church three ministers to preach the Gospel of God.
As a child his manners were singularly shy among older
people. His serious, thoughtful turn of mind would have very
much isolated him firom his young and more boisterous companions, but for another characteristic equally strong-his fbndness for out-door sports and the exuberant joy which he felt when
partaking of them with his boyish associates. An enthusiastic
love for books, amounting almost to a passion, developed itself
very early. At an age much younger than is common with
boys, he acquired a knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages,
read Virgil and Homer in the original with delight, and became
as familiar with their scenes and heroes as with the things of
every-day life. He had the, advantage of a thorough drilling
in these tongues under the instructions of ]Mr. Duncan F.
Robertson and Mr. Joshua Fry, two of the most famous teachers and scholars in that part of the country. No boy of his
years, probably, ever studied the Greek and Roman classics
with a keener relish or a higher ardor. He lived in the world
created by their genius, caught the inspiration of their great
thoughts and the glow of their sublime imagery, fought over
their battles, mingled in their sports, sailed over seas and
stormed cities with their heroes, kindled with the eloquence
of their orators and sages, and felt his whole soul dilated, refined, and ennobled by the high and loving communion.
When thirteen years of age, with his brother Willis, a boy
of fine promise, two years older than himself, he entered a clas



6               CLASSICAL ATTAINMENTS.
sical school at Buck Pond, in Woodford County, Kentucky,
taught at that time by Mr. W. R. Thompson, at the residence
of Dr. Lewis Marshall, in whose family the boys boarded, and
afterward by Dr. Marshall himself. This was regarded as the
best classical academy then in Kentucky. Here were educated
many of the men who afterward rose to the highest distinction in the State. Among all the young and brilliant minds
here gathered from different quarters, and brought into daily
contact for the purpose of instruction under the eye of these
accomplished linguists, none appeared to greater advantage for
native talent, and all those traits of character which boys
admire in each other, than the brothers Willis and Lewis
Green. The latter was pronounced by Dr. Marshall one of
the finest classical scholars who had ever been under his tuition.
His natural quickness, his ardent love of study, and his
thorough training by his former teachers, Fry and Robertson,
enabled him to sustain himself with ease in classes composed
of boys much older than himself. In his eager pursuit of classical knowledge, and in hearty appreciation of its beauty and
power, he was the noblest Roman of them all.
With unabated ardor he pursued these studies about two
years at Dr. Marshall's, finding in Mrs. Marshall another
warm-hearted and devoted Christian friend and counsellor,
who felt a deep interest in his welfare, and cherished for him
a strong attachment through life.  During these years his
progress in study was rapid and satisfactory. But during this
time two events occurred, which probably, more than mere
intellectual growth or attainments, contributed their influence
to future years in the formation of his character and the shaping of his destiny.
The latter part of the first of these years was marked as a
period of religious awakening in the school and through the
neighborhood. Quite a number of the pupils and others became deeply interested in the matter of their salvation, gave
satisfactory evidence of conversion, and made a public profession of their faith in Christ. Among these were both Willis
and Lewis Green. They were baptized and received into the




PROFESSION OF RELIGION.'
communion of the Pisgah Church in March, 1820, the one
being then about fourteen and the other about sixteen years
old.
During the second year of their stay at Dr. Marshall's a
malignant fever made its appearance in the school, and raged
for a season with great violence. The two brothers fell under
its power, and soon became dangerously sick. After a brief
illness, Willis breathed his young spirit into the bosom of the
Saviour he had loved and trusted. The younger brother, after
a hard struggle for life, protracted through weeks of suffering, at last rallied sufficiently to be carried home to Waveland.
Here, however, a relapse ensued, and again there seemed little
hope of his recovery. But the disease was at length subdued.
Through a convalescence of months he came up slowly from
the gates of death. Not in vain for him had been that long
gaze into the grave, that calm scrutiny of himself in the light
of eternity. Not in vain was the loss of that gifted brother,
so endeared to him by nearness of age, similarity of taste, and
close companionship in the sports, the studies, and the experiences of childhood. The impressions made upon him were as
deep and lasting as life. Loud and distinct now sounded that
call to the Gospel ministry which had rung in his ear ever since
he had knelt at his mother's knee, and learned firom her sainted
lips to cry, "Our Father."  But the preparation was not yet
complete. Other trials and deeper experiences awaited him.
A fuller insight into his own unworthiness, clearer views of
Christ and his all-sufficiency, were needed before entering on
the vocation to which he aspired with such awed and trembling expectancy.
His health being at last restored, he was sent to the
Transylvania University, in Lexington, Kentucky, then under
the administration of Dr. Horace Holley. After completing
the studies of the junior year in this institution, he was transferred to Centre College in I)anville, then just organized by
the Presbyterians of Kentucky, and placed under the presidency of Dr. Jeremiaht Chamberlain.  The reason for this
change was that the Presbyterians of the State, becoming dis



8                   COLLEGE STUDIES.
satisfied with the infidel principles of Dr. Holley, had withdrawn their support from Transylvania, and'determined to
build up an institution at Danville. Here he spent hlis senior
year; and having now completed a full collegiate course, he
graduated with the first class of Centre College in 1824, at
the age of eighteen.
An insatiable thirst for knowledge and love of reading led
him into paths of both philosophical and classical study not
often trodden by youthfiul students. Every thing having a
connection with the subject of his studies, or in ally way
throwing light upon them, was read voraciously, and incorporated with his accumulating stock of knowledge. The study
of the human mind, its structure and capabilities, possessed
from boyhood a wonderful charm for him. To the close of
life he pursued these investigations. With the single exception of the contemplation of God's revealed truth, he believed
there could be no higher and nobler employment of our facillties than in the study of the human mind.  While still a
college student, the writings of the Greek and Roman sages
were perused by him with the ardor of discipleship. By this
early and familiar contact with the acute and powerful thinkers
of other ages, a living energy of thought was infused into his
mind, which marked all his public discourses. The reader of
the sermons in this volume cannot fail to see how full his mind
was of images of beauty and sublimity, and how rich in
treasures of wisdom and philosophy derived fioln the inexhaustible store-house of classical antiquity.




CIIHAPTER  II.
DANVILLE ANTlD PRINCETON, 1824 —1832.
Choice of a Profession.-Deep Experiences.-Conflicting Plans and Purposes.
-Becomes a Student of Law.-Then of Medicine. -Settles on a Farm.Impediment of Speech.-His Marriage.-Death of his Wife.-A Final
Decision.-Preparation for the Ministry.-Studies at Yale College.At the Theological Seminary in Princeton.-Recollections of Dr. Boardman.-Testimony of Dr. Judkin.
THE time for a decision as to his great life-work was now
drawing near.  With the young man no problem  is more important, and at times more perplexing.  Thus far he had been
sedulously disciplining his mental powers, and treasuring up,
against the day of need, that elementary knowledge which
was to give edge and temper to the weapons of life's warfare.
But at the same time, the spiritual part of his nature was undergoing a deeper and far more important discipline. Though converted at an early age, his faith was subjected to almost every
form of assault devised by the great adversary of souls for
their destruction; but fiom each dark abyss of doubt and despair into which he was plunged, it emerged brighter and
stronger, and with a firmer grasp upon the Rock of Ages.
The wisdom of God, in suffering him to pass through this
fiery ordeal, he recognized in subsequent years, when called to
administer consolation to others in similar trials. His experience in these spiritual conflicts had giNven him wonderful sympathy and patience with those who, harassed with doubts and
tormented with fears, hesitate to receive without question the
faith of their fathers.  With an awed and subdued sense of his
great deliverance, he acknowledged the divine goodness and
mercy which preserved him from making shipwreck of the
faith once delivered to the saints.  And thencefbrward it be1*




10              CHOICE OF A PROFESSION.
came, not only the most powerful, but the most vital and real
of all realities to him.
He was now emancipated from the doubts and anxieties that
had long tortured him, and his freed soul had found perfect
rest and peace in the assurance that he was a child of God;
that Christ was indeed very God, and that the Scriptures contained the sure and infallible truth of God on all the deep
questions of man's nature, duty, and destiny.
But the hour for the choice of a profession brought with it
temptation and trial in a new form. A purpose which had
been maturing with each year of his life, from the early period
at which he began to reflect, and which no degree of gloom or
despondency could long unsettle, now developed into a burning desire to preach the unsearchable riches of Christ. He
was the centre, however, of far different hopes and expectations. His determination to commence at once his preparation
for the duties of the ministry met with persistent discouragement. The Bar and the Senate had attracted most of the talent of the State. Among worldly people no other position was
considered a fit theatre for young men with abilities above the
ordinary range. Some of his nearest relatives, at that time unconnected with the church, shared largely in this prejudice
against the pulpit, and exerted all their influence to dissuade
him from his purpose.
On a former occasion, while the brothers were yet little boys
at school, the remark had been made to some of the ladies of
the family, " I want you to understand, that you may take
Lewis and make what you please of him: as for Willis he is
entirely too smart to be turned into a preacher."  When, however, in a few brief years, the favorite, and as' was then supposed more gifted boy, thus destined to worldly distinction,
after giving his testimony to redeeming love, was called away
to a better world, the purpose was then formed for the remaining brother, that no reproach of the cross should bar his road
to fame. Every argument that could be adduced from his extreme youth and inexperience of the world, and from the illusory character of things unseen and spiritual, was employed to




LAW AND MEDICINE.                  11
shake the purpose which Lewis had so long cherished, and was
now ready to put into execution. He too, it was thought, had
talents too bright to be wasted upon the visionary work of the
pulpit.
For a moment he yielded to the persuasive voices which
whispered to him of fame and fortune and gratified ambition.
In deference to the counsel of friends he loved, and of his
young companions in study, he concluded to prepare for the legal
profession. He entered the office of his brother, Judge Green,
and applied himself to the study of law with the assiduity
which characterized all his pursuits. But he soon found that
his heart was not in the matter. Conscience upbraided him as
one who was flying from duty. His soul was a constant prey
to unrest. Unable to prosecute a profession which had become
thoroughly distasteful to him, in little less than a year he abandoned the law, and commenced the study of medicine with Dr.
Ephraim McDowell at Danville. If he might not enter the
race for distinction, here was at least a road to usefulness. But
from this also he soon turned in utter weariness. He felt that
it was not his vocation. His heart was not in it. He could
not pursue it with enthusiasm. His soul had been smitten
with the early love of a nobler mission, and could not be satisfied with the husks of earthly pursuits, while hungering for
heavenly sustenance. It was not that other pursuits were unimportant. It was not that the loftiest Christian virtues might
not adorn all honorable secular occupations. But his mind had
long been filled with a great purpose, and he could not rest
till it was accomplished. The remembrance of his early dedication by his mother, God's providential dealings with himself
and those around him, and his growing convictions of duty
obtained the mastery. " Woe is me if I preach not the Gospel!" —this became the burden of his life.
There was one circumstance in his personal history which
must be mentioned in connection with his difficulties as to the
choice of a profession. For this, probably, as much as any opposition or discouragement he encountered from others, contributed to his indecision at this time. When a little fellow,




1_ 2                   MARRIAGE.
just learning to talk, he was accustomed to amuse himself by
mimicking a nurse, who stammered dreadfully, until the pernicious habit became fixed. It does not seem to have cost him
much uneasiness, until he began seriously to think of a profession, when he was overwhelmed with a sense of his misfortune.
He at once applied himself to the reparation of the evil, with
a determination which successive and most mortifying failures
could not conquer nor discourage. And although each fresh
effort seemed to leave his utterance only the more hopelessly
defective, the conviction that he could and would overcome it
was abiding. No remedy was left untried, yet with hardly a
gleam of improvement. When excited by debate in the rival
societies at school or college, the hesitation would disappear,
and his fluency on such occasions is said to have been remarkable. But the slightest confusion or embarrassmenlt would
almost deprive him of the power of speech. His first public
effort is said to have been painful in the extreme, both to himself and to the friendly audience he attempted to address. He
rushed from the house in an agony of shame, and few who
witnessed that painful exhibition were so sanguine as to hope
that those stammering lips would yet open in streams of fervid
eloquence. Distressed but not disheartened by this mortifying failure, he persevered until his efforts at elocution were
crowned with complete success. But he was ever after extremely sensitive on the subject, so much so, that no member
of his immediate family ever ventured an allusion to it.
In February, 1827, he was married to Miss Eliza J. Montgomery, daughter of the Hon. Thomas Montgomery, of Lincolnl
County, Kentucky. She was a young lady of piety and excellence, and great loveliness, to whom he had been attached for
several years. She was already in an advanced stage of consumption, and knew that her days were numbered, but she
yielded to his desire that the rite might be performed which
would give him the privilege of ministering to her steadily
declining health. After his marriage he settled upon a part of
his paternal farm, and abandoning every object that had hitherto engaged his thoughts, devoted himself to soothing her




STUDIES FOR THIE MINISTRY.               13
passage through the dark valley.  She lingered a little longer
than two years, and expired with the words upon her lips:
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His
holy name."
Her death revived, in all their force, convictions of duty
that had for a time been lulled into repose. Powerless now
were the arts of the tempter, in vain his cunning devices to
induce any further delay in the fulfilling of resolutions already
too long deferred. God had led him, now, for the second time
through the deep waters of affliction, and hlie came out chastened and refined by the sorrow. He recognized the hand of
God, he heard the distinct call of his Providence, and he was
ready for the consecration. His deep sense of unworthiness for
the awful trust of the ministry, the probable estrangement of
friends, the embarrassment that might arise fiom his impeded
utterance, all yielded to the superior clainis of duty, and he
went forward under the guidance of an all-wise Providence,
with that calm unquestioning faith which ever afterward enabled him to commit every interest, whether of this world or
the next, without reserve to Him who careth for us. He determined now finally and fully to forego all prospects of worldly
distiniction, ease, and affluence, and to give his life to the Gospel
ministry.
In accordance with this decision, he entered the Theological
Seminary at Princeton, New Jersey, in the year 1831, and devoted himself with his accustomed ardor to the prescribed
studies of the course. Before entering the seminary at Princeton, however, he spent some time at Yale College, giving his
attention to the study of the Hebrew language, and such other
departments as had a special reference to his preparation for
the ministry. He studied at Princeton through one session and
part of the second, but did not remain to complete the course,
in consequence of an urgent call from Kentucky.  One of' his
classmates at Princeton, Dr. Henry A. Boardman, referring to
the period in which they were thus thrown together, speaks of
him in the following terms:" I recall him as a man of genial temper, and frank, cordial




14           TESTIMONIAL OF DR. BOARDMAN.
manners, of recognized and very marked ability, a ready and
effective speaker, in no sense a cipher, but an earnest true
Christian man, who could not fail, if spared, to make his influence
widely and beneficently felt in after years.  His rare gifts
commanded the highest respect of his fellow-students; and
those of us who knew him well, cherished him as a fiiend worth
having. It was a matter of regret with me that I had no opportunities of renewing my intercourse with this admirable man
after we parted at Princeton. He deserves to be held in remembrance by the church."
An idea of his character and bearing at this period may be
gained from the testimony of Dr. David X. Junkin, who was
also his fellow-student: "In the seminary, Mr. Green assumed
at once the position of a student, and in his class that of a man
of mark. He was regular in attendance, and his recitations
were always thorough, evidencing careful study.  In the
cOratory' exercises he was distinguished as a thinker and
writer of superior promise. He grasped old thoughts with a
fresh and original hold, and bore the reputation of an independent original thinker. The tone of his piety was decided,
and his conduct always dignified and consistent. If in his
piety there was less of heat and enthusiasm, there was'more
that was the result of fixed, matured, heartfelt consciencecontrolling principle. His prayers in the social meetings were
characterized by much humility: he seemed to prostrate himself before his God. In social life he was genial, dignified, and
attractive; although at first, and to strangers, there might
seem in his manner a slight degree of hauteter. This, however,
was the result of a bearing natively or habitually dignified:
for he was one of the finest gentlemen, in his social manners,
with whom I have ever met. There was in the expression of
his countenance a lofty benignity, and in the pose of his tall,
erect, and slender form, an unconscious dignity, that at once
arrested attention."
"In the social circle," continues Dr. Junkin, "he was peculiarly interesting.  His genial manner, his rich conversational
powers, his sprightly, yet barbless wit, his stores of informa



TESTIMONY OF DR. JUNKIN.               15
tion, his original way of putting things, and withal his entire
freedom from the frailty of monopolizing conversation, made
him one of the most agreeable companions with whom  it has
ever been my privilege to visit or to travel. I esteemed him
one of the best preachers of my contemporaries in the seminary.
There was at the beginning of his sermon a slight indication
of impediment of speech, but it soon disappeared; and he proceeded, slowly at first, but warming with his subject, until
often a torrent of eloquence was poured forth. His tall, erect
form, his long arms and slender fingers, and his fine commanding pose, all combined to make his attitudes and gestures,
while speaking, impressive and effective. His style, like that
of most extempore preachers, had a tendency to the diffuse,
but never, when I heard him, to such an extent as to impair
its vigor and eloquence. He was a noble man-a fine specimen
of the high-toned, dignified, Christian gentleman."




CHAPTER III.
DANVILLE, 1832 —1840.
Opening Years of his Ministry.-Licensure and Ordination.-Professorship in
Centre College.-Anecdote.-Punctuality. —Skill in Teaching.-Style of
Preaching. —Second Marriage.-Voyage to Europe.-Studies and Attainments Abroad.-Travels and Acquaintance.-Return to Danville-Call to
Shelbyville declined.-Professorship in the Theological Seminary at South
Hanover.-Professorship and Vice-Presidency in Centre College.-Presidency of Transylvania University declined.-Colleague Pastor at Danville.
-Emancipation.
IN August, 1831, Mr. Green, while pursuing his studies at
the East, was elected Professor of Greek in Centre College.
This appointment, which, if accepted, would have cut short his
theological course, he thought it best to decline. But a year
later, August, 1832, he was elected Professor'of Belles Lettres
and Political Economy in the same institution. This second
call from his Alma Mater, he accepted. I-e had not completed
the full course, as intended, at Princeton; but the position
offered him was one which, while opening an important sphere
of usefulness,would also enable him  to pursue his theological
studies to advantage.
After a year spent in this double occupation, he was licensed
to preach the Gospel by the Presbytery of Transylvania, at
Harmony Church, Garrard County, Kentucky, October 4th,
1833.  I-Ie was ordained to the full work of the ministry, by the
same Presbytery, at the same place, October 6th, 1838. Not
having accepted any pastoral charge, and having been absent
in Europe nearly half the time since his licensure, while the
other part had been devoted to teaching, he was not ordained
until the latter date, and only a short time before his election
to a professorship at South Hanover. This portion of his life,




PROFESSORSHIP IN CENTRE COLLEGE.            17
from  1832 to 1840, interesting in its bearing upon his subsequent career, must now be more fully described.
On leaving the seminary at Princeton, in 1832, the young
Professor of Belles Lettres and Political Economy entered at
once upon the duties of his department.  It was a position
well suited to his tastes and studies. I-e threw into it the
w-hole energy and enthusiasm of youth, and soon became one
of the most popular and successful instructors ever connected
with the institution. He possessed,in an eminent degree, that
scholarly ardor which wins the admiration of young men, and
that courteous urbanity of manner which attracts them to the
high-toned gentleman; and with an unusual facility in impa1rting what he knew to others, he made the work of instruction
as agreeable as it was important. The impressions made upon
his pupils were as lasting as life. They all became his fiiends.
Few teachers, if indeed any, have ever been more admirled, and
more warmly loved. One of his pupils at this period, Dr. XV.
WV. Hill, of the Bellewood Academy, now widely known himself as an accomplished teacher, writing after his death, bears
the following testimony to his excellence, which doubtless expresses the estimate of many others: "M y acquaintance with
Dr. Green commenced just thirty years ago. I was then a boy
at college, and he was a teacher. He very soon won my heart.
I saw, boy as I was, that he was a high-minded, honorable, and
true-hearted man, whom it was safe to confide in, and about
whom there was no sham. My views of him never changed;
I have always said that he was the second-best teacher I ever
sat under. Dr. Addison Alexander I always ranked first, and
Dr. L. W. Green second; and you will better appreciate the
compliment when you remember that such men as Dr. A. Alexander, Dr. Miller, Drs. John and William Breckinridge, Dr.
Young, and Dr. Hodge were among my highly honored teachers."
An anecdote is related which will serve to illustrate the
prompt punctuality of the young professor. He insisted on
absolute punctuality on the part-of his pupils, and made it a
point of honor and duty never to be behind time himself. Oii




18                 SKILL IN TEACHING.
one occasion, having a distance of several miles to go, and having been necessarily detained, he found he had barely time,
though on horseback, to reach the college before his hour of
recitation. Before starting he had loosely slipped forty dollars
into his pocket. On nearing the place, he discovered that in
his rapid rile the money had dropped out, and he knew that
it must be lying somewhere on the public road; but rather than
go back and be behind time with his class, he determined to
meet them promptly at the hour, go on with his recitation, and
look for the money afterward.  When he returned it was gone;
but he felt that punctuality was worth more than forty dollars,
and he could better afford to lose the money than to lose his
prestige of professional promptness.
Thorough, accurate, and systematic in his own studies,
rigidly conscientious in the discharge of every duty, and feeling
that whatever was worth doing at all was worth doing well,
he was just the man to give to his class-room the precision of
a military drill, and to make his pupils feel that study meant
work. He knew how to be gentle, and how to be severe.
There was every thing to encourage, to stimulate, to inspire
boys who could be moved by the love of knowledge and ot
moral excellence. But for the idle, the careless, the vicious,
he had no place; and when he found; that they could neither
be stimulated by good counsel nor won by love, his policy
through life was, to send them home to their parents.
His duties as a college professor did not, however, altogether
supersede ministerial work; he loved to preach, and felt that
this was his highest function.  He preached almost every
Sabbath, sometimes in Danville and its vicinity, and sometimes
in distant parts of the State. His preaching was fiom the
first distinguished by many of those characteristics which at a
later period were very strikingly developed. A fervid eloquence,
a whole-hearted absorption in his theme, and a sort of electric
influence over his auditory marked all his pulpit performances.
He carried an earnestnestness of spirit into all his efforts, a directness of application in all his arguments and appeals, which gave
to truth a cutting power, and could not fail to arouse the atten



STYLE OF PREACHING.                  19
tion of even the most lethargic hearers. The young preacher
seemed to have struck upon a new vein, to have found a new
path, and to have swung himself loose from much of the dry
routine, the dead formality, and the stiff conventional commonplaces of the pulpit. Thoroughly master of his subject in all
its bearings, kindling with emotion as he advanced, his diction
teeming with images of sublimity and beauty, he pouled out
things new and old from the treasure-house of his well-furnished
mind, while every sermon seemed but the spontaneous outburst
of thought and feeling. The fire thus kindled was quickly
communicated to his hearers; the attention was fixed, the
imagination excited, the conscience aroused, the heart melted
and subdued, under a style of preaching which at once
fed the mind with knowledge, and attracted it by the charm
of a true pathos. It was the fire of passion; but at the same
time it was the sober reasoning of the coolest logic.
From the commencement of his ministry he seems to have
adopted the extemporaneous delivery, and he adhered to it
through life. But his matter was always the result of careful
preparation. It is evident from the dates of his extant manuscripts, that almost all the writing of sermons he performed duringlife was the product of the first ten years of his ministry,
though he rarely used notes of any description in preaching, even during this early period. In subsequent years his
sermons were almost exclusively the result of a purely meditative process. His command of language was very perfect;
his mind teemed with thought and imagery; and he had no
difficulty in recalling in perfect order any train of thought he
had elaborated in the study. This rare power gave to his sermons at once the exactness of written composition and the
graceful freedom of extemporaneous speeches.
In April, 1834, he was again married, taking as his life's companion Mrs. Mary Lawrence, daughter of Mr. Thomas Walker
Fry, of Spring House, Kentucky,-a lady eminently qualified
by education and natural endowments to sympathize fully in
all his plans of study and contribute to his usefulness and success in life. Later in the same year, a purpose which had been




20        MARRIAGE AND VOYAGE TO EUROPE.
for some time maturing was also carried into execution. For
some time past he had been anxious to avail himself of the
libraries and theological lectures of the great German universities. Impelled by his early'and unabated thirst for knowledge, and eager to obtain a wide and thorough cultivation of
his powers for the work of life, he longed to stand in the presence of the great scholars of Europe, to sit for a few years as a
disciple at their feet, and to dirink in the inspiration of theological truth at the very fountain-head of genius and learning.
The young professor and the popular preacher would be all the
better furnished to train the rising youth of Kentucky and to
plead the cause of classical education and Gospel truth in the
West, after he had visited these seats of wisdom and held converse with the mighty masters there.
Accordingly, leave of absence for two years from the college
being granted with that view, he sailed from  New York in
August, accompanied by his wife, and after a voyage of three
weeks in a sailing vessel, arrived at Liverpool on the 15th of
September.
While abroad, he devoted himself with special interest to
those branches of knowledge which had a direct bearing on the
chosen work of his life, which would best prepare him to be an
effective preacher and an accomplished instructor of the young.
Religion and education were the two poles on which every
thing revolved. Biblical and Oriental literature, archaeology,
theological and historical science, the French and German languages, with the wide range of general literature and natural
science, formed the subjects of his daily reading and of his profound investigations. He attended the lectures of the leading
scholars at the German universities and formed a personal acquaintance with Neander, Tholuck, Gesenius, Hengstenberg,
Ullman, and others. While in England, he visited, with ]iMrs.
Green, the great universities and a number of ancient towns
and castles, spending about two weeks in London. He then
went directly to Berlin, where he spent the fi rst winter, attending the lectures of Neander and Hengstenberg. On leaving
this country he had taken letters of introduction from Henry




RETURN TO AMERICA.                    21
Clay, Dr. Charles tIodge, and other prominent gentlemen well
known abroad, and going as a professor fiom an American college, and at the same time accompanied by his wife, he -found
easy access to the best circles of Berlin.  Their sojourn,
in a social point of view, even aside fiom  its advantages for
study, was exceedingly pleasant. They visited on friendly
terms, or met at social gatherings, many of the most distinguished persons, the Baron De La Motte Fouqu6, Baron Alexander Von Humboldt, Roediger, Schultze, Von Weltzien,
Wilke, Professor and Chief Justice Von Gerlach, the Von
Blanklenberg family, and others; fiom a number of whom, on
coming away, they received in German or English, tokens of
regard in brief notes and letters, which have ever since been
preserved in the family as pleasant mementoes of the visit.
The summer vacation was spent in travelling through the
south of Germany and Switzerland; and, being provided with
letters fiom their Berlin fiiends, they found everywhere an
open door, with much to see and enjoy. The second winter
was spent in HlJalle, where he pursued his studies under Tholuck,
Ullmann, and Gesenius, forming an intimate acquaintance with
the first.  From Halle he went to Bonn, and gave special attention to the study of Arabic, Syriac, and Chaldaic, under the
instruction of distinguished Oriental scholars. But, after some
months, Mrs. Green's health declined and they thought it best
to return. They came through Belgium, and spent six weeks
in Paris.
From the various letters and other memoranda of this pleasant
sojourn in Germany we take a single paragraph as illustrating
the affectionate regard in which Professor Green and his wife
were held by their German fiiends.  It is from the pen of the
learned and evangelical Dr. Tholuck, with whom he kept up a
correspondence after coming home, and is in a letter addressed
to him in December, 1835,' on hearing'that, instead of going
back to Halle to resume his studies there, as was his intention,
he had decided to return to America:" DEAREST FRIEND: HIOW nuch have I been longing for news from you
Wre are not accustomed to speak out our feelings here so fully, else you wvould




22              RESUMES HIS PROFESSORSHIP.
have been convinced that there dwells in my heart a warm and sincere friendship for you, such as is not felt for many of your countrymen. For this reason
it was the more painful to me to learn that you would return to us no more.
With much sympathy do I hear of the new afflictions to which the Lord has
subjected you, and of the apprehensions you feel concerning your wife. You
will do me a great pleasure if you will let me hear from Paris or America in
regard to yourself and your beloved wife. To our friend, Dr. Hodge, bear
with you across the sea the salutation of my constant and sincerest love, and
you yourself will be accompanied by my prayers. You are an Israelite without guile, and as such I shall always bear you in my heart. This spiritual
communion we have, unhappily, much too seldom enjoyed. I remain forever
yours, united with you in the Lord.               "A. THOLUCK."
After about two years spent abroad, during which he had
made large accessions to his theological and literary stores, he
returned and resumed the duties of his professorship at Danville. He was now an accomplished linguist, surpassed by few
of his years in this country, an educator in full sympathy with
his work, and eager to raise the standard of classical and collegiate education at the West.  His quickness and facility in
the acquisition of learning, his unwearied industry, and his
enthusiastic ardor in study had all conspired to bring him a
full return for the time spent abroad. He had seen much,
thought much, learned much, in the two years, and he returned
laden with rich fruits.  Above all, he returned uncontaminated
with that subtle and pretentious infidelity and rationalism with
which he had been in such close contact in Germany. His observation there had but served to strengthen the grace of God
that was in him and to intensify his love for all the old evangelical doctrines of the cross.
His professional duties at Danville were agreeable and acceptable; but other fields of usefulness opened around him. In
the fall of 1837, having spent a Sabbath at Shelbyville, Kentucky, and preached in the Presbyterian Church of that place,
he was invited and urgently pressed by the Session to become the pastor. But, having an important position in the
college, he thought it best to remain where he was, although a
pastorate had many attractions for him, and the congregation at
Shelbyville opened a wide door of usefulness.




CALL TO HANOVER.                    23
In 1838 he was elected to the chair of Oriental and Biblical
Literature in the Theological Seminary, at that time connected
with the college at South Hanover, Indiana, and afterward
removed to New Albany. He received this appointment fiom
the Synod of Kentucky, which had engaged to endow a professorshlip in that institution in concert with other Synods, north
of the Ohio, that had undertaken to found and sustain the
school. This seented to be a position, in many respects, congenial with his tastes and studies. le accordingly accepted it,
not feeling that he ought to decline a call coming thus as the
voice of his brethren through the Synod. Resigning his professorship at Centre College, and leaving his family at Danville,
he repaired to South Hanover, and entered upon the duvties
of his chair in the autumn of the same year. Dr. J.mes Blythe
was then President of the College, and Dr. John Matthews his
colleague in the theological department. He continued at his
post during the session, hearing two recitations a day in Greek
and Hebrew and delivering two or three written lectures a
week, which, with preaching on the Sabbath as opportunity
offered, gave him, as he expresses it, "as much as he could do
well, and no more." In a letter to his family, written soon after
he went to Hanover, he mentions an amusing incident: "On
last Sabbath I went to preach-knocked down the pulpit and
fell over with it. Fortunately it was quite low and neither
received any harm. In about one minute all was right again,
and I went on as if nothing had happened. I am getting pretty
well under way; the students are coming to understand my
method of teaching, and to value it, I think. The devil has
made, I am convinced, a special attempt to destroy me since I
received this appointment, and my feet had well nigh slipped.
But I hope I am now over the arts of the adversary."  The fall
of the pulpit some interpreted as an evil omen-that he would
tear down the institution, then not firmly established. But it
is rather to be taken as an indication of the lively style and
energetic delivery of the young preacher.
His connection with this institution was, from  the first,
somewhat of the nature of an experiment. It was doubtful




24              RECALLED TO DANVILLE.
whether the seminary, greatly in need of funds, could be carried on sucessfully, at least in its present location. tie had not
been long at Hanover before an effort was made by influential
gentlemen at Lexington, Kentucky, trustees of Transylvania
University, and othelrs, to induce him to return to Kentucky
and accept the presidency of that institution, which was then
vacant. It was thought by these gentlemen, that the placing
of him at the head of the university would be the means of
restoring it to the favor of its original friends and founders,
the Presbyterians, and of thus insuring that success which had
been wanting since the time of Dr. HIolIey. But he was a
loyal alumnus of Centre College, too long identified with its
welfare, and too thorough-going a Presbyterian withal, to
think of doing any thing that might injure the rising institution
at Danville, around which the Presbyterian. Church of the
State had now rallied. After some personal interviews, and
in answer to repeated letters on the subject, he said, that so
long as there was any prospect of the success of the seminary
at lHanover, he felt it to be his duty to remain in that position;
and that he would do nothing which could in any way injure
the PIresbyterian Church in her enterprise at Danville. IHe,
accordingly, declined the appointment, and continued through
the session at Hanover.
In the spring of 1839, having completed the duties of the
term at Hanover, he was recalled to Danville, under influences
which seemed to make it his duty to return. He was elected
vice-president of Centre College, with  the department of
Belles Lettres and Political Economy under his control, Dr.
John C. Young being president. lie was also elected Colleague Pastor, with Dr. Young, in the Presbyterian Church of
Danville, it being arranged that they should supply the pulpit
on alternate Sabbaths. Here a wide door of usefulness opened
before him. It was one of the largest and most influential
congregations in the State-a congregation that had been
accustomed to the eloquence of Drs. Gideon Blackburn, David
Nelson, and other gifted preachers.
Stinmulated to their utmost exertion by all the associations of




PULPIT MINISTRATIONS.                 25
the place, past and present, surrounded from Sabbath to Sabbath by large and appreciative audiences who hung with growing interest on their lips, filled with high professional ardor,
as well as with that higher inspiration which comes from a
view of God's glory and the worth of souls, these comparatively youthfill but gifted preachers soon rose to an excellence
and effectiveness of pulpit ministrations not often surpassed
in the annals of the Western pulpit. " No man," says one who
knew him  well, "ever entered upon the peculiar work of
preaching the Gospel with a keener ardor, or with a sublimer
view of its self-sacrificing joys." His peculiar temperament,
his well-disciplined  mind, his far-reaching sympathies, his
natural gifts of oratory, added to a form of personal piety as
remarkable for its tenderness as for its stern sense of duty,
seemed to mark himl out for the successful preacher and the
laborious sympathizing pastor. And it was with the greatest
possible relish that, after the weekly duties of the lectureroonl, he addressed himself to the Sabbath work of preaching
the Gospel.
We may form an idea of the character of his pulpit ministrations at this time from  the testimony of John A. Jacobs,
Esq., of Danville, who had known him firom boyhood. "Lips,
which in youth could scarcely utter a single sentence without
the most painful stammering, poured forth for many years a
most copious stream, sometimes a torrent, of thought, now
profound, and now soaring to the utmost bounds of human
imagin'ation, clothed in language apt, accurate, ornate, and
sometimes gorgeous in expression. His manners were affable
and kind in the highest degree, though, like most men of high
genius, he was susceptible of great excitement, and liable to
occasional waywardness. It was, however, the effervescence of
intellectual fervor."  Taking a retrospect of his whole ministerial and educational services through life, and associating his
name with his co-laborers on the same field, Drs. Nelson and
Young, Mr. Jacobs remarks: " The West, I am sure, and, in
my judgment, the whole land, has not produced in the generation that is now almost past, three greater men. Their names,




26                   EMANCIPATION.
memories, and services ought to be transmitted to distant
posterity."
Toward the close of this period, in the prospect of leaving
Kentucky to settle in a free State, Professor Green emancipated
all the slaves he had inherited or possessed in his own right.
He had desired to do this some time before, and to send them
to Liberia through the Colonization Society, but they were unwilling to go. He was at no time an Abolitionist, in the commonly received sense of the term. He was, on the contrary,
decidedly opposed to any sudden and violent abolition from
without. But he was an early and warm friend of the colonization cause, and he greatly desired to see Kentucky relieved
from the incubus of slavery, and the condition of the colored
race bettered by some scheme of gradual emancipation,
originated and carried forward by the State itself. He had,
accordingly, from the first, sympathized fully in the views of
his uncle, Judge Green, Henry Clay, and other leading men of
the State, who organized the first party and made the first
movement in Kentucky in favor of emancipation. Nothing
would have delighted him more than to see his native State
adopt some practical plan of taking her place among the free
States. And so strong were his feelings on the subject, that
unable to send his slaves to Africa, and unwilling to leave
them in bondage, he-emancipated them all on the soil, to the
number of twenty-five or thirty.




CHAPTER IV..
ALLEGHENY, 1840 —1847.
Election to a Professorship in the Theological Seminary at Allegheny.-Testimonial as to his Ability.-His Colleagues in the Faculty.-Inaugural Address.-German Philosophy.-Growing Reputation.-Literary Addresses.
-Lectures on Popery.-The Title of Doctor of Divinity. —Standing
and Influence as a Preacher and Instructor.-Various Calls.-Testimonials from Dr. R. L. Breck.-From Drs. Wilson and Allison.-From Dr.
McGilL-From Dr. David Elliott.-Seven Years' Work.
IN May, 1840, MrI. Green was unanimously elected by the
General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church, to the Professorship of Oriental Literature and  Biblical Criticism  in the
Western Theological Seminary, at Allegheny, Pennsylvania.
This was a position, for which, by all his previous studies and
attainments, he was well fitted, though at the time but little
over thirty-four years of age.  Recognizing it as the call of
Divine Providence to a wide and inviting field of usefulness, in
which he might hope to spend his energies with best advantage to the church and her rising ministry, he accepted the appointment, removed with his family to Allegheny, and entered
upon the duties of his office at the opening of the session in the
autumn of the same year.
It will serve to show what reputation the young professor
had won at Danville and throughout the West, to present here
the testimonial of one of his contemporaries.  It is from a letter
of the Hon. C. S. Todd, afterward United States Minister to
Russia, written at Cincinnati, under date, April 21, 1840, addressed to Rev. Dr. David Elliot of the Allegheny Seminary, in
reply to inquiries as to the character and qualifications of Mr.
Green to supply the place of Dr. Nevin in the chair of Oriental
Literature in that institution.  " I seize the first moment to say




28               INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
to you, that the reputation of Mr. Green in this respect is eminently high. He has been professor in Centre College for several years; was during last year one of the theological professors at South Hanover, selected by the Synod of Kentucky, and
was for several years at one of the universities of Germany.
He is an eloquent divine and a most accomplished scholar. He
is now adjunct pastor with Dr. Young at Danville, and a professor in the college: but I doubt whether he would be induced
to change his location."
His associates in the faculty of the seminary, during the
most of his time at Allegheny, were Drs. David Elliott and
Alexander J. McGill. His work here called into exercise all
the treasures of his cultivated intellect, and enlisted the deepest and holiest feelings of his heart. And for the next seven
years-till his resignation and retirement in 1847-he gave
himself up to its demands with unabated ardor. At his inauguration in 1840, he delivered an address, afterward published,
which was very favorably received, not only by the community, but by the Svnod of Pittsburgh, then in session in that
city. It was replete with sound practical views on the subject
of Biblical interpretation, and did much to extend his reputation through the church, as a safe interpreter and as a scholarly
and eloquent writer.
The following sentences from the graceful opening of that
address will give the reader some idea of the unaffected modesty of the man, as well as of his meetness for the important
work to which the voice of the church had here called him:
r"Though not altogether unaccustomed to address my fellowmen upon subjects even of the deepest and most momentous
interest, yet the novelty of my position, will, I hope, excuse
any degree of embarrassment which may be apparent on the
present occasion. Surrounded by faces entirely new to me;
invited by your kind confidence, while yet personally unknown,
to occupy an important and responsible situation in your theological institution; though yet a stranger, welcomed as a
brother among you, I should do injustice to my own feelings,
did I not express my deep sense Of the unmerited kindness




INAUGURAL ADDRESS.                      29
which has called me hither, of the weighty obligations I am
about to assume, the solemn responsibilities inseparable from
the station I am called to occupy, and my own deeply felt and
candidly acknowledged incompetency fobr the full and adequate
performance of all the arduous duties of the station. Nor can
I deem it inappropriate to the occasion to express before the
patrons of the institution my views of the nature of that office
— of the duties it enjoins-of the qualifications, intellectual and
moral, which it requires. Not as though I had attained, or
were already perfect, or even expected to  attain the full
measure of those large and various qualifications which I shall
attempt to describe, but that you may understand what are
my views of an excellence which it should be the constant
effort of the Christian theologian to attain, and toward which
every student of theology should be taught, firom the commencement to  the termination of his course, to  aspire and to
struggle."
In this masterly address he takes a wide survey of the whole
field of Biblical interpretation, showing the true province of
reason, the relation of science to religion, the connection of Revelation with the works of God, the essential qualifications of a
true expounder of the Divine Word, and the dangers arising
from the rationalistic and infidel theories of the German theologians and philosophers, into which he had gained so clear an
insight while abroad.  And he closes with an earnest and powerful appeal in favor of a new and native American exegesis,
which, while using the results of German investigation, yet independent of German authority, shall be founded on the solid
basis of a pure devotion, a sound orthodoxy, and a sober AngloSaxon common sense.  The key-note of his arlgument may perhaps be learned from the following suggestive paragraph:"The transfusion of German philosophy and exegesis into the American
mind would be at once the indication and the cause of disease, in the system
so transfused, and in the mind which had stooped to be its passive recipient.
You cannot support the life and health of one man by injecting into his circulation the blood of another. The foreign ingredient would be poison and fever
to his system. You must give him nourishment and let his own digestion sup



30                      VARIOUS CALLS.
ply vital warmth, sensibility, motion. And as every man, so every nation has
an individuality of its own, and, to be vigorous and healthy, must be independent, self-nourished, and self-developed. An American exegesis, therefore,
and, as founded upon and supported by it, an American theology, are as clearly
indicated and as imperatively demanded, both for ourselves and for the world,
by the peculiar circumstances of our age and country, as an American general
literature, American policy, political constitutions, or any other product of
that novel and extraordinary combination of political, social, intellectual, and
religious elements, which, variously operating on and blending with each other,
at once signalize and constitute American character."
The number of students in the seminary was small and his
compensation inadequate. But there was a good prospect of
increase, and the work was one in which he delighted, especially as he found constant occasions for the exercise of his
ministry in the pulpits of the city, and in the neighboring
churches. His reputation as a preacher and lecturer rapidly
rose, and went abroad through the country. His services were
in such demand that scarcely a Sabbath found him unemployed.
In 1840 he received the honorary title of Doctor of Divinity from
his Almna Mater, Centre College. In 1842 he was invited to
deliver an address before the Literary Societies of Jefferson
College. He delivered similar addresses in subsequent years
at La Fayette College, Easton, Pennsylvania, and at the Miami
University in Oxford, Ohio.  Through his whole career he
was called on for many services of this kind, which he rendered
cheerfully when in his power to do so. In ]1844 he received
an urgent request from the Secretary of the Board of Education, to present the cause of ministerial education at the West,
inl a sermon at the meeting of the General Assembly in Louisville, Kentucky, that year.  In  1845  he received  from  Dr.
W~illiam  S. Potts, of St. Louis, an urgent overture to accept
the pastoral oversight of a new church, a colony from his omwn,
just formed in that city. But this proposition, with others of
the same kind, he declined, on the ground that his services
were needed in the seminary, and that he could not leave a
position to which God, by the voice of his Church, had called
him.
Between the occupations of the study and the lecture-room,




PUBLIC LECTURES.                       31
regular preaching at home and calls from abroad, Dr. Green
was kept incessantly employed during all the year at Allegheny. This activity he enjoyed. During this period his mind
became deeply interested  in the position and claims of the
Papal Church, which was attracting much attention at the
time, and, at the solicitation of prominent gentlemen in Pittsburgh, he prepared and delivered a course of public lectures on
Popery. The series extended to six in number, and they were
delivered in weekly succession, partly in Dr. Herron's church
and partly in Dr. Riddle's.  They excited an interest which
drew increasing crowds to the end of the course, filling the
houses to their utmost capacity. In these lectures he often
spoke from  an hour and a half to two hours, in his most
animated style, pouring out the treasured results of his reading and reflection, and making a profound impression on the
public mind.  "These lectures," says Dr. Elliott, "delivered
without notes, added greatly to his reputation as an eloquent
orator and a skilful controversialist; and, although they were
never published, the impression made by them on the public
mind  did  not soon pass away."   He afterward preached
before the Synod on the same subject.  The newspapers of the
city gave full reports of the lectures, and he was urged by his
friends to write them out and publish them, but no vestige of
them is found among his writings.
The following interesting account, by one who was for a
short time under his instruction as a pupil, will aid us in forming an estimate of his character and influence while at Allegheny.*
" Occasionally I had heard Dr. Green preach in my boyhood, but my personal acquaintance with him began in 1845, when I became a student in the
Western Theological Seminary at Allegheny. His reputation in Kentucky attracted a number of students from that State. The seminary was in a prosperous condition, and of the young men then gathered there a number have
since become eminent in the church. Dr. Green was at that time in his early
prime, and perhaps at the full height of his popularity as a teacher and as a
preacher. As a professor, his thorough and elegant scholarship, his enthu* Rev. Robert L. Breck, D.D., of Richmond, Ky.




32                        TESTIMONIALS.
siasm in his work, his high-toned, serious piety, and his affectionate interest
in the personal welfare of his pupils, commanded the highest respect and
veneration of the students. He was subject to occasional depressions and
disturbances of equanimity. Sensitive, impulsive, transparent in his feelings,
unable to conceal any strong emotion, and scrupulously exact in his notions
of honor, he sometimes hastily censured with severity what he thought unbecoming conduct, and sometimes misjudged acts done in ignorance or
thoughtlessness, rather than in transgression of exact rules of propriety.
Issues or ruptures, however, were not frequent, and seldom or never long
continued, as his own kindliness of nature, and the universal esteem entertained for him, were too great for them to last.
"In tile class-room he was interesting, full, and sometimes eloquent. Being
under his instruction during a session, afterward a student at Princeton, and
later, in my more mature years, admitted to renewed intimacy with him, I retain a high estimate of his rare learning and qualifications as a teacher of
students for the ministry. As a linguist he had few equals in our country.
In criticism and exegesis he excelled. And probably no American scholar
was more thoroughly acquainted with every phase of modern metaphysical
philosophy, or had, with more acute discrimination, chased down infidelity
through the different philosophies of Continental Europe. At the time of
which I write, the doctor did not often preach. When, however, it was known
that he was to preach for any of the pastors of Allegheny or Pittsburglh, the
house was generally crowded to overflowing. His efforts were not always
equal. But he sometimes rose to the highest and most impressive eloquence,
which those who ever heard him in one of his happier moods will never
forget.
"In private and social life Dr. Green was one of the most charming of men.
Gentle, affectionate, playful, brilliant, he won the heart while he entertained.
He lived at this time some three miles below the city, on the bank of the
Ohio, where he dispensed a wide and elegant hospitality. The elite of both
the neighboring cities were frequently to be found in his house. In the
enjoyment of those charming assemblies his pupils were often invited to participate. They all, no doubt, retain most agreeable and vivid memories of
them. Dr. Green's character was marked by the simplest and most unmistakable piety. And this gave it its highest charm. No one probably was
ever in his presence an hour without the conviction of a rare spirituality and
godliness permeating his thought and life."
Another of his foirmer pupils at Allegheny, afterward associated with him  at I1ampden Sidney, and now  of Augusta,
Georgia, Doctor Joseph It. Wilson, gives a brief estimate of
his excellence as an instructor, a preacher, and a man, in the
following terms:



TESTIMONIALS.                           33
"It was my good fortune to enjoy his instructions in Hebrew, and in New
Testament Greek exegesis. Surely there never was a more admirable teacher.
IIis scholarship was as profound and as comprehensive as it was minute and
exact. His whole method of imparting knowledge, his skill in drawing out
the utmost resources of his pupils, his enthusiasm in dealing with truth, the
impression he made on his classes of an equal greatness of mind and heart, his
flowing geniality, mingled with all the elements of needful authority, rendered
the hours of recitation wonderfully pleasant and profitable. Then, when he
mounted the pulpit, that mellow voice, elastic enough to accommodate itself to
all the demands of his singular oratory, that gesticulatory warmth, that glitter
of illustration, than which nothing could have been more brilliant, that
patience of reasoning, attended by an appropriate urgency of exhortation-all
this, and much that cannot be described, no one, who heard and saw, is able
to forget. Socially, too, he was a great favorite; he shone in conversation,
and enjoyed good company almost as much as he contributed to its enjoyment.
His standing at Allegheny, in the esteem of all, was as high as possible. He
was regarded as a man of genius and a man of God."
We have an interesting account of Dr. Green, at this time,
from  still another of his former pupils, Dr. James Allison,
editor of the Presbyterican  cBarner, who, writing  from  Pittsburgh, Mlzarch 21, 1870, says:"He made a strong impression upon all with whom he met, as a scholar, a
thinker, a preacher, and a genial Christian gentleman. Immediately after he
had entered upon the duties of his professorship in Allegheny, his power for
good began to be recognized, not only by the students, but also by the ministers and churches, and the community generally. His services as a minister'
were eagerly sought and highly appreciated by benevolent societies, by
literary institutions, and by his brethren on sacramental occasions. There are
many still living in this city and vicinity who recall, with gratitude, the effect
produced on them by his powerful sermons. He was not merely a preacher
for scholars, but also for the common people. We have listened to him in
Providence Hall, at Jefferson College, when professors, students, and the
people who earned their bread by the daily toil of their hands, heard with
breathless attention, and were alike profited. Wherever he went to preach,
the people in the city or in the country, among the polished or the plain, in
great crowds attended. In a wonderful degree he had the faculty of addressing the understanding, employing the reasoning powers and touching the
heart at the same time.
"As a professor in the seminary," continues Dr. Allison, "he will never be
forgotten by his students. At the very first he met them with a warm grasp
of the hand, looked theml in the face with a kindly eye, and made them feel
C) *




34                        TESTIMONIALS.
that he was their friend. He was not satisfied with meeting them in the classroom, but went to their private rooms, talked with them individually, that he
might learn their peculiarities and gain their confidence, and pray with them.
HIe sought not merely to cultivate their intellects, but also to train their hearts.
He seemed to consider, and rightly too, that the General Assembly appointed
the professors in the theological seminaries to be instructors in sacred learning, and also, for the time, the pastors of the students. Rarely was a student
at the seminary more than ten days before receiving a visit from Dr. Green,
which he never forgot. To the class-room the doctor always came fully prepared; and he expected the same of the students. With the indolent le had
but little patience; but he delighted to encourage the studious. In the Greek
and Hebrew languages he was a master; and he employed all the wealth of
this learning to the elucidation of the Messianic Psalms and Prophecies in the
Old Testament, and the Epistles to the Romans and Hebrews in the New. He
held up to our astonished vision truths and beauties we had never seen before.
He showed us how to enter the mine of Divine truth, explore its wonders and
mysteries, and gather up its precious treasures. For the word of God he had
the profoundest reverence; it was sufficient for him to know that a doctrine
or duty was plainly taught in the Bible; and then he accepted it with the
greatest readiness and held it with the firmest tenacity.
l He fully understood the teachings of the German Rationalists, and had
sat at the feet of some of the greatest of them; but he rejected their doctrines with abhorrence. He could not endure them. In interpreting Scripture he was an independent thinker, and followed no man or school blindly.
While he accepted the doctrinal system in all its extent, as set forth by Dr.
Charles Hodge in his Commentary on the Romans, he by no means agreed
with him in the interpretation of every passage, and believed that the doctor
did not do justice to his own general system of doctrine, in some of his interpretations, while he at the same time failed to bring out the full meaning of
the original Greek. While in the Western Theological Seminary, Dr. Green
had also charge of the department in which Butler's Analogy was a text-book.
We have often thought that his great powers appeared to better advantage
here than anywhere else. The keen logic and scientific knowledge which he
brought to the elucidation of that celebrated work were the wonder of all
who listened. His lecture on the first chapter I have always considered one
of the most remarkable productions to which it has ever been my privilege to
listen. Afterward, at the request of the late Rev. E. P. Swift, D.D., the Hon.
R. C. Grier, late Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, and others,
he threw this lecture into a popular form, expanded it considerably, and then
delivered it in a series of sermons, which were heard by vast crowds in the
First Presbyterian Church of Allegheny. I am afraid that neither the lecture,
nor the sermons which sprang from it, were ever written. If this should be
so, the church and the world are the poorer on this account."




TESTIMONJIALS.                        35
After speaking of his fine historical knowledge, his deep interest in all the great movements of the times, and of the profound
impression made by his lectures on Romanism, alleady referred
to, Dr. Allison adds:
"Nowhere was Dr. Green happier than in the social circle, to which he was
always welcome. He enjoyed the society of his friends, and they delighted in
his companionship. He could be mirthful or serious; could listen to others or
entertain others. He had a warm heart and was a hater of all meanness and
selfishness. But it was especially when in the company of theological students
that his fine qualities would shine out. He was ever ready to encourage the
timid, to gently repress the self-sufficient, to impart information to those seeking
it, and to make them acquainted with books and men. His students reverenced him as a professor and loved him as a friend. When he left to become a
pastor in Baltimore, it was felt that the seminary, the church, and the entire
community had suffered a heavy loss."
Rev. Dr. Alexander T. McGill, who became associated as a
professor with him in the seminary in 1842, says: "I was won
to him at once by his cordial and cultivated manners.  Within
the first hour of my acquaintance' with him an impression was
made of his character which was never changed by subsequent
intimacy of observation as a friend and colleague.  A beaming
intelligence, transparent candor, and impulsive imagination revealed the man just as I knew him five years afterward when
we parted, and just as I remember him now after many years
and many comparisons in my intercourse with colleagues. The
perspicacious mind of Dr. Green saw the future of the seminary
more brightly at that time than any other man connected with
its interests. If his patience had been equal to his foresight, and
he could have brooked, without frietting, the delay and vexation
through which any institution of great and permanent value
must rise from such a depth of discouragement, he would have
been signalized as the best builder that seminary has ever had
among ien. His ability, scholarship, and eloquence were unquestionable. His affability and radiating kindness of- heart,
with captivating power of conversation, everywhere attracted
men and won the attachment of students."
After referring to some of the petty annoyances and discour



36                       TESTIMONIALS.
agements incident to his position, which weighed heavily on
his spirits and led him  to resign a professorship which mighlt
have been one of life-long eminence and usefulness to his generation, Dr. IMcGill adds: " I-Te was not appreciated as a preacher
among the rural churches as he was in the cities, owing mainly
to the academic taste which had never been governed by a pastoral experience and the indifference of his mind to prevailing
forms of sermonizing. His vivid imagoination, classical allusions,
and impassioned declamation were lost at times on people accustomed to the homiletic measure and proportion of heads and
particulars, accordingl to the fashion of the pulpit so long prevalent in that Scotch-Irish region. I have never ceased to regret
the retirement of Dr. Green from Allegiheny, and the consequent
shifting of his mind to other and miscellaneous labor-lno more
returning to the department he was so peculiarly fitted to fill by,his learning and genius alike.  A  commentary fiom his pen,
having the sparkle and emotion he was wont to combine with
sound judgment in the exegesis of God's word, might have delighted the culrch, and occupied the place of much that is
dull yet salable on both sides of the Atlantic in the prolific
fields of exposition. His memory is cherished as that of an
honorable  colleague, a noble  friend, an able  and  faithfl-f
minister of' Christ."
In filrther illustration of his influence, character, and work
while at Allegheny, we have the following testimnony firom  the
pen of the venerable Dr. David Elliott, who was one of his colleagues in the seminary:"In his public performances Dr. Green was very unequal. Sometimes he
was eminently forcible, brilliant, and impressive, carrying his audience witl
him in rapt attention. At other times he failed of so happy a result. This
was owing chiefly to his variable bodily temperament, which had much to do
with his mental operations, elevating or depressing them according to its
peculiar condition at the time. HO was constitutionally impulsive. But he.was a man of generous impulses-kind, liberal, a lover of good men and good
things, ever ready to do his part in whatever tended to advance the cause of
Christ in the sphere in which he was called to labor.
"In his intercourse with his brethren in the ministry he was remarkably cordial and free from that petty jealousy by which some men, whose aspirations




SEVEN YEARS' WORK.                          37
all centre in themselves, are led to disparage the character and standing of
others. Upon such conduct he looked with perfect loathing. HIischaracter
was formed on the higher and more ennobling principles of the Gospel; and,
as a Christian minister, he was deservedly held in reputation. As a professor
he had a well-stored mind and great readiness in communicating. I have
good reason to believe that lie was a skilful and acceptable instructor. His
retirement from the seminary, which he had so faithfully served for seven
years, was greatly regretted by the friends of the institution. But having
received a call from the Second Presbyterian Church in the city of Baltimore
his convictions of duty led him to accept the pastorate of that church and to
resign his professorship."
Testimonials like the foregoing, from  his colleagues, pupils,
and others, might have been greatly multiplied.  But these are
sufficient to illustrate the character of the teacher, the fidelity
and zeal which marked his labors, and the lasting and blessed
impressions made upon the successive bands of young men
trained under his instruction  at Allegheny.  The seven years
spent in this high and sacred work of Biblical interpretation
may be regarded as among the most important and usefil of
his whole life.  The successive classes of young men trained in
part by his faithful teaching at Allegheny and prepared for
their great life-work-some of them filling important positions
in the church, some in distant stations preaching Christ to the
heathen, and some, their work being ended, already entered
upon their rest above-if they could join their voices, would,
doubtless, all attest the singular fidelity, devotion, skill, and earnest zeal of the beloved instructor.  As we shall now follow him,
step by step, through his subsequent career-honorable and usefill as that career was-we can almost sympathize in the regret
felt by his colleagues that he should have' left a position for
which he was so nobly furnished, and in which his labors had
been so blessed by God and so useful to the church.




CHAPTER V.
BALTIMoRE, 1847-1848.
Resignation of Professorship at Allegheny.-Removal to Baltimore.-Preference of the Pastoral Work.-Labors in the Second Presbyterian Church.
-Congenial and Useful Employment.-Failure of Health.-Dissolution of
Pastoral Relation. -Noble Testimonial of his Church. Poetical Tribute.
DR. GREEN resigned his professorship in the Theological
Seminary at Allegheny in October, 1846; but he continued to
give instruction through the session until February, 1847,
when he removed to Baltimore. Hle had received and accepted
a call to the pastoral office in the Second Presbyterian Church
of that city-a congregation which had enjoyed the ministrations of a number of very eminent men, among them Dr. John
Glendy and Drs. John and Robert J. Breckinridge. His
health had become somewhat impairled at Allegheny by long
continued application to study; and it was thought that a
change of location, as well as a change of employment, might
be the means of restoration.
But the prevailing motive with him in rmaking such a change
was his longc cherished and growing desire to devote himself fully to the work of preaching the Gospel in a settled pastoral charge. Of a genial, social disposition, fill of benevolence
and sympathy, he possessed many natural aptitudes for the work
of a pastor.  But, besides this, his soul had ever turned to the
functions of the working ministry with the greatest possible
relish; and he was const:ntly concluding that both his duty
and his happiness demanded that he should devote himself to
the high service of the preaching office. Thus far, through all
his professional life, he had been a teacher.  He felt more andl
more that he ought to be a pastor, that preaching ought to be
his chief work, and that his life wculd not be complete until he




REMOVAL TO BALTIMIORE.                39
had entered on this service. Had he consulted his own inclination he would have done this at the beginning of his ministry.
His fine pulpit powers, as shown in his first sermons, and his
popular, engaging manners seemed then to point to the pastorate
as his proper sphere of labor. The leadings of Providence and
the calls of duty, however, had urged him forward on a different path, and he threw himself heart and soul into the work of
education.
But now, at the age of forty-one, and after a ministry of
fourteen years, chiefly devoted to the teaching office, he felt
that the long-looked for opportunity had arrived of giving himself fully to preaching, and he accepted what seemed to be the
clear call of duty to go to Baltimore. The position was all that
lie could have desired, as furnishing at once a delightful residence for his family, and a large and growing field of usefulness, demanding all his energies.
From the first Dr. Green's preaching-fresh, original, impassioned, and peculiar as it always was-attracted much attention in the city, and was attended by crowded audiences.
"He talks IIomer and the old Greek and Roman poets and
philosophers, and every thing else, here in Baltimore," said a
resident of the city to a visitor who was anxious to hear him,
" and he mixes it all up with religion and makes people listen to
him. But he is not a revival preacher. He makes flights into the
clouds, and you will wonder how he is going to get down. But,
I reckon, you will be gratified to hear him. He is a gentleman.
He is just fit for college boys." It is not strange that he should
know how to preach to college boys and all other youth after
having taught and preached to them fourteen years.
But, pleasant as were Dr. Green's surroundings in Baltimore
and acceptable as were his ministrations to the people of his
charge, it soon began to appear that his strength was not equal to
the task he had undertaken. Frequent spells of nervous prostration and a general running down of his physical system admonished him that he must seek a change and give up, for a season at least, the much-loved work of the pastorate. After a continuance of a little more than a year atnd a half of this delightful




40                      PASTORAL LABORS.
relationship, he came to the conclusion to ask for its dissolution
and so announced his intention.  It is seldom  that a pastoral
relation is sundered with more cordial good feeling on both
sides.  The following beautiful testimonial of respect and affection, creditable alike to the people and the pastor, is worthy of
being placed on permanent record:"At a congregational meeting, held, agreeably to regular notice from the pulpit, in the Second Presbyterian Church of Baltimore, on Wednesday evening,
4th of October, 1848, Rev. J. C. Babkus, D. D., was called to preside as IModerator, and James George was chosen Clerk. The meeting was opened with
prayer, by the Moderator, when the following preamble and resolutions, offered by Elder Wilson, were unanimously adopted; and, on motion of the
Hon. W. F. Giles, it was ordered that an attested copy of the same be presented to the Rev. Dr. Green in the name of the congregation:" Whereas, In the Providence of God the health of the Rev. Dr. L. W.
Green, the beloved pastor of this congregation, has become so much impaired as,
in his judgment, to render him unable any longer to discharge the laborious
duties of his official station, in consequence of which he has given notice to
the congregation that he would apply to the Presbytery of Baltimore, at its
next stated meeting, to be held in this city on the 10th of October inst., for a
dissolution of his pastoral relations to this church and congregation. And,
whereas, this meeting has been called for the purpose of taking action on the
subject, either by opposing the dissolution, which it has a constitutional right
to do, or by uniting with Dr. Green in his application to effect it. Therefore,
"Resolved, is  ile sense of this meeting, that under all the circumstances of
the case, it is ciebrly`the duty of this congregation to acquiesce, however painful, in what seems to be the will of God in the premises; because any opposition on the part of this congregation would, doubtless, be regarded by the
Presbytery as selfish and unkind, especially after the repeated declarations
made by Dr. Green both in public and private that his strength was unequal
to the task; it is therefore deemed inexpedient to interpose any obstacles to
the dissolution.
" Resolved, At the same time that it is with feelings of the deepest regret that
this congregation looks forward to its separation from a pastor so able, so beloved, and so faithful; a pastor whose labors among us have been owned
and blessed of the great Head of the Church; a pastor by whose conciliatory
efforts peace and harmony have been happily restored to this congregation,
which was greatly agitated when he took charge of it by repeated disappointments and from having been so long without a stated ministry.
" Resolved, That this congregation deeply laments the affliction with which its
beloved pastor has been visited; and while it offers him its kindest sympathy
and condolence, would, at the same time. respectfully, assure him that its




RESOLUTIONS.                            41
members, in their humble prayers, will not fail to implore Almighty God that
he would, in his infinite mercy and goodness, be graciously pleased to restore
him to wonted health and usefulness, and that he would greatly bless and prosper him in his new field of labor.
"Resolved, That this congregation heard, with profound satisfaction, the
declaration made by the Rev. Dr. Green, at the close of the morning service
of last Sunday, namely, that there was no other cause, either proximate or
remote, but that of ill-health, which had induced him to ask for a dissolution,
and that the relations between himself and the members of the congregation
were of the most amicable nature. This declaration will greatly tend to alleviate the pain of separation.
"Resolved, That the Rev. Dr. Green be, and he is hereby respectfully requested to remember this congregation at the throne of grace, and pray that
brotherly love may continue; that we may be kept from strife, division, and
disunion, and that God would direct us in the choice of an under-shepherd,
whose labors he will own and bless; a man after his own heart, to go in and
out before us, and to break to us the bread of life.
"Resolved, That Mrs. Green, by her many amiable qualities, has greatly
endeared herself to the members of this congregation; that they view the
necessity of being separated from her society with the deepest regret, and they
will ever remember her with the kindest and most affectionate feelings of
respect and regard; nor will they forget to pray that the choicest of IIeaven's
blessings may continually rest on her and her dear children.
" Attest,    JOHN C. BACKUS, aJfoderator.
SAMUEL GEORGE, Clerkl."
It was not merely in words that the church expressed their
appreciation of his services.  Dr. Green had subscribed a thousand  dollars toward the erection of a niew  edifice which his
church were then proposing to build; but, in consideration of
his failing health and consequent removal fiom the pastorate, the
trustees came forward and voluntarily released  him  from  this
obligation. During his residence in Baltimore he was invited
on two different occasions to visit New  York for the purpose
of delivering addresses before the anniversary meetings of the
American Tract Society.  He was a warm fiiend of this society,
and on both occasions rendered it valuable service by the enlarged views which he presented of its usefulness and by his
earnest vindication  of its claims against prevailing misrepresentation.
The following beautiful lines, written by a lady of Baltimore,




42                           POETRY.
and sent to him with the unknown signature of " Miriam," soon
after he entered upon his work in that city, will serve to illustrate both the spirit of his preaching and the interest with which
he was heard during this brief pastorate:
"Ambassador of Christ! how fearlessly
Thou liftest up the voice to publish forth
The tidings of salvation to the lost
And ruined sons of men; how earnestly
Dost thou entreat the thirsty soul to come
And drink of that fair river which makes glad
The city of our God. Oh I with what love
Dost thou beseech the weary, sin-sick soul
To accept the invitation Jesus gave-'Come unto me, ye heavy-laden, come,
And I will give you rest.' With what a voice
Of thunder dost thou set the terrors forth
Of God Almighty's law, and seek to rouse
The slumbering sinner from his deadly dream
Of false security. How gently, too,
Dost thou encourage those who tremblingly,
As following after God, whose faith is weak,
Yet by the pure word strengthened, will grow up
Unto the Christian's perfect stature. One
There is, less than the least of all who love
The blessed Saviour, who will long rejoice
In having heard those glorious Gospel truths
By thee set forth, and in the faith built up,
And strengthened by Almighty grace, will run
With greater zeal along the heavenly road.
May God be with thee, champion of the cross I
And crown thy labors with immortal souls.
And when thou hast thy hallowed work fulfilled
On earth, and gone to thy reward above,
Then mayst thou shine in glory as the sun,
And as the brightness of the firmament,
Forever and forever; then shall praise,
High, holy, pure, be given to Him who sits
Upon the throne, and to the Lamb who died
And lives again, glory for evermore."




CHAPTER VI.
PRINCE EDWARD, 1848-1856.
Election to the Presidency of Hampden Sidney College.-Intercourse with the
Professors.-Portraiture by Dr. Foote.-Restored Health.-Extended Labors.-Scholarships.-Successful Administration.-Influence on the Students.-Style of Preaching.-Anecdote.-Method of Discipline.-Account
of it by Dr. Dabney.-Testimonial of Dr. Wilson.-Various Calls.
DR. GREEN had not been long in Baltimore, before the attention of the trustees of Hampden Sidney College, and other
prominent members of the Synod of Virginia, was turned to
him, as a suitable person to fill their vacant presidency. The
college had been for some time much depressed; but its trustees and faculty, with commendable zeal, were carrying it for
ward without a president, until a competent one should be
found.  It was a time-honored institution, and from its origin
could boast a succession of distinguished names on its roll of
presidents. Samuel Stanhope, and John Blair Smith, Drury
Lacy, Archibald Alexander, Moses Hoge, Cushing, and Maxwell had each in turn adorned its headship, while in its faculty
had quietly labored some of the best instructors in the State,
and among its alumni were found many names eminent in the
annals of the church and the country.
In the summer of 1848 he was invited to Prince Edward, and
delivered an address befbre one of the societies of the seminary
at the time of the college commencement of that year-making
a very favorable impression on all who heard him, as to his
ability and scholarship.  Rev. Dr. Foote, who was present and
heard him for the first time on that occasion, describes his appearance, and the effect produced, in the following termns:"His countenance wore the expression of one who had been sick, and
might be unwell still; a slight flush of anxiety passed over his face, as he
looked around over that collection of Virginia people, a fair specimen of the




41.           PRESIDENCY  OF HIAMPDEN  SIDNEY.
Ancient Dominion, of which he had so often heard, of which he was himself a
Kentucky offshoot. It was announced that Dr. Green, of Baltimore, would
address the young men. And who is Dr. Green? Ah! it was whispered, he
is from Kentucky, has held places of honor and trust, and has sought the
advantage of the climate east of the Alleghanies for his health, wasted under
intense application. There never was a time that Virginia did not turn with
interest to a son of her fair daughter Kentucky, and sometimes, like other
grandparents, show greater partiality than to her home-born children. That
he was a little nervous, his spirit a little restless, as he met the face of an assembly, gathered from the elite of the land of his ancestry, only won the attention of the auditory. Almost as matter of course that auditory listened with
profound attention, and at the close of his address gave him a place among
the men to teach and guide the hearts of the community, especially the young.
My sympathies were with him-from the first. His motions were quick, his
thoughts flowed rapidly, and yet he had command of a spirit evidently excitable, fiery, and fearless. There was a philosophic composure thrown over all
the excitement-perhaps I should have said Christian calmness-but I use the
word philosophic in its best sense."
The trustees and other prominent friends of the college, a
large number of whom were in attendance on the exercises, and
some of whom had known him before, felt that he was the man
for the place. He was accordingly soon after elected with cordial unanimity; and in the autumn of the same year entered
upon the duties of the office.  His inaugural address, however,
was not delivered till January 10, 1849.  He was now  in a
situation, in many respects, congenial with his tastes and aspirations.  Though in feeble health he was yet in life's meridian;
and he had much to stimulate and encourage him.  He was on
the soil of his ancestors, and had been received with a generous,
warm-hearted welcome, which made him feel from. the first that
he was among friends, not strangrers.  He had an important work
to do, in raising again the fortunes of the embarrassed college,
and he had the hearty co-operation of many earnest workers onl
every side.
He soon grasped the problem  of its success.  He knew its
history, and he saw  at once what it needed; and cheered by
the prospect, he devoted all his powers of body and mind to
its welfare.  Frankness, cheerfulness, and confidence marked
his intercourse with the professors; he sought their co-opera



INTERCOURSE WITH  THE FAC'ULTY.                     45
tion in all important matters, and made them  feel from  the
beginning, that he was a friend, and would rely upon them  for
counsel and action. Though he had a large experience, and
strong convictions of his own, on most educational questions,
yet he came not as an innovator, but as one who sought to
build on the broad foundations already laid.  He let it be distinctly understood that he expected entire unity of purpose and
action between himself and his colleagues; that their honor
was his honor; and that in the prosperity and success of the
college they should all alike find their surest reward. Dr.
Foote, who was an eye-witness of this delightful harmony,
which continued during the whole period of the presidency,
has placed on record the following tribute to the moderation
and wisdom  that marked his official relations:"The honorable purposes expressed at first were carried out to the full by
Dr. Green on his part, and by the professors on their part. Such a thing as
private piques and jealousies was never known. He evidently sought and
seized upon opportunities of honoring his professors; and they were always
ready to mete out to him in full measure, confidence and co-operation in their
daily duties, and in those extra ones that were often thrown upon him. He
never stepped out of his way for any kind of popularity, and never gave expression to any feelings but gladness when honor was done another. Alive to
the approbation of good men, he never thrust himself forward on any occasion.
After I became sufficiently acquainted with him to know him, I never saw him
brought forward, but I could see by the flush on his cheek and the quiver upon
his lip, and the quick glow of his eye, that he felt his position for good or for
evil, and that his soul was agitated with a desire to do or say the right thing
in the right way. Even before he began to speak, if I looked upon his face,
he enlisted my favor. It was evident that his soul was alive to the subject.
It made no difference whether his flights were even or uneven, fitful or continuous, there was that earnestness and modesty combined, that at the close of
each sentence, made me wish to hear the next. A deeply sensitive man himself
he could appreciate the feelings of others, and sympathize with speakers who
were in every thing antipodes to himself, except in honesty and earnestness."
When Dr. Green went to Hampden Sidney, he considered
himself entirely broken down in body by his labors in Baltimore, and remarked to a friend, that he had come there to die.
To his mind, at that time, the most inviting feature in the position was the  rest and quiet offered him.  But the change,




46            SUCCESSFUL ADMINISTRATION.
country air, congenial occupation, and the approach of middle
life restored him so that he went away a healthy man. And
he soon found himself under returning health, alnlost as busily
engaged as everin the ministrations of the pulpit. His preaching was acceptable and frequently called for. Besides repeated
calls for his services in different parts of the State, he took his
turn regularly with the Professors of the Theological Selninary
in preaching in the chapel of that institution, and was also frequently invited to preach ill the College Church of the village,
of which Dr. Benjamin H. Rice was then pastor. Wherever
he went an effectual door was opened to him. He felt that he
was useful, that his labors were blest of God; and that he was
appreciated by congenial brethren who loved and honored him.
It was one of the happiest periods of his life. He mningled
freely with many of the leading men of the State, who gave
him not only their approval but their cordial co-operation in his
efforts to restore and elevate one of their oldest colleges.
And in this important work he had the satisfaction of feeling
that his efforts were not in vain. His administration continued
through eight years, during which, under his vigilant and judicious discipline, every thing moved on with precision, harmony,
and a good degree of success. The number of students increased, the funds were augmented, the annual commencements
became more interesting and more largely attended. He spent
his vacations in advancing the cause of the college, and attended the meetings of Presbytery and Synod, obtaining scholarships, and securing students. His presence everywhere created
new interest in the college, and his felicitous manner of presenting the twofold object of his mission, the education of
youth and the salvation of men, interweaving the two as indissoluble, drew attentive audiences wherever.he preached. And
seldom did he preach without producing a favorable impression
for his cause. With the co-operation of his faculty and the
trustees, the course of studies was gradually enlarged, and the
standard of scholarship raised, so as to meet the wants of the
public and preserve the relative position of the college among
the more liberally endowed State institutions. The students




ENCOURAGEMENT IN  HIS WORK.                     47
themselves caught the enthusiasm, and the ardor of pursuit in
literature and science diffused a joyousness over the whole college precincts.
Rev. Dr. R. L. Dabney, who became Professor of Theology
in the seminary at Prince Edward, a few years after Dr. Green
took charge of the college, speaks of him and his administration in the following terms:"He was a cordial and hospitable neighbor; an exceedingly animated and
agreeable companion, and a firm and enlightened friend of our seminary and
faculty. Dr. Green's interest in Hampden Sidney was warm and sincere.
He was a valuable acquisition to the college. When he came, its literary and
financial state was bad; the faculty small and nearly starved out; the endowment almost exhausted; there were about twenty-seven students, and these in
an insubordinate condition. With the zealous support of Professor Charles
Martin (still a member of the faculty), he restored the finances, chiefly by a
scholarship scheme. Two efforts made by Mr. Martin, whose enterprise and
energy were invaluable, and other agents, added about eighty thousand dollars
to the permanent endowment. The faculty were sustained, and the number
of students ran up to a hundred and thirty-five, or even a hundred and fifty.
There was also a great increase in their order, diligence, and manliness."
Besides the important aid of Professor lM~artin in maturing
and carrying forward this scholarship scheme of endowment,
he found also in Rev. Dr. Jesse Armistead an efficient and successful coadjutor. He also gave his own personal attention to
the work, spending his vacations in raising funds on that plan.
One secret of his success, through all these efforts, was in the
fact that he had the hearty co-operation and sympathy of the
leading men around him-his own faculty and trustees, the
professors and directors of the seminary, and other members
of the Synod. In the life of a good man there is no sweeter
reward and no keener stimulus to exertion than to feel that
God blesses his labors, and that his brethren appreciate and
sustain him. This encouragement he had in a high degree during his whole administration in Hampden Sidney.
An incident is related of him at Hampden Sidney, which
serves to illustrate at once the pungency of his preaching and
his faithfulness in dealing with the pupils committed to his
charge.  After preaching one morning, he was followed to the




4 8          INFLUENCE ON THE STUDENTS.
gate by a student, a special favorite, who abruptly accosted
him thus:-" Good morning, Dr. Green, you are no gentleman,
sir. I always believed you were a gentleman until this morning."  "Wllhat do you mean, C-," he replied, calmed in an
instant by a glance at the face of the agitated youth. "I mean,
sir, what I say, that you are no gentleman, for no gentleman
would insult another as you chose to insult me publicly in your
sermon just now. You know that every word of it was meant
for me, and you had no right to expose me to the whole congregation."  " My dear C —," said he, "I was not thinking of
you at all; that sermon was written and preached ten years
ago in Kentucky."  This assurance pacified him  instantly.
Tile doctor carried him into the house, had a long talk with
him, and had the happiness afterward of seeing him a hopefully converted man.
He was well fitted, as the Baltimore preacher expressed it,
to preach to college boys. "I did not wonder," says Dr.
Foote, speaking of this period,' that his students loved him,
and loved to hear him preach. He added to and filled out
the charming variety on College Hill."  He chose subjects interesting to the young, and presented to them the results of
deep study and protracted thought in a pleasing elocution
His fancy was lively, his imagination glowing, and his heart
warm; and their own hearts and minds were deeply interested
in his sublime thoughts and forcible conclusions, which seemed
to them to re-echo and apply the profound logical discussions
they had heard in the class-room. His own high sense of honor
and gentlemanly bearing incited the students, in happy emulation, to the cultivation of the kinld, the noble, the elevated, in
their social intercourse. They were constrained to look upon
him as a firiend. His disapprobation was grief to the offender,
and he was unhappy till reconciled. He put his students upon
their sense of honor; appealed to whatever was manly in their
nature, and sought to govern them by the principles of right
and duty revealed in the word of God.
Htis discipline was kind, paternal, and skilful. "His method
of management" says Dr. l)abney, " was to discard petty sur



METHOD OF DISCIPLINE.                    49
veillance, to treat the students with cordial confidence while
they seemed to behave with propriety, and as soon as a chap
seemed slack in recitations or morals, to send him back to his
parents summarily.  As the institution received no tuition fees
(scholarships having superseded them) the faculty were not
restrained from  applying the knife promptly, by any sensitiveness about the pocket.  When any outrage was committed by
an unknown student, Dr. Green had a very adroit way of trapping the real culprit. A conference with his colleagues, with
an examination of recitation marks, and other indications,
would lead to a guess as to which students were likely to be
engaged in pranks. And they rlarely guessed wrong. The
faculty would meet in private conclave and send for the suspected party. Dr. Green addressed him very respectfully to this
effect.  "You know, Mr. B., that such an outrage has been
committed.  We lament exceedingly to be obliged to say, that
the circumstances point to you.  But such is our confidence in
your honor, that one word of disclaimer will relieve our minds
wholly, and we shall hasten with great pleasure to make every
reparation in our power for an unjust conclusion."  Mr. B.
would probably scratch his head, hesitate, look sheepish, and
end by saying that he could not speak that word of disclaimer.
Dr. Green knew that if he lied, the students would expel him.
"Well, then," he would answer, " Mr. B., the faculty find
themselves constrained to recommend that you return to the
parental control," and the next morning's stage would carry
him away, bag and baggage.
We have an interesting account of his work at Hampden
Sidney from the pen of Dr. Joseph  R. Wilson, already referred
to,-who was, at tihe time, associated with him in the faculty
of the institution.
"The good work he accomplished there it would be hard to overrate. He
found the college not very flourishing, he left it in a high state of prosperity.
The whole purpose of his soul was given to the interests of that institution.
He left nothing undone or untried which promised to promote its welfare. In
this position he showed that his rare qualities as a disciplinarian were excelled
only by his eminence as an instructor. His knowledge of human nature, and
his conspicuous goodness of heart, together with the attractions of his personal
0




50            INVITED  TO OTHER INSTITUTIONS.
intercourse, admirably fitted him for dealing with boys. He possessed that disposition, both merciful and just, which enabled him to win their love, while
administering the severest reproofs. And as the presiding officer of our faculty, he was every thing that could be desired; never overbearing, never selfish, never exacting, never coarse, but always superior; he won our hearts at
the same time that he commanded our respect and confidence. His reputation
soon spread abroad; and every year it spread more widely. No college president ever enjoyed a purer fame. The fact is undeniable that Dr. Green was
a really great man, and had his bodily health been as robust as his mental
energies were strong, he would have become illustrious. As it was, he left
behind him, in Virginia, a name free from blemish, and for commanding, positive excellence, well deserving of being held in grateful remembrance. The
cause of education in the Old Commonwealth will forever remain his debtor.
There, too, the cause of religion owes more to his influence than it does to
most men of his day. Altogether he left a mark which cannot be easily
obliterated."
Scarcely had Dr. Green become fully settled at Hampden Sidney College, with returning health, before efforts began to be
made to draw him to other fields of labor. The friends of Jefferson College, at Cannonsburg, Pennsylvania, even before he
left Baltimore, had made an overture to place him at the head
of that institution; and they renewed it again during his residence in Virginia with still greater zeal. But though his own
college had opened with less than thirty students, while Jefferson had two hundred and fifty, and though Dr. A. B. Brown,
the former president, in repeated letters urged upon him the
claims of the latter institution; yet feeling that he-was where
God had placed him, and that he must not despise the day of
small things, he cheerfully declined all further propositions, and
determined to abide in his lot and work on.  Even as late as
1855, a very inviting overture was made to him to return to
Kentucky, and settle among his old friends and kindred, as
Pastor of the First Presbyterian  Church of Danville, then
vacant by the removal of Dr. William  AI. Scott to Cincinnati.
But this he also declined. On several other occasions, as will
be seen in the next chapter, he came to a similar conclusion as
to his duty at Hampden Sidney; and it was not until he had
labored on for eight years, and saw his beloved college on the
high ground of prosperity, that he could feel himself at liberty
to leave it.




CHAPTER VII.
LEXINGTON AND DANVILLE, 1856 —1863.
Positions Declined.-Predilections for the West.-Strong Call from Kentucky.
-Resignation of his Presidency at Hampden Sidney.-Presidency of
Transylvania University. —Scheme for a Normal School.-Inauguration.Auspicious Beginning.-Disappointments.-Resignation.-Called to the
Presidency of Centre College. —Inaugural Address.-Joint Pastorate in
Danville. - Successful Administration.- Trials and Conflicts. — Testimonial.
ON the organization of the Theological Seminary at Danville, in 1854, Dr. Green was the first choice of his ministerial
brethren in Kentucky for the chair of Biblical Literature in that
institution; and he would, no doubt, have been unanimously
elected to it by the General Assembly had not influential members of the Synod of Virginia, the friends of Hampden Sidney
College, interposed to retain him in the important position lihe
then occupied.  He was a Western man, and had never ceased
to feel the most lively interest in the cause of education and
religion at the West. He was a Kentuckian, and his residence
at the East had in no degree abated his attachment to the
people of his native State. All his sympathies and predilections would have strongly drawn him to a position so important and honorable as a professorship in the new seminary
located in the bosom of the Kentucky churches. But the call
of duty was urgent at Hampden Sidney.  The friends of that
institution prevailed, and the appointment was not made. He
had also, in 1853, promptly declined being re-elected to a professorship in the Allegheny Seminary, on the ground that he
could not leave Hampden Sidney. Still earlier, in 1850, he had
been the first choice of the Synod of Kentucky to fill its pro



52               CALLED TO KENTUCKY.
fessorship in the Theological Seminary at New Albany, which
position he had been strongly urged to accept, but had declined
on the same ground.
In the lapse of years, however, another call came to him
from Kentucky, which he felt it to be his duty to accept. It
seemed to open a door of extended usefulness, not often opened
to any man, and -he felt that through it he might, in all probability, accomplish the greatest work of his life. In 1856 the
Transylvania University at Lexington, the oldest collegiate
institution in the State, was re-organized by an act of the
Legislature of Kentucky, and in connection with it a normal
school for the education of teachers was established, as an indispensable auxiliary to the common school system of the State
The normal school was itself to be a part of the university,
forming one of five schools or departments, each having its
appropriate course of instruction, but all under the direction
of the faculty and trustees of the university.
It was a noble scheme. It looked as if Kentucky were about
to step forward on the high-road of popular education, and to
illustrate, in a new way, the fact that the schoolmaster is
abroad in the land. At the head of this important and most
promising movement the friends of education in Kentucky
desired to place a man of acknowledged ability and experience.
The choice fell on Dr. Green, whose learning, practical skill, and
enthusiasm in the cause of education, all singled him out as the
man for the place. He was accordingly elected president of
the institution. His old friends-many of them among the
most prominent men in the State urged his acceptance. Some
visited him in person to press the call. He was induced to
make a visit to Lexington and see the field for himself. The
visit was almost an ovation. Everybody urged him to return
to his native State and take a position which —thus placing
him at the head of its whole educational systemn-would put it
in his power to do incalculable good for all time to come.
Such a call he could not resist. Returning to Virginia he resigned the presidency of Hampden Sidney before the close of
the session of 1856.  Rev. Dr. R. L. Dabney, of the Theo



HIS WORK AT LEXINGTON.                 53
logical Seminary, agreed to take his place as temporary instructor and graduate the Senior Class of that year.
He removed to Lexington in August, and on the 18th of
November was inaugurated President of the Transylvania
University and the State Normal School. On this occasion,
in presence of a large concourse, Governor Charles Morehead,
ex-officio President of the Board of Trustees, addressed him
in these words of cordial welcome: "'On behalf of the
trustees, whose organ I am, under whose control the institution
has been placed, and by whom you have been unanimously
elected president, and may I not add also, on behalf of the
State of Kentucky, whose most cherished institution is sought
to be promnoted, I welcome you back to your native State, and
with a heart glowing with honest pride with the anticipation
of triumphant success, I congratulate you on the enlarged
sphere of usefiulness which is open before you." To this
kindly greeting Dr. Green responded, in words of deep
emotion, that for sixteen years he had been an exile friom his
native State, in no dishonorable exile it mwas true, but still that
he had always looked upon Kentucky as his home, and it was
with the most intense delight that he now girded himself for
the loved work of instructing her youth, and training them for
usefulness and honor. His whole address, delivered on the
occasion, was heard with rapt attention. It was one of his
happiest efforts, abounding in noble, patriotic sentiments, and
just views of the teacher's province, responsibility, and duties.
Hie entered upon his work at Lexington with his accustomed
zeal and energy. There had been much dissatisfaction and
discouragement previous to his arrival. But he at once infused
new life into the institution, and inspired its friends with the
highest hopes. Through the fall and winter he was kept exceedingly busy, maturing his plans for the Normal School, and
preparing to carry forward the great work, while from Sabbath
to Sabbath, not only at Lexington, but in other adjacent places,
he preached to large and delighted congregations. His pulpit
ministrations at this time were, in ability and eloquence, equal
to any of his life, and were universally admired. This was




54                  DISAPPOINTMENTS.
especially the case with a lecture on the " Immortality of the
Soul," which he delivered in many places with great effect,
but of which nothing remains among his manuscripts. Every
one was delighted with his administration of the institution.
In his letters of this period adverting to the fact that some
people had already begun to predict that they should do a
great work, he says-" But I do not wish to be high-minded,
but fear, and gratefully accept what God may mercifully send.
Our number is about 125 or 130, as many as I desire to start
with."  A month later, he writes —"I think I am giving universal satisfaction, and the college moves on beyond all expectation. But I have had first, great anxiety, and since, rather
too much applause." During these months also he set to work,
and secured the co-operation of the ministers and leading men
of the place, in a movement in behalf of the Temperance cause,
delivering an able lecture on the subject.
But this auspicious opening was destined to be followed by
disappointments of which no one then conceived. By one of
those strange freaks, or follies, of legislation, from which our
country has never been entirely exempt, the wise and noble
work thus begun was all reversed by the succeeding Legislature. This is not the place to discuss the causes, or reveal the
influences that led to so unlooked-for a result. Suffice it to
say, that the appropriation was withdrawn, the law was repealed, and the project of a Normal School, in connection with
university education abandoned. Seeing that the great object
for which he had come to Kentucky, and on which he had
labored in hope for nearly two years, was thus nipped in the
bud, and that now there could be little prospect of raising Transylvania University into a first-class institution, after all the
changes and disappointments of its past history, Dr. Green
felt himself at liberty to retire from the position, and accordingly resigned the presidency in the winter of 1857, on the passage of the bill which destroyed the Normal School.
He retired as one who felt that no responsibility of the failure rested on him or his friends. I-He had accepted the high
trust in good faith, had girded himself for a great and good




PRESIDENCY OF CENTRE COLLEGE.               55
work, and, in the brief space allotted, him, had accomplished
enough to show what he could have done, if opportunity had
been given. No part of his life had been more marked by
activity. Young men had been drawvn from all parts of the
State. The annual commencement had never been attended
with better success. And his whole instruction-in the university, as well as his preaching, had elicited the admiration of all
classes at Lexington. He was invited to preach in the churches
of all denominations in the city, where large audiences gathered
to hear him from Sabbath to Sabbath; and in the afternoon of
each Sabbath he preached in the chapel of the university. In
no sense had he failed. But through causes over which he had
no control, his beloved State had failed to secure a great
boon.
Dr. Green was elected President of Centre College, August
6, 1857, and on the 1st of January, 1858, entered upon his
appropriate duties, with strong hopes of usefulness and success. It was a position in every respect desirable, and one for
which his mature experience and his well-tried abilities amply
qualified him. It seemed to be a special distinction of Providence, and an omen of much good for the future, that he who
graduated with its first small class, should now return, so richly
furnished, to take charge of it as president. His inaugural
address was delivered before the Synod of Kentucky, at its
meeting in Lebanon, October 14, 1858. Like all his inaugural
discourses it was scholarly, sound in sentiment, eloquent in diction, and full of practical suggestions of great importance.
Centre College had thus far held an important place among
the educational institutions of the West. For-a quarter of a
century, and almost from  its foundation, it had stood as the
leading college of the Presbyterian Church in the West.
Under the long and faithful services of Dr. John C. YoungDr. Green's immediate predecessor at Danville-the institution
had been greatly prospered, and had risen to a position of comrnmanding influence in the church and in the country. All felt
that in Dr. Green it had secured a head worthy to succeed
those who had gone before, and competent to conduct it to still




56                  JOINT PASTORATE.
higher success. And it cannot be doubted that, but for the
disasters of the civil war which soon broke out, and almost disbanded its students, such would have been the result. As it
was, he was destined to labor on, amid trials and discouragements, for five years, until death arrested his useful labors.
In addition to the duties of his presidency, Dr. Green soon
became actively engaged in pastoral work at Danville. In
April, 1858, Dr. Alfred Ryers and himself received a joint call
to the Second Presbyterian Church of the place, and were associated as colleagues in tile pastoral care of that congregation.
HIere he preached with his usual power and success for several
years, until the church edifice was destroyed by fire, and the
congiegation was left without a house of worship. Afterward
the two congregations worshipped together in the building of
the First Church, of which Rev. Dr. Yantis was at that time
pastor, and with whom, after awhile, he also became associated
in preaching-officiating on alternate Sabbaths until his death,
though not installed as pastor of that church.
During the first years of his administration, the college made
steady progress, the number of students becoming greater than
it had ever been before, and the funds being also much
increased. But this prosperity and all his plains of usefulness
were sadly changed on the breaking out of the war. As the
crisis came on, and party lines began to be more strongly
drawn, he found difficulties and discouragrements which had not
been anticipated, and which severely tried his spirit. Thoughc
the prospect for the college was satisfactory and encouraging,
for the times, still he felt the want of that hearty co-operation
and appreciation of his services which had so cheered and sustained him at lIampden Sidney. It was under such impressions
that he penned the following lines to an intimate friend, "I
long for quiet and leisure for nobler objects, and am more than
half prepared to make my own definite arrangements to retire
from the field, when the college shall have become what they
call great, and devote my latter and best days to study and
writing in the vicinity of some foreign university.  Six years,
I think, will bring three hundred students to the college.




TRIALS AND CONFLICTS.                  5 7
When these six years of toil and conflict are accomplished,
what think you?  May I retire? I ask your opinion seriously,
but in entire confidence."
Nevertheless, "bating not a jot of heart or hope" in the
high endeavor to discharge his whole duty, he stood at his
post and worked on, steadily and perseveringly amidst increasing toil and conflict even to the end. The times were out of
joint, and even good men were unable to see eye to eye; but
God was on the throne, and he felt that no true work and
labor of love would lose its recompense. "How  we love to
remember that kind old man," says a pupil of these last years,
" as with his hair fast whitening, and even then enfeebled step,
he used to come through the Campus in the morning, and, with
smiles of recognition, the affectionate clasp of the hand, and
an anxious inquiry for our health, reply to our early salutations.
With bowed head and- dignified step he marches down the
aisle to his chair, his eagle eye scans each answering countenance at roll-call, and each absentee is marked for censure or
excuse. After reading some impressive lesson, as only he
could read, from the pages of Holy Writ, how eloquent was
his prayer for the spiritual and eternal welfare of his boyshow earnestly did he beseech God, that he would forgive the
many impenitent among us, make us sensible of our condition,
and turn all hearts heavenward! With what fervor did he
ask that teachers and pupils might be rendered faithful in the
discharge of their respective duties, that the seed might here
be scattered by diligent sowers, and falling into good ground,
in due season bear fruit a hundredfold!"
There was a singleness of aim in all the great purposes of
life, and he was true to it to the last. He had worked on different fields, and often far asunder, but in every office he had
filled, whether as an educator or a minister of God, the grand
purpose of all his exertions, the uniform pursuit of his life, had
been to disseminate among his fellow-citizens, and especially
among the educated youth of his country, a taste for solid and
sanctified learning, to carry education into religion, and religion into education, and to give to each its proper elevation
3*




58                    PURPOSE OF HIS LIFE.
in the public esteem, to reclaim the young men of his generation from all low and sordid interests, from all selfish and unhallowed ambitions, and to fix their minds on objects of a
nobler, even an immortal character. This was the key-note of
his life, and he was true to it to the last.
"OhI be it ours at life's blest close to stand,
Scarred though it be with sorrows, still erect
In harness to the last, raising our heads,
In the one battle-field, aloft to Thee I
Scourged, chastened, purified, and hearing now
The inner voices chanting victory I
Like some old warrior chief on his last field,
Dying with upturned face, and in his ears
An army's songs of triumph, heedless all
If so be the stern fight is won at last,
And his flag flies victorious in death I"




CHAPTER VIII.
DANVILLE, 1 86 3.
Last Sickness and Death.-Multiplied Labors.-The Church and College.Cause of his Illness.-Incessant Work.-The Closing Scene.-His Last
Sermons.-Increased Spirituality.-Intense Sympathies.-Letters on the
War.-Ministry of Love and Consolation.-His Funeral.-Burial.-Resolutions of his Church and of the Faculty.
DR. GREEN died as he had lived, in the midst of work.  His
last illness, which was sudden and of short duration, lasting less
than a week, found him at the post of duty, and with all his armor
on. He was filling an important and ever-widening sphere of
usefulness (all feeling that he was the right man in the right
place), dividing his time and energies between the duties of
instruction in the college, the preaching of the Gospel, and the
numerous calls of duty to the sick and dying around himwhen the summons came. Never, perhaps, in life had his
work been more pressing, his duties more multiplied, his
preaching more acceptable, and his whole intercourse with those
around him more blest of God, than during these last days at
Danville.  And when he fell in the midst of these useful labors
-his eye undimmed, and his natural force unabated-being
but in the fifty-eighth year of his age-many were the hearts
far and near, that deplored the loss.  How soon, and how suddenly was the strong staff broken and the beautiful rod.
HIe was taken sick on Thursday and died on the Tuesday
following-May 26, 1863.  It was soon after the terrible battle of Perryville, near Danville, when the college and the
churches of the place were turned into hospitals for the sick,
wounded, and dying soldiers; three thousand of whom, from
first to last, were brought there to be cared for.  For days
and nights his time and strength were devoted to the relief of




60                   LAST ILLNESS.
the sufferers-visiting the sick, ministering to the dying, burying the dead, and giving comfort and counsel to the living, and
at the same time carrying on his instructions in the college,
and preaching on the Sabbath. It was too much for his highly
wrought sensibilities. His physical system was overtaxed, and
fell an easy victim to disease in the almost pestilential condition
of the atmosphere then prevailing at Danville-his own residence being very near the college, which had been used as a
hospital by one army or the other for many months..On Thursday morning he was making a call at the house of a
friend, and complained of chilliness. The lady, observing his
pallor, offered to send him home in her carriage, but he declined,
saying that the walk in the fresh air and sunshine would warm
and revive him. His family were not at home, but one of his
daughters, reaching the house about fifteen minutes after him,
was met at the gate by a servant who begged her to hurry in,
as he was very sick. Physicians were summoned at once, and
quickly arrived; but he was already in a congestive chill. It
was a mortal illness from the first. That evening he became
delirious, and all through the night, and the next day and
night, he was in extreme agony. A second chill on Friday was
followed by paralysis, and he sank into a state of unconsciousness, from which he could be aroused only a few moments at a
time. Says the daughter who describes the scene: "I think
he must have had conscious intervals. I begged him if he
knew me to press my hand; instantly his fingers closed. on
mine, and for a moment he was convulsed in what seemed to
be an effort to make himself understood. Just at the last,
when no one supposed him conscious, some one mentioned his
absent wife and daughter, who were hurrying home but could
not reach him. His eye missed them; one tear trickled down
his cheek; it was wiped away; another came; it was all he
gave to earth. His face during the last day and night was
peaceful as an angel's, and in the morning of the resurrection
will hardly wear a more heavenly expression."
He was often urged by his family to leave Danville, at least
for a time, and get away from the poisoned atmosphere lie had




COLUSE OF HIS ILLNESS.               61
been so long breathing; for they saw that he was not well,
and was reeling under double burdens. To the expostulations
of friends and the rernonstrances of physicians he made but one
reply —-he felt himself in no danger, his duty required him to
remain at his post, the interests of the college demanded his
presence, especially as two of the professors were gone. The
exercises of the college were never suspended, though the
building was used as a hospital. It mattered not how great
was the excitement in the town, lie still went on with the
work of instruction, even supplying the place of the absent
teachers. He also continued to preach, although his clothing
would be drenched with perspiration after every effort; and to
teach, though often so unwell as to receive his classes in his
bedroom. Insensible still to his dangel, he remarked but a few
days before his sudden and fatal attack, that his brain had
never in his life been so clear and active, and that the only
effort required in preaching was to check the rush of thought
long enough to clothe it with expression. It is evident that
the feverish, excited condition of nerves and brain in which
he had been living for more than a year, the state of tension
in which his system was kept by the troubled condition of the
country, and the heavy draughts made upon his strength,
proved too much for the delicate frame, and he fell an easy
prey to the' malaria.
Instead of spending his vacations in quest of that rest and
relaxation which his system required, he had invariably kept
himself at work even when changing from place to place, either
raising college endowments, or pleading the cause of education
before the public, or preaching as opportunity offered. As a
consequence, preaching, talking, writing, travelling in behalf
of his work, formed a part of his regular summer recreations.
He enjoyed little of the repose needed to recuperate the
exhausted energies of so nervous a temperament. Not that he
was ever unduly urged to exertion of any kind; on the contrary, so warm  and tender was the interest he. excited, that
every influence was employed to induce him to treasure his
strength. His activity both mental and physical was so great,




(32               INCESSANT ACTIVITY.
that he did not in fact knowv how to stop, and had never
trained himself to the habit of taking refreshing rest. VWork
had become the law of his being, and he would continue to work
till he sank from exhaustion. This was the case to the last.
The warning example of others, and the repetition of violent
attacks of illness produced no effect. He was deceived as to
his own strength. He would not have wasted life, had he seen
what he was doing. To no man was earth more beautiful,
life, with home, and kindred, and fiiends, and country more
dear. He did not know that the spirit had triumphed over its
frail tenement, and was chafing to be free. He imagined all
was well, because his mind was so clear and worked so vigorously. And the stroke that felled him was so quick and sharp,
that no time was given to be undeceived.
Every thing around him contributed to the heavy drain upon
his mind, his thoughts, and his sympathies. While his own
heart was troubled and saddened almost to breaking at the
prospect of a still further protraction of the dreadful civil war,
he was the comforter to whom sorrowing fiiends and neighbors turned for consolation in those dark sad days. Only a
few days before his illness, he called to see a lady who was in
deep distress; and when struck with his feeble and tired
appearance, she inquired, "HIow are you, this morning, doctor?"  "Faint, yet pursuing, madam; faint, yet pursuing;"
was his characteristic reply. The answer seemed but a fitting
epitome of his life. " About this time," says his daughter —the
one who was with him in his last illness, and shared so deeply
in all his thoughts and feelings, " I attended with him the
funeral of an old fiiend, and remember, during the plrayer
offered by another minister, the pang that shot through me, as
my eyes unconsciously rested on the face of my father. He
was sitting with his eyes closed and his head thrown back and
resting upon the folding doors that separated the rooms. Who
will be next? flashed through my mind. I did not think of
hirm in that connection. I only saw there was too little of the
earthly in his countenance, and too much of that which, resting
on it as a halo of spiritual beauty, lured my mind to another




LAST SERMONS.                    63
world; and it gave me pain; I could not tell why. But the
thought that he would be taken so soon could find no entrance
to my mind."
It is interesting in this connection to notice the tone and character of Dr. Green's pulpit ministrations, as he approached the
terminus of life. From the very opening of the war, there was
a marked change in his preaching. It savored less of the things
of time, and more of the great things of eternity. Onward
through the stormy days of 1862 and 1863, even to the close
of life, it became more and more spiritual, more and more
evangelical and pungent. He preached as one standing on the
borders of the eternal world, awed, subdued, and chastened by
the judgments of the Almighty which were abroad in the land.
His office as an educator had led him through life, to preach
much in behalf of great temporal interests, education, the advancement oflearning, philosophy, science, literature, liberty, and
the well-being of the common country. But now his thoughts
were chiefly bent on the grand essentials of the cross, and the
necessity of a holy life, and preparation to stand before God.
At the time of his death he was engaged in delivering a series
of discourses on the Last Judgment. The very last sermon he
preached was on the text, " Stand in awe, and sin not," which
well defines the general tenor and aim of all his sermons during
these closing years of his ministry.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. But this good man,
humbled, appalled, and overwhelmed by the judgments of the
Almighty upon his beloved country, and upon the people whom
he had labored so long to elevate and bless, now set himself to
the task of preaching to them the unsearchable riches and the
consolations of Christ. The exceeding sinfulness of sin, God's
hatred of and determination to punish it, Christ the strong
tower of defence against all human calamities, Christ the
Rock of Ages in whose cleft the bleeding hearts around him
might find safety; Christ the great Physician of souls, the tender Shepherd, the gentle Saviour, the living friend; Christ
the shadow -of a great rock in a weary land, the refuge from
the windy storm and tempest; Christ, when there is sorrow




64                    LAST LETTERS.
upon the sea, and the troubled waters cannot rest-became the
ceaseless and all-absorbing burden of his message. " Not often,"
says one who heard him at this time, "do we listen to such
tender entreaty, to such melting appeals, to such thundering
denunciation of sin, and such searching of the heart, laying
bare its secrets as by sheet lightning, and flashing through the
soul some awed sense of its actual depravity. And through
the whole, it seemed as if this earth was not his home. Even
then his pure soul was pluming its pinions for the heavenly
flight."
His letters to his family and friends during this period, were
filled with remarks upon the war and the condition of the
country.  With a full foresight of the evils which were coming,
he counselled moderation and forbearance, one toward another,
and sought to prepare all hearts for the worst by drawing them
more closely to Christ. In a letter to a brother minister written only a few months before his death, describing the fearful
calamities of the times, he says-" What shall the Christian
minister do? Bow in awe, in penitence, in deep sorrow and
compassion for his race, in earnest prayer, and humble trembling trust, before God. Pity — sincerely, tenderly, forgivingly
pity —the madness of the people; partake none of their mutual
hatred; love and pray for all; preach Christ more than ever.
Surely, it becomes us now, as ministers, more than ever to
preach Christ and him crucified, solemnly, earnestly, affectionately, simply, exclusively, seeing the time is short." To an
absent daughter, he writes in the same spirit. "I think much
and anxiously about. you; but what a blessing it will be, if
these passing'troubles lead us to cling closer to the cross and
the Saviour. It is not easy to withdraw our minds from the
merely worldly view of the calamities, national and individual;
but it is possible, and I often get a more solemn view of God's
providential government, and the dreadful evil of sin, from
these than from any other source. But then, there is a sweet peace
in feeling that we are in his hands, and that all his purposes
toward us are love. I was filled with deep horror at the sentiments expressed, by men of all classes, on the cars and at




ON THE WA R.                  65
hotels. Ruthless vengeance, total extermination, they say, is
becoming the general feeling.'It is working admirably,'
said a man,'toward  that point.'  God sometimes allows
such fiendish purposes to prevail: but never without tenfold
retribution. Amidst these horrors present and prospective,
let us flee to our sure refuge, until these calamities be overpast."
In a letter to his daughter written a few months before his
death, and in the prospect of seeing Kentucky soon the seat of
war, he writes-" In this awful visitation we must recognize
the hand of a righteous and terrible God, and bow in penitence
and reverence before him, pitying our poor fallen race, and
trembling in view of His judgments when abroad in the land.
What may fall on any of us at any time no man can foresee.
To one who abhors and pities the madness of both parties, and
sees in the success of either, only a different form  of ruin;
silence and sorrow are the only course left open. Pray for
this land bleeding by the wounds her own sons have inflicted,
and for the chureh distracted and rendered worldly, and sinners perishing without thought of God. Let these scenes be
but sanctified to make us better and wiser."
In letters to his wife, written about this time, he unbosoms
his feelings still more fully, showing what position he occupied,
and with what spirit he sought to discharge the sacred functions of his ministry, even to the last. To Mrs. Green he
writes, "Civil war in Kentucky is now, I fear, inevitable.
We ought to realize its enormous evil and sin, but not exaggerate them; above all, not aggravate them, in our own circle,
by partaking in its passions, or irritating, uselessly, either of the
parties. All reasoning in such cases is folly; we must accept
the situation and be concerned only to do our duty. Of the
terrible times which are coming, and are even now come, I
think Christian duty, and ordinary Christian feeling and discretion, suggest the following plain and undoubted principles
for the guidance of our course. First, very solemnly (and the
more solemnly the more calmly) realize the full measure of the
evil that is upon us, and stand in awe, deep awe and reveren



66                CHRISTIAN SENTIMENTS.
tial submission, before God; and thus prepare to stand in our
lot, and serve our generation, according to the will of God —
quietly, prayerfiully, cheerfully. I am persuaded we have seen
but the beginning of evil, and if there be any substance in us,
by grace or nature, now is the occasion to exercise and prove it.
Let petty troubles and grievances real or imaginary be forgotten, or spurned away, amidst these appalling dangers to all.
Second, partake not at all in the passions of either party. Both
are wrong in many points —altogether wrong in their mutual
hatred.  But a mad bull would not be more impervious to reason, or more ferocious in his resentment of any interference,
than both, and with equal sincerity. For each can make good
a long, black catalogue of wrong things done by the leaders or
zealots of the other side. Pity, forgiveness, wonder, sadness,
and sincere sympathy with all the sufferers on either side, are
the only emotions which one untainted with the poison can
properly feel. Things must now run their course; and it is the
most childish imbecility to fiet or repine, or attempt to influence that course. Amidst much that I could have wished otherwise, yet I cannot but consider the men who adhere to the
Union, and the repeated decisions of the majority of our people,
as the safest and best.  But do not argue, do not resent, all
are mad. There is but one thing left for me, for us —to soothe
by gentleness and love these asperities of feeling; to learn and
lay to heart the stern but necessary lesson God is teaching us,
and so to adorn the doctrine of the Saviour, that when (if in
our life) these calamities are over-past, we may have the love
and confidence of all."'
The foregoing extracts, which might have been largely
increased, will be sufficient to illustrate his sentiments and feelinlgs as he beheld the dark clouds of war gathering thicker and
thicker over his beloved country. If ever an American bosomn
beat with a pure and lofty patriotism  it was his. Next to his'
devotion to the church of God was his attachment to this l:lnd
of his birth.  But ere these portentous clouds were broken,
his tried and sorrowing spirit had passed to a world where sin
and sorrow are unknown.




LAST WORKS OF LOVE.                  67
If' it be indeed the crowning galory of the just, that his path
shilleth brighter and brighter to the perfect clay, that blessed
and glorious distinction was his. It was a source, not only of
gratitude, but of sweet delight to his family and fiiends, to
know that the purity and elevation of his character shone resple!ndently in the extreme hour of test and trial.  When
Kentucky was convulsed with dissensions in every church,
every neighborhood, and almost every family, to a degree of
which the united North and united South knew but little, that
wisdom which cometh down from above, which is first pure,
and then peaceable, gentle and easy to be entreated, shed its
mild radiance over the closing days of a life ended in storms.
Shaking from himself the dust of the strife, and girding on
afresh his spiritual armor, refusing to echo the violence of any
party, and letting his moderation be known to all men, he
went in and out amid the fierce partisans, calming the bitterness, and softening the asperities of faction, and curbing, not
ministering to, the conflicting passions of an excited community, comforting the bereaved of all classes, soothing the suffering and afflicted, and arousing the souls around him to some
vivid conception of the awful judgments of God. Such was
the work —such the blessed ministry of love and mercy in
which this great and good man spent his last days on earth,
wore his life away, and fell as the true soldier of Christ would
ever wish to fall, a martyr to duty.
The funeral services at his death were held in the First Presbyterian Church of Danville, attended by a large concourse of
citizens, and the students and faculties of the college and theological seminary. An appropriate and eloquent discourse, from
the text, " I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith," was preached by the Rev. Robert G.
Brank, of Lexington, in which, after recounting the distinguished services, the varied learning, the shining virtues and
eloquence of the deceased, the preacher made a touching application to the members of the church of which he had once been
pastor, and to the students of the college over which he had so
lately presided. Rev. Win. J. MIcKnight, the acting pastor of




68                     FUNERAL SERVICES.
the church, also took part in these funeral services.  At the
conclusion of these impressive solemnities at the church, an
immense procession of persons in carriages, on horseback, and
on foot, followed his mortal remains to the grave, all the business houses of the place being closed.  His body was laid to
rest in the cemetery at Danville, there to await the resurrection of the blest. To the college, to the church, to the community, to the State, the loss was great, to his family irreparable.
But to him the change was eternal gain. "And I heard a
voice from heaven, saying unto me, write, Blessed are the dead
which die in the Lord, from  henceforth, yea, saith the Spirit,
that they may rest fiom their labors, and their works do follow
them."
A few weeks after his death, a public meeting of the Second
Presbyterian Church of Danville, of which he had been pastor,
was held to express their sense of the bereavement, and their
grateful appreciation of his services.  A minute was adopted,
which after reciting the principal events of his life, and the
several offices he had held, in different parts of the country,
closes with the following paragraph and resolutions:" Few ministers of the Gospel in our country have held so large a number of
important, useful, and responsible positions. It is to be especially noticed that
he abandoned those previously occupied, to accept one still more important,
only at the call of the Synod to which he belonged, or that of the General
Assembly, or of the trustees of the public institutions in which he spent the
greater part of his life in the service of education, both secular and theological.
Therefore,
"Resolved, 1st. That in the death of the Rev. Lewis W. Green, D. D., the
Presbyterian Church of the United States has lost one of its ablest, most honored, and most useful ministers-one who had spent a whole life-time in
the service of the educational interests of the church, and the training of young
men for the Gospel ministry.
" 2d. That the congregation mourn his loss as an able, faithful, and eloquent
preacher of the Gospel, and as far as his official duties permitted, a sympathizing and diligent pastor, ever ready to administer comfort to the afflicted, and
instruction to those needing or desiring it.
" 3d. That they tender to his family their tenderest sympathy and condolence for his death, especially under circumstances so peculiarly trying and
painful."




RESOLUTIONS ON  HIS DEATH.                       6 9
The following paper from  the records of the college may be
subjoined, as serving to  show the estimation in which he was
held by his colleagues of the faculty.
"At a meeting of the Faculty of Centre College, held May 28, 1863, the
following Preamble and Resolutions were adopted:
" Whereas an all-wise though mysterious Providence has seen fit to remove
from us, by death, the Rev. L. W. Green, D. D., for nearly six years the President of this institution; therefore,
"Resolved, That in this dispensation of Divine Providence we recognize the
will of HIim, whose ways are not as our ways; whose path is in the great waters,
and whose footsteps are not known.
" Resolved, That in the removal of the Rev. Dr. Green from the superintendence of this institution, Centre College has lost one of its oldest and warmest
friends; one who had devoted himself to the furtherance of its welfare as, next
to the preaching of the Gospel, the great work of his life, and one whose labors,
during the brief period so suddenly terminated, had been eminently successful
in the promotion of its interest.
"Resolved, That Dr. Green is entitled to the grateful remembrance of the
friends of Centre College for the wisdom with which, especially in the time of
trial through which the institution has recently been called to pass, he guided
its course amidst surrounding difficulties; and for the cheerfulness with which
he undertook and discharged duties that doubled his labors as an instructorlabors which, we fear, must have overtasked the energies of his exhausted
frame.
"Resolved, That while we profoundly feel the loss which the College, the
Church, and the Community have sustained in the decease of Rev. Dr. Green,
we cherish also the conviction, that, released as he has been from a life of
labor, cheerfully undertaken and faithfully performed in the service of God,
ours only is the loss and his the infinite reward.
" Resolved, That we tender to the family of Dr. Green the assurance of our
deepest sympathy in their sudden and sore bereavement; while we pray that
the God of all comfort would sustain them with the consolations that transcend
all human sympathies.
"Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be transmitted to the family of
Dr. Green."




CHAPTER IX.
Review of his Public Services.-Estimate of his Preaching.-Prominent Traits
of Character.-His Fervor.-High Sense of Honor.-Conscientiousness.His Beneficence.-His Learning and Eloquence.-His Excellence as an
Instructor.-Influence as a College President. —Testimony of Dr. Dabney.-His Strong Points.-His Elevated Tastes and Studies.-His Love of
Books. —His Religious Devotion.-Personal Appearance.-His Polished
Manners.-Easy Address. —Tact in Conversation.-Ministries of Love
and Mercy.
THE foregoing narrative of Dr. Green's career will be sufficient
to show in what demand his services were held by the public,
and what reputation he had won, both as a preacher and a
practical educator.  His career began and ended at Danville,
but between its opening and its close it had swept a wide compass of usefil labors.  He had strong personal altitudes and
affinities for -the pastoral office, and loved above all things the
work of preaching the Gospel.  But God had led him through
a long period into fields of labor where teaching, rather than
preaching, was his immediate business. With the exception
of his brief pastorate at Baltimore, for thirty years he was
constantly engaged in the active service of instruction, either
as a professor or as president of some institution of learning.
During all this time, he never ceased to exercise the appropriate functions of his ministry.  Few men preached more.  And
when he did preach, it was on the essential doctrines and duties
of the Gospel, which he pressed with all his might on the consciences of men.  Considering the amount of time he spent in
the work of teaching, and considering also the state of his
health, which was never robust, his ministry was a laborious
one; and it cannot be doubted that it was the means of turning
many to righteousness.
But it was chiefly through the responsible positions he occu



ESTIMATE OF HIS PREACHING.               71
pied in colleges and seminaries that he exerted, both as an
educator and a minister, his most important influence upon the
church and the country.
By all who knew him, he was regarded as one of the strong
men of the church, competent to represent and defend her,
whether from the pulpit or the press. His learning was accurate and extended, the result of careful reading and constant
reflection, early begun and long continued. Far more than is
usual in the ministry, he ranged beyond the limits of professional study, keeping himself fully abreast with the science and
literature of the times. Whenever he preached he was listened
to with rapt attention by crowded audiences, especially by the
educated classes, and by young men, who were attracted by
the originality and grandeur of his conceptions, the startling
boldness of his imagery, and the enthusiastic ardor of his manner. He was a man who could do nothing by halves, could say
nothing by halves. His convictions of truth and duty were all
positive-all clear, settled, immovable. The truth with him
was all and every thing.  When he took his position on
any subject, he was ready to maintain it against all the world.
His moral courage was of the highest order, because founded
on the most intense convictions of truth. He had much of the
ingenzimn peIfervidctm Scotorton. No man perhaps ever held
his opinions with a firmer grasp, or expressed them in a tone
of more absolute assurance. There was an elevation of tone, a
certain loftiness of view, a range and grandeur of thought, in
all his public performances, and even in his daily conversation,
which indicated a mind in perpetual communion with the great
things of God's salvation.
These and other striking characteristics, with his large sympathies, his gospel unction, and his impassioned, extemporaneous delivery, rendered him at all times a popular and much
admired preacher. All who heard him, recognized at once a
man of superior intellect, and a minister not unworthy of his
high vocation as God's ambassador. He had an inexhaustible
flow both of thought and diction. His style was diffuse, classic,
ornate, and full of those forms of expression which m1arked the




72               TRAITS OF CHARACTER.
play of a vivid imagination.  His mind teemed with images of
grandeur. His fertile, brilliant fancy, revellinlg, as with a poet's
or an artist's eye, on scenes of sublimity and beauty, gave a
gorgeous coloring to his language, and at times seemed almost
to overshadow his other faculties.  By some, this was regarded
as a fault, and as scarcely in keeping with the simplicity of the
pulpit. A severe critic can no doubt find something to disapprove on this score in his published sermons. But it must be
borne in mind, that the lofty and gorgeous diction which
marked his pulpit performances, was in harmony with the magnificent themes which he handled, and the wealth of thought
which he lavished upon them.  We can forgive a fault of mere
taste, when it stands in the presence of so many substantial
excellences. They are but spots on the sun. In the language
of one who knew and loved him well-" He was a man of
genius, of learning and piety, eminently a good man, thougl
subject to the detects and faults of fervid genius and brilliant fancy.
Nothing perhaps was more prominent in the whole career of
Dr. Green, than his high sense of honor, his superiority to every
thing mean and selfish, and his large-hearted beneficence. He
sometimes failed to be appreciated by the selfish and ambitious,
just because they could not comprehend the purity and elevation of his motives. They thought him an abstractionist or a
visionary, only because he was living so far above the range of
worldly men. Yet his extreme conscientiousness and adherence to principle, never unfitted himn for the practical duties of
life, or interfered in the least with the genial flow of all those
social and domestic virtues which made his intercourse deliglhtful to all his friends. He was as practical as lie was conscientious. He lived in the world, though not of it, and far above
it. Faithfulness to God as a steward, the most uncompromising faithfulness in the discharge of duty, even in that which is
least, was one of the cardinal virtues of his life. When he
was a mere youth, his scrupulous honesty displayed itself, in
causing twenty dollars to be returned to a man fiom whom an
agent had purchased a horse for him that much below the




HIS FERVID ELOQUENCE.                 73
value. Having inherited an estate which he regarded as a
competency, he determined, after entering the ministry, to
devote the whole income received from the church for his services, to beneficent purposes. This decision he carried out with
faithful exactness. When necessity compelled him to use for
private purposes any part of his salary, he would in the following year or years refund through some channel all that
had been thus temporarily appropriated; and so well did he
balance his accounts with his Master, that a few months before
his last illness he informed one of his children, that of all he
had ever received in the world, whether from a salary or other
sources, one-half had been given in one form or another to the
church. This large and long-continued beneficence, as unostentatious as it was unusual, demonstrates how unselfish and
complete had been his consecration to God.
By his scholarly culture, his enthusiastic zeal in the cause of
education, and his impressive eloquence in the pulpit, Dr.
Green was eminently fitted to fill the position of president of
a college. He had the important gift, essential to all successfiul educators, of imparting his own enthusiasm to his pupils.
He took large and exalted views of truth and duty, appealing to every manly and noble sentiment, and clothing his
thoughts in a style of sublimity and beauty well calculated to
strike the ingenuous minds of youth. The fine play of his prolific imagination, the bold, fiee, extemporaneous delivery, the
rich exuberance of his matter, rendered his preaching as well
as his lectures exceedingly attractive to his students. He
loved his high vocation as a minister of God; he also loved and
magnified his office as an instructor of youth. In enthusiastic
ardor for the higher learning, in the ability to communicate
that ardor to the minds of others, and in his warm fellow-feeling for the young, no man in our country has perhaps ever
excelled himl. His pupils at Hampden Sidney and at Danville
loved him like a father. And the secret of their affection was
that he regarded and treated them as if they had been his sons.
He won the good, he both conquered and won the bad, by
kindness. He well expressed his theory on this point, when
4




7 4              ABILITY AS A TEACHER.
he once asked, concerning the qualifications of certain teachers,
whether they could love a boy in all his badness?  These
diversified gifts and attainments-his great thoughts, lofty
diction, impassioned oratory, intense convictions, bold imagery,
strong enthusiasm, accurate scholarship, wide range of reading,
deep earnest voice, and ready willingness to enter into conversation, and pour out instruction on almost every branch of
science, literature, and art-altogether, made him  one of the
most entertaining of men to those who were under him in. the
capacity of learners. In the teacher they always found the
sympathizing  friend  and the genial companion.  In the
preacher they beheld a living model of high Christian charactea, of every generous liberal sentiment, of every manly and
noble virtue. Few  college presidents have ever been more
sincerely loved, more ardently and reverently admired by his
alumni than Dr. Green. They saw in him  only the -great,
good, and true man, whose highest aim was to train them for
usefulness here and immortality hereafter.
Rev. Dr. R. L. Dabney of the Union Theological Seminary,
Virginia, speaking of the time he was President of Hampden
Sidney, gives the following estimate of him: "As a teacher,
Dr. Green was undoubtedly able, animated, and successful.
Hle aroused and elevated the faculties of his pupils. As a
preacher, he was often very eloquent. He always preached
without written preparation. His style was ambitious, and his
elocution ardent. He more often fell short of' his full force
(when he did fall short) from this cause; namely —his ardent
disposition led him to enlarge too much on the introductory
parts; so that he consumed his time and strength, and was
sometimes obliged rather to huddle up the more important
parts near the close.  But his preaching was often truly
fine."
The strong points in Dr. Green's character, both as a man
and a minister, shining out in all his intercourse with God and
his fellow-men, and distinguishing his whole public and private
life, might be sunlmed up in the following: an intense collsciousness of his responsibility to God, a realizing assurance of




TASTES AND STUDIES.                   75
the shortness of life, the nearness of eternity, the existence of
heaven and hell, a stern and uncompromising sense of duty on
the ground of principle, and an overflowing  tenderness, sympathy, and love for every thing around him-his family, his
pupils, the people of his charge, the whole brotherhood of mankind. His wealth of affection, of all gentle, generous, and
kindly feelings, was equal to his wealth of thought. As a
pastor and an educator, he was to all under his care a father
and a friend; while in his own domestic circle, no man could
more fully exemplify the sacred relations and endearments of
the Christian home.
One featiure, already adverted to, in Dr. Green's character
that impressed itself upon every one who carne into d-aily contact with him, or even conversed with him  or heard him
preach but once, was the peculiar elevation of his milnd. He
seemed to live and move in an atmosphere of great ideas and
of noble sentiments. He had a keen eye for the sublime and
beautiful in nature, in art, in revelation; and his enjoyment was
exquisite, whether gazing in his lonely walks on the wonderful works of God in nature, or holding converse in his study
with the mighty dead of other ages through productions of
human genius, or, rising still higher, to communion with God
as he contemplated the unsearchable riches of the sacred
word. It is difficult, by any mere description, to give to one
who did not know him, a just conception of this uniform elevation. In the pulpit, the moment he began to speak, he lifted
his hearers above the level of the common-place, and they felt
that they were on a new track and higher ground. The topic
might be old, but the method was new: the argument, the
illustration, the handling all new. In conversation, especially
with scientific persons who could appreciate the subjects, his
thought and diction assumed the same elevated cast. And in
such discussions he found intense enjoyment.
Nowhere, however, did he find a keener delight than when
alone in his study. There, surrounded by his books, he thought
out and prepared those trains of argumentation and appeal
which were to be reproduced in the pulpit and the class-room,




76           IKEY-NOTE OF HIS PREACHING.
and occasionally to appear in his educational and religious
discourses. His study was a sanctuary consecrated to thought,
consecrated to communion with his books and with God. He
handled a book with the tender carefulness of a mother handling her child. It was an object of love, almost of reverence.
IHe never marred its fresh beauty. Thougoh deeply and often
studied, there was nothing save an occasional pencil-mark, to
indicate that it had ever been opened. There were probably
few better private collections in the country.  His library comnprised more than three thousand volumes, selected by himself
with much care, and consisting largely of German, French, and
choice classical works, with the standard English authors in
science and literature.
But the fire that glowed so ardently in this sanctuary was
not kindled at the altars of human genius and learning alone.
He was a man of prayer, and held daily communion with his
God and Saviour. He had learning, he had eloquence, but above
all he had piety, kindled and sustained at the cross. He had
the heart of love, the unction of the Divine Spirit.  It was
consecrated talent that gave power to his life and ministry.
In a sermon on the parable of the talents, he struck the keynote of all his preaching, and all his educational labors, in the
following emphatic words: " If in this land of unfettered freedom and overflowing prosperity, there be one necessity more
urgent than all others, it is the demand for holy talent, the
necessity for consecrated learning.  It is that men should rise
up on our soil, strong in native intellect, rich in acquired
learning, filled with thie spirit of the Lord, to walk boldly forth
over the whole field of human science, gathering its scattered
riches, digging deep for its precious ole, and from the Babel of
discordant opinions drawing fresh materials to build up in new
glory the temple of the Lord."
These were not words that should serve merely as a signboard to direct others. They were words of which his own
life was the illustration. He preached and practised the Bible
doctrine of consecration in its integrity.  We have already seen
and noted his struggles with the spirit of worldly ambition,




PERSONAL APPEARANCE.                   77
how first one and then another cup of hope and expectation
was dashed from his lips, before he could make the surrender
which conscience demanded. But from that time no part of
the price was kept back. The decision was unreserved, complete. Life, health, substance, all he had, and all he was, gold,
frankincense, and myrrh, whatever is costliest and most pleasant, all were brought to the feet of Jesus. And now looking
back over his laborious, faithful, and sometimes tearfull life, so
fraught with patience and self-sacrifice, so chastened by suffering, so subdued to the humility of the Gospel, and so elevated
to its grandeur, we may say of him without sacrilege, that the
zeal of God's house hath consumed him.
In personal appearance Dr. Green was a man of medium
stature, erect and well proportioned, though rather spare in
flesh, of unpretending manners, with bright dark eyes, a highly
intellectual face, his dark hair slightly waving and revealing
an expansive brow. His countenance, except as it was lighted
up in the glow of animated conversation, and the pleasant and
playful pastimes of social and domestic life, which had an unusual charm for him, wore an expression of gravity and profound
meditation, as of a man whose mind was habitually engaged
on the grand themes and problems of human knowledge. This
was his aspect in the repose of silent and thoughtful study.
Bat he could easily unbend and disport himself. In the bosom
of his family, when conversi-ng with his children or intimate
fiiends, and in the social circle, when stimulated by the presence of cultivated people, his face would light up as with a
gleam of sunshine, his eye tvwinkle with huimor, and his whole
conversation would sparkle with flashes of wit and joyousness.
On rising to speak also before an audience, his countenance
was often flushed with the intense excitement of his intellectual
and moral powers. In the prlogress of discourse his whole form
and features seemed to glow and dilate to the utmost, under
the kindling emotions which filled and fired his soul. On such
themes as man's immortality, and the redemption of the cross,
when excited by the presence of a large audience, he often
preached like one inspired.




'78               POLISHED MANNERS.
Dr. Green was a noble type of the gentleman, and that in
the highest and best sense of the word. He left this impression on all who knew him. And there was another characteristic about as strongly marked. He was a noble type of the
Christian. It is in no spirit of mere eulogy that this statement
is made. All who ever came in contact with him long enough
to see what he was, and were themselves capable of appreciating such qualities, know that the statement is the simple
truth.  There was a tone of gentility and refinement in his
address, which gave him easy access to ladies and gentlemen
of the highest social standing, and attracted such persons to
his friendship and to his pulpit ministrations. Wherever he
lived-in Pittsburgh, in Baltimore, in Virginia, in Kentuckyand wherever he travelled, he mingled freely with the leading
people of the country, and found associates in men of science,
in members of the learned professions, and in the statesmen of
the land, not less than among his own brethren of the ministry,
and other classes of society. And as to the depth, earnestness,
and sincerity of his religion-probably there never was a man
who could doubt it, unless it was himself. To any suggestion
of unworthy means or ends, his invariable reply was in these
simple but weighty words, " Honesty-humble, downright,
pious honesty-is the only pledge of success, I mean permanent
success."
In the intercourse of society, Dr. Green's manner was polished and affable in the highest degree. His kind feeling and
his easy pleasant address, enabled him to approach all classes
of people, and he lost no opportunity of doing them good, by
speaking a good word for his Master. With a deep insight
into human nature, and a nice sense of propriety, he at once
won upon the good will of the persons he met, and ere they
were aware he had them  engaged in a conversation about
spiritual things. Among his happiest traits was the wonderful
facility he possessed of bringing the subject of personal religion
home to people without giving offence. The subject was so
familiar to him, that he would introduce it, and press it in the
most natural and pleasant manner ilnaginable, without a shadow




CONVERSATIONAL POWERS.
of the stiffness and effort that so often embarrass attempts
of the kind, made with the best intentions. Even in promiscuous society, if the opportunity presented itself, the tact with
which he would turn conversation into that channel was so
remarkable, that it seemed as if nothing else could have been
expected of him, and that it was the most natural and proper
thing for him to talk on the subject, and would be for everybody else if equally gifted.  His fine address gave him great
ascendency over the young, and was especially useful in his
intercourse with the gay and worldly.  Having mastered them
with their own weapons of wit or logic, the gravity and
earnestness with which he would urge his advantage, never
failed to leave a deep imlpression of the man and his religion,
and very happy were the results in many instances of this
way-side preaching.  He was often grieved and surprised at
the reluctance of professing Christians to dwell on these topics.
-le used to say that the very mention of heaven seemed to
scare some very good people almost out of their senses.
Another beautiful trait of his character was that which shone
forth in his visits to the house of suffering and sorrow. He had
known what it was to wrestle with doubts and fears and manifold temptations, and from his own deep experience, he knew
how to comfort the mourning, the despondent, the tempesttossed soul. A son of thunder in the pulpit, when denouncing
CGod's law against iniquity, he was equally a son of consolation
at the bedside of the suffering and the dying. That deep
spirituality which diffused itself through all the associations of
life, and permeated his whole nature as a vital, controlling
principle, made itself felt with wondrous power during seasons
of bereavement and affliction, in instructing, sustaining, and
comfbrting the weak, the wavering, the bereaved, and the
dying.  Many a sinking saint, many a broken-hearted mourner,
many Xa conscience-stricken and trembling sinner, did he cheer
in the hour of anguish, and inspire with new hopes by his
fatherll counsels, his earnest prayers, his faithful presentation
of Gospel truth, and his voice of sympathy and love. And
never duriniog lhis whole earthly pilgrimage did these character



80                     LAST DAYS.
istics appear in greater perfection than during those last sad
days at Danville, when he went the rounds of his daily nlinistries of mercy among the sick and dying, telling of the love of
Jesus, and pointing the trembling soul to that heaven to which
he himself so soon ascended. His last days were his best and
brightest —having least of earth, and most of heaven. His
career, in its ending, was like the setting sun, which, large and
full-orbed, shines with its softest loveliest light as it leaves
the world.




CHAPTER X.
Dr. Green in his Family. —Members of his Home Circle.-The Husband and
Father.-Intensity of his Affections.-Picture of Domestic Happiness.Description by Dr. Foote.-AMrs. Green.-Poetry.-Education of his Daughters. —Religious Character of his Correspondence.-Beautiful Letters.
THus far we have contemplated the character of Dr. Green
chiefly as it appeared in his public and official relations. After
tracing his early history, and his introduction to the ministry,
we have seen him successively in the pulpit, in the professor's
chair, in the pastoral office; and have pointed out his work as
a preacher, as a theological teacher, and as president of three
different colleges.
But any account of such a man would be imper-ect without
bringing into view those qualities which found their development in the more private relationships of life.  It is not idle
curiosity, but a natural and useful instinct, which prompts us
to follow a good man into his domestic retreats, to look in upon
the home circle, and see how he appeared to those who knew
him best.  Where dwellest thou? was an inquiry made even
of the Master.  In the present case there are ample materials
for a full and distinct portraiture of Dr. Green's whole interior
life, as it manifested itself in his daily intercourse with those
nearest him, in the innumerable courtesies and graces that
distinguish the Christian father, husband, and friend.
His immediate family consisted of his life's companion and
two daughters, who all survived him. He had never lost any
children.  No man could have been more blest in his household.  From the first hle felt the deepest interest in the education and the spiritual welfare of his daughters.  His letters to
them, when absent at school, are filled with advice and direction about their studies, and breathe most earnest prayers for
their salvation.  Though he had them  trained in the best
4*




82                   DOMESTIC LIFE.
schools of' the country, he was himself, to a degree not often
equaled, their intellectual instructor and their spiritual guide.
And he had the unspeakable joy of seeing them both at an
early age members of the Presbyterian Church.
It was, indeed, in the sanctuary of home, when surrounded
by his family and firiends, that Dr. Green's character shdne with
peculiar lustre. His house was his Eden, and he threw over it
the joyous radiance of his own loving nature. His children
grew up to be his companions, and he entered into their feelings, sports, and studies with all the tenderness of parental
affection. Nothing could exceed the intensity with which he
loved them, and the attachment with which he bound them to
himself in return.  That intense and sacred affection with
which, from infancy, he had cherished the memory of his
sainted mother, when he became a husband and a father,
seemed to be the very type and measure of the feelings which
clustered around all the loved ones at home. His studies, his
letters, his prayers, all bore witness to the fervor of his love
for those whom Providence had committed to his care. Those
gentle graces and virtues which in all his intercourse in the
wider circles of society made him the agreeable companion and
the whole-hearted friend, assumed their intensest glow and
wore their most graceful drapery in the home circle, and made
him the life and joy of his household.
We may not intrude too far into the sacred sanctuary of
domestic life, even to draw a picture of more than usual
loveliness.  His private letters when from home, to the different members of his family, reveal a tenderness of love, a
watchfulness of affection, a deep solicitude for each one's salvation, a skill in counsel, a fidelity to God and truth, and a mature and heavenly wisdom which show their author to be one
of the noblest and best of men. One passing glimpse, however,
of the home circle and of the loved ones there, we may, without
impropriety, give. It is in the descriptive words of an intimate
firiend who was a frequent visitor at his house during the period
of his presidency of Hampden Sidney College, and who thus
reveals the interior workings of his healrt:



THE HOME CIRCLE.                          83
"For a long time," says Dr. Foote, " I was doubtful which ruled strongest in
his heart, the desire of excellence, or the affections: and I am not sure that I
ever settled that question. I know that often, very often, he startled me by
the strength of both these ruling powers, in a nearness that forbade their separation, even in thought. And then, where in earthly things lay his heart's
treasure: where next, after the Lord of Glory, whose love and fear reigned
strongest, as I thought —where was the casket of the most precious jewel? In
his domestic circle was evidently his greatest joy. And where then? When
his daughter just in girlhood glided in, in her simple attire, and modest mien,
and artless nature, his eye, cheek, his hand, if not his voice, whatever might
be the stage of our discussion, revealed the unutterable fondness of his heart.' Surely,' I have said to myself, as the vision passed before me like Jesse's son,' this is the priceless jewel.' Then again, when the little one-there were but
two-came in, sometimes toddling carelessly along, sometimes running in glee,
and sometimes gravely and carefully imitating her mother's step and air, the
inimitable air and manner of loving kindness with which he would bend to
her-kiss and raise her to the settee, and listen for a moment if she had any
message for him, and drop a word or two —'Oh; there,' I have thought,'is
the little nestling that has gone into the inner treasury.' And then again,
when all three were present, the mother and the daughters, the manly complacency with which he looked upon and listened to the wife and mother, there
was no doubt she reigned queen in the happy family."
Dr. Green was greatly blest ill the chosen companion of' his
life, and he felt that whatever degree of happiness and success
had attended his pathway was largely due to her influence. In
hearty sympathy with all his plans and purposes, capable of
entering fully into all his views and feelings, and endowed
with those attributes of character which win respect and friendship, Mrs. Green not only contributed largely to his influence
in every field of his influence, but by taking upon herself the
chief burden of all domestic cares and responsibilities, enabled
him to accomplish an amount of study and of professional labor
which otherwise would have been impossible.  The parting
tribute of the Baltimore church shows in what loving appreciation she was held as a pastor's wife.  And it is on record that
in every sphere of his educational labors his home had always
been a centre of attraction and of pleasant social intercourse to
his students.  She delighted in every thing that could gratify
his tastes and contribute to his great work.  Both at lHampden




84                           POETRY.
Sidney and at Danville her house was the home of young men,
often several at once, studying for the ministry, and without
the means of self-support; and whatever additional burdens
this entailed were cheerfully borne by her for the common
good. At Allegheny Seminary, as well as at Hampden Sidney
College, students that were sick were taken to their house and
kindly nursed until restored to health.
The following little effusion, penned by Dr. Green soon after
his marriage, and at a time when he expected to visit Europe
unaccompanied by Mrs. Green, reveals the depth and tenderness of feeling with which he contemplated the separation: —
"When on the bounding wave I ride,
Or gaze upon the calm, blue sea,
How sweet to have thee at my side,
And whisper all my thoughts to thee.
"When far from country, friends, and home,
And all that are so dear to me,
In pensive solitude I roam,
How sweet to have one smile from thee.
"But if I still must go alone,
Whene'er my thoughts may wander free,
And evening shades come gathering on
To tell me I may think of thee,
"At sunset, from some Alpine height,
I'll gaze far o'er the western sea,
And proudly think that parting light
Will rise in glory soon on thee.
"And while in distant lands I rove,
Though friends should all forgetful be,
I know that thou wilt faithful prove,
And kindly still remember me.
"And think you I could ever slight
Those fond affections fixed on me?
Or ever cease, by day or night,
To think and speak and dream of thee?




HIS DAUGHTERS.                      85
"And when before God's throne on high
I raise my voice and bend my knee,
My fervent prayer, my earnest cry,
My first, my last, shall be for thee."
Twenty-nine years of uninterrupted domestic happiness-clduring which she had been his helper and his counsellor, sharing
every thought and feeling of his heart, the devoted wife and
the honored mother-attested the wisdom of his early choice,
and illustrated the sacredness of that relation which he thus
essayed to describe.
As his daughters grew up, and were separated from him at
school, he followed them with his tenderest affections, and his
correspondence teemed with lessons of wisdom and experience.
"The love of human applause," writes he to one of them, "is
essentially an unhealthy stimulus to the human mind. The
severe love of truth and knowledge, the calm repose on God,
and solemn sense of duty-these are the principles that give at
once stimulus and steadiness to all our energies. "Character,"
writes he to another, " Christian character, is fixed principle, a
firm will controlling momentary impulses, self-conquest, victory
over self. Character is our own, reputation comes from others.
The former is the only sure mode of gaining the latter, and
they usually go together. Wit, wealth, beauty, elegance, modesty, kind affections, generous and magnanimous impulses, education, accomplishments, all are of small avail for happiness or
useftilness without character."
The letters which were constantly passing between Dr. Green
and his loved ones of the home circle, whenever they were separated from one another, are models of ease and elegance, of
the most sparkling vivacity, and the deepest spirituality. It
was one of the pleasures of his life to hold this correspondence;
and he was unhappy if it was long interrupted. It is not necessaly to draw largely here from these treasures.  It will suffice
to present a few brief extracts, simply as illustrations of their
style and spirit, showing how he could mingle instruction -with
his most playftul thoughts, and with affectionate tenderness
seize every occasion for the inculcation of the great truths of




86                        LETTERS.
religion. Under date of April 27, 1839, while he was absent
at his work in South Hanover Seminary, he closes a letter to his
wibe at Danville with the following allusion to their first-born
dauohter, then an infant:"But as for that little angel-train her up for God, and dedicate her anew to Him daily: and if she be indeed very lovely,
stand ready to have her transplanted to her proper place at
any moment; for who knows the day or the hour'?  Let us
thus learn to conisider God's mercies as loans; and while we
rejoice in the blessing, let our exultation be subdued by a
consciousness of the uncertainty of all human possessions. I
feel it would be a desolation to lose her, an agony to see her
suffer; but my love may turn to idolatry.  Remember we have
transmitted to her a fallen nature, and the elements which form
the rainbow may become a thunder-cloud.  Nothing but God's
grace can save her."  As this daughter grew  up, one of his
letters to her, accompanying a copy of "  IMrs. Hemans " which
he had bought for her, closes with a quotation which he thus
beautifully appropriates-" I have tried to adopt and apply it
to my first-born.
"'I give thee to thy God, the God that gave thee,
A well-spring of deep gladness, to my heart I
And precious as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon; He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled,
And thou shalt be His child.'
Heathen poetry has nothing so touching, or indeed so truly
sublime, because heathen life had no feveling like that of a
Christian father and mother.  Oh! that my J        and Lm:ay be his children. You see, my dear daughter, how my pen
runs on. I sat down to tell you that I had reached this place,
and cannot withhold my feelings from the greatest, best interests of my children.  Mly watch says, almost ten; everybody
has retired; and stillness prevails over all the grounds. It is
the time for pareilts to bless their children, and commend them
to God-the tinme for all of us to commit ourselves to our




CORRESPONDENCE.                  87
Father in heaven. May sweet rest, and thoughts of-love, and
trust in God be yours, my wife and daughters."
In another letter to the same daughter he says-" The love I
bear you is beyond expression, and how much my own happiness is involved in the dutifill reception of that love on your
part, you cannot now understand. Such love is inseparable
from a watchful and anxious care, and possibly in my feeble
health, I may indulge that anxiety too much. Yet it is a world
of danger to the young, to all. Forgiveness is a word that
seems too solemn for a mere man to use; and yet, I remember,
it is used in that prayer, which our Saviour has taught us-'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass
against us.' And be assured that if an earthly father can so
freely and joyfully forgive and forget, how much more freely
will your Father in heaven forgive and pity. Do not fear then
to approach the mercy seat of that eternal love, in comparison
with which all human kindness is absolute indifference; and
let your confiding faith in your earthly father's love and sympathy, teach you the nature of that filial confidence with which
you may come to our Father in heaven. Seek His face, my
daughter, and learn how freely Jesus can forgive. Oh, taste
and see that the Lord is good. Write me very soon, and
believe me, with increased tenderness, your affectionate father."
Many of these letters to his daughters were written on the
Sabbath, and introduced with the remark, that while it would
be a sinful violation of God's holy day to devote any part of
it to worldly business, pleasure, or correspondence, yet it is a
sweet and blessed privilege to talk to one another, by tongue
or pen, of the goodness of God, the glory of heaven, and the
love of that blessed Saviour who on this day rose from the
dead, and wrought out our salvation. And in this spirit he
wrote many a long letter, filling up the intervals between public preaching, by thus lovingly conversing with his absent children about Jesus and the things of His kingdom.
The following passages are fiom a letter addressed to both
daughters, from the Virginia Springs, in 1850: —




88                         MRS. GREEN.
" Improve your voices, my dear children. You cannot take a piano or harp
along with you as you travel, but you have a much superior instrument, which
may be improved almost without bounds, and is. far superior to any stringed
or wind instrument of man's invention. This you can always take along for
your own entertainment and your friends. Love your home, learn to make it
happy to yourselves and your dear mother. There is nothing in this world
so sweet and so sacred as home. The thought of it now is worth more to me
than all the transient enjoyment of company, and all the glory, even, of this
mountain scenery.
" To-morrow is God's holy Sabbath. How will my daughters be employed?
Early awake-dressed-cheerfully employed in all the morning duties of the
Sabbath? Your father will be engaged in prayer for you-will you pray for
yourselves, and for him? that we may be spared to each other long below, and
meet again in heaven? You can hardly think of your father as taken from
you; yet, my dear children, you must learn to view this as a certain reality.
It will only make us love one another more tenderly, and begin our heaven
here below. It is now late, and I am glad I have the opportunity of closing
my first week in the mountains in talking with you. Let my accounts of you
be such as a father loves to hear, and may we meet in peace and health, and
long live in love-love to God and one another."
From the letters to Mrs. Green, which abound in expressions
of the most tender and devoted affection, we give, ill this connection, a single paragraph:
"You seem to fear that I have some special annoyance-by no means, I have
every comfort which a man can have, whose heart is five hundred miles out of
his body. I have just received yours of the twelfth, and thank you a thousand
times for it. Glad to see you are well and cheerful. Trust in God, for we shall
yet praise Him. Is there nothing in signs? The brightest sun, the purest and
most bracing atmosphere, the happiest faces all around, seeming to rejoice with
me at the news from home?'Well and busy'-then happy. Thank God and
take courage. With a thousand anxieties and a thousand cheerful anticipations blended strangely together, I remain, your ever affectionate
" L. W. GREEN."
The following beautiful extract is from a letter to his second
daughter, written from Danville in 1860:" ly dear L ——: It is now nine o'clock, Sunday night. I am just from the
church, and though I have only a few moments, I cannot refrain from dropping
a line or two to my own darling daughter. I had laid off a long letter for this
afternoon, but the prayer-meeting appointed for three o'clock, at which I was
requested to officiate, interfered. The sermon by Dr. Yantis was from a pre



EXTRACTS.                             89
cious text, and well handled:'Fear not, little flock; it is your Father's good
pleasure to give you the kingdom.' I could not but think of my little L- as
a lamb in that flock, and remember the promise of the Good Shepherd, that He
will bear the lambs in His bosom. If He bears you, where is the danger? What
power can harm you?  If on His bosom, how near His heart!  How gently
softly, tenderly, with His own Almighty arms, and on His own bosom of infinite
and eternal love! And then He bears you to a kingdom, beyond all earthly
kingdoms, and that even a heavenly!'And it is the Father's good pleasure.'
Who can resist it? It is a part of His own infinite blessedness to save sinners;
and there is a good pleasure, not a malignant pleasure as in inflicting misery,
but a good, kind, benevolent pleasure-a good pleasure consistent with His
holiness, justice, goodness, truth, with all His attributes. All are harmonized,
all are magnified and made honorable in the salvation of His people. He can
be just and justify the ungodly. Blessed thought-that the same arms of infinite love are stretched out over all the world, and embrace this night my Land J-  as well as those at home. Sweet be your rest, my daughter, as you lie
there folded in those arms, so gently, so tenderly, so omnipotently, on that
bosom so warm in its bleeding love. Good night, my daughter, under the canopy of that'good pleasure,' and may our last good night on earth be as full
of cheerfulhope, the precursor of a brighter morning."
To these passages we subjoin one other extract, in a different
vein, written to the elder daughter in 1855, while at Hampden
Sidney, an illustration of that intellectual cultivation and coinpanionship iwhich existed in the home circle.
" I ran off to hear Everett at Petersburg. An accomplished rhetorician, not
a great orator (sit venia verbo), nor great man, me judice. But he was unwell,
and did not do justice to the language or thought. A few magnificent passages no doubt,' where affection rises into reverence, and reverence melts back
into affection,' in our contemplation of Washington. As an orator he lacks
vivid emotion and electric power; as a philosopher, profound thought. As a
moralist and conservative patriot, his sentiments are beautifully correct and
happily expressed.' But as a work of art, was it not complete and perfect?'
said a gentleman to me. Granted, in a sense, yet this is my objection. The
summa ars is celare artema. I heard all through the scratch of a polished pen,
not the music of the spheres, or any of the sublime voices of nature or of human passion. I saw the graceful step of a Knight of the Garter, or a Lord of
the Bedchamber, not the massive form or gigantic stride of a Hercules. The
beauty of a garden is not the grandeur of a forest. You can trim a hedge
and train a honeysuckle, not the oaks of the forest. A beautiful experiment
by Dr. Doremus cannot rival the whole gathered thunders of the tempest and
the storm. It is artificial electricity, not lightning and thunderbolts.




90                            EXTRACTS.
" Now is not there a piece of criticism for you? And late at night, too, with
the March winds howling around, the great oak at my window now bending
sullenly before the storm, then lifting its head as in defiance, and throwing its
brawny arms abroad to meet the full fury of its foe; the black gaunt clouds
drifting silently over the sky, are driven careering before the tempest, while
ever and anon a bright star is seen through the parted clouds, and the deep
heaven of heavens beyond, serenely solemn, speaking amidst the voiceless
midnight of immensity and eternity, of God and immortality. How strange,
that even when we begin in jest, we close in earnest. I meant to amuse myself with Mr. Everett's fondness for the' stars,' and behold I am running on
as one moonstruck. For''Ye stars, ye are the poetry of heaven I
And in our aspiration to be great,
We claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life have named themselves a star.'
They that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and
ever. But 0 Lucifer, son of the morning, how art thou fallen! Such genius,
such aspirations to be great! Such total ruin to himself and others! A great
star fallen upon the waters-burning as it falls-anld its name was wormwood
-the rivers and fountains became wormwood, and men died of their bitterness. -See Rev. viii. 11-13.
" But, my dear, the night is far spent, physically as well as morally, the day is
at hand; let us look to Him who is'the bright and morning star,' that
through the tender mercy of our God, the dayspring may visit us from on
high. Good night, my daughter, and may our last night on earth, be followed
by a glorious morning. Affectionately,                Youn FA"TIHER.'




CHAPTER XI.
His Wrtillngs.-Unpublished Sermons.-Inaugural Discourses.-Literary and
Educational Addresses. -Lectures at the University of Virginia. —Adverse Criticism.-Method of Preparation for the Pulpit.-Estimate of' his
Preaching by Dr. Brank. —Estimate by Rev. W. G. Craig.-Closing
Tribute from a Lady.
TrIE sermons contained in the present volume are now published for the first time, and of course without the author's
revision.  Written, as they were, with no view to publication,
and prepared, not for the eye of the critic, but for the ear of a
popular assembly, they should be judged rather by the impression they were calculated to make on his hearers than by
any abstract standard of perfect written composition. Though
necessarily incomplete and fragmentary, they yet retain enough
of original, striking thought, and enough of the speaker's fire,
to be read with interest and profit, especially by those who
ever heard the living voice that uttered these magnificent
periods.  Besides their intrinsic excellence, as containing the
grand things of God's salvation, and of man's duty and destiny, they possess the additional value of completely revealing
the speaker's own heart and life. They show what he preached
and how he preached; the range of his subjects and his
method of handling them; what he depended on as the rock
of his salvation, and by what principles he aimed to live and
die. By his wide circle of friends they will no doubt be welcomed as a noble monument to his excellence.
But, during his life, Dr. Green was called, on special occasions, to deliver quite a number of inaugural discourses and
other literary addresses, which were for the most part prepared
with much care, and published at the time of their delivery.
One of these, his inaugural address at the beginning of his




92               PUBLISHED ADDRESSES.
professorship at Allegheny Seminary, has already been referred
to as a production of great excellence. His inaugural address
on assuming the Presidency of Hampden Sidney College in
1849, written in his characteristic style of boldness and vigor,
is a masterly defence of the higher collegiate education, replete
with sound, practical sense, and abounding in passages of
eloquence and power. In 1842 he delivered an address before
the Literary Societies of Jefferson College, Pa., on the Philosophy of History, or the Development of God's Plan in the Progress of Nations, embracing a wide range of thought, and an
amount of historical information not often found in a single
discourse. In the winter of 1850-1851. he delivered, at the
University of Virginia, two lectures on the Harmony of Revelation and Natural Science, with special reference to Geology.
This was one of the ablest productions of his pen, and was
published, with a series of similar lectures by other prominent'
ministers, in a volume entitled "Lectures on the Evidences of
Christianity."  The two lectures occupy more than sixty octavo pages, and were intended to bring into view the different
opinions and theories of all the prominent modern writers on
the subject. They show a vast range of reading and research
in the wide fields of natural science, as well as in the more
special province of the theologian. Every page gives evidence
of the profound thinker and the man of learning. After his
return to Kentucky he delivered two other inaugural discourses, both of which were published-one in 1856, as President of Transylvania University and State Normal School, and
the other in 1858, before the Synod of Kentucky, at his inauguration as President of Centre College. In each of these
he discusses with great fulness and power, that subject which,
above all others, he had mastered-education-primary, collegoiate, and professional-in all its relations and bearings. The
lofty patriotism breathing through these admirable discourses,
their sound, practical principles and noble views, excited much
attention at the time, and called forth letters of commendation
and. encouragement from some of the most distinguishedcl  educators in America. One other address, at the dedication ot




SCIENTIFIC LECTURES.                  93
thle Caldwell Female Institute in 1861, at Danville, in which
he well describes woman's true sphere, education, and mission,
completes the list of his published writings.
The inaugural address before the Synod of Kentucky was
republished by Dr. Van Rensselaer in The hlfome, the School,
cadcl the Clurch, the year following its delivery, ulnder the title
of the " American System of Collegiate Education."  The lecture before the University of Virginia was also published in
The Southe rn Presbyteriant Revievw.  It gave rise to some adverse criticism  at the university. Dr. Green delivered it in
his usual style of animation, without the use of notes, and was
heard with great interest by the students.  But he advanced
certain opinions which were regarded as erroneous by some of
the professors, and as misrepresenting the position of scientific
men on the subjects under discussion. He was requested to
modify or omit these views before the lecture went to press:
but this he declined doing, and the lecture was published as
delivered.  He had taken much pains in the preparation of it;
and, in a private letter to a member of his family after the publication, refers to it in the following terlms: " It contains in a
popular form the best and largest results of natural sciencethe views of all the great men about the universe. Its most
peculiar view on the certain temporary extinction of suns, and
the possible and probable suspension of light in our own sun, was
stolen, reprinted in Boston, and circulated over the WVest and
the nation; and the editor who stole and used it as his own, assures me that it has given universal satisfaction at the North;
and it was considered by him as fair plunder as any other contribution to human knowledge."
It may serve to illustrate the interest which the lecture, on
its delivery, had excited among the students, to state that, at
the next commencement following it, he was invited to deliver
the annual literary address before the four societies of the
university, which service he performed in a style acceptable to
all parties.
Some of Dr. Green's sermons were written out with great
care,-at least so far as he wrote them at all: for his habit was to




94              METHOD OF PREACHING.
leave parts of them to extemporaneous delivery. Occasionally
heads of discourse would be jotted down; sometimes a skeleton
reduced to writing, but it was seldom carried to the pulpit,
and if produced there, proved a source of embarrassment rather
than of help. On one of the few occasions toward the latter
part of life, in which he ventured to use a manuscript, he was
trammeled inll the delivery. His usual method was to preach
without manuscripts of any kind. His health not being very
vigorous, and the manual labor and confinement of writing
costing him much pain and exhaustion, he wrote very few discourses of any kind after the first ten years of his ministry.
His sermons were thoroughly elaborated in the study by a
process of mental composition which gave them the accurate
diction and the rich consecutive thought usually attained by
writing. And even without this previous preparation, llis
mind was so full of material, and so gifted with ready invention, that he would gather fiesh impulse and new wealth of
imagery and illustration from the very inspiration of extemporaneous speaking. To a friend, who was once deploring the
loss of productions worthy of being preserved, he replied, that
it cost him hardly an effort to recall any train of thought he had
once mastered in the order of its development, and that at
some day of leisure he purposed to put his reflections on
several subjects into permanent shape. Unhappily the gift
itself' proved fatal to the purpose, and only encouraged his
unconquerable aversion to the pen.
But whether written or unwritten his discourses were always
delivered with freedom and fire. It was not in his nature to
speak without animation. Animation is, indeed, too cold a
word to describe his manner. It was with the intensest energy
of soul and body. The whole man in in every faculty and organ
was engaged. His sermon was a great battle for God and
truth; and he fought it with all his might till the conflict
ended: and often the victory was won. His sermons were
characterized by long and elaborate periods; but they were
constructed with exquisite euphony, and uttered with distinct
articulation and telling emphasis. His mind, teeming with the




IMPASSIONED DELIVERY.                 95
grand themes of revelation-God and a risen Saviour; life,
death, and immortality; heaven, hell, and a judgment to come
-needed only the stimulus of his own deep emotions to rise
to the very highest scores of eloquence and power. On some
of these occasions he would retire from the pulpit like a soldier
from the battle-field, completely exhausted and faint by the
excessive heat of the action. There are people in Kentucky
who are accustomed to speak of certain of his sermons, heard
long ago, as the greatest they ever heard. In a beautiful and
appropriate discourse at his funeral by Rev. Dr. Brank of
Lexington, this peculiar fervor of his oratory is referred to.
After speaking of his genius and learning, and his many noble
excellences as a man, all educator, and a pastor, Dr. Brank
remarks: "-His preaching was sound, able, fervent, and eloquent, riveting the attention of his hearers with the beauty
and splendor of his imagery, and thrilling their hearts with the
tenderness and power of his appeals. His style of oratory was
peculiar to himself; and impassioned beyond allost any thing
I ever witnessed. His mind loved to soar, to rise above the
common tracts of thoughtt; his imagery was often magnificent;
his soul seemed to be all on fire, and his words came burning
fiom his lips as coals firom a furnace. It was not merely his
voice that spoke, but his eyes, his lips, his whole countenance;
his whole body seemed to be moving, trembling, palpitating in
unison with the high thought of his mind, laboring to give it
expression, and to urge it upon the attention of his almost
breathless hearers. But few men in our church in the development of pulpit oratory have gained a wider or a more deserved
reputation."
We have aimed in this imperfect sketch to give at least
some approximate conception of the life, labors, and character
of a true man of God, whose memory is still fresh in many
hearts, and who contributed much to the collegiate and
theological education of our country. His praises are in
many of our churches, and his name will long be cherished in
many households of our land. But his sermons will probably
be his best memorial. From the manuscripts extant, they




96                        TESTIMONIALS.
might have been swelled to twice or thrice the number here
published.  These, however, will be enough to recall him  to
his friends, and to give others some idea of his excellence.
No man could hear him  preach even once, or engage in conversatioli with him-and no one can read these sermons we
think, without seeing that he was a thinker, a scholar, and a
worker, a man of gentlemanly bearing, of noble impulses, of
large. views, of warm  charity, and loving heart.  We have
aimed not to eulogize, but to present his life and character in
the very light in which he was seen by his friends and contemporaries.  The appreciative pen of one who had many opportunities of hearing him, has drawn the following graphic
portraiture of his appearance  and style, as in his happiest
moods he stood in the pulpit and poured forth his masterly
discourses:"As he spoke, his person. singularly erect and commanding, seemed instinct with life in its supremest emotion; his eye, soft and mellow in repose,
would kindle as he summoned his powers for some lofty effort, until it sparkled and shone, and burned like a flame, now lustrous with the light of rapt
affection, now gleaming with the glow of some grand imagination, now piercing like an eagle's as he rose to the height of some fiery denunciation of sin or
untruthfulness. We never saw such an eye. It was the shining through of
the fires that burned within. In its keen and vivid flashes it announced the
coming thought; men sat entranced beneath its fascinations, and acknowledged the supremacy of its power. The intellectual force and vivacity
of his character sparkled on his face; his voice rose with the demands of the
effort; his utterance became rapid, his gestures impassioned, yet the very
embodiment of grace, and as his whole mien assumed the commanding posture of an authorized ambassador of the Most High, we have rarely heard a
man, either in the pulpit, on the stump, or at the bar, who surpassed him in
moving eloquence, or who might lay a better claim to the rank of a master of
the human heart. By the structure of his mind, and the delicacy of his
physical constitution, he was necessitated, as it were, to those internal processes
by which the very depths of his own soul were sounded until its fearful comnpetency for suffering as well as for enjoying was fully realized. As a result,
he could tread those remote and mysterious paths which take their dark way
through the profounder consciousness of the soul with a steadiness and fearlessness of step rarely equalled; and many instances might be recorded of
happy.relief afforded to doubt-pressed and storm-swept souls, by the keen
and satisfactory analysis of their troubles in his public discourses.




TESTIMONIALS.                          9 7
"But this hasty outline would be incomplete, if mention was not made of
his exceeding tenderness when he would come to speak of the comfortable
things of the Gospel to the children of the covenant. His own views of the
unfathomable depths of God's loving heart were the most profound and
touching that the writer has ever heard presented, and no man was more successful in drawing souls under the very shadow of his wing. How wonderfully
could he speak of the peace of the Gospel I Beautiful is the sea after a storm,
with the rays of the sun sparkling upon its dancing waves, or the calm mild
beams of the moon sinking into its impenetrable depths. So is the soul after
the storm of doubt and passion has passed, settling to rest in the peace of the
Gospel. So he was accustomed to speak. It is said that in the last year of his
life, his preaching was more and more permeated with this tenderness, as the
horrors of civil war broke loose upon his hitherto happy people, causing them
to taste the bitterness of life. There never beat a tenderer heart than his;
and that thoughtful tenderness to-day brings tears to the eyes of many of
his friends who will pass by the claims of his genius, to dwell with subdued
affection upon his almost womanly tenderness. One of his most frequent
epithets in speaking of Christ was-' the Gentle Saviour;' and yet the fire
and passion of his nature was such, that the lightning would gleam from his
eye, and the thunder might be heard in his voice." *
It will form an appropriate conclusion to our task, to present
one additional testimonial.  It is the  graceful tribute of a
young lady who met Dr. Green, for the first and last time, the
year before his death, and here recalls the impressions,
agreeable and lasting, made by that passing acquaintance.
Nothing perhaps will better illustrate the character of the man,
as he appeared even to strangers and in his unofficial and least
guarded aspects, than this genial and graphic memorial.
"Some months ago, it chanced that in carelessly turning the leaves of a
borrowed volume, I discovered, with deep emotion, the unlooked-for autograph of its former owner, Lewis W. Green. This abrupt presentation of a
name which, sacred to memory, had long been embalmed in my heart, overwhelmed me with proud, and now pathetically tender remembrance of my
brief acquaintance with its possessor.
" It was my fortune to spend the summer of 1862 at a water-cure in Cleveland, Ohio; and there, some time after my arrival, Dr. Green also repaired
for the benefit of his health. As I was passing down the hall the day after
he reached the Cure, I was attracted by the sound of an unfamiliar voice
leading in the customary morning devotions of the place; and entering the
* From a sketch by the Rev. W. G. Craig, of Keokuk, Iowa.
5




98                         TESTIMONIALS.
parlor, I heard from Dr. Green the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican.'The Pharisee,' said the reader (in a voice whose penetrating sweetness I
shall never forget),'The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself.' This
novel and strikingly suggestive accent on himself was the first illustration I
received of the doctor's truly characteristic power of impressing his own
original and appreciative genius upon the most familiar subjects which he
touched; so that not infrequently the useless and unvalued bullion of thought
was first prepared for service when freshly conceived by his vigorous mind,
and stamped with its own image and superscription. A stranger in the midst
of strangers, he unconsciously sat that morning for a portrait, which, like
the pictures of Cimabue, was drawn on a golden ground, and though some
of its lines have been effaced from my protecting memory by the resistless
wear of six long years, yet the original glow by which it was surrounded still
sheds its unfading radiance on my heart.
" A form above the middle height, somewhat spare, but well proportioned;
an eye as keen as an eagle's, relieved by a mouth as sweet as a child's; a
broad and lofty forehead, strongly developed in the regions of ideality and
reason; a complexion of that peculiar sallow hue, so often noticed in men
who have ever toiled in the intellectual vineyard, the whole face combining
with rare attractiveness, vivacity and dignity, sensibility and self-command,
delicacy and power. Such is my recollection of Dr. Green as he appeared at
that time. His carriage and gestures were distinguished by a native grace
and dignity; and the united charms of his manner and conversation I have
never known surpassed.
" Affable to all, he appeared that summer to delight especially in the society
of intelligent and sprightly women, whom he successfully rivalled in their
own peculiar powers of tact, graphic description, and graceful courtesy.
The lightning of his wit attracted anid electrified his audience, but it was
lightning still, and could on needful occasions, repel the claims of presumptuous pride, and paralyze irreverence and folly. Still it ever seemed his
choice to conquer by persuasion. The Greeks have enriched their mythology
by the fable of Bacchus' invasion of India. The joyous warrior, we are
told, in common with his followers, disguised his hostile aims by wreathing
his spear with vine leaves and concealing its barb in a cone. The moral
of this fantastic tale Dr. Green appeared to have mastered, for none better
understood how to adorn his weapons, and by the guise of peace to secure
a victory.
" One of his most amiable characteristics was the ready tact with which he
understood and attracted the young, a power in most cases sufficiently explained by the habits of his professional life, and the enlarged sympathies of
a profound and liberal mind. In instances, however, which his experience
had multiplied, and in some of which I am personally cognizant, nothing
short of a secret susceptibility of temperament (which needs only to be




TESTIMONIALS.                           99
known, to suggest a resemblance to Lavater's) could account for the ease with
which he deciphered the hieroglyphics of feeling, and perused unassisted the
past history of a life.
"In general society Dr. Green displayed the most versatile and attractive
powers. His discriminating, but pointed satires made him a dangerous foe
in a war of wit; while to the attack of others, he presented a burnished
shield which not only dazzled the enemy by its lustre, but from its brilliant
and polished surface turned aside all missiles; yet in the gayest badinage, he
was never betrayed into that meretricious brilliancy which society esteems
and cultivates, and which is so pre-eminently superficial and untrue, that it
may be assumed with equal ease by men of widely differing merit, as the
bubble and the rainbow are embellished by the same colors.
" The personal influence which he soon acquired with all whom he knew at
the Cure, I would have deemed incredible had I nof myself been a witness.
It is a fact, however, which was then generally observed, that cards (which
had been before his arrival the usual evening amusement) were almost
entirely abandoned during the period of his stay. As a preacher I shall not
venture to judge of the full scope of his powers, since the only sermons which
I heard from him were extemporaneous efforts, delivered before the inmates of
the house and the neighboring families. My memory, however, still vividly
retains the impression of his fluent rhetoric, his captivating fancy, and his
touchingly tender exhortations. If Dr. Green had been like many clergymen,
his conversations might have thrown some further light upon his style as a
speaker, but he judiciously disarmed the prejudice of the worldly by simply living his religion, while he confined his preaching to the formality of
sermons. The religion, however, with which his soul was interpenetrated
and controlled, continually escaped from his tongue in forms more enticing
than precepts, as unasked the exquisite perfumes arise from the heart of a
flower.
" Thus far I have only described him, as he must have appeared to all, and
my heart importunes me in vain for her own individual shrovetide. The
homage of memory, the gratitude of years, the awakened aspirations of a
life, shall alone attest the reverent and tender affection with which he inspired
me."








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S ERM O IN S.
I.
THE RESURRECTIO N OF CHRIST.
LUKE, xxiv. 34.-" The Lord is risen indeed."
IN the days of Augustus Cesar appeared a man of singular
and extraordinary character.  We have no description of his
person considered certainly authentic. Yet there is one of very
ancient date, which informs us that there was, in his whole
coruntenance and manner, that amazing unlion of elevation and
meekness, of gentleness and dignity, which characterizes all his
recorded acts, which painters have, in vain, attempted to
transfer to canvas, and for which neither history nor fiction
has ever found or formed a parallel.
Born a Jew, he surmounted all the narrow prejudices of his
age and nation, and looking abroad, over the face of human
society, with a large and liberal survey, took the whole world
as his theatre of action, and all of human kind as his brethren.
An unlettered peasant, he despised at once the traditions of
the eldles, the learning of the rabbins, the subtlety of the
lawyers, and the authority of the priests; and resolved to
reform and revolutionize the whole moral and religious system
of his people. Trained in no school of philosophy, yet did he
teach a purer and more perfect morality, a more exalted andcl
spiritual religion than could be collected from all the volumes
of all the heathen philosophers tooether. Sprung from  an
obscure but reputable family, hle claimedl to be of the royal




104          TIlE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
lineage of David, to be the Messiah of the Jews, the King and
Saviour of Israel. Yet when the people welcomed him with
enthusiastic acclamations and offered him a crown, he spurned
it contemptuously away, and said, the kingdom he had come
to establish was not of this world, but a kingdom of peace
and holiness and truth.
The period of the world at which he appeared was one of
momentous interest. It formed an era in the history of our
race. It was the transition state of human society from its
ancient to its new and better form. The intellect of man had
done its utmost. Philosophy had long since degenerated into
scepticism. And centuries of proud reasoning had terminated
in universal doubt. The cheering belief in the immortality of
the soul, in the existence of one supreme, presiding Deity, in
the reality of moral distinctions and moral obligations, had
passed away from the creed of the cultivated classes, and was
fast losing its hold upon the popular mind. And society,
without any fixed principles or authoritative guide, mighlt well
be compared to some stately vessel broken loose from her
moorings, and cast out in a dark night on a tempestuous oceain,
without a pilot to direct her course, or one twinkling star to
guide her wanderings. Amidst the darkness and universalS
gloom, passion seized the helm, and all man's present happiness and virtue were wrecked, along with all his future hopes.
Political freedom was lost amidst the universal crash, and the
Roman emperors, sensual, beastly, cruel, vindictive, tyrannical,
were only incarnations (embodied representations) of the spirit
of their age-of that degraded and brutal spirit which, amidst
the turmoil of the times, threw the basest of human beings to
the helm of human affairs. The annals of the world contained
no parallel to the enormities which are recoided by the Jewish
and Roman historians of this and the succeeding age.
Such -was the condition of the world when, in a distant
province of the Roman Empire, in an obscure corner of his
native land, this bold and original adventurer conceived and
avowed the stupendous design-stupendous in its nature, its
extent, its results —of revolutionizing the whole moral, rel'



THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.             105
gious, and social condition of the habitable globe, of casting
down into the dust its magnificent temples and venerated
idols, of overturning its consecrated, time-honored institutions,
and, on the ruins of all that was old, erecting a new dominion
of his own, whose extent should be bounded only by the limits
of the earth, and its duration measured out by the long lapse
of her revolving centuries.  But if the conception was vast,
what shall we say of the accomplishment? All human prejudices were arrayed against him, all earthly power was exerted
to oppose his progress. The.Jew and the Gentile, the priest,
the magistrate, and the people, the emperor, the philosopher,
and the fanatic-with learning, eloquence, and argument-the
tongue, the pen, and the sword, all were engaged in the war
of extermination waged against his system. He fell himself a
victim to the power and malice of his foes, yet did his religion
survive. It advanced with amazingc rapidity fiom the province
of his birth to the city of his death, was diffused over the civilized world, planted itself in the Imperial city, entered the
palace and the senate chamber, and soon mounted the throne.
And now, after the lapse of eighteen hundred years, the systems
of philosophers have passed away and are forgotten. Jerusalem and her magnificent temple are buried in the dust. Rome,
the Eternal city, she that was called the almziyghty, the Goth,
the Vandal, and Hun have long since trampled under foot.
Yet does the faith of the despised peasant of Judea live in the
memories and affections of millions of his followers.
Yes, amidst the lapse of ages, the decay of systems, the sack
of cities, and the wreck of empires, does she still survive. No
decay is stamped upon her front, no dimness beclouds her eye;
but there she stands, strong in the vigor of an immortal youth,
and her brow is trinlmed with the laurels she has won in the
many battles of the many generations that are past. Sihe
stands, the religion of every civilized nation under heaven, and
numbering among her advocates the mightiest names that
adorn the annals of our race, that. have shed a lustre upon literature and science, upon arts and upon arms a Newton,
a Bacon, a Locke, an Addison, a Boyle, and last, though
5*




106          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
not least, the soldier, the patriot, the statesman, the admiration of all nations and the father of his own, the immortal
Washington.
But if the events of his life were wonderful, still more
astonishing were the circumstances that attended, that preceded and followed his death. And we propose to present
this -day before you a portion of that evidence, which leads us
to believe that the faith of eighteen centuries is not founded on
a fable; but that the " Lord is risen indeed."  And, surely, if
there be in all history a single page, which for its singularity
and importance deserves the serious and scrutinizing investigation of every reflecting man, it is that which records the
strange event that formed the turning point in the faith of
nations, and still continues to influence so extensively the
whole moral, social, and civil condition and destiny of our
race.
We remark, 1st. That he foretold his own death, the time,
place, circumstances, and results; and promised his disciples
that he would rise again, and thus vindicate his claims as a
teacher sent from God.
So numerous and so various are these predictions, that the
only difficulty lies in selecting from them all such as shall
appear most striking. They were delivered in public and in
private, before friends and foes, at distant intervals of time,
and under every variety of circumstances. Now they are suggested by a hint or an allusion, now casually introduced into
conversation upon some other subject, now formally stated and
explained for the instruction of his disciples. As he stood in
the temple, and the Jews asked for a sign, he said, "Destroy
this temple, and in three days I will raise it up again;" and
again, "INo sign shall be given to this generation but the sign
of Jonas, the prophet, for as Jonas was three days and nights
in the whale's belly, so shall the Son of man be three days and
nights in the bowels of the earth." (John, ii. 19; Matt. xii. 40.)
Again, descending from  the mount of transfiguration, "he
charged his disciples to tell no man what they had seen till the
Son of man was risen from the dead." Again (Matt. xvi. 21), it




THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.            107
is said, "From this time forth began Jesus "-clearly indicatingc
something habitual-" to show unto his disciples how that he
mnust go up to Jerusalem and suffer many things of the chief
priests and scribes and be killed, and be raised ctagaci7 the tZhird'c
cIcty." In Luke, xiii. 33, he says distinctly, that he would die at
Jerusalem, " fbr it is impossible that a prophet perish out of
Jerusalem." Still more minutely do we find all the prominent
circumstances of his death predicted in Matt. xx. 17-19: " And
Jesus going up to Jerusalem took his disciples apart, and said
unto them, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem; and the Son of
man shall be betrayed unto the chief priests, and unto the
scribes, and they shall condemn him to death, and shall
deliver him to the Gentiles to mock and to scourge and to
crucify him: and the third day he shall rise again."
Observe how many circumstances are here minutely specified:
1st, That he should not be seized openly, as he taught in the
temple, but should be betrayed; 2d, Not to the Romans, who
were to condemn and execute him, but to the priests and
scribes; 3d, He was to be delivered to the Gentiles, and not
stoned by the Jews, as their law required in every case of blasphemy; 4th, To be mocked and scourged; 5th, To be crucified,
contrary to all the Jewish customs; and 6th, To be condemned by the Jews, though executed by the Gentiles; they
were to try and condemn him first for blasphemy, and then
prosecute him on a charge of treason and sedition before the
Roman governor.
Now it was natural to expect that death would terminate
his career, and that the doctrines of this crucified malefactor
would soon become extinct. Such was the hope of his enemies,
and such the fear of his former friends. But the eye before
which all time lies equally revealed, beheld, in the distant
future, a far different prospect. He predicted that the very
means employed for his disgrace and ruin, would only redound
to his glory, and multiply incalculably, through all ages, the
number of his followers. Just before his death he exclaimed,
" The hour is come that the Son of man should be glorified;"
and again, " And I, if I be lifted up [on the cross], will draw




108          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
all men unto me;" " Verily I say unto you, except a grain of
wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it
die, it bringeth forth much fruit;" thus, by a beautiful analogy,
pointing forward to that glorious harvest which should spring
up from his grave and bring forth fruit unto eternal life.
But it is useless to multiply quotations. Those who have
even only a general and superficial acquaintance with the New
Testament, cannot fail to remember that his own death and
resurrection were not only the subject of firequent conversation,
from the commencement to the close of his ministry, but that
they were openly avowed by him as the very end and object
of his existence-the great purpose for which he came into the
world. I-le was introduced by John the Baptist at first as
" the Lamb of God that taketh [or beareth] away the sin of
the world;" and the last hours of his intercourse with his
disciples were spent in celebrating a most affecting memorial
of his approaching death and sufferings, in which he represents
his "blood as shed for the remission of sins."  The prophet
Isaiah had long before predicted of the Messiah that he should
be "' brought as a lamb to the slaughter," that h-e should bear
our sins, be wounded for our iniquities, and bruised for our
transgressions. To this the Baptist referred when he pointed
to the Saviour and said, ":Beholdc the Lamb of God that beareth
the sins of the world." Arid to this the Saviour undoubtedly
alludes in the solemn language of the final supper. Indeed,
his own death forms an esseztial and inseparable part of his
religious system. It is not only interwoven with the other
doctrines of that system, but it is the foundation of them all.
It is the very substance and essence of his whole doctrinethe grand peculiarity which distinguishes it from every other.
Without the propitiatory death, and sufferings, and resurrection of the Saviour, in what would Christianity differ from anly
other enlightened system of morality?  If, then, this extraordinary person had any plan at all, his own death and resurrection formed an essential part-nay, were the very centre and
sllbstance of that plan.
Now this is the point of our argument. We humbly conceive




THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.             109
that this fact is altogether inexplicable on any possible theory
of the Saviour's character, except the Christian theory. We
care not what hypothesis you adopt-whether you consider
him an ardent enthusiast who really believed himself divinely
commissioned from on high; or an artful impostor, endeavoring
to delude others for his aggrandizement; or a wise and benevolent man, elevated above the prejudices of his Jewish faith,
yet conforming to them all as for the benefit of others, practising a species of pious fraud on the comnmnity, whose welfare
he sincerely desired to promote. On either hypothesis the facts
are equally inexplicable. Now we do not feel disposed to denly
or conceal the fact, that there was much in the circumstances
and the spirit of the times well calculated to excite the irnagination and stimulate the passions of an ardent enthusiast.
WVe. learn from various sources, from Josephus and Tacitus and
Suetonius, that there existed then, and from Virgil and Cicero
that there existed some time before, a universal expectation of
some mighty prince, who, issuing from Syria or Judea, was to
subdue the world. Such a conqueror the Jew expected to
behold in the person of the long-looked-for and predicted
Messiah; and accordingly of the many enthusiasts or impostors
who assumed that character in the latter days of the Jewish
commonwealth, we are informed by Josephus that there was
not one who did not deceive himself, or attempt to impose on
others, with the vain promise of divine interposition, for the
purpose of temporal deliverance and worldly glory for his
chosen people. Under such enthusiasts the Jews were ever
ready to enlist by hundreds and thousands to fight the battles
of the Lord.  And so stronc was their confidence in the
expected deliverance for Israel, that even in Jerusalem's last
extremity they followed one of these enthusiasts, who promised
them  deliverance in the temple, and six thousand perished
miserably in the flames that consumed it.
Now, if Christ had been such an enthusiast, he must have
partaken of the spirit of the age; he would have dreamed of
victory and glory, of temporal deliverance for Israel, of a wide,
extended dominion over the heathen. To break the Roman




110          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
yoke from off the neck of the nations, and bear the lion of the
tribe of Judah aloft over the Roman eagle, would have been
an enterprise congenial with such a temper. But surely, of all
conceivable events, an ignominious and painful death for himself' the cowardly flight and cruel sufferings of his disciples,
would have had fewer attractions for such an imagination.
That would be indeed a strange enthusiasm which, during a
whole life-time, could regale itself most enthusiastically with
the delicious anticipation of torture and disgrace, which should
make this the object of all its efforts, the consummation of all
its desires.
But perhaps he was an impostor? Neither will this hypothesis agree with the acknowledged facts of the case. An impostor
endeavors to impose a falsehood upon others for the purpose
of promoting some selfish object of his own. Now, was it ever
known, is it even conceivable, that any man should coolly and
deliberately devise a system of which his own death-violent,
excruciating, disgraceful-was to be the prominent part, the
very centre and consummation of the whole? We say that in
all his labors and exertions there must be some object. - But
did any man ever employ his whole life in deliberately devising
his own death and disgrace? Again, whatever was his scheme,
he must have wished it to succeed, and could never voluntarily have placed its success upon an issue which he must have
known would unmask his imposture, expose and explode the
whole. For the sake of illustration, suppose there were some
strange impostor here, endeavoring to palm some new systemn
on our belief, and we should propose to him, deliberately to
suffer death, and then promise, that if he would rise again we
would embrace his system. What impostor would accept such
a proposition?  Yet this is the very proposition which the
Saviour again and again presented to the Jews. If, then, he
was an impostor, he deliberately and voluntarily did that.
which must necessarily umnask his imposture and prevent his
success forever. That is, he was an impostor, who, after all,
did not desire to impose.
But was he an amiable and benevolent man, wielding  tlhe




THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.             111
prejudices of his countrymen for their own improvement,
and promoting virtue. by a pious fraud? Now we pause not
to show how utterly inconsistent this supposition is with our
Saviour's whole character, with the high and solemn earnestness of his whole nature. It is by far the most plausible of the
three opinions, and that usually adopted now by enlightened
and philosophic unbelievers. Yet we must be permitted to
say, it involves a moral impossibility. It is not impossible
that such a man should die a martyr to his opinions, and thus
leave behind the strongest testimony of the sincerity with
which he held them; but it is impossible that hie should expose all his pretensions to a test which, fiomn its very nature,
must inevitably eventuate in his own disgrace, and involve his
doctrine and his followers in universal contempt. He must
have known that he could not rise. NTow observe, if he did
not, all was lost.  Whatever might have been his purpose, it
mailed, certainly, necessarily, hopelessly, forever. All the labors
and sufferings of his whole life had been in vain; all the good
he had already done was lost; all he hoped to do was resigned
-nay, voluntarily thrown away on an experiment, which he
must have known would fail; and all this without a motivecauselessly, senselessly, madly. Why did he not die as did
the great and holy men that had gone before him, a martyr
to his principles, and leave his bright example a glorious legacy
to coming generations?
If, then, his scheme was not purposely suicidal, if it was no
part of his design to thwart his own designs, prosecuted sedulously through his whole life, he could never have proposed a
test of the truth of his pretensions which mn-sta eventuate in
their complete and disgraceful overthrow. There remains but
one possible opinion, that he really believed his own predictions, and met death voluntarily in the confident expectation
that he would rise again; and if he really believed this, his
belief must have been founded on the inward consciousness of
his own high power to lay down his life and to take it again.
Now the minds of men are so differently constituted that we
cannot determine how this species of evidence may appear to




112          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
most of you; but to my own mind it comes with a force of
probability amounting almost to a moral demonstration.
2d. He really was crucified and burlied, and on the third day;
his body was missing. These are the admitted facts-admitted by Jew and Gentile. That his body had disappeared fioro
the sepulchre is evident, from the fact that it was not produced
by the high priests, when, soon after his death, they were
charged with his murder, and his resurrection was boldly
proclaimed by St. Peter.
Now, but two suppositions are possible.  (\Wte mnust 1raw
our own conclusions firom the facts.)  He either rose again by
his own power, or his disciples stole him away, and knIowingly
palmed a falsehood on the world. Against this latter supposition of the infidel much may be urged which appears like solid
and convincing argument. Consider the character of the disciples, and the circumstances of the case. It was the feast of the
Passover, and the thousands and ten thousands and hundred
thousands of the Jewish people (for Josephus informs us that at
the feast which preceded the fall of Jerusalem two millions
were collected there) were gathered, not only from every corner of Judea, but from every portion of the habitable globe.
They had brought with them, as an offering to the Lordcl, their
cattle, their sheep, their goats. The city would not contain
them all, and with their families and flocks they were encamped in the suburbs of the city, in the numerous fields,
gardens, and vineyards that lay around. It was the full moon,
and in the clear atmosphere of an eastern clinmate, all was as
distinctly visible as by the light of day. The sepulchre was
situated in one of those gardens that lay under the walls of
the city; and around it were spread out the tents of the pilgrims that had come up thither to worship in the holy city.
It was sealed with the broad seal of the Roman government.
It was guarded by the bold and watchful soldiers of a Roman
cohort. For the priests had gone to Pilate and said, " Sir, we
remember that this deceiver said, while he iWas yet alive, After
three days I will rise again."  (Matt. xxvii. 63.)
Thus carefully was the sepulchre secured. That seal it was




THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.              113
treason to break. To slumber on his watch was death to the
Roman soldier. There lay the dead impostor, cold in his sepulchre of stone. It was a bold and dangerous attempt to pass,
at dead of night, amidst all those crowded tents, evade the
vigilance of a Roman guard, and steal. away the body especially committed to their care. Who should roll away the
stone?  Of sixty soldiers trained to endure all the hardships
of war, and accustomed to all the severity of Roman discipline, it was scarcely possible that all should sleep at once.
But if all were asleep, how lightly does the soldier slumber at
his post, leaning on the top of his spear? How readily does
he start at the slightest soundcl-the bark of a-cl do  from  a
neighboring tent, the sound of a sheep bell, the lowing of a
cow, the rustling of a leaf, the crackling of a stick beneath
the cautious and stealthy tread of the nocturnal adventurer?
Nay, the sighing of the wind, as it passeth over the neighboring mountains, and among the vines around, mioht wake that
soldier from his stolen repose. And then detection was unavoidable, and on detection death was certain.  Now, who are
those bold and daring men, skilled in all the stratagems of
war, trained to endure its hardships and brave all its dangers,
who shall, under the broad moonlight, thread those crowdled
tents, elude the vigilance of sixty Roman soldiers, and steal
away the very object they had been sent to guard? A few poor
fishermen.  It was but two days ago, and they all fled at the
very sight of danger; and the boldest among them, with  cursing and swearing, denied that he had ever known this man.
Dispirited, chagrined, hopeless, at the death of their leader,
would they have dared to attempt so dangerous an enterprise?  And if they had attempted it, where was the prospect of success?  The supposition is in the highest degree
improbable.
But this improbability rises into impossibility on one side,
and moral certainty on the other, when we consider, First.
They had no inducement falsely to assert the resurrection of
the Saviour, but every inducement to the contrary.  No inducement! If any, what?  You say, "a thousand deceptions




114          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
and impositions daily occur, and so, probably, it was in this
case." We have often wondered that men can go to the verge
of truth and yet not see it. Men who can pass from individual
facts to the principles on which they depend do not see that
this is only confirmation of our argument.
We care not whether you take it up historically or philosophically; dive into the bosom of man, or read the record of
his acts. It is equally apparent, that amidst all these various
deceptions there is one principle at the bottom: that in every
case recorded in history, or conceivable by man's mind, deception has originated in some selfish motive,-pride, hatred,
interest of some sort. So that expatiate as you please over
the whole field of human deception, we accompany you with
pleasure, knowing well, that as you accumulate fiesh instances
of human depravity you only add strength to our argument;
and each excursion brings back new materials to build up the
bulwarks of our faith, fresh illustrations of the truth-that
human acts are guided by human motives; and in the whole catalogue of crimes none can be found without motive, in the gratification of some known desire, passion, or propensity of Ian.
WTe challenge any one to say what motive was possible in
this case. Mr. Hiume endeavors to evade argumnent. How? By
saying, "We are not bound to account for every act of every
devotee."  Granted. But we do not ask you to enter the
mind and say which of various possible motives may lhave
prompted certain acts, but only to show that, of all these motives, some may possibly have operated-that deception was
not impossible in this case according to the known laws of
human action. We say it twas. And we return to our question: What motive had they to deceive? Wealth, honor,
ease-all these were jeoparded; nay, certainly lost; and it is
no dogmatism to say, that where poverty, disgrace, persecntion, were certain consequences, the opposite advantages could
not be the motive of action.
This leads us to observe, that not only was there a want of
motive, but, secondly, every motive was in the opposite direction. If Christ rose not, he was not the Messiah, but an ila



THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.             115
postor, who, grossly, shamefully, deliberately imposed on them
and involved them in his own disgrace and persecution. Hope
deferred maketh the heart sick; but hope mocked, confidence
betrayed, turns into bitterest hatred. And as they thought
of their blighted hopes, could they laud their deceiver? Nay,
risk life, and all life holds dear, to advance his glory? Transport yourself for a moment to that age and country, become a
Jew in hope and in feeling, and tell me whether you could
have lauded and loved a Messiah who had thus deceived you
and blasted all your hopes of glory?
Hence the disciples were really slow to believe, cautious to
examine. One had to thrust his hand into His hands and side.
Again. It was to lose all things with the remotest prospect
of any gain. Throw yourself into their position. A few individuals, ignorant, unknown, without wealth or connections,
or eloquence or power-helpless as children, they had hung
upon their leader; timid as women, they had fled at the first
approach of danger; and they were now surrounded by priests
flushed with victory, and their appetites whetted by the taste
of blood, whose malignity slew their leader, and was ready to
devour them also. If' they had formed a combination to deceive, the very soul and life of the conspiracy was gone. If
deceived themselves before, the delusion had vanished at his
death. Whatever might have been their scheme, that which
was dlangerous before had now become desperate. The work
of destruction once begun would certainly go on. They who
cursed and crucified the living and -wonder-working prophet,
would scarcely worship the! crucified malefactor. The exaltation which the Jew expected for his Messiah was to a throne
of princely dominion, not to a cross between two thieves. To
those who know the inveteracy of early prejudices, the bitterness of religious fanaticism, the desolating fury of that fiery
zeal whic.h thinks to do God service by slaughtering his creatures, it is scarcely necessary to remark, that defenceless
followers of a crucified leader could hope for safety only in
retirement and silence; and to renew his claims was to brave
persecution and death in their most horrid forms.




116          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
But perhaps they expected a better reception by the world.
No. Their prophetic master had foretold distinctly the extent
and kind of their sufferings. Yet with these consequences full
before them, the very men who had abandoned him in dismay
when alive dared all danger in attestation of his resurrection.
The fury of the mob, the power and malice of the priests, were
unheeded, and they went forth proclaiming him "Lord of Life
and Glory" in the streets, in the temple, before the Sanhedrim. They were beaten, and thanked God for the honor.
When imprisoned, the jail resounded with their songs of exultation and praise. And at last a life of ignominy, suffering,
danger, incessant toil, Awas terminated by a death whose horror we shudder to recite. But they rejoiced to endure in testimony of their fidelity to Him, the despised and crucified, the
risen and exalted one.
Ah! some strange influence must have issuecIfirom that
grave thus to give vigor to the nerveless, antd manly courage
to the timid, and cause him, who just before trembled at a
woman's voice, and with cursinc- and swearinc' denied his Lord,
now boldly to teach in the temple, andl fearlessly denounce tlhe
high priests in their own Sanhedriu. Now what was to be
gained, let me ask, by such a procedure?  IMuch, if stripes and
imprisonment and persecution and univelsal hatred and derision be indeed a gain. And what was to be lost? Nothing,
if property and character and life be of no value. But if they
suffered much from the bigotry of their own countrymen, they
endured still more from the fierce intolerance of the heathen.
Christ foretold this, St. Paul said, "In every city persecution
and bonds await me."  And the Acts of the Apostles is but
the record of the labors and sufferings of the Apostles. But
we need not refer to Christian histories; enough is related by
heathen writers. We are informed by Tacitus that thirty
years after the death of Christ, a vast multitude of Christians
were in Rome, and suffered persecution. And the philosophic
historian remarks, that, though Nero's charge was false, they
were "a pernicious superstition, and deserved the severest
pulnishment."  Plinly and Traian, the most amiable of philosoi




THlE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.             17
phers and best of emperors, agreed that the Christians ought
to be punished, at any rate, for their obstinacy in adhering to
their faith. What, then, had they to expect from the malice
of interested priests and a fanatical populace? Ten persecutions by imperial authority, bloody and desolating, followed,
while the hatred of the heathen populace was perpetual -and
universal. Suetonius, Juvenal, 3Martial, all confirm the same.
Since such was the spirit of Jew and Gentile, and such the
sufferings they endured voluntarily, we may sulely say, that
in attesting the resurrection of Christ they lost all earthly
good, without the slightest prospect or possibility of earthly
gain.  NTow we make bold to say, that it is not only in the
highest degree improbable, but absolutely impossible, that
men should thus expose themselves to the certainty of utter
ruin, in support of a known falsehood, which they, after all,
have no interest to support. It supposes the utter subversion
of all the principles of our nature. It is not only impossible,
but self-contradictory to assert, that any human being would
thus act, not only without any motive, but against all motives.
This would be conclusive fiom the case of one person. But
the argument acquires.(if possible) additional czemculctive
strength, when we remember the numbers engaged in this
supposed conspiracy to deceive the world —twelve, one hundred and twenty, five hundred; many of whom, if not all,
must have known the deception; and any one of whom, at
any time, might have gained, not mere exemption, but rich
rewards, by exposing the fraud. Yet no bribery could ever
buy the secret, no skill detect it, no torture wring it out. And
though many were thus forced to renounce the Saviour, none
ever dreamed of exposing what did not exist to be exposed.
It is easy to conceive the value which would be attached by
Jewish or heathen priests to a secret which would crush at
once this new and growing sect. Even supposing a combination to have been formed with the vain hope of personal
advantage, it must have soco appeared how hopeless was the
enterprise, and the bond of mutual interest which bound them
being broken, they who began with deceiving the world would




118          THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
certainly have ended with betraying one another. The argument then is cumulative. "Honor among robbers," may be
alleged in reply. But this confirms our argument. It is only
a sense of common interest. And thus, if you look on society
on every side, the highest and lowest, you will find but two
levers which move all things-interest and moral sense. But
every principle of self interest was against the Apostles' course.
They must then have been guided by moral principle. Here,
then, we plant ourselves, and think our position impregnable,
and say, that without an utter and inconceivable subversion
of all the principles of human belief in ourselves, and of human
conduct in others, it is impossible to doubt the sincerity and
truth of their testimony to the resurrection of Christ.




THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
PSALM liii. 1.-" The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God."
IN nothing does the difference more strikingly appear
between the truth of God and the opinions of men, than in
the comparative estimate which they make of the wisdom and
folly of human character and conduct. He is the wise man,
according to the maxims of this world's philosophy, who sagaciously devises and vigorously executes some scheme of secular
aggrandizement-who, whether he aims at distinction or at
wealth, coolly and comprehensively surveys the various causes
which may promote or thwart his interests, and, neglecting all
secondary objects, skilfully employs his own resources and dexterously guides the feelings and passions of men around him, to
promote the one great object of his wishes and his efforts. And
it is easy to perceive, when such an individual mingles in the
common crowd of his fellow-citizens, from the respectful deference with which his opinion is always asked, and the close
attention with which, like the response of an oracle, the reply
is listened to, that he has closely marked the course of trade,
or diligently studied the passions of men, or has successfully
applied his observations to the extension of his fortune or his
fame.
Or perhaps his mind has moved in a wider circle and comprehended larger interests. The sagacity which might have
advanced his personal wealth or ambition, may be employed
about the interests of his neighborhood, or, taking a still wider
range, may embrace, in its capacious grasp, the interests of a
state or an empire. He may have read all history and studied




120        THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
all philosophy. IHe may be deeply versed in the science of government and human nature, and be intimately acquainted with
the present relations and conflicting interests of the most distant countries. He may bring light fromn the past to shine upon
the present and illumine the future, and in the darkest hours of
a nation's peril this pilot of the state may guide the vessel
safely through a stormy sea, till she reaches the destined port
and swings securely fiom her moorings. And it is in just such
a case as this, when the greatest of earthly efforts has accomplished the greatest of earthly objects, and obtained the greatest of earthly rewards, that the difference most manifestly
appears between the wisdom of this world and that which
cometh from above. The name of a successful statesman is
upon every tongue, and the praise of his wisdom is proclaimed
by every voice; and as he is charioted along in splendor, the
opening crowd joyfully greet his approach, and man presses
close upon his neighbor, that he may hear the accents of his
lips, or exhibit some testimony of his cordial admiration.
And yet, in the midst of all this admiration fromn man, there
may be that in the character and conduct of this universal
favorite which stamps upon him, in the eye of God, marks of
the most egregious folly. And, even as he would look with
contemptuous disapprobation upon the contracted views of
some simple peasant, whose thoughts all centring on the present moment and the present spot, never look onward to the
future interests of a wide-spread nation, thus may He, who
sitteth in presiding dignity over all worlds and comprehendeth
eternity at a glance, laugh to scorn the imaginary wisdom of
the man whose mind never ventured away fiom earth to hold
communion with heaven, whose views are limited to a few
short years of a fleeting and uncertain pilgrimage, who neglects his best and highest interests for the sake of a temporary
gratification, who is wise for time but not for eternity. Of
such a man, however exalted in station, however ennobled by
birth, however adorned wlth learning, the Bible says he is a
fool. The fool, then, who is spoken of in the text, is not the
man who reasons feebly and acts injudiciously in the common




THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATIIEISM.             121
affailrs of life, but he who neglects the one thing needful, who
has not the beginning of wisdom, which is the fear of the
Lord.  Of such it is said-of every sinner it is said-that he
hath said in his heart, There is no God.
I can see neither necessity nor propriety for the criticism
which would change the translation and make it read, The
fool hath said in his heart [I wish] no God. To say in the
heart, to believe with the heart, to love with the heart, indicate the reality of the internal feeling in opposition to the
external profession.  The doctrine seems then to be simply
this: the sinner-the fool-every sinner, whatever may be his
verbal profession, does, in reality, say in his heart, does in his
soul cherish the belief, the hope, that there is no God. And
it is this hope, this secret; almost unconscious impression,
which emboldens him in sin. And this is the doctrine that
we sthall endeavor to confirm, to illustrate, to enforce, and to
apply to-day.
There are some who say not only in thought, but in their
words, There is no God. There are some who can open their
eyes upon this fair and beautiful Tworld which God has made,
can enjoy the rich blessings of his hand, and even riot upon
his bounties; can look abroad Aith admiring gaze upon the
vastness and magnificence of this great creation, beholding
everywhere the traces of boundless wisdom and benevolence;
and yet can turn away fronm this grand and glorious exhibition
with their heart untouched and their mind unexpanded, and
say, with fearless hardihood, There is no God. They see everywhere innumerable traces of design, but deny the existence of
a designer. All nature teems with life and happiness and joy,
yet they deny the existence of a living cause of all this happiness. All without is beauty to the eye, anld music to the ear;
and all within is admirably adapted to receive delight from
external nature. It is but to look and all is loveliness; it is
but to listen, and all is melody. He enters upon a world which
is already fitted' up like a great mansion to receive an expected
guest, who is likewise exquisitely adapted to occupy thle mansion prepared for his residence. The air which surrounds lhim,




122         TIHE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
is just fitted to expand his lungs and to communicate tile prilnciple of life and heat to his flowing blood. The earth on which
he treads is just suited to produce food, which his system is
just suited to digest and to carry through the intricate machinery of tubes and. canals to every part of the body, giving
flesh to the muscles, hardness to the bones, sensibility to the
nerves, and incessant, never-sleeping energy to the beating
heart. Yet he denies the existence of a power which could
create this mysterious dwellingr-place, and so harmoniously
adapt, in every part, the living inhabitant to his earthly habitation. There are tlhose whom God has richlly endowed with
the gifts of nature and the advantages of fortune, who employ
the hig'h capacities of their nature against the author of these
blessings, who reason shrewdly and argue gravely to prove
there is no God; who thinik, by the ingrenious array of logical
syllogisms, to overthrow the goveriinment of the eternal God,
and, by a pointed sarcasm or an ingenious witticism, hope to
cast the thunderer from his throne.  Baut he that sitteth in the
heavens laugheth them to scorn; the Almighty holdeth them
in perfect derision.
Now, we are accustomed to look on the atheist as a monster
of iniquity, and few of us can feel the slightest sympathy with
one who openly denies and contemns the existence and attributes of God. But it is one of the strangest marvels of the
human heart, which is a world of iniquity at best, that the
very sins which we shudder *to name we do not hesitate to
commit, the very thoughts and feelings which we would not
for the world avow, even to ourselves, we secretly cherish and
openly manifest in our daily conduct.  Andl thus it is that
while there are very few avowed atheists in the world, there
are many real ones; while there are  few in word there are
many in deed. And the doctrine of our text, if we do not
altogether mistake the meaning, is, that a real, deep-seated,
practical atheism  is at the bottom of all the wickedness of
men. Upon the authority of God's word, and the authority
of every man's conscience, we make the charge this day against
each sinner, -that he is, for every purpose of a real and practi



THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISMI.              123
cal belief, an atheist before God; and we pray you to consider
how fearful is your condition if, ilstead of being almost Christians, as some of you may hope you are, you shall be found to
be far from God and hope, and in nothing practically dclifferent
fiom the atheist you abhor —if you shall be found, after all
your self-gratulation and all your complacency, to be so far
fiiom true religion that you have not received, in hlonest sincerity, the very first elements of religious belief:  As for you
who plume yourselves upon the purity and elevation of a philosophical deism, while you avowedly reject the revelation of
the Bible, what is your condition, if it shall be true of you as
well as others, that with all your high pretensions to a pure
theology, there is in reality and truth no fear of God before
your eyes, no belief of God in your hearts, no service of God
in your lives.  Is there any value in words without ideas,
in professions without practice, in opinions which h1ave no
iinftiellce upon coniduct?
That we may establish the doctrine of the text, and bring
blome uponl every conscience the conviction of its truth, we
only ask that we may be permitted to reason on this as on
every other subject, fiom the known laws of' human beliei;
and the observed phenomena of human conduct.  Appealing
fearlessly to every individual present for the truth of our
assertion, we say that the general course of humaan conduct
and the general current of human feeling are much the same
as if there were no creator of the universe, or none who cared
for the affairs of men. It is a proposition too plain to be
doubted, almost too obvious to be advanced in argument, ald
yet too often forgotten in our reflections, that all the Conduct
of rational beilgs is influenced necessarily by their real opinions. You cannot introduce a new truth into the mind without
affectingl the ieelings or influencing( the conduct. Let us take
an instance which is not our own, and where we can exercise
our unhiassed judgment.  It was a doctrine of the Epicureans
that the gods existed, but tlhat they dwelt apart, in great indolence, regardless of the interests of this lower world.  Now,
suppose that a new idea could be added to their views of trutll,




124         THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
and that instead of a godl afar off, reposilng in motionless di"gnity, there had been brouglht before their view a god of love,
of mercy, of active benevolence, ever active and deeply interested in the affairs of men. Is it possible that these new ideas
shotld really be received and adopted by the mind of any man
withOut at all affecting his feelings or his conduct?
Suppose there was a world of intelligent and active beingcs,
like ourselves, professing the sanme social feelings, the sanme
ardent passions, the same mutual interests, the same mental
and physical organizatioll, as ourselves, with no knowledge of
a God.  We can readily conceive, that there would exist
amllon  them, the same pur'suits, the same affections, the saille
play of social sympathies, the same gentle and the same terribie emLotions —hatred would burn as fiercely, love would glow
as warmnly, and the whole machinery of human society woul d
mnove onward as it does -with us, upheld by the play of the
natural principles implanted within us to counteract anld regalate each other.  Law would punish crime and public interests
would fotrm a public opinion to control the intercourse of' lifte.
The more and less anmiable, the more and less respectable
would form, as they do with us, divisions of tleir society.
Nfow, suppose that the knowledge and real belief of a holy
and Almighty God were introduced among, the inhabitants of
this world-would it have no influence upon their feelings and
their conduct?  Would it not become one element, aind a
mighty one indeed, of all their actions?  Would it be possible to introduce into the minds of intelligent beings a set of
ideas entirely different fiom all they possessed before-ideas
relating  to objects the most important to their interests, thle
most elevatingo in their nature, addressed to their fears and to
their hopes, appealing to all their strongest emotions, involving their whole happiness for timle anld fo1 eteirnity —without
)rodlucing any corresponding change in their f`eelings and conlduct?  The very supposition is absurd.  Anld why is not this
corresponding effect produced upon us? Why do we live and
act and feel just as if there were no God inl the universe, or as
if the knowledge of his existence were concealed from us?




TEIE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEIS.f.             125
There would be nothing necessary, to change tlhe whole face
of human society and the whole current of human affairs, but
to bring clown upon every human bosom the deep conviction
of the existence of God and a true conception of his awful attributes.  Could I bring home to your minds this day the presence of the Holy One of Israel, his awful majesty, his infinite
purity, his all-embracing greatness, the fierceness of his hot
displeasure against sin, the keenness of his sezarcling, glance,
those eyes which like a flaming fire pass to and fro through
the eartlh, penetrating the hypocrite's disguise, detecting tlhe
formalist's heartlessness, and gazing with clear and unimpeded
vision on the dark pollutions of the sinner's bosom-could I
lift the veil which separates the seen from the urnseen, and
show  you that majestic presence which fills this house, encircles this assembly, pervades each bosom, lays bare each
thought and purlpose-would it not br'illg down each proud
imagiiiation, subdue each rebellious tlihought, mand bring the
mastery of a deep and breathless reverence to bear on every
emotion and feelingo?  But I see a hand you cannot see.  I
hear a voice you cannot hear.  And it is because, havincg
eyes, you see not, havin(g ears, you h]ear not, understand not,
believe not, that you shall die in youllr sins,    sinner! and
where God and Christ are Vou. can never come.
Let us take a few cases out of many which present themselves to our view upon the surface of every-day society, and
see whether we may not recognize the same fundamental
atheism which is charged by the text against all the soils and
daughters of Adam.  Let us pass through human society, in
all its orders and gradations, and notice the operations of our
common nature in each, froin him who grovels in its lowest
state, to him who shines the wonder and the envy of thousands
upon its highest pinnacle. Let us visit the abodes of wretclihedness and crime, where the victims of justice, the outcasts of
society are reserved for long confinement or for speecldy punishment.  There lies the chained murlderer.  He waas a man of
blood, fierce and fiery passions lhave burnt deep upon his face
the marks of crime. His last crimne was perhllaps his greatest,




126          THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHTEISMI.
and deep remorse now overclouds his brow, while savage and
maligl-nant passions send forth galeams of more than anger firomf
his stern eye.  WThen he whetted the knife for his nunsspecting victim, when he tried its temper sportively amindst his
hardened comrades, when he spoke of blood, of human bloold,
and his eye flashed wildly at the thlought of his sweet revenge, when he approached with slow and stealthy pace to the
appointed spot, and crouched in breathless silence to leap upon
his prey, when his dagger gleamed in the twilight and met a
brotlher's heart-did he then believe that there is a God,  who
ruleth in the heavens and heareth the voice of blood when it
crieth fiom the groundl?  One believing apprehension of his
existence, his greatness, and his presence, would have quelled
his angry passion, the upraised dagger wvould have fillen
harmless at his side, and the man of blood, rebuked by the
majesty of thle Almig hty,  would have stood abashed and humbled in his sighlt.
~Let us rise one grade in the scale of moral being, and behold the drunkard and thie galmbler-mlln who would shudder
at the crime of murd'er andtd si'rl' the charo'  of aItheisml as a
calumny. is it possible for a:v man who witnesses their midnig-lit revels, their reckless disreoard of all the warnings of
conscience, their horrid desecration of the tenderest and mInost
sacred ties, their violation of tile im-ost solemn duties and. iinhuman tranmpling under feet the most bindingll obliogatiolsis it possible to believe, that the mind which is the dwelltingplace of such desperate passions,  and the perpetrator of such
h]orr'id crimes, does at the very Imoment entertain tfle stronog
belief, that there is a God who beholds and will reward?
Did he, who wNon from the infatuated husbandl the last mite
which relmained to supply the wants of a dyilng wife and her
perishing children; did hle, who to gratify his Inlust for gaingll,
reducedl his faiily to beggary alnd want; did he, who gave hil.self to be a slave to beastly drunkenness, destroyiin( his own
rational powers and. involving an innocent famiily in his disgrace and ruinl; did he, who laid his snlares for the young a'.Id
unsuspecting and allnled them onward in thle samne career witlli




TI-IE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISEM.            12 7
himself to the same hopeless destruction —did ally of these believe, ill their inmost souls, tlhat there is a God, who will take
vengueance on iniquity and sin, who.will hear the cries of the
distressedl and afflicted, and will visit on every sinler, with
tenfold fury, the recompense due to his tranlsgressions? Could
tlhey delight in the sin whlicll they knew was to be so speedily
punished?  Could they roll, as a sweet morsel under their
lips, what they knew would turn to gall and wormwood ald
deadly poison in the system?  No, they have said in their
hearts, There is no God. They have said, Who is the Lord, that
we should regard him'?  They have said, "IHe is altogether
such a one as ourselves."  "He doth not observe, he doth
not consider."  And because sentence against an evil work is
not executed speedily, they have asked, Where is the promise
of his coming? and their hearts have been fully set within
them to do evil.
Even among those whom the amiable and courtly moralist
is most disposed to treat with kindness and with defrenlce,
who move in the Awalks of refined and elevated society, alndl
by the gentlleness of tlheir manners, and the cheerfuilless of
tlheir spirits, cast a lieI and buoyancy over all around them -
may there not be found, iwith all their amiable traits, a carelessness of God, anl indifference to his favor, whichl carries
home upon them too the charge of atheism  in thle sight of
God.  Behold the youmg muan, as he enters upon life, panting
for distinction, keen in his pursuit of' knowledge, or his love
of pleasure.  The bloomn of health is upon his cheek, the
buoyancy of youth is in his spirits, the frank and unsuspecting confidence of youth is developed in all his movenments.
He commends himself to the approbation of man, for he
abounds in all those qualities which are useful and agreeable
in human society.  But we ask if, amidst all this anxiety and
effort to commend himself to man, he has one single anxiety,
makes one single effort, to commend himself to God? AVould
his condluct be at all different, would not his feelings be the
same, if the name of God were erased from  his memory, allcld
the nlotion of God blotted out from his undelstandini,', as t}ei 




128         TIHE SIN, AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
thought of God undoubtedly is from the whole current of his
reflections?
We know not a more engaging spectacle than that alluded
to before, unless it may be that of one who has just passed
the tempestuous season of his youth and escaped the shipwreck of the passions, who retains all the ardor of youth
without its violence, all the sensibility of passion without- its
wild excesses, whose feelings have been regulated by experience and not destroyed, who has mellowed into ripeness without losing the fieshness and fragrance of his first youing emotions. Now, we care not how highly you exalt such a claracter as this, and cast around him the dazzling drapery of a
thousand virtues which exist only in the imagination of his
warm admirers —we are willinc to admit the truth of all your
fancy dreams; nay, so satisfied do we feel of the perfect certainty of our position, we would lend our feeble aid, if neeessary, to fill up the outline your fancy has already sketched,
Let his bosom be the home of the gentlest and loftiest emotions, and over all his intercourse with men let there be diffused the charm of a winning gracefulness which, flowing  unstudied from the heart, reaches the hearts of all, and gathers
to itself a still higher tribute than that of admiration, even
the unbought affections of all around him-the pur est of
patriots, the firmest and truest of friends, the tenderest of
parents, the kindest among all his acquaintance.  Let him
unite, in his single person, all those public and private excellencies which men admire and exhibit to the world-the fairest
specimen that has yet been seen of our fallen nature. Yet
against this man so endowed by nature, so improved by elnucation, so enthroned in the hearts of those around him, so encircled with the halo of those virtues which men admire, do
we bring the same sweeping charge, as against others, of utter
alienation from  God, and a practical renunciation of his existence and his government.  Nor can we at all perceive how,
if the whole population of our globe were composed of such
individuals, it would at all affect the truth of our position.
The possession of certain relative and social feelings toward




THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISNIM.             1 9
mene, vIwhich we admit, does not certainly prove the existence
of certain other feelings toward God.
The inhabitants of a State imight east off the authority of
our Union, or a distant province imight reject the dominion of
an emperor, and yet, amidst the very leaders of this rebellion,
there might be exercised all those relative and social feelingfs
to which we have alluded. There might be a chivally which
defiecl all danger, an honor that was never tarnished, a patience
that endured every privation and labor and suffiring, a high
enthusiasm  which endeared to all the inhabitants of their
province and their state; and yet toward the government
against which they have rebelled there is certainly no feeling
of regard, no recognition of' its authority.  And even so may
there be all these various exhibitions of what is amiable and
agreeable and admirable among' men, while there is no recognition of God N:whatever.
I could point you to the metropolis of a polished nation
where education and fashion have combined to cast over
female society a vivacity, a brilliancy, and a charm, not elsewhere known; and yet in the most polished circles of that
gay metropolis the doctrines of atheism are taught by female
lips, and the astonished foreigner is told that he is still in thle
shackles of priestly domination, and that his reverence for
Deity is the last relic of an exploded superstition.  Now we
ask you if all the vivacity of her conversation, all the gracefulness of her movements, all the bright intelligence of her
sparkling eye, will at all disprove the assertion of her lips?
And does she not stand before you by her own mouth, a selfconvicted atheist?  But which carries with it the greatest
weiglht-the conduct, or the laniguage?  And those two gay
and thoughtless devotees of fashion and of pleasure, who
circle side by side in the maze of the dance, and dwell, with
wrapt and senseless admiration on the splendors of the theatre,
and, in every other way that human folly has devised, endeavor
to waste together the day of their probation-we say not,
that there is no difference between them, but we say that it
is rather nominal than real, that it is more in word than in
6*




130         THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
reality: and we appeal to your own sober reason to decide,
whether, if the difference be important, it be not all in favor
of that one who, denying altogether the Divine existence,
treats the whole as a delusion, and against her who professing to believe it, as the most solemn and important truth which
has ever burst npon the human mind to enlighten and exalt
it, yet treats it all as the idlest superstition, gives it no place
in her thoughts, no hold on her affections, no influence on her
conduct, and thus adds to the folly of atheism, and the folly
of worldliness, the guilt of hypocrisy.
And here -we would turn aside for a moment to notice that
charge which is so often brought against the professors of
Christianity-that they are the exclusive hypocrites of the
day, and that, though there may be sometliing of virtue in the
church, in it especially is found an abounding vice, which, by
its meanness, casts all others in the shade. aNow to all that
infidels or worldly men may say agaillst the ilconsistency of
many professing Christians, we yield at once our most hearty
and unqualified assent, and we say let hypocrisy die the death,
whether it be transfixed by the brandished spear of truth, or
perish under the poisoned arrows of a malignant in-fidel.  And
to the infidelity of our own and other times we must yield
this passing homage, that its sarcasm and its petulamice 1have
often aided the cause of truth and helped to weed out many
errors in doctrine, and in practice, that it may aspire to this
dignity in common with other beasts of prey, that it lives by
feeding on vermin  more noxious than itself.  But not only
would we root out hypocrisy from the church, we would also
banish it, if possible, fiom the world. And therefore would
we allude to a species of hypocrisy universally preNvalent
among worldly men, which, to the eye of impartial observation, wears a still more revolting aspect than any that is
witnessed among professed Christians.  There are those w-ho
deride the revelation of God's truth as a feeble and idle fabrication, and view the believers in its doctrines as ignorant  ndcl
misguided zealots.  They assume the air of superior wisldoIII,
and assert the possession of a higher, purer, and more plmiio



THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHIEISM.                131
sophical theology.  To them the book of nature is transparent
on every page.  All the mystery which is thrown over the
dealings and character of the universal Father is dissipated by
tlhat clearer lijlit which comes to them  from  the skies, and
chases away fioiom their minds the darkness and the Imists of a
gloomy superstition.  HIowever it may be with others, they,
at least, are privileged to walk in the clear sunshine, to breat-he
the pure air of a more exalted region, to expatiate in the fireeness of their untrammnelled spirits over every field of large anl
elevatingo thoughlt.
Now, to such we would only say, you who have so mucli
more worthy and exalted views of tile Creator's character
should certainly be, of all men, the most profound in your
reverence, the most ardent in your affection, the most faithfil
in your obedience, the most unwearied in your service, the
most submissive to his dispensations, the most friequently
engaged in holy contemplation of his character, and wrapt in
humble and delightltfl admiration of his g'lorioius perfectioins.
To you the motives are still stronger thaln  to any other fior
r'isinog superior to all sensual pleasures, and all selfish interests,
and, borne upward. as you are on stronoger pinions, you well
might soar to higher flights of virtuous exertion. Blt, alas,
for the philosophy of IDeism, the very mention of wlat you.houldc be is the bitterest of sarcasms upon What you arel'
The very language of devotion is unknown in your vocabuttlary, the habit of meditation upon God is thle farthest of all
others from  your practice.  Among all your other busy andl
restless thoughts, the thought of God seldom ever mingles, or,
if it come at all, is hastily expelled as an unwelcome intruder.
The name of God seldom falls from your lips; when it does, it
is only that its sacredness may be profaned by some horrid
imprecation, or some trivial oath.  When, in the society of
some Christian fiiends, the name of God is mentioned with
reverence, and, his praises nmeekly spoken, does it not sound inl
your ears like the stranrge lanlgunge of some unllknown land?
And would it not appear the dreariest of all possible conditions
to be confined for life to society sluch as this, with wvhich you




1i32        THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISM.
have no communnity of thought or sympathy of feeling? And
now we ask you whether, in the whole universe of God, there
can possibly be found a more palpable and shameful contradiction than that which is exhibited in the conduct of the man
who has so much' regard for God in words and so little in
reality, who professes so much love and admiration for a being
of whom he seldom or never thinks, who acknowledges a benefactor and yet feels no gratitude, has a father and exhibits no
filial affection, a sovereign and shows no obedience, who boasts
of all the light of day and yet has all the chilliness of night,
and the beautifil display of all his boasted and philosophical
religion is only the frost-work which has grown up amid the
coldness of his own abstracted speculations, and disappears
before the heat of passion, or is trampled under foot in the
bustle and haste of worldly business, and the conflict of worldly
interests?
And now, having endeavored to illustrate and to confirm,
by various examples, the doctrine of our text, we would direct
your attention to one important deduction that may be drawn
forom the whole, namely, the importance and reasonableness of
the doctrine of justification by faith. It has been for centuries
the habit of superficial reasoners to deride the doctrine of
justification by faith, and to dwell, even to nauseousness, on the
indifference of human opinions, and the absurdity of judging
man by his internal principles instead of his outward conduct.
Now in opposition to all such declarations, we might plead,
did we need aid of authority to sustain us, the opinion of the
most acute philosopher and most eloquent historian of our age
-a malln who stood alike pre-eminent at the bar, in the senate,
and in the literary circles of Great Britain —the late accomlplished Sir James Mackintosh. Speaking of the doctrine of
justification by faith, as avowed and defended by Luther, and
especially his doctrine "that men are not made righteous by
performing actions externally good,'but must have righteous
principles in the first place, and then they will not fail to
perform virtuous actions," he calls it "the principle which is
the balsis of all ethical judgment, by the power of which he




THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISI.             133
struck a mortal blow at superstition"-a proposition equally
certain and sublime-the basis of all pure ethics —the celtleie
of the eternal alliance between morality and religion. It is
founded, indeed, on a profound and thorough knowledge of
the human heart, and the secret springs of human actions.
As a man thinketh in his heart so is he. His character is
always decided by his prevailing views and opinions. Place
before you the finest possible specimen of human nature, a
man the most energetic in his conduct, the most vivid in his
emotions, and deprive him one by one of all his opinions; let
him cease to believe that there is kindness in the smile which
beams upon him from the countenance of his friend, that there
is heat in the fire upon his hearth, that there is nourishment
in the food upon his table, and do you not perceive that as
you strip him gradually of all his opinions and belief, you likewise divest him of all his feelings and principles of action, till
he stands at last before you a statue, mute, motionless, unfeeling, with all the organs of speech, and all the capacities for
vigorous action and strong emotion, but dormant now and
undeveloped for want of their natural and appropriate stimnuli.
Now, suppose you wished to arouse this breathing statue fromn
the listless apathy into which he had sunk, would you not just
seek to open the only avenue by which feeling could reach the
heart, and which had just been closed-the avenue of an
assured belief of all the truths which he had doubted?  And
as each new truth flashed home upon his mind, wouldC you not
expect to see the glow of a new feeling on his cheek, and the
movement of a new impulse on his whole fiame, and would
not this harp of a thousand strings vibrate harmoniously to
every ray of light that beamed in upon it fi'om without, as did
that fabled harp of old which, though untouched by human
hands, sent back the softest music when touched by the first
beams of the rising sun?  If then a change must pass upon the
human heart before we can be saved, if we be altogetlher (dead
in sins as the Bible represents us, if ewe need the introduction
of some new affections and dispositions into our characters, it
must be accomplished through the introduction of some new




134         THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATtHEISM.
truth, and this truth call neither enter into the mind or influence
the feelings or character or conduct without being, believed.
There are two problems to be solved, and only two, with
respect to man's salvation. First, to make it consistent withl
God's law. And this has been done by the substitution and
death of the Saviour. The second, to make it consistent with
man's character, and this can only be solved as it is done in
the Bible. He can only be sanctified by faith or an honest
belief of the truth, unless indeed you can find some other way
of promoting moral purity and worth than through the influence of moral truth, or some way for this truth to operate
without being received into the mind and cordially believed.
If' faith were indeed as some conceive, a Imere set of notions,
having no connection with feeling or action —did the Bible
connect the salvation of man with the belief of certain dogmas
which have no relation to his happiness or virtue, were not
faith an active, living, practical principle that worketh by love
and purifieth the heart —then it would tall be absurd enough.
But since the connection is obvious and indissoluble between
the belief of men and their whole character; since no man
acts without an object, which he believes to have both existence and value, nor feels but in view of something which he
believes deserves the exercise of feeling, we conceive that the
doctrine of justification by faith is no absurdity in morals, but
is only the particular application of a principle which is universally true. Indeed, the very conception of a religion which
did not require the exercise of faitlh would be a contradiction
in terms.  It wouldc be a system  of belief which was not
believed, a system of truths not received as true.
But in vain does the fool say, that there is no God. He is
contradicted by all without and all within him, by the whole
animated and the whole inanimate creation. Does he commune with his own heart upon his bed, and in the stillness
and solitude of nilght does he seek to hear the still soft voice
of conscience?  From his inmost spirit there comes a voice
which neither hesitates nor doubts, but says with undoubtinog
assurance that there is a God. Does hle ask of the wise and




TIlE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEISif.            135
good of every age?  With united voice they testify to the
existence of a God.  Does lie seek to know the universal
opinion of mankindl?  From  the East and from  the NWest,
from the North and from the South, from the burning Equator
to the frozen Poles, from every savage tribe and every nation
of civilized and enlightened men, firom every people and kindred under heaven there comes one long and loud response,
like the voice of many waters, and the sound of mighty thunder, saying, There is a God that ruleth in the heavens. Does
he turn to the works of nature and question them?  Nature,
through all her provinces has but one answer. The lowly
valley with its verdant covering and its garniture of flowers
as plainly declares his existence and his greatness as the
mountain which lifts its head on high with its mlighty forests
waving fbr centuries untouched upon its summit. It is murmurdcl by the rivulet, it is whispered in the breeze, it is thtindered on the storm, and when Ocean lifts up his voice onl higlh,
and wave calleth unto wave, the roar of his ever-dashing waters
is only the deep and majestic chorus to that universal llhymn
of praise which swells fi'om land and sea, from hill and valley,
fiom the untrodden desert and the cultivated field, byT day nd
by nioht, unceasingly, to the Omnipotent Creator.
And do not the heavens declare his gloiy and the firmainellt
show forth his handiwork?  Yes, there is a voic(e which comes
to man fromn those far distant worlds, and they tell hiram that
the energy of Almighty power has not been exhausted on this
single world, and that wherever they have travelled, yet in tlhe
greatness of their way, as they have swept by other planets
and other systems in their dizzy flight, they have ever been
guided by an eye tlhat slunibereth not, and upheld by an arm
that is never wearied, and that in those regions of immneasurable space which no eye of man has ever reached and no telescope of man has ever brought within the fieldcl of human visionthere are the footsteps of the Creator visible, and that over the
boundlessness of this unseen and illimitable empire has he
poured forth with unsparing hadlc  the riches of a goodness
which knows no limit, and manifested the greatness of a power




136         THE SIN AND FOLLY OF ATHEIS[M.
which is infinite and inexhaustible. But regardless of all this
concurring testimony of nature, amidst this joyful symphony
of all creation, the voice of the atheist is heard, in peevish and
querulous accents, murmuring forth: No, there is no God. It
is not surprising then that he who denies and contemns the
existence and the attributes of God should find little sympathy
among the rest of mankind, that he is regarded with unmingled abhoirence, and considered as one of those rare and stupendous monsters of iniquity whom we seldom see, whose very
existence, we are often prone, for the honor of our nature, to
deny.
Now we have not the slightest wislh to lessen in your minds
this natural abhorrence for the principles and character of the
speculative atheist. Nay, believing as we do that it is both
natural and just, we would desire to see it increased and rendered permanent, to see it pass from a mere sentiment to a
warm emotion, and fiom an emotion to a principle of action,
extending to atheism  of every form, whether exhibited by
ourselves or others, avowed by the tongue or by the conduct,
or lingering in secret concealment in the recesses of the heart.




Il.
WIHAT WAS FINISHED IN THE DEATH OF CHRIST.
JOHI-IN, xix. 30.-" He said, It is finished: and bowed his head, and gave up thei
ghost."  (John, iv. 34, xvii. 4; Luke, xii. 50, xviii. 31; Acts, xx. 21;
2 Tim. iv. 7.)
How much of solemn and touchingo interest is often contained
ill this brief expression, It is finished! We stand by the bedside of one endeared to us by a thousand tender recolleqtiouns
of the past, and doubly endeared by the sufebrings of thle present, and the mournful anticipations of the future-a child of
sorrows, lingering   througll months of tedious disease, quietly,
with lamrlblike resig nation, endurinol the visitations of a fatlher's
hanud; and when death, wlhose slow  approach we have long
observed, at last seizes the extremities, and, advancing' onward
a triumphant fTe, storms tlhe citadel of the heart, we exclailm,
with a melancholy satisfaction, It is finished!  Tlhe conflict is
passed.  The struggle at last is over.  The suffering spirit is
released, and, far above all scenes of earthly sorrow, reposes
in the presence of the Lord.
We hear of the death of some benefactor of the race, distinguished by his self-denying labors, his eloquent appeals, his
patient sufferings )for the benefit of man, and we say, It is finished! The fatlerlless have lost a friend, the poor a protector,
the oppressed an acdvocate, the world an ornament.  IHe is
gone; his loss is irreparable, and hallowed be his memory.
But his virtues shall live in the hearts of men, and his blest
example be fondly treasured up as a model to admire and to
imitate.  Some man of ambition, some aspiring politician or
successful warrior, passes off fiom the scene which he had long




138                WHAT WA:S FINISHED
filled and aoitated; and we say again, at last, It is finished!
The mighty is fallen; ambition has reached its goal.  In the
full ticle of his success has he been arrested; blasted are all his
hopes, frustrated his schemes, "dilllnmed his bright eye, and
curbed his high career."  And thus ever, in proportion to the
tenderness of our mutual relations, the depth of his suffering's,
the nobleness of his nature, the largeness of his plans, and tlhe
wonderfulness of his achievements; as he has excited our affectiOn, our sympathy, our gratitude, our admiration or esteenm,
do we comprehend the fuill meaning of that expression, It is
finished!  And it is only when the fond heart gathers ulp its
recollections, and memory recalls the traces of a character:It
once so tender and so noble-all that he was to us and to
others, to our country, to the world, to the past, the presenlt,
and the future —tllat we sink beneath the weight, of our elmotions; ancd mournful and startling, as the toll of midnigtllt
death-bell in pestilential city, is the sound, It is finished!
But never before were these words so full of meanimn   as ill'
the mouth of thle crucified Redeemer.  Never was fiieldship
so ardent as his to mankind.  Never was love so tender, designs so large, accomplishment so glorious.  His love was a
brother's, his compassion a God's; his designs, formed in eternity, embraced two worlds; his victory was over deatht  and
hell, over principalities and powers. His throne is exalted f1ir
above the heavenis, anid around it are gathered uncounted millions of thlose who xwere redeemied by his love out of' every
natiln and kindred under the whole heavens.  We have salid
there is a fulness of meaning in the language of our text which
is unoll-d nowhere besidte.  Do you doubt it? IP"1.hold that
meek and patient sufferer on the cross, and hear him say with
his expiring breath, "Father, forgive theam, they know not
what they do."  Do you doubt it?  The blacke:ing heavens
roll onward as my witness.  Do you doubt it?  Thie bursting
rocks thtnder it in your ears.  Do you doubt it?  The dead
spring from their graves to rebuke your incredulity, and tlhe
tremblingo centurion unconsciously exclaims, Truly this was the
Son0 of' God.  Let us thern contermll:u~le tlHe words of our text




IN THE  DEATH OF CHRIST.                 139
without hoping or attempting to exl.aust their -full meaning,
and inquire,
Vhact aocs thene filished?   And w-e say,
1st. His state of humiliation and suffetrinlco wlas finished.
2d. All that prophecy had predicted, and types had prefigured, and hope had longed for, was accomplished.
3d. The glorious work he had coma to do was completely
finishled.
1st. His state of humiliation and suffering was finished.  If
we had been informed that a messenger should visit us fromr
heaven, how various would have been our expectations.  How
different from all these expectations was the actual condition
of our Saviour.  He took no angelic form, but was made in
fashion like a mail; he wore no robe of light, but was wlrapped
in swaddling clothes, and laid in a manger.  His first appearance was not in the world's metropolis, but in a distant and
subjugated province. His countrymnen were a despised and outcast tribe.  Of this distant province anld this outcast tribe ihe
chose not the most conspicuous city, or the most distinguished
relatives,  His nativ-e town Nwas on: o&f the obscurest villages
of TJdea, his relatives caMie of the humbllest among the people:
a carpenter his reputed father, and his birtlhplace a stable.
The course of his lifle corresponded to its humllble co:nmeincementt.  le was a man of sorrows, and acquainted withl grief,
despised and rejected of men, and we turned, as it were, our
faces froml him.
That life which began in poverty was closed in ignominy
by a death that was as agonizing as it was disgraceft'll, the
instrument a cross, his companions two thieves.  He had left
the throne of his glory and come down on an errand of unutterable love.  Anid how was he received?  Was he greeted
with the loud welcomes of the race he calne to save?  Did the
gratefufl multitudes gather around him to catch those lessons
of wisdom, and to hear. those tones of grace and mercy which
-fell fiom his lips?  Thley colhcted, indleed, often aroulld him,
at one time to entrap himn in his words, at another to i-eel on
h)is bounty, or to be healed of their diseas:ls.  And even when




140               WHAT WAS'FINISHED
they listened to his teaching, their corrupt and sensual hearts
revolted at its pure and exalted spirituality. Their pride rebelled against his just rebukes, theii hypocrisy trembled at his
keen exposures, and now they exclaimed, This is a hard saying, who can bear it? None. Do not we well say, thou hast
a devil and art mad?  Even they who were the chosen companions of his ministry, whom he had selected from the world
to be the depositories of his doctrine, the witnesses of his
resurrection, the honored heralds of his great salvation to a
guilty race, hobw slow to comprehend the sublime truths which
he revealed, how slow to believe the promises he gave.
There is implanted deep in human nature the yearning desire
after human companionship and human sympathy, the felt
necessity for the mutual interchange of thoughts and feelings,
for hearts that swell with emotion like our own, and minds
that can comprehend and appreciate our character, to whom
we may communicate our hopes and fears, our plans of usefuflness and our views of (d nty, our sober reasonings and our waking
dreams. ZNor can we cconceive a condition more melancholy
than that of him who, elevated too far above those around
him in intellect and feelin!g, seeks in vain for sympathy among
all his fellows, and finds that the whole cast of his mind and
current of his feelings is irreconcilable with theirs. That, his
high enthusiasm is, with them, another name for madness, his
lofty conscientiousness is stigmatized as hypocrisy, his aspirations after nobler objects and high attainments denounced as
ambition.  And when from  the uncongenial society around
him he retreats into the sanctuary of his own bosom, and in
tihe privacy of his retirement holds converse with God and
nature and his own chastened soul, he is considered as one
possessed with an anti-social and gloomy spirit.
Now the Saviour possessed in all their energy the innocent
emotions of our nature, and especially those most warmly cherished by lofty and generous minds.  With him to feel was to
communicate, to know was to teach, to mingle with men was
to go forth in all the ardor of his emotions, approving wh'it
was right, condemning what was wrong. When he looked




IN THE DEATtI OF CHIRIST.                i 1
upon the young man who hal kept the commandments, he
loved him.  When he behleld the hypocrisies of the Pharisees
he groaned with anguislh, and denounced their wickedness in
terms expressive of the deepest detestation.  To one thus constituted, in whom  all that is lovely and noble produced a
thrilling delight, and all that is base and low excited a loathing
inexpressible, how painful must it have been to mingle, even,
with the best and purest of mankind.  He had minglecd in the
society of heaven, lie had lain in the bosom  of his Father
through untold generations, he had rejoiced in the glories of
that upper world, in that mysterious and unfkathomable intercourse between the Father and the Son; and now, a voluntary
exile from the court of heaven, a voluntary participant of tin
inferior nature, he was to minggle with those whose every feeling was fastened to the dust, to pity the weakness and blindness
and ignorance and vanity of the best, to endure the hypocrisy
rand fraud and angry violence of the worst. How did his holy
soul groan beneath the weight of this affliction?  And how
often did his feelings burst forth in earlest expostulation?  To
his apostles often did lie complain of their stupidity and blindness. At one time hie rebukes their unbelief: " Oh, fools, and
slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken;"'"Are ye so also without understanding; do ye not know,
neither perceive?"  And again, " Oh, ye of little faith, how
long shall I be with you; how long shall I endure?"
But what language shall express the deep ermotions of holy
indignation which he felt when witnessing the cool and artful
hypocrisy of the priests and elders? These were the lesser evils
which darkly tinged the whole current of his life, and were the
prelude to those keeiler agonies which immediately preceded its
final close. VWhen we speak of that we have not felt, we speak
at random, alnd no human mind can at all conceive, or human
tongue express the agonies that wrung the Saviour's soul in
the h-our of his last great conflict. There is an awvful mystery
around the subject that shrouds it from  humnan view.  ]'We
know, indeed, that he bore our sins in his body on the cross.
But what is this —the burden of our sins?  We may have felt




-142'              WiTAT WAS FINISHED
its weight upon our consciences; we may have seen its temporal punishment in the persons of others, or felt it in our own.
But what is this to the far more exceeding.andl eternal weight
of anguish which presses on the soul hlereafter?  And what
are the sins of an individual to those of a world'? Ah, he was
mighty to save, who bore the burden of our' sins, an-id lie travailed in the greatness of his strength; yet did the pressure
of oiur heavy guilt force fiom his agonize(d framne great drops,
as of blood, and wring, tilrice wring', f'oml his resigned and
patielt spirit that earnest prayer, " Father, let this cup pass
firomn me"-this culp of salvation for a race, this cup of bitternless for me, let it 1pass away.  We know that he who was
one in essence with the Father cried out upon the cross, "Aly
God, my God, why hast thou deserted me'?"
But how little do we knowr of the mysterious and fearful meaning ot that dying cry?  Did the Divinity leave that human
nature to bear unaided and alone the whole penalty due to
sin?  And what is the condition of one Cdeserted by God?
Whathlt darkness aathers around his soul?  lVhat desolation
overspreads his nature?  What despair sickens his heart?,'What torture racks his frame?  Ah, we shall never knoxv the
full meaning of this cry, until perdition shall disclose its
terrors, and reveal in that world of woe the condition of those
whom  God has deserted forever.  Now these agonies were
over, the last drop was exhausted from  the cup of trembling
and wrath, the Saviour, about to leave this world of humiliation and suffering for enjoymelet of his riglhtful glories, might:ell exclalirlm in triumph, "It is finished.'"
2d. All that prophecy had predicted, and types prefigured,
and hope had longed for, was now accomplished.  For four
thousand years man was a prisoner of hope, shut up to tlhe
glory that was to be revealed.  During this long period the
whole creation longed and sighed for that deliverance which
was to come.  Tlhis hope of a coming deliverer is found
stamped on the literature, and interwoven with the institutions and habits, and the traditions of the most distant nations,
from the remotest times.




IN THE DEATH OF CHRIST.                 143
The sense of guilt and ignorance and misery, on which the
necessity and desire for such a Redeemer and Instructor was
founded, expressed itself in the sacrifices, the self-tortures, the
penances, the pilgrimages, the ablutions which have been universal among mankind. This feeling twas conlfined tono portion
of the globe, and no condition of society, bnt was experienced
alike by the civilized and the barbarous, by the peasant and
the philosopher.  Whether this expectation be the obscure
recollection of some traditional prophlecy, I care not to inquire.
If not it is something  more conclusive still. It is the universal
voice of nature, thie prophecyT primneval within us, not written
on paper, or on storne, but engraven by the Almighty's hand on
every heart.  It is the universal yearning of man's heart after
some expected and niecess:iry good.  It is the appetite which
points to the proper fbod.  It is the want which indicates a
certain supply. It is the adaptltion which necessarily supposes
the use.
And tell me now, ye who have studied man, is there in his
whole physical, moral, and intellectual constitution any thing
superfluous?  Is there any universal desire for which God has
not prepared a gratification? Any want, for which there is no
supply?  Any adaptation, without a corresponding use?  Has
God tlaught us in our very nature, to hunger and thirst.after
righteousness, and does he supply no bread of life?  Does he
hear tihe young ravens when' they cry for food, but disregard
the longings of man's immortal past?  And to what, I pray
you, is this universal desire and expectation adapted, for what
purpose given, unless to prepare us for that Redeemer who at
last was revealed? To preserve, to strengthen, to increase, and
to render more distinct this universal desire and expectation
of the race, was the great object of the whole Jewish dispensation.  To him pointed all the types, of him testified all the
prophets.  He was the substance of all the shadows, the fulfilment of the whole law. Did the innocent lamb die an offering to God: it was to point to the Lamb of God slain from
the foundation of the world; it was to testify that without the
shedding of blood there could be no remission of sins. Did




144               WHAT WAS FINISHED
the scape-goat upon which the people's sins had been confessed
flee away into the wilderness to be seen no more: it was to
signify that our sins should be borne away by one who was
able to sustain their burden, and that they should rise up no
more in judgment against us. Was the whole of that complicated and expansive ritual kept up from generation to generation: it was that each successive generation might look
away, through the shadow, to him who is the substance. Did
prophet after prophet rise and pass away: it was that from
age to age the evidence might increase in quantity and clearness in favor of that mightier prophet who was still to come.
To prepare for his coming was the design of the whole
providential government of God: to this end served the whole
Mosaic law, the august succession of prophets, the mighty
revolutions of empires and kingdoms. HIow do we love a
time long expected, long foretold, long prepared and prayed
for. This time the prophets all desired to behold; Abraham beheld it from afar and rejoiced in the sight. This was the true
"seed of the Patriarch in whom the world was to be blessed."
Moses looked forward with delight to the time when Judah's
departed sceptre should rest on Shiloh's head and the gathering of the people should be to him. Isaiah, Jeremiah, David,
all the prophets, foretold in burning strains the approaching
king and ruler, and desired earnestly to witness the realities of
those wonders which they had all predicted. And now all this
was completed. What was so much desired, predicted, hoped,
prayed for, all, was accomplished, not one prophecy that concerned his perlson, his office, his sufferings, had failed. However
contradictory some might appear, in him they were reconciled;
however minute, in him they were precisely fulfilled. Large
were the hopes that men had cherished, large the blessings
they anticipated from the coming of this deliverer; and these
hopes were expressed and these blessings described in language
of the most dazzling splendor. Those hopes were surpassed,
those blessings exceeded. His origin was far nobler, his nature more exalted, his kingdom more extensive, his designs
more magnificent, and the accomplishment more glorious,




IN THE DEATH OF CHRIST.                 145
than hope had pictured or language had portrayed.  iMan
looked for some superhuman deliverer; he who came was Divine: for some mighty ruler; his throne is the heavens, and
the earth his footstool, and to his dominion there is no boundary, and shall be no end. Deep was the interest felt by heaven
and earth in the accomplishmlent, and anxiously were the eyes
of men and angels directe(l to the hour when it should be said
at last, "It is finishled."
His birth, which prophets lead long announced on earth,
angels proclaimed alotld firomn heaven; and the exalted spirits
who appeared with him on the mount of transfiguration spoke
of his dlecease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem.
The appointed hour had now arrived, the preparation of centuries was completed, the desire of all nations had come: the
seed of the woman, who had bruised  the serpent's head.
Earth's hopes were fulfilled, heaven's designs accomplished.
In this hour of deep and solemn interest, when hell was pouring forth the last vials of its fulry, and all heaven looked on in
amazement, amlid-t the shuddering of nature, the blackening
heavens, the bursting rocks, the opening sepulchres, the Saviour
cried out, "It is finished."  Well might the sun veil his face
from that spectacle of horror, well might the astonished centurion exclaim, "Truly this was the Son of God."
3d. The glorious work he had come to do was finished.
That was no message of trifling imnport which the Saviour came
down to bear: that was no work of inferior moment which lie
came down to execute, for which he put forth the greatness
of his strength, for which he lived a life of humiliation and
suffering on earth, for which he sweat great drops of blood,
and offered up his soul to the agonies of the cross. In all the
works of God there is a characteristic majesty, and on this
there is the impress of his hand.  He came not to create a
world of matter, but to redeem a world of immortal spirits:
not to bestow temporal blessings on an empire or a kingdom,
but eternal happiness on the untold millions of Adam's fallen
race.
If it was great to create, it was greater still to redeem. If
7




1 -1: 6           WHAT WAS FINISHED
the morning stars sang together and the sons of God shouted
for joy, when of these heavens and this earth it was said, " They
are finished," what notes of higher ecstasy and far diviner joy
must have resounded through the upper sky when the heavens
and new earth, in which dwelleth righteousness, were completed; when the great scheme of man's redemption was finished; when the Saviour with his last dying breath sent from
his full soul the clheering annunciation, " It is finished!" when
the attending adngels bore aloft the raptllurous tidings, ganl
heaven's high portals opening wide uttered soft music as they
proclaimed aloud, "It is finished," and the spirits of just men
caught up the sound, and, gazing in each other's faces as they
thought of earth, re-echoed, with a loud enthusiasm unknown to
angels, "Glory to God. It is finished," and God the Father
accepted the atonement, and smiling on this work of love, said
likewise, "It is finished."
This earth had long been in bondage to sin anl Satan. Idolatry, impurity, and misery had darkened and polluted it. A
daring and high-handed rebellion had overspread all its borders.
Darkness covered the earth, and gross darkness the people,
and the last ray of light and comfort fiom  on high, which
might have cheered man's desolated heart, was shut out by a
dreary and hopeless scepticism.  The Saviour had come to
bring life and immortality to light, to overthrow the power of
the Evil One, to cast down the idols, to establish a new government of peace and holinless and love on earth, to tranlsform
rebellious subjects into peaceful citizens of his kingdom, to
people heaven from earth, and to bring down to this lower
world those heavenly principles which create happiness above.
And, oh, what must have been the delight of his holy soul,
when he saw that the object of his mission was accomplished,
that his work was finished, finished beyond defeat, finished
with naught to add. When, from the cross on which he hlung,
he looked with prophetic vision through the long, long lapse
of ages, and beheld the innumerable multitude of the redeemed,
the ten thousand times ten thousand from every nation and people under heavei, their garments washed white in his blood;




IN THE DEATiI OF CHRIST.                147
and their souls rescued by his sufferings, how triumphantly
might he exclaim, "The mighty work is finished! The fatal
stroke has been given to the kingdom of darkness.  The barrier between God and man has beenl broken down, the claims
of the law fully answered.  NSow God can be just and justify
the ungodly; now Heaven is reconciled to earth, and all its
richest blessings are freely offered to the lowest of earth's
children. It is finished!"
Yes, for you, O Christian! nothing is wanting.  It is perfect
in all its parts.  The garment of righteousness, in which you
will be clothed, needs no addition or improvement. The
Saviour having loved his own, loved them on to the end. He
drank the cup of bitterness to the dregs, he wrought out
a plenteous redemption.  For you, O sinner! it is finished.
Nothing will now be added. This is God's last great effort to
redeem you: his finished salvation.  " What more could I do
for my vineyard, which I have not done, saith the Lord." And
now, how shall you escape if you neglect this great salvation?
Heaven's inexhaustible treasury hath been exhausted; the Son
of God hath come to purchase your salvation; and what will
you more? If after all this, "you neglect him who speaketh
to you from heaven," there is no more sacrifice for sin, but a
certain looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which
shall consume the adversaries. This is the only salvation and
you must accept this, or perish in your sins.
But let us remember, my friends, that to each one of us, the
hour shall come when it shall be said of him, "It is finished."
A deadly mortality shall seize upon our vitals, and the symptoms of death shall gather fast and thick upon us; the difficult
and impeded breathing, the low and fluttering pulse, the dim
and glazed eye wandering aimless in the socket, the mind now
sinking into stupor, now waking into fierce and convulsive life
-while vain are the remedies of physicians, and fruitless the
lallentaltions of friends. And at last, when death's agony is
over, they shall say of us as they have said of others, "It is
finished." Of that careless sinner now trifling away his day of
grace, it shall be said, "It is finished;" and of that haughty sco:




148             WHAT WAS FINISHED, ETC.
fer, now heaping up wrath against the day of wrath, and soon
perhaps to experience the realities he now derides, shall be
said, by those who watch around his dying pillow, "It is finished."  The agony is now over; it was fearful to behold: one
last convulsive effort did he make to struggle against death,
as man grapples with his mortal foe: but it is finished.
Then to his long account at last
With many a groan that spirit past.
But all is not finished there. It is appointed unto man once
to die, and after thtat-what comes?  Aiinihilation?  No,
would you accept it as a boon?  But cfiter ceah th e jC[Clqgeydt.
You may disregard the judgment of man, you may stand before
his tribunal and challenge scrutiny into all the actions of your
life. But can you defy the scrutiny of the heart-searching and
reins-trying God?  Dare you stand before his bar and assert
your perfect and unsullied purity in world, thought, or feeling?
Alas, will you add insult to injury, folly to sin, and madly rush
upon the vengeance you have wickedly provoked?  And for
you, O Christian, shall soon be finished the cares, the anxieties,
the temptations, and dangers of this life. On you shall open
the unseen glories of the world above. But let us remember,
likewise, that then will close all our opportunities for usefulness among our fellow-men. And as we contemplate this day
the death and sufferings of the Lord, let us determine to devote
our whole selves to him who has done all for us; who shunned
no suffering and spared no expense, that we might be saved.
And may we all be able to say, with the apostle, at last, "I
have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith, I have finished
my course; henceforth is reserved for me a crown, which he
will give me in that day."




IV.
THE ANGELS INTERESTED IN MAN'S SALVATION.
I. PETER, i. 12.-" Which things the angels desire to look iuto."
THIF most ignorant man in the community will believe that
a stone, thrown from the hand, will fall to the ground, because
this is an occurrence which he has often observed, and which
has thus become familiar to his mind.  By directing his attention to the subject, lie may be easily induced to admit, that the
tendency of the stone toward the  eartlh depends on some
power in the earth, attracting it toward itself.  But if you
attempt to extend the principle further, and apply it to other
parts of the universe; if you tell him, that the same principle
of attraction which draws the stone to the earth, and whose
operation he may observe in every moment of his life and
upon all the bodies around him, operates likewise upon the
remotest parts of God's universe, keeps the stars in their
course, and binds the whole creation together, as in one bond
of universal harmony, you present to Ihis mind a train of
thought, which is new, unusually strange, entirely without the
sphere of his acculstomed contemplation, and you will find it
extremely difficult to persuade him that 3you are not endeavoring to practise upon his ignorance, or yourself laboring under
thle  melancholy influence  of that " much  learning, which
maketh men mad."
I-le never doubts, indeed, the existence of the world in which
we live, or of the busy inhabitants which teem  upon its surThce, and waste their frail and fe\verish existence in the pursuit
of its idle pleasures, and still more idle alond unsubstantial honors; but lie never dreams that there may be other worlds,




150              THE ANGELS INTERESTED
crowded with other inhabitants; that every star may be a sun,
and every sun the centre of a system as la:rge as that to which
our world belongs; and that throughout the immenlsity of'
space, wherever the hand of the Creator has spread the evildences of his almighty power, there he has placed intelligent,
immortal creatures, to gaze with rapture onl his works, to
relish their beauties, and admire their sublimity, and to adora
and love the wonderful Being from whom these glories sprung..
Now we are accustomed to smile at the simple wonder of some,
or the hardy incredulity of others, among the uninfolrmed, wlhen
these majestic truths are presented to their minds, founded, as
we know they all are, upon accurate observation and rational
analogy, and some of them upon the solid basis of mathematical
demonstration.  But among those who feel their pity and their
mirth excited by this resolute incredulity, this dogmatical
scepticism  of the ignorant upon astronomical subjects, there
are not a few, who exhibit the same disposition, in the same
degree and proceeding from the same causes, upon a different
but much more important subject.
The unlettered mnan rejects the truths which have just been
enumerated, because he does not know their evidence. He
sets them  down at once as absurd, merely because they are
uncommon, because they do not lie in the beaten track of his
usuial thoulghts, or observations.  On t1he same principle the
infidel proceeds.  I-Ie doubts the existence of a fiture world
and the truth of all that has been revealed about it, because
he does not understand the evidence in its favor: he rejects
it peremptorily ns absurd, because he has never seen it;
because it introduces his mind to a train of thought and
feeling which is uncommon; and to him  it appears unlikely,
strange and incredible.  He believes that there ale other
material worlds beside the little globe on which we live,
and possibly admits that they may be inhabited.  But the
existence of angels and their holy employments in worshipping
God, and ministering to man, he utterly denies. That principle of attraction, which binds the remotest p)arts of the universe together, is admitted by him, as an important part of hi;i




IN MAN'S SA.LVATION.                 151
astronomical system. But the opinion that there is a great
principle of mora l sympathy, which attracts the moral universe
togetlher, and excites an interest for the welfare of moral agents
even in the most distant parts of the creation, he brands as tdhe
idlest fantasy of a disordered brain.  WhEile he gazes with
intense interest upon the motion of worlds which are at a:n
immeasurable distance from our earth, he thinks it the highest
absurdity to suppose that there may be other beings in other
worlds, watching  with thrillin g and anxious concern the actions of moral agents upon this; and while he Egladly employs
the telescopic glass in examining those stars, which are inlvisible to the naked and unassisted eye, lhe proudly rejects as
useless and absurd those lights which the Gospel has provided
to aid our feeble reason-that metal telescope, which has been
kindly offered us, to extend our vision to the future and invisible world.
Neow ti:be existence of angels is not in itself intrinsically nmore
improbable than the existence of. men. That their knowledge
shou-ld be superior to ours is not more remarkable than our
superiority to brutes; and their sympathy with us is not more
incredible than our sympathy in the sufferings or the joys of
inferior beings around us. The text asserts that the angels
dlesire to look into these things, which concern man's salv'ation —the great plan of redemption which extends pardon to
guilty rebels, and elevates fallen and ruined beings to happiness and hecaven. That these are the things referred to in
the text may be readily seen by examining the context. The
expression in the original is still stronger than in our translation, "Which things the angels anxiously long to scrutinize
closely or accurately."  The interest which is felt by the
angels in the affairs of this world is represented, in other parts
of Holy Writ, as being ardent and intense. There is joy in
heaven, and among the angels of God, over even one sinner
that repenteth.  And here we are told that they anxiously
scrutinize, strive to understand, the plan of salvation and closely
watch its gradual developments. There is nothing at all incredible, that God should take some interest in the happiness




152              THIE ANGELS INTERESTED
of those beings whom he has created; or that those holy, intelligent beings, who partake largely in his character, shotuld
feel a certain portion of the same interest. But it does seem
remarkable that one little World should so strongly excite
the interest, and attract the anxious attention of those high
and holy beings; and we may surely be permitted humbly to
inquire, why it is that "the angels so anxiously desire to look
into the things" which concern mankind.
And may we not say that it is because the condition of our
world is singular and unexampled, and the method of God's
administration over us, being suited to our condition, is likewise uncommon.  The angels are spilitual bc;ings-great in
power and vast in their capacities of thought and feeling. The
whole creation of God is doubtless spread out as one great
map before them, over which their immortal minds ma:y expatiate forever, gathering each moment fresh stores of knowledg(e,
and discovering new sources of ethereal happiness. What is the
ardor of their activity, and the intensity of their enjoyment, we
may learn faintly to conceive, from observing the operations of
our own feeble and contracted minds. Even mai!, polluted and
distracted as he is by impure and ungovernable passionshampered and fettered as he is by a load of flesh which bears
down the immaterial spirit in all its loftier aspirations, and
sinks exhausted beneath its highest efforts-even man, when
the soul is excited to its most vigorous exertions by the love
of knowledge, or elevated to its highest ecstasy in the contemplation of God's sublime and wo]ndrous creation, or expanded to its broadest comprehension by the boundless love
of a risen and exalted Saviour, can send forth thoug'hts that
wander through eternity, and think and feel unutterable things.
Those bright intelligences no doubt enjoy a wider field of observation, a loftier elevation of feeling, and a more exquisite enjoyment than we are able ever to conceive. To us this little
world is a world of wonders, and always affords to our feeble
minds new subjects of wondering inquiry during our short and
transitory existence.  But to them the whole is unfolded, and it
is a universe of wonders, a boundless field of inquiry for an undv



IN MAN'S SALVATION.                  15 3
ing mind, an inexhaustible store-house of pure and ever increasing felicity. On every part of this great universe is stamped
some feature of the Almighty's character. It is as one great
mirror to image forth his glory, to reflect his praise.  Over
every portion of it has he cast a gorgeous magnificence, an enchanting beauty, an awful sublimity, which overpowers the
mind of ail intelligent being, and subdues the spirit to the
stillness of mute, reverential homage.  And we may well suppose, that in some other worlds there may be greater displays
of almighty power than in ours. He may there have built up
greater wonders, and pencilled brighter beauties, and in the
nmi-nds of its rational inhabitants, as well as in the material
scenery upon its surface, may have offered to the eye of contemplation a more lovely and more magnificent spectacle.
But-there is that in the history of our globe, which is of far
deeper and more enduring interest than all the beauty and all
the magnificence which are spread in such rich and boundless
profusion over the other works of God. It is to the universe
what Palestine is to our earth-a land of marvels: small in the
space it fills upon the chart of nature; but wonderful have been
the events transacted on its surface; and deep and breathless
has been the interest which those events have excited.  We
have reason to believe that, of all the unnumbered worlds
which are spread over the immensity of space, there is none,
except our earth, that has broken loose from its allegiance to
the Almighty; that through the wide extent of God's magnificent cre'ation universal happiness and peace prevail.  The
smile of the common Father rests upon his obedient children,
and the voice of humble gratitude and filial affection is wafted
to the throne of the Eternal from  his intelligent and happy
offspring.  But amidst this delightful scene, brightened all
over with the beams of the Creator's favor, there is a little
sl)ot which lies beneath his frown, and is darkened by the
visible tokens of his fierce displeasure.  Amidst this genlleal
symphony of happy and unfallen beings, a sound is heard, it is
the voice of wailing, the shriek of agony, the stifled groan of
unutterable woe. One portion of God's happy faimily has cast'7*




.154             THE ANGELS INTERESTED
off his mild and patelnal government, has wandlered far away
from the community of holy beings, and though it still revolves
around his sun, and retains its station in his heavens, remstins
only by sufferance-a blasted, scorched, and withered thing,
the abode of misery and crime.
There is in the feeling mind a pleasing sympathy with joy.
But our sympathy with sorrow is far more deep and permanent.  And if upon this globe there was but one instance of
suffering  and affliction, we might more easily understand the
nature of that interest which attracts thle angelic minds friom
the sublimnest and loveliest scenery of creation to gaze upon
this world of solitary and unexampled misery.  Unhappily'we:.re but too familiar with pain in all its shapes.  We are surrounded by it on every side; we feel it in ourselves, and often
still more acutely in the persons of beloved and endeared
fiiends; till at last we have learned to nmeet it without sulirprise
and sometimes to bear it without impatience. B3nt suppose we
lad only seen one instance of pail and mnisery uon earth; that
wherever else we turlned all was peace and happiness, every
countenance wvas lighted up with pleasure, and every eye was
bright with exquisite enjoyment; but by sone nmysterious dispensation of a mysterious providence, the single individual
alluded to was pressed down by the weight of some overwhelming calamity, his body racked by tlle most excruciating
torments, and rendered loathsome by disease in its most disgusting forms, while his mind was crushed and  blighted
beneath the awful visitations of heaven -frenzied by the suf'
ferings of the present moment, and haunted by the hateftil
remembrance of the past, and the still more dreadful anticipation
of the future.
If' such a scene of suffering were the only one on earth, it
would be considered the most remarkable phenomenon that
ever appeared to excite the sympathies and attract the notice of
mankind.  In all the glories of the material world and nil tlhe
happiness of its living inhabitants t;lere would be nothiel;
found to stir so deeply the feelings of our nature.  Tle traveller would turn aside to gaze upon it, as one of- the world's




IN MAN'S SALVATION.                  155
wonders; the philosopher would visit it to observe and nmeditate; the man of sensibility to sympathize, and, if possible, to
soothe. And when the tale of his sufferings was told in distant
lands by the returning voyager, the pale cheek and the quivering lip and the eye bedewed with tears, would reveal the
power of that sympathy that swelled and trembled in -the
bosom of every hearer.  Now this world is among the othier
worlds of creation what this single individual would be amona
the numerous inhabitants of the earth-a solitary example of
suffering misfortune, concentrating all the attention and all the
sympathy of others upon itself.
It may be thought that the sufferings of fallen angels should
form an exception to the generality of this remark.  But it
seems almost superfluous to dwell tupon the difference between
the condition of those raine] spirits of darkness, shut up in
eternal night, andl the unhappy posterity of Adam who, though
seduced by their malicious art, are prisoners of' hope, and nainy
of them heirs of eternal life.  There is certainily a point in tLh
progress of depravity where pity is converted into abhorrence,
and all our sympathy for the suffering recoils at the hopeless
and abandoned hardihood of the devoted sufie:er. Where this
point may be it is not for us to decide; but of this we may be
certain, that the devils at least have passed that point, and
while their sufferings are intense, they are unnoticed andl
unpitied, too.  So that for all the purposes of argulmelt or
illustration it is just the same as if their existence and their
sufferings had never commenced, or were all unknown to the
rest of the creation. The devils are shut out from the whole
brotherhood of intelligent beings, and from all the sympathies
belonging to it, by the malignancy of their hatred to all th:ot
is good or lovely in creatlion. lMan still belongs to that great
society of beings, fallen and polluted as he is.  And the very
frailty of his nature, and the depth of his misery, when connected with the hope of his amendment, excite a tremblinl
interest in his welfare, and an anxious solicitude for his restoraltion, which may be likened to the feelings of an upright and
virtuous man toward a licentious a "nd ungodly brother, wlhose




156             THE ANGELS INTERESTED
vices he abhors and whose wanderings he laments, while he
prays and agonizes and hopes for his recovery.
But besides the peculiarity of man's condition, so well
calculated to excite curiosity and the deepest interest, there is
something singular in the method of God's dealing toward
him, which could not fail to engage the attention of angelic
minds. When there was war in heaven, and the haughty
spirits of archangels rebelled against the government of God,
the arm which had created was stretched out to subldue them.
And those who wvere not contented with the happiness of
heaven were immediately driven away into everlasting darkness.: When man joined the standard of that dark rebellion,
andl with faculties more limited, and powers less sublime, defied
the Omnipotent, and spurned his just authority, the power
which was exerted to crush rebellious angels was employed to
save unhappy man; to repair the injury he had done himself;
to raise him fiom the ruins of the fall and exalt him to such
a union and intercourse with God as in his unfallen state was
probably unattainable. This whole condition was extremely
singular. He was a prisoner of hope; a condemned, but reprieved rebel; a sinner upon whom the penalty of sin was still
unexecuted. The whole history of man was one continual
wonder. The scenes were changed, and event succeeded event;
but every new scene was stronger and more wonderful than
that which had preceded it. Empires rose and fell, cities were
built and demolished. Armies met in the shock of battle, and
the blood of thousands was poured upon the plain. The mighty
men of earth contended for conquest and for crowns; the
philosopher reasoned, the poet sang, the prophet swept his
lyre with holy energy, and poured from his rapt soul the burning language of inspiration; and all conspired to hasten on
the accomplishment of God's purpose toward man-the great
development of' his wondrous plan. At last that hour arrlived
for which all other hours were made. And the angelic hosts
beheld the Lord of life descending upon earth, lying in the
manger, sojourning among men, dying upon the cross, going
down into the grave, and then arisincg and ascending into glory.




IN MAN'S SALVATION.                  157
Upon us the record of these events, all wonderful as they
are, produces but a transient impression. We have heard them
fi'om our infhancy. They form  a part of our most common
thoughts. The idea of a Saviour is always united with that of
God, and the works of creation and redemption are associated
in our minds as the different exhibitions of the same glorious
character, as wonderful in mercy and in love as he is in
Almighty power.  But if we had stood among the angelic
hosts and gazed with them upon the new-born creation-if we
had wandered with thern over all the universe of God and
seen, as far as created eye may see, the immediate revelations of
his glory, till the mind was overwhelmed with the view of his
boundless perfections, and lost in that mighty field of conteimplation spread out beftore us- -if we had always had him present
to our minds, arrayed in all the dazzling glories of his divinity,
as the self-existent, eternal, unchangealle. almighty Jehovah,
dwelling in light inaccessible and fTll of glory, reigning in
heaven, and.ruling over earth, establishing empires and crushing themn at his pleasure, creating worlds and upholding them
by his power-thean we should feel indeed how wonderful, how
singular, how passing strange, that condescension was, when
the Eternal Son became the babe of Bethlehem, and God himnself was manifested in the flesh. Great must have been that
design which brought him down to earth, and well does it
deserve the admiring scrutiny of men and angels.
The method of God's addnliistration upon eairth is different
from that which appears in heaven, or in hell, or in any world
with which we are acquainted.  In heaven all is love anld happiness. In hell all is wrath and misery.  Upon earth there is
a mingled state of being and of character; and the administration of the moral governor is accommodated to the condition
of his subjects. It is this mixed state of existence, this alternation of virtue and vice, of happiness and misery, which has
so much perplexed the minds of thinking men, which has
shaken the believer's faith, and confirmed the atheist ill his
folly; anrd it is this, we may suppose, which has attracted,
in part, the attention of superior beings. The love which




158              THE ANGELS INTERESTED
bestows happiness on virtue, and the justice which inflicts mierited punishment on crime, are characteristics of Deity, inseparable from  every conception of his nature, and exhibited
whenever there is vice to be punished and virtue to receive
enjoyment.  Such love and justice are simple qualities of a
perfect mind, every where exhibited and easily understood.
But the love which is exerted toward the sinner, the justice
which falls on the head of a mediator, the love and justice
united, which punish the crime but save the criminal, which
gently chastise the offender that he may cease firom his offeice,
which substitute the lamb when they cannot dispense with the
sacrifice-such love and justice are displayed, as far as we
know, only upon earth.
When we remember, then, how anxiously tie angels gaze on
every new exhibition of the divine character —that heaven and
earth, and all that them  inhabit, the great universe itself,
with all that it contains of sublime or beautiful, glorious or
lovely, are only admired as exhibiting his character and imanifesting his glory-we cannot be surprised at the interest which
angels feel in gazing on this wondrous exhibition, which has
been given in these last times, through the plan of redemption,
of the height and depth and length and breadth of that love
of God which passeth understanding.
The language of the original, which represents the angels as
anxiously prying into the plan of redemption, seems to indicate
that the very mysteriousness of that plan, the unfathomed and
unfathomable wisdom contained therein, is one cause of their
constant attention to it. The pleasure of discovering new
truths, of whatever kind, is one often experienced and well
understood among thinking men. And when, ill addition to
their novelty, the truths discovered are of' a pleasing and elevating character, the satisfaction arising fiom the discovery is
greatly increased. The ardor in the pursuit of knowledge is
proportioned to the enjoyment we receive from it; and such is
the nature of the mind, that, when its powers are really excited
ill the investigation of truth, difficulties which would otherwise appear insuperable vanish betfore it; and curiositr is




IN MIAN'S SALVATION.                  159
stimulated by the obscurities which would otherwise repress
it.  We might compare the anxiety of the angels to sclrutinize
the plan of redemption, to the solicitude with which an aspiringr
anid indefatigable student pores over some massy volume where
he knows are all the treasures of ancient wisdom, or some
knotty problem which lies in the pathway of science, and whose
solution leads on to a thousand unknown truths. How does he
struggle with the obstacles in his way, and sumnmon all his
powers to carry on the contest. Thongh oftlen foiled, he never
despairs; he never doubts the existence of the truth he has
not been able to discover, but returns repeatedly to the investigation, till at last his eflorts are crowned with complete
success. So it may be with angelic minds. There inay be,
there are, mysteries to them.l, and we are taught in our text to
believe they are diligently employed in scratinizing that part
of God's plan which to them appears mysterious.
Nor is it inconsistent withl any rational view of the happiness
of heaven to suppose that the inhabitants of that world feel,
like ourselves, the desire of knowledge and the pleasure of
acquiring information.  The spirit is essentially and intensely
active; its home is in the midst of mlighty thoulght and lofty
contemplation, and there is a high-breathed pleasure in the
very pursuit of knowledge and the victory over difficulties
that cannot flow fiom any other source.  It is the perfection
and not the weakness of spiritual beings, that they long insatiably after knowledge, and that this longing is at once tlhe
source of their highest efforts and most exquisite enjoyments.
I would not be understood as countenancing the opinion that
all mysteries may be investigated and understood by either men
or angels; nor that it is either wise or proper to waste, in tlhe
contemplation of truths which are plainly incomprehensible,
those faculties which are given for far different pturposes. Yet
if the knowledge of angels is not all intuitive, it must progress
by repeated steps, and that which now seems mlysterious may
hereafter wear a different aspect.  Thle gradual developineint
of God's plan may cast new light upon his past admlinistration,
or the frlequen;t contemplation of it, as develooping  and already




160              THE ANGELS INTERESTED
developed, may open up new views of his holy character and
ever blessed government.
In the creation of the world his power and creative wisdom
were wonderfilly displayed; in its redemption the same power
and wisdom are displayed, united with a love and compassion, a
tenderness and mercy wonderful and divine. In the heavens
and the earth, in the sun, moon, and stars, we may see displayed,
in everlasting characters, the existence and many of the attributes of God. But it is in his intelligent and moral creation
that we see the brig'htest specimens of his creative wisdom;
and it is in his moral government that we find the mlost interestiig subjects for thought and examination.  How great is the
wisdom of that scheme whicll offers life and happiness to man,
we may lea'rn from the folly of all other schemes devised by
human ingenuity.  All are self-contradintory or defective.  Oni
all, the difliculty presses with irresistible power, how shall julstice be satisfied and the sinner be saved? In the Gospel, mercy
and truth,have met together; righteousness and peace have
kissed each other, and now God can be just, and the justifierl of
the ungodly who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.  On the
Gospel plan the sinner is saved from all his sins: the very
method of salvation is a method of purification; and the voice
which says, "tlly sins be forgiven thee," says likewise,' go
and sin no more." If the morning stars sang together and the
sons of God shouted for joy, when the world was created, light
was brought out of darkness, and from the confusion of chaos
there arose a scene of smiling loveliness andl beauty, well may
the angels rejoice together, when by the same almighty power
similar effects are produced in the moral world.  Order and
harmony, peace and happiness, spring forth from that chaos of
warring elements, that abode of vice and misery, the depraved
unregenerated heart of man. And if it be admitted that the livinig and immortal beinegs around ius are of greater dignity and
importance than the material world which we inhabit, then
will the grandeur of the great plan of salvaltion appear in its
proper light, and the wisdom which devised and executJed it,
wiill be aciknowledged as that which was hidden in Christ, from




IN MAN'S SALVATION.                    161
the foundation of the world; and this schemle of co ndescendingli mercy will be honored as that last ~ reat exhibition of himself, by -which God designs to l)e known to his intelligelt creation, to which all his other works are tributary, and in which
all finally meet.
Let us observe now, First, What a view this subject gives us
of the character and employments of angels and the happiness
of heaven.
The happiness of heaven does not consist in the passive reception of pleasure.  In other parts of God's Word we aIre told
that the angels are ministering spirits, swift to do God's will:
"that his ministers are a flanle of fire."  They are fiequently
spokenf of as going on errands of kindness to men, and their
very name of messenger indicaites the activity of their engagerments.  They are said to have shouted for joy at the cre'ation
of' the world, and still to feel a deep interest in the welfare of
its inhabitants.  From this we may fairly presllme that they are
aquaintedl with the condition of the various portions of the
universe, and,are accustomed to employ their minds in observi!(o their situation, and as far as possible renderinog theln service.  Let no indolent and useless in:m suppose that he could enjoy the society of heaven.  All is life, activity, and feelineg there,
and his dull repose would be constantly disturbed by the zeal
of its inhabitants.  The cultivation mind the exercise of benevolent and kindly feelings, seems to be one of the chiec employmnents and Inost deliglhtful duties of heaven.  Let no man then,
however lofty his intellect, or extensive his requirements, however pressing or important his business may be-let no man,
upon any pretence whatever, neg-lect the cultivation of benevolent feelings.  To weep with those that weep, arid rejoice with
those that rejoice, to sympathize readily and deeply with our iellow-men under all the trials of this changing world, to deserve
and to receive their sympathies in return, is a luxury which kings
might envy, did they know  its sweetness.   eal'd benevolence
of feeling is at once the strongest evidence and the loveliest
ornament of a truly elevated mind.  Let us learn, too, from the
example of angels not to despise any of our fellow-men, how



162              TiE ANGELS INTERESTED
ever weak in intellect, low in station, or degraded in vice. They
sympathize with us in all our pollution.  Shall not we do good
to all our fellow-men whenever an opportunity occurs? It
cannot be improper here to remark how closely the truths of
divine revelation agree with the purest dictates of enlightened
minds.  The heathen Elysium and the Turkish paradise are
represented as the abodes of sensual enjoyment or indolent eas-;
but the heaven of the Bible is the home of the spirit, its pleasurees
are spiritual and pure, its employments are worthy an immortal nature, and constitute at once its duty and its happiness.
Let us observe, in the Second place, the justice of God
in the condemnation  of the sinner.  If no salvation had
been offered to man, if no light had shone upon his darkness,
no hope had beamed upon his ruin, if he had been left ignorant
of his origin, his nature, and his destiny, and, thus groping his
darkling way along the journey of life, had stumbled through
inadvertence or wandered from the path, his misery would have
excited the sympathies of all benevolent beings, and ablhoirence for his crimes would have been' forgotten in pity for hi s
sufferlings.  But light has come into the world, an d men have
loved darkness rather than light.  "Nature with open voln:,nle
stands " to instruct the ignorance of man, and the volume of
God's great revelation has brought life and immortality to liglh.
The dictates of reason have been forgotten amidst thle tumult
of' the passions. But the precepts of revelation have been!
heard sustaining its authority.  The silent instruction whiclh is
given by the works of God, and which falls like the music of tho
spheres upon the mind prepared to hear it, has been ulnheeded
amidst the bustle and agitation of life. But a voice has
conicme from heaven, to arrest the attention of mankildl; andl
the monitor within, which no tyranny can awe and no neglect can silence, still is heard in the darkness of nigbht and
the stillness of retirement, bearing solemn witness to truth.
lWithout the Bible, all would indeed  be darkness; and
this miserable world of ours, as it wheels its annual roundfl
in the system with its sister planets, but separated far away
from the mlorIal system of the universe,,niglt be compained to




IN MAN'S SALVATIONT                  163
some stately vessel which the storm had separnted from her companions, and, broken loose from her moorings, had cast, with
all her precious cargo, in a dark night, on a tempestuous ocean,
without a pilot to direct her course, or a twinklinog stir to guide
her wanderings.  But while all is darkness without and all is
misery within, while she is tossed by the tempest and shattered
by the billows, and the last hope is fast turning to despair, the
eye which is directed to heaven beholds a star shining brightly
tlhrough that darkness. It is the Star of Bethlehem! pouring
its own calm  and heavenly radiance across those troubled
waters and pointing to that heaven of eternal rest.  Oh, who
would not look to it as the star of hope, as the harbinger of
peace, as the messenger of mercy!
But such is not man.  That star has shone in vain.  The Sun
of Righteousness has risen to enlighten the world, but many
have turned their backs upon his brightness, and, enjoying his
reflected light, have boasted of the acuteness of their natural
vision, and denied the existence of the great luminary they re-:fuse to see.  Oh, how shall they escape, who reject this offered
i1m13iinatiol, and love their darkness, with all its misery, better
than the light and joy and peace of the Gospel! The scheme
of salvation which has been offered to men is such as it became
God to reveal and man to accept.  There are those indeed
amongo our dying race, Nwvho think it wholly nuworthy of their
serious attention, who neither deign to study its char:icter or
investigate its evidences. But how shall they exc.use their folly
or their pride, who despise the revelation that God has gieven,
and angels desire to look into-a revelation which hie has
stamped with his own broad seal of authellticity, and which
they have delighted to study, as the most glorious exhibition
of his character?  And how shall the sinner excuse his heedless indifference about his own salvation, when the angels of
heaven are so deeply concerned in the happiness of man?  It
surely aggravates his guilt and must addl awfiul horror to his
condemniation-that his sins have been committed in spite of
the warnings and entreaties and sympathies of the highest and
holiest beings in the tiniverse —that he has cast away frolnl




164           THE ANGELS INTERESTED, ETC.
him  his brightest hopes and trampled under foot his lofty
destinies.
It too often happens that we have to observe among our fellow-men a species of conduct which will serve to illustrate our
argument.  We often see a young man, bright in promise and
buoyant in hope, hastening at the commencement of life into
those paths of dissipation and folly which destroy alike his
present happiness and future prospect.  And while the mind
contemplates with pain the melancholy wreck of what he was,
and turns away in disgust firom the thlought of what he is, does
it not serve to aiggravate his guilt, when we remember, how he
(disre:"r.rded a father's warnling and a mother's players, how he
destroyed the happiness of a faimily whose happiness was bound
up in thim, how he proved false to all the bright hopes and fair
expectations of his friends, to his own early promise and high
capabilities i
Precisely analogous to this is the condition of man. Possessing large capacities for happiness and moral improvement,
the sytnpathies of God and angels are enlisted in his favor.
Eternal happiness is presented for his acceptance, and eternal
misery is the awful punishm nent of his guilt.  All heaven is
anxious for his welfare.  God himself gives his Son for his salvation; the angels are ministeritn, spirits, that nlinister unto
him, and with trembling solicitude observe every step of his
career. All hell is awake and smiles with horrible delight at
the prospect of his ruin.  He is placed, as it were, upon an elevated theatre-the object of continuied observation to invisible
and innumerable beings.  With every thiing to stimulate him
to duty, should he prove insensible to his great responsibilities, should he forget his rational and immortal nature, and
fall from the high station which God designed him to occupy,
great must be the fall thereof, and upon his own head the guilt
of his own destruction.




V.
PAUL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL, AND ITS LESSONS.
Ro-. ix. 1-5. —I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also
bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and
continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed
from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh: who are
Israelites; to whom pertaineth the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the giving of the law, and the service of God, and the promises;
whose are the fathers, and of whom, as concerning the flesh, Christ
came, who is over all, God blessed for ever. Amen.
THE preceding chapter terminates tl-he apostle's discussion
of the great doctrine of justification by faith.  lI-e had clearly
proven, that there could be no justification by works, because
Jews and Gentiles were both concluded under sin, the Gentile
having disregarded the dictates of conscience, the law written
on their hearts, and closed their eyes against the light which
beams so brightly fronl God's glorious works; while the Jews
had sinned against the clearer light of revelation, and broken
even the law of Moses, by which they expected to be saved.
If, therefore, there be any method of salvation for man, the
apostle most conclusively argues, it must be one, not of man's
devising, nor depending on human merit, but one devised by
God for our benefit, and procured by the merits of another.
This he calls " God's method of justification, through faith in
Jesus Christ."
Now, this whole method of justification, through the merits
of another, and without the deeds of the law-justification
offered fieely alike to Gentile and Jew, the circumcision and
the uncircumcision-was a perfect novelty to the unsanctified
Jew, and a thousand objections would immediately spring up




16 (3           PAUL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL,
in his mind against a doctrine so adverse to his prejudices as a
Jew, so bhumbling to his pride as a man. It was a doctrine
which, superseding the sacrifices of' the law, and promising
salvation without obedience to its ritual, seemed blasphenmy
against iMoses and the prophets.  Offering salvation to tche
Gentiles, many of whom believed, and denouncing eternal perdition against the Jews, most of whom rejected its proffered
blessings, it seemed to reverse the whole order of God's gracious dispensations, and to wrest fiom the children of Abrahamn
the glorious privileges promised to their father, merely that
they might be dispensed with impious hands to the detested
Gentiles; thus making void the faithfulness of God, and wasting upon dogs the children's bread. " What advantage, then,"
he would indignantly exclaim, "what advantage hath the
Jew? and what profit is there in circumcision?" Shall the
unbelief of man make void the faithfulness of God?
T'he apostle glances at these valrious objections as he passes
on, but leaves the full consideration of them all, and the aiwful
consequences connected with them to the 9th chapter, where
he announces God's final rejection of the Jews for unbelief;
and shows that all the promises, on which they so securely depended, were made to the spiritual, and not to the natural,
seed of Abraham-that the same sovereignty which chose at
first, might now, without injustice, reject them, and that
this terrible rejection had been often predicted by the holy
prophets.
In approaching this awful and  distressing  subject, the
apostle exhibits all that tenderness of heart, and all that
knowledge of human character, for which he is elsewhllere so
remarkable.  In the former part of the Epistle, he has enmployed all the stores of his varie(d erudition, and all the powers
of his vigorous mind, to combat their prejudices and refuite
their objections.  But here all the deep sensibilities of' his
noble and affectionate nature burst forth in a torrent of the
most kind and affecting expressions. Whatever obscurity may
involve one or two expressions in this celebrated passage, and
however critics may differ in their interpretation, it is easy to




AND ITS LESSONS.                  167
understand the general tenor of the whole, and to sympathize
with the apostle's overwhelming emotions.
He was about to announce to them the disappoilltment of all
their dearest hopes, the overthrow of all their most fondlycherished expectations, as he looked forward to the day when
Jerusalem  should be laid in heaps, when God's holy temple
should be defiled with impious hands, and the hundred thousand of that deluded people should perish by the invader's
sworad. And as he remembered that they were bone of his bone
ain(l flesh of his flesh, the children of Abraharn, the chosett
people, honored of God to be the depositaries of his religion,
and.the nation fi'om whom his own Son sprang, would not all
the feelings of the man and the Christian combine to awaken
emotions of unutterable sorrow? He knew that they viewed
him as an enemy, because he had told them the truth, had advocated the equal aricipatio the equal participation by the Gentiles of the blessings
of salvation, and had professed to be sent of God, especially to
the Gentiles. He, therefore, most solemnly assures them, as a
Christian man whose conscience was enlightened by the Holy
Ghost, that so far from  taking pleasure in announcing the
awful sentence of God against them, it filled him  with perpetual grief; that, so far fiom cherishing any hostility against
his people on account of theirill treatment, or his own peculiar
vocation to the Gentile world, he could wish himself accursed
from Christ, as our translation expresses it, or as it might be
rendered, he could wish that he had, if consistent with God's
will, been " set apart" by Christ, for the service of the Jews,
as Peter was, instead of the Gentiles. It was not his want of
affection for them, nor his desire to exalt the Gentiles above
them, but the wise and sovereign determination of God, which
led him to turn his attention to those who were lying in darkness and the shadow of death.
It has been already suggested that learned men have been
much divided in the interpretation of some parts of this passage. In the dry details of' verbal criticism, it can scarcely be
expected that a promiscuous assembly should feel much interest, or from it derive much profit. I shall not therefore de



168              P&UL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL,
lay you by discussing, or even mentioning, the various opinions
respecting the expressions translated, " I could Pwish that myself' were accursed from Christ."  I will only allude to that
which is most satisfictory to my own mind, and the reasons for
adopting which may be easily understood, even by those not
acquainted with the original.
Mlen's feelings are as various as their opinions, and therefore
I cannot be certain that I express the feelings of others, as well
as my own, in saying, that the idea conveyed in our authorized
translation appears extremely revolting and unnatural.  It
seems impossible, if it were even right, and wrong even if it
were possible, to choose, on any conditions, to be accursed from
Christ, and balnished from  his presence forever.  We may
separate, in- imagillnation, the sufferings of the damned from
burning hostility against God, but they are never separated in
fact, and he who chooses hell for his residence, in reality, and
not merely in imagination, chooses not only the darkness and
the fire and the worm that never dies, but the sin, the pollution, the utter alienation firom God and daring rebellion against
his authority, which are the true spirit of' the lost and the
necessary qualification for their society.  If then the passage
will bear a different interpretation, one which is consistent
with the context and perfectly natural, while it is attended
with no difficulty, arising -from the constitution of man's nature, or the ttruths elsewhere revealed, or the duties elsewhere
inculcated, in the Bible, we need not hesitate to adopt it; remembering, that in inquiries of this nature, probability must
be our guide, and the certainty of absolute conviction is rarely
attainable.
In the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages, the same word
which is sometimes translated " accursed " or " cursed,'' means
originally " separated," " set apart " for any purpose. Thus in
Joshua, vii. 1, the spoils were called " accursed," because they
were set apart for God, devoted to his service, and the living
animals among them destined to death. So in Leviticus, xxvii.
28, it is said, " every devoted thing," every an~athemct, as it is
in the Greek version, the very word used in the passage before




AND ITS LESSONS.                  1 69
us, and in Joshua vii. 1, "is most holy unto the Lord."  Here
the same word, which in Joshua and in Romans is rendered
" accursed," is said to be " most holy; " because holiness, as we
all know, means separation, being set apart for the service of
God. Now in this same chapter of Leviticus there are two
words, each of which is employed to express this idea of separation, devotion to God, and each of these words is found likewise
applied to St. Paul in the New Testament. The latter is applied
undoubtedly to St. Paul for the purpose of expressing the fact
of his being set apart to the preaching of the Gospel. In Acts
xiii. 2, where Barnabas and Paul were set apart for their work
and in Galatians, i. 15, where St. Paul informs us, that he was
set apart from his mother's womb, and called by the grace of
God; and here in the ninth chapter of Romans, we find the
other applied to the same apostle. If the words, when used in
the Old Testament in relation to one subject, are supposed to
have the same meaning, why may they not be similarly translated when applied in the New Testament to another subject?
If then the word here translated " accursed" be rendered'set apart," all difficulty and obscurity will be removed, and
we see at once how natural is the assurance, which the apostle
gives his brethren, that it was not his own choice, but the
command of God, which sent him to the heathen; and that if
left to himself; he would have chosen rather " to be set apart
by Christ," the great head of the church, for the benefit of the
Jews, his brethren according to the flesh.
The circumstances which the apostle afterward enumerates,
in the fourth verse, are probably designed, in part, to convince
the Jews, that he was not insensible to all those tender and
glorious recollections which were inseparably connected with
the name of Jerusalem, and the imperishable heritage of Jacob's children; and, perhaps in part, to show, that he as willingly acknowledged and appreciated, as highly as any other,
the distinguished favors bestowed upon them from,on high.
Hence he dwells with emphasis upon the titles they possessed
and the privileges they enjoyed. They were Israelites, the descendants of Jacob, called by his name, " who as: a prince hlad




170            PAUL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL,
power with God and prevailed;" they were adopted into the
fanmily of God and called his children, as he said to Pharaoh,
Exodus, iv. 22, 23, "Israel is my son, even my first-born: let
my son go, that he may serve me," and Jeremiah, xxxi. 9, " I
a ma father to Israel, and Ephraim is my first-born."  They
possessed the glory likewise, the visible manifestation of God's
presence, in the Shekinah. To them belonged the covenants
made at various times with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; to them
alone, of all the nations, had God condescended to give a written
law, by the hand of' Moses. On them had he bestowed a form
of' religious service which was acceptable to him, while others
were left in darkness and often sinned most in their most solemn
attempts to serve him. To them all the promises were given;
to them belonged the fathers of the Jewish nation, those holy
men who enjoyed such intimate intercourse with God, that
they were called his friends. But above all it was in the Jewish nation that the Saviour first appeared, and of a Jewish
virgin he condescended to be born. These glorious distinctions
the apostle by no means denied to the Jewish people.:Nay,
he rejoiced in them himself, and thought it " much advantage,
every way, to be born a Jew."  But the height to which they
were exalted only made him shudder the more at the prospect
of their frightful fall. They had long rejoiced in the beams
of God's cheering favor, and were soon to sink into a rayless, starless, hopeless night.
It is:almost incredible how much learning and ingenuity have
been unprofitably exhausted in the effort to avoid the evidence
contained in the fifth verse for the real and underived divinity
of our blessed Saviour. He is there called, " God over all,
blessed forever."
It is obvious to the least observant reader that when we
are told, in the first clause of the verse, that Christ camle
of the fathers according to the flesh, we naturally expect to
hear, in the succeeding clause, that he was not of the fathers in
some other respect. This part of the antithesis is naturally
supplied, when we tare told, that he is " God over all, blessed
flirever."  This expression coincides exaetly, both in the origi



AND ITS LESSONS.                  171
nal and in the English translation, with the " supreme God."
Hence we have a complete refutation here, did not its own intrinsic absurdity refute it, of the Arian hypothesis, which represents our Saviour as an inferior deity, as divine yet not very
God. There we are informed that he is not only God, but
supreme God, as we are told by the apostle John, " this is the
true God and everlasting life."
The passage of God's Woord to which our thoughts have been
directed may suggest several profitable reflections. First, WYe
may learn from the exalnple of St. Paul the amiable and lovely
nature of true Christian principle.
In whatever condition we contemplate the great apostle of the
Gentiles, he seenms peculiarly calculated to call forth our admiration. While standing before King Agrippa, and boldly,
though in chains, proclaiming the truth of the Gospel he had
espoused, we cannot but sympathize with the manly courage
and intellectual energy that could meet unmlloved the dangers
that environed him, and admire the power of that simple but
pointed eloquence which made the dissolute Rmonalrch exclaim,
"' Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian."  WVhen standing on Mars' Hill, surrounded by a crowd of cavilling philosophers and superstitious people, we cannot but observe the
adroit and dexterous skill with which he preached the Gospel
from a text furnished by a heathen altar; and, beginning from
the "unknown God" whom they blindly worshipped, nmade
known that great and spiritual Jehovah, who has made all the
nations, and in whom we "live and move and have our bein.'."
But never does he appear in a more engaging or attractive
light, than when, pouring out his lamentations over his blinded
countrymen, he endeavors gently to reveal to them the coming
ruinsoothing their wounded pride by the recollection of their
ancestral glory, and disarming their inveterate prejudices by
the ardor of his overflowing affection.
How different firom the conduct of many men of distinguished
talents, who seem to suppose that the possession of uncommon
powers, and the perfobrmance of extraordinary services, releases
them from all obligation to cultivate those gentler social vir



172             PAUL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL,
tues which communicate a winning gracefulness to Christian
character, and shine with a lovelier radiance when harmoniously blended with the learning that commands our respect
or the genius that excites our admiration. How different, too,
from the spirit of those who, in rude and unfeeling language,
thunder forth their denunciations against the sinner, not remermbering that we all are involved in the like condemnation, forgetting the tender lamentations of St. Paul over his blinded
countrymen, and the example of Him-Paul's superior and his
M3aster-who, as he gazed upon Jerusalem, that cruel city, reeking with the blood of murdered prophets, and then thirsting
for his own, wept at the spectacle of their present thoughtlessness and the prospect of their approaching doom. Let us, my
Christian friends, mingle tenderness with efforts to save dying
men around us. Let the tears of our compassion water the
seed that we sow. The cloud that darkly lowers and thunders
loudly may pass over our heads and leave no memorial behind
it but the scathed and shattered trunk which the lightning
hath riven in its course. It is the gentle shower, which distils
upon hill and valley, on the green grass and cultivated field,
that causes man's heart to rejoice with gladness, and cheers the
wearied husbandman with the prospect of an abundant harvest to reward his daily toil.
Second, The rejection of the Jews from being the people of
God is an awful subject, full of terror, of warning, and instruction. The apostle could not approach the subject without stopping to pour forth his lamentations. How are the mighty
fallen, how is the most fine gold become dim! Jerusalem, the
city of our God, the mother of the faithful, Mount Zion, beattiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is as when God
overthrew Sodom and Gomlorrah!
They were the church of God, his chosen and peculiar
people. But the sovereignty which chose them at first had determined to reject them  for their sins. In vain might they
plead their former privileges; these only aggravated their condemnation. MIuch had been given them, and of them much
was require,(. They possessed the law, but this they had vio



AND ITS LES~SONS.                  173
lated. They had the ordinances of God's service, but these they
had so polluted( by their hypocrisy that they were hateful in
his sight: since we hear him saying, in the first chapter of
Isaiah, "To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices
unto me, saith the Lord, I am full, satiated with the burnt offerings of lambs and the fat of fed beasts.  Bring no more vain
oblations. Incense is an abomination unto me. It is iniquity,
even the solemn meeting!"  They had been adopted into his
family, and obtained the endearing name of children; but they
were wayward and disobedient children.  "I have nourished
and brought up children, saith the Lord, and they have rebelled against me."  He was their king, but they had sought
other lords to hare dominion over them. Prophets had proclaimed God's truth among them, but the prophets they had
put to death; and when the last messenger from heaven came
down among them, him they had taken and with cruel hands
had crucified and slain. Thus every privilege which they could
plead as evidence of God's former love only established more
incontrovertibly the certainty of his present wrath. The goodness of God had not led them to repentance, and the only alternative remaining was, that they had been treasuring up
wrath against the clday of wrath.  Their crimes had been accumulating for centuries, till the rejection of the Saviour sealed
their ruin; and the wrath which had been so long gathering
above their heads was at last poured upon them  to the
uttermost.
We have said, that much instruction may be derived from
the rejection of the Jews.  WVe see here that the sovereignty
of God, however mysterious to us in its nature, is so far intelligible in its operations that it never protects sin.  The
Jews were an elect people, and yet they were cut off for unbelief. If then any of us be trusting that we were once the
people of God, and therefore will always belong to that favored company, while we continue in sin, we are deceived.
Let it be never so certain, that you are one of God's elect, yet
it cannot be more certain than the truth, that if you continue
in your sins, where God and Christ are you can never come.




174            PAUL'S ZEAL FOR ISRAEL,
Let the formal and heartless professor of religion then take
warning from the rejection of the Jews. Remember that
thou art only a Gentile, and not of the true olive-tree. If then
the true olive branches were broken off, " because of unbelief
they were broken off, and thou standest by faith; be not highmninded but fear."  The Lord's jealousy burnetl hottest nearest
to his throne. HIe cannot be deceived, he will not be mocked.
" To the wicked, God saith, What hast thou to do, to declare
my statutes, or that thou shouldst take my covenants in thy
mouth?" Thy services are all an abomination, thy prayers are
mockery, thine outward profession is hateful in his sight.
Thou movest amidst Christians, as if a dead and putrid corpse
should rise from its grave, and stalk forth amidst living men,
only the more revolting for its human form, and its horrid
mimicry of real life.
The church of God, as a whole and in all its parts, may well
take warning from God's dealings with his ancient people. God
will not endure corruption in his church. He will hide his face.
He will abandon her to her enemies, and if, after many reproofs,
she shall still remain unamended, he will give her up forever.
Say not, " The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the
temple of the Lord are we."  God can erect another temple,
and call another people, who will worship him more spiritually,
and serve him more faithfully. " Though thou wert the signet
on his right hand," as was said of Coniah, the son of Jehoiakim,
"though thou wert the signet on his right hand, yet he would
pluck thee thence."  Say not, What will become of the glory of
the Lord. He can promote his glory in your condemnation, as
well as in your salvation. "I-e hath made even the wicked,
against the day of his power."  How could religion exist if
Jerusalem were destroyed? might the Jewvreason.  Will not
the heathen triumph? Yes, but in the midst of their triumph
God is raising up a people to serve him, from among their own
families and friends. The Roman eagle is soaring high over
Jerusalem. The Roman torch is firing its sacred temple, and,
as the conflagration rapidly extends, and the broad sheets of
flame burst from its dizzy summit, and curl upward to the




AND ITS LESSONS.                 175
siky, terribly magnificent, the shout of pagan triumph is heard,
above the clash of armor and the shrieks of the dying, to proclaim that the God of Abraham has lost his power to save.
"But why do the heathen rage, and the Gentiles imagine a vain
thing. He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh, the Almighty
shall hold them in derision."  She that persecuted the prophets
is fallen, and prophecy is fulfilled; she that rejected the Saviour
is in ruins, and thus we know that the son of man has come
to establish his kingdom upon earth; a kingdom which shall
extend beyond the limits of the Roman empire, and take in all
nations. Tile mistress of the world shall soon own his mild
dominion, and on the walls of the seven-hilled city shall be
planted the standard Qf the cross. The temple hath fallen,
within whose narrow walls the worshippers of a single nation
were wont to pay their vows, and present their offerings; but another has risen more glorious far, whose broad foundation is the
great globe itself, whose garniture is the handy-work of God,
and within whose spacious walls are gathered the unnumbered
millions of God's elect, from every nation under heaven, bringing incense and a pure offering, a holy and a spiritual worship,
approaching to the throne of the majesty on high, not with the
blood of bulls and goats, but with the precious blood of the
Son of God.




VI.
THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.
ACTS, xvi. 30.-" Sirs, What must I do to be saved?"
ABOUT the year of our Lord 53 or 54, two obscure, unknown
travellers arrived at Philippi, one of the principal cities of Macedonia. They had travelled far. Having embarked at Antioch
in Syria, and passed by a circuitous route over sea and land, they
had reached, at length, this celebrated city, where the Asiatic
foreigners for the first time placed their feet on European soil.
By tracing their course over the map, you will find that their
route lay through many of the scenes rendered familiar to our
boyhood by the history and fables of antiquity-the soft waters
of the IEgean, the mild climate of the East, along the voluptuous shores of Asia Minor, and amidst the fertile and luxurious islands of the adjacent sea-over countries where the
mighty conquerors of old fought their battles, and won their
renown, and the shadowy heroes of an earlier and fabulous age
performed their prodigies of valor. And their fortunes were
as various, and changed as rapidly as the scenes through which
they passed. At one time hooted by the rabble, at another
caressed by the great; now  rworshipped  as deities, now
hissed and stoned by vagabonds; now assaulted by the populace with the insane fury of a fanatical mob; now seized by
magistrates as disturbers of the peace, rudely rebuked, cruelly
scourged, condemned, imprisoned. And now these friendless
wanderers, safe from the dangers of the sea and the fury of
persecutors, " from the noise of the waves and the tumult of the
people," have reached a strange city on another continent. Is
it that they may seek an end to their wanderings, find repose




THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.              177
fiomn labors, refuge from sufferings and foes? Ah, if that had
been their object, Christian firiends, what would you and I now
have been?  The history of the world would probably have
been reversed, and the dark night of idolatrous superstition
still have rested on the nations.
Philippi had received, before, many a distinguished, many a
royal visitant. Repaired and beautified by Philip of Macedon,
colonized subsequently by Julius Caesar, rendered famous above
all by that memorable battle in which Rome's liberties received their last death-blow from her own children, and the
hand of Brutus that struck down the tyrant in the capitol, was
turned in despair upon himself. But signalized as she was by
great events and illustrious visitors, it may be doubted, whether,
of all the mighty received within her walls-from the youthful
prince of Macedon to that prototype of all demagogues and tyrants, the wily and supple Caesar, and that last relic of Roman
virtue and greatness, the stern incorruptible Brutus-there
had ever approached a man who could bear comparison with
that unknown Jew, with bald head and eagle eye and diminutive firame, who passed, at first unnoticed, along the streets of
Philippi. There is we grant no universal test of greatness. But
if we measure the compass of this man's mind by the largeness
of his views or the elevation of his character, by the vastness
of his designs or their magnificent accomplishment, by the
benefits he conferred upon mankind or the influence he has
wielded over the opinions and destiny of the race through successive countries and in distant lands; whatever it may be that
we most admire, whether dazzling splendor of bold and vigorous
imagery, or burning ardor of deep and intense emotion, or the
inexorable logic of close and com)pact reasoning, or all these
harmoniously combined and wielded by a manly eloquence,
which, whether we judge from the effects produced, or specimens.still remaining, must be considered almost perfect in its
kind; in whatever light we may view the apostle, he must be
acknowledged to possess all the distinguishing attributes of
real greatness.
Oh, ye enthusiastic admirers of human greatness, who fall




178         TIE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.
down in thoughtless adoration before it, when its record is
blood, and its monuments pyramids of human skulls; ye worshippers of the great manslayers of the world, who wail and
shriek over the battle-field, and then erect an altar to the
demon of the fight-come, behold a man, in genius as brilliant,
as rich in accomplishments, far more comprehensive in his
schemes, who, to splendor of intellect, added the sublimity of
moral excellence; grasp, if you can, the stupendous plan that
filled and expanded his soul-nothing less than to revolutionize the whole moral and social condition of mankind,
and to send abroad the spirit of a new life through all its falmilies. Follow him, as he speeds his way on this amazing errand, passing from city to city, from land to land, meeting reproach, derision, persecution, all unmoved, perilling his life by
sea and land, baring his bosom to the storm, his back to the
scourge, offering his limbs to fetters, his body to the cross, and
after he had fought for years the battles of mankind, and subjugated whole nations to the truth, going down to the grave with
the shout of victory on his tongue; a victory stained by no human blood except his own, and leaving a name revered through
successive generations, by millions who never heard the name of
Caesar, or of Alexander, with a glory ever widening and brightening, as the progress of civilization and religion increases the
numbers of those who can understand and appreciate real
greatness of the highest order.
Such was the man that lay that night in chains at Philipli,
thrust away into the innermnost prison, in the darkest dungeon,
with the vilest culprits, his feet pinne(l to the floor, his back
gashed with wounids by the lead of the merciless scourge. Didl
he repine at his condition, rail at the ingratitude and wickedness of men, and sadly abandon his high mission?  Far otherwise. At midnight the prisoners hear strange sounds for th:at
prison-house, not a voice of wailing or blasphemy, but glad
praises of the Most High; and soon far other sounds shall bulrst
upon their ears, for the God of hosts has heard the prayer of his
servants, and sent his angel to relieve them; and the earth
trembles at his approach, the prison walls totter, the doors dly




THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.              179
open, fetters burst loose. Well might the agitated jailer exclaim, amid these manifestations of the presence and power of
the Almighty, "W hat must I do to be saved?"
Startled at midnight from his slumbers, by these fearful indications of the present and angry God, he springs forth pale
and trembling from his couch, and, falling at the feet of the
apostles, earnestly exclaims, " Sirs, what must I do to be saved?"
Never did there fall from human lips a more solemn or important question; never burst fi'om agonized bosom of man, rent
by anxious and conflicting emotions, inquiry of more fearfult
and tremendous import. Indeed, it is the question of questions,
the great question for every man that has a soul to be saved
or lost. It is a question which only man can ask and answer.
Brutes have no souls to save. Angels are already saved. Devils are already damned. It must be answered soon; or it
will be answered too late,.by the last trumpet, by the wailings
of the damned, amidst the fire of Tophet, the shrieks, imprecations, and blasphemies of lost spirits. To be honestly asked,
deeply, solemnly pondered, profoundly studied, faithfully, affectionately answered —oh, well might the loftiest intellect of man
turn aside firom  all human speculations, and gather up its
brightened and invigorated powers, and concentrate all in one
burning focus on this high question, the question of transcendent and immeasurable interest.  To comprehend it, if possible,
in all its bearings, in all its height, length, breadth, and depth,.
and urge it home upon dying sinners with all the solemn fervor
of one himself sweeping along with them to judgment, with
prayers and entreaties and ruany tears, is the duty of every
minister of God. For of all the innumerable questions which,
fiom the foundation of the world, have agitated the minds of
men, and called forth the nlightiest energies and fiercest conflicts in the senate and the field, there is none so vast in its
grandeur and importance, there is none which sweeps over so
boundless a field of thought, involves such mighty interests, is
followed by such stupendous consequences, bears withit such
appalling responsibilities, and so appeals to the hopes and fears
of every erring and dying man.




180         THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.
For, remember it is the salvation of the soul. And to you I
appeal, O man most steeped in sensuality and worldliness,
most maddened with love of money or of honor, if only one
gleam of rationality remains! I ask of you, if in the whole
circle of human interests, the whole compass of human thought,
there can be any thing to be compared with this?  What
questions and interests on which statesmen debate, and heroes
fight, and philosophers reason, can be compared with this?
Suppose all for which they contend granted you, that the glory
of all combined rested on you, the laurels of a hundred victories on your head, the sceptre of universal empire in your hand,
the splendor of exalted genius and learning around you, applause
attending your steps, everywhere the mysteries of nature unveiled, all knowledge yours-what will all avail if your soul
be not saved?  If the wrath of God hang darkly over you,
what are the smiles of man, of millions?  Of what avail are
those large capacities, rich endowments, mighty powers of
thought and feeling, if they be only made fitter subjects of
condemnation, mightier piles for eternal burning? And now
permit me to warn you, that the awful probability is, your
soul will be lost; that it is already in imminent peril, and
chiefly from insensibility.
But perhaps your reply to all this will be, that you see no
danger! We seize your own oljection, and tell you that this
insensibility to the danger is the most fearful token of your
coming damnation. Something must be done, and you are
doing nothing, and will do nothing. If the Gospel be hid, it
is hid to those who are lost. Heaven is a prize for which we
must run, a crown for which we must fight, and yet you stand
idly indolent all the day long. This deadly insensibility is the
worst symptom. Could the physician rouse the patient from
that lethargy, he were safe. But that sleep is the sleep of
death. Could we but waken you to a sense of your misery and
ruin, there were some hope.  But all our efforts are vain:
Sabbath after Sabbath, month after month, you sit in God's
house, beneath warnings and invitations, and heed not. All
the interests of immortality are at stake; life is wearineg avay,




THIE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.             181
death hurrying on, judgment just at hand; yet all is safe with
you. We tell you of an angry God, of a fiery perdition, of
endless torments, and you sit as if these were an idle tale.
Nay, as if to add insult to past sin, you come into God's own
house to brave his anger. Did you see the physician turn
mournfully away firom that dying patient? He is sinking into
delirium, and dreams that all is safe. Living in the government of a holy God, and habitually sinning-yet safe; feeding
on his bounty, and spurning his hand-yet safe; his eye fixed
on you, his presence around you-yet safe; his sword suspended over you, judgment pronounced, denunciation uttered —
yet safe; his power pledged-yet safe. Al!h  young man, that
flowery path is dangerous. It leads to death. But ah! the
sinner will be safe when the bolts of his prison-house have shut
him in; will be safe, where no Christians annoy; safe where
no Spirit, no Gospel, no hope intrudes; and when he shall be
lodged there, damned spirits shall raise their shout of exultation, and say safe, safe, forever safe! Oh! horrible safety!
But who is he that stands before us there, amidst the solemn
stillness of this midnight hour; with these words of anguish
on his lips, and this unspeakable terror in his heart.  We have
not the story of his life, nor the record of his death. His birth
and burial, lineage, station, and fortunes, family, friends, hopes,
fears, enjoyments, sufferings, disasters, successes, are alike unknown.  Of all that he thought, felt, purposed, desired, or
achieved, there is no memorial. What are all these in the
estimate of the Almighty?  Only a dim and shadowy form is
seen rising above the waste of ages. A mysterious voice is
heard arnidst the silence of centuries.  It is the form and voice
of a man like ourselves, with a guilty conscience:end a deathless
spirit, and all the fearful elements of our fallen but immortal
nature, crying out, in the agony of his soul, " What must I do
to be saved?"
Never did more important question burst from lips of man,
never did question receive a more direct, simple, or satisfactory
reply, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be
saved."  You can do nothing of yourselves, can make no at,nc



182         THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.
ment for past sin, work no deliverance from its future power.
Salvation is not an achievement but a gift, not of works but
of grace, offered freely for your acceptance, not to be purchased by your merit. Christ is our justification, and Christ
our sanctification; Christ without and Christ within us. Christ
without, the object of our adoring love, becoming, in that very
act of believing adoration, the Christ within, "the hope of
glory." The Christ without, removing the guilt of sin; the
Christ within,'subduing by his presence its controlling power,
and freeing us from its pollution.
Christ is the light of the world. Wouldst thou be saved
firom the darkness of spiritual death?  Let the eye of faith be
opened to receive that light; let day dawn, and the d.ly-star
arise upon thy soul, and that midnight blackness shall vanish
axvway. It needs no will, no ageeucy, no work of thine to give
it efficacy. It works by its own inherent energy, and seeks
no aid from man. Let but the eye of faith be open to receive
it, and by its own mysterious power and adaptation to thy
nature, the grandeur and glory of a universe, before invisible,
shall burst in all their glad, living reality upon thee.
Christ is the bread of heaven.  No work or effort of thine
own will give thee nourishment, or add vital power to this
food. Let it only be received within thy system; it will blend
with all the elements of thy being; become mysteriously part
and portion of thyself; mingle with the whole flowing circulation; reach each part and function, and be found a real living
power in theni all.
Christ is the great physician and sovereign remedy for the
disease of sin. What shall you do to be saved from this deadly
malady?  No power, will, effort of thine own; no spasmodic
agitation of all the elements within thee, would give it healing
efficacy.  It works by an efficacy all its own. Let it be received within thee; each diseased action is arrested; each suspended function restored; the warm blood flows in glad currents through every vein and artery, avid fiom each gland and
duet and capillary vessel, through ten thousand channels, is
distilled perpetually a nameless joy.




THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.               183
Now faith is the " open eye;" not the object, nor the light
which reveals the object, but the avenue through which light
streams in upon the soul. It does not create light or objects;
yet were the avenue closed, both would for us be as though
they existed not.  Hence it has all the mystery of a new creation, as, w-hen the blind man first beholds the light of day, a
new universe springs into existence all around him.
Faith is neither food that nourishes, nor the remedy that
heals, but only the organ that receives them both, and brings
them in living contact with the system. Light, food, remedy,
all are without-objective. They need no aid of ours to give
them existence or efficacy; they need only the open eye, the
recipient organ, the living contact, to reveal and exercise their
appropriate efficacy. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ., and
thou shalt be saved."
Consider first the sublime simplicity of this answer. This
simple grandeur characterizes all God's works. MIan, uncertain
of his ends, and limited in resources, multiplies his instrumentalities, employs complicated apparatus, cumbrous machinery, a
circuitous process.  God, sure of the result, moves directly toward his object, and accomplishes the largest results by the
simplest agencies: by the combination of a few simple elements
produces all that infinite variety of forms, hues, and properties
which we behold in nature: by one single law, that stupendous
harmony in the movements of the worlds above. Gaze on
those ten thousand worlds that glitter in our nocturnal heavens; look through the telescope, till those thousands are con-,
verted into millions, and nebul after nebulme are resolved into
increasing millions; watch the planets in their varying positions,
comets in their eccentric career, then ask what rare combination of forces, what intricate and complicated apparatus keeps
each in its appropriate place, brings each at its appointed season. Through all that vast domain one simple and' majestic
law  presides.  The law  of gravitation retains planets and
comets in their orbits, and guides the sun in his flaming path
through space.
And when the great apostle lifts his eye to that glorious




184         THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.
galaxy of worthies, shining most brightly in the darkest night
of affliction, and points us to their radiant career, as they move
serenely on, " subduing  kingdoms, working  righteousness,
stopping the mouths of lions, quenching the violence of fire,
valiant in fight, turning to flight the armies of the aliens"what, we may ask, impelled them onward in their brilliant
career, and sustained them amidst surrounding perils? "Was
not this their victory —even faith."
When Luther threw down the gauntlet to pope and emperor,
and stood before the diet, sole advocate of a condemned and
accursed faith; when he fearlessly exclaimed, "Though there
were as many devils at Worms as there are tiles on the houses,
I would go;" when Chalmners more recently marched calmly
forth at the head of Scotland's free church (fi)ur hundred men),
leaving behind them congregations, holnes, each earthly comfort, for " testimony of Jesus," it was faith that impelled and
sustained them all. And all those mighty men who in, every
age have stamped deep upon their generation the impression of
their character, and lived in perpetual conflict, have been men
of faith, have walked with calm and assured step amidst unseen realities, as amidst the visible, palpable things of the
world around. The broad sky above was not a more real
canopy, than the unseen and overshadowing majesty of Godc;
nor could the solid earth beneath give firmer footiing than the
unfailing promise of God. They gazed, with steadfast eye,
deep down into the abyss of woe, till all human torture had lost
its terrlors; walked amidst the glories and bliss of God's paradise alone, till all earthly splendor was stripped of its power
to charm; fought face to face in actual warfare with powers of
darkness, and issuing from closet to pulpit, fresh from solemn
meditations, victorious from terrible conflicts, their words of
exhortation were like a voice firom heaven, their tones of warning like the trump of God.
And we remark, in passing, that the necessity and value of
faith are not conlined to religion. The law which operates in
yonder farther ]heavens, operates on the surface of the earth.
The same law which shapes the orbit of the planet, bends the




THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.               185
curve of the descending stone thrown by a school-boy's hand.
Objects, sphere, direction, are different, the general principle is
the same.  "It is impossible, without faith, to please God,"
says the Bible.  Without faith it is impossible to achieve any
thing for the good of man, or even to continue our own existence for a day. It is faith that nerves the patriot's arm, faith
in his country's destiny, in the triumph of right: faith that sustains the enthusiastic ardor of pursuit: faith in the distant and
unseen, which vividly portrays in the coming future the harvest that shall reward all present toil. And those men of destiny, the Napoleons and Coesars of the world, was it not faith
in themselves, in their own powers and fortune, that gave such
superhuman energy to their genius? Even the present Etaperor, we are told, never doubted, from earliest infancy, or in
greatest peril, that he should one day wear the imperial diadem of France. And what is each anticipation of the future,
and each preparation made for ourselves or others, our expectation of to-morrow, even, but an exercise of faith in the constanqy of nature's laws, and the regularity of nature's course?
Here, then, we have the great principle pervading the whole
of the divine administration.  We have a present temporal interest at stake, that cannot be secured without the exercise of
faith in the laws of natural government, which passes beyond
the sphere of sense and reasoning, grasps the future firmly, and
gives to the distant and unseen all the power of visible and
palpable realities. If we have an eternal interest to secure,
is it unreasonable to suppose that this may demand a corresponding faith in the laws and facts of moral government, and
that it brings its motives and elements from that higher world
and future existence?
2d. Faith, simple in its nature, is manifold ind its operations
and manifestations.  This has perplexed the minds of theologians, and started many questions as to the doctrine of salvation by faith alone. Is it faith united with love, obedience,
prayer, hope?  I answer, these are only varied manifestations
of one and the same principle of faith. It is faith which loves,
hopes, adores, obeys. Present in all, pervading all, vivifying




186          THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.
all, the grand essential element in all. We behold the same
in nature all around us and are not perplexed-perpetual
change of form, while the substance remalins the same. Water
flowing in the stream, concealing into ice, the spray that curls
above the cataract, the mist that hangs in the mountain's brovw,
white clouds piled upon the horizon or floating over the sky,
the black thunder-cloud that sweeps careering before the tenmpest-all these are water still. Nay-to borrow in part an
illustration from an ancient father-pervading all nature, it is
red in the rose, purple in the violet, white in the lily, green in
the growing grass, and in the great bow of heaven reflects in
gorgeous coloring every variety of hue. It is an opinion toward which all modern discovery is rapidly converging, that
the mild light of day, the gentle electricity diffused unseen and
unfelt through all nature, the fire that bursts fromn the volcano,
and the lightning that. flashes from the sky, are all a single
element in various manifestations, and reaching farther still
into distant worlds, that when suns are kindled up, or suns go
out, it is due to the presence or absence of this simple element.
Even so we say faith is the light of knowledge, the warmth
of love, the ardor of zeal, the gentle radiance that sheds a quiet
beauty over the ordinary Christian life, and the deep, inward
fire, glowing in the bosom, which ever moves the great heroes
of truth, and lifts them in their mountain grandeur and granite
strength high above their fellows. Nay, faith is the Christian's life. IHe lives by faith, walks by faith, by faith wrestles
with principalities and powers.  In all his battles with the
powers of darkness, faith supplies the shield and' wields the
sword. Faith adores an unseen God, hopes for an unseen
heaven. Faith unites to an unseen Saviour.
3d. This vital union with the Saviour is the grand essential
characteristic of Christian faith, which not only constitutes it
the sinew and substance of all Christian virtues, but the ground
at once of our justification and sanctification: makes Christ our
wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. It is
strange that this essential characteristic has been so much overlooked by Christian theologians, and that men of high author



THE QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER.               187
ity, bewildered by a misty metaphysics, should have sought to
lower this sublimest mystery in the Christian life, this greatest
fact in Christian consciousness, to the level of an ordinary
exercise of the human understanding.  "Faith," they argue,
"is only another natne for belief;" belief is a word that expresses a well-known act of the understanding in view  of
evidence. Christian faith in Christ, therefore, they conclude,
is the same in nature as belief in any other fact or facts-concerning Coesar, Napoleon, Alexander. I cannot stay now to
analyze this fanfaronade of folly. Perhaps it would be difficult
to collect, in so small a compass, more of folly and heresy than
is contained in this stereotyped phraseology, now crystallized,
and almost consecrated in so many of the schools. Suffice it
to say, that it is contradicted by the whole tenor of the Bible
and its specific language on this very subject; and that it is
alho contradicted by all true philosophy.




VII.
THE EXCELLENCY OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST.
1 Con. ii. 2.-" For I determined not to know any thing among you, save
Jesus Christ, and him crucified."
DWE follow man'fromn the cradle to the grave, observe the
gradual development of all his powers, the smiling innocence
and waking intellect of the child, the rude sports of the boy,
the impetuous passion of the man, till his energies are enfeebled,
his faculties begin to fail, and he at last disappears fronm our
view. The curtain drops, the actor passes away, he is seen no
more; but what is behind the scenes? Thus generation passes
away after generation, and where are they?  The dead who
have gone before us, where are they? We have heard of their
deeds of valor, or read their works of immortal genius, or
witnessed their works of benevolence and love, or mingled in
all the sweet intercourse of social life along with them; and
now, where are they? That eye which, even when turned on
empty space, beamed bright with intelligence, is it quenched
forever? That heart, which throbbed high with generous love
for God and man, shall it beat no more? That smile, which
beamed with divine benevolence, and shed happiness along its
path, is it chilled in the coldness of eternal death.  That whole
mass of living and moving, and feeling beings, who in successive generations have filled the scenes of this world's history,
do they live again, or "lie in cold abstraction, and there
rot?"
It is here that our inquiries become really important, and
our solicitude painfully intense, when the question concerns
the happiness of incalculable millions, multiplied by an infinity
of years. Yet it is precisely here that all human knowledge




KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST.                  189
fails us, all human speculation is at fault. Thus, we examine
nature in its mightiest masses and its minutest particles; we
observe its wonderful machinery and its beneficent operations,
but where is the moving spirit?  We perceive its dead and
mute materialism, but where is that mysterious and fearful
Spirit who first called it into b6ing, gave the first impulse to its
movements, and still sits on high and presides supremely over
all its operations? And what are his character and relations
to us?  Does he look with indolent or gloomy indifference on
the course of human affairs? Does he malignantly rejoice in the
suffering of the race, or does he sit with the calm and awful
dignity, the pure and untarnished uprightness of the supreme
and omniscient Judge, scrutinizing all human actions, and
awarding to each its own moral retributions?
And this great universe, in which we live and of which we
form a part, so vast in its extent, so wonderful in its structure,
so connected in its parts, and yet so separate, so remote, and
yet so mutually dependent-What is it, and why?  Is it an
enigma and a riddle, or is there throughout the whole, some one
great common principle uniting all in one bond of universal
harmony, and leading all to the accomplishment of some supreme and universal object. And do the beings in other parts
of God's dominions feel an interest in us? Is'there a bond
of moral sympathy, powerful as that which binds the eternal
universe together, extending throughout this magnificent creation, uniting God's moral universe into one family of brethren,
under one Father's care.
Over all these questions of deepest interest and sublime import, reason casts but a faint and feeble light. Into this region
of grandeur and mystery and wonder it may not enter. It
may stand indeed on the borders of that land, and gaze wistfully over, with dim and doubtful vision, uncertain if the shapes
it beholds are forms of light, or spirits of darkness, or creations
of fancy. In the Gospel alone can these problems be solved.
I. It is Christ that has brought life and immortality to
light, and the knowledge he gives is most delightful and sublime. It is the revelation of his grace which has dispelled the




190             THE EXCELLENCY OF THE
darkness and dimness that enveloped our sky, and has made
all things bright and clear to our view. Over the grave it has
cast a glory, over nature a charm; in man it has discovered a
dignity and in the universe a harmony unknown before. The
sun of righteousness has arisen, the mists which obscured our
vision are dispersed, and the whole scene lies spread out in loveliness and grandeur beneath his pure and heavenly light. Could
one of those unfortunate beings, whose senses have been locked
up from the hour of birth in darkness and deep night, be suddenly visited by the full, clear light of heaven, lift up his delighted eyes upon this glorious earth, and this broad, starry
sky, behold the ten thousand forms of loveliness and hues of
beauty around him, and that glorious and majestic world of
light above him, pourilng forth from his throne of kingly exaltation, with sovereign munificence, light, life, and loveliness
on this inferior globe, it would be to him no longer that old
world he had so imperfectly learned before, but as a new creation sprung fresh from its Creator's hand, and endowed with
new properties of beauty and of grandeur.
Even so is it with the Christian. A regenerating spirit has
brooded over the Waters, and a new creation has sprung up
beneath his influence-" Old things -have passed away and all
things have become new."  To him all things now assume new
and nobler attributes. The broad arch of heaven and the green
garniture of earth, the deep majestic ocean and the everlasting
hills, the imusic of the grove and the beauty of the valley-in all
of these " he sees a hand you cannot see, hle hears a voice you
cannot hear."  Blt especially in regard to man, in all that
concerns his origin and his nature, his duty and his destiny,
his views have taken a higher range, his sentiments have
assumed a loftier and holier tone. Man is no longer the child
of clay, and the sport of chance, but the heir of immortalitya citizen of heaven. His desires, boundless as infinity, now find
an appropriate object. His faculties, large by nature, and
capable of unlimited expansion, obtain a suitable theatre for
their exercise and development. Those desires, no longer limited
by earth and sense, rising, expanding, glowing in the i,;i




KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST.                  191
atmosphere of heavenly truth, find their most dignified employinent, their most exalted gratification.  Those faculties,
enlarging with the objects they embrace, and grasping still
vaster at each felt enlargement, secure full scope for their
liveliest and healthiest exercise, in that wide field of lofty contemplation opened up in the Bible, where the soul walks forth
with delight, as on its native soil, with God and angels, and
redeemed spirits for its companions.  All around is stamped
with the impress of the Infinite and Eternal.
The whole universe is now our Father's house, where we
may forever gaze on his reflected glory, exalted, humbled, and
refr-eshed by the delightful manifestation.  On all around we
behold the footsteps of the Deity. This earth is the cradle,
the nursery of immortal beings. Here angels minister.  Here
God shows forth his wonders. Here Christ died. Every spot
is holy, for the Lord is here. Oh, what a theme is this!-theme
to employ an angel's tongue-theme to enkindle a seraph's soul
of fire, where the mind labors beneath the vastness of its own
conceptions, and the tongue falters to express what the mind,
alas! too feebly conceives; where the thoughts, rolling onward,
become vast, vague, and fearful as that immensity in which they
rove.
Oh, mother! that babe upon your bosom is no longer the
feeble, helpless thing that you imagine. It is an angel in the
bud. That man of multiplied a- rictions, tossing fiom side to
side upon lis couch of woe, visited by the neglect or scorn of
the proud and gay around him, and presenting to the eye of
benevolent observation the most melancholy of earthly spectacles, shall rise above these scenes of darkness.  And fiom the
lonely inclosure, where so many decaying forms are laid, where
the wild grass waves luxuriant over broken sepulchres, shall
spring forth new forins of beauty and glory-angelic beauty,
unfading glory.
Go with me now through the whole range of human science,
and where shall we find aught at once so delightful and so
sublime; aught that sheds over the world a light at once so
steady, so cheerful, andl so glorious, that so enlarges the mind




192             THE EXCELLENCY OF THE
and purifies the heart, that so glorifies the Creator, and at once
humbles and exalts the creature?  Have we not well said that
this Christian knowledge is the most delightful and sublime?
Let us proceed then to our second proposition, which is, thatII. The most useful and necessary knowledge is that which
is found in the Gospel of Christ. All knowledge is valuable,
even that which serves to amuse a vacant hour, or gratify a
momentary curiosity. But who would compare the amusement
of an hour with the interests of a life-time, the curiosity of a
moment with the weightiest concerns of families and nations.
What concerns the body's comfort is important; but what is
this to the soul's high interest-the duration of a day to the
long lapse of interminable ages? Children waste their anxieties
on the trifles of the present moment; wiser men look forward
to the exigencies of future life; the wisest take in the whole~
interests of a life which shall not end. The knowledge of
ancient navigators served their purposes, when only a few
miles from shore. They had noticed a few rocks, and promontories, and observed a few well-known stars; and when the
sky was serene, and the sea tranquil, and the tall mountains
seen proudly lifing their heads in the distance, or the low
beach in the blue line skirting the horizon, they could boldly
and safely prosecute their narrow trades, but when far out at
sea, with naught in view but the wild waste of waters spreading far and wide around, or when the dense fog enveloped
their bark, or the storm lashed ocean into fury, their knowledge failed-failed in their hour of peril, and left them to wander aimless and hopeless over the illimitable waters-to perish
by hunger, or dash a fearfil wreck upon some unknown shore.
Their knowledge, though limited, was useful, but how much
more useful that of modern times, when the compass points
the way, and man sails securely inl the darkest night, and over
the farthest ocean, as in the clear light of day, in full view of his
native shore.
Even so it is with the knowledge of religion. This is life's
real compass amidst its storms and darkness, this points ever
to the only haven of rest, and, over a tempestuous ocean, guides




KNOWILEDGE OF CHRIST.                  1'93
to an unseen land of glory and repose. But, not only did the invention of the compass lead to the discovery of unknown lands,
it changed all the relations of commerce, and operated on society in all its interests and in every region.  Wealth, intelligence, civilization, freedom, were diffused widely through its
instrunlentality, and the Gospel has been borne to untold millions, who otherwise had never heard its tones of mercy.  So
religion has not confined its influence to our future destiny,
but has gently diffused it through all our social and personal
relations, and is really a blessing to society, as to the individual.
Let him who doubts it compare ancient with modern morals;
the purity of domestic Christian life with the licentiousness
and debauchery prevalent among the ancients; let him visit
those cities half excavated from  the lava which covered and
preserved them, and providentially offering the contrast to our
eyes, where the licentious Italian blushes for his more corrupt
predecessors, as he gazes on scenes which modesty may not
dare to describe.  Let him  compare the pure domestic bliss
and household virtues of our own favored land with the pollutions which now prevail in those nations and cities where the
Saviour is not known or is rejected. Thus may he learn to acknowledge how incalcula-bd)le is the benefit bestowed by the
Gospel on society in all its relations, political, social, and
moral.
There is much, however, that is useful, and yet not indispensable; much that adorns and dignifies humnan life, which yet is
not essential to huan:in comfort; and of the greater part of those
accomplishments which are so much prized alld so eagerly
sought after in society around us, it must, at last, be said,
that, however gracefully they may sit upton the polished and
refined, they ha\ve little beneficial influence upon human happiness or human virtue.  With a clear head and a quiet conscience, one can do x'ery well without themn.
But the knowledge of Jesus Christ is absolutely indispensable. It has this pre-eminence above all other knowledge, that
none other will supply its place; that in no condition of li_';f,
under no peculiarity of circiumstances, with no sinJgularity to(




194             THE EXCELLENCY OF THE
genius or character, can it be safely neglected. To the deeply
reflecting and speculative mind it is necessary, as the termination of its doubts, as the solutions of those perplexing problems
which have long agitated and disturbed it; to the miserable
it is necessary, as the solace of his affliction, as the only support beneath the burden which has long overwhelmed him;
to one conscious of guilt it is necessary, as the only method
of escape from the upbraidings of an awakened conscience;
and to all, as the only hope of salvation fiom. the wrath to
come.
It will be necessary to individuals, to families, to human society, as long as purity and gentleness and love are essential
to human happiness, as long as glory to God in the highest is
intimately and indissolubly connected with "peace on earth,
and good will among men."  What would be this earth, if
there were naught beside! if the blue arch of heaven no longer
spanned the globe, if the stars without number no longer glittered in our sky, if the sun no longer sent down his benignant
beams to cheer our darkness, nor the clouds their moisture to
fertilize our valleys?  Even thus would it be if there were no
heaven above for the immortal spirit, if no kindly influences
came down from that far-off world, to purify and elevate our
race. Oh, what would be earth, if earth were all!
It is a truth which can never be too deeply pondered, too
deeply engraven on our hearts, that no human knowledge can
satisfy the soul. Thy philosophy may know all systems. Thy
history may extend from the commencement of the globe, and1
descend with minutest accuracy to the present moment. Thy
mathematics may include all that is known of number and
quantity, in all their abstruse inquiries, and all their practical
applications, but what is all this to thee, if thy soul be not
satisfied? The soul is of a higher nature, and there is, within,
a restless longing after higher and better knowledge, and
sooner shall that soul itself be annihilated than thou canst
eradicate thence this surest mark of its immortal nature.
There is but one thing needful, to know the one true and living
God, and Jesus Christ his only Son, whom to know is life




KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST.                 195
eternal. Without this, all other knowledge is useless. Thou
mayest be deeply learned in all that physicians have discovered
through centuries of labor. But, alas! what will it profit? Thy
body perhaps is healed, but thy soul is diseased-diseased with
a deadly malady, which preys inwardly upon the vitals, and
will soon break out in the darkest symptoms of eternal death!
Thine estate may be secured by the learning of a skilful attorney, but what will it profit thee, thou hast no inheritance in
heaven. Thou art a child of wrath, a son of perdition, an heir
to the agonies that cannot be endured, yet may not pass away.
At death all other knowledge fails. Will your philosophy,
your medicine, your law pass on with you into heaven? Alas!
what subtlety can deceive, what eloquence persuade the heartsearching and Omniscient One? What skill of man, what
medicine of the shops can heal or alleviate the torments of a
soul in ruin?
Then it is that this knowledge is most useful. After guiding through life it attends you in death, and in that hour
when flesh and heart shall fail, it will be the strength of
your heart and your portion forever.  Oh, in that hour how
vain is earthly wisdom, how precious the knowledge of Jesus
Christ, and him crucified; how fearful to hear him say,
"Depart from me, I never knew you." Observe that it is
the knowledge of Christ crucified that the apostle so highly
prizes, as a mediator between God and man, as an atoning sacrifice for sin, as a great high-priest, who has shed his own blood
for us, and entered into the holiest of holies on our behalf. It
is not merely a sentimental admiration of his exalted and beautiful morality, but a cordial acceptance of his atonement for
sin. It is not as a model, but as a Saviour, that we must know
him. It is not merely the glorified, but the crucified Redeemer.
It is to love his Gospel, not only when greeted with the hallelujahs of the multitude, but likewise when saluted with the
cry of "C ruciyfy hinm, crucify him.'  Ah, my brethren, it is
easy to know Christ when all are crying " Blessed is he that
cometh in the name of the Lord;" but when the question is
scornfully, fiercely put, " Art thou not one of this man's disci



19             TTIlE E1XC LLENCY OF TIIE
ples?" how many of us are prone to say,'"I know not the
nan "?
But this is not the knowledge of which the apostle speaks so
enthusiastically. "Gratitude," it has been finely said, "is the
memory of the heart," and the definition is as philosophically
just as it is poetically beautiful. Even so would we say,'6 Religion is the knowledge of the heart."  To know Jesus Christ
is not merely to have heard of him, to talk of him, to have
read the history of his life and the story of his death. It is
to know him as a friend, as an intimate and daily companion,
as our comfort in sorrow, as our light in darkness, our joy in
affliction, our guide, our director, our exceeding great reward.
It is not an iinuommon circumstance for us to associate for
months and even for years with an individual whom we cannot
understand, whom we do not know, while we often mingle in
a society where we are ourselves perpetufally misunderstood.
The reason is there is no symrpathy, no community of character
and feeling between us. The,nan of lofty character and pure
and elevated feelings is an enigma to those of an opposite
description.  They have no conception of his feeiings because
they have nothing responsive within themselves. But when
we meet with one of feelings corresponding to our own, how
soon, and how intimately do we know him; each feeling, each
thought, is immediately understood, nay, almost anticipated
befiore expressed. We feel that we have access to his inmost
soul, that it is but the reflection of our own. Now it is this
intimacy of knowledge, which springs frolm1 true affection, fiom
a community of feeling and character, to which the Apostle
John alludes when he says, " Our fellowship is with the Father
and the Son and the Spirit."  To which the Saviour refers
when he says, "If any man love me, I and my Father will
come and make our abode with him."
Professing  Christian, knowest thou nothing of this intimate
intercourse, this near cormmunion, this hidden life?  Then
must we say, in all sincerity, thou knowest nothing of the matter. Thou hast at best only touched the hem of the Savioulr's
garment. Thou hast not leaned on his bosom. Thou knowest




KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST.                   19 7
him only as they knew him who first welcomed him as a monarch, and then crucifiedl him as a malefactor. But how shall this
divine and heavenly knowledge be attained?  There is no
strength of the human intellect which can master it. There is
no elevation of human genius which can reach it. There is no
accumulation of human learning which can approach it. " It is
not of the earth, earthly.  It is the wisdom that descendeth
from above."  It is high, you clannot attain unto it.  You cannot pile Pelion upon Ossa Alps upon Alps, one acquirement
upon another, it is all in vain. He Sho would pluck firuit from
the tree of life must ascend on the wings of faith, and be
buoyed up by the mighty spirit of the Lord.  It is by humble
prayer, and faithftl study of God's word, attended by his illitminating spirit, that man attains to the wisdom of the just.
O ye young and ardent minds, confident ill your strength,
and sanguine in yoeur expectations, learn to be fools, tla;t ye
nmay become wise; to be hullbl(e, thtat ye may be exalted. HI-ow
shall the blind man comprehend the glories of tile world around
him till a power from on high shall unlock the doors of vision,
a-Ind let il upon lhim the light of' heaven?  How shall the deaf
man understand the melody of sound till an almighty hand(
shall touch thle oroan of hea'lng', and a divine voice shall say,
"Eplpt i atsha, be thou opened'"?  I[ow shall  man by wisdom
find out the Almighty?
And now may I be permitted to address a single word to the
nuimerous youths whom  I behold around me?  Though unknown to mnany of you in person, yet have I been often present with you iii spirit; and tfiough sep-arated by motintains,
continents, and oceans, my heart hath yearned after you as the
heart of a mother toward her first-born.'Tw as not so much
that I desired] to engcage with you in those social studies which
I have loved from earliest childhood, hbut it was that I hoped
to mingle with huma-n scienlce something diviner far; that the
foundation of soli-l learning might; bear a superstructu're reachin g upward to tle skies; that I inight add my feeble testimony
to that- of the great cloud of witnesses for the su-periority of
tlhe Gospel. IBe assured, my beloved, that wherever you may




1] 98    THE EXCELLENCY OF THE KNOWLEDGE, ETC.
wandelr, if not dazzled by splendor, nor awed by authority, nor
misled by fashion, the conviction must ever deepen on your
mind, that the fear of the Lord is the only true wisdom, and
that of all earthly spectacles the most melancholy is presented
when learning and genius are divorced from piety, when gigantic intellect, clothed with almost superhuman learning, and
urged on by towering pride, attempts to scale the battlements
of heaven, and, failing in the effort, lies crushed beneath the
weight of' its own massive armor, and convulsed by the throes
of its own perverted energies.




VIII.
PAUL VINDICATED FROM THE CHARGE OF MADNESS.
ACTs, xxvi. 24, 25. —' And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said with a
loud voice, Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee
mad. But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the
words of truth and soberness."
IF an individual, in some strange paroxysm of perverted
ambition, should aspire after the reputation of the most egregious folly, and desire to be known and proclaimed among his
fellow-men as the completest madman of his age, what course
should he pursue to attain most certainly his object? Should
he devise solne new scheme of folly, stranger and more preposterous than all which had preceded it, by which man could
fritter away more surely the noble powers which God has
bestowed upon him in the most heartless and frivolous amusements?  Should he invent some theory in morals, or some system of religion, more monstrous and revolting than any which
the human imagination, in its wildest reveries has yet conceived, or the human heart in its deepest pollution has yet
embraced?
If he understood at all the nature of man, far different would
be his scheme. There is no frivolity so absurd or stupid, that
it is not freely indulged and gravely defended by many who
profess to be wise. There is no theory in matter; mind, or
morals, so strangely and ludicrously inconsistent, so self-contradictory and suicidal, that it has not received the sanction of
grave philosophers, and the stamp of highest wisdom.  Even
those who denied the existence of the objects of their inquiry,
and destroyed at one fell stroke all matter, mind, and morals,




200             PAUL VINDICATED FROMI
were considered the profoundest in wisdom. To doubt was
considered the beginning and the end of reasoning, and the
sceptical philosophy was enthroned in the admiration of mankind. It is not then by being pre-eminently absurd, or preeminently frivolous, that he coiuld ever attain the desired reputation. But he need not despair. Let him reverse the process,
and his object is accomplished.  Let him regulate his life
according to the principles of the purest and truest reason.
Let his thoughts asceend.to a higher region, and take a wider
sweep, than those of the men around him. Exalted as he is,
to a higher intellectual eminence, and looking far away over a
more extensive horizon, let his feelings, his character, and his
conduct all partake of a similar ex:lltation, and be guided by a
spirit and moulded to a fashion for which others feel no sympathy, because they have no comprehension. For such a man
as this, whatever might be his sphere of action or field of
thougcht, the common mass would only feel contempt or pity.
And whether he propounded some far-seen truth in politics, or
some deeply-pondered principle in the philosophy of the miuld,
olr some rule of action deeply laid in maln's constitution and
relations to the universe, or some wide and comiprehensive
view of God's creation and moral government-all this would
otily be fresh evidence to them  of an unbalanced mind,
Iroving vigorously, perhaps, but almost blindly in an ideal
world.
It is obvious that if any man were endowed with a new
sense which opened before him qualities unseen and unknown
to other men, the whole of his language and conduct might be
entirely different firom that of other men, and moving thlus in a
new world, and influenced by new views, he might seem to
them the subject of some strange disorlder. And thus too it is
easy to conceive how the individual to whom we have alluded,
living in a new world of thought open to higher influences,
and guided by more exalted views, might act upon principles
and cherish opinions utterly incomprehensible to those aroulld;
and, while directed by the highest wisdom, might appear the
victim  of the grossest folly, because the wisdom which he.




THE CHARGE OF MADNESS.                   201
cultivated was far above, and, as the Psalmist happily expresses it, " out of sight."
When Columbus first announced to the inhabitants of Europe
the existence of that new world that lay far away in the distant
west, beyond the waters of an untried and unmeasured ocean,
and avowed his determination to visit that undiscovered land,
and reveal its unknown wonders and hidden wealth to the
astonished nations, he was considered the wildest dreamer of
his age, perhaps the most extravagant and visionary speculator.
of any day. He travelled over Europe in the prosecution of
his magnificent scheme; he passed from city to city, and fromn
court to court, but was everywhere met with the same cool and
contemptuous derision. The philosopher smiled and scarcely
deigned to argue, the witling jested, and the man of influence
and power listened with impatient astonishment to a sehenme
so full, of certain danger, and so remote from probable success;
and it was not till after years of unwearied labor, and most
cruel mockings, that he obtained a feeble and ill-appointed
fleet, to embark in the greatest of earthly enterprises.  When
Newton first removed the veil which concealed lmany of the
mysteries of nature, and announced to mankind - the vastness of
the material universe, and the simplicity of the laws by which
its various parts are bound tooether, and their complicated
Inovements lsarmoniously direct.ed, the views wblhich he unfolded were too vast for the philosophers -of the day, and many
denounced, as idle and visionary theories, the sober results of:
matheniatical calculation.
We ought not then to be surprised, that when the' Apostle
Paul went forth among mankind to tell of that invisible, Vlwhence
no voyager has ever yet retnirned to make knowvn his discoveries, and to proclaim  those riches and that glory which no
eye has seen and no car has heard and no heart has been able
to conceive, he should be often heard with careless incredulity,
and his annunci:itions tre:eted as the wild extravwaganeies of an
overheated brain.  Nothing, says a scoffing sceptic, counld be
more visionary thnn the attelmpt to reform mnankind; yet thlis
was the very enterprise in which the apostle lh"d embarked.
9'.~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'4 -.




202            PAUL VINDICATED FROM
Other philosophers had travelled, that they might gain instruction: he that he might communicate knowledge. Others had
visited foreign lands, that they might study. the laws and
manners of mankind, and from the collected wisdom of nations
add something to their own stores: he went forth to proclaimn
that wisdom which is not of the earth, earthy, but descended
from above, to make known the laws and the government of
Him who sits in presiding dignity over all worlds, and on
whose high award depend alike the destinies of men and angels.
And in the prosecution of this high design, there was no danger which he did not meet, no suffering which he did not
endure: he saw death in all its shapes, and scorned them all.
There was no city celebrated for its learning, its vices, or its
wealth, which he did not visit; and though he labored with
an energy that could not be wearied, and argued with a force
that could not be resisted, and poured forth, on every topic
that he touched, a torrent of the most convincing and persuasive eloquence, yet, wherever he directed his steps, he was
met with the same rude insults, and bitterly derided as a
fanatic, a babbler, and a fool.
A stranger once appeared in Athens. He came not to linger
amidst the shades of the Academy, or to muse on the departed
genius of Plato. He paused not to admire the monuments of
human art, to gaze upon the works of Phidias and Praxiteles,
those amazing productions of creative genius which' have
secured to their authors the immortality they designed to
confer on others. He only saw that they were wholly given
to idolatry; he only noticed that strange altar elected to the
unknown God. And now the crowd of lively and inquisitive
Athenians has gathered around him, and as they move up
toward:the Areopagus, each is whispering to his friend,
"What will this babbler say?"  The gay and superficial Epicurean leads on the attack, and assures him that pleasure is
the chief good of man, and that the gods repose in tranquil
dignity far "above the stir and smoke' of the dim spot that we
call earth," indifferent alike to human conduct and human happiness. The stern and haughty Stoic largely prates of human




THE CHARGE OF MADNESS.               203
wisdom and human dignity, assures him that happiness and
misery are equally indifferent, and that the wise man is superior
to the fates, and even independent of the gods; darkly hinting
all the while the uncertainty of the future being, and the
absurdity of expecting a state of future rewards and punishments.
And now this stranger is standing on Mars Hill, the messenger of peace in the temple of the god of war, and, with the
native dignity of an upright and manly intellect, he spurns
away from him all the jargon of the schools, and brushes off
the cobwebs of sophistry which Grecian subtilty had woven.
He enters not the labyrinth of their endless disputations, but
marches on with steady and assured step to the great object of
his mission, and announces, in brief and energetic language, the
great and sublime truths of religion, which all their systems
neglected or denied. He proclaimed to the idolatrous crowd
the one true and living God, who macde heaven and earth and
all things that are therein, and shows from one of their own
poets the folly of worshipping wood and stone for gods, since
we ourselves are the offspring of a spiritual and omnipresent
God. He teaches the Epicurean the presiding and ever-present
providence of God, in whom we live and move and have our
being, and to the haughty Stoic puffed with imaginary virtue,
and doubting about a future state of being, Ihe teaches the
necessity of repentance toward God, and points him forward
to that day of righteous and terrible revelations, when God
will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom he hath
ordained. But the simple majesty of these great truths had no
attraction whatever for the minds of the common mass, immersed as they were in the absurdities and the sensuality of
paganism, or of the philosophers, lost as they were in the mazes
of their minute and subtile disquisitions, and with one accord
they began to mock when they heard of the resurrection of
the dead.
Thus to be the sport at once of the wise and the foolish, of
the ignorant and the learned, is perhaps the severest trial
which a proud and ardent spirit can endure; and if ever there




204              PAUL VINDICATED FROM
was a man whose native sensibility would writhe beneath such
an infliction, whose impetuous temper would rise up and ilndignantly repel it, that man was the Apostle Paul. But if he
felt it as a man, as an apostle he despised it all. And ~hence,
when rudely interrupted by Festus in the midst of his appeal
to the Jewish prophets, and charged with madness, he manifests no irritation, he sends back no retort, he assumes no air
of fanatical superiority, he fulminates no bold or bitter denunciation, but, with the temper of a saint and the politeness of a
gentleman, he addresses him by his proper title, and repiies
with a simple negative, "I am not mad, most noble Festus."
And here it may be well to remark how decided and how
bitter is the opposition of man's nature against the truth Of
God. When the Saviour of men was to be crucified, Pilate and
Herod forgot their ancient enmity, arid united to accomplish
his destruction. The Pharisees and Sadducees were always
arrayed in bittelrest hostility against each other, yet would ever
unite to assault and to entangle our Redeemer. And so we
see the various sects of Grecian philosophers.  Though engaged in perpetual wranglings with each other, and warfare
violent in the inverse proportion to the importance of the
matters in debate, they could suspend their mutual hostilities
for a season, that Epicurean and Stoic and Peripatetic in solid
phalanx might march to the assault upon the new religion.
Each saw the folly of all systems except their own, and ea:ch
f'elt their own condemned along with others by the truth of
God. And thus we see it is at the present d'ay. All men perceive the faults and follies of all except themselves, yet all
unite in urging the charge of madness against the serious and
consistent servant of their Lord. The Jew despised and abhorred the idolatry of heathenism; and the heathen looked
with equal aversion and contempt on the narrow and bigoted
spirit of the Jews; while both united.in cruel mockings and
bitter persecutions against that divine and perfect system before
which the idolatry of heathenism was soon to disappear, and
the bigotry of the Jewish system was to be lost in the largeness of a more exalted and expansive philanthropy. The ten



THE CHARGE OF MADNESS.                 205
ants of a lunatic asylumn, though each unconscious of his own
malady, often perceive the madtness of their fellow-sufferers.
You may probably rememnber the anecdote of one who pointed
out to a visitor the madness of a brother lunatic.  He was
asked to state the evidence of his madness, and replied, " He
fancies himself to be John the Baptist."  How do you know
that he is not John the Baptist?  "Because I am well acquainted with the Baptist," and then claimed for himself the
name and the attributes of the Redeemer.  But of all the
tenants of Bedlam, none seems more strangely and hopelessly
irrational to those disordered minds than the skilful physician
or the watchful  keeper, who would heal their diseases and
restrain their madness.
And even thus do we fin.d it among that large and restless
crowd who are hurrying to and fio with anxious steps in pursuit of imaginary and unreal good. The man of business
wonders at the man of pleasure, and can scarcely excuse madness which barters away all future health, respectability, anlll
comfort for a momentary gratification. But he forgets at once
his arithmetic and his wisdom when he comes to calculate the
whole profits of his business. He had gained the world, but
lost his soul. The philosophic statesman thinks all conquerors
madmen, fiom Macedonia's madman to the Swede, while the
man of literary taste beholds only madness in all schelmes of
public ambition, and thinks that popular applause, whether
won in the senate orl the field, scarcely rewards the toil that
would attain it.  And thus is the charge of folly handed
around fiom mall to man amono us: each wondering at the
madness of mankind, while he and a chosen few are guided by
the principles of real wisdom.
Now, suppose that a nman of perfect wisdom were introduced
into this Bedlaim, that the principles of pure and unmixed truth
and reason were exemplified in all his conduct and all his opinions, would not the madness of all be rebuked by his actions
and his character, aAd would not all unite in charging upon
himn the folly which existed only among themselves? Let us
not wonder that the Saviour of the world was said to have




206             PAUL VINDICATED FROM
a devil and to be mad; or that those of his disciples who follow in his footsteps partake of his reproach. And let us
observe how ingeniously the enemies of Christ can accommodate their charge of madness to the circumstances of the case.
Is Paul mad?-it is, from learning: is Peter mad? —it is from
ignorance; and thus it is with us. To refute the charge of
madness we point to the men who have stood foremost on
every field of noble thought and lofty conduct, and show that
they were Christians. We may point to a Newton, beyond
all controversy, the mightiest mind of ancient or of modern
times, who saw by intuition what others learned by slow and
laborious study, and walked with confident and steady step
over the new and wondrous fields of discovery, where others
grow dizzy in the attempt to f'ollow him; who lifted the veil
from nature and revealed a new universe to our astonished
gaze, and returning from such dazzling and magnificent speculations, with the docility of childhood and the humility of real
genius, gave to the Word of God the same honest attention,
and the intense and reverential study that he had bestowed
upon His works. But they tell us that Newton was so dazzled- by the magnificence of his discoveries that he could not
accurately discern the truth on other subjects, and that he who
was so great in the philosophy of matter, was not, after all, so
deeply versed in the philosophy of mind and morals.  We
turn to Locke, the prince of modern metaphysicians; but metaphysicians, they say, are always misty. We turn to Bacon,
the founder of all modern science, the teacher of all modern
philosophers; to Milton, the greatest of all modern poets; to
Hale, the reformer of English law, and Grotius, the founder ot
the laws of nations; to Washington, the greatest of modern
patriots, and Wilberforce, the purest of modern statesmen, and
most distinguished of practical philanthropists.  But all these
were mad, mad from too much learning or too little, from
too much intercourse with men, or too close confinement to
books. Their philosophy was too shallow or too deep; their
fancy too lively or too dull; their reasoning too subtle or too
undistinguishing!




THE CHARGE OF MADNESS.               207
Now, it is the easiest of all possible arguments against
the truth of the Gospel, or a practical obedience to its precepts,
to denounce' it all- as madness, but certainly, to a reflecting
mind, it is of all the least convincing. Was the apostle mad
when he preferred the pure and exalted morality of the New
Testament to the debasing and polluting systems of heathenism? Was he mad when he preferred the Jehovah of the
Bible to the Jupiter of paganism?  When he adopted the belief of one eternal, immutable, omnipresent, and holy Creator,
and rejected that popular mythology which peopled heaven,
earth, and hell, and sea and sky, with lords many and gods
many-the creations of poetical fancy —impure, revengeful,
weak, rivalling'the worst of men in horrid crimes, and scarcely
surpassing the mightiest in power?  Was he mad when he
neglected the philosophy of his day, where the idlest questions
were discussed with the greatest warmth; and men, professing
to be wise, became fools, piling high doubt upon doubt, until
the existence of God and the immortality of the soul were
buried under the heaps they had raised? Was he mad when
he cherished, with fondest affection, that hope of immortality,
which, more than all besides, exalts our nature above the beasts
that perish, cheers virtue onward in its path of duty, and
sheds around man's darkest hour the brightness of a glory
which shall never fade away?  Was he mad when he preferred
the simple beauty of the Gospel. to the traditions of the Jewish
elders, by which they had obscured their law?  When he
believed the predictions of the prophet who so long before had
foretold the coming of the Saviour, his sufferings, and his
resurrection, was he mad because he did not disobey the
heavenly vision, but finding that which prophecy had foretold
and miracle had confirmed to his senses, he testified "both to
small and great, saying no other things than' those which the
prophets and Moses did say should come"? And are we mad,
my Christian brethren, because we live according to the precepts
of the Saviour, and cherish' the hopes which he has kindled,
and mercifully placed before us?
I believe there is a God that ruleth in the heavens, whose




208              PAUL VINDICATED FROM
eyes behold, whose eyelids try, the children of men; a God
whose holiness is without spot, and his power without bounds.
Amn I a madman, then, when I seek to obtain his favor, an(i
avoid his coming wrath; when I consecrate to his service the
powers which his goodness and mercy have givenl at first, and
still continue for my welfare?  I look within and I find myself endowed with capacities of enjoyment and suffering which
are not of' this world. I perceive hopes which dart forward
into eternity, and fears that hurry onward to the bar of God.
I feel a longing after immortality, a stirring as if of sonle
divinity within me, a grasping after something infinite and eternlal, vague aspirations after a peace which passeth understanding, which this world can never bestow: a joy ineffable and
full of glory.  I feel that to such high powers belongs a cor'responding destiny.  Am I a macdroan, then, when I aim  to
reach the destiny before me, to fulfil the high design of my
existence, to employ the powers which God has given, according to the precepts of his holy word? I have a soul to save.
I have a heaven to secure.  I have before me an immortality
of joy or woe. I lie under a fearful responsibility.  Interests
too large for human: comprehension, too enduring for human
calculation, vast as the value of the soul, and- durable as its
long existence, depend upon my conduct.  Will you call me
mad if I stir'myself up to lay hold on the magnitude of the
work before me, if I gird up the loins of my understanding,, if
I summon every power to the great undertaking, if I look
coldly upon worldly pleasures and worldly honors, if absorb.ed
in the great business of eternity I have no leisure for the fiivolities of time, no relish for its light and unsubstantial enjoyments?  Whein the wine sparkles in the cup, and the music
floats by in full and voluptuous swell, and the dance goes
gayly and merrily on, am I mad if I suppose there is some
other employment more worthy of a rational and immortal being, if I cast nmy thollghts onward to the songs and the melody
of heaven, and think of the groans and agonies which ascend
with the smioke of their torment frorm the. bottornless pit? Am
I imad when I use: the world as not abusing it, and looking ulp



THIE CHARGE OF MADNESS.                  209
ward to the invisible and eternal one, live as a stranger and a
pilgrim  here?  No, he is not a madman who thus lives, and
thus plepares to die.  But h,e is mad who, in all the light of
the Gospel, closes his eyes against it all; who, with the glad
news of salvation soundingf in his ears, lives as if he had no
ears to hear or heart to understand.
I knew a young man once, I say not where, but well I knew
him, with talents of the highest order, and an education coinpletely to develop them all.  With a mind keenly sensitive to
beauty of every kind, a taste developed in early life, lie soon
possessed a relish for the ancient classics.  The language
of antiquity became almost as his mother tongue, and the
poets and orators and histo'ians of Greece alnd Rtome as familiar to his boyhood as the writers of the Engolish language.
With admiration for the great men of antiquity, lie imbibed
their love of glory, their restless, burning, insatiable ambition,
and along' with the sensitiveness of genius lie had its love of
hig'h excitement, and was a voluptuary, now in literature, now
in sensual indulgence.  HI-e was early touched by the Spirit of
God, and bronhlit to see his sinfulness and danger, hut strutgled long anid boldly struggled against its heavenly influences. God's spirit will not always strive, and, like ten thousand
others, he was left to the maldness of his own mind andcl the
hardness of his own heart.  lie sought relief in scepticism, as
others seek it in spirits, and finding it an opiate, forgot it was
a poison.  H-ie read and read again all the sceptical authors of
our ilanguage. He dived deepe into the stream of pleasuroe, and,
now dreaming of philosophy, and now lonlging after golory, and
now ]running after indulgence, he passed fiom youth to manhood, and when I last conversed with him he told ime with a
litter smile that his character answered to that of the sceptic
described by Johnson in his  amczbler, who had doubted all
that was good and true and lovely, till lie had alienated all
fiiendship and lost all love, and wras severed fiom all the sympathies and affections of human life.  He is still alive, and(, ill
the city where he now resides, fills a most conspicuous station
ill the public mind.  He may yet live to be great, for his ta!



210             PAUL VINDICATED FRONM
ents are uncommon, and his ambition boundless. He may rise
to be the wonder and envy of all around him, but he cannot
be happy. And should one hereafter meet him in the full tide
of his success, midway in his career of anticipated glorythough thousands should hang with rapture on his lips, and
senates should yield to the power of his eloquence-and in the
language of honest truth tell him he was mad, his own heart,
in the bitterness of its anguish, would too sadly confirm the
truth of the charge. For, alas! all his high endowments have
been perverted, his precious privileges misimproved, the folnd
expectations of devoted Christian friends all disappointed, the
fair promise of his youth all blighted, and though the rains
may descend, and the sun may shine, and the dew may fall,
yet will they never revive again. And without a miracle of
mercy, the bitter, burning curse of God must pursue him on
through life, and soon the applause of men must be exchanged
for that indignation and everlasting contempt which must be
the portion of the sinner's cup forever. If there be madness
in the world, is there not madness here?
But suppose the picture to be reversed, and instead of those
gigantic powers urged on to wild and irregular action by the
fitful stimulus of unsanctified passions, you perceive the same
large capacities callnly, gradually, yet surely developing themselves under the mild influence of gospel truth, adding each day
firesh knowledge to its stores, and new virtue to adorn its character, pressing forward with the settled energy of Christian resolutionl toward the highest perfection of its nature, and consecrating to Him who gave them all, the faculties thus enlarged
and strengthened, while the blessed power of a pervading
moral principle is diffused throughout to purify and elevate and
harmonize the whole. And ohl! if this be a spectacle which
might call forth the approbation of angels, and excite even the
reverence of mankind, it is when genius is thus allied to piety,
the highest intellectual and highest moral worth happily
united, and the most exalted powers devoted to the noblest
purposes. On such a one we gaze with admiration, even whien
we do not imitate. And as we stand by his grave and remern



THE CHARGE OF MADNESS.                211
ber his virtues, we cannot but feel how blessed is the wisdom
of true religion, and anxiously wish, as did Balaam, may I
die the death of the righteous, and my last end be like his.
I cannot but think that some of you are often convinced of
the madness of your course. That must be a deep sleep which,
during long years of sin, knows no waking. That must be, indeed, a fearful madness in which there are no lucid intervals,
in which no light, ever bursts in upon the darkened mind, no
consciousness flashes over the soul, no solemn apprehension
that all may not be right. Ah, well do I know that such an
apprehension has sometimes visited each of you. 0 sinner!
cherish it as you would your own life's blood. It is the first
beam of light on your beclouded soul, the'dawn of day on
your benighted understanding. It is the voice of God by his
word, his providence, or his Spirit, inviting you to those ways
of wisdom which are ways of pleasantness, to those paths which
are paths of peace. Oh, think, with shame and penitence, and
wonder, on the folly of your past life. God from on high has
called you to himself. The Saviour of sinners has stretched
out his arms of love and pointed to his bleeding side. The
Holy Spirit has offered his saving influences, and yet you have
despised them all. Heaven is opened to receive you, and you
heed it not.  Hell g pes to engulf you, you regard it not.
The thunders of the Vaw peal over your head, the kind and
tender invitations of the Gospel sound in your ears, yet all in
vain. Every day may be your last, yet every day is spent in
sin. Every night may prove to you the beginning of eternal
darkness, but you coolly and carelessly meet its danger. Every
moment is loaded with mercies, and every moment devoted to
folly. The retributions of eternity are hurrying on, yet you are
altogether absorbed in the pursuits of time. Your eternal destiny
rests upon your own conduct and exertions, yet are you childishly wasting the hours which alone can secure your everlasting
welfare. It is as if a general on whose efforts the welfare of a
nation depended should waste his hours in the childish sports
of the nursery while his country's destiny hung in trembling
and fearful suspense. It is as if one should gather gay flowers




212           PAUL VINDICATED FROM, ETC.
and weave bright garlands, and sing merry songs on the very
edge of a volcano, whose heaving sides and boiling crater
already told that the danger was at hand, and that the hot
and liquid lava should soon sweep away in its resistless torrent, man, beast, forests, cities-faint emblem of the fiery wrath
which shall hereafter desolate the earth.
But what place is there for illustiation or comparison?  No
madness of earth is like the madness of the sinner.  It is only
the light of eternity which shall reveal its true character.  It
is only the agonies of perdition which can measure out its
greatness. And thbrough the long lapse of its revolving centuries shall be forced still more and more deeply on the soul
the fearful consciousness, how great is the folly of him who has
preferred the amusement of a few days on earth to the rewards
of the just ill heaven.




Ix.
MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGtAL SON.
LUKE, xv. 16.-" And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that
the swine did eat."
WE have in this chapter a remarkable confirmation of the
truth, "that God's ways are not as our ways, nor his tlhoughts as
our thouglhts." In the commencement of the chapter we are
informed, that " then drew near unto him all the publicans and
sinners for to hear him.  And the Pharisees and Scribes murmured, saying: This man receiveth sinners and eateth with
them."  It w:ls in reply to these illiberal and bigoted murmurers that our Saviour uttered the parable of which our text
forms a part, as well as the two which immediately precede it.
All of which are designed to show that, however deep the
abhorrence, however scornful the contemlpt, which the selfrighteous Pharisees might indulge toward those whom  they
were pleased to stigmatize as sinners, there was one, the purest
and holiest of all, who cherished no such feelings.  There was
sympathy for them, in heaven amidst all their degradation and
ruin; there was joy among the angels, even over one sinner
that repented.
The Pharisees, in the pride of their imaginary holiness, had
learned to despise their fellow-sinniers around, perhaps not
more sinful than themselves; they shrank from all intercourse
with them, as they avoided leprosy, as if' contact were at once
defilement and infection: while the Saviour, pure, immaculate,
exalted as he was, "in whose sight the heavens are unclean,
and who chargeth his angels with folly," received them  to
himself, mingled in all the intercourse of life along with them,




214      MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL, SON.
and spent his days in laboring for their good. Now this difference of conduct and feeling is founded on a difference of
character and views. Man is ever prlone to isolate himself and
his interests; to individualize himself; to separate himself
from the great community of beings above and around him;
to withdraw his thoughts from God's universe, of which he
forms a part, and to which he bears, and must ever bear, most
important relations; and fix them in intensest selfishness upon
himself. Hence, for whatever- thwarts his interest, or shocks
his sensibilities, or disgusts his taste, he feels no sympathy
and cherishes no regard. But God is the all-comprehending:
he takes in, at once, the individual and the species, the world
and the universe. He considers each one a part of the whole.
He sees in the lost sheep a part of the flock, in the profligate
son one of the family-in every individual, polluted and degraded as he may be, a soul that he has created.
This is one out of many cases that might be adduced to show
that the superiority of the moral system which our Saviour
inculcated is founded on the superior enlargedness of his views.
Thus they mutually confirm each other, the grandeur of the
views sustaining the authority of the moral principle founded
on them, and the purity of the principle establishing the correctness of the views.
Now it is impossible that man, the limited and the finite,
should found his moral and religious systems on any other
views than those which are likewise limited and finite. Hence
all human systems have aimed to regulate human actions on
earthly principles and views, omitting those wider relations
which we bear to other and higher parts of the creation. Such
systems, founded on earth, can never reach the sky. They are
as defective as a system of astronomy which, confining its
attention to the earth, should overlook those other worlds
belonging to the system, which, though immensely distant, yet
revolve along with it, and influence materially its movements.
Now the Infinite and Eternal One must, from the necessity
of his being, view all human character and human relations
under a far different aspect from that under which they appear




MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.          215
to m:in. Himself infinite and eternal, his views must bear the
impress of his character. And when such a one appears to
instruct and illuminate mankind, we must expect to perceive
the traces of a mind thus conversant with large and universal
vierws. And we must also expect that the relations, the principles, the motives which he reveals, shall be universal, infinite,
eternal-comprehending, as he does, immensity at a glance,
present to all time, pervading all space, tollowing on the consequences of all human actions as they roll with accumulating
force down to the remotest futurity, and observing the melancholy consequences of the slightest disorder, commencing in a
minute part, and extending over the whole of so extensive and
complicated a machinery. We must not be surprised if his
instructions assume a graver and loftier tone, are urged with a
solemn earnestness unknown to earthly instructors. We must
not be astonished if a new and wider scene should open before
us, actors of greater number, of larger stature and nobler bearing, and all lighted up with the strong clear light of eternity.
Now, the whole system of Christian truth is an illustration
of these remarks. In all its most striking and characteristic
parts, we behold the deep impress of the same noble and majestic mind, familiar with all large and elevated views. And
we know nothing in the whole history of human composition
more touching or sublime than the representation given in this
parable of the origin and destiny of man, his subsequent alienation from God, the misery in which he has thus become involved, the deep interest felt in heaven for his welfare, and the
kind and parental tenderness with which he is welcomed when
returning from his wanderings. We all recognize in the prodigal son a picture of our own folly, and in the father's tenderness, who does not acknowledge the kind and condescending
mercy of the universal maker and Father of all? Let us consider some of these topics in the order in which they have been
mentioned.
1. The Origin and Destiny of Man.
What am I? And whence?  And whither am I tending?
The beasts that rove around and fiercely pursue their prey, or




216      MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.
quietly feed on the green grass, or wander along the calm
waters, here fulfil their destiny. Am I different from themn, or
only a finer materialism, more happily organized, more ingeniously constructed? Am I the highest of created illtelligences?
Does the ascending series close in man?  Or are there other
beings, pure intelligences, and ethereal spirits?  "Thousands
of spiritual bleings inay walk the earth,"' and people the sky,
and yet they hold no intercourse with me. I see them not. I
hear them  not, nor are they palpable to any of' my senses.
And although in the hours of my lonely meditations I seem to
hold intercourse with themrn, and have "moments like their
brightest," yet my daily associations are with the dead matter
and the brute aliimals around me, and my nature seems more
nearly allied to them  than to aught that is l)umer and more
exalted. He, the Great, the Invisible, the terrible and unknown
One, shut out firom all human gaze by the dazzlin g glory that
surrounds him, and bafflin-g all hunman investigation by the
untold mysteries of his wonderful existenrce, I-Ie that filleth
immensity a.nd dwelleth ini light that is inaccessible, does lihe
look down from the thronle of his exaltation with tenderness
on me; or am I an incumbrance on his earth, the creature of
chance, springing up like a muntshroolm  at night, and trodden
down and forgotten in the morning?  Shall I lie down at last
with my companions, the beasts of' the field, in that long sleep
that kIIows no waking, or is there a world where the living,
feeling., and thinking elements Nwithin me shall find congenial
society and snitable employments?
Such are the anxious inquiries which force themselves irresistibly on the minds of all thinkino, reflecting men. IM: n has
always been a mystery to himnself, a riddle and a contradiction. There is in his composition such a mixture of high and
low, of good and bad, of noble and mean, such a strange cornbination of opposing qualities, that some philosophers have
thought that all his noble feelings were the feeble renriniscences
of a previous state of being.  Oihers have considered his body
as unmixed evil, and the necessary source of all his sins.
WVhile others, again, have supposed his soul to be a fragimciit




MAN'S CONDITION AS A PiRODIGAL SON.          217
firolm a better world, forced off by some powerful and maligilalt
demon, and imprisoned for a season in its house of clay and in
this world of sin. Magnificent fiction! whose extravagance
one might almost pardon for its beauty, how much superior to
the dulness of modern scepticism! Who would not rather be
this imprisoned spirit, faintly mindful of its origin, and struggling to attain its liberty, than that heartless, soulless thing,
where all sense of virtue and purity is lost, where there is
no remembrance of past innocence, and no sigh after future
restoration?
But after all these anxious and firuitless speculations, here,
and here only, do we find the truth: we are the children of
God. Body and spirit, we are his children: he is the former
of our bodies, and he is the father of our spirits.  We were
created in his likeness at first, "in knowledge, in righteousness,
and true holiness," and, notwithstanding the ruin of the fall,
part of that likeness still remains. Defaced and faded though
they be, yet do there still remain some lineamnents of a character which was once pure and heavenly. None is completely
pure, yet none is utterly abandoned.  The veriest slave to lust
and sin sometimes awakes to a sense of' his degradation, and
longs to biurst the chains that bind him.  There are some
gleams of light bursting irregularly forth from  amidst our
moral darkness. There are fiagments, even amidst the ruins
of our nature, which testify to the greatness of the Author,
and our own original grandeur. Let us then avoid alike despondency and pride. Thioulgh children, yet are we wayward
and rebellious; fallen and ruined though we be, yet are we
children of the Most High: yet doth  he who sitteth in
heaven kindly condescend to have intercourse with us: yet
doth he permit us to come unto him, and address him as " 0Our
Father who art in heaven," and who, though he be in heaven,
yet looketh down with eyes of pity and compassion on his
wandering, erring children upon earth, opening' wide, to receive
us, the arms of a father's love, assuring us of a hearty iwelcome and a rich inheritance, enldeavoring to reclaim us to holilness and happiness and heaven.
10




218. M-IAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.
Let us learn to bear with and love one another. In each
one there is a capacity, a susceptibility, for something high and
noble. It is the perversion of these capacities, and not their
utter extinction, which constitutes our sin. Let us unlearn
contempt. It was not made for earth.  It has no place in
heaven. I-Ie whom thou despisest may hereafter be thine
equal and thy friend. He is even now thy brother. Despair
not of thyself; degraded as thou art, there is still a capacity
for good within thee; sold as thou art to sin and Satan, it is
a voluntary bondage. They are not thy rightful masters.
Thou art the servant; nay, by birth the child, of God. Those
self-abhorrences which make thee shrink fiom the society of
man, that deep and dark remorse which drives thee from the
mercy seat of God: these are but the convulsive struggles of
thy higher nature endeavoring to cast off the shameful bondage. It is the sensibility which shows that life and hope are
there. It is the pain which warns of danger and arouses to
effort. That very tastelessness of all earthly pleasures, that
dull satiety which follows sensual indulgences, and makes us
loathe the very objects of our most ardent pursuit, that reaching after something higher and better than you have yet enjoyed-all points thee upward to thine origin and thine exalted destiny.
The very restlessness of this wayward prodigal proved that
he was in a strange landl, far fiom his father's house, far from
its quiet pleasures, from its mild restraints, its plentiful, but
wholesome fare, its social happiness, its accustomed and al)ppropriate round of duties and enjoyments. But, alas! rememnber thy capabilities and thy actual accomplishments are alto.
gether different things. Thine original destiny and thy present condition present the most melancholy contrast.  Man
was the child of God, but he has made himself a son of perdition. Hle was formed in the divine image, but it is so defaced
and marred that scarce one feature remains by which the
likeness can be discovered. He was in his father's house, but
he has wandered away from that holy family, and cast off that
paternal government. Great were his endowments, but they




MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.          219
have all been perverted. Rich was his inheritance, it has all
been squandered; high was his station, but it has been abandoned, and now, poor and miserable and degraded, he appears
the wreck of what he was, with scarce one trace of what he
might and should have been. Which leads to remarkII. MIan's alienation from God.
We are informed that the son, distrusting the goodness or the
wisdom of his father, or disliking, perhaps, his authority, or
anxious to assert his own independence, said, " Father, give me
the portion of goods that falleth to me." And then, so soon does
sin follow self-confidence, so closely is madness allied to pride,
" not many days after, he gathered all together, and took a journey into a far country."  When he had left his father's house,
he did not pause in his immediate neighborhood, but went into a
far, very far country. His father's house was the place fbr him.
There was honor, as his father's son, a member of his family;
there was safety firom the wiles of designing men; there was
abundance, enough and to spare; there was employment worthy
of his character, and suitable to his capacities-to be about his
father's business; there was wisdom to guard him against his
own imprudence and folly; affection to bear with his weakness
and faults; power to protect him from every foe; purity to
preserve from corruption, and the soft influence of that domestic peace and love which, more than wisdom and authority
and power, mould the heart and soul of man: which is itself
the deepest wisdom, the holiest authority, the gentlest, but the
most irresistible power. Oh, how mad is he who, bursting the
bands that so gently yet powerfully bind him, and casting
these cords of love recklessly away from him, wanders off into
a strange land, far fiom his father's house, and there, forgetful
of all those kind affections which centre still on him, of the
gentle form which knelt beside him and taught him to repeat
childhood's first simple prayer; and of that venerable face
which, when the evening hour came, glowed with a holy joy,
as he said, " Come let us worship God," and then commended
all to the care of Him who is the father of the whole family in
heaven and earth-dashes heedlessly on in his career of sensual




220      MAN'S CONI)ITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.
indulgences, from folly to vice, firom vice to crime, till he, who
was a father's pride and a mother's joy, is the disgrace of his
species. He who might have been an orna:ment to. society
sinks to the level of the brutes that perish. For observe, when
he wandered away, he wNent not alone, he gathered all together,
and wasted all. All that his father's love had given, all that
his father's care had laid up in store, all his rich inheritance,
his all was gone. Truly, " one sinner destroyeth much good."
And may.we not here observe a striking analogy to the course
pursued by each one of us? Has not each one of us wandered
away from God?  First, we have laid claim  to our father's
property. We llave felt that we were our own, that our
faculties, our time, our influence, our all, are ours, to use at our
pleasure. We have not desired that he should reign over us.
Restless under the control of his perfect law, we have desired
to be our own masters; ungratefill for his present favors, and
his promised inheritance, we have thought his benefits no
blessings, so long as his gifts were attended with an obligation, so long as the Creator and Upholder of all claims an
ownership in the works of his hands, and a rightful dominion
over the creatures of his power. Hence we have left the
household of his love and obedience.'We have wandered
fiom his family. At first we designed, perhaps, to remove but
a short distance, but, step by step, as inclination guided, or
temptation seduced, or heedlessness misled, we have wandered
farther and farther away, till we are indeed in a far country,
at a fearful distance from God. As that wayward son wandered
firom the home of his childhood, no doubt, he passed with
" mournful steps and slow," and often, as some recollection of
infancy would cross his mind, or the sight of some familiar
object, or some well-known sound would call up ten thousand
images of past delight, the tear would glisten in his eye, and
his bosom swell and throb with strong emotion. And as he
stood upon the distant hill, whence he could catch the last
glimpse of that home of purity and peace, its white smoke
rising tranquilly in the air, its indistinct murmur borne, almost inatLdibly, on- the breeze, and the venerable form of that




MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.          221
afflicted father still gazing anxiously after him, and praying
blessings on his head, perhaps his resolution might have
failed; but he gazed at his rich treasure, and he summoned
his youthful pride, and joining the first wayward traveller like
himself; he hastened forward, forgetting all, till there was a
famine in the land.
Even so it is with you. Ah! well do I know that the first
steps in sin are full of sorrow. When you first left your father's
house, you did not design to abandon it forever, nor to wander
far, and " many a longing, lingering look did you cast behind."
You thought, perhaps, to enjoy a temporary fieedom, to take
your station on some eminence near at hand, whence you could
gaze on one side at all the glories of the world abroad, and on
the other look down upon that ancient and still respected
mansion. But pride, fashion, example, ambition, pleasure,
avarice have led you on till now you are far away. Alas!
how far, till at last there is no fear of God before your eyes,
no thought of God in your minds, no love of God in your
hearts, no service of God in your lives, and for all the purposes of a real and practical'influence, the case is just the
same as if there were really no God that ruleth in the heavens,
and takes cognizance of man. As if the dark tenets of the
atheist were true, and you had no present lawgiver, and no
future judge, ah! attempt not to conceal it from yourself.
You have gone far away fiom God, far fiom the ilfluence of
his truth, far fiom the restraints of his authority, far from the
holiness of his requirements, far firom the obligations of his
law. And you hiave endeavored to put God far away fiom
you, to put fiom you the invitations of' his love, the threateiiings of his wrath, the strivings of his spirit. But though far
fiom God, he is nigh to every one of you.  Yes, there is, uinseen, unfelt, a mysterious and fearful agency above, around,
within you, pervading all, upholding all, controlling all, in
whom you live and move and have your being.  Ah, how
shall you flee from that all-embracing presence, or escape that
all-seeingl eye, or go beyond the reach of that all-grasping, allsustaining hand. Let ius proceed then to consider:



222      MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.
III. The degradation and misery, which sin has brought on
man.
God is light, and when far from  him, we must be in
darkness. God is love, and when far from him, man is the
sport of all angry and conflicting passions.  God is the source
of blessedness, the fountain firomn which do flow perpetually
the streams of joy that make glad the hearts of men. When far
from him our joy is an earthly current, now dashing impetuously
forward, and bearing on its bosom the ruins its violence hath
made, polluted by the soil over which it swept, now creeping
slowly and sluggishly along, aiidst the filth its torrent hath
accumulated, now still and motionless, its surflle glittering
with the rainbow's hues, while all beneath is sta;gnant, putrid,
pestilential.  God is infinite in all his perfectionls, in wisdom,
in holiness, in power, and in proportion as we d(leprt from the
complete symmetry of his most exalted character are we degraded in the scale of intellectual and moral excellence.
Man was, at first, formed in the image of God. The precise
import of this remarkable expression, it is impossible for us
now to determine. But this we know, that he was constituted
lord of this lower creation, that he was God's representative
on earth, endowed with high capacities of thought and feeling,
capable of knowing and loving and rejoicing in God, and
looking abroad with a devout and intelligent observation on
the works of his hands. Perhaps we may form some estimate
of his character and position by observing the purest and most
exalted of our species in their happiest hours, when the heart
is liveliest in its emotions, and the mind most vigorous in its
action. Relieved from the cares that perplex, and the passions
that agitate, man looks calmly, fieely, joyously around, and
diffuses over earth and sky the calm  serenity of his own
deeply tranquil feelings, the brightness of his own glowing
thoughts. From  the moments such as these we may catch
some glimpse, however faint: we may form some conception,
however inadequate, of man's condition in his unfallen state.
Nay, do we not feel within ourselves a longing after something
we do not reach: an inborn fitness for something we do not




MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.          223
attain? Are there not transient bursts of thoughts and feelings, momentary flashes of a flame that is smothered, not extinguished, revelations of something unutterably higher, purer,
lovelier, worthier, than those which occupy our lives?  Is
there not the deep and solemn consciousness of capabilities,
far above the power of earth to employ; of infinite desires, far
too large for earth to fill?  How strong is the proof which
these affbrd, that we have fallen far below our destiny and
have immeasurably degraded our high capacities.
How various, how extensive, how exalted, and how pure are
the sources of enjoyment placed within our reach, All nature
is spread out before us in its magnificence and beauty, to observe and to enjoy.  Everywhere there are springs of joy
bubbling and flowing around us: in the works of God, in
the society of man, in our own inmost bosom, in the services
of God's sanctuary now, in the anticipation of his presence
hereafter, in the study of his blessed Word, and in the joyful
foretaste of its promised rewards through faith which gives
present reality to future blessings and commences heaven on
earth as a pledge of heaven above.  Yet how little relish do
we feel for such pure and exalted pleasure. Itow greedily do
we feast on lower and sensual delights. 3Ian did eat angels'
food, but now he feeds on husks and grovels with swine. He
has left the true sources of happiness, and his longing, aclingl
heart now fastens upon whatever will yield a temporary relief,
however low and polluting. It is said in the expressive language of the original that the prodigal son was 1" glued " to
the people and the things of the land to which he wandered.
And oh, how closely do we cling to the objects of our unworthy choice. Though convinced of their folly and sinfulness yet do we adhere to them still, though disappointed in
their promised pleasantness, yet do we cling, with the energy
of despair, to the delusions which have so long mocked us,
though resolved, again and again, to abandon them forever,
to assert the claims of our rational and immortal nature, yet
do we return again as beneath the spell of some mighty fascination.




224      MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.
We need not allude to the drunkard, the debauchee, the
abject slave of sensual appetites or fiendish passions. These
are the last stage of man's degradation and misery, but all
the intermediate degrees are alike devoid of genuine and rational enjoyment.  Man seeks for wealth: he obtains it, lbut
finds a vacuum which wealth cannot fill; honor, but there are
necessities which titles cannot supply; pleasure, the cup is
dashed untasted fiom the lips or drunk clesperactely up, sparkling at the brim, but at the bottom dregs and bitterness. The
horse grazes quietly in his green pasture; the herds wander
contentedly by the still waters; the bird wings his way joyfully through the morning air, or sweetly carols forth his
cheerful song as the day declines. Why then is man anxious,
restless, dissatisfied; why could not the prodigal feed as quietly
as his swine?  Al], his nature was different! what was nourish-'ment for swine was degradation and misery to him. And let
me appeal to you all, and affectionately ask, if in all the ardor
of your sinful- pursuits, in the wildest vehemence of your
young passions, have you not felt the folly and meanness of
them  all? Have you not felt the consciousness of something
unutterably better thrill over you like the memory of some
lost hour of bliss, when the stillness of the Sabbath, or the
fiireside of piety, or solitude and sickness have given you
lhisure for honest consideration, or the recollection of clhildhood's prayers and childhood's simple faith has recalled images
of purity and bliss now gone perhaps forever?
How mean then appear all worldly passions: how exalted,
how pure, how blissful the service of the Lord. The path of tile
righteous grows brighter and brighter to the perfect day. The
way of the ungodly is not so. The way of the sinner is hard.
He is going against his own conscience, and, till that power
is eradicated from his bosom, vain are his efforts to be at peace
in sin. He is going against his own interests, which are all on
the side of holiness, against all the higher and better principles of his nature.  Reason condemns his course as unwise;
feeling denounces it as ungrateill and unjust. He is acting
against God's authority, commandments, and power; and who




MAN'S CONDITION AS A PRODIGAL SON.             225
can contend with Him  and prosper?  He has cast off that
"yoke which is easy, and that burden which is light," and
calls himself free, but he is the bondslave of Satan, who reigneth in the children of disobedience: in abject servitude to all
the lowest or worst desires of his nature, and at their command does he meanly sacrifice peace, virtue, dignity, health,
happiness, all that is dearest on earth, and his soul's salvation.
Ah, it is a hard service, the service of Satan! It is a cruel
bondage, the bondage to sin. Now for all this,IV. What is the remedy?
Your misery and degradation commenced in leaving your
father's house: the only remedy is in a speedy return.  I will
arise, said the prodigal, and go to my father. And observe
the process through which he passed:1st. He came to himself, felt the real misery and degradation
of his state. So must you.
2d. Reflected seriously on the folly of his course: "How
many hired servants of my father's have bread and to spare."
3d. He resolved, I will arise and go to my father, I will act,
not lament, not despair, not wait indolently for God's mercy,
but, while God is operating on me, I will act.
4th. He repented, and confessed.
5th. Observe the result.
10*




THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.
MARK, viii. 36, 37. —" For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the
whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"
THERE is no prejudice more hostile to the influences of the
Gospel upon the hearts of sinners, than that one, so widely
prevalent among worldly men, which represents religion as a
dreamy and visionary thing, its most solemn and momentous
truths as unsubstantial and impalpable abstractions, appealing
only to excited passions, or a lively fancy, and having nothing
to do with the plain downright every-day realities of life.
Now we have been accustomed to view the matter in exactly the
opposite light, and to suppose, that of all plain things, religion
was the plainest, and that of' the innumerable questions which
agitate mankind, the questions which it proposes are at once
the most eminently practical, and require for their solution
the easiest and the most common of all considerations.
You are men of business. The question we propose to-day
is one of prudential calculation, for prudent business mena question of simple arithmetic, of profit and loss, in the business of your lives. It is a question for every man; a fair question in which no advantage is sought, or can be taken. It is
but casting up the accounts and striking the balance. You
boast of the accuracy of your calculations, and the precision
with which, even in the most complicated settlement, you can
attain the true result; and how in any offered speculation, however attractive or inviting, you are accustomed to try its
promises by the strictest calculations,iand test every delusive




THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.                227
appearance by the simple comparison of the profit and the
loss. Now it is just to such an operation that we invite you
to-day. We make no appeal to your passions, or your fancy.
We address your reason, your cool, dispassionate, unbiassed,
calculating reason. And we ask you to tell us how much he
is profited who gains the world and loses his soul; and that
our decision may be the more accurate, let us consider first,
WVhat it is to gain the world; secondly, What it is to lose
the soul; and thirdly, What it is to lose the soul without
gaining the world.
1. What is it to gain the world?
We take it for granted at the outset, that on this one point
we are agreed, that many among us are really selling their
souls, and may have already sold them for the world. It is
impossible, indeed, to observe fbr a moment the course of human affairs around us, without perceiving that of all the forms
of earthly traffic this is the most universal. Of worldly productions, some trade in one article and some in another. The
merchant, the farmer, the mechanic, the physician, the lawyer,
each has wares of his own to dispose of, but the barter of souls
is universal. There is none so poor, but he has a soul to sell;
none so rich or so great, that he may not hope to increase his
fortune, his power, or his fame by the barter of a gem so precious. There is no price so high that Satan will not offer, no
artifice so mean that he will not stoop to use. The young
sell it for vanity, and less than vanity. The old are too often
already sold, and hug the chains of their dreary servitude.
Some sell the soul for pleasure, and some for honor; some for
money, and some for sensual indulgence; some for stupid inactivity, and some for still more stupid and beastly intoxication. Oh, the world is one great market-house where souls
are trafficked off-are bought and sold. And it is a fearful
thing indeed, to stand amidst these busy and bustling crowds
as they hurry to and fro ill ceaseless and restless activity, with
steps light and free, and countenances bright and gay, and
spirits buoyant and exulting, as if they had achieved some
miahty enterprise indeed: and then to reflect what shall the




228            THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.
end of all these things be, how soon the gloom of death shall
gather over this scene of folly, and the light of. eternity burst
in and dissipate all its delusion. Ah, there is sickness at the
heart when one beholds the maniac expectant of a crown barter his rich inheritance for a gilded bauble, and then in drivelling idiocy-exult in the wisdom of his purchase.
And dream not that you can escape the truth of these remarks, by saying that you have never thus bartered away
your soul. This would be attempting to remedy the folly of
the past by madness at the present, adding to all your other
sins the deep and damning sin of hypocrisy: for thou hast not
lied unto man, but unto God. Ah, wretched mockery! He
that formed the eye, shall he not see? He that made the ear,
shall he not hear? He that taught man knowledge, shall he
not understand?  And think you that he who sitteth high
exalted over all, whose eyes like a flaming fire pass to and
fio over the earth, beholding the evil and the good-think you,
that he is so unobservant of the secrets of your heart, as not
to perceive, that amidst all those busy and anxious thoughts
which agitate you daily, the thought of your soul seldom or
never mingles; or that amongst all the interests which lie
nearest to your heart, the interests of your soul are never
pondered; that amidst the incessant play of emotions and of
energies which never slumber, there is no one emotion called
into exercise, no one energy nerved to action by a high regarld
for the soul; that its interests are postponed to every other
interest, its happiness jeoparded on the most trivial pretences,
and this most precious treasure which God has committed to
your care, is as unheeded as the merchandise which yesterday
passed from your possession, and to-day has no place in your
thoughts, or your regard?
Now we believe that this whole trade is an unprofitable
business, that the speculation will inevitably involve you in
ruin. And we think that we can prove it to your satisfaction,
if you will only calmly, soberly, and dispassionately consider,
reason, calculate together. And since we well know that few
men are ever exactly satisfied with the result of an argument




THE WORTI OF THE SOUL.                229
whiich thwarts their wishes or opposes their habitual conduct;
that they are ever prone to imagine some unfairness in the
premises, or in the train of reasoning; that they are beguiled
to admit too much, or to demand too little; as we wish the
argument of this evenings, if possible, to be conclusive both as
to your opinions and your practice, we willingly grant all that
you can ask, and will even endeavor to aid you in your efforts
to extol to the utmost the object of your desire. We care not
how much you may include in your conception of the world,
or how bright are the colors in which your fancy may array it,
convinced as we are that there is something vaster still, before
which the greatness of the world must shrink in conscious
insignificance; that there is a brightness before which its glories
must fade in dim eclipse, and a blackness of darkness beneath
whose gloom all its imposing splendor shall be extinguished
forever.
What then is the mighty acquisition you long to make, and
for which you are willing to exchange your soul's salvation?
You desire, perhaps, that splendid edifice, that extensive farm,
that exalted station, that elegant accomplishment. Some
would be quite content could they accumulate a few thousands
more, and add to the weight that is now drawing down their
souls; some ten thousand; some twenty thousand or fifty
thousand dollars. But, alas! my friend, enlarge your desires.
I would not give my soul for ten times the amount. Come
then along with me, and I will show thee what thou mayest
aspire to, grasp, and call thine own. Behold that noble palace,
which proudly towers aloft on yonder distant hill; walk
through its stately halls, glittering with gold and purple,
where the astonished  visitor, as each new  apartment is
thrown open to his gaze, is dazzled by some fresh display of
royal magnificence, surpassing all that had preceded it-its
princely libraries, rich in the choice productions of ancient
and modern genius, where calm philosophy sits with quiet and
thoughtful eye, and towelring imagination luxuriates in an
ideal world; and poetry, with its thoughts that breathe and
words that burn; and eloquence, gently distilling like honey




230             THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.
from the honeycomb-its collections of art, where the canvas
and the marble glow with warm  colors, and swell to the fine
proportions of real life, and the mighty dead live again to the
fancy and almost to the eye. Behold its hundred menials, its
incessant festivities, its enchanting prospects by sea and land,
its territories, extending far as the eye can reach, richly adorned
by nature and art. Wander over its princely pleasure-grounds
where art seems the minister of nature, where all that taste
could desire is added to all that wealth could purchase. The
productions of all climates are collected: whatever is fair to
the sight, or pleasant to the smell, or luscious to the taste.
This lordly heritage shall be yours. Its splendid equipage, its
polished society, its gay amusements, its ever-recurring festivities, where the voice of merriment and music ever peal upon
the ear and elevate the spirit and the fancy to a state of
delicious but dangerous intoxication. All this shall be yours,
if fbr it you will only give your soul. Do you hesitate?
Then ascend with me, and gaze still farther, where the vision
is lost in'the distance, and the horizon is seen resting on the
blue hills that skirt it. All around is yours. The villages
whose spires are seen just peeping fiom  the trees, the towns
whose busy streets are echoing the hum of a thriving and
industrious population, the whole wide country as it spreads
alound with its rich pastures and its browsing herd, its valleys,
its mountains, its cities, and its forests-all aie yours, if you
will only fall down and worship the prince of this world, in
token of homage and of fealty. Do you say No?  Then I
offer thee a kingdom; thou shalt be one of the princes of the
earth, wealth and power will I give thee, and a proud nation
for thy subjects. Nay, we will ascend to the pinnacle of
nature's temple, and look down on all the kingdoms of the
world and all their glory. All this will I give thee, only fall
down and worship. The whole world is in one scale, and only
thy soul in the other. Ah, the world! it is a tempting offer!
The whole world! It has too much to tempt a feeble mortal.
It has lofty mountains, glorious valleys, majestic oceans, poplulous cities, splendid plalaces, and remains of ancient art. There




THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.                221
are paintings that overpower us, music that bewilders, power
that intoxicates, pleasures that ravish. To the world belongs
all that delights the fancy, captivates the sense, pleases the
taste, fills the understanding, fires the imagination, misleads
the heart. There is gold in its mountains, peails and diamonds
in its oceans, wonders in its bosom. That gold shall adorn
thy palaces, those diamonds sparkle in thy diadem, those
wonders be admired in thy cabinet. All these shall be thine
and for thy use. The sun shall rise to illuminate no dominion
on earth but thine. The winds of heaven shall blow to waft
thy navies; the rivers flow to bear thy commerce; the raills
descend to fertilize thy soil; and the millions of' the earth
shall live to do thee houmage, with beldled knee and ready
service and obsequious devotion.
There was once a man who seemed almost destined to realize
this dream of universal dominion. The ruler of the most
learned and polished nation of the globe, at a time when refinement and learning were almost universally diffused, his capital
the centre at once of attraction and of influence for all the
earth, where learnling and society reciprocally improved each
other; learning imparting to society a portion of its own calm
dignity, and society giving to learning its own fine polish.
Himself the child of a revolution which shook the world, lie
walked forth over its surface as the embodied spirit of that
revolution from which he sprang, to subvert and change and
modify all that he touched. His generals were princes, his
subjects kings. Feared by the rulers, and worshipped by the
populace of Europe, he had passed from  nation to nation,
spoiling as he went. Whatever was most precious in modern
or ancient art, he gathered firom the cities of Italy and
Germany; from Rome and Florence and Venice, fiom Dresden
and Berlin, to adorn the galleries and halls of the Tuileries
and the Louvre. How inconceivably dazzling must have been
the splendor of such a court, where genius and learning and
power and magnificence and beauty, all united to cast a
witchery and an enchantment over the scene. Yet he was
master of only a small portion of the world. The pillar he




232            THE WORTHI OF THE SOUL.
erected to himself in Paris, and on whose lofty summit his
own statue stands proudly pre-emninent, is made only of cannon
taken in the German wars, and overlooks only a single city.
But thou shalt possess the whole. All its wealth, its elegance,
its arts, its power, shall be thine. Its literature shall all centre
in thy capital. Its poetry, its oratory, its music, shall delight
to proclaim thy praises; and looking far and wide, over sea
and land, in the pride of thy heart, thou shalt say all this is
mine.
Now I say not how soon splendor loses its charm, how the
diadem often rests on an uneasy brow, and the purple covers
an aching heart, how satiety turns to disgust, and flattery
only calls forth contempt, and how the native feelings of a
man would often spurn away the animals that fawn and cringe
and flatter at his feet. Nor need I say how the anxieties and
disquietudes and dangers of such a government would destroy
the tranquillity of life; nor how conscience would bring its
charges, and disease its agonies, and death claim at last his
reluctant victim. Of all these I say nothing. Let thy life
flow on in peace and quiet, calm and glorious as a summer
evening's sun. When the sun goeth down it will rise again;
but when man goeth to his long home there is no return. The
sun which shone upon his birth has shone upon his funeral,
and still shines upon his grave-but where is he? The seasons revolve and the year looks gay, but where is he who was
once the gayest and merriest of all? The world's machinery
still moves on, but where is he, the skilful and the mighty
one, who gave the impulse to its movements and guided and
controlled and regulated all? A few short months his menials
are arrayed in black, and there is all the mockery of unreal
woe; and again those halls resound with the dance, the music,
and the jest. But where is he?  The grave is his home;
corruption his brother; the worm his companion. The dust
has returned to dust. The spirit has gone to judgment. He
sowed to the flesh, and reaped corruption. He sowed to the
wind, and reaped the whirlwind. He gained the world, and
lost his soul.




THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.                  233
II. WVhat is it to lose the soul?
1st. It is to lose that which gives the world all its power
to charm.  It is to lose all beauty and magnificence, all glory
and excellence. It is to lose all you love or desire, for all
takes its value from the soul. The soul being lost, all is lost.
Not merely is it a negative, but a positive loss: Inot privation
only, but actual self-torture.  Recall to your memory any of
those scenes fiom which men usually receive the most intense
delight-some glorious landscape where we gaze in mute
astonishment on all the rnagnificence of nature-as standincg
on the high walls of some city of the Swiss, with its glorious
valleys spreading far as the eye can reach, and covered with
the cattle from  a thousand hills, its lakes glittering in the
sunbeams, its steep declivities adorned with luxuriant foliage,
and variegated with the bright hues of the grape; its giant
mountains lifting their heads on high and clothed with the
accumulated snows of ages; so glorious, so bright, so pure
and stainless, that they seem to be.the habitations of heaven,
the temples of' the sky,, the palaces of angels, the dwellingplace of God. Or select some other scene where you may
dwell with fond remembrance on the endearments of domestic life, and gaze with rapturous delight around that little
circle of which you are yourself the life and centre, "where
heart meets heart reciprocally warm," and every eye beams
with kindness and love on every other.  Or, let it be your
joy to act upon the stormy theatre of public business, where
all is life and passion and intense excitement, and man meets
man in stern and bitter rivalry, to struggle together for the
palm of power or of famne.
Now, however lofty, or however ecstatic may be those emotions which swell and heave within our bosoms when thus
gazing on the magnificence of nature's scenery, or the quiet
enjoyments of domestic life, or the mighty exhibitions of intellectual power on the great arena, where the interests of
nations are debated; we ask you to consider for a moment,
what it is that communicates its interests to all that you
behold.  Were the sun blotted out from the sky, and the pall




234            THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.
of darkness spread over all earthly things, all their attractions
would be gone. All might exist iii itself as it existed before;
but to you it would exist in vain; for the light which made it
visible to your eye, which spread over it the hues of beauty,
and gave it the loveliness or the sublimity of its proportions,
would have disappeared.
But the sun might shine on in his glory, and nature might
smile beneath his beams, and the hearts of men might rejoice
around; and this would all be naught to you, if the eye had
lost its vision, and the ear its hearing.  What would be to
you the smile of firiendship, or the voice of affection, if whereever the sightless eyeballs turned they rolled in vain, and the
strained ear could catch no accent from  the lips it once
delighted to listen to? That eye might be uninjured, that ear
might still retain unimpaired its delicate and ingenious organizatici, each exactly adapted to convey friom the world without
its appropriate sensations.  But what would this avail, if
there were no living and feeling spirit within to receive the
notices thus conveyed through the avenues of the senses, andl
to pour forth on the dead and lifeless materialism without a
portion of its own vitality and spirit and warmth? You
might walk abroad over this fair earth, and your eyes might
be turned upward toward this glorious sky, and by the power
of some artificial galvanism  might you be made to performl
(perhaps) many of the offices and to exhibit many of the
appearances of a living and feeling and intelligent being; yet
would you move only like a corpse amidst the society of busy
and bustling men-having no part in their joys or their sorrows, their hopes or their fears.  No rapture could ever thrill
along your nerves, or expand your bosom, or pour its full
warm tide along your throbbing arteries.
Think then that of all you love most dearly, and prize lnost
highly, the soul is the essence. It is the source of all your
enjoyments in the past, and all your anticipations for the
future; and remember, that to these the soul imparts all their
power to communicate delight. The soul is indeed the mn:i,
and to lose the soul, is to lose himself; it is to lose his all.




THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.                 235
How foolish then is your speculation. How mad is the game
you are playing, who thoughtlessly and lightly are casting
away your souls, that you may gain the world.  It is as if
one should pluck out his eyes, that he might increase the
pleasures of vision; or mangle his ears, to increase the delights
of melody; or amputate his limbs, for the purpose of relishing
more keenly the pleasures of some favorite sport.
But the soul may be lost without being annihilated.  There
may be a perversion of its powers, without their destruction.
And this perversion may be as much more fearful than its
annihilation, as the infliction of positive torture is more terrible
than the simple privation of enjoyment.  To put out the eye
would be to annihilate all the beauty of the visible creation.
But it might be so diseased, that every ray of light which fell
upon the inflamed and swollen eyeballs would send a shudder
of agrony through the whole system; or so deranged in its
organization, that, like a burning-glass, it would concentrate
all the rays of light into one fiery focus upon the optic nerve,
scorching and consuming  it, while the tortured brain was
boiling and seetlhing and maddening with the flame. Thus it
is, that all the blessings of God's providence may be turned
into curses; and the gifts of his hand, if perverted from their
proper use, may be converted into the instruments of his wrath,
till every avenue for feeling becomes an avenue for voe.
And thus may the soul itself, that noble instrument of
thought and recipient of' pleasure, be so lost in sin, so wander
fiom the great end of its creation, that its immortal faculties
shall be the ever-livinog and ever-enlarging source of a misery
as vast as its own amazing powers; as eternal as its own everenduring existence. That ima gination which is now the mirror of the universe, giving back the images of all that is great
and glorious and lovely in creation, alld diffusing the brightness of its own joyous existence on all around, may become
the abode of all dark and hateful thoughts, haunted by the
most fearful and terrific spectres, cursed with a creative power,
ever restlessly active, and prolific only in horrors-those
imighty energies turned away from  their appropriate objects,




236            TIlE WORTH OF THE SOUL.
which alone could yield them healthful exercise and nourishment, turning madly inward on themselves, and crushed by
their own convulsive struggles until they writhe beneath their
own self-inflicted tortures; like that reptile of the East, which
in the madness of its venom drives its sting into its own body,
and sinks, and sickens, and blackens, and bursts, and dies,
beneath the poison which its own fangs have supplied.
But, 2d. The loss of the soul is its eternal loss in hell.
The perdition of the soul in hell! Ah, what a fearfill thought
is this-which pushes far away beyond the limits assigned to
human knowledge into a land of darkness, of deep darkness,
like the shadow of death, and ranges wildly there amidst
images of gloomy horror. What is it? Ah, no eye hath seen,
no ear hath heard, no language could describe, no heart conceive the fearful secrets of that world of woe. No messenger
has returned to bear the tidings of what he witnessed there.
No voice has issued fiom that world of ruin, laden with intolerable woe to tell us of the agonies which Divine justice can
inflict, and immortal spirits nerved and strengthened by
Almighty power are able to endure. Yet, as we have some
beams fiom heaven, we have likewise some faint echoes fiom
hell. Ah! there are fearful depths in human nature; sometimes broken up and laid bare to our view, to make us observe
and shudder and beware. When some dark spirit rent by
mighty passion, blackened  by secret crimes, haunted by
terrific recollections, in an hour of hopeless remorse, or in the
death-bed agony, reveals his deeds of darkness, despairs of
pardoning mercy, writhes beneath the tortures of anticipated
wrath, wrestles like a strong man against the foe that torments
him, till the mind, crushed by its own convulsive throes, drives
on through life like a dismantled wreck, urged furiously
fobrward by demon powers, or bursts madly fiom its feeble
tenement, exclaiming: Lost! lost! lost forever!  Ah, that
wandering eye, that flushed cheek, that burning forehead;
that lip curled in agony, that brow now knit in grim defiance,
now quailing in gloomy terror, all bring us to an abyss of'
horror, where reason falters, and the blood curdles as we gaze.




TI1HJ WORTH OF TIHE SOUL.              237
And now that restless eye is fixed, and the strained eyeballs
glare upon some object of his hatred, or his terror, and he
points you to the damned spirits that torment him, and tells
you that troops of devils are waiting to hurry him away, and
asks if you cannot see the hell that is already burning in his
bosom. And he tosses and writhes beneath the anguish of its
flames, and gnashes his teeth in filury, and curses God, and
curses all human kind, and curses his own soul, and dies!
Oh! if this be the foretaste, what is the reality?  "If this be
done in the green tree, what will be done in the dry-?"  If
this be earth, what then is hell?
What is a damned spirit?  We are told (but oh, how faint
is language!) we are told of a worm that never.dieth; and
we have seen even on earth the commencement of its gnawings,
the writhings of the victim under its first sting. But there,
oh, there —it shall gnaw, deep into the heart; and gnaw, and
gnaw, and gnaw forever!  We are told of a fire that is not
quenched. We have seen it kindled here. The first flashes
of its lurid flame we have shuddered to behold.  We have
seen the first agonies; we have heard the first groans of the
slow consuming victim.  But there, it shall rage and glow
and devour forever. The pile thereof is fire and much wood;
and the spirit of the Lord, like a stream  of brimstone, doth
kindle it forever. For, saith the Lord, "A  fire is kindled in
mine anger, and it shall burn to the lowest hell, and it shall
consume the earth, and set on fire the foundations of the
mountains."  Ah, who of you can dwell with devouring
flames?  Who can lie down in everlasting burnings?  We
are told of a blackness of darkness. Its gloomy clouds we
saw gathering here. But they shall thicken and blacken and
darken forever, till they settle down in one huge mass upon
the soul; penetrated by no beam of light, gilded by no ray
of' hope-but growling fierce thunder over the sinner's head,
and flashing forth lurid lighltnings. And remember that this
shall be the portion of him, who in gaining the world loses
his own soul.
Thou mayest gain the world for a short time; but the loss




238            THE WORTH OF THE SOUL.
of the soul is for eternity, eternity! MIysterious and fearful
thought'! IHow often have I tried to penetrate thy depths,
and form some faint conception of thy wonders, till my'mind,
overwhelmed by thy greatness, would sink back beneath the
hopeless effort! How much lies hidden in thy bosom of fearful and tremendous import to the sons of men! Oh, what is
eternity?  An eternity of woe! Go  ask  that unhappy
wretch who has sunk fiom a Gospel land to the pit of perdition, and he will tell you there is no language of earth,
that can convey the thought. Go to that dark and haughty
spirit, scarred with the thunders of Almighty vengeance,
confined under chains of darkness to the judgment of the great
day, and as he rises to your view and tosses on those fiery
billows, ask him, what is an eternity of woe? And he will
say, there is no term in the vocabulary of hell which can at
all express its meaning; that if all its bitterness were distilled
into one drop, and all its anguish concentrated into one keen
pang, and all its groans collected into one loud expression of
woe, and all its fires kindled up, to give it burning energy
and power, yet it could never tell half the horrors of eternity.
Oh, on whatever the air of eternity breathes, it assumes a
new magnitude. Its men become spirits; its days are centuries; its units are millions. Its joys swell into raptures.
Its pains burn into madness. There is no progress there; no
change, no past, no future: all is one eternal now. Here
weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
There, no morning ever breaks upon a night that hangs its
dreary curtains around the sinner's couch of flame forever.
Here as we toss restlessly from side to side upon our sleepless
pillow, and long for the morning light, and cry out, Watchman,
what of the night?  Watchman, what of the night?  We
hear the answer: The morning cometh and also the night.
But there no fiiendly voice proclaims the approach of day;
but from each wailing companion in torment comes the dread
assurance,-The night of eternity rolls on: slowly, heavily,
unchangeably, darkly. The night of eternity rolls on.  The
night of eternity rolls on.




XI.
TITE LOVE OF TIIE WORLD.
1 JOtIN, ii. 15. —" Love not the world, neither the things of the world-"
THERE is in every human bosom some great and absorbing
passion, and there is some object on which that passion fixes.
It may lie for a season almost dormant in the bosom, unnoticed
by the world, and, perhaps, unknown to him who unconsciously
indulges it. It may be modified by circumstances, and even
suspended in its operation for a time, while some other passion
occupies its place. Yet when these circumstances are removed,
and the mind reverts to its natural state, this passion re-appears and resumes its wonted dominion. It is not the same
indeed in every individual, nor in the same individual at every
period of his life. The objects which delight us now, may
hereafter be exchanged for others, more interesting in themselves, or more congenial with our maturer judgment.  The
passions that now agitate and move us, may be succeeded by
other passions called forth by other objects. But there will
always be a passion to control us and an object at which that
passion aims, and it will be true of each one of us, at every
moment of his future life, as it has been at every period of his
past existence, that there is some object on which his affections
are supremely fixed, and which forms the sources of his highest
happiness.
And from the very nature of things it must be so. The mind
is essentially active, and it must have some object on which
to employ its activities. The affections are constantly going
forth to find some object around which they may cling, and if
it were possible that any human being could be entirely dis



240            T[1E LOVE OF THE WORLD.
severed fiom every present object of regard, and findl in the
whole world beside no other on which his faculties might
fasten, the world would be to him a desolation and a wilderness. Existence would be a curse, the soul itself a dreary and
vacant solitude, and the keenest anguish that has ever tortured
the nerves or sickened the heart of man would be preferred before the dull vacuity, the motionless and dead stagnation of
such an existence.
Now the objects on which the men of this world have fixed
their affections, are all worldly objects, and upon them  are
they most intently and closely fastened. From these they derive their highest happiness, and to these are they supremely
devoted. They may abandon one object, but it is only to pursue another. They may renounce one passion, it is only to
substitute another in its place, and in all the changes of their
purposes and characters on earth, the same great truth is evident, that the world and the things of the world form their
portion and their hope. The man of ambition may become
the man of learning. The mazl of wealth or the man of sensual
pleasure, may be wearied with the bustle and contention of
public business, and seek in the privacy of domestic life the
quiet and happiness he had elsewhere sought in vain. He may
engage in the pursuits of science, or rejoice in the sublimity and
beauty of nature's scenery, and in the stillness of his calm retreat, surroundcled by all that is grand and ennobling, antd far
fiom the noise and tumult of the world without, he may enjoy
the luxury of a purer and more tranquil happiness, and look
back with pity and astonishment at the objects that once engrossed his attention. And thus having renounced one of the
world's pursuits, he may imagine that he has renounced the
world itself, while all his thoughts have centred upon worldly
objects, and all his heart's devotion has been offered up at the
shrine of idolatry.
Now it is this supreme devotion to the world against which
we object and against which the apostle has raised his warning voice in the language of our text. It is not that the
eye of man rests with delight on all that is beaultifull, o




THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.                 241
magnificent in nature.  It is not that the heart of man
swells even into rapture, in the sweet intercourse of social
life, and reposes with undoubting confidence on the bosom.
of his friend.  It is not that the soul of man, ever actively inquisitive, loves to expatiate fireely over every field of
knowledge. Nor is it even that he indulges the inferior desires of his nature and receives with gladness those gifts of
providence which are kindly offered. It is to none of these
that we object. But it is that while we enjoy the gifts, we
forget the Giver; that we love the creature more than the Creator, and that thus this world, which God has clothed with so
much beauty and loveliness for our use, on every part of
which he has poured in such rich profusion the bounties of his
providence, and stamped the evidence of his existence and
his presence, instead of leading us up to him as the Creator
and Preserver of all, has only served to shut out God entirely
from our thoughts, and involved us in all the guilt and all the
folly of a practical idolatry.
It was the peculiar genius of the heathen mythology, that it
personified every object of external nature, and deified every
passion of the human mind. To these imaginary deities, it
builded temples and consecrated priests. To them the sculptor,
the painter, and the poet were used to devote the finest specimens of their art; and the highest efforts of human genius
were employed to cast a brilliancy and a glory over the basest
of human passions. Now this idolatry is more obvious and
palpable; but is it more real than our own? It is not the
building of the temple, nor the offering of the sacrifice, nor
the bending of the knee, nor the solemn mummery of their
idle superstition, which gives to their idolatry its most hateful
and disgusting character. It is because the soul partakes in
the idolatry; transfers to the objects of its worship the regard
which is due to God alone. When the man of ambition thus
engages with restless ardor in the pursuit of worldly distinction; when he sacrifices to the acquisition of this ideal god his
health, his happiness, and his virtue, and makes this the object
of his daily thotughts and nightly aspirations, is not his idol:[-!1




242            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
try as glaring, as gross, as if in the spirit of paganism he had
formed a golden image of the Goddess of Fame, had elevated
it to some conspicuous place in his stately mansion, and. repaired thither morning, evening, and at mid-day to offer up his
sacrifices and his prayers?
Now it is with every other object of worldly regard as it is
with the objects of worldly ambition. Wealth, pleasure, ease,
and social enjoyment, all, when the heart's affections are intensely and supremely fixed upon them, usurp the place of God
in the soul, and cast off his rightful authority. And therefore
it is that we say unto you, in the language of our text, "Love
not the world, neither the things of the world," for the love of
the world is idolatry. We may build no temple, we may offer
no victim, we may burn no incense, and yet may be guilty of
the most hateful idolatry. We may be ourselves the living
temples, and the victims too, and our heart's devotion be the
incense on the altar. And thus may we give to our false gods
an adoration, more decided and sincere than that of heathenism itself, and yield to them that peculiar homage which is
claimed by Jehovah as his own undoubted right. Is it strange
then that the Bible should so often warn us against the love
of the world? That he who is jealous of his honor, and will
not give his glory to another, should solemnly denounce the
friend of the world as the enemy of God? And is it not
right that his indignation should be kindled, and his wrath
should burn even to the deepest hell, when looking on a world
like this, so signalized by his goodness and mercy, on which
he has lavished the riches of his power and his wisdom, and
his grace, he beholds the hearts of its guilty inhabitants utterly alienated from him; and that surrounded as they are by
his blessings and upheld as they are by his power, in the full
and vigorous play of all their faculties, and luxuriating as
they do in the bounties which his beneficence has supplied,
there is yet no practical recognition of his hand in them;
there is no returning tide of warm emotion toward the great
fountain of blessings; but the strong affections of the human
heart, and the active energies of the human mind are' turned




TIIE LOVE OF THE WORLD.              243
altogether from the Creator, and fixed on the creatures of his
hand?
We are often shocked at the follies and cruelties of paganism. Behold that crowd of haggard and emaciated beings of
every age and sex, dragging their wearied limbs along over
the heated sands, beneath a burning Eastern sun. MIany of
their comrades have fallen since they left their homes, even
now one and another of their band is sinking to the ground,
overcome by hunger and fatigue, and the jackals and wild
dogs of the desert are rushing on their prey, to riot in the
luxury of living food. There is one who measures the weary
miles of his long, long pilgrimage by the length of his own
body laid along the plain, while all around him is whitened
by the bones of his predecessors, and the hungry animals
which hhve-fed upon their flesh, are now growling over their
bones, or crunching them beneath their tusks; while one and
another, near at hand, has left his scanty meal, and watches
with greedy and glaring eyes, the moment when another victim shall sink to the earth to rise no more. Such is the crowd
of pilgrims that gather around the car of Juggernaut. And
surely it is a spectacle to move a heart of stone.
But is there nothing in the pilgrimage of human life which
we behold every day around us, that might serve equally to
arouse our indignation and our pity?  How many of our
youth daily enter on the pursuit of pleasure, wandering far
from their father's house, forgetting all a father's solemn
warnings, and all a mother's tender and beseeching love.
How many beasts of prey in human form beset their pathway.
Are there no wrecks of wasted fortunes, and ruined characters,
and health forever gone, strewed along their course? And when
the close of life comes on, who would not rather perish as do
the worshippers of Juggernaut, whose every limb is crushed
at once, and every bone is ground to powder by the ponderous
car, than linger out a tedious existence, which poverty, and
disease, and ignominy have rendered hopelessly miserable,
while conscience, with her scorpion lash, stings the soul to
madness? And who would not rather stand before the throne




2X4            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
of God at last, the poor deluded idolater, who, knowing no
other God, had given his life an atonement for his sins, than
as the worshipper of pleasure, or the worshipper of fashion, or
the worshipper of gold, or the worshipper of fame, who, knowing the true God, had cast off his rightful supremacy, and
knowing the only Mediator, had trampled under foot the blood
of his atonement?
Is there nothing bloody and revolting in that idolatry of
honor, and of office, which seems to have seized upon the
whole of our country's population? Do we not often hear the
voice of stern defiance inviting to the field of mortal combat?
Do not rational and immortal beings shed their heart's blood
at the dagger's point, and offer up this shocking oblation at
the shrine of popular applause? And shall such an idolatry
as this, be practised unblushingly in our land? Shall this
abomination of desolation stand even at the door of the sanctuary, speaking great swelling words of vanity, and shall no
voice of stern rebuke and deep denunciation issue from its
sacred portals? Then is the spirit of our office gone, and,
like the priests of old, we have bowed down before Moloch, and
are partakers in the blood shed in the horrid worship. No,
my brethren, until this abomination is swept from the land,
the mild spirit of Christianity can never prevail. But it will
soon be swept away by the breath of an enlightened and purified public sentiment; and the gathering thunders of a nation's
loud and righteous indignation shall burst over the head of
him who sheds his neighbor's blood, whether it be over so
much pelf as one could grasp in his hand, or so much wind as
he could not grasp at all.
Having thus shown that the love of the world is idolatry,
and that therefore we should not love the world, I proceed
now to show, that the love of the world necessarily prevents
the attainment of the true Christian character.
Many professing Christians are perpetually employed in
the vain effort to reconcile the service of God with the service
of Satan, and the love of the world with the love of God.
They have been told, indeed, in God's holy Word, that no man




THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.                245
can serve two masters; no man can love God and mammon.
And, although they partly believe the assertion, yet they consider it a hard saying, because they cannot understand how the
love of the world is destructive of the true Christian character.
Now to such, it might save a world of useless disappointment
and trouble, could we only convince them  that there is an
absurdity in the very object at which they are aiming, a glaring and palpable contradiction in the whole scheme of their
lives. There is a constant tendency, my brethren, to lower
the standard of Christian character; to deface that line of
separation which divides the church from the world. But if
there be any design in Christianity whatever, if any thing was
proposed to be accomplished by the revelation of God's will
to man, by the mediation and death of his Son; by all that
wonderful array of miracles and prophecies by which his mission was announced at first, and afterward attested; if in all
this, there be any design at all worthy of the magnificent
machinery employed to effect it, this design is to produce a
mighty revolution in the character of iaian; to repair the
ruins of the fall, and to elevate hint to the highest state of
moral excellence of which his nature is susceptible.
The method by which this object is acconlplished is not an
arbitrary method, but one exactly conformable to the whole
nature of man. He is not transported at once by Almighty
power into some new world of holiness and peace, where no
sin, or trial, or temptation, or sorrow could approach him; but
he is left in a world where he is exposed to every danger; he
is left. to fight and struggle with innumerable foes; his state
is a state of probation; and if ever he attains the character
of the righteous, or enjoys their reward, it is through a long
process of the severest moral discipline. Now this process is
begun and completed upon earth. And the character it is
designed to form, is likewise begun and completed here. And
the character of the real Christian as portrayed in the Bible,
is widely different from that exhibited in daily life around us.
It is a holy and elevated character. His thoughts are fixed
on some great and worthy object, and he is pressing forward




246            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
with determined resolution to attain it. He has embarked in
a mighty enterprise. He has engaged in a fearful warfare.
Absorbed in the magnitude of his own great undertaking, and
confiding in Him who is able to give the victory, he disregards
alike the dangers and allurements that surround him; and
summoning all his powers as for some high. achievement, he
tramples the world beneath his feet, and walks amidst all its
attractions and all its noisy vanities as a stranger and pilgrim
upon the earth, as seeing Him who is invisible. The example
of his Saviour is that which he endeavors to imitate; the same
universal and disinterested love to man; the same humble and
holy obedience to God; the same active self-devotion to the
work he has to do. These are the dispositions he is required
to cultivate. He is to be daily transformed into the likeness
of his Saviour upon earth, and to be completely like Him in
heaven when he shall see Him  as he is. As a soldier of the
cross he is to wage a perpetual warfare against every wrong
appetite and passion.  As a combatant for more than an
Olympic crown, he is to strain every nerve in the contest, and
by long and painfuil self-denial, is to prepare for the victory.
Thle arena on which he contends is elevated.  The interest
which attends him is intense. The spectators are invisible
and holy spirits. And God himself is to give the crown of
glory.
Such is the character of the true Christian as given in the
Bible, and such is the discipline through which he must pass
before he can obtain the object of his wishes. And does not
such a representation commend itself at once to the conscience
and the reason of every reflecting man? Is it possible that he
could consider for a moment those large endowments and high
capabilities with which he has been gifted —possessing a mind
that wanders through eternity and thinks and feels unutterable
things, in dignity and intelligence a little lower than the
angels, and made at first in the image of God himself-without feeling that some higher destiny lies within his reach, and
some higher duties devolve upon him even here, than to live a
slave of appetite and passion, and waste on inferior objects




THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.                247
the whole energies of an immortal spirit? Now if such be
the character required in the Gospel, how can it be formed
and preserved without constant communion with high and holy
objects?  We all know that our minds receive their coloring from the objects with which they are conversant, and are
moulded to the form and likeness of whatever they embrace.
They will expand to the largest, and contract to the smallest
dimensions. Hence the man whose habitual associates are
vicious and corrupt, who accustoms his mind to be familiar
with objects, or even thoughts which are impure or debasing,
becomes utterly degraded and polluted by such associations.
WVhile he who opens his mind to larger views and better influences, who loves the society of holy men and dwells with
solemn pleasure on the wonderful truths of revelation, feels
his own spirit refreshed, expanded, exalted by such a contemplation; and daily, as he becomes more familiar with objects
and society such as these, will he exhibit more prominently
ill his walk and conversation that heavenly elevation of
character which they naturally impart.
Hence we are said to be sanctified by the truth, because the
contemplation of the objects revealed in God's Word of truth
naturally purifies the mind. While we gaze upon the Saviour's
claracter, though we see him now through a glass darkly,
yet, beholding  his glory, we are transformed into the same
image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.
And when we reach his presence on high, "we shall be like
him, for we shall see him as he is." The glories of his character shall attract our constant gaze, and wrlapt in perpetual admiration, we shall be assimilated rapidly to what we admire.
And in proportion as we hold communion with him on earth
shall we transfer to ourselves the lineaments of his character.
It is not a mere occasional contemplation of religious truth
which will give to the mind a religious character. Nor is it a
mere occasional withdrawal of the thoughts from worldly objects which can break off from the soul the shackles of its
bondage. Whatever is the object of our highest regard, and
our most fiequent thoughts, decides ourn character, stamps its




248            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
image and superscription on the soul, and us for its own. A
thousand other objects may attract our attention, a thousand
other feelings may pass over the mind, but they leave no
deep, abiding impression there.
If the world, therefore, be the object of our highest regar..
no transient religious feelings, however sincere and exalted,
can at all influence our real character. A thousand raptures,
ecstasies, and joys and lamentations and thanksgivings and
confessions may pass through our minds and fall from our lips,
and the charge of worldliness may be against our character,
and the curse of worldliness cling to all our doings, and even
those feeble efforts which we sometimes make to think and
feel on heavenly subjects, and on which we found our hopes of
heavenly felicity, instead of turning back the current of our:worldly feelings, may serve only to show the violence of the
torrent that overwhelms us, and the feebleness of our own
vain and ineffectual resistance.
All the blessings which this world can bestow are transient.
"The world passeth away, and the lust thereof," says the
apostle; " but he that doeth the will of God, abideth forever."
It is this that stamps vanity on all earthly blessings. However certain we may be of obtainining them, however much we
may rejoice in their acquisition, yet we know that their dulation is short, and that the time hasteneth on when we shall
take no pleasure in them. Let the young man rejoice in his
youth. Let the strong man glory in his strength. Let the
man of genius, and the man of learning, and the man of power,
and the man of wealth, each plume himself on his superiority
above his fellows; and as the eyes of all around are fixed upon
him, and the gratulations of an admiring crowd meet him at
every step, let him drink in all the pleasure which can flow
from such a source. Let no drop of bitterness mingle with
his cup of enjoyment. Let no rivalry obstruct his career. Let
no envy depreciate his merit. Let no malice blacken his fair
fame.  Let him stand forth, by the united suffrage of mankind, on the proud eminence of an undoubted superiority.
Has he beheld with grief the splendid edifice of some wealthier




TIlE LOVE OF THE WORLD.               249
citizen, rising and towering far above his humbler dwelling?
let there arise as by magic from the earth one loftier still,
around which shall bloom and twine the loveliest flowers of
every land, while the dews of heaven shall fall more plentifully,
and the breath of the morning shall fan it more softly, and
the evening zephyrs shall murmur more gently around it. Has
he listened till he wept to the subduing strains of an eloquence he could not hope to rival? let there come down upon
him the power of an inspiration which shall raise his fancy to
a nobler flight, and expand his mind to a larger comprehension, and attune his voice to a more bewitching melody, and
let eloquence distil fiom his lips like honey from the honeycomb. And to the honors which he meets abroad, let us add
all the enjoyments of' domestic life. Let his home be the
habitation of love, and around his hospitable board let there
ever be gathered a select band of enlightened and social
firiends; while he who stood the foremost in every public enterprise, and gathered the admiration of public crowds around
him, is too the centre of every private circle, and gains a still
higher testimony to his private virtues and social worth.
But what will all this profit if it will not last?  Those
social circles shall be broken up. The youth and beauty
which once crowded those festive halls shall go down to dark
forgetfulness.  Even he who was the life and centre of those
gay assemblies shall join the nations of the dead.  That
tongue of eloquence shall be mute in death. That eye of fire
shall be quenched in darkness. That lofty palace shall crumble to the earth, and the very name of its possessor shall perish
among men. Then is there nothing left to man but "to lie
down in cold obstruction and to rot?" Yes, while the dust is
returning to dust again, the "spirit is going to God who gave
it."  A new world shall then open o:n our view. New scenes
shall burst on our astonished vision. Our disembodied spirits
shall enter on new and untried modes of existence, and, freed
from the manacles of flesh, shall swell into larger capacities
both of enjoyment and suffering. Nor eye hath seen, nor ear
hath heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to con11*




250            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
ceive, the glory which is here prepared for those that love
God.
It is to this world of glory and blessedness that I would
point you to-day. I would invite you to partake of its glory
which never fades, to abide in its mansions of eternal rest, to
seek that holiness without which you cannot enjoy it, and to
bow before that Sovereign who fills it with his presence. And
yet to many I know that my invitation will be vain. The
love of the present evil world hath blinded your minds, and
hardened your hearts against the Gospel. The lovers of this
world seem bound to it by some strange spell. The power of
some secret fascination seems to have charmed all their faculties, until the voice of reason and experience, as well as the
voice of God, falls unheeded on their ears. In spite of all that
we have known ourselves, and heard from others, we still believe that the world is a satisfying portion. We listen to its
promises, and with eager expectation grasp its unsubstantial
pleasures. There is none so stupid as not to perceive in his
moments of serious reflection that it is all delusion, but it is a
sweet delusion, and he willingly resigns himself again to its
soothing influence. There is none who has not been sometimes rudely awakened from his dream of worldly happiness
to gaze upon the reality of truth. But he soon composes himself softly to his repose, enjoys the same visions, pursues the
same shadows, clasps the same phantom forms to his bosom,
starts from his slumbers, finds it all a dream, and sleeps again.
And this is the business of life, the employment of those threescore years and ten bestowed on rational and immortal beings,
for the purpose of securing everlasting happiness. Nothing
could show more plainly the extent of that moral derangement, which has passed upon every individual of our species,
or which exhibits more affectingly the nature of that fearful
bondage, wherein the prince of this world has enslaved his
infatuated votaries. Against such a delusion human reasoning
and human eloquence are employed in vain. None but the
Spirit of God can reach a case so desperate. Nothing less
than the Almighty power can break the deep slumbers of the




THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.               251
spiritual death. It is in humble dependence on this divine assistance that I will now invite your attention, my dying fellow
sinners, to a few plain and serious considerations.
Consider then, in the first place, how many millions of men
there are now in the world pursuing the same expectations of
worldly happiness, of wealth, of distinction, health, and long
life, and inquire honestly of your own mind, how many of all
these will ever attain the object at which they aim; how many
will be cut off in the midst of all their schemes, and called to
the bar of God; how many will linger through a long life of
poverty; how many will fall short of that distinction after
which they aspire, or that wealth they anticipate, and pine
away in the agony of disappointed hope, or writhe under the
gnawings of self-devouring envy, or wither under the consciousness of neglected worth. Of the eight hundred millions now
upon the earth, how many do you suppose will attain even a
moderate portion of that worldly happiness they expect? And
even among the most successful, who will attain the half that
he anticipates? What reason then have you to expect a dispensation from the common lot, and success in all your wishes,
while others fail? Consider acain, how many men have lived
since the creation of the world, in the six thousand years that
are past. We are lost in endeavoring to think of their numbers. Millions piled on millions fail to make the mighty sum.
But when we endeavor to think of the schemes and plans and
hopes which agitated each of them in his short and busy day,
what a scene of restless activity is opened before us. All this
activity is now quiet in the grave. Generation after generation
has passed away from the earth, and we are permitted calmly
to review their conduct, and learn wisdom if we will from such
a retrospection.
What then is the lesson that we learn firom the experience
of ages? Whlat inscriptions do we read on the sepulchres of
dead millions? Is it recorded of ambition that it always
reaches its goal? Did genius always wear the crown it
merited? Did hope never promise what time refused to bestow?  And when all that heart could desire was attained,




252            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
has the soul of man rejoiced in the mighty acquisition? Very
different is the record there inscribed. It is the record of
crushed hopes, of blighted prospects, of joys which bloomed
but to wither, of pleasures which long eluded the grasp, andI
when caught at last, turned into disappointment and satiety
in the embrace. Oh, would we receive instruction from the
experience of our fathers, how might each successive generation become wiser than that which preceded it. But though
one generation passeth away and another cometh, the fallen
nature of man remaineth the same. New actors come upon
the stage, but the farce of human folly, and the tragedy of
human disappointment are re-enacted in wild confusion over
the dust of our sleeping ancestors. But if we neglect the
experience of others, why should we disregard the lessons of
oulr own?  There is not one that hears me now, who has
not seen enough in the little circle of his own acquaintance,
and felt enough in the secrecies of his own bosom, to convince him thoroughly that the world has no certain nor satisfying portion to bestow.  There is none who has not felt
the shock of disappointment, or the loathing of satiated desire. Who has not seen his brightest expectations overclouded,
his most deeply cherished hopes all disappointed, his tenderest
affections wounded in their tenderest point. But when all has
been bestowed that the world could give, who has not felt that
this is insufficient? In the wildness of mirth, in the excesses of
sensual pleasure, amidst the loud applause of admiring thousands, man is not satisfied. The soul cannot feed on husks like
these. Debase and brutalize it as you may, it is a spirit still,
and despite all your efforts it will rise and reassert its natulre
and its origin. It is endowed with a capacity for enjoying God,
and can never be satisfied with inferior good. And hence it is
that sinners pass so tediously and painfully through the world.
There is a constant struggle against all the better principles
of their nature, against reason, and conscience, and the immortal spirit within them.
What a fearful struggle is this; yet it is going on within the
bosom of every sinner. Yes, sinner, conceal it, deny it as you




THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.                253
may, the thin disguise of outward merriment hides it not from
the eye of man, how much less from the searching glance of an
omniscient God. How foolish, then, to love the world, whick
after all gives no real happiness, while we reject our kind and
merciful Creator, who is able to satisfy the highest desire of
the soul which he has made, "in whose presence is fulness
of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures forevermore."
Place yourself amidst the happiest circle of the most promising
youth of both sexes. They have never yet known sorrow, or
experienced disappointment.  The world lies fresh and untrodden before them, and as far as the eye can reach, hope gilds
the prospect with the brightest colors. One hopes for wealth,
and before her mind forever rolls the splendid equipage, the
costly apparel, and the elegant apartments of the rich. Another
hopes for honor, and his eye brightens at the thought of the
bar, and senates, and assemblies, and his own voice swelling
high above the rest, and guiding the tumultuous passions of
the people. Another dreams of health and youth and beauty
and social comfort long-continued, and thinks this happiness
enough; while another, more quiet still, pictures the still retreat, the comfortable fireside, the cheerful firiend, and all the
accompaniments of domestic peace. Now follow them if you
can through their various fortunes in their future life. Will
not youth decay?  Will not beauty fade?  Will not that
bright eye be dimmed?  Will not that manly voice be hushed
in death, or enfeebled by disease, or overborne by party violence? Or who can tell the thousand misfortunes which meet
them in the path of life, and bring poverty, or shame, or social
misery upon them. How many commenced the career of life
along with Caesar, with the same bright hopes and the same
ambitious views. A mother's fondness destined for them the
same eminence, and a father's fond pride promised the same
high success, and the kind voice of many an applauding friend
cheered them on their way. But who among them all trod
the same path of glory? And yet how dizzy was the pinnacle
on which he stood at last, and how soon did that dominion end
in blood, which years of toil and dangers:ind bold ambition




254            THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.
had just secured. Nay, the great globe itself shall be destroyed, the elements shall melt with fervent heat, and earth's
last garniture shall be its winding-sheet of' flames.
And is this nothing but a scene where imatginatidn riots and
reason reels? Think you that he who made the w6rid, cannot
destroy it? Are there no instruments of wrath laid up in tile
great store-house of the Almighty's indignation against the day
of final retribution? In the very bowels of the earth on which
you tread so securely, are the hidden elements which, brought
together and pent up within its shell, would melt its solid
rocks, and heave its quaking mountains, and by one vast explosion shatter it to fragments. The very air you breathe, if
partially decomposed, would yield a substance which taking
fire from a lighted lamp, would spread a universal conflagration, and which, even when prepared by the chemist's skill, and
issuing ill the smallest current firom his laboratory, dissolves all
earths and minerals, and causes the hardest steel to blaze and
sparkle like the burning brand.
Thus as God has placed in every sinner's bosom the elements
and the forebodings of future misery, so has he placed in the
material world around us the sources and the forewarnings of
its coming dissolution. But, alas! how deaf are the men of
this world to the voice which thus comes to them from the
word and the works of God. They would not believe though
one should rise from the dead to tell them.. And therefore
shall this day of the Lord come as a thief in the night. None
shall be expecting it. But, as when the deluge came, the
affairs of this world shall be rolling on in their accustomed
course, and the current of this world's occupations, pursuits,
and pleasures shall be drifting men as far away from holiness,
happiness, and heaven, and impiety shall lift as bold a front as
ever. The Atheist shall be proving that there is no God. The
Deist shall be asking, Where is the promise of his coming?
The Socinian shall be proving that the Lord of Glory is no
better than a man: The youth in the ardor of his untamed
passions shall be urging on his chase of pleasure; and  hbe
maiden in the pride and confidence of charIns, alas! too much




THE LOVE OF THE WORLD.                255
admired and too falsely flattered, shall be distributing around
the tokens of her favor. The man of ambition shall be pressing forward in his hot career of glory; and the conqueror shall
then be driving his car of triumph over prostrate nations,
while the wail of oppressed millions falls ulnheeded on his ear.
The thief shall be stealing through the twilight to seek his
neighbor's goods, and the murderer shall be wiping from his
brow the stains of blood, and the duellist shall be aiming
his weapon at a brother's heart - when suddenly, as in the
twinkling of an eye, shall be heard the trump of the archangel,
and the voice of God. Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be
lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall
come in. Who is this King of Glory?  The Lord of hosts.
He is the King of Glory. And is this he who was born in
Bethlehem? Who was clothed in flesh, who was despised and
spit upon, who was crucified and slain? Yes, this is he, O
sinner! who died that you might live. Who shed his own
precious blood on the cross for your salvation. And now he
is sending you the offers of his mercy, and entreating you with
condescending kindness to be reconciled to God. But then,
oh, how changed. His wrath is kindled into fulry, and his
mercies are clean gone forever. Vain, then, are the entreaties
of the sinner. No voice of mercy ansiwers to his prayer. Btit
from the great white throne issue forth thunderings and lightnings, and a voice which says, Because I have called and ye
refused, I stretched out my hand, and no man regarded. But
ye have set at naught my counsel, and would none of my reproof. I also will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your
fear cometh, when your fear cometh as a desolation, and your
destruction as a whirlwind. Then shall these go away into
everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal.




XII.
THE GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN REJECT THE GOSPEL.
LUKE, xiv. 18.-" And they all with one consent began to make excuse."
THE revelation which God has given us was made in human
language, and adapted to human understanding, that it might
gain an entrance into the human heart, and exert an influence over the conduct and character and destinies of man.
With the same ben:evolent design our Heavenly Father has
condescended still more to the weakness alid imperfections of
our nature, and has accommodated the language of his word
to the circumstances and relations of daily life, and the feelings
and affections which these various circumstances are calculated
to excite.  Thus the high truths of religion are brought
down to the level of the human understanding, and urged
home with more affecting power even to the hardest heart,.
when illustrated by the commonest occurrences of life, and appealing to all our tenderest sensibilities.
Now this is the design of the parables, so often employed in
the Bible, to teach us something that is unknown, by comparing it with something that is familiarly known and with which
we are every day conversant, teaching us heavenly things by
comparing them with earthly things, giving us some faint idea
of our relations and duties toward our fellow-creatures. And
this design is most admirably accomplished by the parables of
the Bible; so that the truth which is meant to be conveyed,
is not only brought home more affectingly to the heart, but is
represented likewise more vividly to the understanding than
could possibly be done by any mere verbal representation.
How instructive, and at the same time how affecting and con



GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN, ETC.               257
descending, is the language of the Bible, when God represents
himself as the Father of the human race, and permits us to come
unto and call him, "Our Father who art in heaven;" and
who, though he be in heaven, yet looks down with pitying
compassion on his wandering, erring children, and desires to
reclaim them to himself, to holiness, to heaven, and everlasting
happiness; opening wide to receive us the arms of a father's
affection, assuring us of a father's welcome, and a rich inheritance.
It is impossible, we imagine, that any man could read, with
the slightest attention, the parable of the Prodigal Son, without
feeling more deeply, at the close, the wisdom and duty of repenting and turning to God, and being more thoroughly convinced than he had been before that God is willing to receive
the returning prodigal. While he pictures to his mind the
misery and want of the wayward child, his obstinate perseverance, his downward course, even when beggary and ruin stared
him in the face, his slow repentance, his reluctant determination
to return, his hesitating, lingering, doubting, trembling approach to his father's house, overwhelmed with shame, emaciated with hunger and disease, corroded by remorse, with
scarce a rag to conceal his nakedness, and none to veil his so!row and disgrace; and then beholds his father, all tenderness
and love, forgetting the fall of his child, and remembering only
his repentance and his distress, rushing forth at the first news
of his approach, welcoming that tattered beggar to his house
and to his heart, falling upon his neck, weeping, and kissing
him, and with all the fondness of a father's affection, crying
out, " My son was dead but is alive again, was lost but is
found."  We,say, that no individual can read such a representation as this, if he has ever known the gushings of those warm
affections which flow from  father to son, and from son to
father back again, and doubt for a moment that these are the
real feelings of the Father of the universe to our fallen family,
and that no language which the human mind has ever in-vented could express so forcibly as the simple parable the deep
instruction it was intended to convey.




258             GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN
But of all those figurative representations which are employed in the Bible for the purpose of recommending the truth
of God to the understandings and affections of men, there is
none more frequently used than that which describes the salvation of the Gospel, as a provision for the wants and necessities
of men, as food for the hungry, drink for,the thirsty, a great
feast richly provided and freely offered to all, a fountain of
living waters, a stream which never fails, a mighty river
springing from the throne of God, whose gushing waters are
clear as crystal, and on its banks is the tree of life, whose
leaves are for the healing of the nations. By such representations as these, the abundance of the provision, the freeness and
sincerity of the invitation, and the spontaneous kindness of the
provider, are forcibly displayed.
Thus, in the parable just read, we are told that a certain rich
man, who was fully able to bear the expense and insure the
abundance of the provision, prepared a great feast, one suitable
to his wealth and station, and to the numnlber of the guests invited, and then sent his servants to call the guests.  "But
they all with one consent began to make excuse." Now the
cohduct of the guests who were invited, is intended, no doubt,
to represent the conduct of mankil(d, who are invited by the
great king of heaven to the rich provisionls of the Gospel, and
yet most of them  decline the gracious invitation.  Let us
then spend a few moments in considering, First, The strange
fact that men endeavor to excuse themselves from accepting
the offers of the Gospel.  Secondly, Notice some of their
excuses. Thirdly, The danger of thus rejecting the offers of
the Gospel.
I. Let us consider the strange fact that men, almost universally, endeavor to excuse themselves fiom accepting the offers
of the Gospel.
To one who believes, indeed, that there is a God, the most solemn and tremendous of all questions is, whether he is the friend
or the enemy of man. Whether he wh:o, sits, far off in uncreated light and glory above tle sky, shut'ont from all human
gaze by the unapproachable brightlces'- wlieick surrounds him,




REJECT THE GOSPEL.                   9
and baffling all human investigation by the untold mysteries
of his wonderful existence. Whether the terrible and unknown
One looks down upon this world of ours with kind and pitying
affection, or frowns us away from his presence as the objects
of his holy indignation. This is a question which has pressed
most heavily upon the minds of men, in all ages and all regions
of the world, and in every condition of human society. It has
been reiterated again and again, with fearful solicitude, for
ages past,, and is still propounded with undiminished anxiety
at the present day. It has agitated, it must, at some period
of his existence, agitate the bosom of every reflecting man.
The philosopher has asked it, as he walked with grave and
solemn tread over the halls of science, musing much and
deeply. The savage asks it, as he roams over his native
fobrests, and gazing on their wild magnificence, beholds in the
works around him the traces of the great and unknown Spirit.
The man of pleasure asks it, when in some hour of intermitted
merriment his conscience calls up the memory of wasted hours
and riotous excess, and stamps upon all his pleasures, vanity
and vexation of spirit. The maln of sorrow asks it, as he recounts the story of his multiplied afflictions, or tossing upon
his bed of long disease, feels in his withering frame the heavy
pressure of a hand more mighty than his own.  The living
ask it, when they behold the ravages of death around them;
and the dying ask it, when the dust is returning to dust again
and the spirit is going to God who gave it.
The question is one to which the human understanding, unaided by light from heaven, has never yet offered any satisfaictory reply. After all our inquiries it must still remain involved in the darkest mystery, surrounded with the most
perplexing doubts. We may look abroad indeed upon the
mighty works of God, and see upon them all the impress of a
power which is infinite and irresistible; but whether this
power is indifferent, or friendly, or hostile to our race, is not
revealed by the works of nature. The sun, as he shines in his
glory, and the moon, as she walks in her brightness, and tl:e
thousand stars which twinkle in the sky, may tell that the hand




260            GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN
which made them is divine: but they have no speech, nor language, to reveal the high designs of the mysterious Creator.
If we observe the course of God's providence on earth, all still
seems dark and inscrutable. If the happiness which is enjoyed
by man, seems to prove tlle kindness and regard of our Creator; the misery which is spread so widely over the face of
our earth, would lead us directly to the opposite conclusion.
If every balmy breeze which wafts health and joy to our
habitations, and every human heart which throbs with high
delight, is an evidence that he who'directs the wind and who
formed the heat is merciful and good; then every desolating
whirlwind, and every pestilential vapor, and every sob of
agony, must throw a sickening uncertainty over the whole
of our conclusions. And then there is the consciousness of the
whisperings of that inward monitor, which points to a day of
coming retribution, the fearful looking for of judgment and
fiery indignation, which, like a strong man armed, lays hold of
every human bosom, and, struggle and wrestle as we may,
maintains its lodgment there, till in man's last sad extremity
its triumph is completed, and the departing spirit, even before
it leaves the body, feels that its destiny is fixed.
Thus it is that the mysteries of providence, and the consciousness of guilt, cast a fearful uTncertainty around every
question which concerns the mutual relations of God and man.
WMe feel that there is a mysterious agency within us and
around us, pervading all things, sustaining all things, in whom
we live and move and have our being, a power which no
wisdom can elude and no force resist; and while we remember
that he is infinitely holy, the recollection of our sins must rush
into our minds, and bring home upon us with redoubled interest the anxious question, " Can God be reconciled to man?"
Now suppose we were informed, in the midst of this perplexity
and doubt, that God himself had resolved to answer the question, and to reveal himself in his true character to the children
of men; with what anxious and breathless interest would we
await the expected revelation. Will he come in flaming fire
to take vengeance on his enemies, clothed in the robes of jus



REJECT THE GOSPEL.                261
tice, and armed with the thunder of Omnipotence; or will he
appear in the gentleness of heavenly compassion, as the friend,
and father, and Saviour of our race? Fearful indeed would be
that hour of dread suspense, and scarcely less terrific than that
day of righteous revelation, when the assembled families of
men shall stand before the throne of the Eternal, and hear the
last unchangeable decision.
But should the messenger that comes from heaven, proclaim
his character as the Lord God, merciful and gracious, who delighteth not in the death of a sinner, but would rather that he
should turn and live-should the message be one of unutterable love, and the messenger that bore it, his own beloved
Son; how soon would we expect to find that the anxieties and
fearfulness of men were converted into wondering, and adoring,
and rejoicing affection, and to hear, from every family on earth,
and from every human bosom, the glad songs of thanksgiving
and praise to him who ruleth in heaven, and yet so kindly
condescendeth to have intercourse with men. Now just such a
revelation given to mankind in those very circumstances of
doubt and terror, which we have feebly endeavored to describe, is that which is made in the Gospel. In this, God has
still more abundantly manifested his love toward us, because
he was not only willing to be reconciled to man, but to pay
the price of reconciliation too; that while we were yet enemies against him, he freely delivered up his own Son, on our
behalf, to die, that we might live; and now the proclamation
of pardon through his blood is made to every son and daughter
of Adam; and we this day beseech you, in Christ's stead, to
be reconciled to God.
Yet how vainly is the Gospel proclamation made, how
lightly is the Gospel message heard, how often must the minister of the Gospel take up the lamentation of the prophet and
cry out in the bitterness of his soul, "Who hath believed our
report?"  "For they all began with one consent to make
excuse."
We go to the young man in the commencement of life, who
is just entering on his career of giddy pleasures and gay




262             GROUNDS ON WHICH,MEN
amusements: and we tell him that his pleasures will at last
bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder; that they will
pierce him through with many sorrows; that they are at best
transient, uncertain, unsatisfying.  We point him  to those
higher and better pleasures which endure forever, and fill the
largest capacities of the soul, in the presence of God, whhere
there is filness of joy, and at his right hand, where there are
pleasures forevermore.  The thoughtless youth passes heedlessly along, and scarcely pauses a nmoment to exclaim, "I
pray thee have me excused."  He embarks on his voyage of
pleasure; the stream wafts him smoothly along, till at last he
disappears firom our view; and the rainbow colors, which had
caught his fancy and allured him to destruction, still overhang,
in silent beauty, the dreadful cataract where his bark was
crushed. He is gone, and we turn with sad solicitude to the
man of middle age, who had watched with us the wild career
of the unhappy youth, and shuddered at the horrid spectacle
of his untimely end. IIe is deeply immersed in worldly cares,
in the pursuit of honor, or of wealth. He acknowledges the
folly of his early pleasures, and mourns the disappointment of
his early hopes; but still he makes gold his confidence and
fine gold his trust; or living on the breath of popular applause,
and making it the god of his political idolatry, he takes the
world for his portion, and gives to the god of money, or the
god of fame, the tribute of' his heart's devoutest adoration.
But in vain do we offer to him the riches which shall never
perish, the glory and honor which shall never fade. Even
heaven's crowns, which shall brighten forever on seraphic
brows, are unnoticed and despised in the ardor of his hot pur.
suit after earthly things; and impatient of the slightest delay
or interruption, he replies to the most affectionate expostulation, "Really, sir, you must have me excused."
We go to the old man, just trembling on the brink of tile
grave, and while we sympathize with all the sorrows of his
age, and mourn over the spectacle of one about to desert his
all on earth, with no portion laid up in heaven; we point him
back to the vanities of his life, and bid him look forward to




REJECT TIIE GOSPEL.                263
that life above which shall never terminate, to a youth of immortal vigor, and undecaying glory, where sickness and sorrow shall flee away, and all tears shall be wiped from all eyes.
But while we press upon his thoughts, the necessity of immediate preparation for a change so near at hand, and a state of
such unspeakable felicity, he hears with impatience our affectionate entreaties, turns back his wishful. eyes upon the world
which has so long deceived him, and, with the last trembling
accents of decaying nature, exclaims, "I pray thee have me
excused."  We turn away in melancholy disappointment, but
scarce have turned away, when another messenger arrives, of
sterner aspect and more severe commands. Death brooks no
delay; and the last faint excuse dies away, before it can be
uttered by his trembling lips.
Now thus it is, that the Gospel is carried around to all the
families and all the individuals of our land. It passes from house
to house, and from heart to heart, knocking at every door, and
seeking an entrance, but meeting continually the same chilling
and repulsive answer, " Go thy way for the present, I pray thee
have me excused." How wonderftiul is the fobrbearance and
long-suffering of God, in thus enduring the contradiction of
sinners against himself, and mercifully repeating those gracious
invitations which have been so long despised and so haughtily rejected; and how strangely foolish is the conduct of
men! From what do they wish to excuse themselves? From
sin? fiom misery? from hell?  No, they freely indulge in sin;
their paths are encompassed with misery, their steps take hold
on hell, and lead down to perdition. They seek to avoid the
favor and service of God, the approbation of a peacefull conscience, the society of the blessed in heaven, present happiness
and future glory.
II. Let us, however, examine for a moment some of these
grave and weighty reasons by which men endeavor to quiet
their own conscience, and ward off the expostulations of others,
when urged to give an immediate attention to the Gospel
offers.
The first and most usual is the pressure of worldly business,




264             GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN
the attractions of worldly pleasure, the pursuit of worldly
honor, or tile obligations of worldly connections. These excuses may seem to be different in character and to come from
different men; but they aret all the same in principle, and are
founded on the settled determination to enjoy the world in
some one of its various forms, and not to permit the concerns
of religion to interfere at all with their worldly plans. Whether
they airn at the accumulation of wealth, or the acquisition of
honor, or the indulgence of ease or social feelings, the principle
is the same.
The train of thought which the sinner indulges upon this
subject, seems to be simply this: I live, says he, in a world
whicll God has made, which he has richly supplied with every
thing necessary to sustain my life, or minister to my enjoyment. On every thing around me are the traces of his power,
the monuments of his goodness, the evidence of his presence.
I am myself, indeed, but the creature of his hands. This human firame, so fearfully and wonderfully made, is the product
of his power. The eye which opens with delight upon all nature, and by its delicate and skilful mechanism holds mysterious intercourse with distant worlds; the ear which delights
with harmony, and listens to the language of friendship and
affection; the soul which feels, and thinks, and rejoices in the
kindness of social affections and the tenderness of social relations-these are all the workmanship of his skilful hand.
Surrounded, as I am, with so many blessings, and endowed
with such capacities for enjoying them, I am determined what
I will do; I will improve, to the utmost, my short opportunity;
I will indulge the body, and forget the soul; I will live like
an atheist who denies a God, or like a brute that never knew
one. Drink deeply of the streams of his beauty, but never
look upward to the fountain from which they flow. Bury myself amidst the mute and lifeless materialism around me, while
I forget the great and everlasting spirit who gave to this material creation all the beauty and all the attractions it possesses.
Riot on the gifts of his jprovidence, while I forget the giver;
and use the goodness and long-suffering of Godl to embolden




REJECT THE GOSPEL.                 265
me in sin. I will harden my heart by the very means which
were designed to soften it; and that the benefits of my deterrnination may not be confined to myself; the wife whom I
have taken to my bosom, the children of our mutual love, the
fiiends of my early years, shall enjoy the benefit of my exalnple, and reap along with me the fruits of my approaching
harvest. And what shall that harvest be? Let me answer in
the language of God's Word, " He that soweth to the flesh,
shall reap corruption; he that soweth the wind, shall reap the
whirlwind."  He that endeavors to excuse himself from his
duties on any of these grounds, does deliberately choose the
world for his portion and reject the salvation of his soul.
But what will the world profit him if he shall lose his soul?
Suppose that he succeeds in all his enterprises, even his most
ardent and extravagant calculations.  Let wealth flow in
upon him by a thousand channels. Let honor place him upon
her highest pinnacle; and in the full exercise of all his powers,
with nerves that tremble not at his lofty elevation, and a mind
that comprehends, in his rapid glance, the vast variety of interests committed to his care, let him look down from the
station where he sits alone, upon a world all prostrate at his
feet; and when man has exhausted his stock of paltry ad ulation, let nature yield her stores to his command; let the mountain reveal its treasure, and the sea give up her hidden wealth;
let the north send in her portion and the south her tribute;
let the birds of the air and the beast of the field minister, with
their choicest dainties, to his palate; let the most delicious
viands sparkle at his board, and the softest melody warble
through his halls, and the voice of merriment and music be
heard continually around his apartments; and that this spoiled
child of fortune may enjoy more than man has ever yet enjoyed, or heart has ever yet conceived, let his capacities
for self-indulgence be doubled, and his life prolonged to
centuries-yet will the day of his probation cease.  Its
morning rose in beauty; its noonday dazzled us with its
brightness; its night shall close in clouds and darkness. For
all these things, O man! God shall call thee into judgment;




266             GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN
and what art thou profited who hast gained the world but
lost thy soul?
Few men have the hardihood deliberately to cast off all
hope of future repentance and salvation; and although there
may be some in this house' who have little regard for the
Saviour of sinners, yet there is not one but would shudder at
the thought of renouncing all hopes of an interest in his atonement. The boldest sinner, if called upon to deed away all title
to eternal life, would shrink back from the proposition. If the
world were offered for his soul, he would spurn the offer; and
yet the very deed, that he would shudder at when proposed
in words, he is daily performing, and repeating continually in
the course of his short and uncertain life. How many are saying, I will put off religion to a future season; I pray thee
have me excused just now? Now to put off religion is, in fact,
to reject it; ftr all the offers of the Gospel are made at the
present time. There is not, in the whole Bible, a single promise
to a future repentance or conversion. "Now is the accepted
time, now is the day of salvation."  "To-day, if ye will hear
his voice, harden not your hearts."  " Boast not thyself of tomorrow," "This night thy soul may be required of thee."
Since, then, there is no promise, no offer, except to the present,
he who puts off now, rejects altogether, and all his promises
and hopes of future repentance and conversion are vain delusions by which he hopes to deceive others, as the great adversary has deceived his own soul. Religion is every thing, or
it is nothing. The salvation of the soul is important above all
things, or of no importance; and he who delays attention to
these great concerns, proves by this very act, that he has-no
adequate conception whatever of their awful and tremendous
import. For what does he plead, who asks a short delay in
accepting the offered mercy? He asks permission to sin against
God a little longer; to harden his heart a'little more; to
strengthen his evil habits still more firmly; to risk his soul's
damnation a few days longer; and by pursuing such a course
as this, he hopes to be prepared, in a short time, to turn unto
God, and repent of his sins. Has this man even the first idea




REJECT THE GOSPEL.                267
about his own condition, or the character of God; about
heaven or hell?
This whole scheme of fuiture repentance is indeed highly insulting to God, ruinous to the souls of men. It is insulting to
God, because he offers salvation now, and we propose to accept it at a future time; thus saying, that the offers of God
are to stand waiting at our doors, until it may please our whim
or caprice to grant them admission. It is dangerous, because
the insulted Majesty of Heaven will not endure the insult.
"My spirit shall not always strive with man;" and when the
Spirit of God has once withdrawn his divine influences, there
is no other power which can regenerate the soul; the condition
of the, sinner is utterly hopeless, and it were better for him
that a millstone had been hanged around his neck, and he had
been cast into the bottomless sea. The experience of all men
warns us of its danger. The path to perdition is strewn with
the bones of those who have calculated on a future repentance;
and of all those unhappy beings, who are now suffering the
righteous displeasure of God, there is perhaps not a single one
who has not often resolved on a future repentance. No man
ever yet reached heaven, who did not determine to repent
now. Now is the best time to repent. Are you young? Repent now, before youthful folly has hardened into aged wickedness; before the cares and troubles of the world have pre-occupied your mind, and evil habits are fastened upon you. Are
you old? Repent soon, or you will never repent at all; age
is the time for serious reflections; think on the world that lies
before you, and is so near at hand. Are you in prosperity?
Seek the Lord now: it will prepare you to meet adversity.
when it comes, and what is harder still, to enjoy the world
without abusing it. Are you in adversity? Then seek your
Fathdr's face, he will not cast you off, " he giveth liberally,
and upbraideth not." If you have no portion on earth, lay up
one in heaven.
But I cannot convert myself you say. This is the very
strongest reason, why you should not rest for a moment in
your present condition. If the power lay with yourself, then




268            GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN
you might exert it at your pleasure, and delay would not be
so dangerous. But now, all depends upon the will of another.
His goodness alone spares your lite. His spirit alone can convert your soul. He is now waiting to be gracious. But if
his patience shall once be exhausted, if he shall swear in his
wrath, that you shall not enter into his rest; your doom is
fixed, your condition is as hopeless as that of those who already feel the agonies of the second death. Is your need of
divine assistance any reason why you should not seek it? Is
your need of the Holy Spirit any reason why you should not ask
his divine influences? Is your perishing and ruined condition
a reason why you should fold your arms in calm security, and
coolly await the coming ruin? Did the man whose withered
arm the Saviour healed act thus, when he was commanded
to stretch out his arm, all powerless and withered by disease,
did he turn to the Saviour and complain, that he had commanded him to do what he was unable to accomplish? No,
he made the effort, and God gave the power. The very command to act includes the promise of ability to those who wish
it.  There is scarce a command in the Bibles4which has not a
correspondent promise, and a correspondent example. Are
we commanded to seek the Lord? God says, I have not said to
the house of Israel, Seek ye my face in vain; and David says,
Thy face, Lord, will I seek. Are we commanded to make ourselves new hearts? the Psalmist prays, " Make me a new hearlt,
and renew a right spirit within me."  And again the promise
is, " I will write my law upon their hearts."  If, then, the invitation is freely given, and the offer of divine assistance is
fully made; if the strength, which the sinner has not in himself,
may be obtained of God, the excuse which he draws from his
inability to convert himself is altogether groundless.
But bad as all these excuses are; if persevered in,' they
will all be taken. God will force no man into heaven against
his will. His service is a voluntary service, a spiritual service,
and he seeketh such to serve him. " As for those men who
were bidden, none of them shall taste of my supper." The
prayers of sinners are often answered sooner than they ex



REJECT THE GOSPEL.                269
pected. The profane swearer, who calls down curses on his
head, often finds that his prayer is terribly answered. He
prays in jest, but God never jests; he answers him in earnest.
Thus the man, who is continually praying in his heart to be
excused from the service and favor of God, often meets a quick
and terrible reply.  God says in his wrath, he is joined to his
idols, let him be excused, excused now, excused forever. We
see then,
III. How dangerous it is to trifle with the offers of the
Gospel. If God has spoken to man, he surely must require
that man should give, at least, an attentive and respectful
hearing. The voice which speaks from heaven, is the voice of
wisdom, the voice of authority, the voice of affection.  That
wisdom must not be despised; that authority must not be
disregarded; that affection must not be slighted.  The messenger who comes from heaven, comes loaded with a message
of stupendous importance. He reveals a wonderful plan of
redemption for a guilty world.  So vast and important, in the
view of infinite wisdom, was the scheme devised for man's
salvation, that when it was to be revealed, the Son of God
himself came down, attended by hosts of rejoicing angels, who
announced his first arrival; and when this scheme was to be
carried into its complete and final execution, this glorious
Redeemer shed his blood upon the cross, the earth shook and
trembled, the sun wrapped himself in sackcloth, and angels
again announced his joyful resurrection.
Now, for man to turn away, in cold indifference, from this
great scheme of reconciliation devised for his peculiar benefit
-a plan which angels desire to look into, and the Son of God
died to accomplish-for man thus to treat, with cool contempt,
the most solemn doings of the Almighty, cannot but excite the
divine displeasure.  Hence throughout the Bible it is represented as the last and greatest of all sins, as that which does
arouse the indignation of Jehovah, till it burneth to the deepest
hell. Even Sodom and Gomorrah, those cities of the plain,
whose pollutions cried to heaven for vengence, and brought
down a fiery deluge to overwhelm them, should rise in judg



270          GROUNDS ON WHICH MEN, ETC.
ment against the cities which despised the Saviour's invitations;
and how, says the apostle, how shall we escape if we neglect
so great salvation!
And here in the parable before us, we are told, that the
Master was angry-he who had provided the feast-who had
sent out his invitations-who had said, all things are ready —
he was angry, and said, " None of these men who were bidden
shall taste of my supper." So when the approach of the
judgment is described in the Apocalypse, those who are crying to the rocks and hills to fall upon them and cover them,
wish to be concealed from the wrath of the Lamb; for the
great day of his wrath is come and who shall be able to stand!
iMark the expression, the wrath of the Lamb-not the wrath
of the lion, or the tiger, or some fierce beast of pray, whose
delight is in blood and suffering, but the wrath of the
Lamb-the meek, quiet, gentle, long-suffering Lamb-the
Lamb of God, slain from the foundation of the world. The
sinner's best friend is become his enemy, his last hope is sunk
in despair. The love which long bore with him, is now turned
into anger; and mercy, long despised, has seized the sword of
justice. The mountain of privileges, on which the sinner
stood, is now a mountain of guilt pressing him lower and lower
into perdition. Oh, there is no hatred like that which springs
from  slighted love; there is no wrath like the wrath of
the Lamb! And let us all remember that the day is coming
when these excuses will be of no avail. They shall all,
one day, be examined by the clear light of eternity, and undergo the searching scrutiny of the omniscient Judge. Deceive others as we may, impose on ourselves as we can, yet
we cannot impose on God.  In that great day of coining
retribution, when the assembled families of earth shall stand
before his bar, no such excuse will then be offered; but deep
and solemn silence will overspread that wide assembly, and the
sinner, self-condemned, shall only hear in the decision of the
Judge, the confirmation of the verdict his own conscience had
passed already.




XIII.
THE DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.
LUKE, xix. 13.-" Occupy till I come." (See Matt. xxv. 14; Luke, viii., 18;
Mark, iv. 25).
THIE parable, of which our text forms a part, is parallel with
that contained in the 25th chapter of Matthew, commencing at
the 14th verse, usually called the parable of the talents. Both
are designed to illustrate the same great truths by a language
and an imagery strikingly analogous. In each the privileges we
enjoy, the advantages and blessings we possess, are represented
as coming from the hand of God, as gifts of his bounty, or
rather as loans for a season, to be reclaimed at his pleasure;
as loans for which he will require an interest on the day of
reckoning; as adv-rantages, which are attended by corresponding responsibilities, and to whose improvement we are invited by the kindest encouragements, from whose neglect we
are warned by the most fearful threatenings. In St. Matthew,
the servants are represented as trading with their talents, and
helre, it is said: " Occupy till I come."  The term in the original mealus to be occupied, to be diligently, industriously, laboriously engaged.  So that the requirement of our text is
diligently and conscientiously to imzprove the talent, or the
pound, committed to us.
We endeavored on a former occasion, from this text, to
warn you against that secret atheism, which insinuates itself
the more dangerously, because unobserved, into the whole current of our habitual feelings, and usurps the place and the
attribute of the Creator by claiming an absolute proprietorship




2 72   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
in his works. We endeavored to remind you of that truth,
universally acknowledged, yet too generally neglected, that
God is the Lord and Proprietor of all; that we are the workmanship of his hands, created by his power, and upheld by his
goodness; that the fulness of the earth is his; his the large
possessions of the rich, and the scanty pittance of the poor; and
that, in the wide extent of his magnificent creation, there is
nothing found too large for the limits of his ownership, too insignificant for the obligation of his claims. We directed your
minds to the consideration of the solemn truth, that all, which
we fondly call our own, is but a loan from the treasury of the
Lord, to be reclaimed in its season; a loan, on which an interest will be demanded, a talent of which an improvement will
be required, and pointed to that fearful day of reckoning, when
the Judge himself shall be seen in the air, when the living
shall be changed, and the dead raised; when the judgment
shall be set and the books opened, and the whole assembled
universe shall hear the last unchangeable decision. In view of:tll these solemn considerations it was impossible that our
minds should not occasionally glance at other important conseqences necessarily resulting from them — at the duties, the
elnoitragements, and the responsibilities connected with the
posse.ssion of these talents.
What was then the object of a transient glance, or casual
remarlks, will now demand our deliberate attention, —and we
propose to consider,1st. The duty of improving our talents.
2d. The encouragements to their improvement.
3d. The responsibilities connected withl the possession of
these talents.
I. The duty of improvement may be shown from the command of God and from our own best i:.terests. The command
of God carries with it a universal obligation founded on an
undoubted right-a right of property, full, complete, original,
clear in itself, supported by the best of titles, the original
creation and continued preservation of all things. His commands are powerful and cannot be safely resisted; they are




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   273
wise and good, and calculated to promote the highest welfhre
and permanent interests of all. These commands are much
broader than is usually imagined. They embrace man's whole
nature, intellectual and physical, no less than moral; as St.
Paul expresses it, "his whole spirit and soul and body." They
extend to the minutest circumstances of his life, to all his domestic and social relations, to his intercourse with men, as well
as his duty to God; to the cultivation of the intellect and the
preservation of health and the exercise of influence, as well as
to purity of heart and humility of spirit. We are commnanded
to be diligent in business, as well as fervent in spirit, to labor
in our vocation by day as well as to meditate on God's truths
by night, diligently to improve each talent, to leave no moment unemployed, no opportunity unimproved, no faculty dormant, no energy relaxed.
There is utterly a delusion here, a delusion extensively prevalent, and fatal to the interests of the Gospel upon earth,
which casts down the standards of Israel's host, to be trampled
under foot of the Philistines, and causes the enemies of God
to laugh in stern and bitter derision. It is that the commands
of God extend only to the heart and life, and that if the heart
be free from guile, and life unspotted in the world, the intellect
may lie uncultivated, its mighty powers undeveloped, and the
whole field of human knowledge left open to the enemies of
God, to master its richest treasures, to wield its mighty weapons, to distort its facts, to pervert its reasoning, to direct its
most powerful instrument-the press, to mould the public
mind, and stamp their own impress on this young and rising
nation. But be not deceived, my brethren, we have to fight
with principalities, and powers, and spiritual wickedness in
high places, and if there be one demand more pressing than
another, if in this age of action, and tumult, and excitement,
and bold inquiry, if in this land of unfettered freedom and
overflowing prosperity, there be one necessity more urgent
than all others, it is the demand for holy talent, it is the necessity for consecrated learning, it is that men should rise upon
our soil, strong in native intellect, rich in acquired learning,
12*




274   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT. AND RESPONSIBILITY
filled with the Spirit of the Lord, to walk boldly forth over the
whole field of human science, gathering its scattered riches,
digging deep for its precious ore, and from the Babel of discordant opinions, drawing fresh materials to build up in new
glory the temple of the Lord.
I mean not that meagre and conceited talent which wastes
its feeble energies in placid self-contemplation; that superficial
learning which, puffed with the lightness of its own materials,
longs ever after self'exhibition, and grasps for popular applause; but that real genius, always unobtrusive, which aiming at higher and distant objects, spurns away from it the
pettiness of an early and temporary fame, which digs deep,
that its foundation may be sure, and in silence and obscurity
burnishes that armor which shall one day glitter in the noonday sun, in the face of nations, and turn the tide of battle. And
well do I believe there is an exalted and expansive spirit in the
Gospel, which can enlarge and elevate the mind as well as
purify the heart, and under whose pervading influence there
shall yet spring up another race of men-giants in their days,
clothed in the whole panoply of knowledge, radiant in the
light of truth, whose reason, blinded by no passion, polluted
by no vice, calm, transparent, pure, shall be the mirror of eternal truth, reflecting gloriously its heavenly lineaments, as the
deep, majestic ocean tranquilly gives back the faithful image of
the blue sky above it.
I have not forgotten the mighty efficacy of Christian intelligence directed by Christian principle, and urged on by Christian
feeling, when employed in any department of inquiry or of
effort. I have not forgotten that every enterprise for the benefit
of the race has for centuries past been commenced and carried
on and completed by Christians; that when the world was to be
freed from the bondage of ecclesiastical tyranny, and the rights
of conscience, and private judgment to be vindicated and rescued, it was the manly intellect and holy courage of a Christian
which achieved the work; that when philosophy was to be reformed, and the very sources of all its errors detected and exposed, it was done by a Christian; and when the mind thus




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   2 75
taught to reason was itself to be examined, its structure investigated, its operations revealed, this work was accomplished
by a Christian; and when the material universe in all its vastness, and with all its wonders was to be revealed to man, it
was a Christian who first comprehended the structure of the
universe, who first analyzed light and calculated its motions, who
first weighed the stars and taught us their distances, their magnitudes, their densities. And when'this new nation was to assume its place among the people of the earth, it was a Christian,
whose cool courage, and calm prudence, and deep foresight, and
sterling integrity, and devout trust in God, guided us through
unparalleled dangers, commanded universal confidence, and led
us safely through to unexampled prosperity and glory. The
world has seen but one Luther, but one Bacon, but one Newton, and but one Washington. Here then may. we read in
living characters what man can accomplish when urged on by
the motives and sustained by the enemies of Christian principles.
As a small community we have long enjoyed the fertility of
our soil, the healthiness of our situation, the peacefulness of our
society, the faithful and constant preaching of God's word, and
the repeated outpourings of his Spirit. What a long recital
would it require merely to enumerate our blessings; how
many might with joy exclaim-Here was I born again into a
new life of peace and love; how many might gaze around with
swelling hearts, and streaming eyes, to behold the children of
their love here brought into the family of Christ! Oh, how
delightful is the recollection of those days, when the Lord was
indeed amongst us, when sinners were saying, "Come, let us
go up to the house of the Lord," and the loud song of praise
swelled rapturously high from hearts overflowing with gratitude and love! All this we feel, and yet are we prone to put
away from us the conviction that we have individually a talent
for which we are personally responsible. We are so constituted, that only what is remarkable attracts our attention.
Hence an extraordinary providence excites our gratitude; an
extraordinary delivery from imminent danger, an unexpected




276   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
recovery from  wasting disease, escape from  some disaster
which has overwhelmed many of our neighbors, directs our
eyes to a hand unseen above us, which is stretched out fbr our
defence, while the ten thousand daily blessings which flow in
a perpetual stream from  the same beneficent hand are unheeded, or perhaps denied.
For the same reason we are all ready to acknowledge that
the man of vast erudition, or brilliant genius, or extensive influence, or mighty power, has indeed a great talent committed
to his hands; and to enlarge most fluently on the corresponding duty of a diligent and conscientious improvement, while
we overlook altogether the talents possessed by the great mass
of mankind, and especially those intrusted to ourselves. How
ready are we to exclaim: "Oh, what good I would do with
all that wealth, or genius, or influence, or learning, or power!
I would suppress crime; I would instruct the poor and ignorant, comfort the sick and afflicted, relieve the needy, warn the
careless, rebuke the bold blasphemer, employ the whole weight
of my authority, wealth, character, all my talents fol- the best
purposes, and having much in my power, my efforts should be
proportionally great; but now I have no talent, or if any, it is
very small, too small to accomplish much good, or demand
much cultivation. I may live without concern, however dreadful the responsibilities of others. I am excused, however strict
their accountability." Now I am not disposed to deny that
there is a difference in the talents committed to men. Yet this
difference is not so great as many have indolently and sinfully
desired to believe. The difference is usually of our own making, lies more in the improvement, than in the original gift.
Those ten talents were, perhaps, originally one, and industry
and care have multiplied it. Again, if you have little, this, far
from being any argument for indolence or despondency, shows
the greater necessity for active and energetic exertion. Your
one pound may by diligence be increased to ten, by idleness
may be reduced to nothing. But all have talents, far more
numerous than they suppose. Consider for a moment how
many you possess, and how shamefully they are neglected.




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   277
With respect to mental endowments, none who have been at
all observant, can for a moment doubt that the difference is
usually less in the original structure of the mind than in the
subsequent cultivation; just as the health and vigor of the body,
the full development and active play of all its organs, usually
depend upon fresh air and wholesome -food and exercise.
You are perhaps inferior now to him who was once at best
your equal, or on whom you once looked down with the proud
feeling of conscious superiority.  How do you now excuse
your present inferiority. He stands perhaps at the head of his
profession, while you linger far in the rear; his mind is stored
with all valuable and useful knowledge, while yours is a simple
vacuum, or filled with that idle and frivolous reading which
only causeth to err. In all the elements of intelligent respectibility you are surpassed by your old inferior. You are astonished, you are fretted; now you swell with vanity, and now are
corroded with envy; now you laugh, and now yot murmur, but
your feeble voice is lost in the loudness of those acclamations
which proclaim him your superior. You wonder, you repine,
but never reflect on the real cause, never revert to your own
culpable neglect. Your hours of pleasure were for him hours
of study; the lamp which burned till midnight in his apartment, illumined no scene of revelry or idle mirth, but fell upon
the page of wisdom. If his health be enfeebled, it is not
through sensual indulgence; if his brow be furrowed, it is with
anxious thought and not with violent passions.
Oh, ye young men, who now exult in the possession of fancied talents which you think it unnecessary to improve, how
keen will be those pangs of wounded pride, those stings of illconcealed envy, which will fasten in your bosoms when you
find in future life that while you slept, others labored; while
you lingered on the way, others were advancing on the course,
and have plucked the crown which you thought your own.
And remember that you are accountable, both in the eyes of
God and man, not only for what you are, but for what you
might have been; not merely for the one pound given to you,
but for the five or ten which you ought to have gained. Say




278   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
not then: If I possessed the acquirements or the genius of
such an individual I would devote them to high and noble purposes. Those acquirements are due to industry, not genius.
That genius itself, is only common intelligence happily developed. Sir Isaac Newton was thought a dunce at school,
and after his wonderful discoveries in after life gave this as the
secret of his amazing genius, that he had "the capacity of
patient thought." Oh, it is fearful to look over the institutions
in our land for the education of youth, and observe how many
talents are buried, shamefully buried, lost to the possesso(r,
lost to the world, lost now and forever!
It is the melancholy result of almost universal observation,
that the fairest promise is often earliest blighted, the brightest
genius most suddenly eclipsed. With respect to wealth, have
you not more than to satisfy your reasonable wants? Is there
nothing that you can spare for the cause of God and man?
Because you cannot give so abundantly as the rich, will you
feel yourself excused from the duty of giving at all?  Have
you thus learned the nature of real benevolence; have thus
read the story of tile widow's mite? How small a sum may
aid in circulating the Word of God through distant lands,
where his salvation is not known. How slight a pittance may
relieve the distresses of the needy, if attended with the mild
countenance and gentle tone of Christian love. And how vast
is the amount which may be accumulated from the small contributions of those who have little to bestow. You have often
heard it remarked that the mighty stream of British benevolence is principally supplied by the little rills which flow in
from the cottages of the poor. If; however, you have noth}ing
to bestow on others, is it not because you lavish your incorme
in indulgence, or waste it by carelessneness? Might not greater
industry, or greater economy, increase your store, and a little
selfldenial purchase the dignified enjoyment of daily good?
But oh, my friends, when I cast my eyes over this congregation;
when I look abroad upon this rich and fertile land; when I
remember how God has within a few years doubled almost
without your agency the value of your estates, and then ask




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   279
what is the improvement of these blessings? where are the
thank-offerings made unto the Lord? where is the recognition
of his goodness? has your gratitude increased with the multiplication of his favors?  Have you more anxiously and prayerfully improved the privileges he is bestowing, or have the
blessings which have descended from heaven only pressed you
by their very magnitude more closely to the earth? Are you
making gold and fine gold your trust, your confidence, and cast
God from your thoughts because he has never ceased to think
in tenderness and kindness of you?
When questions such as these are presented to your
thoughts, do they come as unwelcome visitors, unwillingly entertained and speedily dismissed? Again, have you no influence to exert beneficially? Is there no circle where it may be
happily employed? I mean not that meddling, dictatorial pragmatical influence, which irritates and disgusts, while it aims to
guide, and makes man hate a good cause, for the faults of an
injudicious advocate,-but the mighty influence of a meek and
quiet spirit. Great is the power of one pious example; mighty
the efficacy of the life truly devoted to the Lord! It matters
not how ignorant, how young, how low-a child, a servant,
may exert an influence which shall be felt to the end of the
world, and throughout eternity. It is the influence of truth
shining through his conduct and character. If the vessel be
earthy, so much the more glorious the divine treasure which
it contains. Ah, how many opportunities for exerting a holy
and happy influence have we already lost! How many here have
employed all their capacity and all their influence to diffuse
around them an atmosphere of corruption? How many young
men pollute all within their reach by their own impure conversation and wicked example, and stand amidst their fellows,
not to diffuse a holy and happy influence around, but to blast
and to wither all that is beautiful and lovely in youthful character, themselves meanwhile more blasted and withered than
the worst, as the scorpion often dies by the venom which he
has nourished for others!
Thus might I proceed to enumerate the various objects which




280   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
you prize most highly, and show that, whether enjoyed in a
greater or less degree, they are all talents. Your time, your
health, your energies of body and mind, your moral and social
powers, your very life, your all, your opportunities of improvement, your means of happiness, all these are talents, committed
to your hands for valuable purposes, and for whose improvement you are strictly responsible.
This leads us to remark again on the luty of improvement,
that all these talents are not our own; they come from God,
not as gifts, but as loans, to be reclaimed at his pleasure. All
sin is practical atheism, all neglect or misimprovement of our
talents is founded on the vain assumption that all we have is
our own. Hence, usually the greater the gift the more neglected is the giver; the stronger and more numerous the
bonds which should attach us to our Creator, the more restlessly do we endure their pressure, the more violently are they
burst asunder. The very means designed to soften our hearts
only make them harder, and the goodness and long-suffering of
God emboldens us in sin. One looks on his farm, richly laden
with the products of a fertile soil and genial climate, and says:
"Behold, this is mine," forgetting that it is God alone who
sends the rain and sunshine on his growing corn, and that one
breath of the Lord would sweep from his large domain every
living thing in which is the breath of life. Another looks with
self-complacent vanity on his large acquirements, his learning,
his talents, his fame, and cries aloud as the infatuated monarch
of old: " Behold this great Babylon which I have built," forgetting who it is that causeth him to differ, that keeps up the
full play of those active powers, and whose single word could
dismiss him from the high rank which he occupies in the intelligent and rational creation, beneath the level of the brutes
that graze unthinking, yet happy, by his side.
Now all this is downright atheism, the most daring and presumptuous atheism. It is shutting out God altogether from
his dominions. It is casting him down from the throne of his
rightful supremacy. The spirit which it breathes in whatever
shape it may appear, however gracefully decked, or ingeniously




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   281
veiled, is still the spirit of atheism. Oh, my friends, have we
forgotten that all things are his; that every good and perfect
gift cometh down from the father of lights; that of him and
through him, and to him are all things, who is over all blessed
forever? Do we not see him in the dispensations of his providence? do we not hear him in the voice of his works? Can we
breathe the pure air of heaven; can we gaze with heartfelt bliss
around our domestic circle; call we exult in the possession of
our rational and intelligent existence; can we dwell amidst the
manifestation of his goodness and his glory, and heedless of
all we see around and feel within us, say with the fool in our
hearts: There is no God?
But if there be a God, then we are his; then all is his, all
things human are stamped with holiness, and consecrated to
high and holy purposes. In one sense they are ours, not as
gifts, but as loans; loans on which an interest is required, of
which an improvement is to be made. And why, I ask you,
oh, why are these talents intrusted to you? that station, that
genius, that wealth, that influence, that time, those opportunities for intellectual and moral cultivation; that they may be
wasted, perverted, applied to the worst purposes, or not employed at all? Why is life prolonged, that it may be wasted
in indolence, or polluted by evil passions, or brutal lusts?
Why is health preserved, that all its vigor may be consecrated to the service of the world and Satan? Why are the
offers of mercy made, and the means of grace continued, that
you nlay aggravate your final condemnation; that you may
heap up wrath against the day of wrath; that you may fill up
to fulness your cup of bitterness, and then drink it to the
dregs? Why do you possess those rational and immortal
powers, capable of knowing and serving and rejoicing in God?
Is it that they may be dragged down from the loftiness of their
upward flight and fastened to the dust on which we tread?
Is it that he, who might eat of angels' food, may grovel with
the swine and feed upon their husks? Believe you, that this
is the design of your Creator, that those high endowments and
glorious privileges are given in mockery of man? If they




282   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
were given in perpetuity, it were madness thus to prostitute
them. But they were only loaned for a season. You are not
proprietor, as you may dream, but tenant at the will of another. They may be reclaimed at his pleasure, you know not
how soon, but they will certainly be reclaimed. That health,
which you now abuse to criminal indulgence, and utter forgetfulness of God, may soon be undermined; that wealth
which you hoard with greedy avarice, and to which as unto a
God, you pay your daily adoration, to which you sacrifice
your conscience and sell your soul, that wealth may soon take
wings and fly away. That reason, so much vaunted and so
grievously abused, so long employed to apologize for sin, and
to cavil against truth, may soon tremble on her throne, totter
and fall. All your privileges, all your endowments may be
swept away, and you may yet stand, even in this world, the
melancholy monument of God's righteous judgments, bereft
of all you have vaunted most, and most abused, the wreck of
what you were, like the once proud oak, now leafless, branchless, lifeless, which the fire of heaven hath scathed amidst all
its pride and beauty.
But if this come not soon, it must come at last. The end of
our stewardship is fixed by the words of our text, " Occupy,
till I come." Till I come in the judgments of my providence
to strip you of all you now possess; till I come in the hour of
death to burst the bonds that unite you to the earth; till I
come in the great day of final retribution, to take vengeance
on my enemies. And will he come, the despised, persecuted,
crucified Redeemer, will he come?  Yes, he will come, and
every eye shall see him, and every ear shall hear him, and
every knee shall bow before him, and every heart shall quail
in his presence, and they that pierced him. shall look upon him,
and all the tribes of the earth shall wail because of him! Will
he come? And oh, how will he come? He appeared once as
the Babe of Bethlehem, was wrapped in swaddling clothes,
and laid in a manger; no regal pomp attended his arrival; no
loud acclaim of rejoicing thousands announced his near approach; but a single band of angels was heard at midnight by




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   283
the solitary shepherds, and the notes of that music, which
swelled softly over the distant hills of Judea, proclaimed peace
on earth and good will to men.
But far different is his coming now. He comes not as a
babe, but as a monarch; not as a king of wealth, but as Lord
of the universe. A multitude, such as no man can number
is around him, ten thotusand times ten thousand attend him as
he moves, and thousands of thousands proclaim his approach,
and their voice is like the noise of many waters, and like the
sound of mighty thunderings, as they cry aloud: "Lift up
your heads, oh, ye gates, and be ye lifted up ye everlasting
doors, and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this
King of Glory'? the Lord of hosts, the Lord mighty in'battle,
he is the King of Glory."  lIe sits on the clouds of the sky;
he is borne on the wings of the wind; darkness is round about
him, and thick darkness is his pavilion. Is this the maln of
sorrows? Is this the babe of Bethlehem? Behold, he travels
in the greatness of his strength, lie has trodden alone the
wine-press of his wrath, his red right hand hath gotten him
the victory. He is come in flaming fire to take vengeance on
his enemies, clothed in the robes of' justice, and armed with the
thunders of Omnipotence. Hark! (lid you hear that sound,
which swells through heaven, and reaches over the earth, and
trembles through the dark caverns of the pit? Are these the
tones of that soft music, which once was heard amid the mountains of Judea?  No, it is the voice of the archangel, it is
the trump of God, it is the summons to the judgment bar!
lie comes, but oh, how different is his advent fiom his departure?  When he hung on the cross, the sun did for a season hide his head in shame, when he cried, "It is finished," and
bowed his mighty head and gave up the ghost; a little
while the conscious earth might shake at the foul deed by her
fierce children done, and when he rose on high he bore one
mortal back, the thief upon the cross, to be in paradise with
him. But now at his approach, the sun is blotted out, the
heavens are rent asunder, the elements melt with fervent heat;
the earth, convulsed through all her kingdoms, dashes forth




284   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, -AND RESPONSIBILITY
the affrighted dead of a thousand generations; the sea gives
up her dead, and Death and Hell give up their dead. Behold
they come from the north and the south, from the east and
west, fiom every nation under heaven; fiom the populous
city and the retired village; fiom the cultivated fields and
the desert plain; fiom the monuments of the rich, and the
graves of the poor., They come from the caves of the wilderness, from the darkest and most sequestered corners of the
earth. They awake from the sleep of ages, they rise, they
spring from the ruins of old Babylon and Nineveh, from the
churches and cemeteries of modern days. They rise together,
the father and the child, the husband and the wife, the pastor
and the people, the murderer and the murdered, the seducer
and his victim. Oh, what an assembly will be there! God
will be there on the throne of his Judgment; the holy angels
will be there awaiting his commands; the fiends of hell will
burst forth from their dark caverns to be there; the spirits of
just men made perfect will be there; the damned who have
sunk from this Gospel land into darkness and eternal night,
will all be there. And the conquerors of the'earth will be
there; and the hypocrites will be there; and the bold blasphemers, atheists, will all be there. Pilate, Herod, Judas, will
be there; you and I will be there!
Shall we not arm ourselves, then, for the warfare in which
we are engaged, and summon up every power for the mighty
enterprise in which we are embarked? The world has reached
a new era; the breath of a new spirit has been breathed upon
it; a new impulse has been given to its movements; a new
life is flowing through all its members, and all the elements
of moral and intellectual being are tossing to and fro in cease
less agitation like the waters of the mighty deep. The men
of this world have caught the spirit of their age, their minds
are wound up to the emergencies of the times; behold how
they prepare for its conflicts, how they struggle for its prizes;
what zeal, what self-denial, what boundless energy! They
contend for an earthly crown, we for a heavenly. And can it
be that we, with the high and commanding motives drawn




ARISING FROM TFE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   285
from eternity bearing down upon us, shall be less energetic
and vigorous than they?  Less active by day, less laborious
by night; less ardent in our aspirations, less patient in our
self-denial?  Shall we not enter along with them on every
field of lofty thought and deep investigation, urging on our
inquiries and pushing forward our victories; erecting no monument to our own glory, but humbly bringing all, gold, frankincense, and myrrh, whatever is costliest and most pleasant,
to the feet of Jesus. Thus to aspire after the very highest
attainments; thus to agonize after the complete perfection of
your intellectual and moral nature —this is the spirit of the
Gospel. Is it ambitious? Then who cares for words? I
tell you to be ambitious, to covet earnestly the best gifts.
This is ever to forget what is behind, and press on toward
the mark; this is to be straitened till your work is accomplished-to endure the restlessness of a felt discomfort, while
aught remains to be accomplished.
But remember, it is sacred talents, it is consecrated learning,
of which I speak. Beware, lest in the ardor of your pursuit
you forget the only proper object'; lest you substitute the means
for the end, and accumulate knowledge not to be devoted to
the Lord, but for your own personal aggrandizement. And
even those who have neither the opportunity nor the capacity
for larger intellectual attainments, are not excluded the spirit
of these remarks, for to the extent of their possible improvement they are strictly applicable to tham; nor is any thing
better calculated to preserve the purity, and extend the influence of the Gospel, than the general intelligence diffused
through a Christian community. But this improvement of our
talents is demanded as a duty, not only by the command of
God, but by our own interests. Without this diligent improvement, all the high endowments, and precious privileges bestowed upon us, will be given in vain. All the advantages of
nature, and all the blessings of God, will be entirely wasted.
In vain is the book of nature spread out before our eyes, in
vain is the volume of revelation placed in our hands, if we turn
away in heedless indifference from both. In vain are all the




286   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
anxieties of parents, in vain all the solicitude of friends, in vain
all the efforts of instructors and pastors. Thousands are
known to burst through all these barriers in their way, and
rush headlong down the precipice of ruin, destroying in their
course all present prospects and all future hopes, making shipwreck alike of character and faith, and alienating all human
affection, as well as grieving away God's holy Spirit. By all
that is solemn then, in God's authoritative command, by all
that is dear in our own eternal interests, is enforced upon us
the duty of improving the talents we possess. Consider next,
II. The encouragements to this improvement. What are
they? The very strongest encouragement lies in the possession of these talents. It is a clear indication of God's design.
There is in all his works nothing superfluous, nothing unadapted to the circumstances in which it is placed, or the uses to
which it is to be applied. The dove has not the beak or talons of a vulture, nor the ox the tusks and claws of the lion.
Man has not the fins and gills of the fish; nor the fish the
limbs and lungs of a man. Each is adapted to the element in which he is to live, and the organs for seizing on his
prey, for masticating and digesting his food, are exactly suited
for the mode of life he is designed to pursue. And it is with
the mind as with the body. The very structure of the moral
and intellectual powers, indicates their design;and use. The
very circumstances in which man is placed, point out the purposes to which these powers are to be applied. Now this design cannot fail, except through our fault, through a wilful or
negligent perversion of these powers. In vain would an ox
attempt to fly, or any irrational creature attempt to speak or
reason, because it is contrary to his whole organization, to the
very design of his Creator, the end and object of his being.
But man is formed for this very purpose, to know and love
and serve God. He is capable of advancing in intellectual
and moral cultivation, in holiness and conformity to God's
image, and his whole organization, as well as the circumstances
in which he is placed, and the opportunities he enjoys, proclaim this to be the end and object of his existence. As surely




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   287
then, as God exists, so surely can this end be attained.  Never
fear then to aim at large advancements in holiness and wisdom
and knowledge. Shall the huge leviathan fear to plough his
own watery element, or the eagle to fly up toward the sun?
Then may man fear the boldness of that voice which calls him
upward to his native element, points out to him his exalted
destiny, and exhorts him to fulfill it to the utmost. Let your
aim be high, and your attainments shall be great, and your
influence shall be wide.
Another. encouragement may be found in the promise of
God, confirmed as it is by our own experience and the universal analogy of his moral government on earth. The very command of God implies a corresponding promise. He is not an
austere man, a hard master, a Pharaoh requiring bricks to be
made, and supplying no straw for the work. He says expressly,
"I have not said to the house of Israel, Seek ye my face in
vain."  He promises aid to human infirmity, and "as a father
pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them  that fear him."
His promises are numerous, and unlimited:  "Seek, and ye
shall find," " Knock, and it shall be opened;" and here the
command is: "Give to him that has ten talents, for to him
that hath shall nioe be given."  This is a universal rule in the
natural and moral world. All things tend to multiply themselves. All moral qualities, good or bad; all intellectual habits, wealth, learning, influence, all tend to their own increase.
Nothing is stationary; there is no perfect quiescence, but perpetual change. Growth and decay are the universal law. So
in the world of grace, there is nothing stationary here. The
Christian gets more grace; the sinner loses what he has, and
heaps up wrath against the day of wrath.  God gives as
man is willing to receive. Open your mouth wide and it shall
assuredly be filled. There is a mysterious union between
divine and human agency. It is a gift, a free gift, an unmerited gift, and yet is its extent measured by the diligence of the
recipient in improving his blessings.
IIH. What are our responsibilities for the improvement and
application of our talents?  This view gives a grave and sol



288   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
emn import to all of human life and human relations. Man is
the servant and steward of the Lord, and all that concerns
him  partakes of the dignity of this high revelation.  Of a
steward it is expected that he be faithful. And oh, what
a fearful spectacle does this world exhibit when thus considered. Look abroad, and behold the talents and blessings,
the enjoyment and privileges, the means of happiness, and opportunities of improvement and usefulness bestowed on man,
and think how all are wasted, abused, perverted. Oh, what a
fearful reckoning there must come at last! Those men of influence and popularity, who exert their temporary importance
to deceive, to injure, to corrupt the community that trusts
them; those men of genius and learning, who wield the mighty
powers intrusted to them for holiest purposes, that they promote immorality and sin; those rich men, who heap up gold
to gratify their appetites, their vanity, or avarice; who use the
good gifts of God to dishonor his name, and close their ears
and harden their hearts against the cry of the needy, the ignorant and distressed. Oh, how shall they answer when the day
of reckoning shall come, when all their ingenuity shall find no
excuse, and all their wealth can purchase no reprieve; and instead of the adulations of a senseless crowd, shall burst upon
their ears the deep execrations of those they have ruined by
their example, the indignant hiss of an assembled universe.
But of those who shall tremble before the bar of God on this
fearful day of reckoning, most awful is the destiny of him,
who degraded his high endowments to base purposes, and
used his extensive influence only to pollute and to destroy.
We need not wander beyond the limits of our own age and
nation to find men enough, who, gifted with a polpular eloquence the most commanding and persuasive, and  social
qualities the most winning and attractive, have yet employed
these advantages for the worst purposes; have pleased only to
corrupt, and fascinated only to ruin; have held the torch of
their genius on high, not to diffuse a pure and heavenly light,
but to mislead all who followed, to consume all who approached. There is an instance but too well known through



ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION OF TALENTS.   289
out the world, and to whom, even before I mention his name,
the thoughts of all will spontaneously turn. I mean that strange
and wayward genius, who in the memory of us all, drew the
eyes of all the world upon himself in alternate admiration, pity,
and terror. He is far beyond human praise or blame, nor even
if he lived, could the voice which now addresses you, ever
reach him from this distant land, or add one pang to the
agonies of that dark and gloomy spirit. Endowed with all
the advantages of nature and fortune, by birth a noble, by
education a scholar, by nature a poet, uniting in his single person all that mankind are most accustomed to admire; to what
beneficent purposes might he not have devoted his amazing
genius; what a holy light might he not have shed along his
path; what a blessed memory might he not have left behind
him, associated with all that is loveliest in domestic feelings,
that is kindest in social sympathies, that is purest in moral
principles. But habituated from earliest childhood to the indulgelnce of every passion, a sceptic without examination, a
sensualist without shame, his creed was the dictate of his heart,
rather than his head, and his practice was the best refutation
of his principles. Intoxicated with success, dizzied with the
elevation he had reached, maddened by the consciousness of
intellectual power, he poured out fiom  the gall of his own
agitated spirit, the bitterness of his scornful derision on all
human hopes and virtues, on all that was fairest, and loveliest,
among men. After a life which was stained with almost every
vice, he consecrated the last energies of a body, worn out with
self-indulgence, and of a mind wrecked by ungovernable passions, to erect a monument of moral infamy, fit emblem of its
author's mind, where the flashes of genius burst irregularly
forth, more brilliant from surrounding desolation, and all that
is revolting in brutal lusts is ingeniously veiled and rendered
seductive by all that is most splendid in poetic imagery and
diction. His profligacy was as great as his talents, " of which,"
to use the quaint language of an ancient writer, " God gave
him the use, and the Devil the application." He employed
the most exalted powers for the worst purposes, wielded the
13




290   DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND RESPONSIBILITY
sword of an archangel with the malignity of a fiend, and
plucked a brand from hell to set the world on fire. Oh, was
not that a fearful but righteous retribution, when he, who derided all domestic peace and virtue, was himself driven out
from all its enjoyment; when he who had in the very wantonness of scepticism, thrown out upon the world his gloomy
doubts, found them gathering in a dark and thick cloud around
his own head;-when that abused understanding was wrecked
by the passions it had nourished, and that feverish frame worn
out by the vices it had practised, and he who had been the idol
of nations, sank to the level of the lowest, became the daily
companion of those whose very touch is pollution, and very
name modesty may not mention.
Thus it is that even in this world the visitations of God's
mercy are often converted into the visitations of his wrath;
that talent after talent is given, neglected, perverted, till fortune, intellect, character, conscience, health are gone; then
cast the unprofitable servant into outer darkness; there shall
be wailing and gnashing of teeth.
We have seen the wicked, like the green bay-tree, lifting
its summit toward heaven, extending its branches abroad over
the earth, but there was rottenness at the heart while all was
fair without, and now every leaf has withered, every branch
dropped away, and it remains towering alone in dead and
gloomy grandeur. The dews of heaven do not revive it, nor
the moisture of earth nourish it. In vain does the sunshine
play around its head, or the shower moisten its roots. The
seasons may come and go, the winter may pass away, and the
spring may bloom again and all around look beautiful and gay,
but never shall it revive from that long decay. We have seen
how the candle of the Lord hath shone upon the tabernacle of
the ungodly, how he exulted in that light which beamed and
played so gloriously around him, as if this were light of his
own creation, as if' these were sparks of his own kindling.
Now this light is extinguished, and "he is cast into outer
darkness," the darkness which reigns without the limits of that
region, where the light of life and happiness is never known to




ARISING FROM THE POSSESSION'OF TALENTS.   291
beam.  Oh, what is it that constitutes the light of life? All
this is lost —the light of heaven, of earth, of joy; of hope, of'
social happiness; and the light of reason and of conscience
only shines to show how just the retribution, how gloomy the
flames that roll and boil around. Oh, how deep is this darkness, this outer darkness, this eclipse of all man's brightest
powers, this fearful wreck of all his mightiest energies!
Those energies are not destroyed, but inverted; finding no
food without, they turn inward on themselves, the gnawing of
a worm that never dies, the everlasting torture of a flame that
burns forever, and consumes not, yet is not quenched.  That
memory, once the receptacle of all knowledge, where was once
stored up all that is instructive in history, or profound in
philosophy, or agreeable in fiction, is now the dark depository
of gloomy recollections. The ghosts of departed hours, rise
up in terrible array and shriek out in terrified tones the deeds of
secret sin. The conscience, once seared over with a hot iron, now
regains her feeling; once lulled to repose, she now awakes and
springs up with new terror from her sleep, like a strong man
armed. Like a giant from his slumbers does she come, and a
host of long-forgotten sins follows in her train. These are
the serpents which once seduced, and now are vipers coiling
in the hair, and lashes of the furies that pursue you.  That
imagination, once rich in images of' loveliness and beauty,
is now filled with all that is dark and terrible. Once it was
the mirror from which was gloriously reflected all the loveliness and grandeur of earth and sky, now gloomily shadowing
out its own dark destiny, and the black scenery around. Those
faculties, large to embrace and vigorous to grasp, yet blind in
their might, have crushed all the objects of their wild desire,
and are turned in maddened energy upon themselves. As if
the rabid tiger should fasten in his own flesh those weapons
of destruction designed fobr his prey. As if the serpent, blind
with venom, should sink its fangs into its own body, and coiling with aimless rage, writhe amidst the maddening pressure
of its own folds, crushing each bone, bursting each sinew,
rending each nerve, bloated with its own poison, weltering in




292    DUTY, ENCOURAGEMENT, RESPONSIBILTTY, ETC.
its own blood; or rather like the fierce volcano rent with internal convulsion, hot with internal fires, feeding from its own
bosom the flames that consume it.
Oh, say you, I believe not a hell of outward fire? What
matters it, that there is no fire without, if all be flame within?
The brain is the organ of feeling; what matters it, if my hand
or my foot are not in the flame, but the fire is kindled in the
soul, and all within is boiling, seething with the heat?  Now
the soul is the seat of that feeling, of which the brain is but
the organ. What matters it then, if my body be not burned,
but my soul is all flame, a living fire, unquenchable, blazing
madly up with its own evergrowing heats! Behold that
wretch, the prey of spontaneous combustion, he is not in the
fire, but the fire is in him, pouring through all his veins, bursting from all his pores, parching every tendon, torturing every
nerve, heating every muscle, boiling* at the heart, and, like a
furnace sevenfold heated, glowing at the brain. Ah, I care
not for the sufferings of the body, if the soul be at ease; nor
of the body, if the soul be in torment!




XIV.
THE FAITHFUL SAYING.
1 TIM. i. 15.-" This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that
Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief."
THE old heathen were accustomed to gather around their
wise and aged men, and listen with deepest reverence and
profound attention to the shrewd and sagacious sayings that
fell from their lips. These remarks they treasured up in their
memories, and recorded for the instruction of future generations; and thus embalmed in the love and admiration of rnankind, they passed down from father to s;o:', tliolli)11 successive
centuries; and they constitute, in reality, all that is called,rthe
wisdom of the early ages.
Many of these " sayings " we still possess, which have come
down to us, venerable for their antiquity, stamped with the
approbation and laden with the accumulated wisdom of successive generations,-sayings of high repute in their day,
which immortalized their authors,-" golden sayings," as they
were called, which were blazoned in letters of gold, and engraven on pillars of brass, and  lung up on tablets, as consecrated things, in the temple of their gods. But, Oh, brethren!
where among them all shall we find a saying to be compared
with this, —one so full of divine instruction, of heavenly wisdom, of precious consolation, of unutterable love and condescension as this-" that Christ Jesus came into the world to
save sinners?"  IIow different from  all we have ever heard
before, from all we could have expected!
Another saying had come down to us from of old, even from
our first father, when the voice of the Lord was heard'in the gar



294              THE FAITHFUL SAYING.
den of paradise, and when pointing to the tree of knowledge,
he said, "The day thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die."
MThen that fatal sin had been committed, the same awful voice
was heard again in the garden, dragging the guilty and
trembling transgressor from  his hiding-place of shame, and
saying, " Cursed is the earth for thy sake, dust thou art, and
unto dust thou shalt return;" and then he was driven fiom
the garden into an accursed world, with the blight still pursuing him to the grave, and following onward, a terrible inheritance of woe to all his posterity. Once hath God spoken, yea,
twice hath he uttered his voice.  Once, amidst the peaceful
shades and quiet walks of paradise, and then again from the
blazing top of Mount Sinai. There amidst the fire and smoke
of that tremendous scene, amidst the glare of vivid lightning,
and the loud thunder-crash from quaking mountain, and the
wild convulsion of all the elements was uttered again, under
new circumstances of overwhelming sublimity and awe, the
curse original against Adam, " Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things, written in this book of the Law, to
do them!" But how cursed?  Hear the book of the Law.
" Cursed in city, cursed in field, in thy basket and in thy store;
in the fruit of thy body, and in the fruit of thy land; in thy going out, and in thy coming in."  "For a fire is kindled in
mine anger, and shall burn to the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and shall set on fire the
foundations of the mountains."
From that day to this, amongst all nations' of the globe, and
in every age down through the long line of Adam's descendants, and through every heart of man, has resounded that
fearful curse, loudly, sadly, mournfully; deepening all our
sorrows, embittering all our joys, overshadowing with a black
and heavy cloud the whole of human life, pursuing us down
to the grave itself with relentless justice, and not even leaving
us there, but entering along with its victim into the silent
place of the dead; giving his very flesh and bones to rottenness and worms; and raising him again, at the last day, only
to the resurrection of damnation. Each of the prophets, as he




THE FAITHFUL SAYING.                295
arose, took up in his day that bitter curse; and as he looked
fiom his watch-tower abroad over the wickedness of all around
him, and downward upon the sins of coming generations, sent
it on in notes of judgment, deepening and loudening as they
rolled, till at last, all gathered into peals of deafening thunder,
and the Old Testament, which began with the primeval sin
and the primeval curse, closes with a dreadful threat, that God
will come again, in his anger, and " smite the whole earth with
a curse." Truly, "the curse of the Lord dwelleth in the house
of the wicked."  And well might one of old exclaim, " Woe
unto the wicked, it shall be ill with him; for the reward of his
hands shall be given him."
But blessed be his holy name, if the Old Testament closes
with a curse, the New Testament opens with a blessing. We
have stood by the Mount that burned with fire, and was
wrapped in blackness, and darkness, and tempest; and have
heard the sound of the trumpet and the voice of words so
terrible, that even Moses said, " I exceedingly fear, and quake."
But now, behold, what is it we hear, in the darkness of the
night, amidst the solitude of the distant mountains and forests
of Judea, bursting from the broad sky above us, and swelling
as it rolls along over hills and valleys around? " The, angel of
the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round
about them, and they were sore afraid." Is it the summons to
judgment, the first blast of the trumpet, that shall wake the
dead? Poor shepherds, fallen children of a corrupted father,
how has the guilt of that first transgression come down to all
his descendants, and along with guilt, first born of sin, terror
and despair! "Fear not said the angel, for behold I bring
you good tidings of great joy, which shall be unto all people,
for unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour,
which is Christ, the Lord."'
This was the first note of triumph and of rapture that
ever burst from the vaulted sky upon the ravished ears of men.
Oh, there is sweet music in heaven; many a song of ecstasy
and wonder is lifted high by angelic voices, and poured in
living melody from lips of fire, or sweetly floats in celestial




296              THE FAITHFUL SAYING.
music from their harps of gold! But we never hear, except
on this one occasion, that the joy was too full for heaven to
hold, that the mighty outburst of those large and heaving
emotions, that swelled and expanded angelic bosoms, poured
in its gushing and overflowing abundance upon other worlds.
But behold, "There was suddenly a multitude of the heavenly
host;" the full chorus of the skies praising God and saying,' Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth and good will
toward men."  Oh, was not this a saying well worthy of
every sinner's acceptance; which was thus announced with
joy by the heavenly messengers, which prophets had long
foretold, which the apostles of the Saviour have repeated,
and our Lord himself, again and again proclaimed, in the
days of his incarnation, "That Christ Jesus came into the
world to save sinners?"  Perhaps one will say, It is good
tidings indeed-but is it true?  Will he save?  Can he
save? For answer we refer you to his office, his person, and
his character.
I. He was appointed of God for this very purpose, and was
in every respect adapted to it, being richly endowed with all
those attributes of Christ, and all those gifts of the Holy
Ghost, necessary to the accomplishment.
This was the very purpose for which he came into the world.
For it is the express and repeated testimony of the Scripture,
" God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved," and again,
"' God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth on him, should not perish, but have
everlasting life."  B3ut again, "'Vhen the fulness of time was
come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the
law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might
receive the adoption of sons."  Overwhelmed with this manifestation of God's eternal love, the great apostle of love exclaims, " Rehold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed
upon us, that we should be called the sons of God!" And
another apostle cries out, "God commendeth his love toward
us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us, and




THE FAITHFUL SAYING.                29'7
now we joy in God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom
we have now received the atonement."
Such was the high purpose of his mission; and think you
he was sent into the world upon an idle errand, without the
powers and qualifications essential to success'? Behold, thus
saith the Lord God, by the mouth of his prophet Isaiah, xxviii.
16, "Behold, I lay in Sion," etc. "He was anointed with the
oil of joy above his fellows."  "God gave not the Spirit by
measure unto him."  "All power in heaven and earth are
committed to his hands, in him dwelt all the fulness of the
Godhead bodily."  In his incarnation upon earth "he was
the brightness of the Father's glory, and express image of his
person," that fulness of him, that filleth all in all; so that
" when he bringeth in the only begotten into the world, he
saith, Let all the angels of God worship him. "At his appearance upon earth, " we behold his glory," says an apostle, " as the
glory of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and
truth."  Angels heralded his birth; the star stood in muzte
homage above his cradle, and when he walked abroad upon
earth, superhuman majesty attended his steps; the dead heard
his voice, and lived; the blind saw; the lame walked; the
awed elements recognized their Lord; and his astonished disciples exclaimed: "What manner of man is this?" But if
this power be thus fully adequate to all the purposes of his
high inission, —his condescension, his tender sympathy, his
meek and gentle love, adapted him still more remarkably to
be the Saviour of sinners. We needed such a high priest,
that could be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, who
could have compassion on the ignorant and erring, who would
not " break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax;"
who would lead his flock like a shepherd, gather the lambs
with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead
those that are with young.
Encompassed as we are with sorrows, infirmities, and sins,
how delightful, how soothing, to hear him cry aloud, "The
Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord hath
anointed me to preach good tidings to the meek, to bind up
13*




298              THE FAITHFUL SAYING.
the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, to
comfort all that mourn, to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit
of heaviness." Oh, brethren, what would all his power be to us,
if it were not for his love! If he stood before us, clothed in
the robes of justice, and armed with the terrors of Omnipotence;
if the lightnings of indignation blazed from his burning eye,
and thunderbolts of vengeance quivered in his red right hand;
tell me, would not all this boundless power, if wielded by
inexorable justice, and guided by infinite holiness and wisdom,
and divorced from a love as boundless as itself, only serve to
heighten the sinner's terror, and aggravate the sinner's ruin?
His power might awe us, his justice alarm, his wisdom overwhelm us, his omnipresence bewilder, but it is only his love
that could win, attract, soften, subdue us, soothe our anxieties,
quiet our alarm, and banish our apprehensions.
To the old heathen, and to the modern sceptic, there is no
God of love in the heavens. Behind the awful forms of nature, above the starry sky, and wide beyond the outer limits
of the visible creation, pervading all the universe, and
strangely blended with it, there is to him an awful, dark,
mysterious power, who dwelleth aloof, aloft, and alone in the
depths of silence and immensity, and the dark and fathomless
unknown; and who, when he issues from the depths of his
infinitude, to be known of men, is felt in the earthquake's shock,
and heard in the tempest's moan, or seen in the quivering convulsions of nature's agony, or the wild and warring elements.
Hence to them, a messenger from heaven must be a messenger
of terror.
Such a messenger might well have been sent to us, whose
presence would scathe the earth, and his breath destroy the
nations. How different he, who came to be the Saviour of
lost sinners! He assumed our nature, was born of a woman,
in the silence of night, in the solitude of the stable, amongst
the beasts of the stall. Thou wast born of woman, thou
didst come, O Holiest! to this world of sin and gloom. And
the whole history of his life corresponded to the circumstances




THE FAITHFUL SAYING.                299
of his birth, and proclaimed him the friend and Redeemer of
sinners. "For it became him, for whom are all things, and
by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to
make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings."
Heb. ii. 10. " He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows."-Isaiah, liii. 4. He cried out in his first discourse,
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of
heaven." Again he cried aloud, " Come unto me all ye that labor
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke
upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart,
and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy,
and my burden is light."
He restored the widow's son, wept with Martha, healed all
manner of diseases, took little children in his arms and
blessed them, and just before his departure, having loved his
own, loved them to the end; and gave those touching admonitions and encouragements in the Gospel of St. John, which
for deep tenderness surpass all that has been left on record.
But he not only assumed our nature, but for us he tasted the
bitterness of death-and such a death no man could die-death
embittered by every element of human agony, and superhuman horror, ignominious, prolonged, and torturing, in which
he was deserted by mnan and abandoned by God. Yet how
meekly did he drink the cup, how like a lamb led to slaughter,
how fervently did he pray for his murderers, how kindly receive the dying thief!
Oh, this is the Saviour for sinners, such as we are. It is
when God becomes manifest in the flesh, that he who was far
off, comes unspeakably, humanly near to us; that he, who was
invisible, comes forth fi'om his concealment, and tabernacles
among men. When the ineffable glory is veiled in flesh, and
royal majesty stoops from its throne, then only does the sinner's heart feel reassured, rebellious feelings melt away, and
he who was lost is prepared to join in the song, "Unto him
that loved us and washed us from our sins in his blood, and
hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to
him be glory and dominion for ever and ever."




300              THE FAITHFUL SAYING.
II. This leads me to speak of his person and character. He
is God, the mighty God, the everlasting Son of God, by whom
the worlds were made. He is God over all. As such he is
admirably adapted to secure salvation for the sinner. Of him
the prophet Isaiah spoke in the Old Testament, "Unto us a
child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government
shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father,
The Prince of Peace." Of him the apostle Paul writes to the
Hebrews, saying, "For such a High Priest became us, who is
holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and made
higher than the heavens. Wherefore he is able to save them
to the uttermost, that come unto God by him, seeing he ever
liveth to make intercession for them."
When thus considered, all his attributes swell into infinitude,
-wisdom, power, love, truth,-all are boundless as his nature,
all are pledged for the sinner's salvation. They are not simply
acquiescing, but actively engaged, solemnly pledged, deeply
cpmmitted, and that from all eternity; disposing all things
for it, employing all things in it, making all things co-operate
with it. " All things," says the apostle, "work together for
good, to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.'" The Providence, Word, and Spirit of
God, all work for our salvation. Salvation then is as firm as
the everlasting hills-firm as the throne of God, certain and
enduring as his existence. " Every word of grace is strong as
that which built the skies." It is not of man, or angel, or
archangel, the highest among them, but of God himself. Oh,
how meagre is the religion of Unitarians! How precious is
the doctrine of Jesus' Divinity! It is the central point in the
religion of sinners; the foundation of our hopes, linked with
every view of truth and duty. It secures an infinite atonement, and a renovated nature. Thus Christ can save fiom all
sin, from all the pains of hell, from the curse of the violated
law, and the terrors of a guilty conscience.
This law was perfect, infinitely good, and infinitely necessary for the welfare of God's universe. It was indeed a tran



THE FAITHFUL SAYING.                 301
script of the Divine character-the law of a Divine nature
and mode, in conformity to its existence, indestructable as its
being. It was stiict, unbending, unchangeable, high in its requirements! Sooner shall heaven and earth pass, than one
jot or tittle of the law fail. This law was revealed on Mount
Sinai, and written on the conscience of man; so that every
denunciation which it makes, finds its deep and dreadful response there. This law violated, utters the sentence of condemnation and death. Where is safety? No blood of bulls,
no sacrifice of men, no hecatomb of angels or archangels, no
tears, no blood of man or beast, could give safety. But help
was laid on one mighty to save-on the man of God's right
hand- upon " the man who is my fellow," saith Jehovah. The
law demanded righteousness, a perfect human righteousnesshere is one infinite and divine. The law demanded an earthly
sacrifice-behold here is the Lord fiom heaven. The law demands a perfect separation-behold here is one that magnifies
the law, and clothes it with new dignity; gives new sanctions,
and encompasses it with higher sanctity. The law says, I am
satisfied. The conscience, sprinkled with the blood of the
atonement, blood of the Son of God, may now enjoy peace.
Here is the ark of safety. Here is the city of refuge. The
Saviour calls himself the bread of life, the way and the truth
and the life, the good shepherd, that giveth his life for the
world. " I am the door; by me if any man enter in, he shall
be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture." "Truly
this is a faithfill saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that
Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners."




xv.
THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
ROM. i. 16.-"I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ: for it is the
power of God unto Salvation to every one that believeth."
ABOUT the year of our Lord 58, a stranger appeared in
Corinth, of Jewish features and Oriental attire. A man with
a bald head, an eagle eye, and of diminutive stature was
seated in a retired chamber in an obscure street of that magnificent metropolis with the usual writing implements'of
the day before him; and as the rapid words were transferred
to tablet or parchment, it was easy to see that they were
written in Greek characters, and retained "the Greek sound,
but the sentences were moulded to the Hebrew idiom, and the
earnest and solemn spirit of the old Hebrew prophets breathed
through every line.
Situated on a narrow isthmus, between two celebrated ports
which commanded the navigation and commerce of the Ionian
and 2Agean seas, Corinth was then the most magnificent city
of the globe; the centre of Grecian civilization, the home of
luxurious refinement, the abode of wealth, splendor, and profligacy. On every side were seen temples, palaces, theatres,
porticos, towering aloft in unparalleled magnificence, adorned
with the graceful columns, the capitals, and bases of the Corinthian order. Pre-eminent above the rest stood the temple
of the Corinthian Venus, rich with the offerings of innumerable
devotees; and within its walls were gathered one thousand
of the loveliest daughters of the land, consecrated to the foul
service of that licentious deity Jupiter.  Apollo, MIinerva,
and many others had their own consecrated edifices, while in




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.   303
each private residence and all public places of resort, wherever
the eye could turn, the statues of gods and heroes met the
gaze, the most exquisite productions of the great masters of
Grecian art.
It was from amidst this scene of unrivalled splendor and
effeminate debauchery, where the very air reeked with the
foul pollution of its unmanly vices, that this unknown stranger
wrote. And his letter was directed to Rome, the mistress of
nations, the acknowledged metropolis of the world. And he
spake out strange, bold words to those masters of mankind, in
that unpolished idiom, and with that gnarled logic of his own,
unheard till then by lordly or philosophic ears-but words
that are ringing still in the ears of millions, and have been
through all the centuries, the battle-cry of conflict and victory in every great struggle for the renovation of the race.
That was an age of deep degeneracy.  The manly virtues
of the heroic era were no more. The lofty courage, the stern
and incorruptible patriotism  of the earlier republic had departed. There remained no fear of God, no confidence in
man, no public honor, no domestic purity or peace. Rome
sat, indeed, crowned queen of the world; conquered kings
adorned her triumphs, subjugated nations crowded in myriads
to the capitol, the wealth of the world poured into her lap,
and along with the wealth of conquered nations came their
vices too, to avenge their wrongs. Solemnity of oath lost its
sacredness, the worship of God its reverence.  The very
existence of God, the immortality of the soul, the fundamental
principles of morals, all were denied. All the bonds that bind
society together, and restrain the beastly or fiendish passions
of our nature, all 1were dissolved.  If the, patrician Caesar
smiled in his sleeve as he offered sacrifice to Jupiter, the philosophic Pliny derided the immortality of the soul as a vision
of human pride, and knew no God but the universe.
It was manifest to all, that human society was hastening
toward its dissolution. In vain did indignant patriotism
denounce the unmanly vices of the age and invoke the spirit
of the mighty fathers, and point to the memorials of Rome's




304   THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
departed greatness. He called, but there was none to answer.
The spirit of Rome's dead fathers had departed forever. All
ancient patriotism was gone. The Roman citizen had no
country, no home, no God, no hope, no manhood. In vain did
they appeal to the ancient superstition, and recall men to the
temples of the gods. The very gods themselves as they stood
face to face in the Pantheon, gathered from  every country
under heaven, were the embodiments, representatives, and
patrons of the vices of every land. There was not a passion
or a lust that maddens the soul or corrupts the heart, or bestializes and degrades the nature of man, that had not its
living representative and exemplar there. Men called to philosophy, but called in vain. The oracle was dumb. She gave
no answer, or spoke only in mockery of human virtue and
human hope. What could philosophy do? She was without
a God, without a conscience, without an immortality. She
was mighty to destroy, but impotent to create. "Ye have
taken away our gods," cried the yearning soul of many, " and
what shall we do? The sweet illusions of our childhood,
the beautiful mythology of our earlier days, the Jupiter of
Olympus, with all his attendant deities, you have swept away,
and where is the substitute? " And philosophy was dumb, or
standing amidst the ruins she had made, pointed in proud defiance to a godless universe, and a hopeless annihilation.
They had shrouded the sky in blackness, and wrapped earth
in sackcloth, had struck the very sun from the firmament of
our future hopes. They had severed the last bond that bound
the soul of man to the throne of the Creator, and all the
impetuous fiery passions of his nature, loosed from their last
restraint, burst furiously forth to deluge the earth in wine and
lust and blood. Philosophy herself, amidst the universal
consternation, took refuge in Epicurean self-indulgence, or
nursed herself to stoical indifference, and haughtily and
gloomily muttered forth mysterious and portentous words
about the great Unit, God, Pan, World, All; irresistible
destiny, inevitable fate, man's re-absorption into the infinite,
and loss of all personal existence, and proclaimed as the only




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.    305
solace for human woes, the utter extinction of man's conscious
being, and his re-absorption into the infinitude of things.
It was thus manifest to all, that human society was approaching its total dissolution. There was no element in
human nature which could bring deliverance or inspire hope.
Amidst the universal helplessness and hopelessness of man,
the great apostle speaks. It is a voice of strong assurance
and of cheerful hope; it is the tone of high authority, and
serene and lofty faith. It is a voice from the throne of God
himself, so calm in its sublime and solemn grandeur. He
proclaims that the remedy which man would not supply has
come fiom heaven; that a divine power has descended upon
earth, which with its silent but irresistible efficacy, shall go
forth among the nations to mould society anew, to save the
individual and renovate the race. "I am not ashamed, for it
is the power of God unto salvation to all that believe!"
Bold words are these, thou Galilean prophet, and  boldly
spoken indeed, among the sublimest in all humnan records, if
only they be true!
But are they justified by the results? Let us test them by
the facts. Let us then consider the Gospel, first in its conflict with the heathen philosophy, heathen morality, and
heathen religion of the first three centuries of our era. When
thrown amidst this huge and sweltering mass of licentiousness
and idolatry and skepticism, did she vindicate her claim as a
divine and superhuman power, penetrating by her own silent
and unaided energy the entire mass, and moulding anew all
its chaotic elements? In the conflict with all these antagonist
powers did she come off victorious? Let us recall the nature
of the conflict to be waged, the extent of the revolution to be
accomplished, the number and power of her foes. The war
was on either side a war of extermination.  The revolution
was to be universal, reaching all human relations, interests,
hopes, fears, enjoyments, sufferings,-public, private, domestic,
political, social, for time and for eternity. The antagonist
powers ruled everywhere and everything. All human interests,
p rejudices, passions, all that could please the senses or dazzle




306    THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
the imagination, or fire the passions, or corrupt the heart; the
splendors of art, the graces of poetry, fond memories of the
past, ambitious hopes of the future, the sports of the boy, the
graver business of the man, temples and capitol, senate and
forum, crowded theatre, merry festival, the whole great structure and organization of human society, with all its relations
and all its duties and its pleasures, were pervaded, imbued,
steeped in the spirit of their idolatry.
When the apostles went forth to proclaim the Gospel, it
met them in every form, in every quarter an omnipresent foe.
It had appropriated to itself the whole domain of human life.
It presided at birth, bridal, and funeral; over the deliberations
of the senate, the counsels of the camp, the conflicts of the
battle-field. The domestic hearth is protected by the household god, and the statues of the first fathers of the republic
stand side by side with the ancestral deities. Each commonest utensil of domestic use is consecrated by the image of a
god, and the maiden's chamber and the festal hall are adorned
alike with statues and with paintings where the loftiest
powers of human genius are employed to lend the fascination
of an ideal loveliness to the grossest of human passions, and
portray with inimitable grace and exquisite minuteness the infamous amours of their licentious deities.  Deep into those
young imaginations and susceptible hearts sunk their images,
and wide through all the ramifications of society is diff used
the contagious pestilence.  But side by side in all that heathen
society walk lust and murder, for ever, fiom of old, the love
of pleasure and the thirst for blood have been twin sisters.
Go with me, then, to one of those scenes of public pleasure,
where high-born matrons and noble maidens most love to
crmowd, with the teeminog millions of Rome's beastly population, to glut their eyes with blood, and regale their ears with
the groans of butchered thousands. Vast beyond all those
other stupendous edifices which Roman wealth had erected,
and Roman piety had consecrated to pleasure or to God, was
the Roman circus, extending in circumference a mile, and
seating within its capacious walls from two hundred and fifty




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.   307
to  three hundred thousand  spectators.  Trajan, the best
of the Roman emperors, grateful to the immortal gods for a
glorious victory, will offer to them the most congenial thanks,
and to the Roman citizens their best-loved entertainments.
Images of the gods are borne in solemn procession, consuls and
priests perform the sacred rites that shall hallow these deeds
of blood.  Ten thousand human beings, and eleven thousand
beasts of prey, during four successive weeks, are butchered.
And yet they cry for more, Rome's stately senators, and lovely
maidens, as well as Rome's more brutal populace still thirst
for blood..Think you that they will hesitate to shed the
blood of those who shall denounce their idols and interrupt
their sports?
Thus heathenism has laid her bloody and polluted hand on
human society, in every department of private life, and claims
it as her own. Government, too, is hers, and literature in all
its branches. Emperors, philosophers, fanatics, magistrates,
people, priests, wit, learning, genius, argument, eloquence, the
tongue, the pen, the sword, all are arrayed against these restless innovators.  Victim after victim falls an unresisting prey
to the fury of the populace, or the zeal of magistrates. Where
now is the power which shall triumph over these combined
antagonists? Where the thunderbolt, before it leaps forth to
its work of death; the earthquake, before it heaves the mountains and shakes the earth in its fury? Where the great powers
that move the worlds along?  Invisible to man. Thus is it
with the Gospel, slowly, silently, irresistibly, invisible to human eye, unheard by human ear, it is moulding all things to
its likeness, subduing all things by its power. A few humble
hearts have felt its influence.  It is to them the power of God
to purify, to cheer, to elevate, to save. It passes from bosom
to bosom, from village to village, whole communities receive
its joyful tidings.  Already in less than half a century from
the crucifixion, the great central cities of the world are full
of Christians. Little more than a half century has passed, and
the distant provinces are crowded with converts. A philosoplhical Pliny writes from his province of Bithynia, perplexed,




308    THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
despondent, to a philosophical Trajan, complaining that the
temples, are deserted and there are none to buy the victims.
nMen will not even offer incense to the image of the emperor.
A virtuous Trajan wonders at the stupid madness of these
men, would spare the effusion of blood, but the law must have
its course and the obstinate be executed. A philosophical
Tacitus shall write, that an " immense multitude devoted to
this execrable superstition," are swarming there at Rome. A
sanguinary Nero, with that grim humor of his, will have some
rare sport to-night. Those Christians impaled alive, and covered with pitch, shall serve as lamps and lamp-posts too, to
illuminate his gardens as the imperial charioteer drives in
drunken merriment around.  Satiric Juvenal shall describe
them as they writhe and blaze in their agony, and the streams
of pitch and blood flood the earth.
But have not the fires of that persecution sent their illumination throughout the globe, and flamed down over all the cent uries even to us? Strange thoughts are moving in the minds
of men.  The great heart of the world, long stupefied by
sensuality and doubt, is awakening to new life, throbs high
with hope and vague expectations. The Gospel is in the
camp and the court, in the senate and palace, in the very
temple. The gods have heard and are startled. Jupiter of the
capitol has descended from his throne; Apollo of Delphi is
dumb. The haughty Roman has heard it, and paused midway in his career of conquest to listen to the story of the
Prince of Peace. The subtle Greek has heard it, and arrested
his noisy disputations at the mysterious tidings of Jesus and
the resurrection.  The northern Scythian has heard it as he
quaffed his mingled portions of wine and blood from a human
skull, and melted at the gentle story of him who shed his own
h eart's blood to save his enemies. Palpably this is no partial
or superficial movement. It is human society moving silently
and steadily on, beneath some mysterious, unseen influence
towards some distant goal. It is the sweep and the heave
and the surge of the great world-ocean moved from its profoundest depths with its whole universe of waters.




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.   309
We should love to dwell on the power of the Gospel as
manifested in the lives of the early Christians. I know not
how it may be with other men, but for myself there is nothing
in all that history hath recorded, or poetry imagined, or fiction
described; nothing that so moves the soul to reverence, awes
it to wonder, subdues and overpowers, as the meek submission,
touching tenderness,' gentle love and heroism of those earlier
Christians. Go read them in the pages of Neander, where a
profound philosophy is chastened by a humble faith and irradiated by seraphic love. A volume is worth a library. But
we must hasten on to those scenes of outward splendor,
which most readily attract the gaze of men, to the culminating point, where the contest is decided, and the Gospel steps
visibly forth on the theatre of human affairs as the power of
God, the controlling power of the globe.
The Christian apologoist had long before exultingly exclaimed, "We are but of yesterday, yet have we filled all
places belonging to you; your cities, islands, castles, towns,
councils, the palace, the senate, the forum. We have left you
only your temples."  And should the Christians withdraw in
a body from the empire, its solitude and desolation would astound the world. Christians had meekly bowed their heads
to the axe, and marched boldly to the gibbet and stake. Their
gentle virtues had won the affections of mankind; their sublime philosophy commanded their belief; their heroic courage
extorted their admiration. Persecution, satiated with blood,
wearied with slaughter, appalled by the number of her victims,
had given a temporary repose. The Christians issued by
myriads from their retreats, crowded by thousands to their
churches, bowed with enthusiastic reverence at the sepulchres
of their butchered martyrs. Superstition, weary of delay, resolved to precipitate the inevitable crisis, and to stake its fortunes on the issue of one last decisive conflict. The hostile
forces met near the city of Hadrianopolis.  The heathen army,
led by Licinius, one hundred and sixty-five thousand in number, was strongly posted and intrenched on the mountains
before the city, while its front was protected by the broad and




310   THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL
rapid stream of Hebrus. The Christiall army, a third less in
number, lay in the valley below; on all sides it was felt to be
a conflict between the two religions for the mastery of the
world.
Before the battle commenced, the hostile leaders passed down
from rank to rank, firing their troops with hopes of victory.
Above was seen that Roman eagle, consecrated with so many
mysterious and awful rites, which had floated for centuries
above their armies, and beneath whose expanded wings their
conquering cohorts had marched from victory to victory over a
subjugated world. Above the other was seen only that strange
and significant banner, badge of suffering and shame-the
cross. The speech of the heathen emperor is still on record,
made to his assembled officers on the eve of battle. Amidst
the gloom of a consecrated grove and in the presence of his
god, he pointed to the images of their ancestral deities, beneath whose guardian care the empire had risen to glory; invoked the spirits of their dead fathers, and appealed to their
pride as Roman citizens, against the followers of " that foreign
thing which we now deride," whose ignominious sign was displayed in the van of their apostate armies.
The Christian leader pointed upward to that mysterious
cross, memorial of him who hung there in his agony and love
and in his name promised them the victory. With that name.
upon their lips, that banner above them, they dashed impetuously onward, through the waters of the broad and rapid
stream, up the steep declivities into the camp of the foe.
Miracles of prowess and success are recorded by heathen historians of that day. It is enough to know that the pagan forces
fled in dismay and terror, leaving thirty-four thousand dead
upon the field. The banner of the cross waved triumphant
amidst the intrenchments of the foe. From this first great
conflict with superstition and philosophy and power, Christianity has come off victorious. The divided empire has regained
its unity, and the nations repose beneath the dominion of' a
Christian emperor.
But far and wide on the outer borders of the empire, hovers




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.   311
a black cloud of fierce barbarians, one hundred millions, perhaps, in nuniber, soon to burst upon it, and bury all its glory
beneath that overwhelming inundation. The Gospel has subdued that effeminate civilization; can it survive the shock of
this barbaric power?  From  the shores of' the Baltic and the
Danube, of the Black Sea and Borysthenes, from the forests
and morasses of Scythia, from the mountains and broad tablelands of Central Asia, from the extremities of Scandinavia to
the frontiers of China, nation after nation sweeps on, crushing
all before it and marking its path with blood and desolation;
wild nomadic tribes, weather-beaten, toil-hardened men, inured to war and carnage, with no home but their good steeds,
no law but their will, no God but their sword, which they
worship with mysterious rites.  Their horrid worship is in
forests impervious to the sun, or in subterraneous caverns, and
their altars stream with human blood. Terror has united with
superstition to give them  an unearthly parentage; the wild
witches of the desert were their fabled mothers; their fathers,
those lost spirits that wander through dry places, seeking rest
and finding none. Swift as the viewless wind in the depth of
winter, or in the darkness of midnight, they issue from their
snow-clad homes upon the fairest Roman provinces, driving
the terrified inhabitants before them, and destroying all with
fire and sword. If successful, they pursue their victories; if
defeated, retire to their impenetrable forests and eternal snows;
but whether in advance or retreat, their path is marked with
smnouldering ruins and pyramids of human skulls.
They have served, many of them, in Roman armies; have
learned Roman tactics, and marched with their legions to victory. They have visited as soldiers or as captives the sunny
South, have breathed the air of Italy, have drank the wines of
Capua, have reposed beneath the groves of orange and olive,
have tasted the lemon, citron, and grape, have revelled amidst
the luxulies of that delicious climate, admired the stately palaces, hated the tyrannous, and despised the effeminate vices of
their imperial masters. Amidst the black forests of his wintry
home, the northern barbarian dreams of Italy; fires the irm



312    THE POWER AND TRIUMP[H OF THE GOSPEL.
aginations of his wild comrades with vivid descriptions of its
glories, and promises an easy victory over its degenerate inhabitants. Tribe after tribe sweeps on, is defeated, driven
back, returns with more ferocious courage and reduplicated
numbers. Wave after wave is broken at the base of that decaying colossus, strong  even amidst the decrepitude -of age.
But the foundations of the great deep are broken up, the
swelling inundation comes heaving on. No human power can
arrest its course. The fainting legions slowly, gloomily recede,
are routed, broken. The fierce barbarians pass on, and with
no glitter of gold or silver or armor, no pomp of martial music,
but with loud shouts of contempt and indignation, with clash
of sword and shield and battle-axe, sweep away all remains
of that ancient civilization.
But time would fail us to pursue this strain of thought, and
tell of all the successive triumphs which the Gospel was destined to win amongst the nations of Europe, thereby vindicating itself as the mighty power of God. As it had triumphed
at first over the paganism of Rome, and then withstood the
successive inroads of these barbarians, gradually bringing them
as willing trophies under its all powerful sway, so has it advanced from conquest unto conquest till the present hour.
From this long digression, let us now return to our text, to
consider the feelings of the great apostle as, conscious of his
high vocation in being called of God to preach this Gospel to
the Gentiles, lie contemplated a visit to the imperial city,
and in the opening chapter of this epistle to the Romans,
exclaimed: "I am not ashamned of the Gospel of Christ."
We are so much accustomed to consider St. Paul as an
apostle, that we are apt to forget that he was likewise a man.
We follow him with such intense interest throu-gh the whole
of his bold and brilliant career, that his name becomes associated in our minds with all the loftiest attributes of our nature,
and we can hardly conceive of him as at all exposed to the
common weaknesses and infirmities of the species. This is
indeed the highest tribute that can be offered by mankindthe involuntary homage of the soul to transcendent worth.




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.   313
But it may be doubted whether the brightness that dazzles
does not also blind us; whether the very excellency which we
admire, may not lead us to underrate itself. We never think
of entering into the details of his character, of comparing St.
Paul with other men; and thus we lose the advantage of the
contrast.  We never estimate his character by the common
principles that regulate the conduct of mankind, and hence we
seldom understand how far he is elevated above them. There
is no weakness, for instance, that is more universal among
mankind, than that which is mentioned in the text; and yet, so
far are we from supposing that St. Paul was ever subject to its
influence, we are almost astonished that he should think it
necessary formally to defend himself against such an imputation. To be ashamed of opinions which we have impartially
examined and honestly adopted; to be ashamed of conduct
which is founded upon these principles, and is approved and
even required by our own judgment and conscience, is a welkness not confined to the ignorant and thoughtless; to stand up
boldly against the current of popular sentiment, and disregard
alike the sneer of the wise and the hiss of the ignorant; to go
forth the advocate of truth in a corrupt and degenerate age,
and carry on a fearless warfare against the opinions and prejudices, the tastes and the vices of society, with no object but the
welfare of mankind, and no reward but the scorn and contempt
of those you wish to benefit, is to exhibit some of the finest
characteristics which belong to our nature.
Indeed we cannot conceive of a spectacle more sublime and
more affecting, than that which is presented by a man, who is
endowed with all those higher gifts of the understanding and
the heart, which would have gained the admiration and love of
all around him, yet devoting all the ardor of his feelings, and
all the strength of his intellect to the simple work of doing
good. among his fellow-men, meeting unmoved in this noble
work the contempt and hatred and ingratitude of the world,
standing erect, amidst the storm that beats upon him, alone
and self-sustained by the inborn energies of a manly spirit.
When, in the course of real history or fictitious narrative, we
14




314    THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
meet with such a character as this, we are struck with a pleasing astonishment and yield it the ready homage of our willing
admiration. But in reading the life of St. Paul, what in others
seems astonishing, in him appeals perfectly natural. To suppose that he would act otherwise would violate all our conceptions of his character; and the mind feels a painful incongruity
between its own ideas when we attempt to conceive of him as
shrinking from danger or courting admiration, as palliating
error or concealing the truth. This is indeed the highest encomium ever bestowed upon genius and virtue, because it is
the united and unconscious verdict of fiiends and foes, the universal suffrage of the race. But it may serve to render more
distinct, and perhaps to impress more deeply upon our minds,
a general feeling of reverence for the apostle's character, if
we take a brief view of those particular circumstances, which
tried and exhibited this character, and especially those to
which he undoubtedly referred in the text, and which required,
in his own view, the solemn affirmation, " I am not ashamed
of the Gospel of Christ."
If Paul had deserted the Jewish religion and attached himself to some school of Grecian philosoplhy, he might indeed have
been branded as an apostate from the faith; but he might
leave consoled himself for the loss of his old friends by the increased respect of his new companions. If he had joined any
existing sect of the Jews, he would have indured the hatred
of his opponents; but his talents were an acquisition to be
sought by every party, and would have insured the applause of
his own. If agreeing with no sect of Jewish or heathen philosophers, but dissenting fiom them all, he had built up some
splendid though unsubstantial fabric of his own, the splendor
of his genius and the attraction of his eloquence would soon
ha:ve placed him foremost among philosophers, and gathered
around his standard an admiring crowd of followers. But he
sought not the schools of Grecian or Jewish wisdom, nor did
he choose for himself some high path of original or eccentric
speculation. HIe came down to the lowest walks of humble
life; he was associated with the most despised sect of a despised




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.  *315
people. The doctrine which he received was simple though
sublime, alike inimical to the pride of philosophy, the fierceness
of bigotry, and the licentiousness of passion, and his teacher
was regarded as a peasant and a malefactor, obscure in his
birth, and covered with tenfold ignonliny by a disgraceful
death. If the religion which he embraced had allowed him to
remain in retirement, it might not have been so painful to a
mind already wearied with noise and bustle, to seek a quiet
obscurity, and indulge the pleasing revery of a happy immortality. He might then have despised the world's opinions, and
forgotten the contempt he did not witness. But the command
of his master, and the impetuosity of his own feelings, urged
him onward in his active career; he met the full torrent of the
world's bitterest derision; he travelled from city to city, fiom
country to country; and though he preached with an eloquence
that was unrivalled, and argued with a closeness that was unanswerable, and labored with a zeal and patience that were
almost superhuman, wherever he directed his course he was
met with the same salutation; and whether he argued with
the Jewish Rabbis from their own prophetic scriptures; or
reasoned with the Greek philosophers from the eternal principles of nature and of truth; or testified before the Roman
governor of that wondrous vision which his own eyes had witnessed, and that wondrous voice his own ears had heard; he
was branded as a madman, a blasphemer, and a babbler.
Now we say not that the apostle was insensible to this accumulated load of derision and reproach, but we say that if' he
felt it as a man, he disregarded it as an apostle. Never did it
force from himt one word of despondency or irritation. The
reproach of Felix, though it drew forth one of the most striking
appeals in the whole history of eloquence, brought down on his
own head no indignant rebuke. He once mentions, indeed, the
ridicule of his enemies as " cruel mockings;" but at all times,
and on all occasions, both by his actions and his language, he
proved that he was not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ. It
would have beea indeed an interesting spectacle to see this
obscure defender of an outcast sect, as he stood upon the Areop



316   THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
agus, and propounded to the listening crowd of philosophers
and common people the strange but sublime doctrine of the
resurrection of the dead; to have heard him reason against
the polytheism and idolatry of a polished city, and refute the
idle speculations of a vain philosophy; and when ridicule had
taken the place of argument, and they who could not reason
had united to laugh, who cannot sympathize with the noble
sentiments that would animate the speaker as he cast his eye
around upon the assembled crowd, and pitying alike the ignorance of the multitude, and the pride of the philosophers —
his bos6m expanded by his own high truths, and his eye
kindled up with the joyful triumph they inspired-he would
exclaim in the language of the text, " I am not ashamed of the
Gospel of Christ."
It has sometimes been the privilege of genius, when struggling with adversity, when attacked by the venom of malice,
or annoyed by the buzzinlgs of folly, to look away through the
clouds that overcast its prospects, and see in the admiration of
a coming age a rich recompense for the neglect of its own.
HI-gh and thrilling, no doubt, is the ecstasy that, in a moment
such as this, swells the bosom of the despised and persecuted
man. But, oh! when the man was lost in the prophet, and the
eye of genius was lighted up with the fire of inspiration, to
look down through the long lapse of succeeding ages, how
rapturous must have been the high emotions of the apostle as
it glanced rapidly on from century to century, and rested at
last upon the bright scenes of millennial glory. Surely if there
were no reward in heaven for their labors upon earth, no triumph there for those who have fought and conquered here, no
crown to be placed upon the brow which throbbed so anxiously
below, even then, there would be enough, in a vision such as
this, to excite far higher pleasures than this world has ever yet
bestowed. But when to this splendid vision of years to come
is added the sure expectation of a heavenly inheritance, we
need not be astonished that the apostle should declare, "I am
not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ."
The apostle may be considered as asserting -the natural




THE POWER AND TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.   317
power or tendency of the Gospel as a system of truth to influence and save man; or as referring more directly to that
divine efficiency which attended it, in converting and saving
both individuals, and communities, and the whole world. In
either case it was distinguished from the heathen philosophy
by the fact that the latter was powerless in operating on man.
Philosophy had done all it could; it had never exerted any
healthful, controlling influence on human society, and on the
great subject of salvation its inquiries had failed always and
utterly. Of late they had been suspended in universal scepti.
cism. They left all human obligations in doubt, and without
any certain sanction. They left men's hearts and lives impure
and immoral, and without a power to purify or heal. A
divine revelation was therefore needed. The Gospel proved
itself to be such a revelation by the certainty of its teachings,
the purity of its principles, and the efficacy of its sanctionsthe power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.




XVI.
TIlE REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITTI IN CHRIST.
ACTS x. 43.-" To him give all the prophets witness, that through his name
whosoever believeth in him shall receive remission of sins."
THE memory of that state of holiness and peace in which
man lived before the fall is almost universally diffused among
the nations of the earth. It is handed down in their traditions,
it is interwoven with their religion, it is celebrated in the
highest strains of poetry by their most gifted bards. And
the same traditions which have preserved the sad recollection
of the fall, have likewise perpetuated the joyful expectations
of a mighty deliverer to come, who should more than repair the
ruins of the fall, who should restore universal holiness and
piety and love on earth; and the mild glories of whose approaching reign should only shine with a lovelier radiance oni
account of the deep gloom which should precede his appearance. Thus the Hindoos still look forward to the appearance
of their god Vishnu, who is to be manifested in the flesh, to
overthrow oppression, and establish virtue and happiness on
earth. And all who are acquainted with the ancient classics,
will remember that one of the greatest Latin poets predicts the
appearance of the great deliverer, this mighty king, even in
his own day, and exhausts all the imagery of his fertile mind
to exalt to the utmost our conceptions of the glories of his
reign and the amazing benefits he should bestow upon mankind.  In different nations this expectation varied undoubtedly in accuracy and distinctness, but in some it pointed out
with amazing accuracy not only the character of this deliverer
and the benefits of his government, bAt the precise time at




REMISSION OF SINS THIROUGH FAITH IN CHtRIST.  319
which he should appear. And about the time of our Saviour's
birth there existed throughout the world an universal expectation of the great deliverer, the foretold in prophecy, the desire of all nations. That this expectation was universal amnong
the Jews at the time of our Saviour's birth is evident, not
only from the facts recorded in the evangelists, but from the
record of their own writers, and the testimony of heathen
historians.
The appearance of John  the Baptist, the crowds that
thronged to hear his instructions, the trembling anxiety
of Herod when informed of the Redeemer's birth, the numerous pretenders who arose about that period, and promised
deliverance to the misguided Israelites, the blind fanaticism
with which they gathered around these false Messiahs, and
still trusted for deliverance, till hewn down by the Roman
cohorts-all prove that the expectation of the Jewish nation
was wound up to its highest pitch, and that the appearance of
their predicted Messiah was daily awaited by the confiding
nation. But all possibility of doubt is removed by the express assertion of Josephus, who informs us, that their restless
impatience under the Roman yoke, and their continual efforts
to cast it off, arose from their expectation of the king who
was to arise in Judea and extend his dominion over the world.
Nor was this opinion confined to the Jewish people. VWe are
informed by Suetonius, the Roman historian, that " there had
been for a long time all over the East, a constant persuasion,
that at that time, some one who should come out of Judea
should obtain universal dominion."  Nor was this expectation
confined to the people of the East, but had extended to Rome,
and taken strong hold, at a still earlier period, even on the
masters of the world. Hence, Tacitus applies the prophecy to
his favorite Vespasian, and this deluded prince, even pretended
to work miracles at Alexandria, and long before Mark Antony had applied the sanle prophecy to Julius Coesar, and
urged it as a reason why he should be crowned sovereign of
the Roman empire. He appealed to the Sibylline oracles at
Rome, which were doubtless the fragments of traditionary




320  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
prophecies scattered among the heathen, and the answer which
was given by Csesar on the same occasion, deserves to be remembered.  He opposed the coronation of Csesar, on the
ground that the prophecies which  foretold  this mighty
king, likewise foretold that he should destroy the heathen religion, and overthrow their idols. The Roman poet to whom
I just alluded, and who wrote in the succeeding age, appeals
to the same traditionary prophecies collected and recorded at
Rome, and describes the character of the predicted king, and
the happy influence of his wise administration, in language
which seems to coincide almost word for word with a part of
the eighth chapter of Isaiah.
We have, then, the expectation of a great deliverer diffused,
like the tradition of the flood and the practice of sacrifice,
throughout all nations, varying in distinctness in different
countries, but most frequent in the nations least removed
from the original birthplace of the human race. We find
this expectation assuming a definite form, and embodied in
written documents, preserved by a people who bought theni
originally at a high price, treated them  with the greatest
reverence, and, when lost by fire, supplied the loss at great
trouble and expense. We find them  quoted by their politicians; appealed to by their poets; and above all, these singular
prophecies, preserved by a heathen and a democratic nation,
prledict the coming of a mnighty king, the overthrow of idolatry,
and the establishment of a universal kingdom of piety and
peace.
Now this universality of belief cannot certainly be causeless; this amazing agreement between pretended prophecies,
preserved by Jews and heathen, demands some satisfactory
explanation.  The only explanation of these extraordinary
facts is found in the assertion of the text, that " all the prophets from the foundation of the world have testified of
Christ." Prophecy was not confined to the Jewish church, it
existed before it, and beyond it. Enoch, the seventh fiom
Adam, prophesied about the latter days. Balaam's prophecy
of Christ may vie in sublimity and clearness with the loftiest




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITHI IN CHRIST.  321
of the Hebrews/; and Job, the afflicted servant of God, exercised a calm and delightful confidence in his Redeemer, and
foretold that in the latter days he should stand upon the earth.
When man had fallen fiom his obedience, he was not wholly
abandoned by his God, nor must we suppose that the light of
divine truth was eclipsed at once amongst the nations. It
departed gradually and slowly, and its last setting rays would
still beam upon so-ne man of God, exalted by pure and ardent
piety above the level of the world around him.  Such a man
was Job, such was Melchisedec, and such perhaps were many
others, whose record is with God, and whose inspired predictions, reverenced long after their death, may have been thus
providentially collected, to testify collaterally to the Messiah
of the Jews.  But whven the world was fast sinking into
idolatry, and scarcely a remnant now existed of the primitive
theology, God chose the family of Abrahamn to perpetuate
the knowledge of himself, and by a supernatural providence
preserved tliem from idolatry, and maintained thle expectation of the Messiah who was to come.
The whole Jewish economy was formed with direct reference
to a better dispensation. Every part directed to the Saviour.
Its sacrifices, its ablutions, its temple, its services and priests
were shadows of which he was the substance. Their prophecy
especially was full of Christ. The testimony of' Jesus, said
St. John, is the spirit of prophecy.  Its whole spirit and design is to testify of Christ.  Nor is any prophecy of private
interpretation to be interpreted alone, but in connection with
others. For prophecy is a great connected system, part of
the great plan of God, for gradually developing divine truth
to men, commeneming at the creation, and grasping in its
wide embrace the interests of the church down to the end of
time. Hence its earlier exhibitions are rather hints than developments, intended rather to excite and preserve hope, than
to gratify curiosity. As the fulness of time approached, its
revelations became clearer and clearer, resembling the progress
of the sun, as he first tinges faintly the east, then brightens
into day, then rises above the horizon, and rejoices like a strong
14*




322  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
man to run his race of light and glory through the sky. In
the moment of deepest despondency, the promise was obscurely
given, " The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head,"
and Eve expressed at once her gratitude and her faith, when
she exclaimed, on the birth of her son, "I have gotten a man
from the Lord."
It was by faith in this great deliverer, that Abel offered a
better sacrifice than Cain; and the pious Lamech, worn out with
toils and griefs, probably referred to this hope, when he called
his son Noah, that is Repose, and said, "This shall console us
firom our toils, and from the pain of our labors firom the ground
which Jehovah hath cursed." Abraham saw his day afar off,
and rejoiced, and well he might re.joice, when the promise
which was first given indefinitely to Eve, was confined to his
own family, and it was said by the mouth of the Lord, "and
in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed." The
prediction became still more distinct as time rolled on, and the
expiring Jacob said in the triumph of his soul, " The sceptre
shall not depart front Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his
feet "-or of his descendants-" till Shiloh come, and to himn
shall the gathering oI the people be." The prophecy which
had thus been gradually narrowed down, from the promise to
mankind, to the family of Jacob and tribe of Judah, became
still more definite, and the promise was made to the family of
David, of a descendant whose kingdom should be without an
end upon the throne of his father David. The place of his
birth was then identified, and Bethlehem, the city of David, was
pointed out as the spot which should be honored by his first
appearance. And that no possibility of doubt might ever attach
to a matter of such vast importance, the very time of his birth
was minutely specified, the period of his death, and the punishment which should fall upon the guilty city which rejected
him.
In less than four hundred and ninety years from the command to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, by Artaxerxes Longimauus, the Messiah should appear, acd in the midst of the last
week or last seven years of that period, he should be cut off,




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST. 323
but not for himself, and suddenly should come upon the city
the abomination which should make it desolate. So remarkably has this prediction been fulfilled, that infidelity has mistaken prophecy for history, and charged upon the Jews the
forgery of a prophecy which condemns themselves. Again, it
was foretold by Malachi, that the messenger of the covenant,
as the Messiah was sometimes called, should appear during the
continuance of the second temple, and by Haggai, that "the
desire of all nations should come and fill that house with glory."
We all remember how distinctly the circumstances of his life
are foretold by Isaiah,-" He should be a man of sorrows and
acquainted with grief,"- and those of his death, —" Tley
parted my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture,"-and again, "They appointed for him with the wicked
his grave, but he was with a rich man after his death," and
this, although he was the king of the Jews, the mighty God,
the Prince of Peace.
But not only was the Messiah to appear in the filness of
time; he was likewise to introduce a new dispensation. The
enlightened Jews never considered their dispensation as final,
They were indeed the people of God, chosen fioro the midst of
the nations around them, not for any merit of their own, but
for the purpose of promoting God's own high designs, for perpetuating the knowledge of the only true God, and the expectation of the deliverer, who was in the fullness of time to come.
Every part of their expensive and laborious ritual was designed
to answer one of these purposes, to separate them from the
heathen around, or to typify by their numerous sacrifices the
coming of that great sacrifice who was to make an end of
transgression, and bring in an everlasting righteousness.
But it was never the intention of the great Creator to confine to them alone the benefits of divine truth, or to perpetuate
a system which, from its very nature, was confined within the
narrow limits of a single country. The first promise which was
made of a Messiah, was made to Adam, as the father of mankind, and this promise is interpreted by the Jewish Rabbins of
their Messiah. iMoses in predicting the future fortunes of the




324z, REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
nation, distinctly foretold the coming of another prophet, like
himself, the author of a new law, the mediator of a new covenant, the leader of a new people. The prophets spoke in language still more decisive of this coming dispensation. The
covenant which was made when they came out of Egypt, was
to be succeeded by a new and different covenant. That required external service; this, the homage of the heart. The
law of that covenant was written on- tables of stone; this, in
the hearts of the people. Under that dispensation the blood
of bulls and goats could only make atonement for external
defilement and involuntary sins; but under this all sin -was to
be forgiven through the efficacy of some mightier intercession.
"Behold," says the prophet Jeremiah, xxxi. 31, "behold, the
days come, saith the Lord, that I will make a new covenant
with the house of Israel, and with the house of Judah: not
accordincg to the covenant that I made with their fathers in
the day that I took them by the hand to bring them out of the
land of Egypt;" but a different one, and how different! "But
this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of
Israel: After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in
their inward parts, and write it in their hearts, and I will be
their God, and they shall be my people; for I will forgive their
iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more."
The only mode of remission of sin known to the law swas
through the sacrifices of bulls and goats; but in the Psalms we
have clear intimations-that this mode was in itself of no value,
and was ultimately to give way to another and better one, in
which the external purification of the flesh, was to be superseded by the purification of the heart, and the exercise of inward repentance and purity of' heart. In the fifty-first Psalm,
where David is confessing his sins before God, he says: " Thou
desirest not sacrifice, else would I give it; thou delightest not
in burnt offerings. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise."
There were no sacrifices in the law which could atone for the
crimes of murder and adultery of which David had been guilty,
and yet he hopes for forgiveness; and in the fortieth Psalrnm,




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.  325
we find the ground of his confidence was in a different sacrifice
under a coining dispensation. "Sacrifice and offering," says
the Psalmist, "thou didst not desire; burnt offering and sin
offering hast thou Iiot required.  Then said I," speaking in the
language of the expected Messiah, "then said I, Lo, I come;
in the volume of the book it is written of me, I delight to do
thy will O my God." This will of God which the Messiah
was to do, and which was thus to supersede the sacrifices of the
law, was done and suffered by the Divine Redeemer when he
drank the cup his Father gave him, and said, "not my will,
but thine be done."  The nature of this substitution is most
fully expressed by the prophet Daniel, in the ninth chapter,
where we are told that the Messiah should come at the end of
four hundred and ninety years after the rebuilding of the tenmple; that he should cause the sacrifice and oblation to ceasethe sacrifices of the Jewish law-but should at the same tinme
finish transgression, make an end of sins, make a reconciliation
for iniquity, and bring an everlasting righteousness.
All this was to take place in that kingdom, which the God
of heaven was to set up according to the predictions of Daniel,
and of course under a different dispensation fiom the Jewish,
which was not to be set up, but already existed. In the fiftythird of Isaiah, we are told expressly how it is that remission
of sins and justification was to be obtained under this new dispensation, of which the PMessiah was the head and author. By
the knowledge of himself shall my righteous servant justify
many, for he shall bear their iniquities.  Observe how plainly
it is indicated that the sacrifices and offerings of the law were
to be dispensed with. Under the old dispensation when the
sinner brought a sin-offering to the altar, he laid his hand on
the head of the victim, confessed his sins, and the punishment
of sins was transferred to the victim before him. The sinner
was relieved from the punishment, and the victim was said to
bear it in his stead; and thus the prophet speaks of another
sacrifice, better than bulls and goats, who was to bear our iniquities in his own body on the cross. But not only was the
dispensation to be changed, but its ministers too. "I lhave




326  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHIRIST.
sworn by myself, thou art a priest forever after the order of
MIelchisedec." Here we do not pause to ask who was Melchisedec, nor is it important to inquire. Here is a new priest of
a new order, not of the family of Aaron, nor of the tribe of
Levi, for the Messiah was to spring fiomr Judah, of an order
not inferior to that of Levi, but superior, since Levi paid tithes
to this order in the loins of Abrahaml; not temporary like that
of Levi, which was to pass away after it had answered its purpose, but a priestforever, after the order of Melchisedec.
Not only was the dispensation and its ministers changed,
but the offerings too, for every priest must have somewhat to
offer, and we are told by the prophet Daniel, "That the Messiah shall be cut off, but not for himself;" and by the prophet
Isaiah, that "He was wounded for our transgressions, and
bruised fobr our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was
upon him, and by his stripes we are healed; that we all like
sheep have gone astray, and the Lord hath laid on him the
iniquity of us all." But further, the dispensation introduced
by the Messiah was to extend beyond the land and people of
the Jews, and embrace in its wide extent the whole race of
man.
Thus, in the 2d Psalm it is said, " Ask of me and I will give
the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of
the earth for thy possession." Again, Isaiah, xlix. 6, it is said
of the Messiah, "I will also give thee for a light to the Gentiles,
that thou mayest b(: my salvation unto the end of the earth."
Again, Ix. 1, "And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and
kings to the brightness of thy rising." And again, in the lxv. 1,
"I am sought of them that asked not for me; I am found of
them that sought me not. I said, Behold me, behold me, unto
a nation that was not called by my name."  The Jews were
called by the name of Jehovah, the people of the Lord; the
people to whom these invitations were to be made, were of
course only Gentiles. But it is unnecessary to appeal to particular texts, to establish a position which is demonstrated by
the whole tenor of Jewish Scriptures. All their ideas of the
Mlessiah's reign supposed its universality. It was this which




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.  327
excited their highest feelings, and aroused their loftiest strains
of poetry. They speak of a time, when the mountain of the
Lord's house shall be exalted above the top of the mountains,
and all nations should flow into it. When in every place pure
incense shall be offered, and God will take priests out of all
nations; when there shall be an altar to the Lord in Egypt,
and the ark of the jbrmner covenant shall no more be remembered nor visited. Their hearts seem to swell with the mighty
theme, and they break forth into strains of triumphant joy in
contemplation.  Isaiah, lx. 1, 3, "Arise, shine, for thy light
is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. The
Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness
of thy rising."  And again, "the Gentiles shall see thy light,
and all kings thy glory."
Nor is the incredulity of the Jews any objection to the
truth of the text, for this likewise was foretold by their prophets.  He was to be a stone of stumbling and rock of offence
to both the houses of Israel; a gin and a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem.  He was to be as a root out of dry
ground, without form or comeliness; they were to turn away
their faces in contempt or abhorrence from him, and should
esteem him as smitten of' God, and afflicted, as visited by
God's righteous judgments for his guilt. (In thy seed shall
the nations of the earth be blessed, we have seen how.)
We have thus seen a whole series of prophecies pointing
through many centuries to an individual, who was to come at
an appointed.period 490 years from an event well known in
history, and easily calculated; a person who was to bear the
most contradictory offices, and reconcile in his own person the
most irreconcilable predictions; who was to be a priest and a
victim, a conqueror and a sufferer, a king and a servant; who
should be a despised and condemned malefactor, and yet
should extend his dominion beyond the nation which persecuted him, till it encompassed the world; and we see at the
very time appointed an individual appearing who reconciled
in his own person'all these apparent contradictions, and real
difficulties, in the most natural way. We have a system corn



328  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
mencing earlier than all profane history, avowedly looking
forward to, and predicting the appearance of, this extraordinary individual, who was to establish a new dispensation
founded on, yet different fiom  it, the same in principle yet
more fully developed, predicting its reception by the Gentiles,
and rejection by the Jews, and immediately on his appearance
we find the Jewish temple destroyed, the people scattered,
their ceremonies forcibly discontinued, the very distinction of
their tribes lost; and besides all this, it is now 1800 years
since these things happened.  Are all these strange coincidences the result of chance?  Is this world of evidence built
up by the fortuitous concourse of floating atoms? If, then, the
truth which is confirmed by the miracles and resurrection of
the Saviour, be likewise established by the united testimony
of the prophets, we see how firm is the ground of our confidence, and how boldly we may come to a throne of Divine
grace, seeking the remission of' our sins through faith in his
name.
I. Let us learn from  this subject first, the sovereignty of
God in bestowing his benefits on man. By the sovereignty
of God. we do not mean that blind and arbitrary wilfiulness,
which acts without a motive or principle of actiolr. There is
no such sovereignty with God, for although all his works are
known unto him  from  the foundation of' the world, yet are
they all done in perfect wisdom.  But we mean that wise and
holy government of God over all creatures and all events,
which directs all, guides all, controls all, according to the
counsel of his own will, and that will regulated by reasons
and principles which are necessarily inscrutable to man, embracing as they do all worlds, and reaching forward into
eternity.  Infidels have objected to the Jewish Scriptures, because they represent the Father of all as bestowing peculiar
benefits on a single people, thus transferrinrg to the Creator
our limited and contracted views, and bringing the odious irnputation of partiality against his wise administration.  To
this it might be sufficient to reply, that possibly the governor
of the universe may observe relations and act on principles




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.  329
which are not obvious to our feeble understanding, and that
his wisdom may see weighty reasons for bestowing blessings
on one nation, which he withholds with perfect propriety fioln
another.  But we are not left to conjecture on such a subject.
All experience and all history prove that it not only may be,
but actually is the mode of God's administration on earth.
How different are the benefits bestowed upon one nation fi'rom
those conferred upon another. One enjoys the light of science,
the blessings of liberty, all the advantages of civilization,
while a fertile soil diffuses plenty over the land, and a genial
atmosphere gives health to enjov it, fillino men's Ilearts with
joy and gladness.  To another all these circumstances are reversed. Despotic power, with ruthless hand, has borne down
the first aspirations after fieedom, and crushed beneath its
iron tread the most cherished hopes of future improvement.
A  gloomy superstition has overshadowed the people, or a
stupid ignorance; contented, motionless, stagnant, the inheritance of ages descends from father to son in unchangeable succession.  Pestilence breathes in the air, glows in the sun, radiates fiom the earth; or a land cursed of' God with barrenness,
yields scanty sustenance to a few scattered and miserable inhabitants.  Such is the diversity of' natural blessings which
God in his providence bestows upon man, and yet we arrairli
not his wisdom or his goodness; how then shall we object to
a similar diversity in the distribution of his spiritual blessings?
If one nation has been exalted over another in freedom, in
civilization, in knowledge, in social comfort, in all that gives
dignity or happiness to man, why may not another enjoy
similar exaltations in all those religious privileges, which add
still more to his moral worth, and exert a mightier influence
over his final destiny?
This we consider a sufficient reply to all that infidelity
has urged on this subject, either in the way of argument, or
in the way of ridicule. But there are Christians likewise, who
are opposed to the doctrine of God's absolute and uncontrollable sovereignty over his creatures, because they have beeni
taught to consider it as arbitrary and tyrannical.  To such




330  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
we might plead, not only the administration, not only of God's
natural, but likewise of his spiritual government on earth. Had
the Jew no advantages above the heathen? Have we no advantages above the Jews of old? Do we not live un der
a clearer light, a brighter and better dispensation? Did not
the prophet look forward with longing eyes to the days of
Christian blessedness, and long to see them? Now to whom
do we owe these superior blessings, and to whom did the
Jews owe the privileges they enjoyed?  Why were you born
in a Christian land, under the full light of Gospel days, while
hundreds of millions are born, and live, and die without
having one true conception of God or one offer of salvation
through the only Mediator? Why were the angels passed by
when they had fallen? Why did the Saviour take upon him
the seed of Abraham, and not the nature of angels?  Why
are you a man, and not a brute or an angel?  To all these
questions the only answer is in the language of God's Word,
"Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight."  We
know his goodness, we know his wisdom, and therefore we
believe that all his ways are ways of righteousness and truth.
We do not stop to fa:thom what is unfathomable; we do not
pause to investigate what is inscrutable; but rejoicing in God,
we leave all in his hands, and say, the Judge of all the earth
will do right. This is the doctrine of God's sovereignty, so
much traduced, so little understood, taught in his Word and
in his works, in the dealings of his providence, and in the
whole economy of his grace; interwoven with every devout
feeling toward God, and every true conception of his character; without which religion is but a name, and apparent piety,
however ardent, is but a revolting mixture of atheism and
fanaticism.
II. Let us consider next the greatness of the blessing offered
us in the Gospel-the remission of sins.  There are many
who nauseate the whole tenor and style of the Bible communications, because it contains so much about sin. They would
be much better pleased if its pages were wholly fil'ed with
glowing descriptions of the greatness and benevolence and




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST. 331
majesty of God, and the kind and amiable affections which
adorn the character of mankind, than to be perpetually annoyed with the repetition of the truth, that men are sinners,
and that the holiness of God cannot look upon sin with the
slightest toleration. But surely if God speak at all to man,
he must address him as a sinner; nor can the inhabitants of
this rebellious province expect that language of mild approval,
and unmingled tenderness which would characterize a proclamation to his loyal subjects. If he speak at all, he must speak of
sin; and what a mercy that he speaks of its remission; that lhe
reveals a scheme devised by infinite wisdom, executed by infinite power, offered by infinite love, and urged with infinite
tenderness and condescension, a method by which God can be
just and yet justify the sinner.
Sin violates the law of God which is pledged to punish it;
insults the holiness of God, whose purity abhors it; rebels
against his authority, which must be exerted to repress it;
destroys the happiness of his creatures, which must ever be
the object of his watchful care. WVhen the angels left their
allegiance, the penalty of violated law fell upon their heads.
They were sunk hopelessly and irrecoverably from the heights
of bliss into the depths of perdition, and the righteous indignation of God has reserved them under chains of darkness
to the judgment of the great day. Well may we then rejoice
when sin is the subject of his message to our world, that it is
the remission of sin which forms the burden of that revelation.
It was this which formed the subject of the first great promise
to mankind, and this was the object of all God's subsequent
providential dealings with our race; to this the whole ceremonial of the law, to this all the predictions of the prophets
pointed. For this the thousand victims bled on Jewish altars,
and for this the Son of God came down to shed his blood upon
the cross. It was this the angels celebrated when they announced our Lord's appearance upon earth, and into this great
mystery we are informed they still strive to search with all
the ardor of unsatisfied desire, with all the delight of adoring
admiration.  Nay, they are gladly employed as ministering




332  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
spirits, in promoting this great scheme of reconciliation; and
when one soul has returned to God, and obtained the relnission of his sins, those happy spirits tune their harps afresh,
and a new song of praise and adoration resounds through the
courts of heaven.
Is it possible, then, that any of us should consider the remission of his sins as a matter of small importance?  Would he,
whose mighty mind takes in the vast concerns of this great
creation, have lavished so much of his wisdom and his grace
upon a matter of small importance? Would he have foretold
it in prophecy and prefigured it in types; would he have caused
the events of kingdoms and empires to conspire for its promotion; would he have made it the only subject of his only
communication with mankind; would he have employed the
holiest and mightiest of his servants, even those that dwell
in his presence, and  burn around his throne to announce and
promote it; would he have sent his son to reveal, to reconmmend, to seal it with his blood, if it were a matter which
man might safely treat with cool indifference or haughty contempt?  Would he whose smallest works are replete with
wisdom, while the greatest of them dazzle and overwhelim our
feebleness in the effort to comprehend them, on all whose
doings is the stamp of the infinite and the eternal; would he
challenge all principalities and powers to behold his manifold
wisdom in the scheme for the remission of sins, if there were
nothing in the purpose for which this scheme was devised,
that was worthy of him who devised, and of those whom it
was designed to benefit?  No, my friends, it was worthy of
God to offer, and worthy of man to accept. It is only after
our sins are remitted, that we can have peace with God, and
access to our Father's presence. By nature we are children of
Wrath. We are condemned already, and the sentence of
God's law still hangs over us,- ready to be executed. We are
the enemies of God, and he is the enemy of the sinner. All
his attributes are arrayed in fearful hostility against him. His
justice cannot spare the condemned criminal; his holiness cannot endure the polluted sinner. His very mercy cries for




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CIHRIST. 333
vengeance upon him, whose obstinate rebellion wages war
against all that is holy and happy in the whole creation. To
estimate fully the value of the blessing which is offered in the
remission of sins, we must calculate the extent of all which
it presents, and all which it bestows.  It can only be
measured by the greatness of the torments from which it relieves us, and the vastness of that exceeding and imrneasurable glory to which it exalts us. To comprehend it fully we
must understand all that man can suffer, and all that God can
inflict. We must measure the duration of eternity, and know
the meaning of those agonies which have no measure and no
end; of the worm that never dies; and the fire that is not
quenched; of that blackness of darkness which is forever and
forever; of that Tophet which is ordained of old, and the wrath
of the Lord like a stream of brimstone doth kindle it forever. This we shall never do, till the history of this world
is finished; till the number of the redeemed is completed;
till the happy have enjoyed all that immortal spirits can enjoy, and the damned have suffered all that undying spirits can
endure, when reserved to high endurance by Almighty power.
If there were no remission of sins, then the law of God still
cries out for the punishment of every sinner. Then the long
and bright company of saints. who have marched through much
tribulation to the kingdom. of heaven, must be driven from the
seats of blessedness. Then all who will hereafter join that
happy host, must be debarred from heaven. Then all man's
long, long generations are marching to perdition. Then prepare the shroud for the hopes of mankind, and let eternal
gloom settle down upon the nations, for the fierceness of God's
fiery wrath is still unquenched against the sinner, and though
heaven and earth should pass away, not one jot or one tittle
shall pass from the law till all be fulfilled.  No stain shall
tarnish the perfect purity of heaven, though the race of man
should be multiplied by itself, and every individual should die
unpardoned. The happiness of the few on earth would be
purchased too dearly at the expense of God's holy government and the untold millions of his obedient subjects.




334  REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.
III. Let us observe, thirdly, the folly and inexcusableness of
the sinner, in not seeking the remission of his sins. If the
benefits offered in the Gospel were small in themselves, they
woujd scarcely deserve the anxious efforts of the sinner to obtain
them. If they were encompassed with insuperable difficulties,
we might lament his failure, but could scarcely blame it. If
he were required to enter on some doubtful or dangerous enterprise, the degree of danger and uncertainty would palliate
if not excuse his aversion to the work.  If the offer of remission which comes to him in the Gospel were of uncertain evidence, then he might pass it by as an idle tale, and treat it as
the dream of an enthusiast, or the fabrication of an impostor.
But none of these suppositions are true. The evidence is full
and satisfactory, founded on the most undoubted miracles, and
the surest prophecies. The offer is sincere and fiee, the terms
are simple and easy, the benefits incalculably great. But the
very simplicity and easiness of the duty, furnish grounds for
neglecting it. If some great thing had been required of us;
had we been required to endure some shocking laceration, to
make some distant pilgrimage, to work out in any way some
righteousness of our own, no doubt we should be pleased.
But when the easiest of all things is offered to us, salvation
through the merits of another; when the simplest of all things
is proposed to us, to accept willingly what is offered fieely,
straightway we are offended. Like the Syrian general we despise the directions of the prophet, and reflse to believe that
there is efficacy in the fountain which is opened in Israel for
sin and uncleanness. But, oh, will it not add tenfold to the
anguish of the sinner in eternal torments, to remember how
easy was the way to heaven, if he had only desired to travel
it; that the word was nigh him, even in his mouth, and in his
heart; that the fruits of eternal life were placed within his
reach, so that he need only have stretched forth his hand and
ate and lived forever.  Again, if the mercy offered us were
small, we might neglect it amidst the pressure of other urgent
business; and if it were lost at last, it might be compensated
by some other gain, or might occasion only a momentary sigh.




REMISSION OF SINS THROUGH FAITH IN CHRIST.  335
But the blessing offered us is, as we have endeavored to show,
incalculably great. It affects the whole of' our existence. If
lost, no other gain will repair the loss. It will not call for a
momentary sigh and then be forgotten forever, but the meinory of its loss and of the inexcusable folly which occasioned
it, will harass the soul throughout all eternity. Perhaps of
all the lamentations which are raised in the pit of darkness,
this will not be the least, that they have foolishly cast away
the highest privileges, and trampled under foot the choicest
blessings; have proved false to their own best interests, and
with suicidal hand have dangered their own highest hopes.
Is not this the meaning of that wail of agony which reverberates forever around the prison-house of despair?  "The
harvest is past, the summer is ended and gone, and my soul
is not saved!"  I had once a harvest where I might have
gathered the fruits of eternal life, but that harvest is past to
return no more. I hlad once a summer when the beams of
God's favor illuminated my path, but that summer is
ended and gone, and yet my soul is not saved. It is not so
much what I am, as what I might have been that annoys my
soul. The gloomy horrors of my present condition might perhaps be borne, if it were not for that image of the past, which,
like a spectre, still haunts me in the cavern of despair; that
image of the past, reflected fiom my crushed and shattered
spirit, which the more it is crushed and shattered, but multiplies the more the hateful vision.




XVII.
THE EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF. THE GOSPEL.
MATT. xiii. 38.-" The field is the world."
IT is the beauty of the Saviour's parables, that they spring
spontaneously and naturally from  the circumstances amidst
which he spoke, and are best illustrated from the scenery and
individuals around.  At the time when that series of parables
was spoken, of which our text forms a part, he was sitting, the
apostle informs us, in a ship on the lake of Tiberias. Behind
him was the sea itself, around him the boats of the fishermen,
who resorted thither to procure their sustenance from  its
waters; before him a mighty crowd, who had gathered from
every village and city of Judea to hear him; whilej far as
eye could reach, extended wide and fertile fields, which husbandmen were preparing to receive the grain. And there sat
he, the messenger from heaven, "who spake as never man
spake;" the sea behind him, the sky above him, immortal souls
before him! What wonder that he should behold a deep and
spiritual significance in the scene, an(l lead his disciples to
meditate a nobler husbandry they had to pursue; their seed,
God's blessed truth; their field of labor, the wide world of
man.
It is thus thatwherever the Saviour is, a new sublimnity overspreads the scene, and in every word that he utters, we find
the evidence of the same large and capacious mind, embracing
all mankind in its regard, and comprelhending all time in its
survey.
I. Permit us, then, without further introduction, and imitating the simple and familiar illustration of our Saviour, to re



EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THFE GOSPEL.    337
mark first, that the world is God's field.  It wvas his by the
clearest, strongest, most indisputable of all titles, —origillal
creation, and continued preservation of all things; for "of hini,
and through him, and to himn, are all thliings, who is over all,
God blessed forever."  "The earth is the Lord's, and the ftillness thereof, the world and they that dwell ttlerein. For he
hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon tf-he
floods."  Psa. xxiv. 1, 2. It is his to possess, and to govern.
"He spread abroad the heavens by his power, and laid the
foundations of the earth;" by d:iy clothes it with light as with
a garment, by night it reposes beneath the shadow of hIis wing's.
I-le pours over it all hues of beauty, stamps upon it all features
of grandeur, causes rain to descend, the sun to shine, dews to
fall, maketh the out-goings of thIe morning and evening to rejoice, causing the cup of' our blessingc to overflow, giving 11s
life and health, and all things richly to enjoy, sending fruitful
seasons, filling our hearts with joy and gladness.
He is the former of our bodies, the Father of our spirits; in
him we live and move and have our being. " Oh, come, let us
worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord our [Mak —
er, for he hath made us and not we ourselves, for we are the
sheep of his pasture, the people of his hatnd."  We are his to
possess, and his to govern. True, there is a prince of the power
of' the air, a spirit that reigneth inl the children of disobedience(.
Longr hath he waved his dark sceptre above ttle nations; his
d:irk banner hath long floated in defiance, with its dismal folds
darkening the earth.  Itis throne is founded in tears, in blood,
but his dominion is an usurped dominion, and soon must pass
away. Its death-blow is already struck, and it is tottering to
the fall.  "For I beheld Satan," says the Saviour exultingly,
"fall like lightning fiorn heavell," so suddelly!, so vividly, so
rapidly, so irrecoverably, from stuch a lieight to such an abyss.
Man, too, dared to claim thle world as his, to possess, to govern, to pervert, to pollute, to scourge, to erase God's image and
superscription from it, and stamp instead his own vile mnark of
vassalage. He hath trodden proutdly on earth as a subljugated
thing, but earth hath opened wide her jaws to de vour  him;
15




338    EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.
and he who but yesterday seemed by his nod to shake the
spheres, to-day lies cold in her embrace, food for her worms.
He hath called himself in his madness, "Lord of the seas;"
but the sea doth spurn his dominion. Behold his masts shiver
in the wind, his navies are crushed amidst the waves, and he
sinks to rise again, when the Lord of the sea shall call him.
Surely man, with all his pomp and pride, walketh in a vain
show, surely he is altogether vanity.
Thinkest thou, poor sinner, because thou hast rebelled against
his authority, that it is overthrown; because thou hast wandered far from him, that thou hast escaped beyond the limits of
his government, the observation of his eye, beyond the reach
of his arm, the grasp of his all-embracing presence? Thou
hast spurned his authority; like Cain, hast fled from his presence; burst his bonds, and cast off his cords; yet, in thy deepest
pollution, thy wildest rebellion, thy farthest wanderings, the
eye of a master rested on thee, and the voice of supreme authority was heard, commanding thee to return. Ah, whither
shalt thou go from his spirit, whither flee from his presence?
Wouldest thou take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the
uttermost parts of earth? the hand thou spurnest must uphold
thy flight, the presence thou wouldst shun surrounds thee
even there. That morning light in its onward flight hath
visited many a land; go with it, and in all, the presiding and
governing God is there.  It hath blushed on eastern sky,
brightened the distant horizon, penetrated mountain forest,
and gleamed in the vale below, from land to land hurryilng,
and now is glittering on western sea. It hath glanced in
its course on mosque and minaret, on Christian church and
heathen temple, on tower and dome, palace of king, mansion
of noble, hovel of poverty, entered that high apartment and
startled the lordly slumberer from his dreams. It hath glanced
through the low lattice, and hath fallen cheeringly on the pallid
race of disease. It hath beamed upon that countenance lighted
aup with faith of the mother interceding with God for her protigal son. It hath visited earth as an angel of love, spreading
her mantle of beauty over sea and land, and awaking the na



EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.    339
tions to a new existence of activity and joy; and wherever it
has gone, on whatever field of grandeur or of loveliness it
may have shone, the Omnipresent Deity was there, there in his
power to govern, there in his goodness to bless.  For the
world is a-field for the manifestation of his divine perfections,
and on this field has he lavished, in boundless profusion, the
riches of his wisdom and power and love.
It is a wide field, yet wander where you may the footsteps
of the Deity are ever visible, visible in the beauty he hath
poured over nature, visible in the provision he bath made for
man, and in the wonders his power hath created. Oh, what a
field is this which God hath chosen as the theatre fobr the display of his glorious perfections, a field where the flowers of
paradise might bloom and cluster with fi'uits of heaven! Alas,
that sin hath entered so fair a field, to ravage and desolate it,
to mar its loveliness, and turn its sweetest joys into fiuits of
bitterness! Alas, that Satan hath entered it to glut his appetite for misery, his malignant hatred against God and holiness, and converted the garden of the Lord into a nursery of
demons. Human passions, fiery and malignant, have made it a
field for their mad career, with whirlwind violence sweeping
wildly over it, blasting and withering as they pass, and marking it with tears and blood. Ambition bath made it a field of
rivalry and avarice, a field of cruel extortion; sensuality, a field
of brutal lust; jealousy, of hatred and revenge; and altogether a field of carnage, a perfect Aceldama.
Oh, brethren, when you look abroad over the earth, and see
how men and devils, in their very wantonness, have m'arred
this fair field, do you not sometimes exclaim with the Psalmist,
Hath God forgotten, are his mercies clean gone forever?
Amidst the disquietude of thy spirit, turn away from  the
deeds of man to meditate on the works of God. Behold the
supremacy of his ever-present agency.  On the battle-field,
amidst the dying and the dead, his laws are not suspended.
iiMan does his worst, but nature remains unaltered; the flowers
bloom as lovely still amidst mangled corpses, and the stars
shine quietly on, over heaps of slain. God still continues to




340    EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.
manifest his goodness and wisdom, despite the sinfulness of
mail, and foils the rage of Satan. For this world has been
for centuries the theatre of a conflict, more terrific and more
sublime than any which the mighty men of earth have waged,
when they deluged the land with blood, and shook the seas
with the roar of their artillery.  It is a mighty contest, waged
by spiritual and superior beings, for sovereignty over the souls
of men and supremacy in this field.
It is in this fearful conflict, that this world has become the
field of God's most amazing manifestations.  He may elsewhere have built up greater wonders, and pencilled brighter
beauties, and in the hearts of living inhabitants, as well as in
material scenery on the surface, may have exhibited to the
eye of intelligent observation a far more attractive and
imposing spectacle. But in the fall and redemption of this
world, there is something of far deeper and more enduring interest than in all the grandeur of the material creation. It is
to the universe what Palestine is to our earth, a land of holy
wonders. It is the Thermopylve of the moral universe, where
the great battle has been fought, and the victory won, and the
triumph proclaimed, and the Captain of our salvation, by
shedding his own blood, has wrought an eternal deliverance for
his people. Here then the world is his by a new, more sacred,
and more solerhn title, a title sealed with blood, the blood of
his Son. And think you, shall he not see of the travail of his
soul and be satisfied, perfectly satisfied? Hath he purchased
it at a price so costly, merely that he might cast it away in indifference, or yield it to his foes?  "As I live, saith the Lord,
every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess. The knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover the
great deepl. Every valley shall be exalted, every mountain
and ilill shall be brought low; crooked places shall be made
straight, and rough places smooth, and the glory of the Lord
shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the
mouth of the Lord hath spoken it."  Unless prophecy be false,
the world will be reclaimed.  Oh, brethren, had we not seen it,
could we have believed that this very field —where God hath




EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.    341
stooped to manifest the boundlessness of his own high and
eternal attributes; where on every thing around are stamped
in characters of light, visible and palpable to all, the revelations of his existence and awful presence-human folly hath
chosen as the theatre for the display of human greatness; that
amidst these monuments of his power, in this majestic temple,
which the hand of the Almighty hath erected for his worship,
and from  every part of which, as from a living Shekinah of
light and love, are ever streaming forth the radiations of his
glory, before God and angels and devils-man would dare to
step forth in the pride of imaginary power, and do deeds of
devilishness, which wrap the earth in sackcloth, and veil the
sky in blackness, and call down thunderbolts of wrath!
II. But consider, secondly, that this world is also our field.
Our Master's field is ours. It is his to create, to uphold, to
possess, to govern, to redeem, and, by its redemption, to manifest most illustriously his glory.  It is ours, to occupy in the
Master's name, and cuLltivate to the MA:lster's glory, and subdue to the Master's setrvice; and what employmentt could be
more elevated, what destiny more glorious tihan this, to be coworkers with God in the salvation of such a world?  But remember it is not a couch for repose, or a throne for exaltation,
but afielfd for labor. Lift up your eyes.  Behold how wide
the field, how precious the harvest, how great the desolations
sin bath wrought! Call up, if possible, befolre youlr minds all
the sins and miseries that fromn creation downward have deface,-  and polluted the world; the sighs of' suffering innocence, the groans of the oppressed, who had none to deliver,
the innocent blood shed from  the days of righteous Abel
downward.  Calculate the victims whom  twari hath hurried
into eternity. Let them  pass before your eyes, the host of
desolate widows and weeping orphans, whom  the bloody
cr:uelty of man hath robbel of a prctector.  Sec' io'ow tthe tide
of the world's population has sw-elt oa, wvavl  altesr wave in
rapid succession, and each wave stained with bloodl, and
mingled with bitter tears. Conceive the misery of a single
soul, whom scepticism  hath robbed of all future hope, or




342    EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.
superstition hathl wrapt in an eternal gloom, or idolatry hath
degraded to the level of a brute, or wild excess of appetite
and passion hath inflamed to the fury of a fiend. Rather conceive the condition of a soul where all these various elements
of misery are struggling together for the mastery, aggravating
each the horrors of the other, and adding to their combined
results the terrible anguish of' uncertainty, then multiply these
horrors by six hnndred millions, and you wvill form some conlception of the misery which in each successive generation sin
is spreading over the world; and shall this last forever?  In
the name of bleeding and stffering millions, in the name of
humanity and religion, in the name of the living God, we answer-No.  There is balm  in Gilead, a physician there, a
remedy for human disorders, a panacea for human woes. We
will rise and bear it to our brethren, wherever there is misery
to be relieved, or ignorance to be enlightened, or pollution to
be purified, or sin to be forgiven; wherever man exists with
his weakness and woes, there we will penetrate with the light
of the Gospel in our hands, and the faith and love of the Gospel
in our hearts. Oh, brethren, that was a fine thought of the
heathen poet: "I am a man, and nothing human is foreign to
me."  But what are the interests for which in a moment of
pathetic enthusiasm he felt such deep sensibility, in comparison with those higher enduring interests which the Gospel has
revealed? Those interests are of a body soon to crumble; these
are the interests of a soul which, when empires had passed
away, and worlds crumbled, would be just commencing an existence; whose progressive advancements in joy ol- woe, numbers could not calculate, and only eternity could measure ont.
But where shall we find the spirit that is large enough to embrace a world, and bold enough to dare all, and endure all, for
the welfare of others? It is found only in the Gospel of the
Saviour.
Here is the grand announcement made, that the field is the
world.  On every page of this wonderful book, the Bible, we
find the impress of the same large and capacious mind, embracing all mankind in its regards, and comprehending all




EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE'OF THE GOSPEL.    343
time in its survey. Its charity is as wine as the world; its
philanthropy, overleaping all national boundaries, expansive
as our race.  Man, at best a minute and narrow-min(led creature, engrossed with his own petty pursuits, anxieties, and
cares, seldom looks abroad on the miseries of his race; or if
some tale of sorrow excite a momentary comparison, gives
sparingly out of his abundance, and returns with quiet selfcomplacency to his accustomed enjoyments. The statesmen
and philosophers of old confined their sympathies to the limits
of their own country, and even in its boundaries looked with
contemptuous pity on the poor and ignorant. But to enlighten
the ignorant, to purify the polluted, to relieve the wretched, to
civilize the barbarous, and humanize the beastly of other
lands, practically to sympathize with human suffering, wherever it may be found, and to know no luxury so great as that
of doing good —such exalted principles of action as these
were unknown to man, till taught by him whose life and death
were their most glorious exemplification.
There is sometimes indeed among worldly men, a sort of
poetic sensibility, which weeps and sighs, and is most wonderfully pathetical; and amidst the luxury of this pleasing sentimentalism, you might deem them the most heroic philanthropists of their day. But this philanthropy soon evaporates in
eloquence and tears. Hence in the whole history of modern
benevolence, you will not find a single scheme requiring for its
accomplishment a bold, self-sacrificing disinterestedness, which
has not been devised by Christian zeal, and executed by Christian courage. Nay, we most confidently assert, that in every
great and beneficial revolution, which has passed on human society, in the opinions and conditions of men, in every mighty
battle fought for the welfare of our race, the blood that has
been shed was the blood of Christian martyrs; the men who
pioneered the cause, and the men who carried on the cause,
and by their labors and sufferings brought it to a triumphant
issue, were men versed in the doctrines and imbued with the
spirit of the Gospel. Need I refer for proof to the establishment of Christianity, to the Reformation, to the abolition of




344     EXPANSIVE BEINEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.
the slave-trade, or the mighty work of modern missions, while
the infidel philosopher sat securely in his study, and laughed to
scorn the fanatical folly which dared such dangers, with such
remote prospect of success.
In their commencement, modern  missions were derided as
chimerical, impracticable, and their f-ailure predicted as certain.
Philosophers laughed  and theorized; Christians schemed,
Christians went to work, wept and prayed and labored, and
now behold the result. In every quarter of the globe missions
have been established; in fifty-six lallguages the Bible and
other books haave been printed and read; civilization has followed in the train of religion with the smiling cottage, the
quiet fireside, the cultivated farm; and thus, while guiding to
heaven, has Christianity been found diffusing  blessings along
man's pathway on eartlh;
Now we say that this is all because Christianity has introduced a new principle of action, a new motive for human conduct, new stimulus for human energies; a stimulus so strong
that it can raise the tone of human feeling far above the level
of our daily and selfishl anxieties and pursuits, and urge it otl
to) mightier enterprises for the good of the species.  It is the
profound remark of Madame de Stael in the ablest of all her
works, a remark fIbunded on an extensive and thorough examination of history, that no mighty influence has ever beeu
exerted over human destiny, no great revolution produced
in human affairs, without the influence of enthusiasm. Not
that wild and disordered passion which perverts the faculties,
but that divine and noble ardor, which in pursuit of a great
object, elevates the soul above the every-day we:.akness and
bitterness of life; abov-e the appetites that debase, and passions that seduce, and anxieties that perplex, and dangers that
alarm  mankind, and mailkes it master of the circumstances of
which others are the slaves.
Such was the enthusiasm of glory among the IRomans; such
the enthusiasm of learning  at its first revival in Europe; such
thle spirit of primitive Christians, when men went exulting, to
the stake or the cross; and such must be the temp)er inspired




EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOSPEL.    345
by any system, which is to lay strong hold on the minds of
men, and is destined to become universal.
Such is the spirit of the Gosl)el, self-denying, self-consecratirng, self-sacrificing, of Him who came into the world not to
be ministered unto, but to minister, and "'to give his life a
ransom for many;" of H-im who said, "I have a worik to do,
and how am I straitened till it be accomplished;" of that
Apostle who said, "I count not my life dear, so that I
might finish my course with joy, anld testify the Gospel of
the grace of God;" of the holy martyrs, of the noble reformers, of the modern missionaries, of' every Christian in
whose bosom  reigns that "spirit of Christ without which
none can be his."
And here, brethren, we do fear there is utterly a delusion
amnongst you; that many of you console yourselves with the
thought, that the  Inissionary, the pastor, the theological
student perhaps, ought to cherish and to manifest this spirit of
entire consecration; but that for yourselves, a loswer stand:lrd
of religion will surely suffice. But what is the teaching of the
inspired Apostle? "None of us liveth to himself; and none
dieth to himself; whether we live, we live unto the Lord; or
whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore or die, we are the Lord's."  "Now I beseech you brethren, offer your bodies and spirits a living sacrifice unto God."
"Ye are not your own, but bought with a price, therefore
glorify God with your bodies and spirits which are God's."
Oh no, there is no easier religion for you; the same salvation
is iffered, the same motives presented, the same crown prepared, the same cross to be borne. Are your talents more
limited? then consecrate more unreservedly what you have.
It was he with one talent who alone was lost. We need this
spirit of self-consecration as much for its influence at home, as
for its mighty operation abroad. We need the stimulus of
some great enterprise, to wake up the slumbering energies of
the church; the power of some noble and exalted principle to
expel the frivolous spirit of the world.  Oh, were its influence
felt only amongst us, how unspeakably blessed might be the
15*




346    EXPANSIVE BENEVOLENCE OF TIHE GOSPEL.
results on ourselves, on our families, on the many youth who
resort hither from year to yrear!
Could there issue from this place only, one hundred young
men, ten annually for ten successive years, whose souls were
burning with the love of the Saviour, whose spirits were
awake to the magnitude of the great work before them, whose
minds were indeed cast on the circle of the earth, and their
thoughts glowing with fire sent down from heaven, what
wonders might they not effect, with the blessing of God on
their labors. They might revolutionize a nation, they might
shake a continent, their influence be felt and their voice be
heard around the globe. Why may this not be? It is because
your own influence, example, and worldly spitrit render them
worldly, ambitious, and vain. They breathe a polluted atmosphere, and all their vital energies are palsied, and thus many
congregations that shall pine beneath their ministry, the
heathen whom they might have saved, the world for which
they ought to have labored, all will rise up in judlgment
against you at the last day.




XVIII.
THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
JOHN xiv. 1.-" Ye believe in God, believe also in me."
THERE is an audacious spirit of speculation, frivolous and
flippant, superficial and yet presumptuous, which refuses to believe aught that it cannot comprehend and perfectly explain.
There is an humble piety, ignorant and contracted, ever
trembling for the Ark, like a man groping his way amidst the
twilight with a priceless treasure, which is startled at the approach of imaginary dangers, shrinks firom the light that
would unmask its foes and reveal their weakness, and in its
terror loses its grasp upon the very truths which a manlier
courage had successfully defended, and whose inestimable
value alone had excited its groundless fears.
If there be anything on earth of value surpassing all human
calculation, it is a firm and assured faith. The strongest thing
on the broad earth is a man of faith. There is nothing sublimer beneath the skies. Beneath him is the Rock of Ages;
above him is the deep heaven of heavens, in its solemn and
illimitable grandeur; around him the awful majesty of God;
within him a serene and celestial joy.  He walks the earth
with a different step from other men. He is going to another
country, even an heavenly. Dangers cannot awe him. Temptations cannot seduce him; for the love of Christ doth constrain him, and crowns of glory, unseen by others, are bright
before him. The arms of everlasting love encircle him.
Angelic hosts encamp around him. Fires cannot consume
him; the sword cannot slay him; for he bears a charmed




348             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
life, and, even here, is invulnerable and immortal till his work
be done.  As heir of all things life is }his, death is h:s,
heaven is his, earth is his, God and Christ are his.  No
wonder, then, that faith should have performed those prodigies of valor and power recorded in the eleventh chlapter of
the Epistle to the Hebrews; and left those bright examples,
which the Apostle has marshalled there, in compact and brilliant array; whose names fall upon our ears as the trumpettones of conflict and victory.  Mlen of -faith have ever been
nen of power. PFaith! Yes, our faith —faith in God, faith ill
Christ, faith in all the words of God. Whatever else we
neglect, let us not fbrget to cherish our faith; to hold fast
our fiitlh even to the end.  If health, character, fortune,
country, fanmily, fiiends-all were gone, faith would more than
supply their place.
But take froln me my fiaith-tear from  my bleeding and palpitating heart the sweetest and loftiest of all the hopes it has
ever cherished-hopes which nestled  amidst my childish
thoughts, mingled with my boyish studies, and now, in the
maturity of manhood, sweep from horizon to horizon of nmy
existence, arching tile heavens with sublimnity and grandeu!,
and gilding the earth with beauty —rob me of my faith in
that Eternal Holiness and Omnipotent Love revealed in the
Scriptures-and who shall then repair the ruins of this desolated heart! Bereft of faith, I atns left alone in an orphan
world, without Father or friend, without guardian or guidle,
without God or hope, to stand a.midlst the shrouded forms, and
spectral memories, and sepulchral monuments of hopes that
can live no more.
No wonder, then, that the men d' faith in every age have
been men of honor; that ages of faith have been ages of lofty
enterprise, of heroic daring, of sublime achievement, fiuitful
in blessings to the world; while ages of scepticism have been
dark, dreary, and barren, passing athwart the track of human
history, like the black clouds of a wintry night-now  careering wildly before the fury of the storm, now drifting along,
cold, sullen, silent huge, shapeless, hiding the clear' vault of




THE PROVINCE OF FAITTI.                349
heaven above, and blackening the earth with their portentous
shadows.
Yet is there an audacious spirit of speculation abroad, which
would rob us of our faith; and along with our faith would
rob us of our happiness, our moral worth, and all our moral
power. It swas to rebuke this daring spirit, and at the sanle
time to chasten and cheer the hearts of all htumble and trembling believers, that our Saviour uttered the language of' the
text, Ye believe in God, believe also in me. If the admonition and encouragement were needed then, mulch more are
they needed now. Ye believe in God, notwithstandiilg all
the darkness that shrouds him from human vision, notwitlhstanding the unfathomable mystery that overhangs the mode
of his existence and baffles at every point all human investigation.  Notwithstanding all the difficulties that lie in the
nature of the sulject, and those which ingenious sophistry
throws around it, you still hold fist to your belief in God.
You clilng to the fact; you stand upon the evidence; you
thrust away all the plausibilities of ingenious and delusive
speculations; and still belierve in God.
Our Saviour's requirement is, " Believe also in me."  The
propositions involved in this requirement would seem  to be
the following: first, th-at the evidence in both cases is the same
in kind and equal in degree; secondly, that there is nothing
more difficult, more mysterious or incomprehensible, proposed
by me, than you already believe; thirdly, that there is nothing
more miraculous in the one case than in the other; fcutrthly,
that believing in God as you do, you already believe in every
relation, duty, and responsibility which I inculcate; fiftthly,
that believing in God, you are necessarily shut up to faith in
me. Because there is no other refuge for a sinner from God's
justice, and from everlasting despair, except by believing in
me.  "For I amn the way, and the truth, and the life; no man
cometh to the Father but by me."
I. Consider, first, the evidence.  No man hath seen God at
any time, or heard his voice. Invisible to human eye, unheard
by human ear, impalpable to lluman sense, inaccessible wholly




350             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
to all human scrutiny, he dwells in his own immensity, unapproachable by the gaze and incomprehensible to the understanding of man. Yet do we know his existence from  the
evidence of indubitable facts-facts that lie within the range
of human inquiry, and firom which our conclusion is legitimately drawn, with intuitive rapidity, and irresistible conviction, on the ordinary principles of hunmani reasoning.  Yet is
the evidence of these facts only huamczn  testimony. All nature,>
indeed, yields her testimony, and science, through all its departments, brings me her varied contributions. And sweet to
the Christian's heart and sublime is the harmony of that loud
and universal response, which thus comes from nature throughout all her provinces, and testifies to the existence and attributes of the Great Creator. Yet, let us never forget, that; it is
on human testimony that we believe each one of these separate facts, which startle us from our indifference; and, by their
combined and accumulated power, absolutely overwhelm our
understandings, sweep away our doubts, and leave us only
awe and wonder and adoration.
When the anatomist points you to the wonders of the
human frame, the symmetry of its fair proportions, the mutual
adaptation of all its parts, their harmonious combination towards one grand result-the life and health of the human
being; when he leads you through all that intricate machinery
of tubes and canals, by which blood is distributed through all
the system; that still more intricate machinery by which
nutrition is communicated to the blood, its impurities all removed, and it returned in healthful currents to stimulate the
heart, and to pour again through veins and arteries, in one
living torrent, giving hardness to the muscles, sensibility to
the nerves, incessant, never-sleeping energy to the heart, fiom
which it issued; when he points to the exquisite mechanism
of the eye, the structure of the ear, the lungs, the hand, so
admirably adapted to be the instrument of an intelligent being,
so useless to all beside; when in every separate portion, and
in all combined, you behold traces of a skill surpassing all
human wisdom, and which all past centuries have not sufficed




THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.                351
to exhaust by their investigations-remember, it is only h azcun
testimony which you have heard, and on this humeanc testimony
you have based your sublime and irresistible conclusion.
When the astronomer takes his adventurous journey through
the skies, and returns with his prodigies of discovery; tells
you of world after world as they wheel through the immensity
of space; of system after system as they pass in rapid and
dazzling succession; of great globes of light hung out there
in the blue ether, self-poised, pursuing their eternal flight;
when he shows you a whole universe apparently rushing to its
ruin-planets oscillating from side to side on their axis-their
orbits for a hundred centuries expanding, then contracting in
apparent lawlessness-and then shows how each is poised
against the other, so that all these irregularities correct themselves-how in the mighty march of the universe all things
return once more to the point from which they started; and
when overwhelmed by the maganitude of the scheme, and lost
amidst the intricacy of its movements, you fall down in
wonder and adoration before the inscrutable wisdom  that
formed them all at first, assigned them  their magnitudes and
relative positions, gave the first impulse to their movements,
and still keeps up from century to century, through incalculable millions of years, the play of this wonderful machineryremember it is on the strength of humanc testimony you accredit all these marvels.
When the geologist penetrates the abysses of the earth, and
tells you of buried species piled layer above layer many
fathoms deep-the sepulchres and the memorials of an earlier
world; and pointing to the structure of all their parts, shows
that one grand design, one stupendous purpose, one all-pervading, all-controlling, all-providing intelligence is seen through
all the immeasurable cycles of the geologic ages-remember
this too is only human testimony. They present the facts, you
draw the conclusion only.
Now it does not signify to say, "many an humble and unlettered man believes in the existence of God without all this
testimony." He believes it, because he cannot help it. It is




352              THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
spontaneous, intuitive, conviction fromn all he sees around him
and feels within him. Tile unlettered Christian has the same
inwaird and intuitive conviction, draws instinctively the sanle
intuitive, and ripid, and irresistible conclusion, as to the realities of the Gospel. And here they are on a par. But I speak
of that conviction which is the result of scientific investigation, and here, after ail, their belief of all the facts is based on
htcmacn testimony. You never, perhaps, witnessed the anatomy
of a single subject; or saw a single experiment in chemistry;
or gazed through a telescope; or calculated the orbit of a
planet —n:ly, of all the distinguishedl scientific men on earth,
how few have gazed through Lord Rosse's telescope, or observed the stars in the southern hemisphere, or performed
half the analyses in chemistry; yet on the faith of hmnan testirnony, we credit all those prodigies of science, so remote
from  all the appearances of cldaily liit. And why?  Because
there is,no motive conceivable to induce so many men to
combine in a conspiracy to deceive the world. It would subvert all the laws of evidence, reverse all the principles of
human nature with which we are acquainted, while confessedly we are not acquainted with the infinite possibilities of
things.
Such is the testimony for the facts of the Gospel-the miracles and resurrection of the Saviour. Nay, this is far more
conclusive.  Have astronomers been called to seal their testimony with their blood?  Yet the apostles, and thousands besides, in the earliest ages, laid down their lives in attestation,
not of opinions, but of.icts-of miracles, repeated and various, occurring under their own eyes, appealing to their senses.
What was the motive to deceive?  Did they not peril alllose all?
Do you say, we see around us now the evidences of God's
agency and presence in the magnificent revolution of the seasons?  We say, so it is in Christianity.  We see its mighty
influences on human society; we see its grand fulfilment ot
prophecy.
II. The evidence is equal. Are the truths proposed more




THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.                  353
mysterious in the one case than in the other?  Here let us
guard, in the outset, agrainst a natural rnisappiehension.  We
have denounced this speculation as audacious.  Let us not be
mistaken.  We are not of the number of those who denounce
acll speculation.  Mien always have speculated, always will, always must, always ought to speculate.  It is the natural, instinctive tendency of the human mind, the source of all oir
discoveries, to pass from the known fact to its unknown cause.
Every mlan, every child has his little speculation.  The very
men who object against it, present their own speculations as
an argumetnt.  The inquisitor thinks he may denounce all
thouguht, reasons a(ainst the right to reason, and gives his own
decisive judgment against the right of judogment. The only
remedy for erroneous speculation, is to speculate aiight. The
only remedy for a false philosoplhy, said a departed father of
our church, is a trtue philosophly.  Our objection to this audacious speculation is, that it is false and childish, that it has
not learned the first lesson of a true philosophy-the appropriate objects and true limits of human inquiry; and that it
seeks to overleap the boundaries wisely assigned to all human,
and, we believe, to all created intelligence, and wastes in se:irch
of unattainable knowledge the energies designed fbr subjects
that lie within the limits of the human faculties.
The first lesson of a true philosophy is humility. Its ealrliest'utterance, handed down to us from  the father of philosophy
in Greece, is an acknowledgmnent of total ignorance in all
that relates to the ultimate nature and essential elements of
tliincgs.  All human reasoning terminates at last in some first
priniciples, admitted by all, and which can be proven and explained by none. All physical inquiry la.nds us at last in some
ultimate fact, too simple to be analyzed, too clear to be illustrated, too plain to be proven; which shines by its own selfevidencing light, and of which we can learn nothing but that
it stands alone there in its inscrutable mystery.  Such are all
the great facts in nature to which we proudly give the narile
of laws.
Nay, were we endowed with senses that could penetrate




354             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
the inward structure of things, and see the particles of matter
in their primordial elements, it has been proven, that still their
movements would be shrouded in mystery to us, and we could
know nothing but the facts.  " All there is, is mystery," says
the subtlest thinker of our age, " or nothing is mystery."  In
this sense the whole universe with all its parts is one vast
mystery. The heaven and the earth, the stars as they move
and shine, are all mysterious.  Their motions are a mystery,
their light a mystery.  The flowers as they grow, the human
body and human spirit separately, how mysterious, and in their
union, a reduplicated mystery! What these scientific thinkers
call an explanation, is but a removal of the mystery; or rather
a multiplication of the mysteries to be solved. It is but the
tracing of one fact, which cannot be explained, to another, orto many other iacts, equally inexplicable; and then, after multiplying the mystery, crying out that it is explained.  For example, you see a star millions of miles off. How do you see
it, and know what it is? The explanationl traces it on from
fact to fact; each needs explanation; and at last, the great
fact remains untouched, that the mind perceives, by some inexplicable process, the distant star. You have not approached
a comprehension of the process. Such, then, is that boasting
and supercilious philosophy which comes, with great swelling
words of vanity, to rob us of our faith. It has not learned
the first elements of true reasoning.
Thus do we see that in whatever direction we turn our
thoughts, above, beneath, around, within, all is mysterymystery in the great worlds above us, in their light and their
motions-mystery in the minutest particles of matter, in
their attractions and repulsions, their combinations and decomposition. In all vegetable and animal life, its nature and
its origin, in the human body with all its varied fulnctions,
and the human spirit with its inscrutable powers, there is
mystery.  The whole universe is one great mystery-one
temple of' the Great Invisible, whose mysteries we cannot
penetrate, where the learned and the ignorant alike can only
stand and wonder and adore-with a wonder the more pro



THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.                355
found, and an adloration the more devout and reverential, as
truth after truth bursts upon the awed understanding, and reveals to human ignorance fresh glimpses of that immensity
which sweeps boundlessly away beyond the reach of man's in+vestigation.  "I am but a little child," said he, who first
fhthomed those spheres hitherto unfathomable, and converted
those sparkling ornaments of our niglht into worlds of immeasural-le glory, " I am but a little child, standing on the
shore of the great ocean of truth, and gathering a few pebbles
to show to my companions."  What that pebble is to the
ocean on whose shore it lies, to the globe which holds that
ocean in its bosom, to the sun which holds that globe in its
orbit, to the universe in which that sun itself, with all its attendant worlds, is but a point invisible-such is this whole
universe to the immensity of God. What, then, must be the
mystery of his nature! Surely the man who has received the
idea of a God, who has analyzed it into all its component elements, who has grasped in it all its vast proportions-surely
he has already accepted the greatest of all conceivable mysteries; and nothing more remains which can baffle the keenness of his sagacious scrutiny, or revolt the delicacy of his allembracing faith.
For, tell me, what is your conception of a God?  God is a
spirit. But what is a spirit?  It has no parts or proportions;
it has no form or magnitude; it has no dimensions or color.
There is nothing in the whole universe around which resembles it, nothing analogous to it, nothing to aid us in forming a conception of it. But, you say, the spirit is that which
feels, and thinks, and hopes, and fears-that which is capable
of all these various emotions, and remains unchanged amidst
the fugitive variety of its changing states. You tell me what
it does. I ask you what it is? And I ask in vain. For he who
has studied it the longest and the most profoundly, will be the
last to venture a reply. Its phenomena I know; for of these
I am conscious. But that mysterious essence, of which these
phenomena are the varied manifestation, and shrouding which
they yet appear to reveal-what is that?  "What is the




356             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
soul?" once asked a thoughtful inquirer of his friend.  "I
know nothing of it," was the reply, " except that it is immaterial and immortal."  "Let us ask Fontenelle," rejoined the
inquirer.  " Ah," said he, "he is the last man in the world to
ask; for he has too much sense to know anything more about
it than you or I."
It has been from  my earliest boyhood, the employment and
the pleasure of my life, to seek to fathom, if possible, this
mystery of man's immaterial spirit, and to comprehend something of its nature; but after all my reflections, and all the investigations of others, the conviction has become every day
the profounder and the more intense, of that untathomable
mystery which must forever encompass a deathless spirit. A
simple, primitive conception, it declines the scrutiny of the
senses, eludes the grasp of the imagination, defies the analysis
of logic; and when you question it, its only answer is, that
which its great Author gave-"I' aLn that I am."  It stands
alone, grand, solemn, peculiar, shrouded in its own impenetrable mystery.
But God, you say, is the great First Cause, the great Creative
Spirit.  But what is creation?  When did  he create?  Howv
did he create?  Can you describe the process? Here, too, all
earthly analogies fail us. The mechanic, indeed, may hew his
timber into form, may mould it into beattr, and polish it to
brightness.  The sculptor, by a yet superior skill, may take
the rude marble from  the quarry, and shape it into the dead
resembllance of a living man. Nay, by the strange magic of
his art, he may breathe an illusive. reality over the whole, may
give to the form all the grace of beauty, and to the brow the
majesty of genius, till the love of the mighty (lead shall live
again to the imagination and almost to the eye. But these
have the materials on which they operate, the instruments with
which they work.  Here, however, there are no instruments
or materials with which, and on which, to begin the work of
creation. Do you say, he called all things out of nothing?
But what is nothing?  Has it any existence?  And if it had,
were all things contained from eternity in its bosom, to leap




TIE PROVINCE OF FAITHR.                 357
forth into being at his Omnipotent fiat? View it in whatever
form you may-cast it into any form of human expressionshape it to any mould of thought-it is, at last, a primitive, indefinable conception, too simple to be analyzed, too peculiar to
be illustrated firom any other source. It remains, and ever
must remain, an original, isolated, sublime reality, to be accepted on its own appropriate evidence as an inexplicable fact.
But God is a spirit, infinite, immutable, eternal, omniscient,
omlnipresent, almighty. If, then, it is so difficult to form any
conception of a finite spirit like our own, how does the difficulty increase, and the perplexities multiply, when you project your conception of a spirit into infinity, expand it over
eternity, diffuse it through immensity; and thus add to its inherent difficulties, every other element most incommensurable
with the powers of the human understanding.  Eternitywrhat is the eternity of God?  Will you first tell us, what is
time?  All past ages, with their combined powers of investigation, have sought to give the answer, and have sought in
vain. "Time," says the latest transcendental philosopher, "is
nothinlg in things themselves, or in events, or in their relations.
Time is a form of human thought."  "Time," says the most
subtle thinker who has written in the English language for
half a century, "Time is nothing in things or in events;
time is the relation of priority and succession between events."
That is equivalent to saying-time is time.  Most luminously
spoken! Surely wisdom will die with the luminaries of our
benighted race! " Time," it is said, " is the relation of priority
and succession in events."  But what is a relation?  Can you
define it?  The subtlest analyst of human thought in our
country has exhausted all his ingenuity in the effort, and by
ulniversal admission has niost signally fiuiled.
But if it be so difficult to tell what time is, what shall we
say of eternity? Here modleirn science, with all her multiplied
discoveries, comes to our assistance; but comes in vain. In
vain do we strive to clamber upward, step by step, on that ladder
of ascent, which reaches from heaven to earth, and from earth
back to heaven, whose lowest round is upon the earth, while




358             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
its summit rests upon the throne of the Eternal, and is lost to
our view amidst the invisibil-ities of that awful throne. Reason
reels beneath the weight of' her own stupendous discoveries,
and imagination falters on wearied wing, as she expatiates
amidst those millions of ages, which, when multiplied by other
millions, are not the sum, but the commencement of eternity.
Our brief year, and still briefer day, are measured out by annual
and diurnal revolutions of the earth. Five hundred of our
years would scarce suffice to measure the period of revolution,
in its eccentric orbit of one of our best-known comets. One
thousand of our years would be but a single year in the distant planet of our own little system. Eighteen hundred millions of years is the period assigned by the greatest astronomeris of our day for the revolution of our sun, in its amazing
orbit around its distant centre, in the farthest heavens. But
in vain do we add millions upon mnillions, and multiply these
again by other millions, in the effort to grasp eternity. In
vain do we summon to our aid all the powers of calculation,
and let imagination loose, to rise from summit to summit in
this sublime and perilous ascent. For, after all, this is not eternity. That sun began to shine. These revolutions are not of
eternity. And when the soul of man, of' higher and nobler
elements than the suIn himself, and destined for a far more
magnificent career, sweeps backward in thought beyond tile
hour when suins began to shine, behold she stands amidst eternity. Behind her are the ages of the eternity past; before
her is the eternity of ages yet to come. Around, above, beneath, on every side, stretches far away, in its silent and
solemn grandeur, the immensity which is the dwelling-place of
God. No sun, no stars of light, no moon, no day, no night,
no revolutions of the spheres are here. No voice or form of
man, or angel, is seen or heard amid the void and voiceless
infinite.
Who can comprehenld this immensity! Our modern science
expands our views, and elevates our conceptions, and seems to
invite us to the effort. But it is only to show us the nothingness of man, in comparison with the infinitude of God. The




THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.                359
smallest of those intervals, with which our astronomy is conversant, stretches immeasurably beyond our utmost powers of
conception, leaving us to wonder that our geometry can demonstrate what our imagination cannot grasp.  One hundled
millions of miles is about the interval which separates us from
our sun. One thousand times that distance will not bing us
to the last-discovered planet of our little system. WThen we
attempt to ascertain the distance of one of those fixed stars,
that are visible by millions, in our sky, we find that the diameter of the earth's orbit around the sun-two hundred millions
of miles in length-is too short for the base-line of such a measurement; that the lines, drawn from each extremity of this prodigious length, run up into each other, and the angle they inclose absolutely vanishes, as if they issued fiom a single point.
Now, transport yourself in imagination to such a star as this.
As you pass onward and upward, the moon soon fades, the
planets disappear, the sun diminishes, grows dim, twinkles as
a bright spot in the distant heavens. A new firmament is now
above your head. New constellations shed their radiance on
your pathway. The order of these lower heavens is reversed.
Suns revolve around suns in gorgeous magnificence, and pour
their radiance on your head, where all the colors of the rainbow meet, in varied combination, as if the broad arch of heaven were one perpetual memorial of love and safety, sent from
the Father of lights to hlis unfallen offspring.
Astronomers, who have looked through the best constructed
of our modern telescopes, assure us that the first emotion of
all beholders is one wild gush of ecstacy and wonder, mounting up to almost delirious joy, and subsiding finally into a calm
and solemn exaltation of soul, awed by the surpassing grandeur of the scene, yet expanded and elevated by the very
grandeur that subdues and overwhellns. Standing now in one
of those uppermost worlds, with the keener vision and superior
instruments which they may enjoy, let us sweep the whole
heaven of heavens in one rapid and magnificent survey. Yet
far beyond the reach of eye or telescope, beyond the range of
angel vision or angel flight, stretches illimitably on the im



360             THE  PROVINCE OF FAITH.
mensity of God's creation, withl new  fanilies of worlds, new
forlms of existence, new sources of enjoyment, new methods
of adminiistration, new firmanlents of glory, each separate, yet
all united; formed by one wisdom, upheld by one power, pervaded by onle presence, subordinated to one higll purpose, aind
ultimnatelv, in one grand result, guided by one sup!,emne intel'igence. Stupendous eternity! Infinite complexity! Oh, the
depths of the riches, both of the wisdom  and knowledIge of
God!  How unsearchable are his judgments, and his wa-ys
past finding out!  Lo! these are parts of his w.ys; yet hlow
faint is the whisper we have heard of him. But the full thunder of his power, who can understand?  Canst thou then, by
searchling, find out God; canst thou find out the Alimighty to
pe:rfection?  Behold, it is higher than he:aven; mwhat canst
tlhou know? It is deeper than hell; what canst thou do? The
measure thereof is wider than the earth, and broa:der than the
sea. Lift up your eyes on high; and belhold, who hath crieated
these things; that biringeth out their host by number.  i-e
calleth them  all by name; by reason of the greatness of his
might; for that he is strong in power, not one faileth.  He
sitteth on the circle of the earth; and hath measured the
ocean in the hollow of his hand; and hath meted out the
heavens with a span; and conmprehended the dust of the earthi
in a measure; and weighed the mountains in scales, and the
hills in a balance. To whom then will ye liken n!e, or shall I
be equal, saith the Holy One?  Gird up thyself now like a
man, and answer me.  When I laid the foundationls of the
earth, where wast thou?  When I stretched out the heavens
over emptiness, and hung the earth on nothin"o; when the
morning stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for
joy; when I shut up the sea with doors, and set bars and bolts,
and said, thus far shalt thou come, and no farther; and here
shall thy proud waves be stayed.  Canst thou bind thle sweet
influences of Pieiades; or loose the bands of Orion?  Canst
thou bring forth MIazzaroth in his season; Or canst thou guide
Arcturus with his sons?  Hast thou an arm like God?  Canst
thou thunder with a voice like his?  Be still then, and know




THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.                361
that I am God. Before the mountains were brought forth, or
ever thou hadst formed the earth alnd the world, even from
everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. They shall perish,
but thou remainest.  They shall all wax old, as doth a garment, and as a vesture shalt thou fold them up; and they shall
be changed. But thou art the same; from eternity to eternity,
still unchanged;, without variableness or shadow of turning,
the first and the last, the beginning and the end, the omniscient, the omnipresent, the Almighty.  Oh, whither shall I go
from thy Spirit; or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If
I ascend up into heaven; thou ait there. If I make my bed
in hell; behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the
nlorning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even
there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold
me. If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me; even the
night shall be light about me. The darkness and the light are
both alike to thee. Thou hast beset me before, and behind,
and laid thine hand upon me.
Well might the inspired psalmist exclaim, " Such knowledge
is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it."
And who can comprehend the height, or the depth, or the
length, or the breadth, of these amazing attributes-the omniscience that includes things that are not, as well as things
that ale, all things that shall be, and might be, as well as those
that have been-a being that is present alike through all tinme,
and all space-through all time, without having any relation
to time, and all space, without relation to space-present at
every moment of time andl each point in space, not by a distribution of his powers, but in the absolute totality of all his
amazing attributes, in the full intensity of his whole undivided
essence, lavishing all the resources of his eternal wisdom and
almighty power, as truly when he gilds the wing of an insect,
or pencils the leaflet of a flower, as when he creates an angel,
kindles a sun, or upholds the universe.
Ye believe in God; believe also in me. If ye believe in
God, as manifested in the works of creation; believe in him
likewise as manifested in the person of his Sou. Do you ask
16




362             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
me to explain the nature and mode of that connection which
exists between the infinite Creator, and a finite being, the
mystery of an Incarnate God?  I answer most cheerfully, if
you will explain the nature of that relation which he bears to
all around. Know you not that he is present, most intimately,
vitally, essentially present, in a most mysterious and inscrutable manner, to all that lives, to all that is? He is present in
the hidden elements of matter, present in all the operations of
mind; present, not as a dead abstraction, but as a living power,
pervading all, sustaining all, vivifying all, controlling, directing, limiting all. He is nearer to each one of us, than our
spirit to the body which it animates; nearer than any particle
of this body to the particle immediately adjoining, with an
intimacy of relation for which nature has no illustration; because for it she has no parallel and no counterpart.  It is the
relation of the Creator to the creatures he has made, of
the source of all life to life derived from him. He is present
in the glowing sun, in the glittering stars, in the blossoming
flowers.  He rides in the whilwind, thunders in the storm;
foresees all without forcing any; reigns sovereign controller
amidst the freedom of human agency, and causes the folly and
madness of man, alike to accomplish his purposes of wisdom
and mercy. In him we live and move and have our being. By
him were all things created, and in him do all things subsist.
It is the mysterious relation which the Creator must bear to
all his creatures that has led the atheist to deny the existence
of a God, though the evidence of his existence is everywhere
around us. And when the evidence could not be denied, the
pantheist, in turn, has been led thus to make the universe a
God, and all its various parts a portion of the universal Deity,
attributing to the leaf that grows, and to the salt that crystallizes, the wisdom which he denies to the supreme intelligence.
But if there be this mysterious connection with all, why may
there not be a peculiar connection, though equally inexplicable,
with one?  If God is intimately present, connected with, and
manifest in, all his work, what is there unreasonable, or difficult to believe, in the fact that he becomes incarnate and mani



THE PROVINCE OF FAITII.              363
fest in the person of his Son? If you can believe in the God
of nature, and the God of creation, notwithstanding all the
difficulties and the mysteries involved in such a belief; where
is the unreasonableness of believing in me as the Incarnate
One, sent to redeem the world from sin; and of believing that
God is in me, reconciling the world unto himself?
Do youl say, I object, as unreasonable, to such a union of God
and man in Christ, as constitutes identity of person. I ask, in
reply, if you have solved the still greater difficulty which is
presented in your own person? If the union of spirit with
spirit, in harmonious combination, be a problem too difficult
for the Divine omnipotence, what say you to the union of an
immaterial spirit and a material body in man's nature; of a
spirit absolutely one and simple, with a body whose particles
are infinite ill number; nay, of a spirit which remains permanently the same, with particles that are forever changing; and
yet, amidst all these changes, the irresistible consciousness that
there is constantly the self-same person, composed of material
body, and an immaterial spirit? Will you deny your own identity? Will you deny that you have a body, or that you have
a soul? How body is connected with spirit, we do not know.
The fact, that they are connected, we do know and believe, however inexplicable; because of that we have sufficient evidence.
How the Divine nature is connected with the human in the person of the Saviour, we do not knlow. This is not offered to our
belief. Nor does'it demand our investigation. The fact we
receive, as any other fact, on the authority of testimony.
There may be mystery here, if you please; but it is the mystery which belongs to all human things, overhangs all human
knowledge, and is inseparable from the nature and limits of
the human faculties. The real mystery is, that men, who profess to think, should be so slow to learn the first lesson in all
true reasoning-the appropriate objects and real limits of human knowledge-that first dictate of sound philosophy and
common sense, and earliest result of all experience, that we
know, and can know, nothing of the hidden nature and essences
of things-that facts in every department of inquiry, collected,




364             THE PROVINCE OF FAITH.
observed, compared, form the basis and whole superstructure
of our knowledge.  This restless and prurient inquiry after
the hidden essences of things, mysterious powers, occult
qualities, as distinct friom the facts themselves, was the peculiar folly of the ancient alchemists, and is now the antiquated
relic of an exploded system, rejected by common sense, repudiated by sound philosophy, and contradicted by the uniform
and universal experience of man. Let us receive the great
fact of God manifested in our nature, as we receive the fact of
God manifested in creation. If we believe in God, let us believe in Christ. Let us believe in Christ, even as we -believe
in God. "He that hath seen me," said the Saviour, "hath
seen the Father. Believe me that I am in the Fatl er, and the
Fathel in me; or else believe me for the very w,-orks' sake.'




XIX.
HOW  LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.
PSALM xc. 12.-" So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our
hearts unto wisdom."
Tuis Psalm is called "A prayer of Moses, the man of God."
It was probably written on the borders of Canaan, when the
Jews had just finished their long and dreary wanderings
through that great and terrible wilderness, and were about to
enter upon the inheritance so long promised to their fathers,
and so long deferred, even till the heart was sick, for the sins
of their descendants. It would be difficult to conceive any cilcumstances more affecting than those under which this Psalnl
was composer.  The aged and venerable servant of SO.' 1 1,:jt
outlived all his cotemporaries..  ie had seen them all pursued
by that fierce threat of God which, the apostle informs us, is
sharper than any two-edged sword, and tailling in the wilderness beneath its unseen but terrible energy. One had been
swallowed up with Korah and his companions; another ha(l
been bitten by the fiery serpents, whose burning poison ran like
molten lead through every vein, till every nerve was wriumng
with intensest agonv, and every muscle was parched and withered by the heat, and the waters of life were dried up at once
in the system, or oozed slowly and lingeringly and painfully
away. Another has dragged his wearied limbs over the tedious
pilgrimage thlough that trackless desert, still cheerin(g himself
with the thought of Canaan and the vain hope that the Almighty would relent; until, at last, flesh and heart have failed
together, and the clelusive hope on whic(h he had so long leaned




366          HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.
is gone, and he sinks down, exhausted and desperate, upon the
sands of the hot desert.
And where is she, who had hung upon his arm  that fearful
night when they were thrust out from Egypt; who pressed still
closer to his side, as alarm and danger threatened, and gazed
so wishfully upon his manly face, to reassure her trembling
spirit? All! who so fit to minister in his last agony, and bty
the gentlest consolations soothe his departed spirit, as she who
was the cherished object-of his earliest and tenderest affections?
But long ere this her feeble fiame had sunk exhausted beneath
the labors and privations of their pilgrimage; and the mighty
host, hardened by perpetual scenes of distress, and rendered
intensely selfish by the consciousness of danger, to which they
were perpetually exposed, had swept on regardless of her
groans and dying. Thus it was that, one by one, they had all
fallen in the wilderness, hewn down by the unseen but terrible
sword of the Lord, until of all that mighty host who had mn arched
out of Egypt, in the vigor of health and the pride of triumph,
and had lifted up their voices to murmur against the Lord in
the wilderness, there was none remaining; and the venerated
leader and legislator of the Jews, in the decline of life, bereft
of all the companions of his youth, gazed around him in desolate loneliness of heart, and stood amidst the tribes of Israel
as the aged and solitary oak, leafless and branchless, and almost
lifeless, amidst the strewed and shattered forest which the
tempest has uprooted in its fury.
It was under circumstances such as these that the afflicted
servant of the Lord composed the affecting and touching Psalm
of which our text forms a part. It is a pathetic lamentation
over the shortness of human life, and a prayer for grace or
wisdom to improve it to the best advantage.  He contrasts
with the shortness of human life the eternity of God's existence.  He leads us away firon the contemplation of our short
and transitory existence here, into the depths of that unfathomlable and mysterious eternity which is the dwelling-place of
God, whose ever-rolling years move on unceasingly, without
beginning and without an end, reaching back immeasurably




HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.              36 7
beyond the creation of these heavens and this eartll and
stretcling forward far beyond the period when the earth shall
be dissolved by fire and the heavens shall be rolled together as
a scroll, and all the magnificence and all the glory of this material creation shall disappear forever.
How humbling, and yet how  salutary, is the contrast thus
presented between the duration of a day on earth, and the
long, long lapse of those revolving ages which measure out the
immeasurable periods of eternity. And even when we gaze
upon the scenes around us, how deep and solemn, is the impression of the brevity of life. The sun, which day bly day
awakens us into new life, and pours over all around the effulgence of his glory, has rolled on for centuries as he does now,
and has seen a thousand generations rising and flourishin~g for
a season in his beams, and then sinking down into the darkness
of the tomb. The green fiel(ls over which we sported in the
playfulness of infancy, while life was still a blessing, and to
breathe the fiesh air and enjoy the clea- sunshine was to be
supremely happy, even these continue still unchanged, clothed
in the same verdure, wearing the same cheerful smile, and
stirring up in youthful minds the same ardent hopes, which
leap forward unconsciously into the coming year. with the joyful anticipation of health and happiness.  But where are they,
the companions of our childhood and earliest youth, who loved
to gaze along with us on all that is beautiful and majestic in
the scenes around ius, and whose elastic spirits bounded forward
with all the freedom and confidence of unsuspecting youth to
the enjoyments of coming yeal's?  For themn no sun is bright,
and no fields are beautiful; no ray of light breaks in upon the
darkness of their last lonely dwelling-place; and the green
grass waves in rank luxuriance unnoticed and unlfelt over their
silent and solitary abode. Even those frail habitations which
man hath erected here, as the abode of his temporary residence,
and which shall soon crumble into the dust, even they outlast
our dying generation. The homne of our childhood still remains;
but where are they who made that home so happy, who gathelred around the same cheerful hearth, knelt at the same familyv




368          HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMIPROVED.
altar, and held high and blessed communion with us about that
world of spirits to which they have now departed? That venerable form, which led our thoughts in prayer, has long since
mouldered in the grave. The maternal tenderness which made
our home a paradise, and the name of Mother, the sweetest,
dearest, holiest on earth, is gone forever. The loid laugh rings
in those well-known halls but to mock us in our agony. It is
not the boyish merriment of the brother that we lost. That
light footstep is scarcely heard as it falls in its gentle gracefulness upon the threshold. But it is not of the sister we loved.
Our fathers, where are they? and the prophets, do they live
forever?
Let us dwell, my brethren, let us often dwell upon the memory
of the dead. "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord;"
and ever blessed and ever sacred be their memories. Holy,
holy, holy, fir above all earthly -feelings, is that fond remn-embrance which lingers around the graves of the departed,.which
cherishes the recollection of their virtues, which dwells upon
their bright example, and longs to be prepared for their society
above. It exalts at once, and purifies our nature; it raises us
above the world to hold communion with the slkies, and forms
a new link in that chain of love which binds earth to heaven,
and binds the destinies of man to the throne of God. There
are many of us here who have more beloved fiiends in heaven
than on ealtlh.  Anld what a thlught it is that they are 1now
angels of light around the thrlone of God-ministering spirits
to us who believe-to be the object of an angel's sympathy,
an angel's love!!! Now call not this the ravings of enthusiasm; it is the sober truth of God. In the coldness and hardness of a proud scepticism, call not that a too transcendent
vision, which paints the' dead on earth revived in heaven. It
is one of those glimpses which are sometimes given us in the
Bible, of the unseen and eternal world.  It is one of those
beams from that unutterable and unapproachable glory which
sometimes penetrate these dark and heavy clouds that overhang our existence here, flash across our pathway on earth, and
startle us by the very magnificence of their revelations.




HOW  LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.                369
Now, although there is no truth which we are more prone
to forget, there is none more importunately pressed upon our
attention in the word of Go(, than the shortness of oure lives.
It is clothed in every variety of inmagery which could strike
the fancy or affect the heart of' man.  It is a vapor which disappears as soon as it is seen, a cloud which rises in a summer's
sky, and suddenly vanishes away. It is like a tale that is told,
passing a few short hours merrily a-way, and then forgotten
forever.  Even'the frailest of those fragile things which we
employ as the emblems of our mortality often survive us. The
flower still blooms to remind us of the hand which planted it
and the gentle heart wbhich nurtured it with a sister's love.
But she, the sweetest, the dearest, the loveliest of all, the
flower of hier family, is gotle! Thle long glass waves in summer still above the head whose glossy ri,:glets were tossed in
girlish merriment as she' ran to welcomle anl enmfrt.e,-c us.  It
is like the grass which waves luxnr.ial;tiy ov.fr t i:  ini,i
morning, lut has fallen beneath tlhe s. yt>    t i -,'.ie i;io'ver before the night comes on.  it is like the flower which blooms
in the garden, land receives the adlniration of each transient
visitor, but is withered by the first hot blast that passes over it.
It is impossible for any of us, who have seen much of the
afflictions of human life, not to realize the justice of these
touching representations, and feel, as we read them, a thousand recollections rushing unbidden into the mind, and adding
melancholy confirmation of their tlrath.  And at such a time,
perhaps, there are few of us who do not love to mneditate, in a
kind of poetic reverie, on the shortness and -uncertainty of
m;:n's condition here; and while iwe enijoy the luxury of such
a soft and pleasing sentimentalism,  we almost think. that we
are ready to leave this world of' sorrow, and go to that abode
of peace, where our friends have gone before us; to lie down
in that long repose where " the wicked cease from troublilg alnd
the weary are at rest."  But it is greatly to be feared that
with many, especillly amongst the nmore refined and cultivated
classes of society, this fine sensibility is mistaken for religious
feeling, and constitutes indeed all the religion they possess.
16*




370          HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.
They weep and sigh, and are most tenderly pathetic, in vizew
of man's mortality, but soon forget it all, and no real, permanent impression has been made upon their character and life.
Now this is not the improvement which we should make of the
shortness of our lives. We should not treat the solemn realities of' human life as we do the fictions of a poet or a novelist.
We should not merely weep and sentimentalize about them,
but we should take them up as solemn and plractical truths, in
which we have a deep and eternal interest; alid if we thus consider them, then indeed may we learn lessons of the deepest
and most precious wisdom.
But, observe, if we would learn this wisdom, it is to be clone
by application.  The psalmist prays, "So teach us to nuriler
our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."  All
wisdom lies beneath the surface. It is a hidden treasure fbr
which we must dig, if we would obtain it. It is not a few idle
wishes, nor a few feeble efforts, which will master that wisdom
that cometh from above. There must be deep, close, intense
and continued application. There must be a striving to enter
the kingdom of heaven. There must be an agonizing after
those blessings which are offered in the Gospel. The great
and solemn truths of God's Word, and the awful realities of
eternity, must be treasured up in the memory, and dwelt upon
in our reflections, and urged home by repeated efforts upon the
heart and the conscience, even as the aspiring student pores
over some massy volume, wher'e he knows are laid up all the
treasures of ancient wisdom, or some knotty probleml  which
lies in the pathway of science, and whose solution leads on to
a thousand unknown tiruths.  How does he struggle with the
obstacles in his way, and summon all his powers to carry on
the contest! Though often foiled, he never despairs; he never
doubts the existence of the wisdoim he has not yet been able to
discover; but returns repeatedly to the investigation, till at
last his difficulties vanish, and his efforts are crowned with conplete success. Even thus must the student of heavenly wisdom  meditate by day and by night on the great truths of the
Gospel, the short duration of his existence here, and the cer



HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.              3 71
tainty of that coming retribution which awaits us all hereafter.
But with all his efforts must be united prayer to God, fervent
and unceasing prayer, still following the example of the
psalmist in his prayer for Divine teaching.
Prayer without effort, and effort without prayer, are equally
unavailing.  The first neglects the agency of man, the last the
agency of God. The first makes man a machine, incapable of
action or feeling; the last endows him with powers which he
does not possess, and attributes to him a wisdom which dwelleth only with God. Let us always pray, my brethren, as if all
depended on prayer; and let us labor, as if all depended on
our efforts. And let us cease to wonder that the boat which is
propelled by only a single oar, does not glide smoothly and
easily over the water, but is swept away by every current, and
whirled in every eddy.   If we would riglitly improve the
shortness and uncertainty of our lives, let us seriously and
solemnly reflect upon the lessons of our text.
I. That we are not at our own disposal, but in the hand of a
Sovereign and Almighty God. This is a truth that is admitted
by all in language, but utterly renounced in all the practical
affairs of life. All the schemes and plans of worldly men are
formed and pursued upon the deliberate assumption of the
fact that our lives are our own, and that we may employ thein
according to our pleasure. They are preserved and sustained,
we suppose, by the laws of nature, and hence we learn to attribute to them something of the certainty and stability which
we observe in the operation of those laws. Sinners fear no
change. They are saying, To-morrow shall be as this day
and much more abundant. They look forward far into the
future. Fancy spreads its gayest coloring over the distant
scene, and hope leaps forward to the anticipated happiness.
But in all this there is no thought of God, there is no thought
of death, there is no drelam about eternity.  And thus is the
High and Holy One, in whose hand is our life, and from whom
all our blessings flow, dispossessed of his rightful authority
over our hearts and lives.  We erect an idol in his place, and
yield to it tile suplrelmacy    over our affections, and never dre am




3S~i2        HOW  LIFE, IS TO BE IMPROVED.
that it shall not be eternal, until God, in his wrath or his
mercy, casts it down from the pedestal of its worship, a(nd
mingles it with the dust of the earth.  We mourn for a time
in brokenness of' heart, as did the one of old, who said, "Ye
have taken away our gods, and what shall we do?"  But human ingenuity or human folly soon discovers a new resource,
and another idol is consecrated, with other rites, and enthroned
with undiminlished power over our souls. And it is only when
idol after idol has been torn away that we learn how uncertain
is human life, and how little hunlan happiness depends on human foresight or human wisdom.
It is this proud feeling of independence which emboldens
men in their rebellion against God. Did we all feel that there
is an unseen Almighty hand which sustains us at all times, an
all-pervading Piresence following us, surrounding us, enclosing
us on all sides, dealing out to us every breath, and able by a1
single volition to terminate our lives, what solemnity would
this diffuse around us!  How humbly, how softly, hlow fearfully would we walk before the Lord!  The.antediltuvians were
secure in the enjoyment of life, and looked folrward to hundreds
of years of undisturbed indulgence, until the day when Noah
entered the ark, and the deluge burst upon and swept them
away. The inhabitants of Sodom were secure, even while Lot
was fleeing firom that guilty city to avoid the coming indiognation; and many a mind was then pressing forward into the
future; and contemplating large schemes of future wealth,
or pleasure, or applause.  And on that feartful night when
the angel of the Lord passed through the land of Egypt, aind
slew all the first-born, fiom the king upon his throne to the
lowest peasant in his cottage, while the sound of wailing was
heard at one extremity of Egypt, the voice of merriment was
resounding throughout the other; and mothers clasped their firstborn infants securely to their bosoms, and fathers gazed with
unsuspecting pride upon the manly form and features of their
sons just ripening into manhood. How vain were their expectations!  And how  often haave we beheld ourselves the
young man cut down in the flower of his youth, and the man




HO-W LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.             373
of restless activity or towering ambition, met in the pride of
his manhood and in the midst of his career, and hewn down
by the keen sword of the invisible destroyer.  Let us remeinber, then, that the tenure of our lives is very uncertain, that
they depend entirely on the will of another. And since these
lives are bestowed at first by his goodness, and continued by
his mercy, let us seek to propitiate his favor, let us endeavor
to do his will, let us prepare to meet his final judgment.
II. Let us remember that in this short life we have a great
work to do. It is this which stamps a solemn value upon human life, and communicates to every moment of our existence
a portion of that vast and awful interest which belongs to
eternity.  Every moment of our being has an intimate connection with every other, from the first dawn of re;ason and
moral agency, to the remotest period of that existence which!
has no limits beyond the grave.  Our lives are ainde lip of
moments, and each as it passes away bequeaths to that which
follows a portion of its own character.  Hence -wTe see-sitlce
the great business of life is to prepare for eternity —-how important it is that every moment of our time should be diligently improved. For the work which we hlave to do is vast
and important; important as the salvation of the soul, and
vast as all those interests which can be comprised in eternity.
This is our only probation; and all that we can ever (-lo for
ourselves, all that we can do for others, all that we can (lo for
the cause of our blessed Saviour, must be done soon, or left
undone forever. What immense concerns are crowded in upon
a few short, fleeting hours. And this short space may be much
shorter than we suppose. You may be formino plans ifor years,
blt this night your soul may be required of you.
The great business of life, all the vast concerns of eternity,
may be compressed into a single moment, and that moment
full of distraction and horror. 1Oh, how many thoughts of
horror rush inll upon the bosom of a dying sinner! There is
the memory of the warnings he has received and despised, the
invitations he has heard and rejected, the privileges he has enjoyed and misimproved, the time he has possessed anil lost, the




374          HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.
Spirit he has grieved repeatedly away, the vows and covenants
he has made and broken, the hopes which are now turned into
despair, the life which is now darkening into death, and the offered heaven, now soon to be exchanged for a hell of deepest
and bitterest agony! Think not that life is too long, for the
business allotted to it, or that any part nmay be devoted to folly
or to sin. Look within you, and see how much employment
you may find there; what passions to subdue, what pride to
mortify, what evil desires to quell, what unbelief to overcome.
Look above you to the example of' our Divine Redeemer, who
always went about doing good, and ask how much he expects
you to do in imitation of his example. Look around you on
the poor, on the muiserable, on the ignorant, on the sinful: is
there no sorrow which you can relieve, no ignorance you can
instruct, no sin you can rebuke? Look back on your past life:
is there nothing to repent of and to amend?  Look forward
to your future path: is there no danger to alarm your fears,
no enemy to oppose your progress, no temptations to seduce
your lassions? Are you altogether prepared, with the whole
arinor of God, for the contest? Then your deliverance is near
at hand, and it becomes you to dwell upon that world of glory
to which you are so near.
Look away beyond the scenes which are now around you;
tlhink of the glory yet to be revealed, of the crown which is to
sparkle on your brow, of the joy which is to flow.in full tide
over your exalted spirit, of the presence of God and all the
glories of the upper sanctuary; and then think whether every
moment is not well employed, and every faculty most wisely
exerted, when engaged in the acquisition of' a reward so rich
and so unmerited. That was a wise resolution formed by one
of the greatest and holiest men of modern times, when he resolved that he'; would live with all his,:night."  The expressioHn is singular, but deeply significant. It means to fulfil tihe
great purpose of our existence, thaqt no power shall lie dormant, no moment be unimproved, no duty neglected, no opportunity lost. If vou would live to any purpose, you must
live with all your might; you must vi:'d on the whole armor




IHOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.              3 75
of the Gospel, and endure hardness as a good soldier of the
Lord Jesus Christ.  Let your night be only a season of repose
fr om the labors of the day; and when the morning wakes you
from your slumbers, let it only rouse you to other duties and
other efforts.  A heathen philosopher once lamented that he
had lost a day when he had conferred no favor on any of his
friends.  And be assured that day is lost, lost never to be regained, in which you make no progress towards heaven, resist
no wrong propensity and strengthen no good one, do nothing
for the glory of' God, for the welfare of others, your own
spiritual improvement. The capacities which God has given
you are great, and worthy of a noble object. The work he
has placed befile you is exalted, and suited to the faculties of
your nature. The rewalrd he has promised is large. The ac.
count he will demand is strict and precise.  The judlgment he
has appointed is near at hand. The time is short.  Behold,
the Judge is at the door!
iII. Let us learn from the shortness of life the vanity of all
worldly passions.  Behold that splendid procession as they
sweep along, in martial triumph over the streets of the sevenbilled city, from  the gates to the capitol.  The streets are
strewed with flowers, and the altars smoke with incense; and
there, arrayed in purple, embroidered with gold, a crown of
laurel on his head, a sceptre in his hand, and drawn in a gilded
chariot by four milk-white horlses, stands the object of this
gorgeous ceremony.  Before him he hears the proud swell of
triumphant music; and as he is charioted along the streets of
the imperial city, surroutnded by captive kings, and the rich
spoils of empires, and cheered by the loud acclamations of the
populace, and the still louder greetings of the army who partake alike in the victory and the triumph, you may see the
flush of triumph on his cheek and the swell of exulting rapture
as it heaves his manly bosom.  B13ut amidst all this imposing
and exalting scene there is one, who sits close at his side, and
whispers gently in his ear; and that glow has faded from  his
cheek, and. that flush has passed away fiomn his brow, and
that bright eye is fixed in grrave and melancholy musing.
n                                              zn.~~ L1   4~ 1V CI~  L~~~IIVI



3 7~8        HOW  LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.
And what did he whisper in his ear? Did he remind him of
the ruin he had wrought, of the sacked cities and desolated
fields, of the ruined families, the bereaved widows and orphan
children which his success had made, and tell him, in the
honesty of truth, that the laurel on his brow was steeped in
blood and scalding tears, and ill befitted the brow that wore it?
No. He told him that he was a man, and reminded him of the
mutability of human affairs, and the sad reverses of human
fortune.  He bade him remember his mortality, and pointed
fbrward to that day twhen the glories of the world should have
passed away, and victor and vanquished should lie down together in the grave, and mingle with the dust from which they
sprang. And now the conqueror is forgotten in the man, and
the recollection of his mortality has quelled his rising spirit,
and subdued the pride and ambition which succ~ss -and admiration hbad too certainly aroused. He sur-ely cannot agitate
his mind with schemes of wild ambition who seriously reflects
how short would be the triumph of his pride, and how certain
and how dreadful its termination.
Let us remnember that we alre soon to die, and let this
moderate our desires for wealth and worldly comforts, as well
as for worldly distinction.  We could not be over anxious to
make provision for the flesh, to gratify the lusts thereof;, if we
felt that all these things would be taken from us, and we ourselves called to judgment. It would te:ach us especially to lay
aside all Nwrath and malice and evil-speaking. How can we
hlate the man who is so soon to lie with us in the silent grave,
and stand with us before the tribunnal of Justice? There is no
eloquence like the eloquence of the grave; and the lessons
which it teaches are as full of wisdom as of power. Go stand
by the tomb of the great, and learn the vanity of earthly
greatness. Visit the grave of the humble and obscure, and
wonder at those petty distinctions in society which all terminate at death. Stand by the grave of a beloved friend, and ask
if we have never wounded his feelings by unkindness, or misled his confidence byv an ungodly example, and resolve that,
since the living must soon be among the dead, we will more




HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.               377
faithfully perform every duty that devolves upon us; that our
consciences may be void of offence, and our affections unmingled with regret, when we gaze upon their sepulchres or
recall their memories. And to stand by the grave of an enemy,
is to feel the folly of all human animosities. The bitterest and
deadliest foes have been softened by such a spectacle, and even
wept to think that they could ever hate the poor, weak being
sleeping silently in the grave before them. Such would be our
feeling if we se:riously reflected that all men are mortal as well
as ourselves. It would produce a brotherhood of feeling towards all around us, and the bitterest hatred would soften into
compassion and love, when we remembered our common origin,
our common misfortunes, and our common destiny.
IV. Let us learn from the shortness of life to live for eternity.
This world is not worth living for. We look not at the things
which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the
things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are
not seen are eternal. TWe boast of our superiority to the bruites
ihat perish, but many live very much like then. They eat,
drink, build houses, and seek to gratify the senses, and leave
out of view their future destiny.  The great mass of mnkind
live with no thought of God or immortality, of heaven or hell,
and of those unseen realities which lie around them oil every
side, and fill up the eternity which is just before them. Looking at the things which are seen and temporal, men extend
their knowledge in every direction, and their dominion over
nature; but every such extension of knowledge and dominion,
without the Gospel, only makes the world wvorse and man
more wretched.  The only remedy is t6 look forward to the
future, anad to prepare for eternity.
Things which are seen are temporal, transitory, and evanescent. Ialan belollgs to two worlds; one visible, tangible, palpable to all the senses, the other spiritual and eternal. By the
body he is allied to the glass, to the flowers, to the forest, the
animals, the very dust beneath his feet.  By the soul he is
allied to God and angels.  God only and the soul are permane:nt and enduring. The grass withers, the flower fades, the




3 78         HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.
forest dies. Man builds houses, and they crumble; rears
families, and they perish. Great cities and empires live in
ruins as memorials of decay. The -very names of their builders
and founders have perished.  Man may build for himself the
lofty mausoleum, deep-grave his name in marble or in brass,
lift the graceful shaft till it pierces the sky, and place his statue
on the summit. Yet shall his name perish from the memory
of men, and the marble crumble as surely as his body crumbles
in the dust. Nay, all the works of man's prowess and genius,
the mountains and oceans, and the great globe itself, shall be
dissolved, the elements shall melt with fervent heat, and the
very heavens shall be roiled together as a scroll, and pass
away, "But thou, 0 Lordl, in the beginning hast laid the
foundation of the earth; arnd the heavens are the work of thy
hand. They shall perish, but thou shalt endure; and they all
shall wax old as doth a garment; and as a vesture shalt thou
change them, and they shall be changed; but thou art the
same, and thy years shall have no end."
Consider, then, the unutterable folly, the strange and mad
insanity of looking only at things which are seen and temporal, to the neglect of unseen and eternal realities of God
and eternity.  Suppose you dwelt on some narrow, barren, illwatered spot, in a wretched hovel, and knew you had a broad
and imperial domain elsewhere, a rich inheritance, a princely
estate, reserved especially for you, and secured by a title-deed,
where perpetual spring reigned, with perennial gushing streams,
and firuitful fields, and fragrant flowers.  Suppose that one
after another of your dearest kindred and friends had gone to
that inheritance before you, and were waiting there to receive
and welcome you.  Suppose that, in departing, they had
caught a glimpse of its glories, and spoken in raptures of
them-had seen cherub forms inviting you to come, and heard
cherub voices of welcome there.  Suppose that in favored
hours, when the air was clear and the sun was bright, you had
yourself caught some glimpses of its spires and walls and
mountain-tops, had inhaled stray breezes, and even drunk of the
waters flowing from that land. Suppose that it lay just beyond




HOW LIFE IS TO BE IMPROVED.             1'9
a stream not far away, directly in your path, and that you
might reach it to-morrow, and enter upon the full fruition of its
blessedness and glory; and yet you give all your thoughts, your
pursuits, your time, your affections to that wretched hovel and
barren spot in which you dwell. This would give but a faint
delineation of the folly and madness of those who are neglecting
things unseen and eternal, for those which are present and
temporal-who are preferring earth to heaven, time to eternity,
and the mere gratification of the senses to the grand realities
of God and the soul.




xx.
DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISHI  SIN?
ECCL. ix. 3.-" There is one event unto all."  eCCL. viii. i4. " There is a
vanity which is done upon the earth, and there be just men, unto whom
it lhappeneth according to the work of the wicked: again there be wicked
men to whom it happeneth according to the work of the righteous."
THESE. words were spoken by Solomon in the hour of his
temptation and unbelief.  -Iow different his feelings when, enlightened firom on high, be could exclaim, " Thile path of the justs
is as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the
perfect day;" and again, " Wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace;" and again, "The fear of the
Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the
Holy is understanding;" and in the close of this very book,
" Let us hear the conclllsloll of the whole matter. Fear God and
keep his commnandments, for this is the whole duty of man."
Yet when left in his own strength, to wrestle with the powers
of darkness, and the corruptions of his own fallen nature, there
was many an hour of bitter anguish, and this book of Ecclesiastes is the perfect picture of just stuch a mind, perplexed, bewildered, maddened even to desperation.  "Therefore I hated
life;" "yea, I hated all the labor I had taken under the sun."
Again, "I went about to despair of all the labor which I took
under the sun."  He had gone to all the sources of worldly
enjoyment, and found them  broken cisterns, no living waters
in them  to slack the thirst of an immortal spirit.  He tries
the pleasures of sense and the pleasures of the understanding, and turns in disgust and satiety from  both; they are
"all vanity."  I-e turns to society for relief, and tries the




DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?              381
friendship of man, but there finds only ingratitude  and
treachery; to the love of woman, and cries out in his agony,
"I find bitterer than death" the fruits of such companionship. He turns to the world without, and seeks to forget
himself in his sympathy with others, and everywhere injustice, oppression, violence meet him; here he finds the same
impenetrable dar1kness, chaotic confusion, unfathomable mystery of sin and suffering. "MIoreover I saw under the sun the
place of judgment, that wickedness was there."  "I beheld
the tears of the oppressed, and they had no comforter, and on
the side of their oppressors was potwer."  And he cries it is
better never to have been born, "than to have seen the evil
work that is done under the sun."  Forgetting the gentle wisdom of his father David, whose feet had well-nigh slipped under
the same temptations; forgetting that final judgment, where
oppressors and oppressed shall stand together at the bar of
God, and those retributions of eternity where all the wrongs
of time shall be rectified; he leaps impetuously to the fearful
conclusion, that there is no divine order, no supreme law on
earth, no virtue or vice, right or wrong; "that man hath no
pre-eminence above the beast;" that there is no better thing
under the sun, than to " eat, drink, and be merry."  How doth
God know? Is there knowledge in the Most High?
Now, why have we this record of a conflict so terrible, the
picture of a soul so tossed by storms? and why is this record
placed amongst the inspired writings of the sacled Scriptures?
Is it not for our instruction? Because we have the same fallen
nature, the same subtle tempter, and the same practical atheism, not so distinctly expressed, but vaguely felt, and tending
practically to the same sad and terrible conclusion, which emboldens men in sin, and hardens them in impenitence, and
leads them to the conclusion-let us eat, drink, and be merry,
for to-morrow we die.
Now, in opposition to all this, we have endeavored to show
that there is a visible government of God, even here on earth
-a government exercised over an apostate race, and a rebel
world; a holy law w-lhich reaches the proudest rebel, lays hold




382          DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?
of every particle of body, and each wicked passion of the soul,
and makes him hlis own tormentor. Every suffering is punishment for sin, and over this whole wide scene of sin and sorrow
may we as distinctly see the hand of God inflicting punishment on sin, and hear the voice of God denouncing judgment
on the sinner, as if sentence were written in letters of light
over the sky, or announced audibly from heaven. We have
referred to instances where sin the most flagrant was followed
by punishment swift, sure, and terrible; in which this truth is
so clear and startling, that it cannot be denied or overlooked.
We visited those dark abodes of wretchedness and crime,
dark, damp cellars and dismal garrlets, where tile outcast popu-.ation of our large cities arle gathered nightly for pleasure or
ghastly rest; where human beings of every age and sex are
huddled promiscuously together, and without decency or sense
of shame; the very air reeks with pollution; and as we gazed
on that sweltering mass of physical disease and moral putrefaction, we turned away in loathing and horror, and exclaimed,
"The way of the transgressor is hard."  " Holy art thou, Lord
God Almighty; just and true are all thy ways, 0 King of
saints!" We pointed to the crowded wards of some immense
hospital, where fiiendless, homeless, houseless wanlderers, victirns and slaves of sin, were. welcomed by Christian love, with
every human remedy that could alleviate their self-inflicted
ruin, where each countenance of wan despair, each shriek of delirious horror, each curse of blasphemy and hopeless cry for
mercy, is but the voice of God's avenging justice, proclaiming
the penalty of violated law. We spoke of the evils of intemperance, with all its countless horrors; so gigantic in its proportions, that it overshadows all the land; so universal, that
there is not a family connection, however proud orl pure, not a
station so exalted or so hallowed, scarce a domestic circle so
sacred that it has not penetrated, and made the noblest,
bliguhtest, dearest, best-loved-the father, son, brother-the
orator, statesman, poet-victims of the fell destroyer. We
spoke of war with its blood and carnage, havoc and devastation, with its millions of men in Christian lands at this mo



DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?             383
ment armed and trained for mutual butchery; its millions of
treasure, wrung from the abundance of the rich, and the penury
of the poor, for this horrid service, and at least one half as
much more destroyed in wanton fury; while the wail of the
nation's anguish rises from ten thousand desolated homes, and
gaunt famine follows in the track, and pestilence hovers in the
air, and those the sword has spared fall, amid keener agonies
and longer tortures, beneath a deadlier and more inexorable
foe.  Now, as we gaze upon these scenes of accumulated
horror, remember sin has produced it all, and as human society
moves on nearer and nearer to its destined consummation, and
all the elements of good and evil gather to the last great conflict and triumph of right, we can trace the gory footsteps of
the great enemy of God and man as he stamps on the desolated
earth, and feel his fiery breath as he kindles these demon
passions. Were these evil passions all allayed, licentiousness,
intemperance, and war abolished, the wretchedness would disappear. Those millions would be devoted to bless and not to
curse; to the glory of God and the good of man. The Gospel would be sent to every heathen nation; ships would be
freighted with the message of salvation; the church and
school-house would spring up in every neighborhood; every
orphan and widow would be clothed and educated; the land
would be dotted with flourishing villages, quiet hamlets, peaceful cottages; and the whole emancipated earth would, rejoic.e,
like the garden of the Lord, beneath the smile of the reconciled Father; " The mountains would shout, and the little hills
rejoice on every side."
Lt,. universal love reign, love to God and love to man, and
rheaven descends to earth; let sin reign, and hell is already
begun.
What say you? Do you blame the holiness of God?  Shall
we not rather say that sin is exceeding sinful; that it is that
loathsome, execrable, accursed thing God hates? Were it
embodied before you to-day, in some foirm of horror, reeking
with blood, revelling in murder, feasting on human misery,
gloating over the desolation it had made, still insatiate, re



384          DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN'?
morseless, whetting its glutted appetitpe for other victims, like
hell and the grave, never saying, "It is enough," but preparing for other generations, and for all coming time, for your
children and your children's children, the same seductive arts
of treachery and lies, to allure them into its foul embrace, and
itnock them  in their misery-would you not rise together as
one man, and say, Let us leave business, pleasure, home; let
us renounce ease, comfort, gain; and go forth at once to exterminate the monster, with his hellish blood, from the face of
the earth which he has blackened and crushed by his ruthless
tyranny?   Then commence at once; expel him fiom  thine
own bosom,R' ise, touched with gratitude divine,
Turn out his enemy and thine,
That soul-destroying monster, sin,
And let the heavenly Stranger in. l
But will he prove a Friend indeed?
He will: the very Friend you need;
The Friend of sinners-yes,'tis He,
With garments dyed on Calvary."
But war is not by far the worst oft' human evils.  It is often
the bitter and terrible remedy for evils worse than itself' —the
slrgeon's knife and cautery which extirpates the malady,
and is always the symptom  and result of inward desperate
disease.  "From whence come wars and fightings among you?
Come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your
members? "  Even in prosperous and peaceful times the festering canker eats at the heart of society itself; and breaks out
with greater or less malignity on the surface-in gibes, taunts,
scorn, defiance, cold suspicion, in sly innuendo, in whispered
slander, in open denunciation, in imperative will, brooking no
opposition, tolerating no dissent from its opinions.  Neighbor
is separated fromn neighbor, friend from  friend, brother from
brother, sisters who have lain on each other's bosom, clasped
in each other's arms, amidst the sweet dreams of innocencetlheir children the veriest foes.  Sin enters the domestic circle,




DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?               385
and mark its havoc there —anger between husband and wil'e,
the hasty remark, the quick, fiery reply, mutual exasperation,
moody silence, smouldering fires covered, not quenched. The
children catch the spirit and follow the example. Rebellion
against God becomes filial disobedience; order, subordination,
and love are gone. They are allies against all the world, and
enemies to each other.  Recklessness follows intlifference;
honorable names are tarnished; patrimonial estates are wasted.
The nearer we approach the seat of all this evil, the deeper
we penetrate into the mysteries of the human heart, the minuter our scrutiny into the working of the machinery within,
the clearer are the evidences of the awful holiness of God in
inflicting punishment on sin. There is not a fibre of the bodyr
he cannot reach by his power; not a passion of the soul he cannot make the instrument of his righteous vengeance. Thert is
not an evil passion which is not its own avenger; not a right
affection which is not its own sweet, abundant, delicious reward.
As the adder in its fiery strikes its fangs into its own body,
and swells and bursts and dies with the poison it nourished;
so there is not an evil passion but inflicts its first vengeance
upon the bosom that nourished it. The first distillation of
bitterness is shed in the heart itself. That glare of hatred andlc
defiance answered back, kindles new hatred. We speakl not of
violence and the injury it may produce, nor of regrets for the
past or consequences in the future; but of that inherent bitterness which belongs to every such feeling.  Of two men who
hate each other, there is no question that he who hates
most bitterly is most miserable; while each affection is not only
a blessing to others, but to itself. Each wish of good, before
reaching its object, has already shed its distillation of joy over
your own soul. Each look or act of gentle sympathy or benevolence has awakened a correspondent feeling in anotlher,
and, reflected, sheds a sunny radiance over your own soul;
and in this interchange of kindness, he who is first and kindest in his love is most happy. In this sense, too, is it more
blessed to give than to receive. How much of heaven is there
in inutual regard; of hell in mutual detestation!




:)86         DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?
Could there be a more authoritative or more terrible decla:ration of God's abhorrence of sin, and determination to punish
it, than when lie thus follows it into the very soul, and malkes
it inflict punishment on itself?  But it does not termin:ate
here.  The billows toss long after the storm  subsides. Tihe
dark passions leave their shadows on the soul, send their iemorse through life. To the bad man and the good, nothing
is the same.  No scene in nature is the same to them.  Their
enjoyment in the relations of life, family, fiiends, wife, cliildren, of their very food, is different.  "The candle of the
Lord shineth upon the tabernacles of the righteous."
The curse of God resteth on the wicked.  In the light that
shines fiom heaven, all things assume a new aspect, are sweeter,
nobler, holier, more sacred.  For sin is the disease of the soul;
holiness is its life and health. The nameless joy of the very
young, the buoyancy of the convalescent, what are they?
Every thing to them overflows with joy.  We cannot analyze
it. Every sense, every faculty, every gland, sends its own distillation of enrjoyment.  So to the good man, all, all is sweeter;
but chiefly because conscience is at peace with God. This indwelling conscience is the most direct and terrible evidence of
God's primitive government.  Here, God speaks directly to the
inan's inmost soul; tells him that suffering is punishment of
sin, and that " it is right;" the law within testifies to the Lawgiver above. It speaks in the name of God and with the authority of God. It, has been well called the vicegerent of
God; it tells him of the justice of God, and points to the bar
of God. We speak not for those who deny or have stifled
conscience. If so, your misfortune is great; your sin is great.
Oh, cherish conscience.. It is the great fact of our being. It
must be supreme over all the other faculties. lMan may stifle,
crush it; but it will rise again.  It may be betrayed by treachery, deceived by falsehood, lulled by opiates, bewildered by
sophistry.  It is not destroyed.  As the lion, so is conscience.
The lion roars; conscience speaks; and every faculty,feels its
power.  Even those who defy it must at last feel its power.
How -ood is (God to endow us with a conscience-the in



DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?                387
terpreter of his law; the representative of his presence; following us firomi childhood on; warning, whispering, rebuking,
commanding us.
How awful, too! a Sinai in each soul; a voice of God; a
tribunal of God; and in the last day the verdict will be found
in conscience. Oh, cherish it; listen to its lowest whispers;
have it sprinkled with the blood of Christ; have it enlightened by the word of God; have it quick and sensitive to every
call of duty.
[To the foregoing discourse, which was evidently left unfinished, we subjoin the following strikingly pertinent passage from another manuscript.InD.]
We have seen, in Peter, how far a man may go in sin and
yet be saved.   We see, in Judas, how far a man may go in
religion and yet be lost.  In the one case, we see how near a
man may come to the gates of heaven, and yet be cast down
to hell; in the other, how far one may wander from God, how
near to the verge of perdition, and yet be plucked as a brand
from everlasting burning.  In Peter, we see how a single infirmity, self-confidence, may leave the soul an easy prey to the
powers of darkness, lead to sins which we shudder to contenmplate, and cast a shadow over life.  In Judas, we see how a
single absorbing passion, silently, perhaps unconsciously, indulged for years, may subordinate at last all the powers of the
soul, and lead to the basest treachery, the blackest ingratitude,
the most atrocious crimes-to irretrievable ruin, to madness,
suicide, eternal death. In Peter, we see the nature of true repentance, tears of genuine sorrow for sin flowing from a heart
melted by the love of the Redeemer, and bowed in meek humility, in conscious unworthiness, and adoring wonder, in the
presence of that abused and yet forgiving love. He had been
"forgiven much, therefore he loved much."  In Judas, we see
the sorrow of the world which worketh death, the horrors of
remorse, the terrors of a guilty conscience, the anguish of a
soul wrapt in the blackness of despair, and hardened by a
sense of sin unpardoned and divine justice unappeased. In




'388         DOES GOD ALWAYS PUNISH SIN?
the one, we see the sweetness of those penitential tears, the
joys of pardoned sin, and the assured sense of reconciliation
with God; the bounding alacrity, conscious strength, exulting courage, with which man goes forth to toils and dangers. The terror and dismay, the self-abhorrence and detestation, the lurid light flashing ill upon the soul, the settled
gloom, the horror of deep darkness that shrouds it, the delirious anguish wildly hurrying it on to the last extremity of
guilt, the traitor's doom, and the traitor's damnation, what
tongue can tell?




XXI.
THE RELIGION OF THE BIBLE NOT OPPOSED TO REASON.
ISAIAH i. 18. —" Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord." See
1 Sam. xii. 7. Acts xvii. 2, 24, 25. Rom. xii. 1.
ON each side of the arched gateway that leads to some
noble castle, or opens upon some ancient city, may often be
seen, crouching as if in mutual hostility and defiance, the grim
and threatening figures of two fierce beasts of prey.  Now, we
have often figured to ourselves the entrance to the path of
truth as thus beset, on either side, by horrid monsters; and
happy is that man who so wisely selects his middle path as
to pass unharmed  by either.   The gate  of eternal life is
strait; and there sits gloomy superstition, darkly bidding
away from her all the enjoyments of life and spreading lier
funeral pall over all earthly objects; and there, on the other
side, haughty scepticism, drawing a veil of blackness over all our
brig-htest expectations, blotting out the very sun from  the
heaven of our hopes. IReligion is a reasonable service; yet
there sits fierce fanaticism, with fire and faggot, to forbid the
exercise of reason; and there sits a fashionable false philosophy,
with an altar for her worship, and requiring all to bow down
to her as a goddess. There, too, is stupid ignorance depreciating all reasoning, and limiting all human knowledge and
inquiry to the narrow  boundaries of its own acquirements.
And there an imaginary learning, a science falsely so called,
flippant, self-conceited, exaggerates her exploits beyond all
truth, and claims the whole universe as the field of her bold
and boundless conquests.  It will be Sat once our duty, wis



390             THE RELIGION OF THE BIBLE
dom, and happiness, to pursue our own calm  and quiet
path, equally removed  fiornm these  opposing  errors; and
while we gratefully receive, diligently improve, and conscientiously exercise the reason God has given us, let us remember its office, its real limits, and appropriate exercise. Let us
consider,
1st. The duty of exercising and cultivating our reason; and,
2d. Its extent, its limits, and its office.
I. To those in whose vocabulary piety and absurdity are
convertible terms —who have always considered reason and
religion as antagonist powers, arrayed  in  deadly conflict
against each other-whose motto is, "that devotion ends
where inquiry begins "-it may sound like some strange announcement when we say, that of all the books in the world
the Bible most frequently inculcates, most peremptorily commands, the exercise of reason.  We enter here into no minute
analysis of the human mind, no nice and metaphysical distinctions between the various faculties of our intellectual nature.
Every man knows lle is a complex being-a body and a soul.
Now, by reason in its largest sense, we mean all that distinguishes man fiom the animals around him-his whole intellect,
as distinguished from  his physical powers-the living principle within him that thinks, feels, loves and hates, hopes and'fears, observes and judges, compares, reasons, and decides-that
can know God and love him, understand his will and obey it;
and, according to its obedience or disobedience, can measure
out to itself or others approbation or censure.
We pause not to answer technical objections that might be
urged. We are satisfied that this wide acceptation of the
term reason is justified, not only by the language of familiar
conversation, but by the usage of the best writers in our
tongue, and that in the earlier stages of all language, before
the invention of our nicer distinctions, it must have been universally prevalent.  And now, returning to our first remark,
we say that the Bible not only allows, but encourages; not
only encourages, but commands, the exercise of our rational
powers. Nay, this is the principal and avowed design of the
I                                            1  1""~"" ""l"`"'`""  " "^




NOT OPPOSED TO REASON.                 391
Bible; and if stricken from its pages, little would be left behind to recall mall to a senise of the superiority and dignity
of his rational and immortal powers; to point out their origin,
their nature, their exalted destiny; to heal the diseases that
enfeeble and endanger, knock off the shackles that fetter, and
call forth all their energies to their noblest exercise and largest development.  What new and untrodden fields of thought
does it open to our aspiring powers, high as heaven, boundless
as infinity; and how does it allure us to the lofty contemplation, by all that could stimulate the curiosity or arouse the
imagination, and strain to their utmost all the capacities of'
thought and feeling! By every method does it aim to alrouse
us to the exercise of our reason, by precept, by example, by
expostulation. If the appetites and passions are to be colltrolled, it is that the mind may be free for its own high employments.  If the flesh is to be mortified, it is that the spirit
may breathe a new life, If the outer man is to be subjugated,
it is that the inner man, the nobler and immortal part, may
walk  forth  rejoicing  in  the freedom  of its untrammeled
powers. The great and ever-recurring charge agahinst sinners
is that, immersed in sensuality, absorbed in what is visible and
sensible, all the higher attributes and powers of their nature
are palsied; they have no relish  for rational pleasures, no
capacity for their appropriate employment.  It is charged
against the ungodly, that " he doth not regard the works of
the Lord, nor consider the operations of his hand;" and in the
third verse of this chapter, the complaint against the Jews is,
"Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider;" and then
comes the invitation of our text, " Come, and let us reason together."  Rouse up fiom your stupid lethargy; lay aside for
a moment your sensuality, your firivolity, your self-indulgence;
let reason act her part, let your immortal nature, so long
abused, enslaved, debased, at length speal out; and let religion then be derided as a visionary thing', if the revelation
from within answer not to the revelation fiom without, if reason and conscience speak and add not confirmation strong to
the claims of God on your affection and obedience.  The




392           THE RELIGION OF THE BIBLE
prophet Samuel, 1 Samuel xii. 7? cries out to  the rebel
Jews, "Stand still that I may reason   with you before the
Lord."
Indeed, it' is remarkable how exclusively all the appeals of
the Bible are directed to the higher powers of our nature.
The prophets demonstrated by conclusive reasoning the folly
of the idolatry and rebellion of the Jews.  St. Paul rectsozecl
with the Jews at a single place, three Sabbath days, from their
Scriptures, proving that Jesus was the Christ. Acts xvii. 2.
It was when he reasoned of "temperance, righteousness, and
judgment to come," that Felix trembled.  Nay, this we are
told was his usual manner, and his Epistle to the Romans still
exists, an unrivaled monument of logical skill and power,
where every thought and sentence, and almost word, is knit
together in strong and compact order, like some Alacedonian
phalanx, firn, impenetrable, shield locked in shield, shoulder
braced against shoulder. And have you not observed how
skillfully our Saviour would refute the Jew from  his owll
Scriptures, and how for the admirer of Nature and rejecter of
Reevelation he was always ready with some illustration, fresh,
apposite, beautiful, forcible, of the doctrine he inculcatedhow Nature seemed to teem with illustrations and argument,
and how the flowers of the valley, the trees of the forest, the
birds of the air, and the clouds of the sky, would furnish some
bold analogy, some mild reproof, some soothing consolation,
some exercise for the intellect and the heart, some food for
the souls around him?  Nay, so far is reason from  being
represented, in the Bible, as hostile to religion, that they
are ever considered as inseparable companions.  Reason is
the constant attendant of religion —religion the perfection
of reason.  Sin is only another name for folly.  Religion,
the  synonym  of wisdom, the highest wisdom, the best,
purest, truest reason, aims to attain the greatest, noblest,
happiest ends by the best means; looks onward and upward
with widest glance to the greatest, most enduring and important results.
And Ilere allow me one passing remark.  Religion is the




NOT OPPOSED TO REASON.               393
highest reason, and individuals and communities, advancing
in religion, are most advanced in wisdom. Hence you have
never seen an individual really converted, however ignorant,
or frivolous, or thoughtless, who did not immediately advance
in intelligence and rationality. Among serious Christians I
have never seen a vacant, senseless countenance.  Again, in
your efforts to advance religion, in future life, do not depend
on, nor be satisfied with, sudden bursts of transient excitement. Be assured, religion is wisdom-is deep, serious, sober,
calm, continued thoughtfulness.  Its foundation is serious
thought, solid instruction.  None but a thinking, intelligent
comnmunity, can long continue a truly Christian community.
Again, you, who expect not to preach the Gospel, but desire
to advance your country's happiness, remember that the surest
foundations of a nation's welfare are laid in the depths of a
nation's piety. Ignoranceand vice are the bane of republics;
for these religion is the only remedy.  In all civilized nations
she has been the pioneer of knowledge, the steady ally of
fieedom.  It is the only principle of sufficient diffusiveness
and power to pervade all classes of a wide community, to
counteract the tendencies of corruption and decay inherent
in every human society, and to wake up all its members to
the conscious dignity of rational existence, and produce that
real, practical equality without which our theories are vain.
And it cannot be otherwise.  If religion denounce our reason,
then reason must denounce religion; and to what shall she
make her appeal, to whom present her credentials, who shall
examine her evidences, who shall understand her doctrines,
who interpret her language, but the same reason whose exercise she is supposed to forbid? No, it cannot be. The God
of nature is God of grace, the God of revelation is God of
reason too. He is the God of harmony, and cannot so have
mingled the elements of discord in our being, that there shall
be a contradiction between the revelation from without and
the revelation from within us. But, let us not deceive ou'selves; there may be an apparent contradiction where there
is no real one. Your reason may be enfeebled or diseased for
17*




394           THE RELIGION OF THE BIBLE
want of healthful exercise and nourishment, blinded by prejudice, perverted by passion, stupefied, debased, brutalized by
sensual indulgence.  Vanity may betray; sophistry bewilder; ignorance mislead; and many of those high themes
of which revelation treats, may stretch onward into a region where reason cannot follow, where she can neither affirm
nor deny, but must await in silence the communication of a
higher wisdom. And this leads us to inquire, in the second
place,
II. What is the appropriate employment of reason in matters of religion? And here, as on the former branch of the
subject, we claim no peculiar exemption for religion from the
keenest scrutiny of reason. We answer fearlessly, that here
her office is the same as on any other subject. The method of
investigation, and the laws which regulate her inquiries, are
precisely the same. They are founded in the nature of the
human mind, and do not -vary with the subjects to which they
are applied. And what is it that the intellect of man can accomplish-what the office of reason, in any department of
human inquiry? It is simply and solely this —to observe
facts, to collect and arrange them, to notice their points of
resemblance and difference, to classify them according to these
observed relations, to give them hames, and to announce these
as the laws or principles of the science. According to this
view, now universally adopted, man is the creator of nothing;
lhe is only an observer, a collector, an arranger of facts. He
does not stand forth as Nature's master, to square her phenomena according to his preconceived opinion or a priori theories, but sits as a learner at her feet, and listens to her awful
revelations. He stands in the great temple of nature, to observe her varying aspects, and record them for his instruction;
to listen to her varied voices —the interpreter of her language
the high-priest of Nature, not the Lord.
There was once a different view of the subject, and a different method. Men built up their gorgeous systems, and
wove fine-spun theories, from materials their' own brains had
supplied; and created a universe of their own, far different




NOT OPPOSED TO REASON.               395
from that which God made. From the universal principles of
reason, and the nature of things, they derived all truth and
science. Such were the systems of alchemy, astronomy, and
mental philosophy, before the days of Bacon; but these are
long since exploded. Now, the philosophy of modern times
and of common sense has taught us that man knows nothing
except as he has learned it. There are no materials of knowledge, or prototypes of truth, laid up in his reason. But facts,
learned from his own observation, or the testimony of others,
variously modified, combined, and classified, form the whole
structure of his knowledge.
We hope you are not wearied by this inquiry, to which our
answer and conclusion must be, that the office of reason, in
any science, is not to form its preconceivedc theories, and then
reject or bend the facts; but simply to investigate the truth of
facts, receiving each on its own appropriate evidence. Such is
the modesty of true science. Such are the principles of all
philosophical investigations. And such is the proper method
of procedure in the investigation of religion. The field of
inquiry is wide enough. When a system of natural science is
presented, you do not reject it as inconsistent with your reason,
but you ask for the facts. When these are presented, you
demand the evidence for their truth. This is brought forward.
You examine its separate parts-their mutual agreementtheir united strength, and you yield or withhold your assent,
as the preponderance of evidence may be. Are the facts conclusive? the testimony convincing? then there may be much
that is mysterious, even inexplicable, in the case, and irreconcilable with your previous notions; yet you do not reject-do
not even doubt its truth (that is founded on its own evidence),
but you strive to remove the difficulty, reconcile the apparent
contradiction; and if you fail at last, you remember your own
ignorance, and determine to persevere in your inquiries, assured
that while your knowledge is limited and your reasonings are
fallible, facts can never deceive you, nor really contradict each
other. To the doctrine of natuial philosophy, that all bodies
are under the influellce of gravitation, it may be objected that




396           THE RELIGION OF THE BIBLE
feathers rise.  To the doctrine that bodies put in Illmotion
move on forever in a straight line, it may be objected that a
stone, or even a common ball, falls in a curve-line.  You
remember, the countryman objected to the earth's revolving
around the sun, that he saw the sun every clay revolving
around the earth, with his own eyes. These objections are
obvious, and to ignorant men appear conclusive; yet, fuilly
understood, they only confirm more fully the several truths.
You do not stop at the objection, but examine farther.  One
of the demonstrations of mathematics is, that two lines may
approach forever and never meet.  AWe do not reject the
demonstrations, but say it carries us into a region of infinities,
where we cannot follow-into subjects beyond tlle limits of
human reason; yet its practical applications are important,
and truths deduced from it most valuable.
Now, we wish you to employ, in the department of religions
inquiry, the same methods of investigation which have produced such beneficial results in their application to physical
science; to receive facts on their appropriate evidence; never
to reject a weli-supported fact, on account of oljections founded,
perhaps, in your ignorance; and when you get into the region
of boundlessness and infinitude, to acknowledge the incompetence of your own faculties to grasp, to embrace, to wrestle
with, objects of such transcendent greatness.  Now, the religion of the Bible, like the astronomy of Newton, is founded
on facts; and those facts you are allowed, nay, at the peril of
your soul's salvation required, to investigate.  It appeals to a
magnificent scheme of prophecy, commencing from the fall of
man, and extending in its mighty sweep, through all successive
ages, down to the end of time. Is there such a scheme, or is
there not?  Was it predicted that "the sceptre should not
depart from Judah till Shiloh came —that he should conme
during the second temple-the light of the Gentiles-and that
to him should be the gathering of the people?"  And has lie
come in the fullness of time? Did the Gentiles cast their idols
away, and did their temples fall throughout the glo-be? And
now is the crucified Jew worshiped as Lord of all in all civilized




NOT OPPOSED TO REASON.                397
nations?  Is Babylon fallen, the glory of the Chaldees' excellency-her proud walls levelled in the dust-her palaces the
possession of owls and lizards, bitterns, and pools of water?
Wild beasts of the desert howl there. The Arabian sheplherd
fears to pitch his tent there, and the curse of God is printed oil
the very dust of her ruins. Is Egypt-oppressor of God's
people —the basest of the kingdoms?  Is Tyre a bare rock
for fishermen to spread nets? Is prophecy all epitome of history, written with a pen of brass upon the front of time?  Is
Jerusalem  desolate?  Has the plowshare swept over herher people scattered for eighteen hundred years, the by-word
and scoff of nations?  Religion appeals to amazing miracles,
performed by Christ, in the presence of his foes. Did they
occur, or did they not?  Did he raise Lazarus, or were the
Jews deceived? Did he feed the five thousand with a few
loaves of bread, or did they only dream so? Did lie rise
from the grave, or were his disciples ignorant of' his person?
Did they go forth with their lives in their hands, risking all,
suffering all, losing all, to testify the story of his resurrection?
Did thousands of the Jews and ten thousands of Gentiles
believe their report?  Did his religion spread in the face of
power and prejudice and interest, till it covered the civilized
world?  These, and such facts as these, are worthy of youll
investigation.  Their truth depends, not on any speculations
or theories of yours, but on their own proper evidence. Examine for yourself, and put all history to the question.
And if the evidence be sufficient, and the facts be true, and
we have indeed a revelation friom  God, about himself, his
character and moral government, then what more has reason
to do?  Is it to lie down and sleep? No; the trump of God
has sounded, Let it be wider awake than ever. Proportioned
to the importance of the communication should be the intensity of our attention and the earnestness of our investigation.
Reason has to do here what it does in every other department
of thought. You question Nature, and, laying aside all your
theories, you humbly receive the communications she may
make. All your anxiety is, that you may understand her lan



398         THE RELIGION OF THE BIBLE, ETC.
guage aright. You question Revelation, and, renouncing all
your cherished prejudices, you meekly listen to the instructions
she affbrds. Man originates nothing-can originate nothing.
In natural philosophy, he is the interpreter of Nature; in
religion, the interpreter of revelation. This is not the abandonment, but the proper exercise, of reason. Nature and revelation are not opposed to each other, each being alike from
God, each appealing alike to reason, and each alike demanding
reason as its divinely constituted interpreter.




XXIT.
CHRIST'S GRAACIOUS INVITATION.
MATT. xi. 28.-"- Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest."
" UNTO you, O men, I call, and my voice is to the sons of men."
Such is the voice of Divine wisdom  in the book of Proverbs.
It is in full harmony with our Saviour's gracious invitation in
the text. It is a voice from heaven to earth-a loud voice,
whose sound has gone forth to the ends of the world. It is
the voice of authority, commanding us; of tender and condescending love, inviting us to come. Sin is an alienation and
departure from God-a forsaking and wandering in enmity
and rebellion farther and farther from God. But God has not
forgotten to observe the wanderer. His eyes behold, his eyelids try the children of men. Looking down from his throne
of exaltation upon his creatures, he sees them far away from
the path of rectitude and allegiance, and going farther still,
notwithstanding all his love and mercy.
Does he then leave us to ourselves? No, he sends forth a
voice of warning, which, even at our distance, reaches us, and
with authority commands us to return. The way of sin is foolish and dangerous. The voice of nature, of experience, of wisdom, of conscience, all ha~ve spoken, but spoken in vain. They
are lost upon us and forgotten.  Now the voice of God speaks
with authority and power; and how good it is in God not to
leave us to our ruin!
He issues his high command, " Come unto me."  We have
cast off his high authority; but we have not annihilated it. I-Te
still commands both in heavell and on earth; and it is a fearful




400          CT-IRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.
thing to refuse obedience to him who speaks from heaven. The
fool may say in his heart, " There is no God;" yet God reigns
over him, over all creatures; his authority is independent of
us and our acts. We may disobey him; but still he reigns.
The danger of disobedience is vividly portrayed in the first
chapter of the book of Proverbs, "Because I have called and
ye refused; I have stretched out my hand and no m:an regarded; but ye have set at nought my counsel, and would none of
Iny reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock
when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation,
and your destruction as a whirlwind."  We are still in his kin cdom. Though far from him, we are not beyond the reach of
his arm. His eye, his very presence encompasses us. For,
says the psalmist, "If I ascend uip into heaven thou art there;
if I make my bed in hell, behold thou art there. If I take the
wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the
sea, even there shall thy hand lead me. If I say, surely the
darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about
me; the darkness and the light are both alike to thee."  Let
us then obey the voice that speaks from  heaven, and say,
"Lo, I come, I delight to do thy will, O God."
I. The invitation is to all. It is broad as the sea, free as the
air, universal as the race.  It comes from heaven to earth,
fiom God to man, from the Saviour of sinners to the perishing.
" God so loved the world thtat he gave his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in him  should not perish, but have
everlasting life."  Christ died for sinners, the just for the unjust. He came to seek and to save that whlich was lost. The
Gospel is likened to a great feast given by a rich mnan, to which
all are freely invited. It is coinpared to a river of life. "Ho,
every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that
hath no money, come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine
and milk, without money and without price. Wherefore do ye
spend money for that which is not bread, and your labor for
that which satisfieth not?  Hearken diligently unto lme, and
eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in
fatness."  And so the Saviour cried in the last day, that great




CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.             401
day of the feast, saying, " If any man thirst, let him come unto
me and drink."  John vii. 37. And so it is written in the last
book of the Bible, " The Spirit and the bride say, Come; and let
him that heareth say, Come; and let him that is athirst come;
and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."
Prodigal son! far from thy father's house, arise and come; it
is thy father's voice that calls thee, all love and tenderness and
compassion, saying, Come to my house and heart, the provisions
are all ready, and welcome shall greet thee here. Rebellious
sinner! thou hast violated my law, despised my mercy, grieved
my spirit; thou hast hardened thy heart, and stiffened thy
neck; no love has softened, no wrath alarmed thee; no command, no invitation has influenced thee-but even to thee does
my invitation extend; come unto me, ungrateful wanderer,
come, and find life and peace. I have tried to bind thee to myself by ten thousand cords of mercy; thou hast burst them
all, and gone to a fearful distance. I might well leave thee to
perish in thy sins; but still do I pursue thee with commands
Iand invitations.  Across the dark and dreary gulf have I cast
up a highway. Come, then, safely, boldly, and without delay;
it is the king's highway.
From his own high and glorious throne did Christ come
down to save us; let us then return and come to him. The
invitation is urgent, and it is open to all. Come unto me, and
I will give you rest. He is ready, waiting, willing to receive
you, just as you are. Men usually send to another for help,
but he calls you to himself, in order to give you help. He
givcth liberally and upbraideth not.  If earthly fathers desert and earthly fiiends fail you, then come to him, who is a
friend that sticketh closer than a brother-come to him, the
grleat Father, who will never leave nor forsake the soul that
trists in him. If temptation assail, or sickness distress; if
persecutions arise, or storms of sorrow beat upon you, still
come to him. He is high above your head, high as the heavens; yet he stoops to invite you. He is holy, and you are
sinful, yet he condescends to invite you. H-Ie has long been
rieilected, yet he still invites. He has all the treasures of




402          CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.
wisdom and goodness in his hands, and invites you to come and
take of his benefits. Let no. fear, no guilt, no ridicule deter
you. Let no difficulty, no indolence delay you. Sit not still,
but be up and doing. Resolve at once, if you have never before, saying, "I will arise and go to my father."  Now is the
accepted time; now is the day of your merciful visitation.
Then delay not, but come humbly, penitently, prayerfully, submissively, earnestly; for your soul's salvation agonize to enter
in. "For the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the
violent taketh it by force."  But wherewithal shall I come?
you may be ready to ask. Come in your nakedness and misery.
Come without money and without price. No price is demanded of you; full atonement is already made; Jesus has
paid it all-all the debt you owe. Come, then, at once, and
freely-just as you are, without one plea, save that his bloo(l
has been shed for you, and you need his help. But, alas,
some stop short on the way. They begin fairly, but reach not
the point; they set out for the kingdom of heaven, but turn
back. They are convicted of sin, but not converted. Almost
persuaded to be Christians, they come to the strait gate, but
finding it too strait, they refuse to enter in, and return again
to the world.
II. Who are invited?  The weary and heavy laden. The
invitation is unlimited in its own nature; yet it is addressed
especially to those who need it most, and are most apt to receive it. Hence the hungry and thirsty are invited. The very
terms contain an argument. For the hungry, thirsty, weary,
sinful, what can be better than food, drink, rest, and pardon?
The invitation applies to all of us who are weary in our struggles after earthly good; and we are urged to come to him
who is the source of all spiritual and heavenly blessings.
There was once an Eastern prince, the son of an illustrious
father, who had been renowned alike for his virtues and his
genius. That father had been successful both in peace and
war. Brave in the field, prudent in the cabinet, at once an
admired poet and a successful warrior, he was beloved at home
and respected abroad. He had raised his people from an ob



CIRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.            403
scure and despised tribe to a prosperous and respected nation.
The son of such a father, sitting on a throne thus established
in the affections of the people and the respect of fbreigners,
this renowned prince was blessed with unusual prosperity and
peace through his long reign. He was celebrated for the wisdom and the splendor of his court. His commerce extended
to every known sea, and brought all foreign luxuries to his
door. His native land was that of the olive, the pomegranate,
and the vine, where the human passions were as luxuriant as
the growth of the soil, and the means for their indulgence and
gratification were fully equal to their desire.  In this land of
passion, on this throne of power, and with these means of indulgence, the favored  son of fortune traveled the whole
round of worldly pleasure. All that heart could crave or intellect could relish or sense enjoy was his. Now he pored over
the page of wisdom; now he studied nature and wrote many
volumes on her productions; and now he rejoiced in sensual
pleasures. Hiis court was the most voluptuous and gay; his
equipages, the most splendid; his grounds, the most carefully
and expensively adorned; his palaces, the most magnificent;
his chariots, drawn by horses firom  Egypt; his gardens,
redolent with the spices of Arabia; his halls, glittering with
the gold of Ophir; while princes of other lands crowded to
his court, to witness that wisdom  of which fame spoke so
loudly. Deep did he drink of every cup of pleasure; and in
the ardor of his impetuous temperament, hotly did he pursue
each object of his changeful desire.  Now  he labored intensely to accumulate and arrange the science of his age and
country; and now he quaffed in maddening merriment the
sparkling bowl.   Now he tastefully arranged his princely
pleasure-grounds, and now drank in the flattery of his obsequious court. And after thus trying all earthly pursuits,
and drinking in all earthly pleasures, he turns in weariness
away from them all, and in the book which records the valued
results of this large experience, he gives us the conclusion of
the whole matter, in one brief but significant sentence" Vanity of vanities, all is vanity and vexation of spirit."




404           CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.
And who of us has not often felt, in his own wearied and
jaded spirit, the sickening influence of this same conclusion?
Who has not found, in his experience of life, the truth of this
mournful but weighty utterance —that all the world can give
is vanity and vexation of spirit?  It cannot satisfy the soul nor
give it rest. Behold the man so ardent in pursuit of wealth.
How he wrestles and struggles for it. See how it becomnes the
subject of his daily thoughts and nightly aspirations.  TIe has
made gold his confidence, and fine gold his trust, and 1Mammon, the god of wealth, has become the god of his idolatry.
He forms it not into an image; he builds no temple; he offelrs
no sacrifice. This, indeed, is not necessary to constitute him
an idolater; but his heart is the temple and the victim too.
i"lis idolatry is as real as if he made an idol, placed it in some
conspicuous place, and morning and evening worshiped itturning to his treasure as faithfully as the Jew to Jerusalem, or
the Persian to the rising sun. I-ow many of those who have devoted a long life, body and soul, to the accumulation of wealth,
with every energy strung up to its intensest tension, and the
strained sinews almost cracked by the effort, have felt at last
that it was all vanity and vexation of spirit; that there are
desires which wealth cannot satiate; wants which gold cannot
supply; longings of our immortal nature which earthly riches
cannot meet. How many have felt and confessed that they
have spent their time for that which is not bread, and labored
for that which satisfieth not.  And how many, at last, would
have been willing to exchange all that earth can give for
the quiet and peaceful rest of the soul. "For what shall it
profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul,
or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"
Behold the man who is borne along on the frill, fair breeze
of popular applause, when deserted by his friends and slandered by his foes: how often, as the hot blood courses furiously
through his veins, and his feverish frame sinks exhausted by
over-excitement-bhow often does he curse the fickle populace,
and bitterly denounce the corruption of the great! How often,
Jwhen deserted, and misrepresented, and slandered by his fel



CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.            405
low-men, does he mourn over that madness which sacrificed
health, conscience, peace, everything, to popularity, and feel in
his inmost soul that all is vanity and vexation of spirit! Howr
gladly would he exchange all past triumphs and filture prospects for that peace which hlas now departed finom him, perhaps forever!
Thus might we pass from one worldly pursuit to another,
and show that, when supremely valued, they are vanity and
vexation of spirit. There is no peace, saith the Lord, to the
wicked; but they are like the troubled sea when it cannot
rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. See that white
foam riding on the surface, that dark sediment rolled up from
the bottom, both dashing against the strand: even such is the
tempest of stormy and ungovernable human passions. It is
like the dark billows of the ocean, heaved upward by the
storm, now rising, towering, dashing onward in their fuilry, now
swellingr, boiling, curling friom beneath, careless of all human
interests, wrecking all human hopes, and engulfing in their
wild roar all that is loveliest and dearest to human kind.
Thus insatiable, impetuous, ungovernable, destructive, are the
appetites of the wicked. For this war of nature's elements
in the soul there is but one remedy-but one power on earth
that can say, Peace, be still, and there shall be a calm.  That
remedy, that power, is found alone in the Gospel of Christ:
III. What then is the duty of every weary and heavy-laden
soul? It is simple, but it is urgent. Take my yoke upon yoIu,
and learn of me; for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
It is good for man that he bear this yoke in his youtlh. It is far
different from that which is imposed by Satan and the MworlJd.
The yoke of sin is galling; its bondage is hard and cruel;
its demands are ever increasing; every gratification of siniful
passion only inflames desire, makes the pleasure less and less,
and never says, It is enough. Sin and the world cry, Give,
give, and every hour brings a new demand, until the mind and
body, overstrained, become enfeebled and worn out in the pursuit of things that perish in the using.
Sin has introduced a strange conflict into the mind of man,




406           CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.
between his passions and his reason and conscience-the illward elemnents dash    and warring and warring against each other.  Conceive, if y6u can, of a living being so strangely constituted
that all its parts are hostile to each other, every musele playing against every other muscle; every nerve jarring against
every other nerve —bones, joints, tendons, all waging perpetual
war. This is the condition of man without the gospel. All
inward harmony is gone. Reason and conscience grasp and
strive to hold the reins; but passion dashes fiuriously an1(l
recklessly on. The conflict rages till conscience is destroyed,
reason loses its power, and the man becomes a brute or
demon.  Stch is the work of sin, when sin is left to run its
course, unchecked by any influences of truth and virtue.  5Who
would not wish for rescue, and for rest, fiom this turmoil of
his own natural elements, this war of sinful appetites and
passions?  Who would not desire some remedy or antidote
for the ruin which sin has introduced into the soul?  Where
then shall the soul, burdened with conscious guilt, find rest
and peace?
IV. The answer can be found only in Christ. I will give
you rest.  Come unto me, for I am  meek and lowly in heart,
and ye shall find rest unto your souls. I will give true rest
unto the soul, perfect rest to the agitated passions. Christ
speaks, and there is a great calm; the "possessed " is in his
right mind; the oil of grace is on the waters. I-Iow beautiful
the sea, when the storm is over and the waters at rest-the
moonbeams reposing softly on its deep bosom, or the morIinhg
sun sparkling in the  light waves that play on  its surface.
Even so is the tranquilized spirit-tranquil on its surface, with
heaven reflected in its depths.  The unsettled afections, once
straying fiom object to object, uneasy and dissatisfied, are now
fixed on God.  "Great peace have they, they that love thy
law," says the psalmist.  There is rest to the conscience, that
peace of God which passeth all understanding.   "Peace I
leave with you," says Christ; "mypeace I give unto you, not
as the world giveth, give I unto you."  There is rest fiom
sin and temptation.  It is begun now, but pelfected in glory.




CHRIST'S GRACIOUS INVITATION.            407
This is that eternal rest which remains for the people of God,
rest from all that annoyed us here below, rest in the bosom of
our God. What glorious rest! Come unto me, and you shall
obtain it.
Now, is not this rest needed by all? There lives not a man
who is always free from inward conflict. It may seem to be
transitory; but it is nevertheless there, deep and abiding in
the soul. It is in this condition of disquiet and unrest that the
Saviour's invitation comes to us, and his promise meets our
conscious wants. Come unto me, and I will give you rest.
It is thus that he speaks to the deepest wants of our nature,
and has provided relief from the crushing and cruel bondage
of sin and Satan. But you must hunger and thirst after righteousness before you can be filled; you must feel the dreadftul
disease of your nature before the physician can heal; you must
be convicted of your sinll before you can be pardoned and
made holy; you must feel the burden before you can desire or
enjoy rest. This is the order of nature and of grace-appetite
before food. All provisions are for corresponding desires.
Hence all good men have been weary and heavy laden with
their sins, before they came to Christ for rest. David found it
so; the publican found it so; the prodigal son found it so;
and so must it be with us.




XXIII.
THE NECESSITY OF REGENERiEATION.
JoHN iii. 3.-" Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unito
thee, Except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God."
GoD is a spirit.  His government is spiritual, his service
spiritual; and they that worship him, must worship him in
spirit and in truth.  His law is spiritual, exceedingly broad,
reaching the thoughts and intents of the heart. The kingdom
of heaven is a spiritual kingdom; its employments and pleasures are all spiritual; its inhabitants are holy and happy spirits
who, from their creation, have been pure intelligences, or who,
once manacled in clay, have burst their fetters and risen to refined and spiritual enjoyments above. Now, we might conclude clearly from the character of God, and from his law and
kingdom, that the nature of our preparation for heaven would
be, in some measure, correspondent to the nature of the kingdomn to be prepared fbr us. The birth here spoken of is a
spiritual birth, an internal change, not an outward act or condition.  But in the present age of firee and bold inquiry, keen
and searching scrutiny, when all opinions are questioned, all
points assailed, we are forced to go back again to first principles; examine afiesh questions which were settled years ago;
and lay anew the foundations of our faith. Such questions are
before us to-day, as to the nature of the new birth spoken of
in the text, as a necessary preparation for heaven.
In the dark ages of Popery a dreamy mysticism  prevailed,
which saw strange mysteries in the sacrameht.  To the Lord's
supper and baptism it attributed strange efficacy, instead of seeing a wise adaptation to the character of man, addressing ti}Vn




THE NECESSITY OF REGENtERATION.            409.
mind through the senses. Hence bread and wine blessed by
the priest assumed new sacredness, acquired new qualities, and
wrought stranrge wonders by a secret power; while the holy
water of baptism, with- virtue scarcely less amazing, wrought
prodigies scarcely less miraculous. And in all ages and in all
countries, Jewish, Papal, Pagan, Protestant-from thle formal
Pharisee to the fanatical Anabaptist;. from the pilgrim to Jerusalem or Mecca, and the self'immolator at the car of Juggernaut, to the comfortable citizen who takes his easy walk or
pleasant ride to the spacious church, to hear a silken sermuon,
on velvet cushions; from the offerer of sacrifices to the offerer
of prayers; from him who washes away sin with the blood
that streams from  his lacerated body, to him that washes -it
away with flowing water-has been exhibited the same universal tendency, to substitute some outward service for the
religion of the heart. Now we must be permitted to express
our unfeigned astonishment; not that this is indulged as a feeling natural to the human heart, but that, in an enlightened
age, in a Protestant nation, it should be avowed as a sentiment,
expressed in words, formed into a system, urged as an article
of faith, and boldly vindicated as a thing that may challenge
investigation.
We  say, it is astonisling that this should be done in a Protestant nation; because it was on this doctrine of spiritual religion-the religion of the heart as opposed to outwardl forms,
that the great battle of the Reformation was fought; as Sir
James Mackintosh well observes. This was the findamental
principle of all Protestantism. Here Luther took his stand,
and laid this as the broad foundation of all moral and religious
truth. Man is not justified, saved, and morally approved by
God for any outward act or acts, but on the ground of inward
principle or character.  We say, it is astonishing that this
should be done in an enlightened a(re; because this principle,
so plainly avowed, so successfully defended, so widely diffused
by Luther and his coadjutors, has been received and adopted
in all our modern histories, and in all our schools of philosophy;
incorporated in our very civilization and recognized as funda18




410        THE NECESSITY OF REGEENIERATION.
mental truth by all writers on moral science, whether infidel
or Christian, till it has become, as it were, the common patrimony of mankind. Like the light of day, it radiates indeed
from the sun; yet men enjoy its beams without reflecting on
the source from which it comes.
I. Thle new birth is the necessary preparation of the soul for
heaven. To the opinion, then, which makes it an outward rite,
we object, that it is a palpable absurdity, utterly subversive of
all the settled principles of morals and religion, alike abhorrent to all the teachings of revelation, and the dictates of
reason. If there be any one truth on earth, more incontrovertible- than all besides, sustained by the universal assent of
mankind, forced on the convi'ctions of all rational men, by its
own intrinsic evidence, it is that the seat of religion is in the
heart, and not in the outward man; that the Divine law is designed to regulate the moral feelings and character of man;
and that, only as a moral being, is he the subject of a moral
government, of reward and punishment, of approbation or censure. Hence the kingdom of God is not meat and drink, as
consisting in any outward or material thing, but righteousness
and peace, and joy in the HIoly Ghost. For the kingdom  of
God, said our Saviour, is within you.
There are indeed two kingdoms —the natural, material kingdom, and a spiritual kingdom. They are as different as matter
and mind; as far apart as heaven and earth. Each has its
own separate laws. The body is matter, and belongs to one;
the mind is spirit, and belongs to the other. Religion is not a
system of material laws. It is not a system of mechanics, to
regulate the play of pulleys, tendons, joints, and grooves; not
a system of hydrostatics, to regulate the motion of fluids;
nor a physiology, to control the operations of internal viscera,
glands, and secretions; but a system of moral rules and principles, to regulate the conduct of moral agents; and of these
the heart or spirit is the only proper object. The law of God
passes by all these grosser elements, which are the mere instruments of the man, and not the man himself; and drives
home upon the heart; there utters its voice; there stretches




THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.             411
forth its sceptre. The eye of God, seeing not as man sees,
pierces through all the outward films of -the flesh, and looks
deep down into the heart. If all be right within, God and the
soul are satisfied.
Brethren, can it be necessary to argue such points as these?
Have you forgotten that solemn call of God, " Son, give me thy
heart?"  Have you forgotten that earnest warning, "Keep
thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of
life? " Have you forgotten that indignant expostulation of our
Saviour, in Mark vii. 18, "Are ye so without understanding
also?  Do ye not perceive, that whatsoever thing from without, entereth into the man, it cannot defile him: because it entereth not into his heart. But that which cometh out of the
man, that defileth him. For, from within, out of the heart of
man, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders,
thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil
eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness; all these evil things come
from within, and defile the man." Or have you forgotten that
positive and comprehensive assertion, that " love is the fulfilling of the law." The principle is not confined to religion,
but is spread over the whole field of human thought and human intercourse. In all things it is the heart we require,
whether in friend or benefactor. If that be right, all is right.
If that be wanting, all is wrong. We value the external act,
only as it is the manifestation of the inward feeling, and the
instrument of the inward man. The eye kindles, the hand
stretches out its cordial salutation and hearty welcome, but all
the virtue resides in the soul. These outward manifestations
please us, only as they are indications of the heart within.
Suppose that in any of these outward manifestations you found
there was no heart.  You would only abhor, with deeper detestation, the mere appearance of good-will. So all apparent
kindness, if discovered to be done in hatred or parade, only
chills us the more by its heartless hypocrisy. So when relieved
by another's helping hand, or defended from danger by his
strong arm or sword-it matters not-these are but instruments,
and if no heartfelt kindness prompted the act, we can feel no




412'       THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.
pleasure in it. On the other hand, if wounded by another
without design, we may feel the discomfort of physical pain,
but our moral nature forbids displeasure. The disabled friend,
with good wishes and warm affections, who would help us, but
cannot, we value more, even in his impotence, than all the
heartless favors of the great. Ile may have no arm, to save
us, no money with which to. help us, yet feeling that his heart
is with us, we have that which we more highly prize.
But God needs not these outward manifestations. I-e looks
directly at the heart, knows all that is within the heart, and
deals with it accordingly.  Whenever, tunder the old or new
dispensation, men confounded, mistook, or substituted thle sign
for the thing signified, the outward act for the inward fieling,
the shadow for the substance, the shell for the kernel, He makes
it the subject for the most earnest expostulation, the keenest
reproofs, the deepest and most fearful denunciations.  It was
for this especially that the Saviour poured forth that torlrent of
bitterest sarcasm, and of fiercest indignation, against the
Scribes and Pharisees, as hypocrites and whited sepulchres.
Substituting outward washing for inward purity, they were
scrupulously exact in tithing mint, anise, and cummin, while
they left undone the weightier matters of the law; judgment,
mercy, and faith. From the very -opposite view, he praised
the youncg ruler who on a certain occasion approached him
with humility, candor, and sincerity, and said' "Thou art not
far from the kingdom of heaven."
II. The opinion that the new birth consists in anything outward, or any outward action, contradicts all the represeltations of Scripture.  It would be easy to show  by a multitude of passages, all bearing on this subject, that the Scripture
demands inward purity or holiness of heart. The Bible represents all outwardl rites and ceremonies as being but the
signs and symbols of internal purification, not as substitutes
for or producers of inward holiness. Especially was this the
case with the rite of circumcision, and the various sacrifices of
the Old Testament economy.  And equally so is it with the
two great ordinances of the New Testament, baptism  and the




THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.             413
Lord's supper.  Bread and wine are simply emblems to
shadow forth the body and blood of Christ, which must be
received by faith alone, springling  from  the heart of the believer. The water of baptism is but the sign. of that washing
of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Ghost which must
be wrought in the heart of the believer. But the Jews were
constantly inclined to exalt the external above the internal,
substituting circumcision and sacrifice for that piety of the
heart which they were intended to secure. Thus when they
offered to God this mere lip-service, lie spurned them indignlantly away, on the ground that he required the heart, and
not sacrifices and vain oblations.
We see then that regeneration is a great spiritual change, a
renovation of man's whole nature and character, without
which lhe cannot enter into life. " Marvel not that I said unto
thee ye must be born again."  "Except a man be born again,
lie cannot see the kingdom of God." The necessity for such
a change in man may be argued from the nature of God, from
the character of the Son of God, and from the nature of the
kinodom of heaven, whose inhabitants and employments are
all holy. We have seen tile fallacy of that opinion, which
represents the new birth as an outward rite, tracing it to its
double origin, in the dreamy mysticism of the dark ages, when
men saw secret and mysterious powers in holy water and consecrated bread, and in the universal disposition of unconverted man to substitute outward form for inward holiness.
We have seen that the first intuitive principle of all religion
is, that the seat of piety must be in the heart; and that the
first great truth in all morals is, that man is the subject of
moral government, in his moral and spiritual nature.  We
have seen how fully these principles are recognized in the
Bible, which represents the outward rites of religion, not as
substitutes for inward holiness, nor as producers of holiness,
nor as holiness itself, but as signs, symbols, and seals of inward character.
If now any one should assert that an outward rite, as that
of baptism, produces regeneration (abandoning the position




414        THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.
that it is regeneration), this last absurdity is as great as the
first, and liable to the same objection. For, as in the doctrine of transubstantiation, it attributes to water qualities and
powers not before existing, and impalpable to our sensesthus making a miracle when we see no miracle. We shall not
delay you by discussing, at greatel length, an opinion which
carries its.own condemnation so obviously along with it, and
which,to be refuted, needs only to be stated and clearly understood. We therefore briefly remark on this subject: First, that
justification and salvation are never connected with baptism,
or any other outward rite alone, but always with some inward
principle. Secondly, that punishment is never threatened for
the want of baptism alone, but of something else inward and
spiritual. Thirdly, that there are cases, in Scripture, of some
who were baptized with water and not saved, as Judas and
Simon Magus; while some have received the Holy Spirit and
been saved without this outward baptism, as the patriarchs
and prophets, and the penitent thief on the cross. Fourthly,
that it is against the whole drift and tenor of the Gospel,
which represents sin as an internal disease, for which it provides an inward remedy; as a moral disorder, for which it
provides a moral cure; as a deep malady of the spirit, for
which it offers spiritual relief.
We have so often, and at such great length, recently spoken of
the nature of true religion as the image of God on the heart and
the life of God in the soul; as a transition from darkness to light
and from death to life; as a new creation by the mighty power
of God, that I need not delay you longer on this branch of the
subject, but proceed at once to consider other points. Ye
must be born again. There are many men, as we are well
aware, before whose minds this whole subject lies wrapped in
impenetrable mystery. Like Nicodemus, they believe Christ
to be a teacher sent from God. They are won by the beauty
of his pure and elevated morality, astonished at the sublimity
of Divine instruction, convinced by the evidence of his stupendous miracles, and captivated by the blended dignity and
gentleness, humility and grandeur of his unrivalled character.




THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.            415
They have witnessed the benign influence of his Gospel on
society around them.  They have seen it casting over the
violence of angry passions the charms of its restraints, more
potent than the terrors of the law, or the fetters and dungeons
-of despotic power. They have marked it at the bed of sickness,
and in the house of mourning, breathing its own sweet serenity
into the troubled bosom, kindling the pallid cheek of disease,
brightening the eye of sorrow, and, by its exalted hopes, robbing death of its sting and the grave of its victory. History
also has told them of still greater wonders, which it has wroughllt
on a wider theatre, and down through the lapse of past ages,
as, issuing firom Judea, it went forth from country to country,
visiting only to bless, civilizing barbarous tribes, banishing
bloody, impure, and idolatrous superstitions, casting into new
mould and pervading with new  spirit all the institutions of
mankind. They have seen it giving freedom to civilized government, purity to domestic life, humanity to war itself —the
very sun and centre of the social system, ever beaming from
-heaven, and, though obscured for a season, yet bursting forth
again, the source of light and warmth and life to all.  All
this they have known and pondered; and they regard with
real respect, nay, with reverence and admiration, the author of
a system so widely diffused, so powerfully influential, so admirably adapted to the condition and character of man, so
replete with all blessings to the earth; and so they Come with
sincere interest, and with respectful deference, to inquire of
this great teacher in Israel.
But behold what amazement, what hopeless perplexity and
dismay they feel, when they hear the Saviour say, "Verily,
verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot
see the kingdom of God." It sounds to them like the strange
language of an unknown land, like the indistinct and mysterious muttering of an unknown oracle, awful and terrific, but
unintelligible; and they exclaim  with Nicodemus, How can
these things be?
But mark the gentleness at once and wisdom of the Saviour.
I-Ie does not drive him firom his presence; he does not sternly




416         THE NECESSITY OF REGENERATION.
rebuke his incredulity; nor authoritatively command his belief
of a proposition which his reason honestly but inconsistently
rejects.  But he kindly stoops to reason with him, to remove
his difficulties, to relieve his scruples; and, with that quick
and felicitous tact which ever distingulished him as a teacher,
lie seizes at once the principle of the objection, and, with the
rapid glance of one to whorn the whole economy of the universe was knouwn, he refers directly to analogous cases in our
daily experience, to show the fiutility of the objection.  Nicodemus came by night.   t Tle mildl air of the evening was then
breathing around thlem, so delightfitl after the oppressive heat
of an Eastern sun.  HIis objection was, how can an invisible
~cause prlodiice a (change in hum:an character, itself as invisible
as tihe cause which produces it? And as they enjoyed tlhe luxury of this cool, refrieshing breeze, the Saviour directs his attention to the undoubted instance of the operation of a cause,
whose origin is unknown, whose progress cannot be traced;
and yet its results are mnost important and undeniable.  That
breath of air which whispers tlhrough tle lattice, murmurs
amidst the vines, anld rustles the leaves-whence has it come,
to fain your cheek and cool your brouw?  Froim  tlhe distant
sea, over the moluntaii's top, through the lonely valley, amidst
forests and groves, floiwers and vinieyaards, it has wandered,
nourishinr n mnul and beast, vegetable, tree, and flower.  But
who is able to trace its course and tell its wanderinlgs?  Who
can explain its coming and its goinol'? "'The wind bloweth
wilere it listeth, and thoul hearest the sound thereof, but caiist
not tell whence it cometh, or whithler it goeth. So is every one
that is born of the Spirit."   The argument is, if you can believe in the tacts of the material world,,and in the common
experiences of daily lite, without being able to understand all
t)he stran(ge and inexplicable processes connected with them;
why should you be filled with wonder and incredulity, in reference to the things of the spiritual and eternal world! Believilng, as you profess to do, that I am  a teacher come fiom
God, marvel not thlat I said unto you, Ye must be born again.




XXIV.
THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN.
JOB xiv. 4.-" Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? Not one."
THERE is an extraordinary depth, an awful solemnity, one
mighllt almost say a terrible and sublime audacity, in the views
which the Bible presents of the condition of our fallen nature.
It boldly approaches the subject and looks it directly in the
face, in all its vast extent, and all its appalling difficulties.  It
denies nothing, it conceals nothing, it palliates nothing. It
re1pudiates altogether the language of a feeling and fastidious
philanthropy, of a false and fashionable and superficial philosophy, and comes forth with its own broad and sweeping
annunciation of the total wreck and ruin of our nature-a ruin
coeval with the origin of our race and co-extensive with all its
families.  It proclaims a helplessness which is co-extensive
with this ruin-a helplessness as total as the ruin is complete.
It tells of a " carnal mind which is enmity against God, which
is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be; " of
a "natural man that receiveth not the things of the spirit of
God, neither can he know them, because they are spiritually
discerned."
The great Physician does not shrink from probing the wound
to the bottom. He passes from the outward symptoms to the
deep-seated inward malady, from the transient manifestation
to the central and permanent source of ruin, and lays bare the
foul disease which is festering amidst the vitals, in all its revolting and hideous malignity. He traces it up to its origin
in that first sin of the first man, the head and representative
18*




418        THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN.
of our race, which brought death into the world and all our
woe. "As by one man sin entered into the world, and death
by sin, so death hath passed upon all men, because all have
sinned."  He tells us of that moral pestilence which, descending fiom this first man through successive generations, has
reached the whole of his posterity; of the deadly virus of sin
which has entered our system, and now mingles with our
whole circulation, flows in the veins, throbs in the arteries,
beats at the heart, flashes in the eyes, burns in the brain, and.
reaching  every faculty and every element of our being, has
poisoned and polluted all: till the understanding is shrouded
ill darkness, and the affections are seduced from their allegiance to God. Amidst the wild uproar of the tumultuous and
insurgent passions, amidst the blackness of this moral midnight, reason is dethroned, and conscience silenced, and the
will subjugated; and every faculty and power of our fallen
nature is mustered beneath the standard of a high-handed
rebellion against God, and assumes the attitude of a proud.l
defiance.
There is, we know, a puerile and Pelagian philosophy which
is the reverse of all this. It sees only upon earth individual
men and individual actions. It isolates individual man from
the race of which he is a memlber, and individual action from
the whole course and current of his acts and feelings.  It
would wrench out the individual main from all his relations to
the species to which he belongs, and the individual act fiorn
the whole life of which it is a part, and from  that inward
and permanent source and principle of action, of which it is
only the external and transient manifestation.  On this we remark, in passing, that it professes to be a philosophy, and yet
denies itself in the very terms of its annunciation.  There can
be no philosophy of isolated beings or isolated acts. It is
of the very essence of philosophy that it seeks to mount up to
higlher principles, to discover universal laws. It is based upon
the instinctive conviction, that there is a stupendous unity in
God's universe, a mighty purpose and a comprehensive plan,
which embraces not only atoms'but worlds, not only individuals




THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MANl.             419
but species; that binds together these atoms into a world,
these individuals into a species, all participants of the same
nature, subject to the same laws, heirs of the same glorious or
fearful destiny, with a common ruin and a common remedy.
Again, it solves the mystery of human depravity, by multiplying that mystery indefinitely, by all the millions multiplied by other millions of all past and filture generations of
mankind. It is in each a separate and ever-recurring mystery.
Again, it explains the origin of evil, the darkest problem that
overshadows and perplexes human reason, by gravely assuring
us that each act of sin originates itself. Such is not the philosophy of the Bible, or of common sense. Both assure us
that the main, by the very law of his birth which constitutes
him man, inherits the nature of his race; that the outward act
is only the expression of the inward principle; that the inward
emotion, desire, passion, however transient, springs from  a
principle, a character, a nature, which long outlasts these fugitive emotions, and which, when they are past and forgotten,
will originate other similar emotions by a process and a
power as mysterious indeed, yet as certain as that which insures that the peach-tree, though now stripped of its leaves and
fruit, will produce, on the return of spring, not plums or
acorns, but its ordinary fruit; and that the serpent, now stiff
with the cold of winter, will awake in the spring with the
serpent's venom and the serpent's spite, the serpent's glittering skin and the serpent's fiery eye.
Should any one object to this, let him object to the whole
course of nature. His controversy is not with revelation, bnut
with nature, and we leave him to settle it with the God of nature. Throughout all creation like produces like, whether in
the animal or vegetable world. The dove does not issue from
the eagle's egg, the fish from the serpent, the lamb from the
tiger's dam, nor the poisonous berry from the fruitful vinie.
The young eagle may be hatched beneath the domestic fowl,
and trained amidst her timid brood; yet it is an eagle still,
with the eagle's hooked beak, the eagle's talons, and the eagle's
love for blood, with the eagle's eye of fire and the eagle's




420        THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN.
pinions, born to soar above the clouds, to make its home upon
tile nlountain-top, and seek its prey amongst the weaker inlhabitanlts of the fobrest. The young tiger, before it ]has lapped
its tongue in blood, has still tle tiger's tusks and the tigel's claws,
the tiger's keen scent and ravenous appetite for flesh, which in
after-life wakes it fiom the gentlest slumbers to bound forward
inl piursuit of' prey. Extract the viper's fang and its -bag of
poison, it is a viper still, with the serpent's coil, the serpent's
hiss, its tendency to strike, and the whole serpent-nature diffiused throughllout its frame. The poisonous shrub, even before
it has expanded into bloom or ripened into firuit, has its poisonous nature; and, in its earliest germ, while invisible to man,
contains the causes and the elements, yet undeveloped, which
insure the future product-elements and causes mysterious
and inscrutable to man, to which, in our ignorance, we give
the name of nature.  Nor is there anything peculiarly mysterious here. It is only that universal mystery which enshrouds all the ultimate facts in creattion, and constitutes tlle
boundalry of all human knowledge.  WVe know nothing of any
causes directly; we only know them fioml their effects; and
with all our supposed knowledge of the external world around
us, we only know that it is the cause, the unknown cause, of'
our various sensations.  Tile sweetness and the color of the
rose are to us the unknown causes of our sensations; and
when we ask why the rose is fiagrant, or the stone falls to the
ground, our only answer is alike in eitler case, Because such
is its nature, such is the inscrutable law of its being.  No being can change its own nature; and if there be in man a deprayed and corrupted nature, " Who," says Job, "can bring a
clean thing out of an unclean?"
First.  Can education?  Can education, evenm in its utmost
perfection, based on a perfect knowledge of all the laws and
elements of the human mind? In the most successful efforts,
it is only one human mind operating on another. The subject,
agent, and instruments are only the same laws of mind. It
originates nothing, creates nothing.  Gr:eat is the power of
education in mouldincg human character; equal indeed to that




THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN.             421
of man in fashioning external nature; and the limits of its
agency are precisely the same. In all the mightiest changes
produced by human science, directed by human ingenuity, no
particle of matter is created. The machinist, in the most
wonderful and successful efforts of his skill, employs only the
known laws and powers of matter. The chemist, in the rarest
and most beautiful productions of his science, in all his combinations and decompositions, even when new results come
forth unobserved and unparalleled before, has still employed
only the existing elements and existing laws of matter. He
may bring those elements into new relations; and new susceptibilities, hitherto unsuspected, may be developed; but those
susceptibilities were not then first created; though latent,
they existed long before. The steam-car, as it sweeps on its
rapid and resistless course, is propelled, not by any new-created
power or element, but by the expansive power of' steam.
As in matter, so is it in mind. The revolutions which have
been produced by the agency of manl int the aspect of external
nature, prodigious as they are, are rivalled and surpassed by
the mightier influence of mind on mind in education. Ignorance has been enlightened by knowledge, weakness matured
into strength, rudeness polished into refinement, debasing
superstition exchanged for a calm philosophy, whole nations of
barbarians elevated to the dignity of enlighlltened freemen.
But here, too, we are limited in our agency to the materials
on which we operate, the laws and elements already existing
in the soul of man. We cannot add to the human fiame a
single limb, organ, or muscle; not a gland, even the minutest,
nor the flimsiest tissue. Nor can we add to the human mind
a single susceptibility or power, a single capacity of thought,
of feeling, or of action. We may strengthen what is weak
by exercise and healthy nutriment; we may expand, enlarge,
develop what otherwise might have remained inactive. We
may whet the intellect to logical acuteness, or expand it into
breadth and comprehension. We may rouse the imagination
to a loftier and bolder fligjit, and store it with images of beauty
or of grandeur. We may cultivate the gentler and more be



422        THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN.
nevolent affections, and thus shed a sweeter grace over all the
wralks of social and domestic life. All this we may do; but
we can add no new element to the soul of man; and if there
be by nature no principle of holiness there, education cannot
implant it. Holiness is a life, a spiritual life, the life of God
in the soul. Combine and organize those dead elements as we
may, spiritual life we cannot infuse. All the elements that
constitute the human body lie scattered everywhere around
us-in the earth on which we stand, the air we breathe, and
the water which we drink. Yet, if all were gathered and combined in perfect organization, though nature might supply the
dead materials, all nature and all human power could not supply the life. So in that sublime vision of Ezekiel, as he wandered through that valley of desolation, and beheld the multitude of dry bones whitening there, though bone leaped to its
fellow at the voice of the prophet, and the joints united in
perfect articulation, and muscle and sinew and vein and artery,
and every particle and every element had taken its appropriate place, yet the bodies lay there before him a ghastly congregation of the dead, till the breath of the Lord came down,
with its life-giving powelr, and those corpses stood up as living
men.
All human history, for near six thousand years, has been
one vast and varied experiment on the power of education to
renovate the race.  The mightiest intellects, through these
successive centuries, have employed all the resources of their
genius-by the tongue, the pen, and the press-to improve
and reform mankind. They have produced consummate generals, profound philosophers, gifted orators, and admirable
poets-but not one man of God. Human nature has still remained, in all its essential elements, unchanged-worldly,
sensual, godless; no tendency to evil eradicated, no element
of holiness infused. Education cannot renovate the nature of
man, cannot bring a clean thing out of an unclean.
Let us not be supposed, however, to underrate the value of
Christian education. Great is the efficacy of truly Christian
instruction, the power of Christian example,'of that gentle




THE HELPLESS DEPRAVITY OF MAN.             423
piety which diffuses its hallowed radiance over all around.
Precious beyond all thought and all expression are those seeds
of truth which are early implanted in the infant mind. But
let us not forget that this efficacy is connected with God's
promised grace; that these germs of truth must be quickened
into life by the dews of heaven, and the life-giving beams of
the Sun of righteousness. I remember, in mny early youth, to
have heard a lady of distinguished family and great intelligence
say: " I have no fear that my sons will go astray, they have
been too well educated!" Beloved, brethren, God is jealous of
his honor, and will not give his glory to another. He will not
bear that we should substitute our instruction for his grace.
The very last and least of his redeemed people shall be shouted
home with "Grace, grace unto it;" and when one of our
loved ones is really brought home to God, with sti'eaming eyes
and grateful hearts we must acknowledge, as of the lowest of
people, that it is a miracle of grace. "It is the Lord's work,
and marvellous in our eyes."
Secondly. Can eloquence " bring a clean thing out of an unlclean?"  There are tones of the humamn voice that vibrate to
the inmost soul of man, and awaken echoes there that had
slumbered from our birth, thoughts and feelings, susceptibilities and powers, hitherto unknown. There are words which,
when "fitly spoken," in appropriate combiination, thrill along
every fibre of the human heart, and, as by some strange intellectual chemistry, summon the hidden elements there into
new and often startling results. Great is the. power of eloquence! There is not a chord of the human heart which it
cannot touch, not a passion which it cannot arouse or lull.
But how can it touch a chord that is not there? There are
men who, with magic power, can sweep that instrument of a
thousand strings-the heart of man-and draw forth from each
some tone responsive. But if the noblest of them all, that
which ascends and is linked to the throne of God, and vibrates
to the melodies of eternity, hang broken and tuneless there;
if one mightier than he has dashed athwart it his fiery finger,
and snapped it, who shall awaken its lost harmonies?




xxV.
TIlE MINISTRY OF TIIE GOSPEL.
I Con. ii. 3. —" And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much
trembling."
"HIE has sold his birthright for a mess of pottage."  Such
was the profane and iinpious sneer, the contemptuous and
almost blasphemous exclamation of a distinguished lawyer
and politician, on hearing of the intended consecration to tile
work of the ministry of a beloved Christian brother, now
gone to his reward, who devoted the ardor of early youth
and the prime of a vigorous manhood, with uncommon eloquence and success, to the proclamation of the Gospel; who
has left behind him. a long memorial in the hearts of imultitudes converted by his ministry, and added to every grace
that could adorn the Christian gentleman, every power of
persuasion and pathos that could signalize the consummate
orator. " He has sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. Had
he builded upon his father's name, and his father's exalted
reputation, and pursued his father's profession, he might have
erected a monument of fame to himself, and have perpetuated
the honor of his family."
Such are generally the opinions, the feelings, and the language of worldly men in regard to the ministry of the Gospel; and not very different from this may be the feelings of
some amongst ourselves, who can with difficulty escape the
voice of conscience, and the claims of a perishing world upon
their sympathy and efforts. And, my brethren, we are glad
that it is so; firom our inmost soul we are glad that it is so.




THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.               425
We are glad that the Gospel ministry is still a self-denying
and self-sacrificing work; that it has no splendors to dazzle
the young and the aspiring; no emoluments to bribe the
worldly and the venal; that the cross is still a burden to be
borne-the badge of meanness in the eyes of worldly men,
the olbject of derision and reproach, not the symbol of power
or the passport to fame. It is thus that tlle Saviour watches
over the purity of his church, and at the very threshold of
tlhe sanctuary, erects a barrier which usually prevents the
entrance of those whose vanity would corrupt the purlity of
her doctrines, whose anlbition would mar the harmony of
her counsels, or whose vices would tarnish her yet unspotted
reputation; thus out of transient evil, educing still enduring
good, and causing  alike the folly and the wrath of man most
signally to advance the great purposes of God.
BIut how different firom all this are the sentiments expressed
by the author of our text —the conscious weakness, the felt
unworthiness, the sacred reverence, the trembling awe in view
of this high office! But who is this that yields such emphatic
testimony to the Gospel minlistry, as lie thus shrinks and
tlrembles in view of its transcendent dignity, its arduous d uties, its sublime and overwhelming responsibilities?  Is it
some obscure individual ignorant of mankind, and alike n11known to them, who has lived and vegetated and died, leavi-ng
behind no memorial of his existence, no deep imlpression on
hlis race; who, unused to the business and aff:ils of men, and
living in some quiet and obscure retreat, was abashed at the
stare of crowds, would tremble at the approach of danger,
and sinks in conscious imbecility beneath the weight of some
great enterprise?  Answer me when I tell you lhe was such
an one as Paul the aged, the servant of God, the apostle of
our Lord Jesus Christ; who was in nothing behind the very
chiefest of the apostles-in labors more abundant, in sufferings
above measlure, in gifts pre-eminent, in revelations of the
spirit exalted to the third heavens, and privileged to see and
to hlear unutterable mysteries; in whose presence Felix trentbled before the power of his argunment, and Agrippa melted




426          THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.
beneath the persuasion of his eloquence, and to whom, above
all other men of ancient or of modern times, was granted this
hligh pre-eminence, to stamp deep and broad upon the age in
which he lived the impression of his character, and by his
imperishable writings to guide the opinions and control the
destiny of all succeeding generations. If, then, the great
Apostle of the Gentiles, gifted as he was by nature, improved
as lie was by education, illuminated by all human learning
and Divine revelation,was overwhelmed -with the grandeur of
this great work, and in view of the high and hallowed services
of the Gospel ministry could exclaim, "I was with you in
weakness and fear and great trembling;" what shall we say
of those who, in our day, rush forward with tlloughtless impetuosity and indecent haste into all the solemn responsibilities and arduous duties of this sacred calling?  Let us
consider, then, what are some of the qualifications and what
the characteristics of a ministry which, amidst the emergencies of our day, and the crises just at hand, may stand forth
before the world as the heralds of the Saviour, "'workmen
that need not be ashamedc,"-in other words, a  ministry
adapted to our times.
1. First, then, we need a tlhoroughly devoted and consecrated
ministry; for, consider the high and solemn sacredness of this
great office. Throughout the IHoly Bible the design is everywhere manifest, to diffuse an atmosphere of peculiar sacredness around the presence and immediate service of the Most
High.  When Moses was called to be God's messenoer to
Pharaoh and the deliverer of his people Israel, lie was taught,
by a most impressive symbol, the sacredness that belongs to
the message and that should characterize the messenger. The
Most High appeared to him in fire, the purest at once and
the most terrible of elements, and as he approached to receive
his commission, the voice of God, issuing firom  the burning
1)ush, said: "Put off thy shoes fiom thy feet, for the place
whereon thou standest is holy ground."  And when in afteryears, as the minister of that folrmer dispensation, he received
fiom the handls of God the tables of the law, the very mount




THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.              42 7
on which the Almighty descended was consecrated fiom its
summit to the base; no man or beast dare at the peril of life
intrude within those consecrated limits; and even Moses, as he
stood amidst the agitated elements, and upon the burning
mount where the Lord himself came down with the myriads
of his holy ones, exclaimed: "I do exceedingly quake and
tremble." After the building of the temple, the Holy of Holies
was closed throughout the year, and the visible symbol of
God's presence there could only be approached after the most
solemn preparation, and with the most august and imposing
ceremonies by the higll-priest of God; and the misguided
Israelite who, in hasty zeal, put forth his hand irreverently to
support the Ark, was smitten dead upon the spot. Well might
the Apostle urge us, in view of these indications of a jealous
God, to "serve God with reverence and godly fear, for our
God is a consuming fire."  But if the ministry of condemnation was glorious, how much more the ministry of salvation.
These were all but the shadows of which Christ is the. substance; and if the ministry and ordinances of that imperfect
dispensation were guarded with such watchful je:lfousy, encircled with such awful sanctity, avenged with such terrific
retributions, what shall we say of that better covenant of
which Christ was at once the author and the object, the
victim  and the priest, the minister and Lord!  How awful
its dignity!  How  soleimni its ordinances!  How  sacred
its instructions!  How  elevated its hopes!  How  precious its consolations!  How  august its revelations!  For
the  Gospel  is a message  directly  fr'om  the  throne of
IIeaven; and every minister of the  Gospel, called  and
sent of God, is an ambassador for Christ.  lie stands a
dying man between the living God and a world of dying
men. H-imself a sinner saved by grace, he stands between
a Holy God and a world of sinners.  Himself at best a
pardoned rebel, lie stands between an offended God and a
+world of rebels in open revolt against his governnment-abusicg his nmercy, insulting his majesty, defyig his omnipotent
justice.  How nioinentous are the subjects to be discussed,




428          THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.
how vast are the interests involved, how solemn the responsibilities ilcurred-solemn as the issues of the Judgment, vast
as the value of the soul, and durable as its long and interminable existence! Were the thrones of all earthly empires piled
high, each above the other, and all earthly crowns blended
illto oife diadem  of glory, these accumulated thrones would
not reach to heaven; and what were that radiant diadem,
when compared with the glory that encircles the brow of one
immortal spirit amongst the mlillions of the saved? And. were
all the earthly interests of all the nations concentrated in one
single person, how insignificant would all appeal when weighed
in the balances of the sanctuary, and calculated by the arithmetic of heaven, and measured by the duration of eternity!
But tlle message which lie bears is the message of a Saviour's
love, the same which the angels came to herald, which the
Lord of angels calme to bear, which fell from his own heavenly
lips, and. beamed firom his own countenance of radiant love, and
was embodied in his own mysterious person, and gushed r-om
his own bleeding bosom and bursting heart-a story of infinite
pity, and infinite woe, of avenging justice and redeeming
mercy.  For, blessed be God that our ministry is a ministry
of reconciliation, alcd not of condemnation; that tile message
we blear is one of unutterable love; that the burden of our
proclamation still must be love, amazing, boundless, unfllthomable  love.  "'For God so loved  the world that
lie gave his only  begotten  Son, that whosoever  believeth onl him  should not perish, but have everlasting life."
God was lnot only willing( to be reconciled, but willing to pay
the price of reconciliation too. When there was no eye to
pity, and no arm to save, he was willing both to pity and to
save the perishing.
-Man brouoht ruin on himself by rebelling against Godman the enemy of God, and thus God made the enemy of
nlan —a creature of clay arrayed against the Omnipotent, and
thllus God arrayed againlst him. The heavens clothed in blackness, the earth quakingr in terror, conscience pealiing in thundertones, and -perdition gaping to engulf hiim — ho is the sinner's




THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.              429:
stay?  Cannot mercy plead?  Can no angel intercede?  Behold, there is help laid on One mighty to save.
Hle comes ill the humility of man and the majesty of God.
The arm uplifted to destroy us has fallen upon him.  The
sword, brandished and blazing above us, is bathed ill his own
blood; still are those arms outspread; that heart still beats
with love; and we are commissioned to pray, to entreat, to
exhaust all argument, and to do so in tile name of God, ill
the name of Clhrist, by all that is terrible or precious in heaven
or hell.  Well might we tremble, when we put forth the hand
to the Ark, lest we perish by the touch.  Well might we
shrink back from this solemn and sacred trust, but we dare
not; by our solemn vows, we dare not decline it or be dislmayed. The Gospel is mighty thlrough God, and the demonstratione of his spirit and power. Standing, then, as the representative of the Saviour upon earth, speaking in his great
name and by his high authority, moving habitually amidst
these scenes of tenderness and grandeur; how important that
the mninister of Christ be a man of God, imbued with the
spirit and bearing the image of his Saviour!
II. The Gospel we have to preach is not an ingenious speculation, or plausible theory, or magnificent hypothesis, lending
a portion of its own dazzling brilliancy to heighten the splendors of some rhetorical display; but a fact, a solemn and an
awful.fact; a sublime and glorious reality, wide as the world
in which we live and universal as the race of man; pervading all human relations, involving all human interests, reaching upward to the throne of God, and downward to the deptlls
of perdition, and onward through an immeasurable eternity,
and in the wide sweep of its large and manifold relations,
linking the destiny of man with all that is loftiest in the character and most stupendous in the energies of superhuman
powers —the celestial sympathy of angels, the satanic malignity of fiends. It is a fact so vast in the range of its illimitable
consequences, so appalling or so glorious in its necessary influences upon human destiny, so clear in the evidence of its
indubitable certainty, so intimately blended witb the whole




430          THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.
tissue of our past and future history, that in comparison with
it, all other facts are dim  and vague and shadowy and insignificant. It is the fact of facts, the great fact in each man's
history. That is no dream  of the visionary enthusiast —the
ruin of our race; but an awful fact, loudly proclaimed by
every human conscience, faithfully re-echoed by every known
tradition, broadly and palpably recorded upon every page of
history, and distinctly visible upon the face of human socic-t
itself-visible even in those scattered traces of beauty and of
grandeur which remain amid the ruins they cannot remedy;
as we recognize the site of longc-lost cities and demolished
temples by the shattered remains of arches and columns and
statues peeping irregularly forth fiom amidst the rubbish that
entombs thenl. And the redemption of our race-is not this
a blessed reality? which, chronicled amidst the annals of the
sky, has already peopled heaven with millions of inhabitants,
and is even now enjoyed in its felt and palpable reality as a
living, present, actual salvation by millions of redeemed sinners upon earth?  And all the solemn verities of our Gospel
-are they not stupendous facts, that encompass us on every
side, and overshadow with a serene and heavenly awe our
whole earthly being?  Truly, the realities of our existence
surpass the prodigies of fiction. We live amidst a scene of
wonders. Is not there the broad heaven, spread out above us
in serene and solemn grandeur, with its millions of peopled
worlds looking down silently upon us? And are there not
here millions of immortal spirits around us moulding at this
very liour their everlasting destinies?   Is not our eternity already begun? Behold, all around is immensity, infinity, eternity.  Above us are incalculable heights; beneath us unfathomable depths. Around us. is vast infinity; behind us eternity past; before us eternity to come.  Within us are boundless capacities for joy or woe; while ever present with us,
encompassing all our ways, pervading our whole being, source
of every blessing, and witness to every act and thought and
feeling, is the silent and awful majesty of God. Such is the
grandeur and such the sublime mystery of our condition here.




THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.            481
But he who would bring home these great truths to the conscience and practical conviction of another, must know them
not only as a speculation, but must have felt them as a fact,
in his own inward experience, as the great fact of his own
history; must know them as the one central fact of human
existence and human destiny, around which all others do obediently range themselves, to which all others are subordinate,
and from which they all derive their only true significance.
Hence, in all ages of the world, from St. Paul to Augustine,
from Augustine to Luther, and onward to Bunyan and Baxter,
and down to our own days, the men who have been honored
of God to stamp deep upon their generation the impression
of these truths, have borne about with them, in their own
persons, the experimental realization of them; have known
from inward experience the sad and sublime reality of things;
have gazed with steady earnestness into the fires of perdition,
till all human tortures were indifferent; and roved amidst
the delights of paradise till all earthly splendor was insignificant; who have themselves, in the secrecy of their ownr
bosoms, grappled in deadly conflict with the powers of darkness; and, issuing from the closet to the pulpit, fresh fiom
these high and solemn meditations, victorious from amidst
these terrific struggles, they have uttered words of exhortation which have been like a voice from heaven-their tones
of warning or denunciation sounding like the trump of God.
In the days of Whitfield a comedy was prepared, in which
the doctrines and manner of this great prophet of his age
were held up to public ridicule.  Garrick was selected to represent the distinguished preacher.  But this extraordinary
man, accustomed to study the character he was about to represent, that he might sympathize with all his feelings, and
reproduce a living similitude of the man he was to personate,
entered with such enthusiasm into the spirit of this new hero
of the drama, that he stood before them with all the grandeur
and solemnity of a herald of the skies; the whole assembly
was bathed in tears, and for once the theatre was converted
into a place of penitence and prayer.  When asked by a




432          THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.
minister of the Gospel where lay the secret of his power, lihe
replied with keen yet instructive severity: "We speak fiction
as if it were truth, you speak truth as if it were the idlest
fiction."  Alay none of you, my young brethren, ever stand
up in the sacred pulpit and drawl out with dull and lifeless inlsipidity, truths which inspire the songs of anllgels, and shall
swell the raptures of eternity.
III. But again, these great facts, when expressed in language, and classified according to their mutual relations, constitute a grand system of doctrines, complete and harmlonious,
in which each truth occupies its appropriate place, and presupposes by a logical necessity all the rest, while each upon
each reciprocally sheds additional illumination.  "There is
scarcely a bone," says Cuvier, the great naturalist, wllen
speaking of the admirable harmiony that pervades the animal
economy, "there is scarcely a bone that can vary in its surfaces, in its cu  in its protuberances, without a correspondent variation in all the rest," so that a skilful naturalist, from the appearance of a single bone, will often be able to
determine the form of the whole skeleton to iwhich it belonged.
And the reason is obvious, because each must be adapted to
those which are adjacent, and these to others still more remote, even to the extremities of the system, while all must
harmoniously co-operate with one common object —the existence and welfare of the animal.  Now it is even thus with the
great system of Christian doctrines; each is adapted to others;
all spring from one common source, and tend with harmonious
precision towards one common centre-the cross of Christ and
justification through faith in the great atonement there. And
here, too, the scientific theologian can often easily descry
in the minutest fragmnent of some remote or half-developed
doglna, the whole large outline and full proportions of the coming error; with all its habitudes and tendencies, its bold protuberances towards open heresy, its gentle inclinations towards
secret error, and all the graceful curvatures of an insidious and
plausible theology. Thus, though but a single paw was exhibited at first-and that with studious caution and economic



THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.              433
al reserve-of that great " Beast of Babylon "' of heterogelleous elements, half iron and half clay, whiclh now  moves
rampant over the nations; yet did the wise men of England
and of America at once proclailn his origin, character, atid
habits; confidently predict his growth and gradual development; and actually project, with photographic accuracy, a
perfect delineation of the full-grlown monster. Or, to drop the
metaphor, the wisest and best of English alud American
bishops perceivedl at once, that Puseyism was essenti:lf Popery;
that they who began by rejecting God's method of justification by faith in the blood of Christ, and substituting inl its
stead fasting and penances and such like human mumnleries,
mtust substitute the fathers for God's word; the authority of
the church for the fiee exercise of private judgment; imlplicit faith for the manly exercise of reason; and having thus
at once yielded up reason and revelation, must terminate in
papal intallibility, transubstantiation, and the idolatrous worship of the saints and the immaculate Virgin Mary.
IV. But, as we have remarked before, the whole system of
Gospel truth, with all its separate parts, tend(s towar-ls one
coimmon object, and revolves around one conimon centre, that
centre Christ.  And just as of old the planets of our systemn
gathered in high conjunction at his birth, and stood with lmute
hlonmage and blended radiance above his cradle, even so do the
several doctrines of his Word cluster with instinctive sympathy
around the cross, and pour their combined effiilgence thele.
ence, the cr'oss of Christ, and the great propitiationl offered
there, must be the theme of the Christian minister.  But how
can hlie preach an unknown Saviour?  IIow lead to a cross
whose efficacy he has never experienced? How even conIprehend a system of truth, whose simplest elements have no
place in his own inward experiences?  Hence the necessity of
a truly converted and spiritually minded ministry. Because
only such a ministry can comprehend, or long outwardly
maintain the fundamental doctrine of the Gospel-justification
through faith in the Redeemer of lost sinners.
There was a tradition long prevalent -ini 5c.otland, and be191




434          THE MIISNTTRY' OF THE GOSPEL;
lieved by many still, that when the great leader of his people,
Wallace, ]lad departed, his head was left behind, reserved for
some filture day of desperate emergency, with the assulrance
that, in the very crisis of his country's destiny-when her
fainting battalions were just ready to recede, and the onset'was most fiurious and desperate-then whoever should cast this
venerated head amidst the advancing columns of her foes,
with him should rest the victory.  And the tradition tells us
that on such a well-contested battle-field, when victory seemed
already perching on the banners of the foe, and all was given
up for lost, the chieftain to whom this precious relic had been
confided, lifted hilgh in view of the contending armies this
immortal brow-signal of assured victory to friends, omen of
terrible defeat to foes —and casting it far amidst the ranks of
the hostile forces, dashed onward to the conflict. The enenly
stood all aghast. From battalion to battalion, along the line
of Scotland's forces, flashedl the electric joy.  The old battlecry of Scotland andc  Wallace ranr thlbourgh the ranks; and.
like chaff before the whirlwind of their native mountains, was
swept the invading army. Their dead leader gained for theni
a living victory. The verities of our Gospel are not tradition.
The weapons of our warfare are not carnal; the Captain of
our salvation is not dead, but liveth. And may we not say to
you, who are soon to march forth to the battle of the worldand urge upon ourselves-that in our sorest conflicts with
principalities and powers-when all earthly weapons of finest
temper, of brightest polish, and of keenest edge, prove unavailing-with him shall be the victory who shall lift hilghest
inl the view of contendin;g hosts, and bear most boldly forward
in the fiont of battle, and farthest onward amidst the advancing battalions of our foes, tile image of our living, though
crucified Redeemer. The Cross! the Cross!-let this be our
watchword amidst tile darkness of the night. The Cross! the
Cross!-be this our battle-cry when we advance to the charge,
and upon the banner that waves above the sacramental host of
God's elect, alike amidst disaster and success, whether it float
in- enduringr triumph, or drioop in apparent- and t.ransient de



THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.              435
feat, let there be inscribed all over in characters of living
light, the Cross, the Cross of our crucified and exalted Lord
and Saviour. Christ and his cross be all our theme, though
"the victories we speak be folly in the Jews' esteem, and madness to the Greek."  And be assured that in that day of trial
and of conflict which lies just before us-to which the manytongued voices all around do summon God's own people; that
crisis of the world's destiny now near at hand, in which the
embattled powers of good and evil shall struggle together for
the final victory; that day of coming darkness when the fainthearted and the false shall flee, and for which each leader that
is boldest in God's sacramental host is girding on his armor,
his sword, his helmet, his battle-axe and shield, the weapons
of offensive and defensive warfare all burnished for the contest-in that great day of terror in the valley of decision, the
church beneath this banner shall be victorious; nay, to use the
language of the Saviour himself when speaking of his advent,
"shall be like the lightning which lighteneth out of the one
part under heaven, and shineth unto the other part under
heaven," and nothing can stay the course thereof. Like that
lightning in its course, so radiant in its glory, so irresistible in
its progress, pervading  all that is homogeneous, shattering all
that dare oppose, and speaking to all the world in the same
tones of imperial majesty, shall move onward, conquering alld
to conquer, the doctrine of the cross, and of' him who huncg
there in his agony and love.
This leads us to remark that we need an euergetic nminuistry.
There is a mild and meditative piety, a refined and literary
piety, a subtle and speculative piety, and all this may answer
in its place, may serve the individual purposes and save the
individual soul. But for the conversion and salvation of the
world we need a living, active, energetic piety. A man may
do good service in the battle of the world, whether he go forthll
armed with spear or battle-axe, broad-sword or scimetar. We
care not how bright the polish of' your weapon, if only the
edge be keen and the metal steel. You may stud the hilt
with diamonds, or emboss it with gold of priceless value and




436          THE MINISTRY OF TUIE GOSPEL.
solid( workmanship, lbut let not the blade be rusted nor
wreathe the point with flowers, and let it be wielded ever with
an arm of viror, impelled by a heart of fire.
V. But let us consider, in conclusion, the difficulties and
dangers of the office. Every situation has its peculiar advantages and pleasures, as well as its difficulties and dangels.
The ministry has its own pleaslures and also its difficulties.  I
speak not of what the minister has in common with other
Christians, but of those peculiar to his situation.  His work
is vast; the opposition to the great object of his life is constant, inveterate, and colnbined; and if apparent success for
at time crown his efforts, still danger comes —the world flatters
to mislead, seduce, and destroy. It is easy to plroduce superficial external changes. It is easy to mould the features to a
smile, tune the voice to tenderness, and discipline the limbs to
graceful motions; too easy, as is obvious to any one who has
only glanced at the society, stupidly miscalled refined, to polish
the exterior, while corruption is festering at the core.  It is
comparatively easy to imbue the mind with a moderate share
of knowledge, and so regulate the appetite and passions and
conduct as to lead a quiet and respectable life. This is the
end of philosophy; but religion aims at something far more
difficult and important-at nothing  less than a radical and
fundamental change in thewhole character of the man. She
announces this as her bold designn  to renovate the individual
and revolutionize society, to implant new principles in the
human character, infuse new elements into human feeling a:nd
conduct; not to garnish the old sepulchre, but to erect a new
temiple to the Lord; not an implrovement, but a new creation.
Philosophy, of human origin, adapts itself to human tastes,
prejudices, weaknesses, even in her efforts to do good. The
weapons of her warfare are earthly, and while assaulting one
passion, she seeks to strengthen herself by alliance with another; thus strengthening the principle of all sin, while she
resists the individual practice, and only invigorating the root,
while she lops the branches.  Religion, divine in origin, is
universal in her requirements. - Holiness is written on her




THE MINISTRY OF THE GOSPEL.            437
banner, and she can make no terms with sin in its inward
principles or outward developments.  Hence a minister, if
faithful, must arouse opposition, extensive and inveterate; the
world, the flesh, and the devil must be arrayed against him.
For lihe goes forth amongst his fellow-men the avowed enemy
of all they love most dearly-waging war against sin, against
all sin, however ingeniously veiled, or gracefully decked;
however plausibly defended, consecrated by custom, supported
by interest, or recommended by fashion. Against sin, from
-the cottage to the throne, he must wage a war of extermination. Nay, if one sin be more widely prevalent, more securely
iltrenched, more extensively ruinous than all beside, against
tlhis, though power should protect it, and eloquence plead for
it, and wealth and talent and genius and learning and popular
admiration unite to encircle it with splendor, must the anathemas of the Gospel be boldly thundered forth. The sin of
H ierod must not go unrebuked though a dungeon and the axe
be Jolln's reward.




XXVI.
INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
LUKE xi. 24-26. —" When the unclean spirit is gone'out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest: and finding none, he saith, I will return
unto my house whence I came out.
"And when he cometh, he findeth it swept and garnished.
"Then goetl lie, and taketll to him seven other spirits more wicked than
himself; and they enter in, and dwell there: and the last state of that man
is worse than the first."
WE shall not attempt to discuss any of the numerous questions which miniht be legitimately raised in regard to demoniacal possessions.  That spirit should operate on spirit, is truly
not more mysterious than that matter should  operate on
matter.  The mode in which they operate and the nature of
the connection  between them  we do not know; in either
the fact is equally manifest, and equally intelligible in both.
T}lat spirit should operate on spirit without the intervention
of bodily  organization, is not more  wonderful than that
matter should operate on matter without the  intermediate
agency  of spirit.  Nay, that an  immaterial spirit should
operate  upon  the  soul of man, spirit directly upon spirit
-without the aid of bodily organs, is not more mysterious but
less, than that it should operate through the instrumentality of
thtis material frame: for when you introduce the bodily organizations you have complicated the process instead of simplifying it.  You have removed the mysterious phenomena to a
greater distance, separated them by a wider interval, and interposed new links of connection in the successive series.  But
each of these material links itself involves a new mystery, and
you have multiplied  the  mystery, instead  of solving it.




the hunman spirit; that rouses the dormant passions, blows to
a flame the latent spalrks of lust; thalt with devilish skill enters
at each avenue of the heart of man, seizes each element of
his fallen nature, wand wields it for his ruin.  He throws around
all forbidden things a brilliancy of fascination, an enchanting
witchery that dazzles the imagination, bewilders the under



440            INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
standing, captivates the taste, and seduces the affections, until
the voice of experience, of reason, of conscience, is unheard,
and the whole machinery of his intellectual and moral being
is unhlinged.  Amidst the tumultuous uproar of all the insurgent passions, amidst the wild war of the chaotic and jarring
elements within him, reason is dethroned, conscience stifled,
the will itself paralyzed, and the unhappy man, mastered by
some strancge  and foreignll  owel, is dragged at first. reluctantly along, half conscious of tile hellish agency that inmiels him, and strutggling  fiom  time to time with spasmodic
violence to be fiee.  Then lie yields himself a willing captive,
blends his own perverted energies and his eternal destinies
with those of the powers of darkness, and sweeps on madly
exulting before the tempest of his passions; like the spectreship which the poet has described, the wiltlest and most terrible creation of human genius, which swept proudly careering
on amnidst the flry of the elements, above the billows and before
the storm, beileath the broad light of dav, and the solemnlll
stillness of the starry nlight, urged fitriously forward by demon
powers.,At the pIeriod of our Saviour's appearance, it is known that
the dominion of' this power of evil had become almost universal. The  insurrectionl against  God and his  government,
which seemle  destined to achieve a speedy, final, and decisive
triulmph, had pellet rated every department of thought and
efftlrt.  Over every  ilstitution, political, social, religious; over
every class of hunman society, every relation  of human life
p)lblic or private, men's private actions or retired speculations;
over all men's passions, affections, reasonins,    this power exercised an omnipresent and omnipotent sway. Philosoplhy, in
open and avowed revolt, denied the existence of a God and
tie ilmmortality of the soul, the fundamental principles of
morals, and, in the spirit of a haughty and stoical indifference
threiw itself over on the doctrine of a gloomy Pantheism;
of laws of mnature moving( on forever under the guidance of
a blind, crushing, inexorable necessity.  The masses bowed
down before gods of wood or stone, which their own hanlds




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.             441
had made, or deified the worst appetites and passions of our
fallen nature. There is scarcely a brutal appetite that degrades
our nature, or a fiendish passion that heats the blood or
maddens the brain of man, that had not its temple, its altar,
its worshipper; to these did the sculptor, the painter, the poet
consecrate the noblest productions of their art; and thus were
the most splendid efforts of human genius made to give a
brilliancy and a glory to the basest of human passions; and
over the whole broad domain of human society, in action and
in thought, in philosophy, poetry, art, in ordinary life, the
Prince of darkness reigned ubiquitous, with supreme control.
It was from the spirit and perhaps through the spirit that
this influence reached the body. The inward ruin became
outwardly visible; it was the total wreck of body and of spirit,
so completely overmastered by the evil that the feeling of individual identity was lost. He was another, and yet the same;
one, yet many; seven devils, and then, as the fragments of a
shattered intellect multiplied variously the reflection of Iris
consciousness, he was legion. They foamed, they rolled on
the ground, they wandered in dismal solitudes, and shunned
the abodes of men; amidst the tombs of the dead they lurked
by day, and issued forth at night ferocious, untameable; with
superhuman strength they tore away the bars of the prisonhouse, and burst the fetters that bound them. In such a state
of things, when Satan had gained such absolute and universal
control; when all human appliances were unavailing; when
philosophy, literature, government, society had been subjugated and corrupted by his influence, and the few who retained some remains of sanity looked wildly around in despair
upon the universal and hopeless ruin, it was manifest that some
higher power was needed to prevent the total disorganization
of society. The cry of the Syrophenician woman, when all
that was sweetest, and dearest, and loveliest, and purest at her
own domestic hearth was thus polluted, became but the echo
of the universal voice of man: "Lord, have mercy on me, for
my dcAutghter is grievously tormented by the devil."
Now the -miracles of our Saviour, as the doctrines which he
19*




442           INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
taught and the sufferings he endured, had a reference far beyond the occasion on which they were performed. In each of
the diseases which he he:led, there is a striking and probably
a designed analogy, which spontaneously leads us from the
physician of the body to the physician of the soul, firom the
outward disease to the inward malady of sin.  In healing
each he proclaims his power over the inward disease of sin,
and when he cast out devils, and healed those most malignant
forms of madness where Satan seemed enthroned in absolute
supremacy amidst the total wreck of man's intellectual and
moral nature, he vindicates his sovereignty over Satanic power
in all its forms, and teaches a solemn lesson for all comining generations. When he opens the blind eye, he points us to the
spiritual blindness of our fallen nature. When lie heals the
leper, he refers to the foul and contagious leprosy of sin;
and when the demon is cast forth from  the raving and
foaming maniac, we spontaneously turn to society around,
and behold with saddened hearts the exact and fearful parallel
in the history of those who, in their hot pursuit of worldly
pleasure, or worldly gain, or worldly honor, renounce all the
principles of reason, disregard the lessons of experience and
the warnings of conscience, insult the majesty and defy the
omnipotence of God, drive a fearful traffic with the prince of
darkness, and barter away an immortality of bliss for the illusive promise of a few transient and uncertain enjoymients.
They summon every faculty to its highest exercise, and string
every nerve to its intensest tension, for some perishable good;
are shrewd, keen, alert, far-seeilng in all that relates to their
worldly interests; but for eternity, and all that it contains of
vast and tremendous import to an immortal spirit, are the
veriest madmen.
In pursuing the parallel, we remark first, in respect to the
ordinary madman, that the first symptom of his madness is a
strange delusion about himself, a total misconception of his
character, his position, and his relations to all around.  lie
imagines that he is some mighty potentate, lord of the earth;
or, stretching his wide domain still fiarther, is emperor of the




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS;              443
moon. His narrow cell is an imperial palace, his wooden stool
a throne of majesty, his little rod a sceptre of royal power.
The scraps of tattered finery hung around his brow  are a
prince'.s diadem, and the filthy rags that are gathered about
his emaciated fiame are a robe of imperial purple. IHe assumes
the air and attitude of kings, and all around are but the members of his court, attendants on his person, subject to his authority, and await in mute awe and reverence his high commnands. Ile is rich; the wealth of nations flows into his treasury; the gold of India and California fills his coffers. He is
free, though he cannot move without the permission of his
keeper, though his keeper's eye follows him at every step, and
the stroke of his keeper's rod startles him again and again
from his dream of folly; and when the night comes on with
its deepening shadows, he is stripped of his robes of royalty,
and locked in his dark cell, a naked madman, to rave in impotent fury as he dashes himself in vain against its bars of ironl
and its solid masonry.
Now, there is something absurdly ludicrous in this delusion
of this ordinary madman, but the madness of every sinner is
precisely parallel. He, too, is the prey of a similar illusion in
relation to himself.  Ile dreams that he is free and independent, yet can he not move without the permission, nay without the sustainling power and goodness, of God. Hle stalks
abroad with lofty step and regal air and heart of pride, as if
he were Lord of this lower world; yet the great eye of God
is fixed in blazing majesty and consuming wrath upon hinm,
and the great arm of God is lifted high, though unseen by h!im,
for chastisement or vengeance, and ever and anon the strokes
fall thick and fast and heavy; the startled sinner wakes for a
moment from his dream of maniac folly, implores with many
cries and tears forgiveness, and relapses and promises amendment, till at last the night of death comes on, the deep dark
shadows of an undone eternity gather around his soul.'Eac.h
shred and patch and shattered firagment of that mock righteousness in which he has arrayed himself; to hide the dark pollu.tions of a guilty heart, and cherish the illusions which lhe




44 4           INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
loved, is stripped from his trembling and naked spirit; the
gloomy cell is ready to receive him; the heavy doors of that
dark prison-house grate harsh thunder as they close forever on
the imprisoned soul. The night of eternity rolls on; slowly,
darkly, heavily, sadly, the night of eternity rolls on. No
morning- light shall beam  upon that darkness.  No ray of
h]ope shall gild that black despair.  No Lazarus shall fly with
wilgged speed on angel-pinions from the courts above to give
one drop of water to cool the parched tongue.  No voice of
man or angel shall proclaim the wonders of redeeming love.
There is no cross in hell; no Saviour there.  MIadman, look
round upon the prison-house, its gloomy walls, its caverns
dark and deep, its fiery billows as they surge and boil and
flash around thee. Hear the shriek of' agony, the groan of
horror, the curse of blasphemy, the wail of despailr.  Was it
for this that you despised the sweet voice of niercy, rejected
a Saviour's love, stifled conscience, grieved God's spirit, and restrained prayer?
BHut again, the sinner, too, thinks that lie is richl-rich in all
moral excellence.  He hangs around his brows the tattered
soiled fragments of' some old cast-oft heathen morality, and
mounts a lofty pedestal, and  thinks himself pre-eminent
amnolngst his fellows in every attribute that should grace and
dignify a man. You slhall believe he is a maln of principle,
while lie is the slave of sin, thle very bond-slave of every
beastly appetite and devilish passion.  A inan of principleI
And yet there is not a tie so sacred or so tender, not an interest so paranmount or dear, not a duty so solemnI or so ur(gent,
tihat is not sacrificed at the call of inclination; not a principle
so firm that is not swept away by the strong impulse of mnomentary passion. There is not one duty to God or manl which
he has not violated in its true and deepest meaning. The very
first of all those duties, and the basis of all the rest, he wholly
and habitually disregards-his duty to the great Creator.
There is no fear of God before his eyes, no love of God in his
heart, no thought of God in his mind, no service of God in
his life; and if the idea of God were blotted out fiom his un



INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.             443
derstanding, and the name of God erased fiom his memory, as
the thought of God is banished from his habitual reflections,
and the service of God from the whole current of his daily
life, there would be no darker shadow over his soul, no drearier,
blanker atheism would shroud in its midni(ght blackness the
lutter desolation of his whole moral being. HIe does not even
give to God the homage of a passing thought. God is to himl
but the madman's keeper. And yet the madman still cherishes
the vain delusion that he believes inll God, has a profould reverence for God, will never meet that God in vengeance and in
judgment.
lHe is generous, noble, manly! Fine words are these, my
friends, and fill of lofty sound. But let us see. tHe is generols and manly, the very soul of lhonor! Yet he has betrayed the confidence that was reposed in him —the tender,
generous, confiding love, the purest, truest, holiest on earth,
which after many a broken- proniise still strives to trust, and,
smiling through its tears, says with the parting kiss crowned
with a mother's blessing, Remember, so, your promnise when
temptations come, and evil companions wolld seduce, remember your mother's Bible and your mother's God. Remember,
son, remember! IIe is generous! And yet lie can pierce with
a pang bitterer than death that heart that for many a year
has longed and yearned and prayed only for him, that lives
only in his life; and in the long vista of filtulre years can see
no prospect to delight which is not brightened by the thought
of an honorable and virtuous manhood for her cherished boy.
Generous, manly! Yet he can bring down those gray hairs
with sorrow to the grave; crush the only hope that could
cheer amidst the infirmities of advancing life, and make the
grave itself a welcome refuge from a mother's untold anguish,
and a mother's shame. Surely he is generous, my friends, or
is it only the delusion of a madman?
But he is a gentleman, at least, of untarnished character, and
with all the virtues that adorn and grace that honorable appellation. A gentleman! And yet you shall see him wallow in
shameless, beastly intoxication. Are the stupidity of an' ass,




446           INFLUEENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
and the foulness of swine, the peculiar and distingrilishing
characteristics of a gentleman? Surely the man is mad; an
unclean devil has taken possession of him in body and in
spirit. He is the same which entered into the service of old,
and we have no reason to believe that they were either improved or pleased by his society. His name is legion,'for lihe
never comes alone. Hie is a social devil, and hosts of others
follow in his train. They swarm  in by every open avenue,
creep slyly in through every crevice of the heart, storm and
strongly  garrison the citadel, then take possession of the
whole. There is not an apartment of the soul which they
will not occupy, no secret chamber, no dark nook or corner
-where foul vermin lurk unseen, but they will seize and render
it tenfold fouler. They will seize the imagination and the
reasoning power, rouse every passion, stimulate every appetite, take possession of body and spirit, and pervert every organ and every faculty, eye, ear, tongue, to their devilish purposes. The tongue is, according to the Psalmist, the glory of
a man, the distinguishing'characteristic between mllen and
brutes. Yet go to his private apartment, hear his familiar
conversation; obscenity and blasphemy form the whole staple
of-his talk. An unclean devil guides the swift tonoue, anld
whets the prurient appetite, andl quickens the eager ear. The
maniac's laugh responds to the madman's filthy jest. The
very air around him reeks with blasphemous obscenity, is pestilential, putrid. He soils the ground on which he treads; pollutes the atmosphere he breathes; there is contagion in his
touch. In his presence and society every pure and generous
and noble sentiment withers and dies, and the wise and good
who would seek to save him, turn away at last in sadness and
with loathing.
Another characteristic of the ordinary madman, is the absolute subversion of all the rational principles of human action,
the total incapacity to appreciate the real importance, or estimate the relative value of things.  With him the great and
the small have changed places. The merest trifles swell into
huige proportions, and excite the mnost profound emotion; while




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              447
the most momentous interests, so vast that tlte human mind
recoils in the attempt to grasp them, dwindle into insignificance. lIe laughs with maniac merriment where others weep;
he weeps in bitter agony, and will not be consoled, where
others would not even deign to smile. For all that interests
the healthy mind of man, and arouses it to action, he. feels the
profoundest indifference.  For the great living world of actual
and palpable realities all around hlim, with its interests, its
activities, its conflicts, and its destiny, he feels no sympathy.
The wild and fantastic hallucinations of his ownr distempered
brain are to him the only realities. Around hil, on every side,
the vast machinery of human society ismoving on, the hum of
human business, the conflicts of human interest, the agitation
of human passions. Revolution after revolution may shake
the globe. The freedom of nations, the welfare of the race,
the salvation of a world, may be hanging in suspense, or
hurrying on to a decisive issue.  Yet what is all this to him?
He stoops to gather the pebbles at his feet, and piles the straws
around him into stately palaces where kings mlight be proud to
dwell. His loud laugh rings in l)eals of gleeful merriment
What is it for?  HIe points to the mimic structure which has
grown so magnificent beneath his skill. He sobs in irrepressible
an"guish. Why?  An insect's wing, or a puff of air, has levelled his gorgeous building with the earth.  Large possessions
may be his, and wide connections,  a home of purity and love
where each gentle and generous affection is lavished upon him
and noble hearts are wrung with anguish at each symptom of
his madness. Stupendous interests may depend upon his conduct, bright may have been the promise of his early youth,
and fond the hopes that cluster around him still. Yet what
are  all these to  him?  He disregards all, he spurns all,
barters all, sacrifices  all, to the  merest trifle. Vain is
each appeal to reason, to conscience, or affection. All that
is most solemn, most tender, or most sacred, is matter of
dead indifference, or brutal merriment, or fierce resentment, or demon hate. lie is startled sometimes for a moment fiom  his dream  of folly; gazes eagerly around as




448            INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
one bewildered by some strange and sudden recollection of
scenes long forTgotten; gleams of half-intelligence flit across
his countenance like sunbeams strugrling through the riven
thunder-cloud.  We almost ]lope, we pray, we shudder, as we
watch that changing countenance; the blackness and the
tempest gather around the soul in deeper and more impenetrable gloom-the deepening shadow of a long and last total
eclipse.
And have we not often seen the sinner evenz th]us, when,
startled by some solemn visitation fiom  on high, or arousedl
from his life-long dream of sin by some peal of terrific denunciation fiom God's wcr.l, he gazes bewildered and terrified
around upon the new realities that meet hlis astonished vision;
wonders at the illusive sliadows that had so long misled and
mocked him; and the world recedes firom his view, and eternity
in all its terrific grandeur stands palpably out before him,
until God, death, and immortality, a coming judgment, an
undone eternity, a bleeding Saviour, and an interceding Spirit,
are in all the universe the only realities for him? Oh! the keen
agony of that anxious suspense, when an immortal spirit seems
just awakening to a new life of intellioence, or, greater still, of
faith; when the wayward prodigal hears the voice of a father's
love, and comes to himself and beholds with horror his own
nakedness, and foul and loathsome degradation, and says, "I
will arise and. gCo unto my Father;" and he is almost ready
to depart, when suddenly a midnight darkness settles down on
all his faculties. He forgets his father's house, the fond affection and tender sympathy of the family there, of angels, and
spirits of just men made perfect, his own high origin and
deathless destiny, and fearful responsibilities; plunges madly
back into sin, and wanders like the demoniac of the Bible
amidst the tombs of the (lead, the sepulchres of buried resolutions, and murdered mercies, whose spectral apparitions start
up at every step around him, to haunt and madden him still?,more by their prlesence.
The sinner, too, stands amidst an august and stirringif scene,
w-here all is life, activity, intense excitement, and every living




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              449
agaent is profoundly interested except himself.  Ile stctarls
amidst the march and the movement of a high moral administration, which sweeps boundlessly around him, reaching the outer
limits of immensity itself, comprehending all time and all
eternity and all worlds in its tremendous issues, where questions far more solemn, and interests more vast, than those of
nations and empires are decided.  As this plan moves on in
its majestic evolution, our earth has become the theatre of a
filr mightier conflict than any which the embattled nations of
tile world have ever waged, when tile earth shook beneath the
charge of their thronged battalions, or the sea trembled beneath the roar of their artillery. Amidst the thickenig interest of the scene, all created intelligences gather around to
watch the progress of the vast experiment; superhuman beings minlle their ilmmortal energies in the terrible conflict;
holy angels fly with winged speed with messages of love;
devils range abroad on their own hellish missions; God himself conies down and adds new grandeur to the scene by his
own imnlediate presence; and lie who is mighty to save travails in the greatness of his strength, and bears in his own
body on the cross the whole burden of a world's transgressions.
Satan falls like lightning from the sky, and rejoicinlg heralds
hurry from land to land, to tell the story of this mysterious
sufferer and this wonderful deliverance; anl(d tile antgel witl
the everlasting Gospel flies midway in tlme heaven, bearing it
onward on pinions of light, aand with an arm of power, far
aIbove all human opposition, to shed its benignant radiance
over all the world. The loud hosannas of earth are echoed
back by angelic anthems from the sky, and the New JerusaIenm comes down from heaven npon all the renovated eartll;
and amidst the shouts and the rapturous hallelujahs of redeemed
and sanctified millions, the great drama of the world hastens
to a close, and the scenes of a vast and unknown eternity unfold in their solemn grandeur before our view.  Amidst the
glories and terrors of this scene, the sinner stands; anmidst
its conflicts and its perils. Above, around, onl every side,
10moves oil this migllty scheme, and bears him ollnward, thollugh




450            INFLUENCE- OF- EVIL SPIRITS.
unfelt by him, to his final destination. Miysterious a(enclies
encircle him  on every side.  All unseen power oversladows
him with its awful presence.  Above him is a holy God, within him is an innmmortal spirit, before him is a long eternity of
joy ori woe; around him on every side are immortal spirits,
moving onward with him to the same glorious or fearful retributionl; while many a noble heart beats high with generous
ardor in view of these great realities, and many a tear is'dropped, ancl rmany a sigh is heaved, and many a prayer is oft
fered, as the awed spirit bows before the throne of God, and
asks that the sinner may be awakened firom his madness.
There could be nothing more solemn in the universe of God.
A sublime and awful earnestness is stamlped on every feature
-anld on every part of this great plan.  There is a solemn earnestness in every message that issues fiom  that great white
throne, and summons back a rebellious world to its allegiance
to the king.  In that mysterious form where infinite pity and
infinite woe are strangely blended, where eternal justice and
eternal love, the extremes of divine compassion and of human
suffering, mysteriously meet; in the garden and the cross;
in the bloody sweat, the meek endurance, the imperial triumph;
in the blackening -heavens, the quaking earth, the burstilg
rocks, the awakening dead, there is a sad solemnity of earnestness, the solemn urgency of some high anld overmastering purpose. In the martyr's dunceon and the martyr's blood, in the
martyr's fiery agony and the martyr's shout of triumph, in
Apostolic sufferings and Apostolic toils, their solemn warnings,
their tender entreaties, their terrible denunciations; in the
seraph's shout of " Glory in the Highest," in the serapll's
swift obedience and adorin(g wonder at the cradle and the
cross; in all of these is there not a deep inltensity of holy
earnestness, which no human language can express?  And is
not that a terrible earnestness of him the great enemy of souls,
who, though cast down fi'om heaven, yet, rebounding fiom the
fall, reasserts his dominion upon earth, and thlroughl long centuries of tears and blood, though often foiled, still pursues
wit desperate zeal his hellish prpose, and plies his- devilish




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              451
Stratagems to seduce and ruin the souls of men? Yet, amidst
all this earnestness iu heaven and earth and hell, the madman
dares to trifle! He trifles in full view of Calvary, with all its
awful accompanirents of sublimity and terror.  Ile trifles
with the cross and him who hunr there in his agony and love;
trifles with the precious blood of our redemption, with the
blood of his own immortality. Nay, he dares to trifle beneath
the great eye of God, and beneath his uplifted armn of omnil)otent vengeance. Madman, beware! Go, mock at the lightning
as it falls crash after crash upon thy doomed home, alld laugh
and jest above its smouldering lruins, where thy dearest ones
lie buried! Go, brave the fury of the hurricane as it sweeps
over sea and land, tossing forests and navies and human habitations lightly inl the air, and leaving no living thing behind
on its broad path of utter desolation! Buit trifle not with
him who speeds the lightning on its errand of death, and lets
loose the imprisoned elements to be his ministers of vengeance.
Go, be merry, if you can, amidst the ruins of some desolate
city, which the earthquake has demolished, where tlie mangled
remains of the dying and the dead lie quivering in their gore,
beneath the buildings which were once their homes, and are
now their sepulchres. Go, play the buffoon there; it is but an
earthly tragedy, let it be followed by an earthly farce. Hulman madness has invoked it, let human madness riot amid the
scene with song and laugh and jest and wild delirious inerriment. But there is a ruin which is not of earth-the ruin of
an immortal spirit!  Mock not at that.  Those earthly ruins
may be rebuilt once more, rise in equal beauty and perhaps ill
loftier grandeur than before. But for a lost spirit there is no
recovery: from that ruin there is no resurrection.  There is
bhut one God, one heaven, one Saviour, one probation.  God
has no second Son to give if Christ be rejected.  Man has no
second soul to be saved if this be lost. For " the salvation of
their seul is precious and it ceaseth forever."
A lost soul! What language could portray the ruin of a
soul lost forever! Well might the most gifted orator of our day
exclaim, as his great mind trembles beneath the overwrhelming




452           INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
solemnity of the theme, and his own majestic langtuage, in its
rich and varied grandeur, labors vainly to convey his vivid
yet inadequate conception  "What, if it be lawful to indulge
the thlought, what would be the funeral obsequies of a lost
soul! " "Where sliall we find the tears fit to be wept at such
a spectacle?  Or, could we realize the calamity in all its extent, what tokens of commiseration and concern would be
deemed adequate to the occasion? W\,ould it suffice for the
sun to veil his liglht, the moon her brightness? To cover the
ocean with mourning  and the heavens with sackcloth?  Or
were the whole fabric of nature to be animated and vocal,
would it be possible for her to utter a groan too deep, or a
cry too piercing, to express the extent and magnitude of such
a catastrophe?" *  Thou mayest be thyself that ruin, and the
nobler the edifice the mightier the ruin. The imperial palace of
thought swept by laborious study, garnished with all the stores
of learning and illuminated by brilliant genius, the stately arch,
the polished shaft, the graceful column, the colossal dome, nay,
the great pyramids of thought, towering up towards heaven,
may lie smouldering in ashes, or crushed in ruins, vital with
an intense and( inextinguishable consciousness. It is no human
imagination, though endowed with proplhetic solemnity and
grandeur, but God's own Word, which tells of those far
mightier prodigies, in the heavens and the  earth, those
fiercer throes and agonies that shall convulse the whole frame
of nature, when nature's funeral shall be tolled firom  the
heights above, and the blackness of everlasting night shall
shroud the lost soul. No human or angelic sympathy shall
then avail.
But there is another characteristic of ordinary madness to
which I would invite your especial attention. It is not usually
the annihilation of the mind, but its perversion; not the extinction of' its faculties, but their misdirection or mlltilation. The
maniac has often mental activity even in excess. Ealch inmate
of a luna:tic asylum readily perceives the madlless of every
other, thoughl unconscious of his own.
* Hall.




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              453
You will remember the inicident recorded by a gentleman
who visited one of those homes of the insane. Hie was addressed by one of plausible demeanor, who had ingeniously
foiled every effort to detect the seat of his derallgelnent, who
said to him, pointing to one of his companions ill misfortune,
"that man is mad."  "How do you know?" was the visitor's
reply. "Because he says he is John the Baptist."  "But how
do vou know that he is not John the Baptist?"  "Because,"
said he with infinite self-complacency, and equal contempt for
the other, " I am  Jesus Christ, and if he was John the Baptist he would surely know me."  Thus, too, in the great mad.houtse of the world each class can perceive the mnadness of
every other, though unconscious of their own, and are often
heard to exclaim with wonder, and even with bitter indignlation, against the incorrigible madness and Inerited sufferincg of
mankind.  The man of middle age sees nothinig but the wild
delirium of absolute derangement in the reckless gayety and
self-indulgence of thoughtless and dissipated  youth.  The
sedate and quiet citizen distinctly perceives the madness of
those ambitious and restless spirits, whether war'riors or statesnen, who have made the world mad by their contagion.  The
ardent and aspiring, the lovers of pleasure and of famne, return
the charge of madness against the dull drudges of ordinary
life, who live amidst the perpetual stagnation of the soul,
without the intense excitement of any vivid pleasure, or stronlg
impulse of any high emotion, or the broad expression of any
elevated or comprehensive purpose.
And for ourselves we believe that they are right, fbr if
there be a madness which in its stupid obstinacy transcends
all other fobrms of human folly, it is that dull delirium of the
soul, which, amidst all those elements of grandeur in the universe around, and all the corresponding susceptibilities of the
soul of man; amidst the mighty interests at stake, the conflicts that are waging, and the lofty sympathies they are calling into action in a world where prophets and patriarchs and
apostles and martyrs have lived and prayed and toiled and
died, and noble patriots and heroes still are living, can find no




45 4-          INFLUENCE OF EVIL' SPIRITS.
object so worthy their pursuit as tlle accumulation of worldly
wealth, or the attainment of a transitory worldly distinction.
13ut are they not often shrewd, keen, sagacious, far-seeingl ill all
that concerns their worldly interests, skilfully employing
their owrn resources, and dexterously wielding the feelings and
passions of other men, to accomplish the one great object of their
wishes and thleir efforts?  Very true; yet this is precisely the
characteristic of the ordinary madman.  Hie too is quick,
shrewd, adroit, cunning,  in the attainment of his ends.  But,
ill the calm  view of sober reason, his ends are not worth attaiinig.  On every point save one he exhibits rare activity of
mind.  On this he is the victim of some strange hallucination.
l-Ie reasons often with an intuitive rapidity and precision surpassing that of the trained logician, but his premises are the
illusions of a distempered fancy.  His conclusions would be
true, but for the madness of his premises.  We migtht admire
the shrewdness, the enerogy, the undaunted courage, the defiance of all difficulty and danger in the prosecution of his.
object, were not the end desired too frivolous to enlist the sympathies, or cotmmand the approbation, of a rational and immortal being.
Thus too is it with the worldly madman.  Even amidst the
most dazzling exhibitions of the poet, the novelist, or the ambitious statesman, we pause to mourn that so much energy should
be lavished on subjects so inferior.  And the wider the range
of his inquiries, the vaster the accumulation of his knowledge,
the mightier the sweep of his genius as he rises in this ascending climax fiom step to step towards some fiery burst of
oratoric passion, or to some remote conclusion which crowns
the summit of some  high fabric of reasoning, the more profound is our regret and wonder, that a mind formed for immortality should summon its powers to their highest exercise,
and lavish its resources on any theme less than eternal and
divine.  He may have read all history, studied all philosophy, may be deeply versed in the science of human nature,
and intimately acquainted with the mutual relations and coInflicting. interests of the most distanitanations.  Ie may bring.




INFLUENCE OF'EVIL SPIRITS.             455
light from  the past to shine upon the present, and cast its
radiance over the distant future; and it is precisely in such a
case as this, where the greatest of earthly efforts has accomnplished the greatest of earthly objects, and attained tlle
greatest of earthly rewards, and the greatest of earthly madmen has gained the loudest eulogies from other madmen around
like himself, that the madness alike of the many and the one is
most distinctly manifest. He call tell you the products of a
nation's soil, the value of a nation's commerce, the sources of
a nation's revenue. All this he has calculated with minutest
precision. But on all that concerns his immortal interests he
is insane; his very arithmetic here fails him. Tlle simplest
of all problems, the most solemn, the most sublime, tlhe
most urgent, pressing every moment for a solution, and.
from which there is no escape, he cannot solve; he recoils
in convulsive repugnance from  it, scowls on it with a madman's horror and a madman's hate: "What shall a man be
profited if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? "
And now, as he is charioted along in splendor through tlhe
crowded streets of some illuminated city, cheered with the
loud appllause of congregated thousands, who hang with eager
admiration on his lips; ivhat is all this when viewed in the
light of eternity, but the empty pageant of a maniac procession? And does not he who sits high exalted above all worlds,
and comprehends all time, truly stamp the charge of madness
on him, who thus casts away the celestial diadem of glory fir
a fading laurel, and exchanges the glad hosannas of the blessed
for the wild and delirious applause of a fickle and besotted
generation?
On every faculty of his nature, intellectual, emotional, and
moral, is stamped the broad, indelible impress of immensity,
infinity, eternity. He cannot think of time, but it swells into
eternity; of space, but it expands into immensity of cause;
but he rises to a first great cause of causes. His destinies too
are commensurate with his powers of thought and calculation;
they spontaneously overleap all the boundaries of space and
time,- and acknowledge no satisfying portion, but one that is




456            INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
infinite and eternal.  The first step in his moral life is from
the law upon the conscience to the legislator upon the thllone.
The first ray of moral light comes firom the world above, ald
in the last hours of his earthly being, wheni every sense and
every faculty whose appropriate theatre is earth, is failing fast,
this which peculiarly links hiin with eternity, springs into new
activity, and bounds forward instinctively and irresistibly to
the bar of God and- the retributions of eternity. Yet all t]hese
hligher elements of his beinlg, and their correspondent interests,
lie wholly disregards, and all the large provisions wlhich eternal love has made on their behalf. To all his eartilly interests,
however trivial, he is wide awake, quickly  sensitive, keenly
sagacious.  Touch his honor, his estate, his civil rights, anll
every faculty springs into spontaneous activity.  But the interests of his soul! To  these he gives not one anxious
thought; postpones theam to every other interest, sacrifices
therm on the most fiivolous pretences, to tile merest trifles,
He quaffs with eager haste the intoxicating portion which the
world offers, thoulgh he knows that the drugged draught is
fever in the blood, and madness in the braiu, and wild delirium.  Every avenue of sense and feeling —the eye, the ear,
the heart-is closed against the solemni realities around him,
and he roves and raves and revels amidst the illusions of a
voluntary intoxication.  hIeaven from on high invites him
home, and her everlasting gates, on golden hinges turning,
utter soft music as they open wide to welcome him at his arrival.  Hell fiom beneath yawns wide to receive him.  Ten
thousand voices peal above, beneath, around, within himn;
fiom the bed of sickness, fiom the chamber of death, fiom the
freshly opened grave, from the mouldering sepulchre, fiomn the
sinner's bed of remorse and despair, and the saint's couch of
rapture, fiom the depths of his own agitated conscience, and
fiom God's great throne on high.  Yet he marches heedless
or, his eyes fastened on the earth, and his heart cleaving to
the dust. He weaves gay garlands, and sings merry songs, onl
the very verge of the'abyss, which is crumbling beneath his
very footstep, and gaaping wide to engulf him..  And uwhen




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              457
he sinks at last, his epitaph might be written thuts  I Here lies
the body of one whose soul has gone to judlgmnent.  He lived
like a madman, and as the fool dieth so he died. One momentary flash of intelligence gleamed horribly over his last hours,
to reveal the ruin which it was too late to remedy, and he
sank back with a groan into midnight darkness. He feared
the laugh of fools, but heeded not the instructions of wisdom.
He courted the approbation of men, but feared not the fiown
or the vengeance of God. IIe pampered his body, and neglected his soul; and the wealth which he spent his life to accumulate, and for which he sold his immortal spirit, is now
enjoyed by others, who gayly revel in his halls, and of all his
large possessions have left him only this six feet of earth, and
reared this monument to perpetuate the memory of his madness. Reader, pause to drop a tear over the madman's grave,
and offer a prayer for his soul. It is not yet too late. That
grave, that epitaph, that history is thine.  Thline that life of
insensate folly; that death, that undone eternity, too, without
repentance is thine own!
Another characteristic of the ordinary madmnan is his extravaoant estimate of himself, of his powers, of his fortune,
his immunity fronm the evils that reach common men, his superiority to the ordinary laws, and independence of the ordinary course of nature. Perils that deter other men have 1no
terrors for him.  Forces that would crush other men shall
pass by him harmless.  Laws that encircle  otlher men with
their omnipresent majesty and immutable sanction can never
reach him, were not made for him. He mocks at the lightning
and the thunderbolt. The floods and the pestilence cannot
hurt him. On his behalf the laws of nature are suspended or
reversed. He leaps fiom a window and shall not be injured.
The law of gravitation shall be suspended-rather some mysterious charm  encircles him at every moment to insure his
safety.  His puissant arm shall arrest a rail-car in full speed,
or stay a falling mountain. He breathes the pestilence, and
yet shall live. He drinks the deadliest poison, it shall be
health and nutrition to his system. He cherishes the young
20




458            INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
adder in his bosom, yet fears not the venom or the fang of the
filil-grown reptile.
Juist so is it with the youthfill sinner. Ite lives and moves
and breathes amidst a tainted atmosphere, where every word
and thouglht and feeling is full of worldliness and sensuality,
of ambition and hostility against God. He-Ic quaf-s with eager
joy the poisoned chalice which the world offers, and, amidst
the fever of his delirium, dreamns that the spasmodic energy
of madness is the calln vigor of health, nay, the loftiest exertion of heroic courage and manly strength.  He cherishles
within his bosom those passions and those habits which first
coil gently aroundl his slumbering powers, then with tighteninog folds embrace every faculty, crushing each rising energy,
and paralyzing each lofty purpose, until at last with their
serpent's eye of deadly fascination, and serpent's hiss of terror, they send the serpent's venom along the whole throbbing
circulation, through every vein and artery, thlougl head and
heart, and every member; and the man stands before us one
bloated and hideous mass of moral putrefaction.  The evil associations that ruin others shall not injure him. The habits
that enslave others shall not master hinm.  The slightest call
of inclination lhe cannot now  deny, the gentlest breath of
passion he cannot now resist.  But when every appetite has
been inflamed by long indulgence, every passion glowing  with
the gathered fuel of yearsof sin, when all its fires are up, and
all its energies in motion, and the whole train is sweeping
fiuriously on to its destined goal, he thinks that he can in a moment arrest its mad career, and even reverse its movement.
I-le can leap over the precipice of ruin, and pausing midway
down, shall never reach the abyss below.  Nay, like the madman of whom we all have reacd, who spurned the vulgar feat
of leaping fiom the summit of a tower to the ground below,
and embraced with eagerness the proposition to leap from the
earth to the top of the tower, so the sinner imagines that he
too can clear by a single bound the loftiest heights of moral
excellence, and without the slow and painful progress of other
men, can, by an effort of his will, be at once a wise.qnd virtu



INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.               459
ous and happy man.  Around him  on every side are the
bleached bones of those who have run the same mad career;
and wrecks of wasted fortunes, and ruined character, and souls
lost forever, are strewed along his path.  They lived without
God, were ruined without remedy, clied without hope, were
judged without mercy, and damned. without deliverance.
But the laws that decide the destiny of other men, were not
made for him. There is a law of God, eternal, omnipotent,
immutable as any other; a law extending to our whole intellectual, physical, and moral nature, universal and irresistible,
and which has no exceptions.  It is the law of habit.  We
shall not pause to analyze this law, to explain its nature, its
origin, its necessity.  It establishes a terrible unity in human
life; makes the past the parent of the present and the future,
the boy the father of the man; and passes on to the trembling
hand of the aged sinner the cup of bitterness which had been
mingled by his youthful folly. It binds together by links
stronger than steel the remotest boundaries of human destiny,
tile first dawnings of moral agency on earth, with the final
issues of eternity.  There is not a thought of the mind, or an
act of tile life, not a word that issues froln the lips, or an emotion that flits across the countenance and straightway clisappears, which has not left its impression on the soul, deep, permanent, indelible.  You shall never be, through all eternity
— cCan  never be-the spirit you might have been, but for the
thoughts and acts of yesterday.  Sin may be forgiven, but
never obliterated. The wound it has inflicted on the soul may
be healed, but the scar remains.  The moment just passed is
gone indeed, bhut it is not destroyed.  It has gone to ming'le
with the solemn ages of the eternity that is past. It has gone
to bear its record to the bar of God, but it has left behlind a
more fearful record here. Its thoughts, passions, pullrposes, have
mingled with all the elements of our being, have been incorporated into the very constitution of our nature, have penetrated the whole texture of our existence, and become the
warp, web, and woof of our whole future life.
But if such be the dominion of habit in every department




460            INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRI'TS.
of our nature, if it not only moulds our thoughts and actions,
but tile very capacity to thilnk and act; when we ascend to
the department of our moral nature it seems to be endowed
with a peculiar and almost supernatural control-a control
which leads us to suspect that as tile body was formed for the
service of the mind, and the mind was formed for the service
of God, so this law of habit, when viewed in its higlher and(
wider relations, is nothing less than the solemn utterance cf
God's approbation of tile right, and judicial condemnation of
the wroll.  Thus much at least is certain, that as it is the
sweet and precious privilege of virtue ever to become  noro
virtuous, and as the stream  of life flows on to diffuse itself
coiltinually in ever-wider expansion, and profounder depths of
piety; so it is the irrevocable and unmitigable curse of sin,
that it must perpetuate and multiply itself, in ever accumulating hideousness and horror, must become more "exceedingr
sinfl,"  nlmust diffuse itself by an infernal contagion over all
around and all within, passing from faculty to faculty, till the
whole man is mastered; from the body to the mind, from the
appetites to the passions, from the passions to the imagination,
fiom the imagination to the reasoning powers and the moral
sentiiments, fiom the transient and momentary indulgence to a
whole life of sin; when the memory recalls only scenes of
past indulgence, the heart pants only after forbidden things,
the polluted imagination, impotent to resist, riots amidst inmagery of licentious joy, and every power of thought and feeling and association sweeps bounding on in the broad. deep
channel of habitual desire, only to swell the current they caiinnot stein. Resistance now is hopeless, even were it not iiimpossible, and impossible if it  were not hopeless, for tlle only
power of resistance, the.will, is captive.  " Can the Ethiopian
change his skin, or tle leopard his spots?"     Then may ye
also do good who are accustomed to do evil."  Every sin indulged increases the power of temptation, and diminishes the
power of resistance.  The voice of conscience is feebler, the
decisions of reason less distinct, the motives for the righlt present themselves more seldom, and with decreasing conlidence.




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              461
The motives to the wrong'  rush in, in'greater number and with
increasing importunity, upon the enfeebled and distracted mind.:No man renounces at once all fear of God, all reverence for
religion, all sense of shame, all the principles of honor. He
offers first a faint resistance; then parleys and temporizes withl
tile foe; then receives himrn into the citadel; then wears his
gaudy silken fetters, exults in his bondage, glories in his
shame; then receives reluctantly his manacles of steel, and.
groans beneath the burden; then madly dances to the music
of his chains.
Such, then, is the law of habit, which is nothing else than
the insidious power of sin —the eternal law of God and nature the inexorable doom stamped indelibly upon its brow
by the hand of the Almighty, and legible to all.  It is
written in the blood of millions, and yet the madman fancies that this most terrible and universal of all God's laws
is suspended in regard to him; that he can defy its terrors
and cast its fetters fiom him.  The cord vwhich binds liMn to
the world, and holds him  away fiom  God, is composed of
marny a subtle and invisible strand, which habit and early association have already woven out of the elements of his fallen
nature.'le cannot burst fiom them even now; cannot even
wish to be fiee.  The fetters have reached his soul and paralyzed its power, and yet he believes that when years of sin
have strengthened the cords that bind him, and enfeebled all
his powers, lie who could not burst the cords —and each day
of sin is adding another and yet another strand —will, by an
easy effort, rend asunder the cable.  Each step in sin is bearing him further from  God and nearer hell, and as the distance
widens, the attraction of the good diminishes, and the power
of evil increases its strange and dlreadfill fascination.  And
vet he madly hopes that when he has wandered for years further and fulrther away from God and heaven, he will find himself very near the kingdom; and need only stretch forth his
]land in the hour of his extremity, and knock at thle door of
heaven, and it shall be opened.
This leads us to consider another law of God's moral gov



462           INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
ernment, of which the former one is the counterpart.  The
one is learned fioln experience and reason, the other fiom
revelation.  Thle one lies amidst the mysteries of human
agency, the other amidst the higher mysteries of the divine
administration.  Both may perhaps be traced upward even
by us to one common principle, the mind of eternal justice.
Both are exemplified on the theatre of human affairs.  Both
have their solemn and tremendous issues in eternity. The one
tells us that if we dally with sin we shall be the slaves of sin;
that if we trifle with conscience we shall not see its li(ht, nor
hear its voice, nor enjoy its influences.  That voice, if stifled,
shall wax feebler and feebler still, while the uproar of the
passions shall be louder and louder, and the very power to
hear shall become extinct. The other bears us at once amidst
the realities of the unseenl world of spirits; and shows us this
same law transferred to the agencies of that higher supernatural administration.  It tells us of a holy Spirit of God that
visits the soul of man to arouse the slumbering conscience,
and quicken the dull perceptions, and points to a coming
judgment.  And now he whispers in tones of gentlest invitation; and now he thunders of the wrath to come; and now
he pou's the light of a convincing demonstration on the benighted understanding; and now he reveals the beauty of holiness and the love of a dying Saviour in melting tenderness;
and now he discovers to the startled sinner the dark pollutions of a soul steeped in sin.
Yet ever as this mysterious visitor is treated, will he treat
the soul of man. If kindly welcomned, he will often return.
If fondly cherished, lie will take up his permanent abode, and
make it a habitation of God, and shed abroad, over that consecrated soul, the light and peace and joy of his habitual presence. If neglected, grieved, insulted, he will depart, seldom
to return, perhaps never. Now, the holy Scriptures manifestly
place the turning-point, the crisis of man's salvation precisely
here, amidst all the inscrutable mystery of God's eternal
sovereignty. Yet manifestly in that strange union of human
and divine agency, in the work of man's salvation, the whole




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              463
interest of his eternity hinges upon this single question: How
does he receive these visitations of God's Spirit?  The whole
Bible is full of thi.s subject.  Warning after warning reverberates along its pages against the slightest indignity offered to
this Spirit. Exhortation after exhortation peals fi'om  prophet,
evangelist, apostle, and the Savioul hi-nself, to welcome with
joy and gratitude this mysterious visitant.  Example after ex<ample is adduced, in solemn alld terrific array; to show how
fearful is the doom of those who slight his offered influences,
and grieve away his gracious presence.  " My spirit shall not
always strive with tan," was the death-doom of the antediluvian world; and in all the wild roar of those tumultuous
waters as they swept over that desolated world, or the shrieks
of the perishing millions that sank beneath the billows, there
was nothing half so awful as that solemn sentence. It was a
God-abandoned world! deliberately cast off by God because
they had grieved his Spirit. And when our Saviour stood and
wept over Jerusalem, what was the burden of her condenmation?  The accumulated guilt and accumulated vengeance of
fifteen centuries rose above their heads, the blood of all the
prophets was upon their hands, soon to be stained by the blood
of the Son of God! But all this might have been forgiven.
They were a God-abandoneed people, given up to judicial blindness and judicial insensibility.  "They knew not the day of
their visitation, the things that made for their peace were hidden from  their eyes."  And when an individual or a race is
given up finally of God, it matters little whether the fires of
conflagration, or the waters of deluce are the ministers of
justice, to summon them to their final account.
Around this central and decisive point in the great moral
warfare of the soul, all the thunders of the Bible roll perpetually, and all the forces of the great enemy are rallied, and
all his skill is concentrated there. Even he who was life and
truth and love itself; who never spake but in love and tenderness for man, even he assumes an unwonted sternness, and says,
"All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men,
but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be for



464            INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
given unto men."  It is only here that the solemn tenderness
of the Bible is turned into bitterest irony. " Because I have
called and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand and no
man regarded. But yee have set at naught all my counsel, and
would none of my reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity;
I will mock when your fear comneth, when your fear cometh
as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind;
when distress and anguish cometh upon you. /hen< shall
they call upon me, but I will not answer; they slhall seek
me early, but they shall not findc me; for that they hated
knowledge, and did not choose the fbar of the Lord; they
would none of mny counsel, they despised all my reprooffs.
Tzerefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way,
and be filled with their own devices."  I know of nothing
so terrible as this.  It seems as it' the very heavens above
hlad become one vast gallery where every lowest whisper of
human mockery was gathered up, and echoed back, in tones
of stern and concentrated defiance; as if infinite patience were
at length wearied out, and th'ne last drop exhausted fiom the
cup of God's forbearance.
Yet it is precisely here that the madman trifles most; trifles
habitually, trifles daily, is triflingg still.   Examples are all
tround us. There is searcely a man in this assembly, a youth,
a child who has realchled the years of moral agency, that has
not experienced the visitations of that Spirit.  Where are
they now?-those meltings of tenderness, those tremblings of
terror, that solenlity of awe, that sensibility of consciencethe falling tear, the heaving sigh, the murmured prayer for
mercv?  Where the convictions of Felix were, after he had
said to Paul, "Go thy way for the present, at a more convenient season I will call for thee."  God's grieved Spirit has departed: is it forever?  One act of deliberate rejection may seal
your doom. On a single moment often hangs suspended the
eternal destinies of an immortal spirit. There are in the life
of every human being moments big with the issues of eternity
-th.e great landmarks of his existence, where the past all terminates, and the whole future begins anew.




INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.              465
But we must pass on to the next division of our subject,
and here can only give hasty hints, and leave them  to your
owvn reflections.
Christ only can cast out the devil and heal the madness. All
philosophy, all poetry, all literature, art, government, civilization, refinement, for sixty centuries, have been but varied devices of human ingenuity, to exorcise the demon, and relieve
society from  the evils he inflicted.  But all in vain. They
could alleviate, palliate, but not heal; could sweep an( garnish the house, adorn it with all the choice productions of human art, illuminate it with the corruscations of brilliant genius,
but could not restore the original and rightful occupant.  The
demon, startled for a season from his lair, returned to his vacant habitation with seven other devils worse than hinm'self,
and controlled for his own malignant purposes, and appropriated to his own use, and imbued with his own spirit, the very
means employed to dispossess him. Sad result of all human
history! In all ages and all nations it is the same. All human
efforts conducted without the Gospel have not only proved
failures, but have aggrlaavated the evils they aimed to remedy.
Philosophy has alwctys terminated in atheism, refinement in
effeminacy, art in licentiousness, freedom in anarchy, and then
in despotism. "This is the moral of all human tales." This is
the goal to which all schemes and experiments to elevate men,
and nations withal, without the true religion have conducted
them.
The sterner and loftier virtues of an earlier age are always
allied to some faith in God and immortality. Increasing civilization banishes the demon of superstition, but as wise men of
the world mutter their incantations over the body of society,
the demon passions are aroused once more; the possessed exclaims, "Jesus I know, and Paul I know, but who are you?"
And nobility, priesthood, and king, law  and order, all the
learning, graces, and refinements of civilized society with the
very foundations of society itself; are swept away in the wild
whirlwind of' revolutionary passions. Even under the light
of the Gospel a strange phenomenon may be observed in indi20*




466           INFLUENCE OF EVIL SPIRITS.
viduals and nations. The evil spirit may go out. His power
may cease for a time. The spirit of impiety, blasphemy, licentiousness, may be exorcised for a season. The swearer may
cease to swear, the bold blasphemer to revile. Yet how often
does he return again-bitterer, fiercer, more numerous than
before-the very spirit of infidelity, hypocrisy, and formality.
WVhy? The house is empty. Christ is not there. If we would
keep the demon out, every apartment of the soul must be occupied; not by metaphysical abstraction, or graceful sentimentality, or dead dogmas; but by Christ in his livings efficacy.




XXVII.
THE FINAL AND UNIVERSAL TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEI.
REV. xiv. 6.-" And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having
the everlasting Gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and
to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people."
AWE shall not attempt this evening to open the book that is
sealed with seven seals, to unveil the mysteries of this wonderful work, or to discuss the truth of any of those various and
conflicting theories which have been advanced, in ancient or in
modern times, respecting the millennium, the time of its comnmencement, or the harbingers that shall announce its near approach, but shall proceed directly to consider the great event
predicted in our text-the universal diffusion of the Gospeland remark:
First, the glorious certactnty of this event. It is no remote
contingency of an unfathomable future-lies not among the
vague possibilities or even the higher probabilities of a coming
era.  We have learned it from no doubtful report, announced
it on no questionable authority, have ascertained it by no circuitous or complicated process of reasoning.  It is not a
wild conjecture, nor is it a delusion of fancy. Oh, no! I saw
it, these eyes beheld it. It was on the Isle of Patmos. I was
in the spirit on the Lord's day, when wrapt in visions of the Almighty that gave my spirit strength to sweep adown the gulf
of time, in full possession of all my powers, with every faculty
invigorated, purified, exalted by direct communion with God,
till in that high apocalyptic vision all the glories of heaven,
and the whole future history of earth, lay expanded before me.
It was then that it appeared, not a shadowy phantom of a




468               FINAL AND UNIVERSAL
disordered brain, but openly, boldly, visibly, palpably it stood
before mne a transcendent and glorious reality.  IHow could I
be deceived? It was the Gospel that I loved, an(d borne by an
angel that I knew.  His biight pathway was in the nmidst of
heaven, and I gazed and gazed intent, delighted(, till I beheld
him bear it to "every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people." I saw it with all the certainty of vision, announccd it
with all the authority of inspiration.
Again, it was borne onward by an angel's arm of power, on
an angel's pinions of strength, with an angel's devoted love.
Now, who shall resist his progress, what barrier retard his
career, what energy arrest his flight?  "Let the heathen rage,
and the people imagine a vain thing, let the kings of the earth
set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together against the
Lord and against his anointed."  Let all the combined powers
of earth and hell array themselves against it, let them  hurl
their envenomled missiles, peal their loudest artillery, fulminate
their bitterest denunciations, let all the arts of secret malignity
and open warfare be united-yet what will it avail?  Behold
his luminous pathway in the midst of heaven! and far above
the puny malice of his foes, fiom  country to country, in hlis
own sublime and serene elevation he pursues his onward career,
shedding down the light and joy of the Gospel on successive
generations and in distant lands. The mists of earth may obscure our vision, the clouds of the air may hide him friom our
view, but to the unscaled eye of him-lone exile on Patmos,
as he stood on that high mount of prophetic vision, there was
no pause in his flight, but it was onward, still and ever onward,
onward amidst the brightness and purity of heaven, laden with
everlasting blessings for all the nations of the world.
Oh, brethren, can we not elevate ourselves this evening to
the height of his sublime and blessed assurance; do we need
another prophet to arise and teach us, that the Gospel of this
kingdom shall be preached in all the world?  That no weapon
forged against Zion shall prosper; that sword and spear and
battle-axe shall be broken together?  HIas it not been so in all
ages? When the angel commenced his flight, beginning at




TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.                 469
Jerusalen,  was not all human power arrayed to resist his progress; were not all human interests, prejudices, passions, leagued
in open hostility against him?  Magistrate, people, priest, emperor, philosopher, fanatic, wit, eloquence, argument, learning,
genius, the tongue, the pen, the sword, all combined to retard
his career-but in vain. The eyes of expectant nations gazed
with wonder and rapture on his flight; the hearts of desponding millions welcomed the message that he bore. Tile very
gods of the heathen, startled at his approach, grow dumb; the
Apollo of Delphi withholds his oracles, and the Jupiter of the
Capitol abandons his throne. From  land to land the tidings
fly, from mouth to mouth the message spreads. The haugllty
Roman, the polished Greek, the savage barbarian heard it. It
was whispered in the porch and the academy, and the phlilosopliers gathered at Areopagus to hear of Jesus and the resurrection. It has resounded amongst the hills of the eternal city,
and is heard amid Caesar's housellold. - The eastern mystic has
heard it and is startled from his dream. The nortllern barbarian, as he drank his draught of blood from a brother's skull,
has paused to listen to the story of one who loved his enemies,
and shed his own blood, an infinite atonement for sin. Strange
thoughts are waking up, new hopes are kindling in the minds
of men, the tremulous agitation of a new life is felt throughout the world's great mass of putrefaction, and every eye that
is turned toward heaven sees that it is an angel's flight.
But shall Satan without a struggle yield his long dominion?
No, let every device of cruelty and falsehood be plied to resist
the progress of the Gospel. Those Christians are atheists and
despisers of the gods, says the priest.  Yea, and enemies of
Cresar, says the magistrate.  In their midnight assemblies
scenes are exhibited of licentiousness and crime, at which day
would blush, says one, and in their hellish orgies they devour
young children, and swear horrid oaths as they drink their
young blood, says another. The gods have abandoned earth
for their crimes, exclaims a third, and signs in heaven above
and earth below-earthquakes, famine, and pestilence-proclaim the avenging Deity. Away with such monsters from




470               FINAL AND UNIVERSAL
th]e earth, exclaim all together, to wild beasts or the fire! The
Christian martyr walks meekly to the stake.  The cup his Father gives shall he not drink it? But does the angel stop his
flight?  Tell me, does the sun cease to shine? the stars, do
they lose their brightness? is the moon turned from her orbit of
glory? Are the great laws of nature reversed? is the universe
of God unhinged?  Blessed be God that far above, and wAide
bleyond the circle of human passions, tile theatre of human
power, extend the laws of a wider and loftier jurisdiction, and
that he who sitteth enthroned high above them all, has so
subordinated all to his own great designs, that even the wrath
of man shall accomplish the purposes of God. The violence
of persecution recoils upon itself the enormity of the charges
contrasted with the purity of a spotless life, is their own perfeet refutation.- The Christian dies, but the undying angel
pursues his own sublime and beneficent flight. And from that
day to this how constant, yet how vain, have been the efforts
to prevent the diffusion of the Gospel. In the days of Luther,
pope and emperor and kings, a licentious aristocracy, and depraved priesthood, could not resist it. At a later period the
keen swords of gay and gallant cavaliers could not suppress
it. In the last century, the wit, leauning, eloquence of Voltaire, Rousseau, Hume, and Gibbon, and in the present the
deeper learning and more insidious wiles of German literati,
have failed. And now, after the scrutiny of centuries, amidst
the accumulated discoveries of modern science, now that a
cautious scepticism has sifted all knowledge, and all the lights
of genius and learning are intensely concentrated on it, we
may fearlessly assert that the Bible stands on a prouder eminence than ever-that the angel who bears it is taking a loftier
and more rapid flight.
Second. An acngelic mission this! the diffusion of God's
Word.  God and angels are embarked in it.  So vast is its importance, so overwhelming its grlandeur, that it excites the interest and arouses the sympal hies and calls forthl the activities of
the heavenly inhabitants. Oh, brethren, what a thought is this
to confirm our faith, to rebuke our inactivity, at once to elevate




TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.                 471
and humble us. Let us not amidst our' degradation and Pmisery
forget the grandeur of our high original, the sublimity of our
future destiny. And is it true?  Yes, it is an inexpressibly
precious truth, that, fallen as we are, there is hope in our case;
that though wayward children, we are children still; that we
are members still of God's great and universal family of love;
that though voluntary wanderers from our Father's house, yet
the fondness of a Father's love yearns after us, and the tenderness of fraternal sympathy melts through all the members of
that family. There is joy in heaven at the repentance of' one
sinner, and that joy was once heard overflowing the walls of
heaven, and bursting fiom the sky, when they announced the
Saviour's advent.  "There is joy in heaven, and amongst the
angels of God, over one sinner that repenteth." -  rethren, all
poetry can furnish nothing so touching or so beautiful as those
simple words, andi in the whole compass of uninspired philosophy there can nowhere be found a view at once so comprehensive and so just, of the bond that binds the remotest parts of
God's moral universe together, that encircles with so mild a
radiance the throne of the universal Father and universal
KIin c
And this is no doubtful revelation, no casual or hasty glimpse
of the glories too bright to be endured —not one of those flashes,
intolerably bright, fiom that ineffable glory, which dazzle and
stun us by the grandeur of their revelation. It is one of the
clearest and most fiequent teachings of God's Word, lies at
the very foundation of the method of salvation, is interwoven
with the whole fabric of God's truthl.  Without it, we could
neither understand the ministry of angels, nor the sacrifices of
his Son. "God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him, should not perish,
but have everlasting life." This was at once,the measure of
his love and the motive to the sacrifice. With what solemn
dignity, incalculable value, imperishable grandeur does this
invest the soul of man! When God would commend his love
to us, he tells us of the price he paid for our ransom: and
what?  A whole world of matter? NTo. The whole material




472        UNIVERSAL TRIUMIPH OF THE GOSPEL.
universe? Did he take his brightest angel? Did he tatke all
matter, and offer on it all spirit?  No; but he did more. H-Ie
went into his own bosom, and gave his only begotten and wellbeloved Son. And then he chose the princes of his household, p:ime-ministers fr'om around his throne, to be the ministers and messengers of his love.  What an elevated theatre
have we to act upon! What a load of infamy, or crown of
moral approbation, are we to receive according to our conduct
or characters here! God and angels observe our conduct, God
and angels are interested in our welfare. They offer us all the
assistance that we need, and if we shall after this prefer the
poor enjoyments of earth, how great will be our fall, how deep
and awful our condemnation! All the glories of the heaverly
world are laid open to our view; we have only to accept and
be saved, to taste and live. If we refuse the offers so kindly
made us, when the disapprobation and contempt of a holy
universe, the accumulated abhorrence of all that is good and
lovely in creation shall fiown upon us, what will be our feelings!  The church then is safe, though men oppose; there
are more for us than against us.  Oh, in what a world we
live, with what awful grandeur encompassed on every side,
linked with God and angels, tenfding to heaven or hell!  All
around us infinity and eternity, above us incalculable heights,
beneath us unfathomable depths, within us capacities of unlimited enjoyment or woe, energies of fearful intensity, which,
perverted or rightly directed, may bring agony or joy to ourselves or others —around on every side perishing' millions.
But is all heaven awake, and do we slumber? Does tile angel
still push his onward flight with unwearied pinion, unabated
ardor, unquerched and unquenchable love; and has God given
his own Son, and are we inactive, givingo to this great cause
the tribute of a transient thought, and an empty wish?  You
remember who it is that hath said, "If any man have not the
spirit of Christ, he is none of his."




XXVIII.
ChRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.
LUKE, xix. 41, 42.-" And when he was come near, lhe beheld the city and
wept over it, saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy
day, the things which belong unto- thy peace! but now they are hid from
thine eyes."
THESE words were spoken on our Saviour's last solemn approach to Jerusalem. The Feast of the Passover was at hand,
and already six days before were gathered the thousands of
Israel, from every corner of Judea, and every region of the
globe, to celebrate that solemn festival, and to record, with
hymns of gratefil praise, the doiy of the right hand of the Most
High, when the first-born of Egypt perished, and swith a high
hand and uplifted arm the God of Jacob led forth his chosen
people.
And now, as the crowds of annual visitors come up, while
the thronged streets are filled with the hum of a lively and busy
population, acquaintances of the past year are revived; the
ready recognitiQn, affectionate salutation, and kind inquiry circulate; but, above all, there is one of whom all inquire and all
have heard. "What think you, will he come to the feast? "
But he was one of spirit far differient fiom theirs. A man of' sorrows, he knew this visit was his last, that a life spent in doing
good was to terminate there.  That holy heart knew no evil,
yet it should burst beneath the burden of the world's transgressions.  The typical feast was to pass away, and he the Lamb
of God to be slain, and there offered a propitiation for sin.
On his last melancholy pass:ige he lodged at Belthmly in the
bosom of that pious and devoted family, where BI:rth:a mninistered, and Mary sat at his feet, and( Lazarus, raised from the




4 174       CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSiLLEM.
dead, reclined at the table with his astonished guests.  It was
at the foot of lMolant Olivet where he was wont to retire fiomn
the noise of public crowds and the malice of foes, to imeditate
and pray amidst its groves of palms, and figs, and olives, anld
vines.  Already had the fame of his morals and doctrine gone
abroad, and his last great miracle on LaziAris attracted universal
attention.  And now expectation was on tiptoe, friends aw-aited
his glorification, foes his destruetion, and the curious, excited
crowd, aware of his approach, went forth to meet and welcome
him.  It was at the eastern dlescent of Motunt Olivet, as it
looks toward Bethany, where this throng, met to escort him to
Jerusalem.  Here they hailed him king of Israel, welcomed him
as son of David, strewed flowers and palm-branches along his
path; and the full tidle of joy flowed forth in those songs of
exulting and rapturous praise, which the old prol-hets wrote in
view of the MIessiah's da&ys.  " And the multitudes that went
before, and that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna to the son of
David; blessed is lie that cometh in the name of the Lord;
hosanna in the highest." IMatt. xxi. 9.
And now that triumphal march is moving on, and they stand
on the summit of MIount Olivet —and wllatl  a prospect!  It is
the tallest of the mountains around, and commanded a view
fi1 and wide, of green valleys, vine-clad hills, se:s, and rivers.
Far in the west was the broad Maediterranean, to his right the
valley of the Jordan, to th}e south was thle Dead Sea, to his left
Bethlehlem, and before him Jerusalem, with her lofty towers,
her splendid temple, rich with the offerings of agces, and august
with its awfTul ceremonies, and.hewr crowded population ready
to  welcome him  as their long-expected kiiig.  A thousand
hearts around were beatinc witli exultation, thle air was vocal
with his praise, the distant mountain-tops echoed back their
joy, the very rocks, we are told, were ready to break into singing, and all the trees of the forest to clap their hands for joy.
aTW's not that a proud day for him, the despised:and derided
one?  The man of Nazareth -was nowV hailedl Messiah of the
Jews, the son of the carpenter, the hope of Isra:el and salvation
of the world.  Surely, if in!nocence ever may triumph, it is when




CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.            475
the clouds obscuringo it are dispersed, and its righteousness is
brought forth as the sun, and its enemies fobrced to yield the
tribute of their applause. And he, the man of' sorrows, did he
not then rejoice?  Was there no glow upon his cheek, no
brightness ill his eye? His bosom heaved indeed with an unwonted fullness, but'twas the fullness of his anguish, and
amidst all the joy and exultation of that applauding crowd the
Saviour " wept."  He looked down upon the city lying quietly
and securely below, upon the crowd now -worshipping, and
soon to crucify him, and as he thought of all their privileges
and abuses, of their past security, and coming doom, his heart
was overwhelmed with the view of their certain and self-caused
rulin, and he wept. The Saviour of sinners, the Prinlce of Israel,
the Lord of Glory, wept. It was a city of unnumbered privileges, and he wept; of uniiumbered crimes, and he wept; and
weeping he exclaims, " Oh, that thou, even thou, hadst known,
at least in thlis thy day, the things which belong unto thy
peace."
Now the rules of God's government are unchangceable, and
Jerusalem's fate is the type of others. Consider, 1st, Every
man has a day of merciful visitation.  2d, When disreoarded,
the things that make for his peace shall be hid from his eyes.
I. Life is such a day. It is a solemn thing to live in God's
world, to breathe his free air, tread upon his earth, be upheld
by his goodness, fed on his bounty, in him to live, and move,
and have our being, to have constantly around us that awful
presence, and fastened upon us the keen gaze of that omniscient
eye. When God breathed into man the breath of life, he made
him a living soul endowed with high and immortal powers,
placed before him a noble and exalted destiny, and brought on
him solemn and fearful responsibilities. Now life is the time
given to prepare for meeting these responsibilities, fulfillingr
this destiny, training these immortal powers for that higher
and more glorious world, their ultimate abode. It is the infincy of man, the period of education for eternity. Oh, it is
this which gives to life its solemn and momentous import-that
every circumstance, however minute, has its influence on eter



47B6       CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.
nal destiny.  Every act, word, thought, feeling, that flits over
the mind or moves tlle heart, gives an impression which no
time, no circumstances, can eradicate, but endures tlhrough
eternal ages. T'le moment just past has gone to the br of
God, and its testimony is there recorded, but it has left behind
its own. deep impression stamped on the soul.  You will never
be, through all eternity, the exalted spirit you might have been
had yesterdl y been wholly given to God.  Thle past may be
forgiven, but never annihilated: the wound of sin may be healed,
biut the sear remains, a memorial of our folly and the kindness
of our good physician.  A chain binds our whole beingo together, and its smallest link, when touched, vibrates througlhout
its whole extent. Is not life a solemn time, a precious time, a
time of invitation, of reprieve, of visitation; every day a day
of mercy, in the blessings of his plrovidence, and the invitations
of his grace.
Your life has long since been forfeited by sin; every moment
it is preserved is a merciful visitation. Think of the many
mercies that constitute the happy existence of a moment —how
numerous, delicate, fragile, are the cords which keep in play
the ma-chinlery of our lives.  One cord snapped, existence is
gone; one deranged, its enjoyments are fled; all diseased, its
misery is intolerable.  Do you remember one young as yourself, your companion and friend; his prospects were fair as
yours for life and continued health and happiness, and he is
gone, cut off in the midst of sinl, unwarned, unpirepared; and
are you spared?  What a merciful visitation! And now all
around is calculated to call you to God: the works of' his hands,
the ordinances of his house, the solemn services of the Sabbath,
and many turning to God. All these constitute your visitation. Give heed, then, to the tlhings of your peace.
Consider again, that prosperity and adversity are days of
visitation.  Parts of life are signalized fiom otlelrs, and some
individuals are favored with signal Nblessings.  Some enjoy
every blessing.  Their cupans overflow. They have no sickness,
no affliction in themselves or their families. All their schemes
succeed; every day adds to their wealth and respectability.




CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.            477
Their talents are great, their influence extensive; their joy overflows in feasting and merrinlent.
What is the dclesign of God? Why that influence? To be
perverted?  Why those talents, that wealth?  And what is
their effect on you?  Are you humbly filled with gratitude
and love; or do you say in pride, " Behold this great Babylon which I have built? "  God would win you by kindness,
would draw you by cords of love as by the hands of man,
would give you greater riches and pleasures. I knew one thus
converted amidst surrounding infidelity, a young successful
lawyer. Providence smiled, industry and talents soon brought
wealth and influence, and his heart was melted. Connected
by blood and marriage with some of the most distinguiishlled
scholars of Europe, and surrounded by infidel society, the
goodness of the Lord led himn to repentance. HIe took up
such a cross as none of us have to bear, and sang the songs of
Zion in a strange land indeed.
Now God is thus visiting you. You tremble not at his wrath,
he would conquer you by love. Your indignation is excited
when the thunders of Sinai are pealed in your ear. He addresses you in the lalguage of love, every day minlistering to
your wants, every night watching around your couch, every
moment pouring on you some fresh blessing. But will you
forget your obligations and responsibilities? Then fearful will
be the account, as that of the steward who begran to eat and
to be drunk while his lord was away. God will leave you to
harden your heart, or will bring affliction on you. And I appeal to you'who have been afflicted. Has not this been God's
last resort, his stranrge work? He afflicts not willingly.
Affliction is a merciful visitation; so the apostle Paul, so the
Psalmist, so many have found it. This life must be viewed as
connected with another. This gives prosperity and adversity
their true meaning. You must see more than your pain, must
see the hand that causes it, and the heart that guides the hand.
Thus all the events of life form part of one great system of
love, and all the threads that guide us run up into an unseen
hand. Some cannot be won by kindness; the rod must be




4`78       CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.
used.  Success intoxicates, they must be defeated; fullness is
inot good for them, they imust be brought to  waant.  In tlhe
majority of cases sense and sensual things are present and
urgent, and shut out eternal  realities.  We need solitude,
retirement, leisure, to reflect, to be called back into ourselves,
to conmmune writh our own hearts and be still.  What has beeii
your experience in prosperity?  What is that of the world?
Without affliction men would lose one half their better earthly
feelings.  Are you afflicted, have you been afflicted?  Tlhen
see a fitther's h1nd, kiss the rod. It is a visitation fiom heaven,
and calls you fiom  earth to the skies. Sanctified afflictions
aie the greatest blessings: unsanctified, bitter curses.
General revival of religion is also a day of visitation.  There
are periods in the world's history, when religion seems almost
extilnct, universal apathy and formality prevail in the church,
worldliness and hypocrisy and heresy anmong ministers.  Then
vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, blasphemers are
bold, licentiousness, sensuality, profligacy, are universal; the
general atmosplhere is tainted; in every book, in every society,
you see irreligion diffused by the smile, or the jest, or the argument, or misrepresentation.  Such was the last century, when
genius, learning, wit, power, combined to extirpate the Gospel
from the earth. Again, there are days when the general mind
is alive and wide awake to religious and eternal truths.  IMany
run to and fio, and knowledge is increased.  Miinisters are
clothed with salvation, and shod with the preparation of the
Gospel.  It is an age of religion and religious enterprise.  It
pervades everything.  Wherever you go, you meet Christians:
at home, abroad; in high places, in low; public conveyances,
everywhere.  The Bilble is widely diffused.  In the parlors of
the rich, and the cottages of the poor, religion is respected, and
learning and genius consecrate their powers to  defend its
truths, and enforce its practical importance.
Such were the days of' thie Reformation, and such is our day.
It is a day of visitation to the world, and blessed is he who
sees it.  Again: " Religion," says Luther, "is like a summer
shower which fills, now helre, now there."  Countries where




CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALENI.             479
the Gospel is preached faithfully and plainly are blessed to the
salvation of many. To live in such a land is to enjoy a visitation. Such is our land, and blessed are ye of the Lord.
Again, there are especial seasons -of awakening and conversion in these favored lands-precious and glorious times when
all conspires for the sinner's good. Mlan and God urge him,
heaven and earth combine their influence, and the very air is
filled with a palpable solemnity.  None escape.  The spirit
operates powerfully, preaching is earnest; ministers are baptized, as it were, afresh, with spirit and power'. Whole hosts
enter in. How many long to see such a day, how many wonder.  What a day of visitation!
But special movements on our own hearts create a day of
merciful visitation. They are the beamings of that rlght which
has come into the world. In such an age, such a landl, it is
impossible but that such influences must be felt. In the full
career of sin, in the bustle of the world, in the noise and
mirth of society, one feels them. So Herod cried out, " It is
John,-John, whom I despised, imprisoned, beheaded, is risen
from the dead, and mighty works do shew forth themselves in
him." In retirement, in darkness, sickness, meditation, we
have caught glimpses of purer and better things, when all was
quiet around; in the still moonlight, in the calm sunset, when
the mind, freed from its earthly cares, had time and taste for
higher things. Often the stillness of the Sabbath, the voice
and venerable form  of some reverend father in Israel, the
memory of childish days, and all the tender impressions then
felt, especially of her, now no more, who watched your cradle,
and taught you to lisp Christ's name, have called up tears of
sympathy and penitential sorrow. Thus the mind has looked
away fiom earth, and risen to clear and etherial views of truth;
then soft and gentle, as the music of heaven, was the voice and
of God calling you to the skies.
II. Consider the second truth. Now are they hidden friom
your eyes. If not improved, all these privileges are taken away.
This is the universal testimony of Scripture: "to him that hath
shall be given, but from him that hath not, shall be taken




480        CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.
away even that which he hath."  The unprofital)le servant
lost his one talent. So teach reason and experience.  We
have read of a man who on some medical theory shut out the
light. You can anticipate the effect. Some fanatics tie the
limbs uselessly in some position, form is destroyed, the blood
does not circulate, and life is gone. lMan is an active being,
and must be actively engaged. There are seasons in religrion,
harvests for -souls, decisive crises on which hang tremblingly
everlasting realities. The husbandman, in the bright days of
sunshine, must plough and sow, and not wait for the storm. For
some of you there is to-day such a crisis. Then improve the
day of your visitation. And, now, to you who will not improve
the day, of your visitation, what can we say? The Saviour weeps
for you; kindly, affectionately, would he call you to himself,
but you turn away. He knows your certain misery, and] wept;
and will you not weep for yourselves? Ah! in your hours of
merriment you have great cause for weeping, and could one
glimpse of the future burst on you, you too would weep.
The lovers of this world seem bound to it by sorne strange
spell. The form  of some secret fascination seems to have
charmed their faculties until the voice of reason and experience
as well as the voice of God falls unheeded on their ears. In
spite of all that we have known oturselves, and heard from others,
we still believe that the world is a satisfying portion; we listen
to its promises, and with eager expectation grasp its unsubstantial pleasures. There is none who has not been sometimes
rudely awakened fiom his dream of worldly happiness to gaze
upon the stern reality of truth. But he soon composes himself softly to his repose, enjoys the same visions, pursues the
same shadows, clasps the same phantom form to his bosom,
starts from  his slumbers, finds it all a dream, and sleeps
again. And this is the business of life, the employment of
threescore years and ten, bestowed on rational and immortal
beings, for the purpose of securing everlasting happiness.
But is it all a dream?  Is it true of the great and the
learned and the wise, the shrewd, sagacious, calculating men
of the world, that the objects they are pursuing are as unreal




CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM..              41
and unsubstantiall as the veriest figments of a drean, that
amidst all that restless activity which agitates unceasingly the
millions of our globe, there is nothing at all more rational
than the feverish excitement of a disordered brain? Yes, my
friends, it is a dream, "all the wild trash of sleep, without the
rest."  Such is the decision of God's word, and such, we will
endeavor to show, is the unbiased decision of reason. What
think you of ambition, then, that noblest of worldly passions,
"that last infirmity of noble minds? "  Of all the restless
beings that crowd our globe, and harass it with their mad
designs, there is none more evidently irrational than the ambitious man. His whole life is one long pursuit and restless
dream. He is perpetually haunted by visions of ideal glory
which destroy his peace of' mind, impair his health, and beckon
him onward to somne dangerous precipice, whence he falls to
rise no more.  Amidst the glorious delusions whicll swarm
thickly in his sight, he dreams of universal empire, of undying
fame, he grasps the sceptre of' the world, and already hears
the paans of its millions, and, in the madness -of tile horrid
dream, he thinks that men are but sheep to be slaughtered at
his will, and marches forth with his armies, spreadinll devastation and carnage in his path. But at last he meets his doom.
Heaven has decreed that even in this life injustice and crime
shall often experience a dreadful retribution.  The indignation
of mankind is aroused against the common enemy, and ambition awakes at last upon the rock of St. Helena.
But suppose the delusion had lasted a little longer, it would
still have been a dream. Suppose he had attained all that he
desired and hoped for, that Europe had bowed beneath his
yoke, and Asia and Africa and America extended his wide
dominions, till the sun never set upon his territories, as it never
did on his boundless and insatiable ambition.  Even then, he
must have soon awaked to a sense of the delusion. The happilIess which seemed just within ihis reach would then have
vanished, and as he grasped the object of his long desire, he
would only feel the crushing energy of his own convulsive embrace. The mind, finding no employment without, would have
21




482       CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.
turned in upon itself, and avenged the wrongs of a world, by
the very energies which had been employed to subdue it. Of
those who are engaged in the pursuit of wealth, of pleasure,
how much more rational are the schemes?  How vast and
visionary are the expectations of success in the pursuit, how
mad the anticipations of enjoyment in the possession. Of the
millions upon earth, how many are expecting to be either rich
or great, and of all that number how few succeed.
In view of all these things, the uncertainty of life, the certainty of death and judgment, the transitory character of all
earthly pursuits, the unsatisfying nature of all earthly goodhow ought you to pause and consider your ways, before the
day of your merciful visitation shall be closed forever. What
shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his
own soul; or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
The attempt to gain the world would be futile; and if you
could gain it all, it would be unavailing to satisfy the wants of
an immortal spirit. What can we say, what shall we do to
induce you to improve the present moment as it flies, and lay
hold on eternal interests? We can only set the case before
you and then weep, as Christ did over Jerusalem, and conmend
you to God.




XXIX.
AMBASSADORS FOR CHRIST.
2 CoR. v. 20. —"Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God
did beseech you by us: we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to
God."
THE Gospel is a message from  the throne of heaven, and
every minister of the Gospel, called and sent of God, is an
ambassador for Christ.  The less.age which he bears is one of
awful dignity, of supreme authority.  It is God's proclamation
of pardon, God's offer of reconciliation, to this rebellious and
ruined world.  The position he occupies is one of high and
solemn responsibility.  He stands, himself a dying man, between the living God and dying men; he stands a sinhil man,
between a holy God and a world of sinners; he stands a
pardoned rebel, between an angry God and his offending
subject.
There was once a fblr different messenger from heaven. TIe
was the brightness of his Father's glory, and express image of
his person; and although he left the glory which was his
before the world was made, yet did the radiance of his essential divinity often beam forth through that inferior nature, i-n
which it was enshrouded.  Mild persuasion and high authority sat enthroned upon his lips, and when lie spake, even!his
enemies unwillingly aclinowledged, that he spake as never man
before had spoken.  But his work was soon finished, his mission soon terminated, and, after a life of sorrow and a death of
agony, he soon abanldoned a world that was not iworthy of him,
and sitteth now  exalted forever at the right hand of the
Majesty oil high.




484             AMBASSADORS FOR CHRIST.
And ilow, the great work for which he became incarnate
and lived and died, the message which fell from his own lovely
lips, and was sealed l)y his own most precious blood, the great
embassy from heaven to earth —great in itself but stamped with
a new and imperishable dignity, by the character of him who
bore it first —has been entrusted to earthen vessels-to men of
like Ipassion writh ourselves.  Now, also, the minister of the
Gospel, as the humble representative of his Saviour, in Christ's
stead and by his high authority, offers a treaty of peace, presents the terms of reconciliation.  How awful are the sulbjects
he is called to discuss, how vast the interests involved, how
tremendous thle colsequences which may resllt firom the neglect
or the right perforlnance of his duties.  The Gospel whichll he
preaches is the Gospel of God, and however feeble may be the
instrument by whom it is proclaimed, it niust prove the savor
of life unto life or of death unto death to every soul of man
that hears it.  0 brethren, what a fearful thought is this,
that of all those mighty crowds ttlat gather Sabbath after Sabbath in all the churches of our land, and sit beleath thle warnings and invitations of the Gospel, of the hundreds that hear
me now, there is not one that does not possess an immortal
spirit, hurlying onward to the bar of God, moulding its destinies for eternity, on whom each sermon that he hears is leaving somne deep impression, sealing it for eternall life, or stamping
on it the dark impress of eternal death.  Oh, wlho of us is
sufficient for these things?
How tremblingly should mortal man lay his hand upon the
ark of God, lest he perish by the touch! Oh, who could have
dared to hope, had it been one of our early drleams, had it only
mingled with the wildest, boldest., of our childish visions, that
lwe should be ministers of God, that on us should all these h-i'hO
and boundless responsibilities hereafter rest, that to us should
be granted, all sinful and unworthy as we are, the great pri-vilege of standing up beiore a dying world and proclaiming the
unsearchable riches of Ch!ist, the great salvation of our God.
I-low fervent and earnest iwould have been our players fior divine assistance! would we not have spent our days in anxiols




AMBASSADORS FOR CHRIST.                485
thought, our nights in sleepless preparation?  We would have
inlprovedl each hour as it passed, we would have seized each
opportunity before it was gone forever, we would have cultivated to the utmost the limited calpacities of our nature; and,
summoning all our powers for this high service, concentrating
all our energies in one burning focus on this great obiject,
would have thought it happiness enough to pour forth our full
souls in one earnest, affectionate remonstrance with dying sinners, and then depart and be with God.
But, alas, the time lost can never be reclaimed, energies
once wasted on the world can never be consecrated intheir
fulness and freshness to God, and it is only in great weakness
that we can present before you the message of our King.  Yet
we address you in Christ's stead, by his authority; in his great
name, we make the very offer which he, if present, would make
you to-day.  Our commission is before us, stamped with the
Father's approbation, sealed by the blood of the Son. And, " le
that hath ears to hear, let him hear," for we come before y,)u
on no light trivial errand, come not to comply with all empty
fornm, not to gratify an idle curiosity, nor to furnish the amllusement, of an hour, but to discuss subjects of largre and enduring
interest, large as the soul's immortal powers, enduring as its
never-ending existence. We come to urge you, most affectioiiately and most solemnly, to be reconciled to God. The
surm and substance of our business is to show that there is a
fearful controversy between God and man, and, if possible, to
produce a reconcili:tion.
And here the difficulty meets us, on the very threshold of
our subject, that you utterly deny the existence of any controversy, and, of course, the necessity of any reconciliation between
God and man. You look around you, and everywhere behold
the traces of infinite benevolence. All nature is calm  and
p:)eaceful, the blue sky is spread out in still and solemn beauty
above you, the bright sun pours its mild and cheerful radiance
around you, the soft air of evening breathes gently on your
brow, the warm  life-blood bounds merrily fi'om your heart,
and flows in healthfiul currents along the n.rteries, where every
4;




486              AM. 3BSSADORS FOR CHRIST.
throb is joy.  You mingle in the gay society about you, anld as
the jest and the lqaugoh pass around, as the dance moves merrily
on, and the music sweeps by in full and voluptuous swell,
you yield yourself up to the bright illusion of the scene, nl l
s:ty within your heart, sutrely there can be no danger near, no
clouds and darkness to gather around that siiii, no tempests to
sweep across that sky, no thunderbolts that lie slumbering'
there, no angry God, that sitteth frowning  in the healvens.
G-ladly would we leave you to the eIljoyment of this pleasant
dreanm, bult as ambassadors for Christ, we dare not: nay, if there
ble, indeed, a fearful controversy between God and man, unsettled, still pending, in which all the attributes of God's nature,
anld all the powers of- his government are arrayed in terrib)le
hostility against the sinner, surely it becomes every reasonable creature to  ascertain the fiht, and prepare to meet or
a.void the danger.  That such a controversy exists is most
clearly manifested fiolm the language and the acts o-f each of
the parties.
Tile v ery idea, of " reconiciliatiov?," in our text, supposes a
conlroversy; for if tlhere be none, where is thle need of reconiliation?  Aogain, we are expressly told, in the Epistle to the
5Romans, that': the carnal mind is enmity against God," nay,
so deep and inveterate is this ennity that "it is not subject to
the lTwv (of God, neither indeed cnt. be."  Anld the Psallnist
assnlres us, that when God looked fI-rom heaven to behold the
children of men, there was none good, no not one, none that
did kno?,ow or regar'cd God."  The language of their heart and
their conduct is that of utter evil, of' bitter derision or open
defiance.'" WhI1o is the Lord, that we should regard him, or
tie mlost High, that we should serve him?"  "How dloth the
Lord know? "   "Let us burst his bonds asunder, and cast
hlis coids from us."  The same idea runs through the whole:New Testament, where sirnne-rs are represented "as enemies
agalinst God, by reason of evil works," "'ls enemies to tlhe
Cr(oss of Christ," "as rebels against God's government, and
sulbjects of the Prince of the Power of thie air, thle spirit that
rei.g,.eth in the children of' disobedience."  Onz the other lancl,




AMBASSADORS FOR CTIRTST.                  487
God is represented as "angry with the wicked every day," as
"laughing thei,' devices to scor," as'  pouring down from  his
thigh throne in the heavens thle bitterest derision upon their
puny efforts, as arraying himself for the complete making ready
his bow, preparing his arrlows in his quiver, as a man of war
girded up, and panting for the fight, as a lion roaring in his
majesty and strength.  Nay, if there be one term  in language
which can express more forcibly than any other, indignation,
deep and deadly, if there be in all nature one image more full
of terror than all- besides, this termn, this imaaery, is selected.
Epithet is piled on epithet, image heaped on image, to impress
our millds with this determined anger and its awfuil effects.
It is " indignalion  and wrath, tribulation and anguish," it
is " vengeance and fiery indignation," it is "darkness anud
outer dalrkness," and "the blackness of darkness forever."
Incdeed, throughout the whole Bible we are told of a kinodon.
of lilght and of darkness, of a daring rebellion against God's
government and  throne, led on by a haughty alld  fallen
Spirit, ald aided by men who have joined the staldatrd of his
rebellion.
It is to overthrow this rebellion that Christ came into the
world to produce a reconciliation of this controversy, on ternms
honorable to God and safe to man.  The whole scheme of the
Gospel, the whole Jewish and Christian system  with all tlieii
sacrifices for sin, firom the first lamb that bled on Abel's altal
to the last great offering on Calvary —all are based on the
assumption of such a controversy.  If there be none, then the
Gospel is a delusion, then all the array of types and piopllecies,
and mirlacles by which the Saviour's appearance was announced
at first, and afterward attended, was a mockery.  Then tile
death of Christ and the offers of salvation are a farce, thent
wNe are madmen and you are dupes.
But the existence of this controversy is not only revealed in
tlhe word of God. it is equaily manifest from  the acts of' his
providence and the worlks of' his hands.  It is written upon
the face of huaman society, and eng raven as with a pen of blrass
upo)n tlhe fiont of nature, so that wherever man exists, or na



488             AMIBASSADORS FOR CHRIST.
ture has been observed, the conviction has sunk deep into
every bhumnan bosom, that the Creator of nature  and of man
had( a fearftil controversy with the workmanship of his hands.
If not, why is the history of the world a history of woe?
Why is man born in agony, why does he die amidst tears and
groans?  Why does the pestilence devastate earth's fiairest
regions?  W~hy does famine sweep her pale nations to the
grave?  Why does disease in ten thousand forms still watch
about our path?  Why does death, standing at the door of'
life, stamp his pale signet on the infant's brow, and claim it as
his victim?  Ah,-why is the face of nature scarred as with
the thunderbolts of wrath?  Why does the volcano pour its
liquid lava on the earth and bury iln its fiery torrents the lhabitations of men?  Why does the earthquake burlst her solid
rocks, and heave her quaking mountains, and, yawning wide,
engullf its populous cities?  Why do  we still discover in
earth's remotest regions the traces yet remaining of that
terrible convulsion, when the fountains of the great deep
were, broken up, and over earth's loveliest valleys, hills, andhi-ghest mountains - over all human habitations - over all
man's hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows, the wild waters of tile
ocean rolled along —dark, boundless, irresistible-a fit emblem of the Creator's majesty-a fit element of the Cireator's
wrath?
Why?  B3ut the answer is already given, we hear it in the
imoans  of the dying infant, in the shrieks of the agonized
mother, in the groans of the strong man, when in the vicgor
of his days he is called to struggle with his last foe. It comes
firom the chamber of the dying, from  the grave of the deadl,
firom the sepulcllres of earth's buried millions. Down through
the long lapse of centuries, it comes in tones that cannot be
n-istaken, loud, distinct, solemn. There is a fearfll controversy between God and man.  Such is the testimony of God
in his Vord, and in his works, and now, does the testimotny of
man fully correspond?  Most fully, " out of thille own mouth
will I condemn tllee."
T'lhere is not all imdividual in this house who will not ackllowl



AMBASSADORS FOR CHRIST.                 489
edge that he is a sinner.  Now holiness is directly, irreconcilably opposed to sin, and if God be a God of holiness, he must
have a controversy with sin. Now sin is not an idle abstraction, a word without any corresponding thing.  The world in
whlich we live is a world of solemn and substantial realities, and
sin is the palpable act of an accountable agent, nay, in strict
propriety of speech, is really the sinner acting. I-lope not, then,
to escaple behind the flimsy pretext that God abhors tlhe sin,
bult will spare the sinner.  When the executioner comes to
p]unish murder, let the murderer beware.  When God shall
arise to take vengeance on sin, let the sinner tremble.  Ah, at
the judgment-bar your subtle distinctions will be of no avail.
WVhen heaven and earth shall flee before his face, where will
your cobweb sophistry be found?  And this is not the acknowledg(ment of a few educated under the influence of Christian
instruction, it is the universal testimony of the human race,
it i' the voice of human nature, sounding as best it may through
every channel that can give utterance to human thougoht or
feeling —in history and in fiction, in poetry and philosophy, in
all the institutions of society.  It is interwoven -with the structure of all known langutages as if it were a necessary element
of human thought.  The fall of man and his final restitution,
the sins of the people and the wrath of the gods, form the
staple of the ancient tragedy and epic. All the plhilosophers
admit the corruption of human nature, and even the gay and
licentious Horace admits that our "sins do not permit the
thunderbolts of the gods to sleep."
So deep was this conviction that every misfortune of life,
and every uncommon appearance in nature, was attributed to
some incensed and avenging deity.  If a comet swept across
the sky, or a meteor blazed through the air, or a shadow darkened the sun, whole nations trenmbled; and when in the dark
hour of night the wintry wind howled around his dwelling, or
the loud storm  burst over his head, the affriollited heathen
crept pale and slivering to hlis altar, for the infernal fillies were
out upon the wind, and some god had spoken in his anlger fi'om
the clouds.  And then, some victimn must aptpease tlhat wratll,




490             AMBASSADORS FOR GHtRIST.
some lamb, some trembling captive, som: innocent babe, must
bleed upon that altar, perhaps whole hecatombs must die, that
the indignation of heaven may be averted.  But this you say
is superstition.  Granted; yet every  universal effect must
have a cause as universal as itself.  No widespread opinion
prevalent through all ages and all nations, can be pure and unmixed falsehoodl, and beneath the monstrous and ever-changing bforims of this wild superstition, is clearly visible one great,
substantial, unchanging truth, distorted, if you please, degraded, yet still a truth, stamped in enduring characters uponI1
the human mind and never to be erased, "that there is a controversy between God and man."
And does not conscience add confirmation to this truth?
Why does the sick man at the approach of death look wildly
in acony around, beg for a day, an hour, a single moment?
Why does the prisoner, immured in his horrid dungeon,
shudder at the thought of execution, and when the hour is
struck, feel that this is the consummation of woe?  Meet a
strong man in the streets of a pestilential city, and tell him
that the plague-spot is on his head and lie must die, certainly,
instantly die: why does the cheek bleach, and the lips quiver,
and the pulse flutter, and the knees fail, and the eyes swim in
dizziness, and the reason reel upon its throne?  Is it not all
because God has a controversy with man, and man knows that
he is a sinner, and fears to stand befobe his God in ijnd-nment?
Is it not all proof of a deep, abiding counviction of the soul as
universal as our race, that there is a day of retribution in
which God will judgcle the world in righteousness, and settle
this long standing controversy with man?
Then how great is the need of reconciliation, and how urgent is the call of God who is now in Christ Jesus reconcilinr
the world unto himself throucgh the'death  of the cross!
Behold, now is the accepted time, and now is the day of salvation.. God has provided an atonement.  God has found a
ransom.  God has offered terms of reconciliation, and by thle
preaching of the Gospel the invitation is extended to all men.
"I-Io! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters."




AMBASSADORS FOR CHRIST.              491
"Whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely."
"For God hath made him to be sin for us who knew no sill,
that we might be made the righteousness of God in him."' Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did
beseech you by us; we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye recon ciled to God."
THE END.