ie ae bot abana Smee res Basnie nents a8 nets hehe! on i DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY DURHAM, N. C. hay a REVERENCE, AND FAMILY DISCIPLINE. LS TWO SERMONS, PREACHED AT PORTSMOUTH, N. H. ON The Day of the Annual Thanksgiving, November 25, AND ON The Sabbath following, November 28, 1841. BY ANDREW P. PEABODY, PASTOR OF THE SOUTH CHURCH, PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. PORTSMOUTH : J, W. FOSTER ; J, F. SHORES AND SON. 5 These sermons, hastily prepared, and written without any view to publica- tion, are published at the request of many who heard them, in the hope, that, so far as they may have influence, they may cherish that spirit of domestic discipline, subordination and piety, by which alone the rising generation can be trained to usefulness and honor in the community, and in the church of God. eee TO Cc. W. BREWSTER, PRINTER. eer ee or om oo 2 - y aes te Bi = - [7g PL 1S ie SERMON I. LEVITICUS XIX. 32. “ Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God.” Ours, it is to be feared, is an irreverent age and land. The number of those, who neither fear God nor regard man, is greatly multiplied. The whole providentially arranged system of things seems to be reversed ; and, if there is any one motto, which might be inscribed on the surface of society as it now is, or as modern innovators and radicals would have it, it would be this, *‘ The elder shall serve the younger.” Youth no longer hangs upon the counsels of age and experience, or deigns to ask of the former times ; but, the less one knows of the past, the surer and wiser guide for the future is he esteemed by many. Men often talk of the past, as if God had never worked, virtue never breathed, philanthrophy never lifted a finger, and wisdom never given a true response, until now. We hear much concerning the dead past; and are bidden to let it bury its dead. Oh how soon, if our children are no wiser than ourselves, will they be talking the same unmeaning cant about our boasted present ! [ by no means profess myself a conservative, in opposition to the true spirit of reform. Ido not believe that God means that 301499 4 our race should remain stationary. But I feel equally sure that he does not mean that the race shall go backward ; and to pay no heed to the lessons of the past is to go backward,—it is to forfeit whatever good has been gained by those who have preceded us, and to incur the hazard of all their follies, mistakes and failures. Indeed, in point of fact, the boasted new truths of the present age resemble so nearly exploded errors of former times, that it demands the most acute spiritual discernment to tell them apart. Thus the last new philosophy is as old as Plato. The theologi- cal speculations of Chardon Street are the mere cast clothes of the Brethren and Sisters of the Free Spirit—a sect, which sprang into being in the thirteenth, and did not survive the fifteenth century. Those, who eat no pleasant bread, and abhor all manner of meat, are but reviving a moral code, under which the Jewish sect of the Essenes lived and perished. ‘hose, who speak evil of dignities, despise governments, denounce law, and spurn at all the bulwarks of social order, are only renewing phantasies, which the early Quakers conceived, and then outgrew. Thus, where the past is unheeded, are men constantly stranding their vessels on the very rocks, against which there are multi- plied wrecks and blazing beacon-fires to warn them. But there is good in the past, as well as evil. And it is our appointed work to take that good, and make it better,—to start from the results that have been already reached, from the prob- lems that have been wrought out, from the maxims and examples that have stood the test of time, and thus to go from knowledge to knowledge, and from strength to strength. The same lack of reverence, that betrays itself with regard to the past considered abstractly, is widely manifest with regard to all persons both human and divine, that are commended to our reverence by age, station or character. Let us look into some of the more prominent tokens of this irreverent spirit, and then inquire into its source and its remedy. 5 First, does it not occur to you as an obvious illustration of this spirit, that, in every department of life, political, moral and relig- ious, it is the young men that give law to the old? Formerly the rule was, that ‘‘ days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom.” But now it is young men’s associations and conventions, that settle the affairs of the church and the nation, and dictate to the fathers what they shall believe, and say, and do. Men are now deemed too old to Jead and govern at an age, when they used just to begin to be trusted; and there are not wanting in some of our states even legislative provisions, by which the legal tenure of public office ceases at an age, when a vigorous mind is still in its mellow prime, and has some of its best years yet to come. Now youth and age, both have their virtues ; and both have their respective parts to act in the economy of human progress. Youth has zeal, and age discretion,—youth courage, and age foresight,—youth vigor, and age skill. Age belongs at the helm, because it knows where is the safer path of the deep, and where are the sunken rocks ; and, with prudence and experience at the helm, youth may, asis its wont, keep the vessel under full sail, without foundering, though not without now and then a fierce blow from an angry wave. But youth now seizes the helm, and steers straight for whatever port it would make, heedless of the breakers, which lie between, blind to the safer route by which they may be doubled. The consequences of this mode of man- agement are rash experiments in every thing, plans that explode before they are matured, laws that repeal themselves as soon as they are enacted, the perpetual tampering with prescription and vested right, the spirit of reckless change, for the mere sake of change. All these things are to be laid to the charge either of the actually young, or of those, who cultivate boyishness of char- acter, and prefer a green to a ripe old age. 301499 6 This same irreverent spirit we may trace in the light, in which laws and rulers are now regarded. How fast, within the memory of most of us, has respect for law declined! Every man throws himself back upon his right of rebellion, and, the mo- ment a statute touches one’s own case, he makes a merit of defying it, and claims to be regarded as a martyr to principle. All over the land, mobs have taken the law into their own hands, and, so far from being frowned upon by an indignant public, they are generally praised and flattered for committing no greater amount of arson, robbery or murder, than they set out to com- mit. The only way, in which you can now have the laws executed, (except those against petty thieves and the less genteel class of robbers and swindlers,) is to make them so loose and indefinite, that they cannot be easily broken. Disrespect for those in authority is probably more prevalent among us, than in any other nation upon earth. The reviling of rulers, contemptuous words of the powers that be, how large a space have they for years filled in the speech of men and in the public press! An intelligent foreigner would be amply justified in inferring from our political newspapers, that there is not now, and has not been in our government for the last dozen years a man high in office, who does not merit a life-residence in the peni- tentiary. And yet, among the men thus defamed, there have not been wanting the rigidly conscientious, high-minded, philan- thropic and God-fearing. We leave our public functionaries no room for independent action. We say, when we vote for them, that they are men, who deserve to be trusted in all things; but yet we bind them hand and foot with pledges and instructions. So long as they remain bound, and suffer themselves to be our mere echoes, we are satisfied; but, the moment one of them exercises the discretion appertaining to his office, he is a traitor, and worse,—what right has he to think or act for himself? Have not those, who put him in power, decided all these matters for 7 him? Our treatment of our public men has often reminded me of the Chinese mariner, who carries in the stern of his vessel an idol, to which he burns perfumed paper and incense while the wind is propitious, but when he is becalmed, or a contrary wind sets in, he beats his idol with many stripes. Just so, we deify our great men and burn incense to them, while they let us think for them ; but account them worthy of stripes, so soon as they betray the slightest symptom of independent thought. Is it said, that these things are the natural growth of republican institutions ? If [thought them so, I would say,—Perish the very name of a republic! But the true republican spirit seems to me to be the very opposite of all this. I can conceive under a mon- archy of an abounding spirit of contempt for laws, which the people do not make, and for rulers, who hold their places, merely because their remote ancestors were great men. But, in a republic, who is it that make the laws? The people them- selves,—the very people that set them at nought. The laws are the expressed will of the majority, who, on matters that demand law, have an inherent right too obvious to be demonstrated, to fix the law,—of the majority, whose decision, though not necessarily sound and just, is the most probable approximation to absolute right, which a people can make,—of the majority, whose senti- ment is not without majesty, and challenges respect and defe- rence where it cannot command assent. It is the undoubted right of a minority to strive for the mastery, if it strive lawfully ; for numbers cannot overawe individual opinion, and men cannot but desire to see their own sentiments prevail. But it is the duty of a minority to confess itself fallible, to reverence as an offset to its Own judgment the voices of the greater number, and to submit and obey in meekness, until the power that enacted repeals. So with regard to our public functionaries, there is every rea- son why a republic, that respects itself, should reverence its DD rulers. We have the most inordinate national vanity ; and yet, in vilifying our rulers, what do we, but virtually acknowledge the deep depravity of our people at large? For only the vile can elevate the vile to high places of trust and authority. If we have been and are governed by selfish, knavish and unprincipled men, it must be because we are a selfish, knavish and usprincipled nation. But, if we have any faith in the integrity of the people, we ought to show reverence to the man of their choice, or, at least, to respect the office as the seat of the people’s sovereignty, and, from respect for the office, to shield its incumbent from insult and abuse. The public measures of public men are indeed the fair subject of criticism ; but might they not be thor- oughly canvassed in a respectful tone, in a candid and concilia- tory spirit, and without any admixture of wanton personality and coarse vituperation ? Do not men, who have not assumed their places, or grown into them, but who have been elevated to them by the voice of the people, proffer a fair claim to whatever of respectful treatment, candid construction, and reverential defe- rence is due to the great body of their constituents ? In a republic, the spirit of reverence for law, and for those, who make and administer it, is barely the extension of a just self-respect. And it is the only safeguard of popular institutions. It takes the place of an inquisitorial police, of standing armies, and of the pomp and circumstance of courts. It stands in the stead of force, which in a republic can never be employed beyond a certain point. It is the only thing, that can procure the keeping of the laws or obedience to rulers, and thus the only thing, that can preserve our nation from utter anarchy. In this quarter our great danger lies ; and it will take but a few years more of such irreverence for law and its functionaries, as has of late been rife through the land, to make ail the lovers of order and just subordination weary of republicanism, and ready to wel- come some more concentrated and absolute form of government, 9 which might at least compel awe, if it could not elicit reve- rence. We discern this same irreverent spirit in many of the theolog- ical tendencies of the day. How fertile in novelties and vagaries has been the religious history of the last few years, or, I might almost say, months! We know not how to analyze or class the multi- tude of vague and wild theories and speculations, which deluded men and unsexed women have broached and advocated, in con- venticles and through the press, in village, town and city. But they all bear close kindred in one point. They all take their start from this abounding spirit of irreverence, from a contempt for the traditional and authoritative, from an unwillingness to receive law even from the All-wise, and the determination of each to be a law to himself. They are as various as the minds which promulgate them, because each of these minds shuts out the great central light of the moral universe, and follows the twinkling of its own tiny star. “* Ye shall be as gods,” were the ensnaring words of the tempter to our first parents; and never were these words whispered with so flattermg an unction, and into so many ears, as at the present day. Even school boys and young maidens have caught the whisper, and, before they are men and women grown, they prate about the sufficiency of their own souls and their own inspirations, and their inability to take on trust even those teachings, which have the manifest seal of God. Misguided parents too babble to their children lessons of self-obedience and arrogant self-reliance, and laugh as obsolete at what once was the law for the young spirit, “ Fear God, and keep his commandments.” That this state of things can be permanent, [ by no means believe. But the end is not yet. I greatly fear, that these god- less vagaries cannot pass away without such shocking develope- ments of licentiousness and guilt, as have been the issue of similar movements in former times. The risen generation of self-wor- 9 = 10 shippers may abide by the habits of old-fashioned morality, which they learned under better auspices. But those, whose characters shall be formed under such maximsas, Obey your im- pulses,—Follow your instincts,—Believe no teacher,—Trust no written or traditional law, will show, it is to be feared, in unbri- bled and shameless profligacy, how well able man is to direct his steps without the law and the spirit of Jesus. I hesitate not to say, that the analogy of all ecclesiastical history renders it as cer- tain, as the experience of the past can render any thing in the future certain, that this boasted new light, this reformed theology, this christianity without Christ, this religion without reverence, faith or prayer, will ere long betray its true spirit and tendency in such open, avowed and gross practical immorality, as will make its disciples subjects, not for formal argument, but for the severest animadversion of law and justice. In proof of this tendency, it may not be out of place to remark, that, even by men and women of pure and virtuous lives, who are involved in these speculations, the sanctity and permanence of the marriage covenant are already called in question, and public morals thus attacked at one of those avenues, where the surest death-blow might be aimed. Such are some of the symptoms of a spirit of irreverence abroad in our land. And where does it have its origin? It springs, as seems to me, from small beginnings. It takes its rise, to a great degree, in the bosom of families, and has its source in the decline of domestic discipline and subordination. Children are absolved from the law of their parents, and are thus made the enemies of all law. It seems to me, that, even within my remembrance, (and many of you can double the years over which this extends,) there has been in this respect a very great change for the worse. The commandment used to be taught, “‘ Honor thy father and thy mother,” and ‘ Children, obey your parents in the Lord.” But now, from what I frequently witness of the mutual relation of children and parents, [ should almost 11 imagine that it had been written, “ Honor thy son and thy daughter,” and, ‘“ Parents, obey your children.” If, in these days of irreverence, there is any thing that is treated with univer- sal reverence, it is the wayward impulses and whims of children. And often have I seen parents of large and well informed minds, wise and judicious, instead of moulding their children’s charac- ters, submitting themselves to be moulded by them, brow-beaten out of sound opinions, driven from respectable and worthy habits, and drawn where neither good sense nor conscience would go with them. There are many other parents, who know not enough of their children to be influenced by them, who let their children grow up without restraint or guidance, who know not where or how they spend their time, who never lay upon them a command, or ask an account of their employments, their habits or their progress, who give them no opportunity to cultivate the virtues of filial trust, submission and obedience. It is children thus trained, or rather, thus untrained, who, when they grow up, push their elders aside. It is such, that despise laws, and speak evil of dignities. It is such, that spurn the yoke and burden of the Saviour, and walk by their own light and their own law. The best discipline for church and state is that of the well ordered family. The child in such a family learns to obey and to trust, is made to feel the imperfection of his knowledge and the limits of his rights, is taught the lesson of reverence and of faith. It is the wise appointment of God, that in every human household there should be a miniature of his own moral govern- ment, that thus, in the lesser families of earth, each individual should be trained to take his true place, and to move in his just orbit in his own great spiritual family. The child ina good fam- ily takes many things on his father’s word, obeys even where he cannot understand, and learns by obedience,—acquires, by ac- quiescence in what his father bids him do, the experimental knowledge of truth and duty. He gets the habit of conforming 12 his own will to a higher will, of distrusting his own unaided judg- ment, of referring to an authoritative standard of appeal, of believing that there is wisdom higher than his own, and a law above him. Having thus learned to render honor where honor is due, obedience where it belongs, faith where there is a basis for it, he is prepared by this invaluable pupilage to be a good citizen and a good Christian, to obey the laws, to respect the powers that be, to humble himself as a little child at the feet of Jesus, and to bow in conscious ignorance and weakness before the Ancient of days. It is not children thus trained and disci- plined, that lead and encourage mobs, that take their seats in disorganizing and anti-Christian conventions, that boast of their own godlike wisdom and sanctity, and despise their neighbours. T have not time to follow out this subject as 1 gladly would, and as J perhaps may on some future occasion. But I wish to leave with you, parents, this idea, that it is only as you maintain a just and careful discipline and government in your families, as you keep your children children, and make them actually obey you, trust you and be subject to you, that you can hope to see them filling the places which you desire for them, as sober, peaceful, worthy citizens, as the friends of law and order, as devout and dutiful followers of Christ, as members of the church of the living God. Those of you, who let your children manage and govern themselves, and leave them to the law of their own freaks and impulses, may indeed see much, that will seem to you to be elements of early promise, that is, you willsee a bold, fear- Jess, defiant spirit, a promptness and energy of action, a strength of resolve, a nervous intenseness of will and purpose; but, if you live long enough, you will see that strength given to evil, that energy wasted against what is right and true, and those giant elements of character, (for such in your fondness you deem them to be,) growing into harsh, knotty, distorted, self-willed, obstinate spirits, void alike of respect for man and the fear of God. 13 The remedy then for the evils, of which I have spoken, is in Christian homes. They are the true bulwark of the church and the state. They are the model of what the church and the state will be. The little must shape the great. What the church and the state are going to be for the next generation, the families now growing up must decide; and on you, parents, rests a fearful portion of the responsibility of this decision. We are reminded both by our subject, and by the occasion which has brought us together, of the stern old Puritans, who instituted this festival. They had many faults,—the faults of their times. But they had, and they dearly cherished the spirit of reverence in all its legitimate forms. To them the family was its sacred nursery. ‘There, by a discipline, sometimes perhaps needlessly severe, yet equal, impartial, and pervaded by the spirit of piety, they formed good citizens and good Christians. From the homes of those mighty, holy men, was transmitted that spirit of subordination, that habit of obedience, which alone kept our people from anarchy and civil bloodshed in our revolutionary times, and in the unsettled posture of affairs, that ensued upon our national independence. I would not invite back to earth every individual feature of the Pilgrim and the Puritan character. Much of it has well perished with the times, that gave it birth. But I would, that, with this glad festival, they had left us more of the reverent and devout soul, that breathed, not only on their solemn feast-days, but in their whole lives. Would to God, that there were in all our households that earnest, deep spirit of domestic piety, which hallowed theirrude homes, and made them like the tents of the old patriarchs, where the angel of Jehovah’s presence talked at the door, and sat at.the table. With this day’s ascriptions of gratitude around our domestic altars, let the vow go up from every parent’s heart, “ As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” prude etaee fhe abel > eel Ne EAN Hite 3 it ine ith Pes athe Pie ys wih! tony’ oh 5 Wa a owt el bed god Pehle Wha Wey Cu tee ahh mt) Mid ke pate hy Pay 2 ee ee a ae Aa shy Wh an oe phe A ay hadi ar aie! MRR a iia) Dov Ai! hoddoe eae Min Piel? SERMON II. GENESIS XVIII. 19. “ He will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord.” Ix my sermon on Thursday, I referred to deficient family discipline, as one chief cause of much that is to be lamented in the present aspects of society. I intend now to pursue this subject, though it is one, on which my own comparative inexpe- rience admonishes me to speak with unfeigned diffidence. But, having witnessed, as I think, much negligence and error on this point, among those whom I sincerely respect and love, and whom it is my province to warn of duty and of danger, I cannot conscientiously remain silent. I therefore ask your attention to what seem to me some of the chief deficiencies in the domestic management of children. 1. Is there not on the part of many a lack of watchfulness over their children? Your children are too much out of your sight. You know not where they are, or with whom, or how employed. They are with you at table, and hardly anywhere else. You are not acquainted with them. You think them indeed too good children to need watching, and feel willing to trust them any- where. You never see any thing amiss in them. They sleep quietly, they behave decently at table; and you have not the slightest doubt that they are equally quiet and orderly through the day, and everywhere, forgetting that the times whea you 16 see them, are times, when the worst child could hardly show ill temper or bad principle. Perhaps some unfavourable account of your children’s characters occasionally reaches your ears; but you close your ears against it,—you are sure that it must be a mistake or a falsehood,—your children never said or did before you what they are reported to have said or done elsewhere, and you cannot conceive of their manifesting, when opportunity or temptation presents itself, any traits of character, which they do not exhibit during the few quiet, untempted moments of the day, for which you are with them. Thus do some of you know much less of your children’s characters, than your friends and acquain- tance do. Some of you, fathers, say that you have no time to attend to your children. Yet you feel yourselves acquitted of all blame towards them ; for it is on their account, not on your own, that you spend so many hours of the day in business, and deprive yourselves to so greata degree of the leisure and the enjoyment of home. You are iaying up money for your children,—you cannot hope to leave them rich without devoting your whole time and energy to business,—you therefore have no leisure to bestow upon their intellectual and moral culture, —that is, in plain speech, you believe that the property, which you can bequeath to your chil- dren, will be of more value than the characters, which you might help them form. Most heartily do I pity the children of parents, who thus prefer for them riches that perish with the using, to the enduring treasures of mind and heart. But, parents, whether it be your engagedness im other things, or a feeling of security with regard to your children, that has suspended your watchfulness over them, let me urge you by no means to take it for granted that they are all that you would have them. You ought to keep them, as it were, perpetually under your eye. You ought to know where and how they spend their time out of school, who are their playmates, in what kind of groups they are to be found, whether among the profane, bois- 17 terous and vulgar, or among children of blameless habits and character. ‘Their evenings should all be passed under your own roof, or under some roof, where you know that they are under none but good influences, and, if they desire happier evenings than they can spend at home, it is your fault, that their homes are not made pleasant and attractive-—While you keep your chil- dren thus beneath your own inspection, beware of that blinding partiality, which so often accompanies love. Let your affection rather assume the form of earnest solicitude, of unslumbering vigilance. How anxiously does a mother watch, almost from moment to moment, the constitution of a feeble infant, that she may meet with appropriate remedies every unfavorable symptom, the moment it becomes obvious, and may make haste to cherish every sign of health and promise! No less frail, no less depen- dant on incessant nursing, on the warding off of the first shadow of evil, on the prompt fostering of every good and happy symp- tom, is the mental and moral character of your child. You know not what of good or evilasingle day may bring forth. You are mistaken in imagining that your children’s characters are fixed. ‘They are ductile to an inconceivable degree. They are as clay in the hands of the potter. Be careful then, into what potter’s hands they fall. Be perpetually on your guard; and see that you take the means of knowing concerning them all that a finite being can know. 2. Another prevalent fault of parents is their scepticism with regard to the influence of moral causes upon their children. How often have I heard parents talk, as if they thought that God’s laws were suspended in behalf of their own children, so that they might pass unsinged through a fiery furnace, in which any other child would be sadly burned! ‘The language employed with regard to any particular exposure or evil influence is: ‘I know very well that it is what many children would not bear,— 2 o 18 what would be of bad example and influence to almost any boy we know ; but our child has always been so good, and has so amiable and virtuous a disposition, that it is impossible for him to get any harm.” But, in talking thus, you are pronouncing your children exempt from a law of God, which is as unchanging as the heav- ens,—Evil communications corrupt good manners and morals. No character can entirely withstand the moral influences, to which it is subjected. ‘True, there may be a greater or less degree of yielding on the part of different individuals. Some may oppose a strong, others a feeble resistance. Some, by the mightiest effort, by such effort as not one child in a thousand has strength enough to put forth, may keep what good there is in them in the midst of evil examples and influences; but even then, they lose the benefit of the good example and influence, to which they might ail the while have been subjected. You might range the town without finding a single child, who would not be made posi- tively worse, would not have his finer feelings blunted, his moral sense dulled and hardened, by being several hours a day in the company, or under the control of persons of harsh and coarse manners, ungovernable temper, violent and profane speech, and immoral life. Yet many of you, parents, have acted on a diffe- rent idea, and have been willing to subject your children to influ- ences of this kind, against which I do not believe that your own moral feelings would have stood proof, Iam sure that mine would not. But you have supposed your children endowed with superhu- man strength of principle ; or else you have expected God to work a miracle in their behalf, and, indeed, had not the age of miracles passed away, I know of no miracle, for which a benevolent mind might pray more earnestly, than for one to protect a child in the furnace of fearful moral exposure, into which a parent’s hand had cast him. I mean that these remarks shall apply, not to one thing, but to many things,—to your carelessness in the choice of teachers for your children, or your indifference to the characters 19 of those, whom others choose for you,—to your heedlessness as to the company, which your children frequent,—to the questionable amusements, in which you indulge them,—to the degree to which, in times of political excitement, you seek to inflame their passions into sympathy with the turbid state of the community,—to the employments connected with modes of immoral agency, in which you sometimes place them, when they are old enough to be thus provided for. In all these ways have many of you wantonly exposed your children, often with full knowledge of the circum- stances of danger, but with the feeling, grounded on nothing in your child’s real character, but on your own parental blindness, that your child was too good to be injured by anything of the kind. But, admitting for the sake of argument that your child is too good to be contaminated by bad example and evil associations, I would ask, Is he too good to be made better? If not, might he not be continually growing better, if, in his school, among his companions, in his play-hours, in his employment, he were sur- rounded by positively good influences? His home influences, we will admit, are good. His father’s and his mother’s law and life are adapted to cherish in him the best principles and habits. But how much of the time is he with you? At the most four or jive, perhaps not more than one or two, of his fifteen or sixteen waking hours,—not so long as he is at school, not so long, in many instances, as he is at play. And can you expect, accord- ing to any known system of moral laws, that the good influence of the few hours will neutralize doubtful or bad influences during the many? The point, to which I wish to bring you, is, that you should not regard your children as exempts from God’s universal moral law. 1 want you to judge of them, not as your children, but as children, liable to suffer from all the sources of evil, and capable of benefit from all the sources of good, from which other children can get evil or good. 20 3. Another deficiency is in the standard of character, which many parents establish for their children. You do not set a sufficiently high standard for them. You desire and expect from them too little of moral goodness, of simplicity and gentleness, of conscientiousness and early piety. Nay, some of you desire and cherish in your children traits contrary to these. 1 have known a father, himself a very worthy man and excellent citizen, to speak with high approbation of his son, because he promptly re- venged some trivial insult from another boy by stout and cruel blows, saying, ‘ That is the kind of spirit I want my boys to show.” Surely this father had never thought of the spirit and temper of him, who returned not evil for evil, as something to be desired and sought for his children. He had for them an ideal of character, which was entirely opposed to the Christian ideal. Nor do [ think that it is very uncommon for parents to try to make their children irascible and vindictive, (they call it spzrtted,) and to give them maxims of conduct utterly averse from those of the New Testament. Nor is it rare for parents to cherish selfishness in their children,—to give them ungenerous maxims of conduct, to train them in ungenerous habits, and to do all that they can to infuse into them in early life a mean and miserly spirit. “This a parent, who regards money-making as the chief end of man, will almost always do. But, if you are not conscious of wishing to bring your children under the power of absolutely evil principles, are not some of you conscious of setting your aims for your children very low,—not low as to their worldly success, but morally and religiously low ? You are satisfied that many rough traits, especially in a boy’s character, should grow unchecked ; that certain border vices, for which you can find virtuous names, should be cultivated ; that many of the lesser graces of character should be entirely wanting. You are satisfied, if your son shows good capacities for business, and grows up free from such vices, as bring with 21 them idleness, poverty and loss of caste. You are satisfied for your daughter, if she has gone through the routine of a school education, has good manners, and is prepared to appear to ad- vantage in society. You are content that your sons should be self-willed, ungentle, self-indulgent to a certain point,—that they should grow up with little or no reverence for sacred times or things, and without religious principles or habits. You are con- tent, that your daughters should be idle, frivolous and selfish, and that they too should remain unconscious of their duties to God, and of the powers of the world to come. Yeu coincide with your children in the tacit feeling, that religion is not for the young, but for those of riper years. You have thought but little of their growing up to be the disciples of Jesus, and ‘ followers of God as dear children.” Your desires for them have seldom assumed the form of prayer. This lowness of aim has kept out of your sight the surest of all helps in their education, and is forming their characters destitute of the crowning grace of character. Unless you seek first for your children the kingdom of God and his righteousness, you cannot calculate on their having strength to resist temptation of any kind, or to hold fast their integrity and purity when assailed. For want of the only sufficient anchor to their souls, they may be swept away by the current of appetite and passion. For want of an interest in things heavenly, they may make utter shipwreck of things earthly. Think not that I am speaking of anything chimerical or unat- tainable, when I urge you to expect for your children something more, and to seek for them something higher and better, than you do. There is no reason, why your children should not become religious, as well as successful and accomplished men and women. Indeed the moral capacities are much more equally distributed, than the intellectual and the active. There is not a boy or girl in your families, whom, with God’s blessing, you may not train up to be a devout disciple of Jesus, a lover of every good word 22 and work, an eminently useful and beloved member of society. But, (though it be only to repeat in another form what has been already said,) let me, parents, put the question home to your hearts,—Are you conscious of sincerely and earnestly desiring these divine and inestimable benefits for your children? Have you, father, said to yourself concerning your son, ‘ 1 would that the eye that sees him should bless him, and the ear that hears him bear witness to him, that he should be as eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, and a father to the poor, that he should walk among men in the beauty of a meek and forgiving temper, and a holy life, and that, when he dies, the ways of Zion should mourn?” Have you, mother, craved for your daughter, that her chief praise should be in the dwellings of the poor, her first delight in the service of her Master, her chosen study the book of eter- nal life? If not, let the paramount worth of these Christian graces be now brought home with power to your minds. Re- member that they are graces, in which the young spirit may be clothed ; that they may be the infant’s first robe, worn so early that be shall know no other; that they are the more difficult of acquisition, the longer they. are delayed; that, while God casts away no sincere penitent, he has said with peculiar emphasis, “‘ They that seek me early shall find me.” Bring before your minds that judgment of God, which you cannot escape, when for this parental trust you must render strict account to Him, who bestowed it. What will be the questions, which you must then answer? Not, “ Didst thou make thy son a successful servant of Mammon,—didst thou fit thy daughter to be admired, caressed and flattered among the gay and thoughtless”? But, * Didst thou teach thy son and thy daughter My statutes and My judg- ments, and place their young footsteps upon My paths? Didst thou open their hearts to My love? Didst thou bring them to Jesus, and invoke for them his blessing and his spirit” ? 23 4. Another error, into which, it seems to me, some careful and conscientious parents fall, is, that they make their children, too early and to too great a degree, their own masters. The habit of deciding for one’s self and taking care of one’s self is often spoken of, as of prime value to children. To my mind it seems of much more consequence that right decisions be made for them, and that good care be taken of them. If they become in any way the victims of folly, I know not what relief or remedy there can be in the fact, that they fell by ther own folly. A single wrong decision mav be of infinite and irreparable injury to them, —is it not then better that the power of deciding for them remain where it is most likely to be used with discretion? But, you ask, is it not well to accustom children early to the habit of self- decision? I reply that self-decision is less a habit, than a neces- sity. He, who ceases to have any one to decide for him, must in the very nature of things decide for himself. The habit, which you want to form in your children, is not that of se/f-decision, but of right decision ; and your best guarantee for their making right decisions, when they must needs decide for themselves, is in their having the example of an unbroken series of wise and sound decisions, which you shall have made for them. So too, when your children leave home, or attain a mature age, they must needs take care of themselves; and they will be best fitted todo this discreetly and safely, by the example of the minute watch- fulness, high principle and Christian fidelity, with which they were cared for through the whole of childhood and youth. But, you say, one needs to be early cast upon his own resources, and upon his power of prompt, bold, independent decision and action, in order to push his way among the crowd, when he goes forth into busy life. Ireply, that there is already too much of this pushing and striving,—there are too many masters, too many, who lean solely and rashly on their own understandings, who seek their own good to the detriment of others, who are entirely 24 destitute of the principle and habit of obedience and subordina- tion, whether towards God or man. If it is among such as these that you desire your child to urge his way into active life, the sooner you emancipate him from the yoke of filial restraint and obedience, the better. I grant too that those, whose characters are of this stamp, start foremost in the race for preferment and for gain; but they stumble midway in their career, and those, who started far behind them, pass by them, and leave them in the distance. The true discipline for life is not that, which cherishes a spirit of wanton, factious independence, but that, which teaches respect, obedience, submission, deference to the rights and claims of others, humility and meekness. The spirit of arrogant self- reliance which is abroad, and in which some good people take great pains to train their children, is fast upheaving the foundations of society, which can be laid again in strength and beauty, only by a generation, that shall have thoroughly learned to yield, submit and obey. It is easier to command, than to serve,—to dictate, than to yield,—to govern, than to be governed,—to defy law, than to be a quiet, conscientious, faithful citizen ; and for these more difficult, more necessary, more imperative duties, the discipline of obedience and submission during the years of childhood and youth is the best, the only sure preparation. By filial submission and obedience during the whole of their early lives, your children will also be best prepared for the life- long and the eternal service of God. ‘The child, who has lived in submission to earthly parents, will know how to obey his Father in heaven. But he, who is too early emancipated from the law of his father and his mother, will make haste to free himself from the law of God. The principle, that operates in both relations, is one and the same. Obedience is a pious,—self-reliance an ungodly spirit. ‘The child, that has learned to submit and obey, has acquired that, which is the habit of the redeemed in heaven, no less than of the good on earth ; and has therefore, on that one 25 point at least, a spirit in union and harmony with that of heaven. He, on the other hand, who is left too early to the counsel of his own will, so far as that circumstance affects his permanent char- acter, prepares himself to be a rebel, and therefore an outcast spirit in the world to come. 5. Another lamentable deficiency in the influences, to which many of our children are subjected, is the lack of all the institu- tions of domestic piety. Are there not many of your families, where there is no domestic altar, no form of worship or of reli- gious recognition, no stated time for religious instruction? Are there not here many children, who have never heard the voice of prayer at their homes, except from their pastor, at some season of sickness or death,—many, who have never received from their parents, (or at least not since mere infancy,) a word of expressly religious counsel or warning? May we not trace to this domestic negligence the irreverent and indocile deportment and conduct of some, on the Sabbath, when under the care of their Sabbath teachers? I can hardly believe, that the utter indifference to religious truth, and the entire callousness of the young soul to the emotions of reverence and devotion, which have in some instances come to my knowledge, could have grown up in the hearts of children, who had daily accompanied their parents to the throne of mercy,—with whom piety had received its consecration from a father’s prayers, and the bible from the daily and reverent use of it in the family devotions. But I can easily conceive that themes, which the parent passes by, and never in any form recognizes at home, and which are urged upon the child only by ateacher whom he sees but once a week, should seem to him void of all reality, authority or worth, tedious, irk- some and unmeaning. ‘The child in such a case is guilty ; but the parent is so to a hundredfold degree. You must remember, parents, that to a child, especially to an affectionate child, (such 4 26 as you either believe or desire yours to be,) the highest and surest consecration is that of a father’s or a mother’s example. The family altar has been for the salvation of multitudes, and has been for the rising again of many fallen. Of how many confessions of penitent and restored prodigals has this sentence formed a part,—* I thought of the mention daily made of me in the morn- ing and evening prayer at home!” Let me strongly urge upon you this duty, both for your chil- dren’s sakes and for your own. How appropriate, how beautiful the service! How natural, if there be a God, that they, whom he makes to dwell in families, and unites by common blessings, should together acknowledge and implore those blessings! How fitting, that, in a family of the frail and the dying, who yet would gladly believe that their love for each other cannot die, they should together own the redeeming mercy of him, in whom, though dead, they yet may live, of him, through whom alone they can be one family forever! How obviously necessary is it to a sense of religious restraint and obligation inthe young and volatile, that these momentous subjects should be daily brought home to their minds, revived by repetition, and made to take a deep hold upon their hearts by the constantly recurring solemnity of the hour of prayer! ‘he service need not be long, or com- plex, or such as to tax the mind of him who leads it; nor need it even be in his own words. Nay, it ought to be simple and brief, that it may be wearisome to none ; and the language of an appropriate form is often preferable to the timid and difficult flow of speech of one, who has not devotional language readily at his command. Only let the service be solemn and heartfelt. Let it not be, and therefore let it never seem, a mere form, but always a fresh, sincere and fervent service ; and it can hardly be, that your whole family will not imbibe the spirit of reverence and prayer, so that the chain let down from heaven will bind each with all, and all with God. 27 Do you feel, that you are not religious enough to conduct such aservice? For this very reason I would have you engage in it, and use it as a means of religion, as a pledge of your progress heavenward, as an instrument for daily strengthening good prin- ciples, and for keeping down and extirpating wrong traits of character. Or do you imagine that there is anything in your mode of life, your habits, your business, on which the spirit of your daily prayer would frown? Pray then, in order that you may concenirate the Almighty’s frown where you know that it rests, and that His felt frown may drive you from every habit, association or indulgence, on which you cannot implore His blessing. Or, although you own the obligation of this duty, have you so long neglected it, that you find it hard to begin? Will you not find it yet harder to account to your Maker for protract- ed delay in the discharge of an acknowledged duty? Is not that a false shame, which leads you to postpone doing right? If any of you own the weight of this obligation, and yet have been hindered by such feelings from the performance of a service so appropriate and beautiful, why may not this very day, when you and your families are reminded together of the duty, be the best time for breaking over the restraints of diffidence, and establish- ing the family altar? Your children will rise up and call you blessed for it. You will command by it the smile of God upon those whom you best love, and his spirit of holy counsel upon yourselves in your arduous and momentous duties. And, when the earthly house shall be dissolved, you may hope with confi- dence to appear at the right hand of the Judge, with the unbroken circle of those, whom you will have daily borne to your God and Saviour in the arms of faith, into whose young hearts you will have breathed the spirit of prayer and praise. 6. But, finally, you will in vain seek to remedy all other deficiencies, where you leave anything wanting in parental exam- \ "98 ple. Vain will be your prayers and teachings, vain your careful ; discipline and-rigid watchfulness, if you point one way -and walk another, Ifyou are:selfish amd worldly, if you are petulant and vindictive; if you,in any respect depart widely from the gospel standard of character, your children will mark the deviation, and will be far more likely to follow you, than to obey you. «But adorn the religion of Jesus bya life in all respects conformed to it ; let your walk in your household and before the world be pervaded by a spirit of piety towards God, of love to man, of justice and candor, meekness and truth; and you can hardly fail © to be obeyed, when you “command your children and your household after you to keep the way of the Lord.” I have thus, my friends, with great plainness of speech, placed before you some of the more prevalent deficiencies in domestic discipline, influence andexample. Accept these hints asa pledge of my sincere and affectionate wishes for your own, and your children’s highest good. Let me leave with you in conclusion David’s resolutions concerning the ordering of his house, as em- bracing principles essential to the well-being of every Christian family. ‘I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way. 1 will walk within my house with a perfect heart. I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes. I hate the work of them that turn aside ; it shall not cleave to me. A froward heart shall depart from me; I will not know a wicked person. He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house ; he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight. Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me; he that walketh in a perfect way, he shall serve me.” SERMON. BY THE wa” iG REY. JAMES HERVEY OTBY, D. D. LL.D. | BISHOP OF THE DIOCESE OF TENNESSEE. “i vd EDITED (BY REQUEST) — WILLIAM aif DOD, D. D. HE? 2, O3G . NEW YORK: DANIEL, DANA, Mes 381 BROADWAY. ” eek ‘A eh ; 7 A SERMON RIGHT REV. JAMES HERVEY OTEY, D. D., LL. D., BISHOP OF THE DIOCESE OF TENNESSEE. 1 : EDITED (BY REQUEST) ; Be WIELPAM A.,.DOD, D..D: ; 3 / ; wi 4 NEW YORK: DANIEL DANA, JR., 381 BROADWAY. * - Master when the love of God is shed abroad in his heart; 30 ; same in effect to deny the doctrine, or by false explana- tions to give a different meaning to those passages which assert it. In this way the personality, or at least the divinity of Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost are expunged from our creed, and it is the same as though they had never been. If this doctrine be denied, or explained away, the doctrine of the incarnation, atonement, renewal, sanctifi- cation zi; comfort by the personal operations of the Holy Ghost, fall to the ground, and all those scriptures which speak on these points and others connected with them become nugatory. In this case the gospel loses its power and commanding influence over the hearts of men, and sinks to the level of those systems of moral ethics, which the mere light of nature suggests. We might then write upon every page, Ichabod, the glory is departed. We say not these things without evidence. Look at those individuals, and at those churches, which deny the doctrine of the Trinity—Where will you find instances of sound conversion to God among them! Do they not in most instances, look upon atonement as unnecessary, and lightly treat the whole subject of Christian experience ? If motives of worldly interest do not reform the vicious, they remain unreformed, while all are taught to trust in themselves, and not in the merits of Christ for salvation. And we know how inefficient are such motives and such | preaching. Not only so, but all the real comfort and happiness of the»Christian is built upon and connected with the doc- trine of the Trinity. A view of God in Christ recon- ciled gaffords him peace, a peace which ‘* Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even, And opens in his soul a little heaven.” How firm and calm, while he is built upon ‘the Rock. of a divine Almighty Saviour! How like his divine: by the Holy Ghost given unto him! What joy he finds - flowing from the witness and fruits of the Spirit withi . 31 . him! What encouragement to persevere and to devote himself wholly to the Lord his God, when he knows that the divine Comforter will lead him into all truth and help his infirmities! When he may ask and receive in the name of his Redeemer, that his joy may be full,—and — when he is assured that whatever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ shall be granted him. Let us then, my brethren, hold fast our belief in the dota of the Trinity. Let us contend for this faith which was at first delivered unto the saints. Let us be jealous of every one who may tell us that this doctrine is too mysterious and intricate to be believed, and who would substitute a vain philosophy in its stead. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of ‘God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost be with you . Amen. a ' Nore.—The arguments in single commas, pages 24 and 25, are in substance from Jones on the Trinity. J. A. M. THE MORALITY OF THE GOSPEL, AND away OF THE WORLD. A SERMON PREACHED IN TRINITY CHURCH, BOSTON, ON ASH WENDESDAY AFTERNOON, MARCH 1, 1865, BY FRANCIS*WHARTON. BOS FON: m’ Press oF GEORGE C. RAND & AveERY, 3 CORNHILL. i a 1865. By the Will of Mr. Witxi1am Price, it is, among other things, provided that a sermon should be preached on Ash Wednesday of each year, ‘‘upon the duty, usefulness, and propriety of fasting and abstinence, or upon repentance, or faith, or hope, or charity, or Christian morality.”” The following sermon was preached under the provisions of this Will, and is addressed to the latter of the foregoing points. SERMON. *« Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deccit, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ; for in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.” — CoLoss. ii. 3. THERE are dark caverns in which the absence of light operates to distort and exaggerate every growth. Crystallization, as if in delirium, assumes the wild and fitful forms of dreams. Plants lose their natural color and shape, and become pale and monstrous. Similar to this has been the effect on the mind of the rejec- tion of the light of God. The patterns which we have set up to be followed, as well as the idols which we have created for worship, are false, morbid, and per- verted. Let it be our duty to-day to analyze these, the several forms of the ideal of the natural mind, and then compare them with the true model and _pat- tern given to us by God in the life and teaching of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. I. The idol of the natural mind igs self. Of self is erected an image which is at once a master anda model. It is not that self is conceived of as it actu- ally is. It would be crushing to selflove for any one to look at himself in the light in which he stands be- 4 THE WORLD’S MORALITY: fore the world; the small space occupied; the few expectations made good; the indifference, if not contempt, with which he is regarded by those jostling in his path. No one chooses thus to look at himself. Instead of this, an imaginary self is created to be wor- shipped, and acted out. Let us notice one or two of the ways in which this is done. The young man who looks forward to political life, for instance, views himself not as he is in fact. His failures in the politics of minor spheres; his weak- nesses and inadequacies, — these he suppresses to gaze on the ideal his ambition paints. Rivals passed by; round after round of difficulties surmounted ; popular applause ringing about him; history waiting to record his fame, — this character, eloquent, capa- ble, and, above all, admired and obeyed, is the ideal before his eye. Or take the struggler after wealth. In his imagina- tion rises the quiet counting-room, in which sits one whose touch throbs through the whole mechanism of trade, and who — exulting, it is true, in the elegance of his home, the splendor of his charities, and the re- finement of his patronage of the arts — rejoices still the more in that potent electricity which flows through his pen, enabling a few written words to sus- tain a war, or to exact a peace; to flush a country with triumph, or to palsy it in despair. Or take the future of the literary idealist. His books, bent over and admired in the remote village, as well as in the metropolis ; wealth coming in as bil- low after billow, with each succeeding edition; op- ponents silenced; rivals left behind; the height ITS FALSITY. 2 of fame reached, and reached alone, — this is the fn- ture he creates. And as this perverted nature of ours fabricates an ideal future, so it falsifies the present. The natural mind views the present only in the mirror of self-love. The rich man refuses to believe that it is money only that gives him power, but dwells with delight on mer- its to which he attributes the obeisance he receives and exacts. Even the unfortunate man conjures up imaginary wrongs and oppressions which he assumes he has suffered, and which he thinks entitle him to sympathy. In each case the imagination so arranges the accidents of life that they fall apart into avenues through which applause or support may reach sel/; by which self can be nurtured, pampered, worshipped, and others turned into subservients and pamperers. It is an ideal, which, even if successful, can only pro- duce wretchedness and woe; for he who had made all others miserable as their conqueror would at last become miserable himself, from having none left to conquer. It is an ideal which brings out the worst, and destroys the holiest, principles of our nature ; and which, through the whole course of our race, has sown grief and desolation in heart and home. II. Such is the ideal of the world. But God has been pleased to give to our fallen race another stand- ard, — that embodied in the life and character of our Saviour Jesus Christ. Let us approach this divine model with reverence, imploring aid to see it in its true light, so that, impressed with its beauty, we may seek to imitate it; impressed with the inadequacy of our 1* 6 GOSPEL MORALITY: human powers for the work, we may seek converting _ grace from above. Ist, And first, consider Christ’s lofty beneficence, as contrasted with the selfishness of human ambition. Man seeks to rise on the top of his fellows. The aim of the powerful and lordly has constantly been to press down the weak and ignoble into terraces on which the edifice of personal pre-eminence can be built. Not so with the Lord Jesus. He reversed this pro- cess, and for himself accepted a servant’s form, was born in a manger, toiled among the laborers in the work-shop, was subjected to all the coarse necessities of childhood in a working-man’s home. He might have selected as his companions the cultivated, the wealthy, and the august; but he passed these, and grouped around him fishermen, and tillers of the soil, —men poor and illiterate, —men then unable to un- derstand his sublime delicacy and grandeur, however much afterwards, from this very simplicity, they be- came capable of receiving and exhibiting the enno- bling power of his grace. He thus took the brightest diadem the universe knew, and crowned with it, not wealth and power, but labor and poverty. The ideal of man is the depression of others, as the platform on which to elevate self: the ideal of Christ is the exal- tation of all to the glorious humility of heaven. Then observe how it was as to the standard of sym- pathy and taste. Man finds his ideal in the momenta- rily fashionable and superb, and to this adulation pays — court. Yet how was it with Christ? Splendor and style held sway in his day, as well as in ours: with them he was often brought into close neighborhood ; WIDE ENOUGH FOR ALL MANKIND. T but the only consciousness we find in him of their presence is sometimes a pathetic sorrow over those whom they misled, sometimes sublime denunciation of the sins they involved. Yet in him we find at once the sweetest susceptibility to the beauties of nature, and the tenderest sympathy with the affections of man. I know nothing that shows the superhuman- ness of his life more than this, that thus he combined the sympathy with the severity of piety; a harmony which it is not within human power to compass. Alas for us! in our religion, becoming cold and as- cetic towards our fellow-men; in our worldliness, becoming unconscious of our God. 2d, Then observe the contrast as to philosophy. See (1) how this was as to the range of persons ad- dressed. Before Christ came, philosophy had been handed down from teacher to scholar as a secret for the few. Even he, who was the profoundest as well as the lowliest of heathen philosophers, — he whose wisdom the natural heart now sets up as a rival for that of the gospel, —confined his teachings to the few, to the “select.” The vulgar herd were not to receive this sacred food; they must browse forever on their own gross fancies: only those rare souls who were emanations from the Most High were to be admitted to this divine repast. But not so taught Jesus of Naz- areth. His wisdom was all-embracing. Before the creation of the world, it contemplated all times; and then, during his short and laborious ministry, he hur- ried to proclaim it to all races, classes, conditions. There was the word of warning to the rich and great; and there was the word of comfort and light to the 8 GOSPEL MORALITY: ignorant, the poor, and the obscure. “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden,” he hastened to say at the outset. “ Blessed are the meek,” “ those that mourn,” “the poor,’ —as if he sprang forward at the first impulse of his all-loving heart to bring peace to those to whom others had only brought sorrow. Cases to a refined nature the most trying; those afflicted with frenzies the most fierce, with leprosies and sores the most repulsive,—these he brooded over with all the fulness of his pathetic love ; spending among such, and among the coarse and ignorant, a large part of his time. Yet, even from his exquisite sensibilities, when is there a murmur, or shrinking from such labor? What other response than one of joy at thus beginning the gospel of comfort with those by whom comfort was most needed; of beginning it with them, to enlarge and expand until the whole world should be refined and subdued by his love? So it was that he exalted into the region of sympathy, and instruction, and ennoblement, the wretched, the obscure, and the oppressed. The world’s philosophy is aristocratic; Christ’s iscatho- lic: the world’s, dealing in symbols comprehensible only by a few; Christ’s, in symbols comprehensible by all: the world’s, operating for the distinction of a school; Christ’s, for the illumination of humanity. And observe the results. The world’s philosophy has been repulsive ; first deadening, and then sloughing off the layers of life farthest from self; corrupting, and then destroying, the remote, the oppressed, the alien: it is the philosophy of hate and ruin. But EMBRACING ALL TRUTH. 9 Christ’s philosophy, if we can call it such, is that of love, of refinement, of ennobling grace. It is the phi- losophy of comprehension and beneficence. His mis- sion has been to lift’up and bind together; it has moved on a fulerum above mankind, to restore to man that peace and that grandeur which man had de- stroyed. Man’s ideal is to concentrate eminence. whether intellectual or social, with a few, and to work those few into an aristocracy of intolerance and selfconceit; that of Christ, the inculcation, among all, of the sweetest humanities, and the widest truths, and the most catholic sympathies, our fallen race can receive. (2) Then let us go a step farther, and, passing from the range of persons addressed, take wp the thing pre- sented, contrasting here also the ideal of man and that of Christ. Select this of morals as the loftiest sub- ject on which philosophy can work, and observe how partial and fragmentary are the systems which human philosophy propounds. It would seem as if there were an inherent littleness about the mind’s natural vision, which prevents it, at any one time, from ap- prehending more than one section of God’s truth universal. Some great thinker lifts his telescope to _ the infinite skies, and views with rapture some par- ticular constellation, thus insulated by him, in its sin- gle splendor; and with the enthusiasm of genius he _ describes this to his disciples, and to this constella- tion they do homage, as if it were the whole heavens _of God. ‘Thus it is that one small dependent section | is accepted as if it were the whole; and so it has always been when man has followed the moral ideal 10 GOSPEL MORALITY: of man. Remember how it was in the time of Christ. Two schemes of philosophy had then, for genera- tions, divided the schools; the first of which, the Stoic, imposed a severe rule of right, to be inexorably fol- lowed; all pleasure to be rejected; all elegance and refinement to be repelled; only the harder and more direct duties of life to be discharged. By the other, the Epicurean, the human will was deified, and ease, and affection, and refinement made the main objects of life. The Stoic forgot the nature of man; the Epicu- rean forgot the nature of God. The Stoic shut his eyes to human weakness; the Epicurean, to divine perfection. The Stoic absorbed man’s individuality in God’s omnipotence; the Epicurean absorbed God’s omnipotence in man’s individuality. The Stoic de- strored man’s moral agency in God’s sovereignty ; the Epicurean destroyed God’s sovereignty in man’s moral agency. The one created as an ideal a per- fectly divine man; the other as an ideal a perfectly human God. Such were the two schools which di- vided ethical philosophy before the advent of Christ ; and such are the two schools that continue to divide that philosophy, when taught by men without the spirit of Christ. Each clasps one of the fwo but tresses of the bridge of eternal truth; yet by neither is the bridge of this truth spanned. Neither can com- prehend either how God is to be brought down to man, or man lifted to God. But by neither of these half truths, viewing them as thus independent, was the Lord Christ controlled. He alone united them into an harmonious whole: he alone has shown how God can be just, and yet the NOT HALF TRUTH, BUT ALL. 11 Justifier; how God’s eternal purpose and man’s moral agency can agree; how the same divine Being, at once perfect man and perfect God, can bring us to God, and bring God to us; how, as an High Priest, Christ is to bear our sins; as a human friend, to be touched with our infirmities; as an Infinite God, to prescribe our path. And then, as our pattern, he has placed before us for imitation a life exhibiting a rule of holiness more severe than ever Stoic imposed, combined with a tenderness for humanity beyond that of the purest and gentlest of the Epicureans. For he who declared that even the most secret purpose of sin should receive the judgment; who directed that no treasure should be laid up on earth, and no thought taken for the morrow, — was not only he who laid down his life as a sacrifice for us, but, when on the earth, gave the sanction of his sympathy to all that re- mains of beauty in nature or man. No Stoic heart was it that sought repose in viewing the lily spread- ing its snowy cup in the meadow; and the ripe corn swelling and whitening im the harvest; and the birds of the air, each sheltered when wheeling through its invisible path by the providence of God. Nought but humanity in its tenderest form was it that sanctified the marriage-feast ; that yearned over and blessed lit- ‘tle children, when a colder wisdom would keep them back; which provided in the sorrows of the passion for the disciples’ comfort, and in the agonies of death for a mother’s home; which wept over the grave as it blessed the wedding; and which thus grieved with the sorrows, and rejoiced in the innocent pleasures, of man, while it laid down for him a perfect standard of [2 GOSPEL MORALITY : right. Neither of these two systems of human ethics made Christ its own; but he made each of them his, cementing them in one divine whole. (3) Then observe this same catholicity in the tone in which moral truth is presented. Among the varied forms of religious temperament, none imparted its dis- tinctive hue to Christ; each he has condescended to consecrate as a means of communion with himself. It needs only a superficial survey of men to see how widely in this matter of religious temperament they differ. To some mystic contemplation, to some con- stant practical work, is essential to devotion. Some lean by nature on a splendid ritual; others are more touched by the rudest forms of spontaneous wor- ship. Some cling with absorbing tenderness to the forms of the past; others are most moved by the im- pulses of the present; others bend wistfully to the future, finding their light and radiance in the hope of the days to come. Neither of these phases of tem- perament possessed the Lord Christ; yet to each of them he appeals, and each he consecrates to himself. His was the mystic solitude on the mountain-side till the gray dawn crept over the skies, and his the com- munion of the night watches: yet his ministry was one of the homeliest, practical activity ; was one of inces- sant labor, of long foot-journeys, of cool, keen, disen- gaged attention to each want that struck his eye, of prompt and appropriate relief, of exact and equally appropriate counsel. He worshipped often under no. dome but that of heaven, and he worshipped in the Temple: he has given usa particular form of petition, of all others the most perfect in its simple comprehen- APPEALING TO EVERY TEMPERAMENT. 13 siveness ; and he set the example of the most fervid and passionate secret prayer. On the past he dwelt with the deepest tenderness ; on the law, on the proph- ets, directing his disciples’ reverence to a priesthood whose only claim was that of days gone by: yet he made the emergencies of the present his opportuni- ties, and his human nature swelled with joy at Sa- tan’s future overthrow, and the final ennoblement of the redeemed race. And so, uncontrolled by either form of human temperament, he has condescended to bless and sanctify each of them to himself. He does not destroy these peculiarities of individual nature ; he does not equalize and assimilate them in one homo- geneous type; but, visiting them as they are, he con- descends to draw each of them to himself.. Itis with him as with the portrait whose eyes meet and re- spond to the eyes of all turned to it; he looking into the souls of all who gaze on him, whoever and wher- ever they may be on the face of this wide world. He is “ CuRIst THE ConsoLER”’ to the recluse in the des- ert; to the man of business in the turmoil and strain of his every-day life; to the ecclesiastic in the cathe- dral’s splendid ceremonial; to the shepherd on the _ bleak hill; to the pioneer on the plain; to the man of _ the past, the present, and the future ; to men in all their varied conditions and estates, if they but turn to him. Sinful men in this mortal life are, and always _ will be, infinitely varied in their tastes and tempera- ments; but Christ comes as a Saviour to all; each find- _ ing harmony in him, he planting a one common, su- preme truth in each. Qualified and controlled by no form of religious temperament, he qualifies and draws 14 GOSPEL MORALITY: all to himself, — he the one sole being who ever trod the earth; who teaches not partial truth, but the whole ; who is not national, but universal; not of one time, but of all times; not one, but all; not the creature of side lights and influences, but the ons Gop-May, un- moulded by any age, country, and world, yet occu- pying all. (4) Then, again, apply this contrast to the attitude in which moral truth is to be received. Remember how feebly and partially man responds to his moral convic- tions, and how constantly he subordinates them to prevalent wrongs and prejudices of time and place. Who, even among the noblest of mortals, has not ex- hibited the corrupting influence of that vanity which welcomes praise, or that sensitiveness which recedes under censure? But follow the history of Christ, and observe how it was with him. On the one hand, we find that the multitude that desired to praise him were left for the solitude of the mountain; and won- ders were refused, when wonders were sought for the purpose of making him king. So, on the other hand, his sublime purpose was unswerved by the ha- treds and irritations of men, — by the irritations, per- haps, often most trying ; for the human heroism, which stands out serene in the public gaze, frets and quiy- ers at the annoyances of obscurity. The eagle that flinched not at the wreck of an army on the Russian snows, cowered and winced at the vexations of St. Helena. Of all the sad sides of our fallen nature, the meanness of greatness is the saddest. He who walks calmly to martyrdom loses his calmness at some petty prejudice, or annoying ignorance, among his friends ; | | | | | TEACHING LOYALTY TO THE RIGHT. 15 and the great theologian or the wise statesman, who faced danger with such brave and true brow, sullies his last days by some act of petulance among his de- pendants. But approach the Redeemer, and see how his divine majesty shows itself in little trials, as well as in great; amid the coarse and sordid misconcep- tions of his friends, as well as in the awful consumma- tion of his cross and passion. There a man unfriend- ed, and yet with the divinest gifts and endowments ; one who, with every claim on love and veneration, is a despised and rejected wanderer; one who, of the most delicate susceptibilities, is yet often weary, faint, and buffeted ; this Man, Jesus Curist, this our Lord and Saviour, meets, on the one hand, the apa- thy and desertion of his friends with patient love, and the insults of his enemies with sublime compos- ure. Ready he may be to perish at man’s hand, but never to cower to man’s wrong; omnisciently gazing on his ministry’s tragic end, yet quietly each hour discharging its humblest as well as its grandest offi- ces; arising at Gethsemane from conflicts at which even divinity shuddered, to a sublime devotion to the right which divinity alone could assume. Man’s loy- alty to the truth is that of the ignorant, vain, and fluc- tuating creature; Christ’s, that of him who is him- self at once all truth and light. (5) Then from this we may rise to consider the con- trast between the motive power to morals supplied by the world and that supplied by Christ. Man’s ideal of motive power is Jaw; Christ’s is love. Remember in comparing the two that law is, in its nature, a re- straint on the natural will; saying, “Thou shalt not do 16 GOSPEL MORALITY: that which thou dost wish, or thou shalt do that which thou wishest not.” It is, therefore, a battle and a bondage. It marshals the will’s wild power in per- petual warfare with an odious external yoke. But love is an inner energy, absorbing and uniting with itself the most secret purposes of the heart; so that the whole nature, in sweet accord, cries, “I will.” Then, again, law is superficial, and deals with ob- servances. It says, “ Perform this or that ceremony, submit to this or that outer discipline.” It tends to make religion, therefore, a superstition; to turn it to the slavish performance of rites, and the idolizing of symbols; and this with a heart unspiritual and rebellious. But love deals with the essence, and ele- vates the whole nature to the obedience and worship of God. Then law works but for the moment. Its labor is like that which placed for a day, along the desert over which the Russian empress travelled, transplanted and rootless trees, to be removed when the procession passed by; so that the next morning the landscape was as sterile and unadorned as before. Law puts up for the moment’s use, upon the sterile soil of an un- changed heart, the rootless foliage of virtue; but soon, when the occasion passes, this foliage is re- moved, or dies out. But love, though working more slowly, sows a divine growth, which draws its sup- port from the heart itself, and which continues while eternity lasts. Law cannot fit for heaven, for it only sticks the semblance of heaven’s principles on the outside; but love does fit for heaven, for it plants those principles within. Law may cage up the of- SUPPLYING THE TRUE MOTIVE. 17 fender, but it cannot change his nature. It may bring him to the scaffold, but it cannot reform his life. As it can only supply the outer appearance, so it can only repress the outer act: it has neither fetter nor axe to affect the immortal soul. But love frees not merely from sin as a tempter, but from the law as a bondage. It liberates, it ennobles, it assimilates the creature in his sympathies and desires with the all- holy God. And then, once again, law leaves the offender in despair, under the burden of unreduceable and ac- cumulating guilt. It says, “ You broke the law, and - for that these penalties are assigned;” and so on through irremediable transgression and measureless condemnation. But love says, “All this was cancelled by the cross. Christ fulfilled this law perfectly for you; Christ suffered its penalties fully for you, that you may arise and obey it for yourself.” To one op- pressed by the law’s weight there is no motive, for there is no hope of removing the sentence of con- demnation to which each day’s new transgression adds. But love gives hope and strength; and in the atonement of the Saviour, and the sureness of his grace, supplies the stimulus and the power of a new and holy life. Law immures the eternal spirit in the grave of hopeless sin; love graces it with a saint’s pardon, and wings it with a seraph’s strength, and speeds it to God’s own home. : | Having thus, brethren, shown the contrast be- tween the sinful and sin-spreading ideal of the un- converted heart, and the sublime, beneficent, and q 18 GOSPEL MORALITY: GIVEN BY GRACE. sinless model given to us in Christ Jesus, let me put two closing questions. In the first place, can you see in this character of the Redeemer any thing underneath divine power? Is not that character a miracle in itself, proving that in Jesus dwells not the meagreness of human philos- ophy, but the “fulness of God”? What think ye of Christ? What answer can there be but this: “ God- sent was Jesus of Nazareth; divinely true must have been the words he spoke”? Find in him, then, O sinner, thy Saviour; in him, O mortal, thy God! And then, finally, when you thus contrast the ideal of the natural heart and the model we thus gather from the word of God; when you see how the phi- losophy and vain deceit, and the rudiments of the world, differ from the eternal gospel of Christ; when you remember the wretchedness which is produced by the one, and the peace which flows from the other; when you see, at the same time, how impossible is the second to our unrenewed nature; how but one ever attained to it, and he the Lord Jesus; how, on the other hand, the first, this ideal of the world’s phi- losophy, is inwrought into our very essence; consider how divine must be the power by which this nature can be changed, and God’s gospel established in the heart. But “in Christ dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily ;” and in union with him by faith descends this converting power on man. ce Sk ae toads eit wi by iy Hie OE iagrced “Ts, CS a te: ‘SHOR oll eS RE Bp 2 DISCOURSE, ; COMMEMORATIVE OF THE i EV. SAMUEL MILLER, D. D., t LATE PROFESSOR IN THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY AT PRINCETON, 8 DELIVERED IN THB SECOND PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, ALBANY, SABBATH EVENING, JANUARY 27, 1850. BY WILLIAM B. SPRAGUE, D. D., MINISTER OF SAID CHURCH. a : A, ¢ { 7 > sg r¢ LIGhe eur Or PRDPEANPRE CLIREW Rf Bee worwovasa Té Weer aepoaneel SAH DOOM LEET ee Nw) 90 Torrens or aston EEMED. Oh Hee voor ‘beeen on ytnow qunailll med ,%y * Cone . ATREVUOKOM ATA IST Wie ' DAR II00 AAT MAS WOR VAIIeroR Tee eT a4 AcE 20 Ry CART) +i eos ina VAN BENTHUYSEN’S PRINT, ‘ FRAG IA inet? oi te he ha ae TO THE REVEREND PROFESSORS IN THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY AT PRINCETON, THIS DISCOURSE, DESIGNED TO TESTIFY OF THE GIFTS AND GRACES, THE EXALTED WORTH AND EMINENT USEFULNESS, OF THEIR LATE HONOURED, AND NOW LAMENTED, COLLEAGUE, IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. : . Ls wa Pyay Le " ts 4 ry Pr? | oT JO% Vera » ae ah yep te) t VCR re AV, 7 ‘ y e7 » ; a7 it 7 ot Gr sowna ne! - bic 4 Lata; wpe aba Ws ate rob ret ROBY rede ip oot j 4 7 if tari } { : é >} ; f i | J ; : a ? i . J : ig i fyejfal » apr rot batiew Re tal iee at bibnoles sed 7 d douiw tyre ; oul & tO : ervict ‘aes tio roe SLA BBW dash anwisvo earrmobiow bed Ee ihivad® aid mi oesvanq doo} od an ' ADS / ak a ar 7 >! j * »4 tot srrwiiiiiw St i Hote o Bi oe eon ® bona olw isobrvibal ure. aes anw odw — :teor od? andl) miu) ol noite #aSotre eithed 0} baniaob tnd sigioail DISCOURSE. II. KINGS II, 12. My father, my father! It was a scene of incomparable tenderness and sublimity that drew forth this pathetic and rever- ent exclamation. A man of mark, well known in all Israel, venerable for character and office, had now just accomplished his mission on the earth. The grave had waited for him, as it waits for other men; but God, by a splendid miracle, disappoint- ed it. Death, which has passed upon all men, came not upon him; for the Heavens opened, and the veteran was changed in the act of going up. Many a grateful and wondering eye was fastened upon him, as he took passage in his chariot of fire and rode majestically in the whirlwind. But there was one individual who sustained a more intimate relation to him than the rest; — who was not only his disciple, but destined to be his succes- sor in the prophetic office; who finally inherited his mantle, and with it a double portion of his 6 spirit. It seems to have been Elijah’s wish that there should be no witnesses of his glorious de- parture, other than the celestial company who had him in charge ; but Elisha, who had been divinely apprized of what was about to happen, resisted the repeated and importunate requests of his master to leave him alone, and actually stood by his side, when the Heavens bowed to receive him. Can imagination paint a more sublime or surpri- zing scene than was there exhibited! Two pro- phets, an elder and a younger, a teacher and his pupil, are holding their last conference upon earth, and anticipating the splendid termination to which a few moments will bring it; while many sons of the prophets to whom the secret has been disclosed, have stationed themselves on the distant hills to catch a glimpse of the won- derful transaction. And now the chariot of fire and the horses ef fire have appeared; and the whirlwind is there too; and Elijah has started upon his upward course, leaving nothing but his mantle and his example behind him. “My FATHER! My FATHER!’ exclaims the astonished Elisha. It was an expression of reverence; for he honoured him as not only an eminent prophet, but an eminent saint. It was an expression of gratitude; for he recognized in him a faithful friend, a wise teacher, a beneficent patron. It 7 was an expression of grief; for how could such a man be spared from Israel, when his labours were so much needed to stem the current of idolatry and corruption. The history of Elijah is not very minutely given ; and yet enough is recorded to show that he was eminently favoured in both his character and his life. He was evidently a man of superior natural powers: his movements were marked by a foree and majesty which bespeak something above the common mind. He was richly endow- ed with both the ordinary and extraordinary gifts of the Holy Spirit. He lived at a period which demanded, while it was fitted to awaken, vigorous impulses in the cause of reformation. He was not only a prophet, but an associate of prophets, and of other great and good spirits of his time. He performed services for Israel which must render his name a household word in the church throughout all generations: And last of all, when he had finished his course, he was excused from taking the common dark passage to Heaven: without feeling the death-struggle,—without cast- ing off, by the ordinary process, the garments of mortality, he became at once instinct with im- mortal life, and took his place in the alicia ranks of the glorified. 8 This exclamation of Elisha, as he gazed after his ascending master, is, I doubt not, a faithful expression of the feelings of a large portion of the church in this land, on hearing that the venerable and beloved Doctor Miller is no more. Many a useful minister whose character his instructions and example have helped to form; and many a private christian who has experienced the quick- ening and edifying influence of his labours both in the pulpit and through the press; and many a missionary who has gone to live and die on Pagan ground, to whom he used to speak words of en- couragement as well as of instruction; —aye, and many of the great and good of other nations, who never saw his face, but. have learned to venerate his character in his works ; — these, constituting an innumerable multitude, have felt or have yet to feel, the sentiment of mingled reverence and sorrow, in contemplating his de- parture. You will not, therefore, I am persuaded, think it inappropriate that I endeavour to present before you some estimate of his character and services. In doing this, though I cannot forget that I am paying. a tribute to the memory of an honoured. instructor and beloved friend, yet I am chiefly influenced by considerations not of a personal nature; particularly by the fact that he has, for almost sixty years, occupied some of the 9 highest places of influence and honour in our denomination, and has been a professor in our Theological seminary, during the whole period of its existence. I may advert too without indeli- cacy to the circumstance that the occasion that brought you and me into the sacred relation we bear to each other, was honoured by his presence and services; and the edifying counsels which he delivered to us then, still remain among us as a monument of his devotion to the best interests of the church. I have said that Elijah was eminently favoured in his life and character; and I am sure that I may, without the fear of contradiction, say the same of our venerable friend. It is not my de- sign to institute a formal parallel between the two; and yet the view which I shall necessarily be led to take of the one, can scarcely fail to remind you of some traits in the character, and some events in the history, of the other. J. Our departed father was eminently favoured in respect to original constitution and educational influences. His mind was distinguished rather for that ad- mirable harmonious blending of all the faculties, which generally secures the highest amount of usefulness, than for the striking predominance of some one quality, which often attracts more 2 : 10 notice and admiration. You could not say that he was deficient in any faculty; you could not say that he exceeded all others in any; but you could say that he exceeded most others in the symmetry and completeness of the intellectual man. His perceptions, if not remarkably quick, were remarkably clear; he hated intellectual as well as moral darkness, and knew how to distin- guish between profound investigation and the wild sallies of an ambitious and dreamy philosophy. He had a ready and retentive memory, in which were carefully treasured the results of his study and observation. He had a sound, discriminating judgment, which never leaped in the dark, and usually reached its conclusions by a legitimate process. If his imagination was not strikingly prolific, his taste was uncommonly exact; and every effort of the former was subject to the rigid control of the latter. He possessed in a high degree that admirable quality, — common sense ; which is so eminently a discerner of times and seasons, and which, even in the absence of what are usually considered the higher intellectual en- dowments, may be a security for an honourable and useful life. He had an unusually safe mind ; a mind that moved luminously, effectively, yet cautiously ;— a mind that you could trust amidst agitating and even convulsive scenes, and not be ii afraid to read the report of its opinions or deci- sions. I remember to have heard that the cele- brated Dr. Joseph Priestley was much struck with the character of his mind, while Dr. Miller was yet a very young man; and little as he sym- pathized in his views of Christian doctrine, predicted that, if his life were spared, he would attain to great eminence in his profession. But we must view the intellectual in connection with the moral, if we would do justice to the cha- racter of his mind; though it may be difficult here to draw the line between what was originally con- ferred by the Creator and what was superinduced by education or even by grace. But I think all who knew him will admit that he was constituted with a large share of benevolent feeling. Itshone in his countenance; it breathed from his lips; it found expression in his bland and kindly manner. Still he had a strong natural sense of right and wrong; and when he was deeply impressed with the idea of evil doing, he could sometimes utter himself in solemn and indignant rebuke. Though he was prudent and conciliatory in his intercourse with men, I never heard him charged, even in a whisper, with any unworthy conceal- ment; with aiming to reach his end by a design- edly circuitous or equivocal course ; with seeming to be intent on the accomplishment of one object, JOY 12 while his efforts were really directed towards an- other. Nor do I believe that he was justly charge- able with any lack of firmness, — however his christian courtesy and love of peace may have sometimes carried him to what some would regard an extreme of forbearance or lenity. His firmness certainly never degenerated into obstinacy, but ex- isted as a twin sister to that charity which think- eth no evil, and which hopeth all things; never- theless he felt his convictions strongly, and valued them highly, and adhered to them in all cases which he deemed important, with unwavering fidelity. Dr. Miller’s person, though not above the middle size, was uncommonly symmetrical and dignified. His countenance spoke in no equi- vocal language of the benignity and generosity of his spirit. His manners were the simple reflec- tion of the fine qualities of his intellect and heart, He might pass you in the street as a stranger, and yet you could not fail to recognize in him the polished gentleman. Perhaps his rigid regard to all the forms of polite society, so far as they were justified to his conscience and sense of pro- priety, gave to his manners an air of more than common precision; but there was nothing that was designed to inspire awe, or fitted to produce embarrassment. Always self-possessed and per- 18 fectly at ease, and on all suitable occasions cheerful and abounding with anecdote, he was welcome to every circle; while yet he never forgot, or suffered others to forget, the decorum that was due to his character and office. Persons of every age and profession, the oldest and the youngest, the most intelligent and the least in- formed, were edified by his wisdom, entertained by his humour, and charmed by his bland and attractive address. We must look now at these admirable devel- opments in connection with the influences by which they were mainly secured. Dr. Miller was the son of an excellent clergyman of Scotch ex- - traction, who was born and educated and ordained in Boston, but spent nearly his whole active life in the State of Delaware. His mother who was a native of Maryland, was a lady of rare accom- plishments and high moral qualities. The first unfolding of his mind, therefore, must have been under the most auspicious influences. At a suit- able age he was sent to the University of Pennsyl- vania, where he enjoyed excellent advantages, while, at the same time, he had access to the best society of Philadelphia. Having gone through the prescribed course at the University, he com- menced the study of theology under his venerable father; and subsequently, after his father’s death, Jb} 14 put himself under the instruction of the celebrated Dr. Nisbet, then President of Dickinson College, Carlisle. I need not say that, from the time he commenced his ministry, his situation in life was, in the highest degree, favourable to the culture of his various faculties. His opportunities for study, for reflection, for general improvement, were perhaps scarcely exceeded by those of any individual of his day. ‘ II. Our departed friend was greatly distin- suished by his Christian attainments. The foundation of his religious character was laid in a deep, reverential and abiding sense of the importance of divine truth. What his views of the doctrines of the gospel were, is sufficiently in- dicated by the fact that he was honestly and thoroughly a Presbyterian: he received the Con- fession of Faith in its legitimate and obvious import; while, at the same time, he regarded the Bible as the ultimate standard, and reveren- ced the former only because he thought it con- formed to the latter. Redemption by the Blood and Spirit of Christ he considered as the cardinal doctrine of Christianity, — the central point of its glory, —the leading element of its power. He studied the Bible earnestly, constantly, not mere- ly as a source of theological knowledge, but especially as a means of spiritual culture; and 15 no doubt it was under this influence chiefly, that his spiritual life became so vigorous and all his graces so mature. He possessed, in a high degree, the devotional spirit. No one could hear him pray without being struck with the humble, grateful, child-like temper that marked his supplications. There was a reverent freedom, an elevated fervour, in his approaches to the throne of grace, which showed that he was engaged in his favourite employment; and we felt that the fire which was burning so brightly in the lecture-room or the sanctuary, had been kindled in the closet. It was not necessary that one should be person- ally acquainted with his private religious habits, to feel perfectly assured that he was eminently a man of prayer; for his public devotional services proved it, as truly as the shining of Moses’ face proved that he had been on the Mount. And what he exemplified so well in his own character, he affectionately and impressively urged upon others, and especially upon his pupils. Many a student can testify that the last interview which his revered professor held with him, previous to his leaving the seminary, was concluded by his offerimg up a fervent prayer that God’s blessing might attend him in all coming time, and throughout a coming eternity. Ste 16 Dr. Miller was distinguished by a benevolen: spirit, in connection with a well diecgenme activity. I have already said that he possessed a large share of natural benevolence; but, I.refer here to that higher quality which is one of the fruits of the Spirit,. and is habitually. control- led and directed by christian principle; and, of this, I may safely say, he was a bright example. He walked constantly in the footsteps of Him who went about doing good. He watched for oppor- tunities to do good;—good to the bodies and souls of men;—good to those near at hand and to those afar off. Without very anlage niary means, he was still a liberal contributor te the various objects of christian benevolence that solicited his aid; and, in some instances, l.know that he volunteered the most unexpected and generous benefactions. His benevolence,,how- ever, did not reserve itself for signal occasions; but was manifested in his daily intercourse with society and in connexion with all the little affairs of life. Indeed he seemed always to be acting in obedience to the impulses of christian good will; and if an opportunity presented to conferinnocent pleasure, much more substantial benefit, upon any of his fellow creatures, even the humblest,— provided no paramount interest required his: at- 2) yoo aes 17 tention, he deemed it an occasion not unworthy of his consideration and his efforts. ° It was one great advantage that he possessed above many other good men, that his christian life was ordered with the strictest regard to system. His purposes of good were formed, and his means of accomplishing them arranged, so as to occasion no perplexing interference. You would often find him greatly pressed with engagements which, with his feeble health and advanced age, he searcely felt adequate to meet; but you would never find him thrown into an inextricable maze and not knowing what to do next, for want of due forethought and calculation. It was surpriz- ing to many that he accomplished so much, in various ways, in his last years: the secret of it was that he worked to the full measure of his strength and did every thing by rule. It was the natural result of his uncommon regard to system, in connection with his strict conscientiousness about even the smallest mat- ters, that he was remarkably punctual in fulfilling his engagements. He made engagements cau- tiously, and generally subjoined the condition, — “if the Lord will’; but when once made, they were as sacred asanoath. I have myself recent- ly had experience of this trait in his character in a way which has awakened at once my gratitude 3 - 4 a 2 18 and admiration. Sometime ago I had occasion to askvof him certain services which I deemed important, and a part of which none but himself could render. He answered me with his usual kindness, expressing a wish to do what I had asked, and an intention to do it if his waning strength should permit; but would not absolutely promise, lest he should disappoint me. The result was that, from time to time, as he felt able, he tasked himself to comply with my request; and one of the latest efforts of his pen was to finish what he had not dared to promise that he would even undertake. He was remarkable for self control, —for the subjection of his appetites and passions to the dictates of reason and religion. He was prover- bially temperate in all things; and during many of his latter years, from a regard to his own health as well as the influence of his example, he seru- pulously abstained from all intoxicating drinks. The passion of anger no doubt belonged to his constitution; I think I have seen it once or twice flash in his countenance; but I never heard of its blazing forth in bitter or unseemly expressions. On the other hand, I have known of his sustaining himself in dignified tranquillity, when most other good men would have been wrought into a fever of excitement; and I have heard him utter kind 19 and forgiving words, when he had been the object of marked personal indignity. An instance which I can never forget, occurred in one of my last interviews with him; in which he took special pains to give me a favourable opinion of a man who, I knew, had done him an injury ; and when I adverted to the fact, he acknowledged it, but added, — ‘‘ He was a good man notwithstanding.” In short, he was a noble example of christian magnanimity. You saw reflected in his whole life the true greatness of religion. Ill. The man whose death we lament, enjoyed unusual opportumties for doing good ; — opportuni- ties connected with both the period in which he lived and the places he was called to occupy. There are no circumstances in which you can place a truly good man, but that he will render himself, in a greater or less degree, useful. For the ruling passion of the renovated nature is to do good; and where opportunities for the indul- gence of this passion do not otherwise exist, it will itself create them, and that in spite of the most powerful opposing influences. But there are many cases in which the amount of good which an individual performs, seems to fall greatly below not only his aspirations but his capacities; and we are ready to say,—<‘ What might he not have accomplished, if he had found 7 oe - 20 the place for which his Creator fitted him?” And, on the other hand, there are cases in which we feel that a noble and sanctified mind has fallen directly into its appropriate sphere; is surrounded with influences most favourable to the develop- ment of its powers, and is cast upon a field in which its efforts will accomplish the most impor- tant results. Of this, a glance at the life of our departed friend will show that he was a striking example. He was born in the year 1769, — by a singular coincidence, a few months before his intimate and illustrious friend, the Rev. Dr.John M. Mason, and a few months after another very different and more startling character, — Napoleon Buonaparte. It was just when the political elements were combining for the storm of our revolution; and his earliest education, as well as his more ad- vanced training for active life, fell into the period in which our country was convulsed by war, and afterwards distracted by internal dissensions inci- dent to the organization of the government; —a period full of interest indeed, but most unfavoura- ble to the successful exercise of the ministry of the gospel of peace. And then again, it was just when the din of party strife had in some measure died away, and the new order of things with which Heaven had crowned our efforts, had come up, 21 that he began his professional career. While the influence of a faithful ministry was greatly needed to repair the waste of christian principle and christian feeling which the preceding years of conflict had occasioned, the comparative quietude which then prevailed, allowed the ambassador of Christ to discharge without molestation his ap- propriate duties. The grand design of the minis- try was then, as ever, to save the souls of men; but it accomplished incidentally another impor- tant end, in giving that tone and direction to public sentiment during our infancy as a nation, which should constitute the best pledge of the permanence of our institutions. That was the period also in which Protestant Christendom began to receive a fresh baptism of the Holy Ghost; in which the command to go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature began to press upon the conscience and heart of the church; in which, in our own country espe- cially, spiritual religion began to be revived, and to urge itself not upon individuals only, but upon masses, as the paramount concern. And in pro- portion as the evangelical spirit, the spirit of missions, the spirit of an enlarged and active piety, has since increased, so also have the advan- tages for effective efforts on the part of the minis- try increased, resulting from a more extended FU 22 fellowship, a more cordial and vigorous co-ope- vation. The machinery which this spirit has brought into existence, has long since become vast and complicated; and to keep it in success- ful motion has required all the wisdom and watchfulness and vigour of the church, and espe- cially of the ministry; and when its movements have nevertheless sometimes become discordant, there has been work for the greatest and best minds to restore it to harmonious action. There have been, during the period to which I refer, some most agitating and painful scenes in the church; but even this fact does not form an exception to my general remark; for these scenes have fur- nished opportunities for doing good, not merely by direct labours in the cause of reform, but by setting an example of christian forbearance and charity. Never, I may safely say, since the world began, has there been a period so fraught with fa- cilities for ministerial usefulness, as that in which our lamented friend has exercised his ministry. I may mention also the unusually long period in which he was permitted to labour. From the time that he was licensed to preach till his death was about fifty-nine years;—that is, from 1791 to 1850;—-more than double the usual active life of ministers in this country. And notwithstanding his health, during a considera- 23 ble part of this period, was by no means vigor- ous, yet, by a most careful regimen, he suc- ceeded in keeping himself almost always in a condition for labour. Even in his old age his faculties were kept bright by exercise; and until within a few weeks of his death, if you had called upon him, though he would have given you a cordial welcome, it is not improbable that you would have found him with his pen in hand, or making his preparation to meet his class. Now let us view his opportunities for useful- ness in connection with the places which he oc- cupied. Any man to whom it is given to preach the gospel to his fellow men,—no matter how humble may be the sphere of his ministrations, enjoys a precious privilege; for he has the honour of being, in a high sense, a co-worker with God, and is in the way of gathering jewels to his own immortal crown. Still it is, on some accounts, a higher privilege, to dispense the word of life to a large and intelligent congregation; because there his influence is more widely felt, inasmuch as he speaks to those who have the chief agency in moulding public sentiment and giving a tone to public morals. It was Dr. Miller’s lot to occupy such a place as this. His early and only settlement as a pastor was in the First Presbyte- rian Church in the city of New-York; which, 3/} oa 24 probably, at that time, embraced more wealth, talent and influence than any other church in our connection. In addition to this, it was the general resort of strangers; and while Congress held its sessions in that city, most of the members were accustomed to attend it. The minister of sucha congregation must of course preside at a great fountain of public influence; many of his stated hearers are among the men who give character to a city and a country; and every sermon that he preaches, falls upon the ear and tells upon the destiny of some, whom he will never meet till he meets them in the judgment. Having served here for twenty years, he was appointed to the professorship of Ecclesiastical History and Church Government in the Theolo- gical Seminary at Princeton. And great as his opportunities for usefulness were before, they were, by means of this change, rendered much greater. Though at first he had but a little band of pupils around him, yet he lived to see the number in- crease many fold; and every theological student, so far as he fulfils the design of his education, becomes a radiating point of evangelical influence. He who forms the character of the ministry, forms also the character of the church; and thus his influence pours down in an ever-widening and ever-deepening current to the end of time. What 25 an opportunity for doing good has he to whom this high interest is confided! And then the fact that he holds such a place, gives additional au- thority to his opinions and counsels and acts in all his public relations. He can scarcely open his lips without touching some spring that will vibrate, perhaps to the inmost heart of the wil- derness, perhaps to the other side of the globe. _ It is interesting to note hew the providence of God sometimes throws a great and good man into his proper place by what are often regarded accidental instrumentalities. I lately heard Dr. Miller say that he was brought to both the places which he had occupied as a minister without the least design on his own part; that he was on his way to a comparatively obscure parish on Long Island, when his labours were put in requisition by the Wall-street Church; and that his election to the professorship was as unexpected as it was unsought, and only filled him with painful anxi- ety. Thanks to that beneficent Providence which led him by a way that he knew not into places of the highest usefulness. IV. He was not less distinguished for the services he rendered than for the opportunities he enjoyed. A man may have the means of doing good to any extent, and yet may use them to little purpose; nay, he may live and die a mere + 34S” a i a 26 cumberer of the ground. Quite the reverse of this was true of him whose character we contemplate. Dr. Miller, as a preacher, certainly ranked among the best of his time. His sermons were not mere frigid essays on the one hand, nor de- clamatory harangues on the other. They were marked by the most rigid regard to method, by simple and beautiful analysis, by a perspicuous and classical style, and by a serious and impres- sive exhibition of evangelical truth. His voice was mild and pleasant rather than forcible, his utterance deliberate and distinct, his gesture appropriate but not very abundant, and his whole manner bland, affectionate and dignified. Of the degree of visible success which attended his ministry in New-York I am not informed; but I take for granted that the gospel could not be preached for a series of years as he preached it, without producing, sooner or later, important results. He contributed too not a little to elevate the character of the American pulpit; and if there were others who had a wider popularity and more control of the passions of the multitude, there were few whose pulpit productions had in them so much of weighty and well digested material, or would so well abide the test of an intelligent criticism. 27 But it was no doubt as a professor in the Theo- logical Seminary, that he gained his brightest honours, and reached his highest usefulness. In the discharge of the various duties belonging to this important trust, he was remarkable for dili- gence, punctuality and efficiency. As a lecturer he was singularly clear, natural, full of apt illus- tration, and if reasoning was required, generally cogent and convincing. His three departments were Church History, Church Government, and the Composition and Delivery of a Sermon: in each of them he showed himself a master; and if he had less vivacity of manner than some other lecturers, it was more than compensated by -the richness and variety of his matter, and the simplicity and purity of his style. His lectures on the Composition and Delivery of a Sermon, were, I doubt not, among the best that have ever been written on that subject; and as they have done much for the improvement of our American preaching already, it is to be hoped that they may do still more by being given to the world through ‘ the press. He was a most judicious critic; and those were not the least valuable of his criticisms which related to the minute details of composi- tion and public speaking. His exquisite taste instinctively detected the smallest faults, and suggested the appropriate corrections. - 28 But we can form no adequate estimate of his usefulness as a professor, without taking into ac- count the influence which he exerted upon the students by his general character and example. 1 have already spoken of his courteous and dignified bearing in society: in this respect he was a fine model for the young men; indeed he was a practical exemplification of his own inva- luable work on “ Clerical Manners and Habits;” —a work which eminently bears the peculiar characteristics of his own mind, and which few ministers can read without finding them- selves at once reproved and benefitted. But it was his moral and religious character which had the most vital bearing upon the interests of the institution. Every one felt that he was a shining example of all the christian graces; and by the general tenor of his life, as well as by his more direct efforts, he kept himself in benign and effective contact with the minds of his pupils. His own personal religion was a delightful com- pound of wisdom, purity, meekness, fortitude and love; and those who were privileged constantly to walk in the light of such an example, certainly enjoyed a most important means of moral and spiritual growth. Dr. Miller accomplished much by his labours as an author. His publications are numerous and 29 relate to a great variety of subjects, showing that he was a vigorous student and that his mind took a wide range. His first work of any considerable extent, was a “Retrospect of the Eighteenth Cen- tury,’ written in quite the early part of his minis- try: it acquired for him great reputation not only on this side of the water but in Great Britain; and it is not invidious to say, even at this day, that it is, on some accounts, among the most valuable contributions to History of which our country can boast. Several of his works were controversial ; at least were designed to defend what he regarded important truth: they are all perspicuous, logical and well considered, and have a high rank among the ablest works on the subjects of which they treat. Two or three of his larger productions are biographical, commemorating faithfully and beautifully some of the illustrious dead to whom he had been intimately allied and _ specially endeared. His work on the “ Eldership” is in great and general repute, at least throughout his own denomination; and I have no less authority than that of Dr. Chalmers for saying that it is the very best work that has been given to the church on that subject. He published a large number of occasional discourses which are worthy of a more permanent existence than, I fear, from the form in which they have appeared, they are likely to 7 30 have. I think it will be generally conceded that few, if any, of his contemporaries in the American church, have done so much by the pen to perpe- tuate their influence as himself; and if a list were to be made out of a very small number of our writers who are most known and most respected abroad, his name would undoubtedly have a pro- minent place among them. I must speak of him also asa counsellor. Here his calmness, his prudence, his sound judgment and excellent spirit and inflexible integrity, were all brought into exercise to the best advantage. In ecclesiastical judicatories he was always heard with attention and deference. His love of peace was too strong to yield to any thing but the love of truth and of God; and even when he felt con- strained to appear temporarily on the arena of party conflict, he never forgot what was due to an adversary; he may sometimes, like other men, have mistaken his duty, but he never sacrificed his courtesy or lost his temper. In the manage- ment of the more general interests of the church, especially in her benevolent operations, he bore a prominent part; and for this his familiarity with every thing pertaining to ecclesiastical rule, as well as his uncommon aptitude for business, abundantly qualified him. He was not only one of the wise men but one of the working men of 31 the denomination; for while his mind was fertile in expedients for the promotion of all that was good, he never shrunk from the labour which was requisite to carry them into effect. Estimate now, in view of these several particu- lars, the amount of service he has rendered to the church, and say whether he must not, in this respect, be ranked among the most favoured of her ministers. V. He was signally blessed in his social rela- tions. It was his privilege, during his whole life, to be able to associate every thing endearing and beautiful with the idea of home. Not only were his parents distinguished for intelligence and piety, but his brothers and sisters were worthy of their parentage and their advantages: two of his brothers were devoted to the legal, and two to the medical profession ; and though, with one excep- tion, they were cut off almost at the commence- ment of their career, yet they severally gave promise of great eminence in their respective professions, and the one who survived the longest actually attained it. And from the time that he became the head of a family himself, nothing ever seemed wanting to him that could adorn or dignify the domestic constitution. Some of his children have indeed been removed by death; 34/ 32 but he had the comforting conviction that they died in faith. The wife of his youth was spared to minister to him under the decays of age, and to witness the tranquillity and triumph of his de- parting spirit. Then if we go beyond the circle of his domes- tic relations, we shall still find him associated with the wisest and the best. Nisbet, his theo- logical instructor, was known and_ venerated equally on both sides of the Atlantic. His capa- city for acquiring knowledge, and his power of retaining it, and his facility at imparting it, to- gether with his intense devotion to labour and almost matchless wit, rendered him one of the wonders of his time. Rodgers, his colleague in the ministry, was an eminently wise and good man. He had a heart that could with equal ease kindle with devotion and melt with charity. He had been the companion of Whitefield and Davies, the Tennents and the Blairs; and the history of the Presbyterian church, from almost the earliest period, was with him a matter of personal recollec- tion, as it had been, to a great extent, a matter of personal experience. And on his accepting the professorship at Princeton, his most intimate associate was a man of whom, if it were not so unnecessary, it might yet be deemed unseasonable, to speak, inasmuch as, (thanks to God’s preserv- 33 ing goodness,) he is still waiting for his change. I may say, however, that the two have lived, during this long period, in unbroken harmony, each delighting to aid and to honour the other; and the newspapers have informed us how, the other day, the venerable survivor stood over the remains of his friend, and rendered, in a way peculiarly his own, an affecting and faithful tribute to his memory. Indeed I very lately heard Dr. Miller express his gratitude to God that, from the first establishment of the Seminary to the time when the remark was made, there had never, to his knowledge, existed, for half an hour, the least unpleasant feeling on the part of either of the professors towards any one of his colleagues. But besides the men with whom he was thus more immediately associated as a student, a pas- tor, a professor, there were a multitude of others, both in Church and in State, among the brightest ornaments in their respective spheres, with whom he was thrown into relations of various degrees of intimacy. Witherspoon and Smith and Kol- lock; the Wilsons and the Linns; Ewing and Green and Rice; Livingston, Mason, Abeel, Ro- meyn and McLeod; McWhorter, Griffin, Richards and Chester; Dwight, Morse and the elder Buck- minster,— are but a sample of the greater lights in the ministry, with whom he was more or less 5) 503 34 familiar. Many who were most honoured in civil life, such as Dickinson, Jay, Spencer, Boudinot, Rush, Hamilton, and above all, the Father of his country, were on the list of his personal friends. Indeed he has always been associated with the ablest and best men; in the early part of his life they were the great and good spirits who had mingled in the scenes of the Revolution, —not to speak of other stirring scenes of a yet earlier date; in iater years, they have been the illustrious men of a succeeding period; and at the time of his death, notwithstanding he was a man of another generation, he could probably reckon among his acquaintances as great a number of individuals distinguished for character and rank, as almost any of his contemporaries. Though he never crossed the ocean, he maintained a correspon- dence with several learned men in Europe, who duly appreciated his great attainments and his exalted character. Surely it was a high privilege that he enjoyed in being thus, throughout his whole life, the associate of men eminent for wisdom and virtue. It was a privilege to become familiar with the habits of so many great, accomplished and sanc- tified minds. Nor was it less a privilege to con- tribute his share to the common improvement ; to help mould the intellects that were active in 35 moulding his own; to be a co-worker with those who could do most and best for the benefit of the race. VI. I remark, in the last place, that Dr. Miller was eminently favoured in respect to his death, and all the circumstances preceding and attending at. The Presbyterian Church he cherished with a solicitude truly paternal. Had he died a few years before, he would have left it agitated by violent dissensions; but the storm had passed away, and even those who had been widely se- parated, had begun to feel the mutual attraction of christian love. The Theological Seminary seemed to be the home of his best affections, as it had been the scene of his untiring and protract- ed labours. Had he died a few months before, the chair which he had occupied so long, and with so much dignity and success, would have been left vacant; but before he was taken to his rest, he was privileged to know that it was filled, and by the very man whom his deliberate judg- ment not less than his warm affection would have placed in it. The inauguration of his successor, though justly hailed as a jubilee to the institution, was nevertheless invested with a sort of funereal. gloom; for while the Church was opening her arms to welcome the young professor, she knew that Jom 36 the chariot was making ready to bear the spirit of his venerable predecessor to Heaven. And his family too, —he could leave them, thanking God for the abundant favour He had shown them, and for the promise they gave of future usefulness in their various relations. And while his dying eye could thus contemplate with perfect composure the world without, there was nothing to agitate or terrify, but every thing to sustain and comfort, in a view of the world within. I do not mean that he rested upon his own inward goodness as the meritorious ground of his salvation; for he had not language strong enough to express his sense of his own unworthiness and his entire reli- ance on the Saviour’s merits; but I mean that he had the witness within to his own adoption: he had evidence of having complied with the terms of salvation, that cast out all painful apprehen- sion; in short he knew in whom he had believed, and was persuaded that He was able to keep that which he had committed to Him. It was my privilege to have a brief interview with him, but a few weeks before he received the summons to enter into the joy of his Lord. Isaw him in his study, where he had first given me his hand thirty-three years before. He was sitting in a posture designed to facilitate his labouring respiration. He received me with all his accus- 37 tomed cordiality, and the usual smile of welcome passed over his countenance, which seemed even then to be touched by the finger of death. His whole appearance was a compound of the deep solemnity that becomes the dying man, and the joyful tranquillity that becomes the dying Chris- tian. He had no breath to waste on mere worldly matters, but began immediately to talk of the good- ness of the Master whom he had served; of the great imperfection of the service he had rendered ; and of the glorious eternal home, which, through grace, he was about to enter. It is my sober conviction that I never heard such words from the lips of mortal man; and yet his spirit seemed struggling with thoughts and feelings which he had no words to express. When I intimated a wish that, if it were God’s will, he might be spared to us yet a little longer, — he replied, — “I am not conscious of having any wish on that subject. I think I can say, Blessed Master, when thou wilt, where thou wilt, as thou wilt.” I came away convinced that I had been listening to a dying man; and yet such an impression had he left upon me, that I could not think of him in connection with the grave, but only with the glorious world beyond it. Several others who — saw him about the same time, have assured me that his chamber seemed to them like a conse- 7 38 crated place, “quite on the verge of Heaven.” The venerable Dr. Janeway, who had been his intimate friend almost from early life, told me that, in a brief but most solemn interview which he had with him shortly before his death, Dr. Miller requested, before they parted, that he would kneel down by his side, that they might once more join their supplications at the throne of grace; and when he had knelt, and was just about to commence the prayer, his revered friend, with what seemed almost literally dying breath, led off in the exercise with the utmost appropri- ateness, tenderness and fervour. These incidents, it is understood, were but a specimen of what was constantly occurring during his last weeks; and when I have said that his sun went down, not only without a cloud, but in full orbed glory, I have given you an epitome of the history of his departure. And he was richly favoured not in his death only, but in his burial. His funeral was no mere matter of solemn form: it had in it every element of substantial and honourable mourning. The great and the good were drawn thither from a distance to testify their gratitude for his services and their reverence for his memory; and words of truth and tenderness were responded to in tears of sorrowful remembrance and deep affection. 39 And if there is a grave yard which the saints of all coming generations will delight to honour, — nay, at which the angels, from their reverence for redeemed dust, sometimes pause, surely it is the one in which they laid that beloved man of God ; for his companions in the slumber of the tomb, as doubtless they are also in the ecstacies of Heaven, are Burr and Edwards, Davies and Witherspoon, Smith and Green; and who shall say how many more of the wise and the venerable shall hereafter be gathered to that illustrious brotherhood? ‘I love to think that his mortal body will repose in a bed of so much honour, till, having slept out its long sleep, it shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and come forth; and in the act of coming forth, shall become incorruptible and immortal. Enough surely has been said to put it beyond all doubt that our departed friend was one of the most favoured of men; and yet we have contem- plated him hitherto only in connection with the life that he lived and the death that he died. What then shall we say of him when we remem- ber that this favoured life and death, were only the preparation for, and the entrance to, a glorious, immortal life; that the services in which he found so much delight here, were but the appropriate training for the infinitely nobler services of the higher state; that the blessings which were so i 40 profusely showered upon him here, were only the shadow of those good things to come which are treasured up in Christ to be the everlasting portion of the saints! As long as his lips could move, he kept on testifying of his Redeemer’s love and grace; but who shall describe the rapture which the same exalted theme now kindles in his soul, as he bears his part in the song of the ransomed! His mind which here scarcely knew any rest from the labour of discovering or illustrating, of vindi- cating or applying truth, is now renovated in its entire constitution, and pursues its inquiries amidst all the advantages of a residence in the third Heavens. And ere long his eye, that used to beam so benignly upon us, will open with fresh lustre from the sepulchral sleep; and his venera- ble form, which we saw at last bowed under the palsy of age, will re-appear in the vigour and bloom of perpetual youth. Here is the reward of a good and faithful servant. Here is the principle of spiritual life matured into the life eternal. Here is a perfect being passing rapidly onward from glory to glory. I acknowledge that I speak of things of which I can form but a feeble con- ception; and perhaps it were better to fall back upon that significant, yet mysterious declaration of the Apostle, — “It doth not yet appear what we shall be; but this we know, that when He 41 shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.” What an impressive view has been furnished by the character we have been contemplating, of the majesty of true religion! I do not say that religion had done its perfect work for our depart- ed friend, so long as he was in the body: doubt- less his heart, even in its last pulsations, was, ina modified sense only, a clean heart; and it was not till he had reached the connecting point between earth and Heaven, that the Spirit could smile upon his finished work, and pronounce all very good. But I do say that religion shone in his character with rare attraction; that it invigorated and elevated his intellect; that it consecrated his heart as a temple of benevolence and purity; that it made his life fruitful in deeds of magnani- mous import; that it brightened his path in the hour of sorrow; that it brought down Heaven to his death bed, and was the pillow on which he rested as he languished into life. Come, ye vo- taries of a cheerless and bewildering skepticism, some of whom would banish my Redeemer, and others my Creator, from the universe; come, ye who would expel from Christianity the supernat- ural element and thus neutralize its healing vir- tue; come, ye who are willing to tolerate religion in others, provided you can be excused from it 6 BD 42 yourselves; come, especially ye young men, for whom the infidel witling has spread his snare, and who are already walking unwarily on peri- lous ground, — come, one and all, and not only become convinced of the reality, but surrender yourselves to the power, and bow before the ma- jesty, of religion. Here is a characier that I am not afraid to submit to your scrutiny; and when you have hunted out all its imperfections, and thrown them into the light of noonday, enough of moral purity and sublimity will remain, to es- tablish, beyond a peradventure, the divinity of that religion by whose influence it was formed. You cannot be an infidel while contemplating the achievements of christian virtue, and especially while walking among the graves of the saints. Who shal] fix a limit to the influence of a great and holy man? Who shall say how much a single mind acting steadily, patiently, resolute- ly, in its appropriate sphere and through a long life, shall accomplish for the improvement and exaltation of the race? We are apt to judge of a man’s usefulness by what falls within our im- mediate horizon; we forget that, beyond the range of our vision, there may spring up innu- merable plants of righteousness from seed which his charities or prayers have wafted thither; that thousands of monuments of his beneficent acti- 43 vity may rise, on which his name shall be inscri- bed in a character that is legible only to the eye of God and of angels. Oh, if we could contem= plate the life of our lamented friend, in all its various and luminous details; could we see how, as the habit of doing good strengthened, and the means of doing good multiplied, the good influ- ences which he exerted waxed bright and pow- erful and numerous as the sun beams; could we see how one benevolent action sent joy and life in one direction, and another in an opposite di- rection, and how, like separate streams moving in circuitous courses, they have ere long met and mingled in a common tide of blessing; above all, could we behold the fruit of his long life as it will be eternally gathered in Heaven, and mark how his unostentatious labours on earth took hold of the destinies of the glorified, and even quick- ened the joys and the songs of seraphs;—I say, could we realize this sublime vision, then might we have some adequate idea of what it is for a good man to live; then should we know better how to hononr the memory of such a man after he is dead; then should we feel that the grave had not gained more than half a triumph, inas- much as he is still represented here by influences which are essentially immortal. 5S 44 My friends, the tomb has not rendered the ex- ample of our departed friend less impressive, nor has it rendered our obligation to heed it less im- perative. I would that it might come like a baptism of fire and love upon the whole church. I would that its lessons in respect to the value of christian truth and the purity of christian ordi- nances, might be written, as with the point of a diamond, on the door posts of every sanctuary. I would that it might hang as a sacred directory in every theological seminary, to lead to dili- gence, prudence, fidelity and devotion. I would that it might be as a presiding genius in all our ecclesiastical judicatories; encouraging all well directed efforts for the promotion of truth and piety, and frowning into silent shame those who would produce needless discord among brethren. I would that every minister of the gospel would press it, as a thing of life and power, to his heart; and that, in the devout study of it, he might be- come more and more a workman that needs not to be ashamed. I would that every private Chris- tian might bend over it in reverential contempla- tion, till its beautiful lineaments of heavenly grace are fully reproduced in his own character, and he realizes a new auxiliary in the labours of the christian life. Know you, every one, that the grave of God’s departed servant is preaching 45 to you; and by such a ministry can you, will you, refuse to be admonished and instructed ? There is one effect which this dispensation of Providence ought to have, — I trust will have, — upon our denomination at large;—I mean, that of awakening a yet deeper interest in our Theo- logical Seminary. The fact that it has been the immediate theatre of the labours of so large a part of such a life, conveys, of itself, no equivocal evi- dence that it is worthy of all the confidence, and more than all the support, which has hitherto been extended toit. I honour the wisdom of the Head of the Church in appointing men first to give character to that institution, to whom the mo- mentous office might be so safely and advanta- geously entrusted; and I say unhesitatingly that the debt of gratitude which the church owes to them, is second to that only which she owes to God. At no period, perhaps, since its first exist- ence, could the Seminary atford so well to mourn a professor's death as now; for not only has it, under highly favouring auspices, reached a vigo- rous maturity, but the prudence of the church in connection with the magnanimity of the now ‘departed professor,* had made provision for the *It is well known that Dr. Miller had, for some time, been desirous to resign his chair, to some younger, and as he thought, more efficient person; but it was not till the meeting of the last General Assembly that he was permitted 10 carry this desire into effect. The As- sembly, on accepting his resignation, voted the continuance of his full salary to the close of his life, but he could be persuaded to accept of only one half of it. 46 exigency, and each chair was ably and honour- ably filled, so that no part of the machinery has stood still for an hour. And besides, it was no premature departure, no striking down of a great man in the vigour of life, that has caused the mourning; but it was the very gentlest loosing of the silver cord, after the almond tree had long flourished; it was the removal to a nobler sphere, of a man, whose faculties had been exerted here to their utmost measure of time and strength, so that they needed to be re-cast for higher services in the mould of immortality. And now, as the church venerates the memory of her lamented professor, let her know that the most fitting mo- nument she can build to his honour, the most fragrant wreath she can lay upon his grave, is the liberal and faithful fostering of that institution with whose interests were identified the most important labours of his life. Let her remember that though one professor has passed into the Heavens, whither also Jesus the great forerunner has gone, others remain to be sustained and cheered by her bounty and her prayers; and that she cannot be wanting in suitable regards to the living, without offending against the memory of the dead. Let her remember especially that one venerable father still lingers there in remarkable vigour and perhaps undiminished usefulness, who 47 has himself formed a vital part of the institution from the time of its birth to the present hour; and let her thankfully appreciate his continued activity, and by every means in her power, accu- mulate benedictions upon his old age. I say again, let that School of the Prophets live in the benefactions, the prayers, the best affections of the church, “If I forget thee, let my right hand forget her cunning; if 1 do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!” In giving to the services of this evening their distinctive complexion, I have not been unmind- ful, my brethren, of the fact that this day has been sacred with us to the commemoration of a nobler life and death than that of any mere mor- tal. And yet I could not feel that it would be a violent transition to pass from the death of the Master to the death of one of his servants; espe- cially as from the shame and agony of the former sprang the peace and triumph of the latter. Has not our waiting at the cross this morning been the very best preparation for our lingering at the srave this evening? And, on the other hand, how could we better estimate the worth of our Re- deemer’s sufferings, than by closely and minutely inspecting one of the brightest gems in his Media- torial crown? Go then, Christian, under the com- bined influence of all the solemn services of this 48 day, and address yourself earnestly, cheerfully, perseveringly, to the whole circle of your duties. Hold to your mind the love of Christ, in all its matchless expressions, in all its amazing results. Hold to your mind the power of the cross, in chang- ing sinners into saints, and exalting saints above angels. Hold to your mind the transcendant beauty of a christian life, and especially the placid triumph ofa christian death. Thus will it be good for you not only that Christ has died, but that the saints die also; for while, in the blood of the former your robes will be washed and made white, in the death of the latter you may catch some quickening view of immortal glory, as the Hea- vens open to receive them, LIST OF DR. MILLER’S PUBLICATIONS. OO ees VOLUMES. — 1. A brief Retrospect of the Eighteenth Century, 2 vols. 8vo.. 1803 Ioan = 12. 13. . Letters on the Constitution and Order of the Christian Mintstry, addressed to the Members of the Presbyterian Churches in the city of New-York, 12mo........ ........ 1807 . A Continuation of Letters concerning the Constitution and Order of the Christian Ministry, being an Examination of the Strictures of the Rev. Drs. Bowden and Kemp, and the Rev. Mr. How, on the former series, 12mo.. ............ 1809. . Memoirs of the Rev. John Rogers, D. D., 8vo. .......:.... 1813. SplecteonseOns WMIATIANISIN, SVOp.c a/c o/s <2 «ex c/s 4 trae cme’ sek § Ut bee Rm et OR GE s : ¥ . he is y und pibealh te cent y see cep ye dean as dns i aure s CL Oak ty¥) emit ae Me) Teese ODEN aap eter essen dees + i. ney we Pavia ‘ tubs Hs Ga a Oey ae Gah oi 43 olwk wot SM ie at 2s) ake a os igs SERMON IN GREYFRIAR'S CHURCH, EDINBURGH, 137x MARCH 1859, A SERMON PREACHED IN GREYFRIAR’S CHURCH, EDINBURGH, 13TH MARCH 1859, ON OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF THE HONOURABLE LORD MURRAY. BY ROBERT LEE, D.D. Printed for Private Circulation. 4 ot a 4 e an | a ve J JOHN BAXTER, PRINTER, JAMES COURT, HRAD OF ; : : ' aaa " ' j . ' . . oe . TO LADY MURRAY, This Sermon, a sincere though feeble and imperfect testimony to the virtues of her late Husband, is re- spectfully and affectionately dedicated. ist Perer, i, 18-25, 18 Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeemed with corrupt- ible things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation received by- tradition from your fathers ; 19 But with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blem- ish and without spot : _ 20 Who verily was fore-ordained before the foundation of the world, but was manifest in these last times for you, 21 Who by him do believe in God that raised him up from the dead, and gaye him glory; that your faith and hope might be in God. 22 Seeing ye have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit unto unfeigned love of the brethren; sce that ye love one an- other with a pure heart fervently. 23 Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of inenerentibles by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever. 24 For all flesh zs as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away : ' 25 But the word of the Lord endureth for ever. And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you. 7 As we pass through life, the contradiction be- comes continually more painful between our ‘outer condition and our inner man, between the instinct of fixity or perpetuity and the daily increasing experience of change and de- cay. We live in the world; and as we live, our affections grow, expand, fix themselves, with 2 greater and greater strength, upon perhaps an increasing number of objects. We are taught more to love our fellow creatures by the good we discover in them, by the good they do us, and yet more, by the good we do them. Our roots fix themselves in the soil around, deeper and deeper, from year to year; and our shoots and sapplings also spring up on every side, as if to shelter us from the blast; when, — lo! we wither as the grass, we exhale as morn- ing dew, are gone, like our dreams,—“ Surely the people is grass.” And this is not confined to any set of men, or condition of society, but all go together in one indiscriminate throng,—rich and poor, good and bad, the wise and the un- wise, the infant and the patriarch, he that hath done good and he that wrought evil upon the earth,—the grand army of mortality is recruited from all these alike. ‘All flesh is grass, and all the glory of man is as the flower of the field: the grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.” Even those who doubt whether we have a gos- pel or not, surely cannot doubt whether or not 8 we need one, Observing this scene of desolation ever spreading around us, the arid desert still enclosing us more and more, we cannot but look for some refuge and deliverance, some place where we may have shelter and rest. Born of mortality, members of the family whose inheritance is sorrow, pain, disappoint- ment, and death, we cannot possibly be recon- ciled to this lot. Our hearts protest against the doom which, however inevitable, is felt not to be natural; for it neither is, nor can ever be made, congenial to our feelings. Our souls and all that is within us rise up in rebellion; and though all men have tried in vain to burst this fetter, the faith still remains that it should be burst asunder, and also the hope that it will be. This faith and hope, lying indestructible at the bottom of man’s nature, are the prophecy of a Messiah to all mankind; the whole creation —travelling and groaning under the load of vanity, the yoke of sin, the bondage of cor- ruption—hears, however indistinctly, a word which holds it up, and causes it still to endure: 4 and though we can ill interpret this vague and dark oracle, yet are we conscious that it is a word of joy and peace, that hope is in it, that somehow it is a promise of redemption. We see in it a gleam of light, a day-spring from on high, a gospel of salvation,—indeed, a divine word, preached everywhere in all ages, though we cannot tell “whence it cometh or whether it goeth.” This faith is the prophetic forerunner, preach- ing in the hearts of men the doctrine of repen- tance, going still before the face of the Lord to prepare his way,—crying with a voice that resounds through all the wide wilderness of hu- - manity, “All flesh is grass, and all its glory is as the flower of the field: surely the people is grass.” And yet the terrific thunder of that stern message melts, ere its close, into divinest music. The frightful sentence of death carries in its last words, the promise of an endless life. Even so, ** Night’s darkness deepens into rising day.” Yes, Brethren, the last words are not of despair. 5 “ Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, earth to earth,” —these sad sounds are not the very end. No; blessed be God !—putting off this mortal, laying this corruptible in the dust, we accept it with resignation, —we bow without fear to the stroke ; “being born again (to a living hope), not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever.” How deep should our thankfulness be that there is something which is abiding. While the world passeth away—while our friends and ac- quaintances die—while all that we loved and trusted and revered goes down-in rapid succes- sion to the dust—while our family circles are broken up, to be completed no more in this world—while the wise and the good fall like the rest before the inexorable mower—and while we feel in ourselves the same working of mortal- ity—how deep should be our thankfulness that there is something that does not pass away ; that there is that which remains firm amid all these agitated waves ; and that we, standing up- on that immoveable rock, may also ourselves re- 6 main unshaken by all the wild agitations and startling vicissitudes of the world. We know man ; we see what he is. “ His days are vanity, like smoke they consume away ;” he “‘withereth like the grass of the field.” “Trust not in princes nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help. His breath goeth forth; he returneth to his dust: in that very day his thoughts perish.” His designs and purposes go with him to the land of forgetfulness. But we have heard his voice who burst the bands of death ; and “by him we believe in God, that raised him from the dead, so that our faith and hope are in God.” And knowing “the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent,” we have eternal life, and areraised superiorto despair, either on account of our brethren or ourselves. We know man ; and if we knew him only, how perplexed we should be; for, admiring, loving, pitying him, we learn from him the lesson of doubt not of faith. He carries our thoughts and affections away with him into darkness, sending back no ray to hint whether he is gone,—what, where, how he is, or whether he is at all. His 7 history rather teaches despair than either faith or hope; and we ask, What after all is this per- ishing worm? Excellent, yet he dies! Know- ing much, making many discoveries, reaching, or almost reaching, to wisdom, he yet knows not to cheat the sepulchre ; all his researches and discoveries and inventions do not help him to escape what he dreads; so that he is as mortal as “the poor beetle that he treads upon.” He flatters himself that he is the image of God; what is that God whose image he is? Out of this labyrinth we should never escape unless the divinity had shone through our mortal nature in the person and history of Christ. “In him was life, and the life was the light of men.” “By him we believe in God that raised him from the dead and gave him glory, that our faith and hope might be in God.” This being so, all is well. We cannot any more doubt, fear, suspect anything. The dark clouds are rolled away from our souls; and in the light of the divine glory, shining in Christ, we see light clearly—the light that guides our steps through life—that upholds them when we 8 tread the dark valley—that cheers and assures our hearts when we see those entering whom we would willingly accompany, if it were given us —and enables us to look after them with com- fort, and even with joy. Yes, my Brethren, believing in God, what can distress us? Trusting in Him, what can we fear? If He be our God, we can want nothing. | Having him we have all, more than we can de- sire, more than we can know: we are rich beyond our wishes, happy beyond our dreams. Boundless wisdom, power, mercy, goodness, grace, and love—all that these can bestow—all that is comprehended in the fulness of God, transmuting the very evil mto good; working out of sin, sorrow, pain, death, and all the coarse and vile materials of this earth, exquisite fabrics — of heavenly quality—the garments of eternal salvation. “All things are yours, the world, and life and death, and things present, and things to come; all are yours, for ye are Christ's, and Christ is God’s.” “ By him ye believe in God.” In this faith we can live. We can look upon the great sea of life weltering around us, and 9 can feel its ups and downs without terror, or being made sick at heart by the wild confusion and terrible discord ; or dreaming that this tu- mult wants a ruler, obeys not a law. “The Lord on high is mightier than the mighty waves of the sea.” And in the same blessed faith in which we wish to live, we will study to depart; knowing that death, which subdues us, is himself subdued ; and that, though conquered, we are more than conquerors through him that loved us—that, when we die, we shall indeed be born —that our putting off the tattered garments of mortality shall be our investiture with our king- ly robes; and that the steps by which we de- scend into the sepulchre are those by which we shall mount our thrones, “to reign in life with Christ, the first born from the dead.” This, Brethren, is that word which has been spoken to us in the name of the Lord—which we have embraced, and desire to hold fast—by which we would be comforted and reassured and strengthened to do and suffer the will of God— by which also we are reconciled to the painful fact that “all flesh is grass, and all its goodliness 10 as the flower of the field.” Letit beso. Letit wither, perish, and disappear. Let its fragrance exhale—its blossom go up as dust. Life is at itsroot. It will spring again. The undying seed will shoot up in vigorous life where no canker will poison it, nor any blight fall upon it. ‘The word of the Lord endureth for ever ;” ‘‘and this is the promise he hath promised us, even eternal life.” “This is the word, which by the Gospel is preached unto you.” “Having this hope in you, you are purifying yourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and of the spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God.” Knowing and feeling daily more deeply that the flesh is your mortal part, ye are studying to mortify it, with its affections - and lusts; that these being dead, ye may be truly alive, quickened unto all holy obedience, leading’a spiritual life, dwelling in the upper regions of your being, carrying the cross in hopeful and patient strength, looking, humbly waiting, for the crown; “ not being conformed to this world,” or making other men’s notions, caprices, or vain fashions your standard, either 11 of action or judgment; being so renewed in the spirit of your mind, that ye seek to prove that which is “good,” “acceptable,” “ perfect,” ac- cording to the mind and will of God, whose work is its own wages—whose service is perfect freedom. During the fifteen years and upwards I have been minister of this parish, a great portion of the congregation, and almost the whole of the elder portion of it, has been taken away. With- in the last two or three years, particularly the last year, several persons have been called out from our assembly, whose characters were so strongly marked, whose lives had been so con- sistent, whose virtues had been so variously proved, and were so well ascertained, that, though they were most precious to us, and their society and their influence among our greatest - earthly blessings, yet their deaths also were ac- companied with every possible consolation, es- pecially by the firm conviction that our great loss was their far greater gain. Of the persons now alluded to, some appeared 12 to me to approach as closely to the standard of christian perfection as the present condition of our nature admits; and I am sure that all who knew those individuals intimately, must feel that to have seen the christian character so exhibit- ed, was one of the greatest privileges they have enjoyed in this world, and one of the best en- couragements to walk in the same steps. These events, so painful to the persons more immediately concerned, have to me also embitter- ed, in no slight degree, the cup of sorrow which Divine Providence was pleased to put into my hand: for those whom you have been called to deplore were almost all of them my intimate — friends, between whom and myself subsisted those relations of affection and confidence which naturally spring up between a pastor and his flock ; which are prompted by our best feelings, consecrated by our holiest aspirations, and which are of peculiar tenderness and strength. It would have been most pleasing to me, to commemorate those departed objects of our af- fection and reverence,—to hold them up for ad- miration and imitation. But I have hitherto 13 resisted the impulse, partly out of regard to what I knew would have been the wishes of the individuals themselves,—who desired not to emerge at death from that quiet privacy in which they had walked with God during life,— who were content to be known and approved of Him who seeth in secret, and will reward openly every one who is, however secretly, a doer of His will. I have been deterred also from the practice of preaching what are called Funeral Sermons, from having had occasion to observe the great abuses into which it is apt to degene- rate, and the inconveniency and embarrassments which it is almost certain to occasion. Nor should I have been tempted to depart from my former practice, on the present occa- sion, even by the virtues of the eminent indivi- dual who has just been taken from the midst of us, unless his public position—his intimate con- nection with almost all the great men and great events of the last half century—his long resi- dence among us—his abounding munificence, and the goodness which distinguished him in public and in private, had made his reputation 14 a public property, and caused the whole commu- nity to feel that in his death they had indeed lost a friend. That Lord Murray was an eminently kind- hearted and liberal-minded man, all the world knew. This was expressed in all his actions and words: it spoke in the tones of his voiee: it shone in his very countenance. ‘The liberality with which he contributed to works of public charity and utility is too notorious to need men- tion here: his princely munificence to particular individuals is not unknown ; but there remains over an enormous amount of generous deeds, which were hidden from the public eye, and were rendered the more valuable to the objects of them by the considerate kindness which they manifested, and the delicacy with which they were done. . And who that needed help and countenance, and was worthy of them, did not find what he needed in this fine hearted and noble minded man? The rising artist—the struggling author —the man of genius or of talents, however hum- ble his social position,—were sure to find in Lord 15 Murray a sympathizing and an effectual friend. And his benefits had no reserves; they were done with no secret understanding; they left the receiver as independent as before; no adu- lation was expected ; no flattery was acceptable. Which of his friends, whether high or low, does not recal to memory a long list of kindnesses, —spontaneously, considerately, and gracefully done,—shewing how congenial goodness was to his nature,—how habitual to him was the exer- cise of the benevolent affections, and how valu- able a possession, how great an honour, his friendship was ! While constitutionally generous, and prone to give for all charitable and philanthropic pur- poses, his was not a mere impulsive kindness. He had the strength to refuse, and he habitual- ly did refuse, whenever he was not satisfied that the object was good, or that it was his duty to aid in it. His refusal in such cases was apt to take persons by surprise who did not un- derstand the high principle which regulated his conduct, or who were ignorant that his own duty in the case was the only consideration 16 which ever entered his mind, and that the hon- our and glory of appearing in a subscription list had no charms for him: for, provided he himself was satisfied he did right, he was abso- lutely indifferent what opinion any other per- son, or all the world, might have of his doings. Benevolent feelings and munificent deeds are far less uncommon than this noble indepen- dence: the two are found combined only in the purest and noblest natures. The same just and generous disposition shewed itself in the candour and leniency of his judg- ments of othermen. He had the happy imge- nuity of detecting some good where nothing but evil appeared to common eyes,—of discovering some apology, some extenuating circumstance, —of looking at the bright side of men and their actions, if they had a bright side,—and of find- ing something to commend, where others saw matter of unmingled condemnation. His surely was “the charity which covereth a multitude of sins.” No one, I suppose, ever heard him pro- nounce a harsh censure, or utter a word that betrayed any measure of vanity, envy, spite, jealousy, or malignity. 17 The singular purity and simplicity of his cha- racter were so conspicuous, that the least ob- serving could not fail to be conscious of them ; and they made one feel that, in his society, one breathed a purer moral atmosphere than in that of ordinary men. There seemed, as it were, to exhale from him, that “ charity which is not puffed up, does not behave itself unseemly, which seeketh not her own, which rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; which believeth all things, and hopeth all things.” Consistently with this, he shewed, habitually, how superior he was, in the judgments he formed of men, both to the little vulgar and to the great. While habitually courteous and respect- ful, and honouring all men according to their several claims, he made it manifest that he val- ued them not according to what they might pos- sess, or might be called, but according to what they were ; and those who associated with him felt that both they and all others were loved and valued in no degree according to their wealth, rank, titles, or any such accidental cir- cumstances, but according to their own mental and moral qualities, 18 So genuine and true a mind could not but hold in abhorence all duplicity, pretension, and hypocrisy, especially religious hypocrisy; and rejoicing in that charity which he knew was the essence of the christian religion, as assuredly it was of his own character, he reckoned those persons guilty of a gross deception who, while zealous for particular opinions or for outward religious observances, omitted from their scheme that principle which sanctifies all acts and yivi- fies all forms; so that, without it, these, even the best of them, are as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. . Bigotry, intolerance, persecution, he regarded as the spirit of irreligion presuming to claim the honour of advancing the cause of truth and piety,—the spirit of the devil assuming the robes of an angel of light; and it was the object of all the indignation and hatred of which he was capable. Though his aversion to all pretension and dis- play prevented him talking much of the subject, yet it was well known that religious thoughts and christian aspirations were not absent from 19 his mind, especially in his latter years: and his last days shewed this more distinctly than ever had before been known, to the great consolation of those who were dearest to him, and who wit- nessed his edifying and peaceful end. Many have talked louder of patriotism, none was ever a sincerer patriot: and though he sel- dom quoted the words of Holy Scripture, what he said, and especially what he did, often brought them to the minds of others, and shewed they were not absent from his own mind. If I mis- take not, this is the way in which our Lord would have us chiefly to remember him. In short, a good man has been taken from us; so good, that ‘¢ Even his failings leaned to virtue’s side.” Some others may have had more admiration in some respects, especially from the outside throng ; but who of them all was more admired by those who observe narrowly, and judge wise- ly? Who ever left a greater blank in society ? And who, in our day, was ever followed to the grave with more love and gratitude ?— the sweet- est incense, after all, both to God and man. |. a Christianity and Civil Governmens. NR ODI OSE OS A DISCOURSE DELIVERED Of SABBATH EVENING, NOVEMBER 10, 1850. BY REV. WILLIAM ADAMS, D.D., PASTOR OF THE CENTRAL PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH: NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER, (LATE BAKER & SCRIBNER.) 145 NassaU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW. 1851. Submittamus nos tum Deo, tum aliis, tum iis qui imperium in terra gerunt: Deo quidem omni- bus de causis; alii autem aliis propter caritatis feedus ; princibus denique propter ordinem, publi- ceque discipline rationem. Gregory Nazianzen : Orat. 17. TO THE PEOPLE OF HIS PASTORAL CABE, TO Ai; READERS WHO AIM TO REGULATE THEIR LIVES BY RELIGIOUS RULES CPIENIGS AATEC PET TO EXPLAIN THE DUTIES.OF CITIZENS ACCORDING TO CHRISTIAN ETHICS, IS AFFECTIONATELY AND RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. + fi | PMS LORETA aide i. 10. erp | Yast AvOupeata 2 1 ssiut Pk vb ay | i FO yar roa ay faa vere “REV. WILLIAM ADAMS, D.D. Dear Siz :—Having listened with high gratification, to your excellent discourse on the application of Christianity to Civil Government, and feeling assured that an extensive distribution of it would be eminently useful, we take leave to request a copy of it for publication. Very respectfully and truly, Your Friends and obdt. Servts, Hiram Kertcuum. James Boorman. Bens. L. Swan. 8S. S. Howzanp. W. B. Crossy. Amory GaMaGE. Sam. M. Buatcurorp. Joun TENBROOK. Cuares A. BuLKLer. Grorce Bacon. A. R. Wetmore. Davin Leavitt. / A. FisHer. R. T. Hatnes. Norman Wuite. JosEpH B. Varmoum, Jr. H. Dwieut, Jr. F. F. Marzoury. Joun C. Batpwin. StepHen M. Cuester. James B. Tuompson. J. M, Hatstep. Freperic Butt. JoserH Hype. GENTLEMEN :—I defer to your judgment in transmitting, for your disposal, the discourse which, in terms so kind, you have requested for publication. The substance of it, as some of you ey, Saks ete 6 may remember, was preached in June, 1848; long before any discussion had arisen in this country relative to the Fugitive Slave Law. The circumstances which gave rise to it were the remarkable revolutions then in progress in Europe. It seemed to me that Christianity could not look with indifference on those uprisings of patriotism and freedom ; while her restraining power was greatly needed to prevent freedom from degenerating into anarchy. It is well known to you that when the last Revolution in France was in progress, a host of theorists made their appearance, who proposed to take advantage of that event, for re-organising society on new and peculiar principles. Of the eleven men who were hastily called to the provincial government of that country, four were the prominent leaders of a party or sect, which, with several minor distinctions, passed under the general name of Communists. The smooth roots of specula- tion, all of a sudden, brought forth the stinging nettles of political peril and trouble. Interested as is my profession in every event relating to the happiness of man, I was at some pains to procure the principal French writers whose opinions had been most active in the new order of things, and acquaint myself with the Philosophy of those movements which contemplated great changes as to Social Inequalities, Labor, Teaure of Property, Law and Government. During the last year I prepared and . delivered a series of Discourses on the application of Christianity to these social questions; under the sober conviction that the religion of the New Testament has promise of the “ life that now is as well as of that which is to come;” that it is something more ~ than a bridge to help us across the river of Death, even a light by which to journey, a hope by which to toil, a motive by which to live day by day; and that its oil is not merely for the extreme unction of the dying, but for rendering the limbs of the athlete supple and strong in the arena of present duty. When in this series of related topics the time arrived for introducing the subject of Civil Government, events had occurred in our own country which gave an unexpected interest to the subject, and a new application’ to the argument. So that while a part of the discourse’ was actually written with special reference to the changes going on jn the Old World, a part was prepared with par- : uld accrue from his administration of the state. Looking into futurity, acting for posterity as well as for themselves, they decided that the interests of the Protestant reli- gion, that the general order, stability, and happi- ness of the country required a change in the gov- ernment, and the adoption of a new succession. The action had regard beyond incidental evils to an ultimate good. The action was justified by Christian expediency, and so was one, as we be- lieve, which secured the favor and blessing of God. The same question was revolved and resolved by our fathers in their memorable struggle for inde- pendence. They were burdened with evils. They sought their removal. They petitioned, they re- monstrated. By all legal and prescribed methods they sought for relief and redress. At length the question stared them full in the face, whether, painful as it was, difficult as it was, it was not better, on the whole, for their posterity, for their country, and for the world, to forego all connection with the mother country and establish a new government for themselves.. That question was decided, thoughtfully, calmly, solemnly, prayer- fully. We believe it was decided wisely ; that it was decided in accordance with the will of God; for it was decided according to Christian expe- diency; the endurance of incidental evil for an ultimate greater and more glorious good. That same, question is to be met, answered, decided intelligently by every man, before he is justified, in resistance to government and law. I do not say 43 that the case cannot arise in which resistance is justifiable. Far am I from affirming that human laws cannot be wrong, and that we must always give to them an indiscriminate approval. But when the question of duty arises as to acquiesence or resistance, and I set myself to quadrate my con- science with the will of God, I must, in the absence of definite directions, in settling and deciding what ts right and what zs duty, take into account the consequences which follow my decision. The divine right of government is in its tendency to pub- hie happiness; and the divine right of resistance is to be inferred from the tendency of that resistance toa greater happiness than could follow acquies- ence; and until that tendency is made clear and certain, he that resisteth the power resisteth God. Both of the Revolutions from which I have drawn my illustrations derive all their, splendor from the great principle on which they rest, that the public good is the great end of government. As to the question of the constitutionality of any law; that belongs not to the department of Christian ethics.. That is a matter of simple legal and judicial decision. When the inquiry is raised, is this or that enactment legal and constitutional, we refer it to the proper tribunal for investigation. The language of the town clerk of Ephesus to the vociferous mob that would have done violence to Paul was truly sensible. “Ye ought to be quiet, and to do nothing rashly ; the law is open, and there are deputies ; let them implead one another.” Be thankful to God that, you live in a land where questions of law are not decided arbitrarily’ by the will of an individual; but in open court, with i ee 44 prescribed modes, with fair investigation, free dis- eussion, the solemn forms of justice, and where proper redress is available for all obnoxious legisla- tion. Eachand every man undertaking to decide for himself what is legal and what is obligatory is anarchy ; ruinous to man, and hateful to God. Prove yourself a Christian citizen by referring that interpretation to those whose province and duty it is to decide. That decision being given, and the law proved to be law-—-you ask again what is your duty on Christian and ethical principles, in reference to a Jaw which you dislike: I answer unhesitatingly ; obedience to Jaw, till such time as you can make it sure that the evils which that law entails so far overbalance all the good which obedience to law secures, that you are justified in resistance, for the sake of a surer, a higher, and a greater good: We do not say that the law itself may not be dis- tasteful to your sensibilities; we do not say but that you may regret the necessity of its enact- ment ; we do not forbid you to deplore the circum- stances which gave it existence ; we do not forbid you to use all proper means to substitute a law which is better ; we do not deny the right of private judg- -ment,nor the right of resistance, nor the right of revolution ; but in God’s name, we do insist, before that last right be resorted to, and as you would jus- tify your resistance on Christian principles, that you should convince yourself and convince others, that the benefits to be secured by resistance or revolu- tion, are vastly greater than any which follow acqui- esence under constitutional order and security. To this narrow point we must come at last. You 45 must not begin with natural rights and abstract rights, and push them ina blind, headstrong man- ner, in straight lines; for society is organized with a modification of our natural rights; and the ad- vantages of a well-organized and well-governed social state are secured by the sacrifice of indivi- dual interests and personal preferences; and the question is, whether this state and order of things is not better than the resolution of society into its orig- inal elements (if such a thing were possible), each in- dividual being left to assert and defend his own rights, in his own way, and by his own strength. Our Divine Lord beheld the sufferings of his countrymen under Roman oppression. Jewish taxation was farmed out in a way to occasion the Jewish nation unprecedented suffering. The Pharisees, designing to entrap him, asked whether it was lawful to pay tribute to Cesar. “ Of whom,” asked he in calmest majesty, ‘do you take tribute ; of children, or of strangers?” They say “of strangers.” Then, replied he, are the cHILDREN FREE. But he did not take his stand on this natural right and refuse the tribute. Acquiesence even in an unjust law, was better than any advantage which could be attained bya premature, inopportune, and abortive resistance. So he sent to the sea and pro- eured the coin for himself and his disciples. A beautiful illustration, we must all admit, of the great law of Christian expediency. Let the best thing be done, that can be done, in given circumstances. Certainly it is your right to eat meat, but for “meat do not destroy the work of God.” The absence of all imperfection, of all defect, is more than can be demanded of anything human. But do 46 not destroy life for the sake of remedying blind- ness, deafness, or lameness.. Do’ not demolish the temple for the sake of repairing a defect in its facade. Do not break the costly.vase because of an unseemly stain on its surface. Do not over- turn law and government to remove an incidental evil. If the evil, in your sober judgment, in your calm and religious reason, is so vast, so accumula- tive, so progressive, as to throw into shade all’ the benefits which accrue from a government adminis- tered according to charters and constitutions, the course before you is plain. The right of resistance is yours. The right of revolution is yours. But BE- WARE THAT YOU DO NOT MAKE A MISTAKE. Inter- ests too vast, too solemn, for ourselves and the world are at stake, to justify rashness. . In other matters you may trifle ; but you must not trifle here. Mis- takes elsewhere may be innocent ; but they are not innocent here. Do evils of such helpless, hopeless, overshadow- ing enormity exist in our own country, and under our own government, that resistance, the “ last re- source of the thinking and the good” is necessary ? Evils there are. But are they of such a charae- ter as to overbalance the good? Slavery is an evil. We allow no man to surpass us in our utter detestation of the system. It existed in the coun- try when our stern-souled fathers were called to frame the government. It existed by no choice ‘or fault of theirs. When deliberating as to the for- mation of a constitution they were compelled to re- cognize the existence of an evil which they deplor- ed; just asin using steel fora lever you mustallow for its natural properties, its permanent elasticity. _ 47 The good notwithstanding the evil, when that evil is unavoidable and incidental. They have transmitted to us a priceless heritage, though the evil still inheres. Would to God that it never had existed. But can we soberly, intelligently, and religiously decide that it is so great, intolerable, and incura- ble, that we are justified in defying law, tearing the constitution, revolutionizing the government ; risking the advantages enjoyed by us and our chil- dren, for the sake of its removal ? Every man, I think, will pause ere he rushes on such a decision. Circumnavigate the globe’; where do you find a government better than our own; one which better answers the ends of gov- ernment! Go to Madrid, to Vienna, to Constantino- . ple, to Rome, to Petersburgh, to Rio Janeiro, to Mexico, and be thankful for your own char- tered, free and liberal government. It is the product of long history,-of ancient events, ages of human experience. The roots of it lie back in the eventful scenes of other centuries. The scholar’s lamp, the patriot’s scaffold the mar- tyr’s cell, the Christian’s prayers, all the hopes of good men in ages past have been converging, in the sweeping current of history, to the production of these liberal yet secure institutions in which we rejoice. I see the forms of our own fathers, wise in counsel, valiant in deed, Christian in purpose, who won for us the battle, and bequeathed to us the heritage. Isee the ministers of God, whose spirits walked on every field of conflict, and whose prayers and preaching brought down the sanctions of religion to a cause which never could have triumphed had it not been good. All these come 48 thronging back, peopling the air, as if incapableof enjoying their, repose, while any. uncertainty overhangs the fruit of their sufferings and toils. I see the eyes of millions from every part of the world: turned towards us, eagerly watching the ‘great experiment of self-government, I see the exiled and the sad from every land hastening for shelter to our shores; finding liberty, home, and hope, beneath the. protection of wholesome Jaws. I see the unparalleled .blessings which Divine Providence has conferred upon us in the past, the present, and which open. before us in the future. I see a nation of freemen, stretching from state\to state, from sea to sea; free thought, free labor, free religion, a free Bible ; schools, homes and churches ; a nation involving in its success the hopes of the world. Then I turn my tearful eye: to that dark spot in our history—that great mystery of Provi- dence; but I seem to see “the stars in their courses fighting” against it’ I feel that the evil is subordinate and incidental; not primary and intentional; and comparing evil with good, the smile of gladness will shine through the tears.of my regret. I cannot, I dare not, I will not take the torch of Erostratus and apply.it to a temple which is the wonder of the world, and a glory unto God. I will wait. I will hope. I will pray. My _ faith in God bids me be calm, patient, hopeful; be- — lieving that trials will consolidate our institutions, wisdom and goodness will perfect them, and that, with God’s blessing, they will stand :for us, for our children and children’s children, a beneficent shelter and guardianship for an intelligent, industrious, con- tented, united, Christian people, to theend of time. ; { £" GOD'S OWNERSHIP OF THE SEA. "| s. , x A SERMON | PREACHED AT THE Geitral Gougregational Ohurch, | PROVIDENCE, R. I.. OCTOBER 7, 1860. BY REY. LEONARD SWAIN, D. D. Reprinted by permission, from the July Number of the Bibliotheea Socra for 1861. PROVIDENCE: PROVIDENCE PRESS COMPANY, PRINTERS. 1869. GOD’S OWNERSHIP OF THE SEA. SERMON PREACHED AT THE entyal {jongreqational {jhorch, | PROVIDENCE, R. I., OCTOBER 7, 1860. BY REY. LEONARD SWAIN, D. D. Reprinted by permission, from the July Number of the Bibliotheca Socra for 1861. ® PROVIDENCE: PROVIDENCE PRESS COMPANY, PRINTERS. 1869. SERMON. Psalm xcy, 5—‘‘ Toe Sra IS HIS, AND HE MADE IT.” The traveler who would speak of his experience in foreign lands, must begin with the sea. Espec- ially is this the ease if he would speak of his jour- ney in its religious aspects and connections. For it is through the religion of the sea that he ap- proaches those lands, and through it that he returns fromthem. God has spread this vast pavement of his temple between the hemispheres, so that he who sails to foreign shores must pay a double tribute to the Most High; for through this temple he has to carry his anticipations as he goes, and his memo- ries when he returns. Nor can the mind of the traveler be so friyolous, or the objects of his jour- ney so trivial, but that the shadows of this temple will make themselves felt upon him during the long days that he is passing beneath them on his out- ward, and then again on his homeward, way. The sea speaks for God ; and however eager the tourist may be to reach the strand that lies before him and enter upon the career of business or pleasure that awaits him, he must check his impatience during this long interval of approach, and listen to the voice with which Jehovah speaks to him as, horizon — after horizon, he moves to his purpose along the — aisles of God’s mighty tabernacle of the deep. EE God’s way is in the sea as it is in the sanctuary ; : and having so recently come from beholding it, that the roll of the ship and the roar of the waves are scarcely yet vanished from my brain, let me speak to you of it in His house to-day ; that so His works may combine with His word to teach us the lessons of His greatness, and that some strains of that vast anthem of the deep that praises God round the whole world this morning may mingle with the worship which rises to him from this sanctuary. In speaking of God’s ownership of the sea, I wish to consider, first, some of the more important material uses which he has made of it to subserve in the economy of nature and for the welfare of — the world, and then to refer to some of those more — distinctively religious elements of impression by — which it becomes the symbol of His presence and the earthly temple of His glory. It is very natural, in looking at the ocean, and in traveling over its enormous breadth, to wonder | why such an immense mass of water should haye been created. When we think that three-fourths of the entire surface of the globe are covered by its waves, it seems to us like a vast disproportion. It is a common thing, in speaking of the sea, to call it “a-waste of waters.” It seems as if it were a mere desert, incapable of being turned to any — profitable use, and as if it would have been much | | B) better were its vast hollows filled up with solid land, and its immeasurable area covered with fields and forests, waving with harvests and_ resounding with the noise of cities and the busy life of men. But this is a mistake. Instead of being an in- cumbrance or a superfluity, the sea is as essential to the life of the world as the blood is to the life of the human body. Instead of being a waste and desert, it is the thing which keeps the earth itself from becoming a waste and desert. It is the world’s fountain of life and health and beauty ; and if it were taken away, the grass would perish from the mountains, the forests would crumble on the hills, the harvests would become powder on the plains, the continents would be one vast Sahara of frost and fire, and the solid globe itself, scarred and blasted on every side, would swing in the heavens as silent and dead as on the first morning of creation. ~ 1. Water is as indespensible to all life, whether vegetable or animal, as is the air itself. From the cedar on the mountains to the lichen that clings to the wall ; from the mastodon that pastures on the forests to the animalcule that floats in the sun- beam ; from the leviathan that heaves the sea into billows to the microscopic creatures that swarm a million in a single foam-drop ; all alike depend for their existence on this single element, and must perish if it be withdrawn. But this element of water is supplied entirely by the sea. All the waters that are in the rivers, the lakes, the foun- tains, the vapors, the dew, the rain, the snow, come alike out of the ocean. It is a common impression that it is the flow of the rivers that fills the sea. It is a mistake. It is the flow of the sea that fills the rivers. The streams do not make the ocean, but the ocean makes the streams. We say that the rivers rise in the mountains and run into the sea; but the truer statement is, that the rivers rise in the sea and run to the mountains ; and that their passage thence is only their homeward jour- ney to the place from which they started. All the water of the rivers has once been in the clouds; and the clouds are but the condensation of the invisible vapor that floats in the air; and all this vapor has been lifted into the air by the heat of the sun playing upon the ocean. Most persons have no impression of the amount of water which the ocean is continually pouring into the sky, and which the sky itself is sending down in showers to refresh the earth. If they were told that there is a river above the clouds equal in size to the Mississip- pi or the Amazon; that this river is drawn up out — of the sea, more than a mile high; that it is always full of water, and that it is more than twenty-five thousand miles in length, reaching clear round the globe, they would call it a very extravagant asser- tion. And yet not only is this assertion substantial- ly true, but very much more than this is true. If all the waters in the sky were brought into one chan- nel, they would make a stream more than fifty times as large as the Mississippi or the Amazon. - How many rivers are they in the sky? Just as many as there are on the earth. If they were not first in the sky, how could they be on earth ? If it is the sky that keeps them full, then the sky must always have enough éo keep them full; that is, it must always be pouring down into them just as much as they themselves are pouring down into the sea. It is computed that the water which falls from the clouds every year, would cover the whole earth to the depth of five feet ; that is, if the earth were a leyel plain, it would spread over it an ocean of water five feet deep, reaching round the whole globe. The sky, therefore, has not only a river of water, but a whole ocean of it. And it has all come out of the sea. The sea, therefore, is the great inexhaustible fountain which is continually pouring up into the sky precisely as many streams, and as large, as all the rivers of the world are pouring into it. _ It is this which keeps the ocean at the same level from year to year. If it were not sending off into the air precisely as much as it receives from the rivers, it would be continually rising on its shores, and would finally overflow all the lands of the earth. And now if the sea is the real birthplace of the clouds and the rivers, if out of it come all the rains and dews of heaven, then instead of being a waste and an incumberance, it is a vast fountain of fruitfulmess, and the nurse and mother of all the living. Out of its mighty breasts come the re- sources that feed and support all the population of the world. All cities, nations, and continents of men, all cattle and creeping things and flying fowl, all the insect races that people the air with their million tribes innumerable, all grasses and grains that yield food for man and for beast, all flowers that brighten the earth with beauty, all trees of — the field and forest that shade the plains with their lowly drooping, or that lift their banners of glory against the sky as they march over a thousand hills —all these wait upon the sea, that they may receive their meat in due season. That which it gives them, they gather. It opens its hands, and they are filled with food. If it hides its tace, they are troubled, their breath is taken away, they die and return to their dust. Omnipresent and everywhere alike is this need and blessing of the sea. It is felt as truly in the centre of the continent, where, it may be, the rude inhabitant never heard of the ocean, as it is on the circumference of the wave-beaten shore. He is surrounded, every moment, by the presence and bounty of the sea. It is the sea that looks out upon him from every violet in his garden-bed ; from every spire of grass that drops upon his passing feet the beaded dew of the morning; from the rustling ranks of the growing corn; from the bending grain that fills the arms of the reaper ; _ from the juicy globes of gold and crimson that burn amongst the green orchard foliage; from his bursting presses, and his barns that are filled with plenty ; from the broad forehead of his cattle, and “ 9 : the rosy faces of his children ; from the cool-drop- ping well at his door; from the brook that mur- murs by its side, and the elm and spreading maple that weave their protecting branches beneath the sun, and swing their breezy shadows over his habitation. It is the sea that feeds him. It is * the sea that clothes him. It is the sea that cools him with the summer cloud, and that warms him with the blazing fires of winter. He eats the sea, he drinks the sea, he wears the sea, he plows and sows and reaps the sea, he buys and sells the sea, and makes wealth for himself and his children out of its rolling waters, though he lives a thousand leagues away from the shore, and has never looked on its crested beauty or listened to its eternal anthem. Thus the sea is not a waste and an incumbrance. Though it bears no harvests on its bosom, it yet sustains all the harvests of the world. Though a desert itself, it makes all the other wildernesses of the earth to bud and blossom as the rose. Though its own waters. are salt and wormwood, so that it cannot be tasted, it makes all the clouds of heaven to drop with sweetness, opens springs in the val- leys and rivers among the hills, and fountains in all dry places, and gives drink to all the inhabi- tants of the earth. 2. A second use of the sea is to moderate the temperature of the world. A common method of warming houses in the winter is by the use of hot water. The water, being heated in the basement, is carried by iron pipes to the remotest parts of the building, where, parting with its warmth, and becoming cooler and heavier, it flows back again to the boiler, to be heated anew, and so to pass round in the same circuit continuously. The advantage of this method is, that the heat can be carried to great distances, and in any direction, either laterally or vertically, so that apartments many hundred feet removed from the furnace, can be warmed as well as if they were close at hand. Precisely such an office Js performed by the sea in warming the distant regions of the earth. The furnace is in the tropics. The ocean is the boiler. The vertical rays of the sun pour into it a heat that is almost like fire itself. The temperature of the sea is raised to eighty-six degrees, and the water, swelling and rising in the same proportion, is compelled to seek its level by flowing off to the right and left of the equator. Flowing to the north, these waters are gathered into the Gulf Stream, which acts as a conducting pipe, three thousand miles in length, and sends them with a velocity swifter than that of the Mississippi river, and with a volume that is greater by a thou- sand fold, to spread out their treasured heat over the North Atlantic, where the winds take it up into their breath and blow it in gales of continual summer across the lands that border on the ocean. A similar current passes down the opposite side of the equator, and conveys towards the polar regions of the south a stream of heated water, 11 which is sometimes known to be sixteen hundred miles in breadth. The effect of these currents in raising the temperature of the cold climates is almost incredible. They make Great Britain and France as warm as they would otherwise be if they were fifteen or twenty degrees nearer the equator. It is computed that if the amount of heat thus spread out over the Atlantic by the single influ- ence of the Gulf Stream in one winter’s day, were concentrated upon the atmosphere of France and Great Britain, it would be sufficient to raise the temperature of these two countries from the freez- ing-point to the full heat of summer. It is also computed that the heat carried off every day from the Gulf of Mexico alone, by this agency, is “¢ sufficient to raise mountains of iron from zero to the melting point, and to keep in flow from thence a molten stream of metal greater than the waters daily discharged by the Mississippi river.” Thus a double purpose is served by these currents ; for while they convey the needed warmth to the colder regions, they bear away from the tropics that superfluous heat which, if it were allowed to remain, would render the whole line of the equator intolerable and uninhabitable. And this is not the whole of the process of mitigation. For while the warm currents of the tropics are flowing towards the poles, the cold currents of the icy latitudes are moving towards the equator. Immense trains of icebergs are borne down by these streams towards the flaming furnaces of the line, and so the fervors of the torrid zone are cooled and comforted by the frosty breath of the arctic and antaretic waters. Thus each region gives to the other what it has in excess, and receives from the other what it has in deficiency. The poles are warmed by the sun, which does not reach the poles, and the tropics are cooled by the ice which cannot be formed within the tropics. If it were not for the sea, the entire belt of the tropics would be a desert of perpetual fire, and the entire polar regions would be a desert of perpetual frost. One-third of the whole earth’s surface would be unendurable with heat, another with cold, and only the remaining third would be fit for human habitation; whereas now, under these tempering influences of the ocean, the whole width of the world, with few exceptions, is given to man for his dwelling ; and wherever he goes he finds a thousand forms of vegetable and animal life, which the same genial influence has made to wait — upon him and be subservient to him. If we praise the ingenuity of man, who breaks the cold of win- ter by artificial heat, and that, too, by inventions which are themselves but a feeble and distant copy of what Nature has done before him on an infinite- ly grander scale, how should we admire the wis- dom and goodness of Him who first set the great copy for man, and who makes the ocean itself an apparatus for storing up the heat of the vast tropi- cal furnace, and sending thus all the softness and wealth of the garnered summer to the most dis- tant quarters of the globe ! 13 3. A third important use of the sea is to be a _ perpetual source of health to the world. Without ~ it, there could be no drainage for the lands. The process of death and decay, which is continually going on in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, would soon make the whole surface of the earth one vast receptacle of corruption, whose stagnant mass would breathe a pestilence, sweeping away all the life of a continent. The winds would not purify it; for, having no place to deposit the burden, it would only accumulate in their hands, and filling their breath with its poisonous effluvia, it would make them swift ministers of death, carrying the sword of destruction into every part of the world at once. ‘The only possible drainage of the world is by water. It is as necessary for the purpose of carrying away the feculence of decay and death, as it is for the purpose of bringing in and distributing to their place the positive.materials of life. It is in this respect precisely what the blood is to the body. It not only brings what is necessary for growth and sustenance, but it takes away and discharges from the system every thing which has accomplished its office, and which, by remain- ing longerin its place, would be asource of disease and death. Its first office is simply mechanical. ‘The rains of heaven come fresh from the sea. Evaporation has emptied their hands of all previous burdens, so that their utmost powers of absorption may be ready for the new toil. Falling upon all the surface of 2 ie ae i, | oe -_ gi ee the world, and penetrating beneath as far as the process of putrefaction can reach, they dissolve all substances which decay has touched; and while a a portion of it is carried down to the roots of the trees, the grasses and the grains, there to be taken up and moulded into new forms of life, the remain- der is washed into the brooks, by them carried to the rivers, and by these conveyed to the sea, whose cayerns are vast enough to contain all the dregs of the continents, and whose various salts and chem- ical re-agents are abundantly sufficient to correct all their destructive powers, and prevent them from breathing up out of that watery sepulchre an atmos- phere of poison and of plague. Thus the sea is the scavenger of the world. Its agency is omnipresent. Its vigilance is ommi- scient. Where no sanitary committee could ever come, where no police could ever penetrate, its myriad eyes are searching, and its million hands are busy exploring all the lurking-places of decay, bearing swiftly off the dangerous sediments of life, and laying them a thousand miles away in the slimy bottom of the deep. And while all this is done with such silence and secrecy that it attracts no notice, yet the results in the aggregate are immense beyond conception. More than a thousand million tons of the sediment of the lands, mixed with this material of disease and death, is borne from either continent to the sea by the river-flow of a single summer. All the ships and railroads of the world, and all the men and animals of the world, work- TS 15 ing together upon this great sanitary toil, could not accomplish what is thus silently and easily - accomplished by the sea. And besides this mechanical process of drain- age, by which the decay of the continents is con- tinually washed from the lands and swept into the eayerns of the deep, there is another important process by which the sea itself, in its own domain, is perpetually working for the health of the world. It is set to purify the atmosphere; and so the winds, whose wings are heavy and whose breath is sick with the malaria of the lands over which they have blown, are sent out to range over these mighty pastures of the deep, to plunge and play with its rolling billows, and dip their pinions over and over in its healing waters. There they rest when they are weary, cradled into sleep on the vast swinging couch of the ocean. There they rouse themselves when they are refreshed, and, lifting its waves upon their shoulders, they dash it into spray with their hands, and hurl it backwards and forwards through a thousand leagues of sky, until their whole substance being drenched, and bathed, and washed, and winnowed, and shifted through and through by this glorious baptism, they fill their mighty lungs once more with the sweet breath of ocean, and striking their wings for the shore, go breathing health and vigor along all the fainting hosts that wait for them in mountain and forest and valley and plain, till the whole drooping continent lifts up its rejoicing face and mingles its laughter with the sea that has waked it from its fevered sleep and poured such tides of returning life through all its shrivelled arteries. Thus, both by its mechanical and its oheieal powers, is the sea set for the healing of the na- ~ tions. It veins the earth with healthful blood and feeds its nostrils with the breath of life. It clean- ses it from the corruption of its own decay, repairs the waste and weakness of its growing age, keeps its brow pure and sparkling as the sapphire sky, thrills its form with the pulse of eternal youth, and fires it with the flush of eternal beauty. 4. It may be mentioned, as a fourth office of the sea, that it is set to furnish the great natural pathways of the world. Perhaps one of the first impressions in looking upon the sea is, that it is a great barrier between the nations ; that it puts the continents much further asunder than they would otherwise be; and that thus it acts as an unsocial- izing force, hindering the intercourse of the world. The truth lies in just the opposite direction. In- stead of a barrier, the sea is a road across the bar- rier ; instead of putting the ends of the earth fur- ther apart, it brings them nearer together ; instead of being an unsocializing and an alienating force between them, it is the surest means of their ac- quaintance, and the most effectual bond of their fellowship. _ Water is indeed a treacherous element, and will not, like the solid land, bear the foot of man or the hoof of beast ; and so, when they come to its bor- 1% ee ders in river, lake, or sea, both man and beast instinctively turn back as they would from a wall of rock or a circle of fire. The sea, therefore, is to that extent a barrier, that it lays instant restraint upon human travel in its primitive method and its freest detail. It does draw a decisive boundary around a nation, and keep its main population in on every side. But this is, in itself, a blessing. For boundaries are necessary to give individuality to nations, as they are to give individuality to men. There must be an outline to their personality ; and the firmer that outline is drawn, the greater vigor of character, and the deeper intensity of life they are likely. to possess. The sea, therefore, first defines a nation to itself, fills it up with the reflu- ence and reaction of its own proper life ; and then, when it has reached a certain height and fulness, opens the door and lets it forth to find the life of other nations, and feel the brotherhood of the > world. Hence, other things being equal, the strongest nations in civilized history have always ~ been the insular or peninsular ones, like England, Italy, and Greece, which, using the sea in the be- ginning as a separation from other lands, and making it a boundary, a barrier, and a defence, haye by it been able so to compress and compact their own energies that they have, at last, become strong enough to burst the ocean barrier that sur- rounded them, and then to employ the sea itself as an arm of power to reach and subsidize the ends of the earth. For while man cannot tread the sea a with his foot, he can travel it by his hand; and when his hand becomes strong enough to lay the keel and spread the sail, and his art is cunning enough to poise the needle and map the stars of the sky, then the sea lays all its breadth beneath him, brings all the winds of heayen to his help, unlocks the gates of distant continents to his ap- proach, and pours the riches of the globe at his feet. Thus, as in so many other instances, that which was at first a hindrance, becomes at last a help and a blessing ; for the very presence of the barrier suggests, provokes, and compels that development of skill and power by which the barrier may be overcome; and when it is overcome, then that which was at first a wall to bar all further progress, becomes a path of such breadth, and permanence, and ease of tread, as could not have been con- structed by all the art and all the strength of man. Hence the ocean has been the great educator of the world. It has furnished the prime stimulus of national energy, and has determined, in the begin- ning and for all time, the paths in which all great history must run. The course of empire began on its shores, and has always kept within sight of its waters. No great nation has ever sprung up ex- cept on the sea-side, or by the banks of those great navigable rivers which are themselves but an exten- sion of thesea. Had it not been for the Mediter- ranean, the history of Egypt, of Phenecia, of Greece and Rome and Carthage, would have been 19 impossible. Had it not been for the ocean itself, had the surface of the globe been one vast unbroken continent of land, the inhabitants on its opposite sides would haye been practically as far apart as though they lived on different planets. All effec- tive communication between remote parts of the world would have been impossible, for there would haye been no highway between the nations. Only a system of railways, netting the world like the lines of latitude and longitude, could have made up for the want of the sea; and these could be fur- nished only as the latest and most wonderful result of that national development in wealth, power, and mechanical skill which is the fruit of a civilization that has already spanned the globe, and laid the resources of the world under contribution. Even with all the wealth, genius, and civilization which the world now contains, there is not a single rail- road across either of the continents ; but the broad path of the sea, that requires no building or repair- ing, has stretched between and around them ever since the creation of man. The railway is one of the last products of civilization and human skill, but a ship is one of the first; and so through all these thousands of years commerce has been mov- ing on its way, first guiding its timid prow along the shores of the nations, then pushing its keel athwart the inland seas, and finally nailing its flag to the mast and laying its adventurous course right across the main ocean. Hence the sea has divided the lands only at last to bring them more closely together. It has made the nations strangers for a time, only to bring them at length into a more in- timate and helpful fellowship. The world has become acquainted with itself much more speedily and thoroughly than it could have done had it been all dry land ; and so the wide channels of the deep have been but the needful spaces on which the vital forces of all the lands might meet and mix in one, and from which, as from a central heart, they might send the pulse of their mingled life beating steadily around the globe. : And what is true of the whole world in this re- spect, is equally true of each separate division of the earth. How much more rapidly was our own land explored and settled; how much more easily is it held and wielded by the civilized life that now occupies it, than would have been possible without the ocean border which girds it, and the gulfs and bays and lakes and mighty streams, which are them- selves the children of the sea, and which carry the ocean paths for thousands of miles inland, even to the very base of the central mountains! How long would it have taken for all the civilization of the world combined to open such roads of entrance into the depths of this continent, as are furnished by the great chain of lakes which the sea has thrown, like a necklace, around our northern bor- der, and by that equally stupendous river which it has sent up to meet them from the Gulf of Mexico on the south? By means of these great natural pathways, which God’s hand had opened, the most ee hhh interior recesses of the country could be penetrated at once; so that while the land was yet an un- broken wilderness, hundreds of years before plank roads and railways could have pushed the westward wave of civilization over the Alleghany hills, these great liquid roads which the sea had builded, were stretching their silver pavements for a thousand miles on eyery side, ready to convey the explorer or the emigrant from the ocean to the mountains, and from the mountains to the ocean, and to pour into the inmost heart of the continent the floating | commerce of the world. 5. A fifth office of the sea is to furnish an inex- haustible storehouse of power for the world. The two greatest available powers known to man, are those of running water and steam ; and both these come out of the sea; the former being the mere mechanical weight of the rivers falling from the uplands to the ocean, and returning to it the treas- ures which they have received from it through the sky, and the latter being the expansive force of water under the application of heat. And as these two are the greatest, so they are the most enduring powers ; they will last until the rains cease to fall | from the clouds, until the forests are hewn from | the mountains, and the treasures of coal are all dug | from the depths of the earth. Of the three great departments of labor which occupy the material industry of the race—agricul- ture, commerce, and manufactures—we have seen how the first two depend on the ocean, the one for 22 the rains which support all vegetable life, the other for the thousand paths on which its fleets are travel- ing. We now find that the third one also, though at first appearing to have no very intimate connec- tion with the ocean, does, in fact, owe to it almost the whole of its efficiency. Ninety-nine hundredths of all the mechanical power now at work in the world is furnished by the water-wheel and the steam-engine. Ninety-nine hundredths, therefore, of all the manufacture of the world is wrought by the sea. The ocean is not that idle creature which - it seems, with its vast and lazy length stretched between the continents, with its huge bulk sleep- ing along the shore, or tumbling in aimless fury from pole to pole. It is a giant, who leaves his oozy bed and comes up upon the land to spend his strength in the service of man. With power enough to carry off the gates of the continents, and to dash the pillars of the globe in pieces, he allows his captors to chain him in prisons of stone and iron, to bind his shoulders to the wheel, and set him to grind the food of the nations and weave the garments of the world. The mighty shaft which that wheel turns, runs out into all the lands ; and geared and belted to that center of power, ten thousand times ten thousand clanking engines roll their cylinders, and ply their hammers, and drive their million shuttles, till the solid planet shakes with the concussion, and the sky itself is deafened with the roar. It is the sea that keeps all your mills and factories in motion. It is the sea that spins your thread and weaves your cloth. It is the sea that cuts your iron bars like wax, rolls them out into paper thinness, or piles them up in the solid shaft strong enough to be the pivot of a revolving planet. It is the sea that tunnels the mountain and bores the mine, and lifts the coal from its sunless depths and the ore from its rocky bed. It is the sea that lays the iron track, that builds the iron horse, that fills his nostrils with fiery breath, and sends his tireless hoofs thundering across the longitudes. It is the sea that fashions the leviathan ship, forges its thousand plates, drives its million bolts, pushes its reluctant bulk from the stocks, like a floating island broken from the main- land, and sends it from shore to shore, a nation on its decks, a continent in its sides, and the arms of ten thousand Titans heaving the vast machinery in its bosom. In short, it is the power of the sea which is doing for man all those mightiest works that would be else impossible. It is by this that he is to level the mountains, to tame the wilderness, to subdue the continents, to throw his pathways around the globe, and make his nearest approaches to omnipresence and omnipotence. If the ocean were to be dried up, the right arm of his power would be withered; the wheels of all progress would stop, and the wave of civilization would in- stantly roll back a whole century. No earthly force or combination of forces now known could supply a ten-thousandth part of the deficiency. Man’s greatest strength lies in that weakest of all known substances—water. The sinews of the world are laid in the sea, and the tides and billows — of its ever restless surface are but the swell and play of those mighty muscles that could tear the continents from their roots and hurl the mountains: from one pole to the other. . 6. PEGs t ) MISS ELIZABETH BOND. BY JOHN G. PALFREY. ba " t ¥- = ¥ ‘ | mere BOSTON: NATHAN HALE, 14 WATER STREET. ? “1833. 2% ‘ turn 3 At the Regular Meeting of the Standing Committee of the Church in Brat- tle Square, in Boston, holden Tuesday evening, Dec. 3d, 1833: Vorzp,—That this Committee, sensibly affected by the dispensation of Divine Providence in removing by death one of the younger members of the Society, return their thanks to the Reverend Professor PALFREY for the appropriate notice which he took of the melancholy event, in his Sermon delivered on Lord’s day, December 1st,—and in the belief that his im- provement of this distressing bereavement should be eA a the benefit of the Society, do respectfully request of him a copy of his ermon for the press. wd Serie A true copy from the Records. : eee ' Attest—Ivers J. Austin, Clerk. / ; {iree. “efebtye Oh eee vial erry “ye Tae: ety tht i> STS Be is Sh me ae mere {ime devod) Melnmoeo re of beevee te eee Se Te. » a pie, alts SERMON. JOHN XVII. 4. = HAVE GLORIFIED THEE ON THE EARTH. I HAVE FINISHED THE WORK WHICH THOU GAVEST ME TO DO. OF course, no other being upon earth can use this language, with a like fulness of meaning to what was conveyed in it byour Lord. ‘The difference between its force, as employed by him and by others, must needs be two-fold. The work, appointed by his Fa- ther to be done by him, immeasurably exceeded in importance every work which is committed by the same universal Disposer to other hands; and he did his prescribed task thoroughly, while others, who the nearest approach him, at best leave some deficiency and imperfection in the accomplishment of theirs.— But still the aim to be contemplated by each and every one of us,—the object for which God made us to live, and the object for which we should desire to live,—is exactly described in the same terms,—the finishing of the work, greater or less, which God has appointed to us respectively to do; and in that sense of the words in which they have close interest for us, we shall, in the divine estimation, be held to have fin- ished that work which we have heartily desired, and strenuously endeavoured to accomplish, though not all es sere JA)”, + the results at which we had been aiming should prove to be achieved. And then as to defective accomplishment of our prescribed task in life, it has not that connexion which it may be hastily imagined to have, with a longer or shorter duration of life. By one whose years God: has lengthened out, the work of a long life is the work appointed by him to be done. ‘That of a short life, is the work which he has assigned to one recalled | in childhood or in youth. If death separates a young friend from me, | may mourn his loss greatly on other accounts, but not because time has been denied him to complete his task. For his time was the very measure of his task. I cannot deplore him as having been privileged in this respect less than others, I cannot admit the idea of any life, in an exact way of speaking, being prematurely closed. , Opportunity is the eternal limit of responsibleness. “She hath done what she could,” the language of our Lord’s commendation of Mary, embodies the majestic spir- it of the requisitions of his Gospel; and the fair form which I lay in the earth in the glory of its spring promise, is as ripe for heavenly honours, if the brief allotted season have been used as well,—as that which has come down to its resting-place bending under the venerable decrepitude of a hundred win- ters. Having my reflections naturally directed to the subject, by an event of the week, which has made a great impression on the minds, and touched a deep chord in the hearts of not a few of us here present, young, and middle aged, and old,—l am going, my ty friends, to present a few thoughts relating to: the place of duty assigned by providence, in its universab distribution of reascnable and useful service, to young persons of the more retired sex;—the task which God their Maker sent them here to do ;—the work, which God thei Judge will look to them to finish before they proceed to those of maturer life, or are arrested, should such be their lot, on its threshold. I know, that happily the responsibilities and dignity of the season of youth are generally better estimated and more urgently pressed, in our times, than they have been used to being heretofore. But do there yet remain no lingering traces of that somewhat ar- rogant manly assumption, that, as to men are com- mitted. the most prominent trusts of society, the minds which are destined to that service are to be the great object of the philanthropist’s and patriot’s care? I care not to strike that balance, if I might. What concerns the individual for time and eternity, is, that his own work, whatever it be and of what- ever relative consideration, be well performed ; and what interests the whole is, not that one or another sphere of duty be ascertained to be of primary ac- count, but that every sphere be well filled, each sev- eral relation conscientiously sustained ; and sure I am that that, to which I invite your attention, is perceived at once to have a rank in the social system, which there is no need to resort to disparaging comparisons to establish or to set forth. When we speak of the duties of any specified age or other condition, it is of course not any such gen- eral obligations that we mean to enforce,—belonging 6 alike to all conditions,—as those of cultivating and developing in all conduct the spirit of christian self control, benevolence, and devotion ; but simply of the manner in which christian principles are to be applied and manifested in the distinguishing occasions of the condition in question.—I observe then, first, that, in the common course of things, the work given toa young female to do, is the blessed one of a good daughter.—A good daughter !—there are other min- istries of love more conspicuous than hers, but none in which a gentler, lovelier spirit dwells, and none to which the heart’s warm requitals more joyfully respond.— There is no such thing as a comparative estimate of a parent’s affection for one or another child. There is little which he needs to covet, to whom the treasure of a good child has been given. But a son’s occupations and pleasures carry him more abroad, and he lives more among temptations, which hardly permit the affection, that is following him per- haps over half the globe, to be wholly unmingled with anxiety, till the time when he comes to relin- quish the shelter of his father’s roof for one of his own. While a good daughter is the steady light of her parent’s house. Her idea is indissolubly con- nected with that of his happy fireside. She is his morning sun-light, and his evening star. The grace, and vivacity, and tenderness of her sex have their place in the mighty sway which she holds over, his spirit. The lessonsof recorded wisdom which he reads with her eyes, come to his mind with a new charm as they blend with the beloved melody of her voice. He scarcely knows weariness which her song does Sle 7 not make him forget, or gloom which is proof against the young brightness of her smile. She is the pride and ornament of his hospitality, and the gentle nurse of his sickness, and the constant agent in those name- less, numberless acts of kindness, which one chiefly cares to have rendered because they are unpretending but all-expressive proofs of love. And then what a cheerful sharer is she, and what an able lightener of a mother’s cares! what an ever present delight and triumph to a mother’s affection! Oh how little do those daughters know of the power which God has committed to them, and the happiness God would have them enjoy, who do not, every time that a parent’s eye rests on them, bring rapture to a parent’s heart. A true love will almost certa‘nly always greet their approaching steps. ‘That they will hardly alienate. But their ambition should be not to have it a love merely, which feelings implanted by nature excite, but one made intense, and overflowing, by approba- tion of worthy conduct; and she is strangely blind to her own happiness, as well as undutiful to them to whom she owes the most, in whom the perpetual ap- peals of parental disinterestedness do not call forth the prompt and full echo of filial devotion. A sister’s duties, secondly, belong to the place in life of which I speak ; and in the daily communica- tions of domestic society, what a blessing is a sister’s friendship, when it assumes its appropriate charac- ter, experienced to be. How much is constantly within her power, of all that goes to make home a happy place to those who are oljects, with her, of the same parental care. As they advance together, 3 from infancy to their places of separate service, how much of the promise which others put forth, of the enjoyment which others experience and impart, of the docility which they manifest, and the improve- ment which they make, depends on the influence which goes forth from her. How large and cher- ished a place does a good sister’s love always hold in the grateful memory, with which one who has been blessed with the benefits of this relation, looks. back to the home of his childhood. How many are there, who, in the changes of maturer life, have found a sister’s love, for themselves and others dearer than themselves, their ready and adequate resource. With what a sense of security is confidence reposed in a good sister, and with what assurance that it will be uprightly and considerately given, is her counsel sought. How intimate is the friendship between such sisters, not widely separated im age from one another. Whata reliance for warning, excitement, and sympathy, has each secured ineach. How many are the brothers, to whom, when thrown into circum- stances of temptation, the thought of a sister’s puri- ty has been as a constant holy presence, rebuking every licentious thought. 1 suppose that among se- curing influences exerted from external sources upon the minds of young men, there is scarcely any to which more importance demands to be attached, than to their sense of the worth of a sister’s esteem, their desire of gratifying her fond ambition for them, the sentiments of delicacy, which are inspired in her so- ciety, the taste for other improving society, which is there made to grow up, and the facilities for it which 9 “she is able to afford. Unpretending to authority, and incapable of coercion, a sister’s mild influence has all the greater power to soften the harshness of a rude character, and to check the excesses of ad- venturous or passionate impetuosity. And her unas- suming example to the younger members of a house- hold,—the example of a somewhat more discreet and experienced equal, with interests the same as their own, and feelings and views not so dissimilar as those of parents are liable to be supposed, with con- stant opportunities to insinuate easily her views of duty, and recommend them by minute but acceptable kindnesses,—possesses a power over those younger minds which is all but absolute. No! let not any of my young hearers, who are sisters, dream that they can be acting on a light responsibility. A serious charge has been given them, and serious considera- tion becomes them how they shall fulfil the trust. I might go on to speak of the duties belonging to the relation of friendship, as having a place among those of that class of persons to which these remarks refer; and certain it is that, in favorable instances, that sentiment is known to subsist between them in extraordinary constancy, purity, and warmth, and to produce, in respect to character, a vast amount of mutually beneficial results. But the duties of friend- ship between such parties are in no respect different from what they are in other instances, nor do any pe- culiar considerations belong to the case, adding to, or qualifying the statement, that a person of the class in question, like other pe sons, in being a good friend, makes excellent use of christian principles, 2 . = ae ek. on feel 10 and becomes a great benefactor.—I proceed therefore to speak of duties of the same class, belonging to them, in a wider relation, that of members of socie- ty. And here the great consideration is one, which I thank God many of them do not overlook, though possibly some of their number, as well as some who are not of their number, may. While other persons are members of society for mutual improvement and service, they are not members of it merely for their own pleasure and display. God forbid that they should be, or should be thought to be. No! let them seek with a reasonable, and that too they will find the most successful aim, to invest themselves with that peculiar attractiveness which God has made to be- long to their age and sex. It is right and becoming that they should do so. But let them not mean- while forget that they are exposed, and short-lived, and intelligent, and immortal, and accountable be- ings as much as any of the rest of us; that, as much as any of us, they have solemn duties to do, and souls, formed for happiness or misery, to save. I do not think, that I am liable here to be misunderstood, as if | were an undiscriminating ranter against the pleasures of society. There are few things, which for myself I like better. The pleasures of society, rightly sought and profited by, are the pleasures /of taste, and intellect, and benevolence, and these are noble parts and prerogatives of our nature. No! as much grace, and ease, and accomplishment, and fas- cination even, as you will,—the more the better, provided better things are not sacrificed in their at- tainment or use;—and I do not find that they have i i Pe 11 -commonly the least of them, who have the most of what, taken for their basis, gives them a substantial worth. But let not any, if any such there should ever be, who allow fops and not men or women ‘of sense to have the excitement and direction of their feeble and worthless ambition,—whose most serious comparison of opinions is with their dress-maker,— let not any such suppose that they are finishing the work which providence has given to them to do. Providence has dealt more kindly with them. What reason have they to think it so averse as to have condemned them alone to such a deplorable condition of unprofitableness ? No! if others are bound tobe rational, and thoughtful, and useful,—if others are invited to be happy, so are they. If others are able to go into society to improve and purify while they grace it, so, with the proper pains, are they in their measure,—and their measure is an ample one ; for the very attractions, the sense of which, if they are light-minded, may bewilder them,—give them a vast power to influence the tastes, and sentiments, and characters of the other sex. Here is a trust of very serious magnitude. The moral influence, which by favor of the interest it excites, the female mind, duly enlightened and conscientious, may exert in a com- munity over those whose characters are fixing, and who are presently to have the direction of its affairs, is altogether beyond estimation. Does the . task, again, appointed to others, comprehend duties of good neighborhood and charity, and services to the faith of Christ in various forms of good word or work, as op- portunity permits or guides, so does the task. ap- 12 pointed to them. That is all an error, which they have sometimes seemed to assume for truth, They have no mark set upon them as incapable and worth- less exempts from honorable and happy duty. But, on the contrary, in devotion to it, they become pecu-» liarly efficient and blessed agents of the divine good- ness, and they find for themselves the happiness, which, sought in any other path, will prove a phan- tom, forever flitting before their vision, and ware: their grasp. It is plain that the remarks, which I have been mak- ing, would be irrelevant in the connexion in which | introduced them, if I did not conceive that the lead- ing traits of the character, of which a feeble sketch has been given, were to be recognized in the young per- son whose recent departure has called forth such an uncommon expression of public feeling, im tokens of cordial respect for her memory, and sympathy with her afflicted friends. If I present an example to the imitation of others similarly circumstanced, as I freely profess to have been doing, it is not in the way of presuming that it may have been faultless. I never knew one which was so,—and if we must wait till we could find such an one, all the benefit of such im- pulse as example is capable of affording, would be lost. Nor do I undertake to single out this as more complete than others. Far be the arrogance of such a discrimination from me. The belief that there were many such would be a very grateful one. But to cause an example to be produced to the best advantage, it must be conspicuous as well as worthy. It would be to less purpose for me to adduce it, however ex- > ‘een + —-—,. 13 cellent and admirable, had it been witnessed only by myself or a few whom | was addressing, leaving the accuracy of the representation to be taken upon trust. But I have felt called upon to present it with distinct- ness, because it by no means often happens that the character of a young woman, possessing that delicate modesty without which the example would be wanting ina chief grace, is, through favouring circumstances, known and estimated by so many ; and the very in- teresting event of the first inroad made by death upon the number of those who are carrying on that excel- lent work of christian usefulness, the management of our Sunday School, demands its own special notice. There are very many volumes which contain much less meaning than the single sentence, which records that a young spirit, after beautifully finishing the work of a daughter, sister, friend, and christian benefactor, has gone to its reward ; and the bright image of the course which has been run, demands to be held up to close and steady view, before, in any memory which recognizes the likeness, time shall have obscur- ed any of its lines.* We naturally give the name of a mystery to the early removal of one, before whom life seemed all to lie a sunny scene of enjoyment, christian duty, and genuine honor. And certainly the greatest of all mysteries would it be, if, inthe providence of him who * What was written of the sermon ends here. When I was desired by the Society’s Committee to print it, my remembrance of the concluding part was imperfect. I have recovered the train of remark as well as I could, making a connexion wherever I could not recollect what had been used. >.s” pe fe ora ee a ,. 14 has all worlds for the sphere of his administration and al] ages for the development of his plans, events did not occur, which refused to reveal their reasons of infinite wisdom and love to us who ‘are but of yes- terday, and know nothing.” But upon the else dark paths of God’s government, the light of his word, ac- quainting us with the principles of that government, has been made to shine; and as often as we have ob- served a happy consequence to follow upon any of the gloomiest of his appointments, we have detected one reason, for which, in his parental goodness, he suffered them to befall. ‘The Father of Spirits “doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men,” but “for their profit,”—and the profit, let us add, of all who witness and feel for their grief,—‘ that. they may be partakers of his holiness.” “By the sadness of the countenance, the heart is made better,” and the sadness which is made to overspread many coun- tenances, is meant to sanctify many hearts. ‘‘ None of us liveth to himself,” and if dispensations, which fill our breasts with sofrow, have at the same time the effect of extensively impressing profitable lessons of truth and duty, then we have found a use for which a good God designed them. ‘No man dieth to himself.” And when we call to mind that the more important and valued the life which has been closed, and the more unlooked for the fatal blow, the stronger too has been the feeling called forth, and the impression made the more extensive, serious, and im- proving,—when we perceive, that what we, have called the mysterious dealing of the divine Arbiter with one, is capable of such a relation to the bestin- 15 terests of numbers, we can no longer say that we are without a clue to the elucidation of his purposes. I trust, my hearers, that there are those of us who mtend thus far to qualify the meaning, with which we call that under our notice, an inscrutable event. I trust we do not intend to allow the true feeling, which to-day possesses us, to begin and end in fruit- less sorrow, or natural sympathy. Children of this society! I should do great violence to my own feel- ings, as well as appear insensible, which it is impos- sible that I should be, to the special interest of the occasion, if I did not try to say, ina few friendly words, how affectingly it addresses you. Fifteen years ago, when i came hither, our sister was a little playful child, with a character as much in its ele- ment,—at all events, as little tried,—as that of almost any of yourselves ;—and now she has gone down in her youth to an honored grave, and the tears which have been rained over that grave, were tears of proud and satisfied affection; and as, from one spring to another, the steps of mourners will turn towards it, their hearts will swell with a grateful blessing to God, that the image, which always dwells freshly there, is the image of a life well devoted to life’s best objects. For that it is, and nothing else, which has given so profound an interest to so brief and uneventful a history. That it is, which gave to a life so short, a termination which you have seen to be so lamented ;—that it is, which gives to the memory of that life the place of affectionate venera- tion, which you have found to be held by it in many hearts. The tribute is not to the possession of ad- al ‘qh pee © a , : ad wes ae 16 vantages, im possessing which, the departed was dis- tinguished from any of you, but simply to christian excellence exhibited in her, which all/ef you may emulate. She was thus prized, and is thus mourn- ed, because she was a good child; a good sister; a good friend, in one sense to those who: were privi- leged by her intimacy, and in another, to all whom she could serve ; and she was all these, because she was a good christian. It was the loveliness of the spirit of the Gospel of Jesus, which shone out in her life, and is a halo around her blessed memory. Be- eause she could say, “I fear the Lord from my youth,” therefore it now remains to be said of her, with such a strong conviction of extraordinary appro- priateness in the words, that she “Ne’er knew joy, but friendship might divide, Nor gave her parents pain, but when she died.” You, too, my young friends, desire to make the hap- piness of those to whom you are dear while you live, and to leave them consolation when you die, if, in the reversal of what we call the order of nature, they should come to need such a resource. There is one way, in which you can accomplish that wish. It is by walking in that path of religious wisdom, which is for yourselves too, the only path of pleasantness and peace. It is by cultivating that fear of God, which to the youngest is the simple beginning of wisdom, and to the oldest, its consummation and crown, as the truly wise uniformly own. ft Parents! it cannot be but that, reflecting on our relation, we sometimes think of the need, which, in an 17 one or the other form, we must sooner or later expe- rience ; either the need, summoned to resign the ob- jects of our love, of some support under: that be- reavement, or else,—leaving them ourselves to the chances of the world—of an assurance that their lives, when we are no longer near to guide them, will be worthy and happy lives. That cénsolation or secu- rity, whichever the need may prove, it belongs to us to be even now providing ; and—true in our exertions to the greatness of the object,—we are able, with God’s blessing, richly to provide it. The provision will cost pains, but it will reward them. Rear up our children “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord,”—teach them in all things to “ remember their Creator in the days of their youth,”—and then we shall find availing comforts present with us after the bitter moment when we have closed their eyes, or shall commend them without anxiety to the blessing of him, whom we have served together, in the last prayer which breaks the silence of our own chamber of death. The young persons of this congregation, who mourn a greatly valued associate, in that excellent office of religious instruction to which I have referred, and others who have sympathized with her in the persuasion, that happiness is to be found in christian duty, true honor in christian usefulness, perceive themselves to be addressed with a peculiarly touching notice of the necessity of that religious preparation for life or death, at which they are aiming; and they feel with peculiar sensibility the attractiveness of that eminent example of the religious character in 3 18 youth, which, lately before them in active and happy life, they are henceforward to contemplate only in respectful memory. Those of you, my friends, who have communed with the departed, in counsels, prayers; and efforts for the building up of Christ’s kingdom in those minds of which he himself said, ' “of such is the kingdom of heaven,” grateful, as 1 am sure you are, for the privileges of that commu- nion, and for those of its influences upon yourselves, which no separation from one another, of those whom it has united, can destroy, will own yourselves to be strongly called on, by this sad proof of the insecurity of earthly hopes, to secure seasonably and amply that better part, which never can be taken away from you. And all, I trust, who have been growing’ up together here from infancy, till they have come to step upon the threshold of active life, will be prompted to ask themselves the question, whether, while some have, through these all-important years, been walk- ing “in wisdom, redeeming the time,” the same js to be said of them; whether the influences, under which the services of this place of their united devotions, combined with other agencies in the providence and grace of God, should have brought them, have been and are in action on their hearts. Has your course, too,—let me be permitted to inquire of each young hearer, whose steps here have been side by side with the departed,—has your course too been such, in these precious years, as to entitle you in some degree, to the testimony of conscience, that you have finished the work given you thus far to do? You have had the same time, which has been so profitably 2. fr 19 used. Have you, too, been mindful to employ it well? If so, greatly happy are you in the enjoyment of that reflection. If not, happy are you, that your day and means of grace are not yet withdrawn; and be conjured not to delay an hour to put them to the indispensable uses of repentance for the past, and resolutions of a new life for the future. Citizens of this community! greatly blessed are you, rich cause have you for gratitude to God, that you live and bring up your children where the sense of the worth of youthful excellence, and the standard of youthful character, are so high; where truly estimable qualities in the young are what above all things attract esteem and consideration, and the loss of one eminently their possessor, is feelingly owned to be a public calamity. Such sentiments are not more honorable to their object, than auspicious to the best good of those who entertain them. Assured- ly, my friends, there is no care by which you can more promote the common good, than by endeav- ours to maintain this sense of character among the young, as far as it is already correct and high, and to advance it to astill further justness and elevation. “‘T have finished the work thou hast given me to do.” Yes! in one sense the work is finished. Morning will rise and evening gather its shadows over that new made grave, but the one will not dis- turb, and the other will not compose the peaceful sleeper. Evening will no longer send her from the happy fireside to the quiet slumbers of an unburdened conscience. Morning will not call her back to the tasks of filial, sisterly, and Christian love. But how YF. ‘ * 5 - 20 iW ais ten cate speak we of the work of a good life being finished ? She of whom we have used the words, now looks back upon what we call death, and knows it to be only, to use the language of a kindred spirit, “ an in- cident in life.” Earth has no mounds to confine the soul. The sentence is, that ‘‘ the dust shall return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return to God who gave it.” ‘The spirit has already gone to higher, more unembarrassed, more intense, more joyful life. The voice, which, on the wings of its soul-harmony, has so often lifted our devotions here to the sphere to which it seemed to belong, is already, we trust, lend- ing its rich and volumed sweetness to swell the an- themof the redeemed ‘I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me ;—Blessed are the dead. which die in the Lord. Yea, saith the spirit, for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.” “They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb, who is in the midst of the throne, shall lead them unto living fountains of waters, and God shall wipe away all tears. from their eyes.” SERMON ON THE NATURE AND INFLUENCE OF FAITE | By LEONARD WOODS, D. D. Abbot Professor of Christian Theology in the Theo]. Seminary, Andover. ANDOVER: PRINTED BY FLAGG AND GOULD. 1826. Pps; fat ene fat ivi; Rsat if SERMON, Hebrews x1. 1. NOW FAITH IS THE SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR, THE é EVIDENCE OF THINGS NOT SEEN. Axrnovex the nature of faith seems to be very simple and obvious, and the language of the inspired writers respecting it very intelligible ; there is perhaps no subject, which has been more perplexing to the minds of men, or on which they have entertained more obscure and erroneous conceptions. This is indeed a deplorable fact; and before entering on my princi- pal subject, I wish, as far as I am able, satisfactorily to account for it ; which I shall attempt to do by the following considerations. 1. The objects of faith are remote from the province of our senses. Our earliest attention is directed to the present world. We form a habit of looking at the things which are seen. To this habit we are led, as the creatures of sense. When there- fore we attempt to get right views of faith, we are under the necessity of casting off the dominion of our early habits ;. of counteracting the influence of things temporal; of breaking away from the enchantments of sense, and turning the current of our thoughts and feelings into a new channel. No person, - who has in earnest attempted this, needs to be told with what difficulties it is attended. 2. Another thing, which renders it difficult for us to get clear and operative views of faith, is, that the language which +t describes it has been so often heard and spoken by us, without any correspondent conceptions or feelings. ‘This custom of - speaking or hearing the words of inspiration, and of Christiari piety, without the conceptions which those words ought to ex- cite, creates a new difficulty. For whenever that language is repeated, the mind is apt to lie in the same listless state, as for- merly. We find it hard to bring ourselves to attend in earnest to a subject, which has often passed before us without exciting attention. 3. It is still more to the purpose to observe, that such is the nature of faith, that it cannot be rightly apprehended, without be- ing experienced and felt. Christian faith does not consist chief- ly in a speculative discernment of external objects. It is, in a great measure, a matter of affection. But how can an affection be properly known, except by those who have been the subjects of it? And even as to real believers, faith exists in them in so low a degree, that they are exposed to something of the same difficulty. For how can they form lucid conceptions of that, which operates in their own minds so feebly, that it is hardly visible P—But . 4. It is most of all important to observe, that right appre- hensions of faith are prevented, and mistaken apprehensions oc- casioned, by the prevalence of passions opposed to faith. The corrupt affections of the heart render us blind to spiritual, holy objects. ‘They not only prevent us from exercising faith, but make us averse to perceive what it is; because such perception would lead to self-reproof and self-condemnation. In this ease, it is eminently true, that the natural man discerneth not the things of the Spirit ; for they are foolishness to him ; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned. And just so far as sinful affection prevails in Christians, it hinders spiri- tual discernment as réally, as in the impenitent. Such causes as these are sufficient to account for the ob- 5 scure and erroneous views, which are commonly entertained of faith, and for the peculiar difficulty which attends all our efforts to make it well understood. After these preliminary observations, permit me to call your attention directly to the subject introduced by the text. Faith as the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I shall avail myself particularly of this text, and of the chapter which contains it, in executing my present design ; which is, to wlustrate the nature and practical influence of faith. The brief description here given of faith is this. Jt is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The original word, vnoozaovs, rendered substance, primarily sig- nifies a pillar or basis, on which any thing is firmly supported, so that it cannot be moved aside or fall. Nearly allied to this is the metaphorical sense ; that is, firm trust, or confidence, a cer- tain, unshaken hope, or expectation, on which, as a basis, the mind rests and is supported. Faith is as full a persuasion of those things which God has revealed, as can in other things be pro- duced by the evidence of our senses. It gives present subsis- tence and reality to the objects of hope. Faith is also the evidence of things not seen. Itis, as edeyyos, the original word, signifies, a proof or demonstration made by certain evidence. Or rather, as it is here used, it is the effect produced in the mind by evidence; the full persuasion which results from the most satisfactory proof. You will perceive that the faith here spoken of, respects not only the future good, which is made known by the promises of God, and is the proper object of hope, but other invisible things, even things past, which God has in one way or another made known to us. It is remarkable, that the very first instance of faith, here mentioned by the Apostle, relates to past events. Through faith we understand that the worlds were made by the word of God. 6 The foundation of faith is the moral perfection of God, par- ticularly his veracity. The understanding of God is infinite ; therefore he cannot mistake. God is infinitely holy and good ; and therefore he cannot lie. In the exercise of faith, we fix our eye upon a Being of absolute perfection. Whatever such a Being declares, we know must be truth. In this general view, faith seems to have as real a concern with the manifestations which God makes in his works, as with the declarations of his word. When we observe the works of God in creation and providence, we believe that the manifestations he there makes, and the instructions he gives, are true. We know that a Being of perfect moral excellence will no more deceive us by the as- pect of his countenance, or by the motion of his hand, or by the characters which his finger inscribes on his works, than oy the words which he utters. It is evident that the foundation of religious faith is vastly more sure, than human belief in any other instance. ~Does our belief rest on the opinion or the testimony of man? Man may be mistaken, or may deceive. Does it rest on the deductions of reason? ‘Those deductions may be fallacious. But the word of the Lorp is infallible truth; and so it becomes the foundation of the most confident faith. The foundation of religious faith, I have said, must be the word of God. It must be a declaration, for the truth of which the honor of God is pledged. This declaration may, howev- er, be conveyed to us by human testimony. For example; we are informed by John Baptist, and by the Apostles, that God uttered a voice from heaven, saying, this is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased. This declaration is the subject of re- ligious faith, because, by means of credible witnesses, we come to know that it was the declaration of God. Having satisfacto- ry evidence that God declared this truth, we believe it on the ground of his veracity. In whatever way a declaration of God ~ 7 is conveyed to us, our faith in it rests ultimately upon his verac- ity. This would be perfectly obvious, if we should ourselves hear. the divine declaration; that is, if the divine declaration should be conveyed to us through the medium of our own sen- ses. And why not, if the same declaration is conveyed to us through the undoubted testimony of others? In both cases, we are first satisfied that God made the declaration. We then be- lieve it. with a faith which rests on his veracity. Suppose we become acquainted with a doctrine declared by Socrates, Au- gustine, or Newton. It is what a man declares ; a man not di- vinely inspired ; a man, not God. Now do we believe it, be- cause it is declared by such an one? No. .We look for other evidence. But looking for other evidence shows, that we have not perfect confidence in him who makes the declaration. As the word of God, or the veracity of God in his word, is the ultimate ground of religious faith ; so the word of God, or divine revelation, is ¢he rule of faith. If in any respect whatever we believe differently from the word of God; we depart from ‘the rule, and our faith is, in that respect, erroneous. If we be- lieve less than what God reveals, our faith is defective ; if more, it has a faulty redundance. The only way to have our faith right, is to conform wt exactly to the rule of God’s word ; taking care, first, to understand the rule correctly, that our faith may not bend to the one side or the other; secondly, to understand it fully, that our faith may not fall short ; thirdly, to restrain the lofty aspirings of reason, and the surmises of curiosity, and to be entirely content with the rule, so that our faith may not over- leap its bounds. Before,we touch upon the moral tendency, or the practical influence of faith, it is of material importance to observe, that it implies a right temper of heart ; in other words, that it implies affections correspondent to the nature of its various objects. | It is generally the manner of Scripture expressly to désignate the 8 particular external action, or the action of the understanding, which is required, and that only, upon the reasonable supposition of its being always attended with suitable feelings. ‘Intelligent creatures, possessed, as we are, of a moral nature, must under- stand, that moral affection is to accompany every act of obedi- ence, and that without it, no act of obedience can be accepta-. ble to him, who is the Searcher and Sovereign of the heart. To require the action is, by manifest implication, to require a corresponding state of the heart. And when the action is recorded as having been performed, it is understood that the heart accompanied it. God requires us to call upon his name. This, considered literally and simply, is an outward act,—an outward act merely. But this is not the sense in which it is re- quired. It is required, as an expression of the heart; the heart being understood not only to agree with the devout words ut- tered by the voice, but to prompt those words. So when the Evangelist gives an account of the great farth of the centurion, he simply relates his words and external actions. Every body understands, without being expressly informed, that those words and actions were indicative of correspondent feelings. Unless understood in this manner, the narrative amounts to nothing. The principle I have laid down is obviously applicable to every thing, which is spoken of in Scripture, as a matter of mor- al obligation ; every thing which relates to man, as a moral agent. If the obligation respects him, as a moral agent; then the per- formance of the duty required includes the action of the whole man, so far as he is of a moral nature. For example; God says to us, “hear my word ;” hear it. But the duty enjoined is not hearing with the ear merely, the heart being disobedient ; but hearing with a right disposition, and right conduct. Again. Christ requires us fo receive the sacramental bread and wine im remembrance of him. But merely the outward act of recewing and the exercise of memory do not constitute the duty enjoined. 9 The outward act and the exercise of “memory must be accom- panied with affections suitable to the nature of what is commem- orated. So all Christians understand it. So every thing of the kind must be understood. And while we have conscience and moral affection, and remember that we are under a moral gov- ernment, we certainly shall so understand it, whether we are expressly told that we must, or not. I repeat the position, as of primary importance, that when- ever faith is spoken of as a moral virtue, or with regard to its moral influence, we must consider it, as implying affections of heart correspondent to the nature of those objects which it respects. Such affections must accompany it, and make a part of it, et, in the Scripture sense, it is not faith. When I say that faith implies affections corresponding with its various objects, it is the same as saying, that faith assumes a character according to the nature of its particular objects. If it relates to an object great and awful, it is accompanied with rev- erence and awe ; if to an object that is amiable, it is accompa- nied with love; if to a future or absent good, with desire; if to something hateful, with abhorrence ; if to something injurious or dreadful, with fear or dread. Thus faith may be said to re- vere, to love, to desire, to hate, or to dread, just according to the nature of its particular object. We shall now proceed to consider the practical influence of faith. And before we have done, I think it will be apparent, not only that the influence of faith is very great, but that it re- sults directly from the peculiar nature, which hasnow been rep- resented as belonging to it. In the word of God we find the most important effects at- tributed to faxth. It is represented as having an efficacy, which moves all the springs of action, and controls the whole man. Now a little consideration must satisfy us, that it is perfectly suit- (9) “~ 10 ed to produce this mighty effect. For, in truth, what is there in the universe, suited to influence the mind or control the ac- tions of man, which does not belong to faith. ‘Those things which God has made known in his word, and which are the ob- jects of faith, are of the highest conceivable moment. Indeed they have an importance infinitely above our: comprehension. God has set before us a great and endless good to be obtained ; a great and endless evil to be avoided. And he has set these before us in all the forms, which are adapted to rouse the affec- tions and the efforts of man. Do any of you say, that the end- less good and the endless evil which God has revealed, come not under our observation; and. then ask, how the existence of such things can certainly be known? My answer is, Thus saith the Lord. This is the best of all evidence. Other things may deceive me. But God cannot lie. I am sure what He says is truth. Or do you say, that the things which God has declared in his word, being invisible and distant, cannot excite any strong emotion, or any powerful effort? This, I admit, is true with regard to those who are governed by sense. But it is the very nature of faith to give an uncontrollable efficacy to objects invisible and distant. All must allow that the things’ which God has revealed must have a mighty influence upon us, if they were actually visible and present. To faith they are vis- ible. To faith they are present too. Faith removes the dis- tance ; and makes them present realities. So that things which are not seen, and things which are to take place thousands of ages hence, excite the same emotions, and have the same prac- tical influence, as though they were actually visible, and actually present. In the exercise of faith, we say of unseen and future things ; they are absolutely certain, because God has declared them. They are equally interesting to us, asif they were pres- ent; for they will be present; and we shall experience them and feel them, when happiness will be as dear to us, and misery 11 as dreadful, as they are now. They deserve our regard, there- fore, just as though they were present. So that, if the glorious excellencies of God, and the employments and pleasures of heaven are sufficient to move the hearts and govern the actions of saints and angels who are now there, they are sufficient to move and govern us. If the transactions of the judgment day, if the glorious appearing of the Lord from heaven, the assembling of the universe before him, the disclosure of the secrets of all hearts, the final sentence, the blessedness of the righteous, and the horror and despair of the wicked, will be sufficient to arrest the attention, and touch the feelings, and move all the active powers of those who will be present on that momentous occa- sion ; they are sufficient to arrest owr attention, to touch our feel- ings, and move all our powers of action now. And just so far as we have faith, they will do it. Men generally look at things which are seen. Sensible objects govern their affections, and limit the sphere of their observation. But faith shifts the scene., As to the grand, governing objects of the human mind, and the mo- tives to action, it puts them ina new world. It spreads a shroud over the things of time and sense, and opens to view things un- seen and eternal. I am now to illustrate the practical influence of faith; and this I shall do by bringing into view various instances of it men- tioned in the context, and in other parts of Scripture. Through faith, says the Apostle, we understand that the worlds were made by the word of God. It is through faith, be- cause we have an understanding of it merely by believing the testimony of God respecting it, which is contained in the Scrip- tures. ain 4 By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain. Abel cordially believed what God had said con- cerning the Seed of the woman.. He listened to the appoint- ‘ 12 ment of sacrifices, which were doubtless intended to represent the future atonement. And according to the divine direction, and with correspondent feelings, he offered a sin-offering. Whereupon God gave him a testimony, that his offermg was ac- cepted. Cain’s offering was faulty, because he wanted faith; i.e. because he did not cordially believe the promise of God, nor render sincere obedience to his appointment. By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death. Enoch walked with God. He was habitually sensible of his presence, confided in his promise, and looked at eternal things. Such was the operation of his faith. God rewarded his faith by taking him immediately to heaven, without his seeing death. Thus he obtained his translation by faath. By faith Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark. Here the nature of faith begins io appear still more clearly. God said, the end of all flesh is come ; behold I will destroy them with the earth. He then gave command to Noah to make an ark. ‘Though the destruc- tion of the world by a deluge was a thing which no one had ev- er seen or heard of before; Noah cordially believed that word of God which asserted it. In his view, God’s saying it made it a certainty. He had no more doubt of it, than he had after it had rained forty days and forty nights. ‘Thus he prepared an ark by faith, or inconsequence of farth ; that is, in consequence of his confidently believing what God had declared. Had he not believed the declaration of God, he would not have done this. By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed ; and he went out, not knowing whither he went. God commanded Abraham to go out of his country unto another land, and prom- ised to make of him a great nation. Abraham had perfect con- fidence in God, and so looked upon the thing which he promis- « 13 ed, as absolutely certain. This perfectly accounts for his leav- ing his kindred, and going out he knew not whither. Simple, childlike faith in God was the principle of his conduct. The writer, v. 17,-clearly exhibits his idea of faith with re- spect to those servants of God whom he had just mentioned. These all died in faith, not having received the promises, (that is, the good things contained in the promises,) but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them. God had at different times, promised them everlasting blessmgs in the world to come. ‘These promises they fully believed, and confidently expected the blessings promised. ‘They anticipated those blessings with so strong a desire, and so lively a persua- sion of their reality, that they may be said to have already em- braced them, and begun to enjoy them. Now all this excite- ment of their feelings, and the conduct which flowed from it, was the effect of their cordially believing the promises of God, and with perfect assurance expecting their accomplishment. The nature and influence of faith appeared eminently in the conduct of Abraham respecting Isaac. God had promised that in Isaac his seed should be called, and all the families of the earth blessed. On Isaac every thing seemed to depend. If Isaac should die, what would become of the divine promises? What would become of the calling of Abraham’s seed, and the’ bless- ing which was to come upon all nations? Yet Abraham had such a belief, so lively and certain a persuasion, that God was true, and would accomplish his word, that he hesitated not, when commanded, to sacrifice his son Isaac. Why was not Abraham agitated and perplexed with the difficulties, which at- tended that distressing affair? Why was he not pressed with the various objections which might be urged against the sacrifice of Isaac? Simply, because he had faith. Faith in God an- swered all objections ; relieved all difficulties. It was enough for Abraham, that God had promised. But how would it be 14 possible for God to fulfil his promise, if Isaac should be slain ? With such a question as this, Abraham gave himself no concern. He knew that God had an unfailing resource in himself; that he could do any thing which the case required ; that he could, if necessary, even raise Isaac from the dead ; though the idea of a resurrection from the dead was probably a suggestion of Abra- ham’s strong faith, as no such event had ever taken. place. Thus the main-spring of action in this whole affair, was that faith, which is a full confidence in the word of God, and a cer- tain, lively expectation that it will be accomplished, whatever difficulties may stand in the way. Joseph, at the close of his life, made mention of the depar- ture of the children of Israel out of Egypt, and commanded that his bones should be carried with them into Canaan, by faith; that is, because he believed the promise of God respect- ing the departure of the Israelites from Egypt, and looked up- on that ‘departure, as a reality, a matter of fact,—just as we do now. We have an account too of the faith of Moses. He believ- ed the promises of God respecting the deliverance of the Israel- ites, and the everlasting blessings to be conferred on-the faith- ful in another world. He chose, therefore, to have his lot with his suffering brethren, how much soever it might cost him. The good, which the sure promise of God led him to expect, was, he well knew, infinitely better than all the treasures of Egypt, and infinitely more than ‘an overbalance for all the suf- ferings to which he might be exposed. He endured as seeing the invisible God, from whom he expected support and deliv- erance. At the close of this interesting account, the inspired writer gives a summary description of the efficacy of faith in various other instances, in the following sublime and moving strain. ‘What shall I say more ? For the time would fail me to tell 15 of Gideon and Barak, and Samson, and Jephthah, and David, and Samuel, and the prophets; who through faith,” that is, an- imated and borne on by unwavering confidence mm God, “ sub- dued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stop- ped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the. edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, wax- ed valiant in fight, put to flight the armies of the aliens. Wo- men received their dead, raised to life again; and others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection. And others had trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea, moreover, of bonds and imprisonments. They were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword ; they wandered about in sheep-skins and goat- skins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented.” What the ser- vants of God did and suffered in all these cases was, by faith. They believed the word of God. They were sensible of his presence. ‘They sought and expected the blessings he had promised. ‘They acted with a view to those blessings, and by anticipation lived upon them. God’s everlasting kingdom con- tained a blessedness so great and precious, that it roused all their desires, and all their efforts ; and in pursuit of it hardships and sufferings became light, and the most painful enterprises easy and delightful. Such was the power of faith. The chapter to which we have now attended contains, as we have seen, a particular description of the influence of faith,—a description which is very intelligible and impressive, and which can hardly fail to satisfy any attentive reader, as to the exact view which the writer entertained of his subject. But to cast a still clearer light on this subject, and to illus- trate the perfect agreement of the inspired writers respecting it, I shall show that faith, in other prominent instances, must be con- sidered as having the same nature, and that its influence is to be accounted for in the same manner. 16 2 Cor. 5: 7. For we walk by faith, not by sight. Faith is here represented as the essential principle of the Christian life. And what this faith is, we readily learn from the connexion. We walk,—not by sight. That is, we are not influenced in our conduct by a regard to the things which are seen. But we walk by faith ; we look at the things which are not seen ; weare influenced by a regard to spiritual, eternal objects. And how _are those unseen, spiritual objects made known, but by the word of God? And how do we look at them, or regard them, so as to be influenced by them, but by faith ; that is, by cordially be- lieving the word of God? James 1:6. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. The faith to be exercised in prayer, is here put in opposition to a doubtful, wavering mind, and so must imply a cordial, settled belief in the doctrines and promises of God’s word. In Acts 15 : 9, Peter represents, that God purified the hearts of Gentile converts, by faith ; that is, by a steady, cordial be- lief in the truths of the Gospel; or which is the same thing, by a steady, cordial regard to those invisible, bijeine = things, which the word of God reveals. _ Some men appear to think that there is stile in evan- gelical faith, or faith in Christ, essentially different from other kinds of faith; and that the account, which I have given of the nature and influence of faith generally, cannot be received as in any measure satisfactory in relation to this particular instance of it. How far such an opinion has any adequate support, a careful attention to the subject will quickly show. Faith I have represented to be a firm, cordial belief in the veracity of God, in all the declarations of his word ; or, a full and affectionate confidence in the certainty of those things which God has declared, and because he has declared them. What- ever may be the divine testimony, and ‘to whatever object it may relate, faith receives it, and rests upon it. This is its gen- 17 eralnature. That most important branch of faith, called Evan- gelical faith, differs from other instances of faith only in regard to object. The testimony of God, which evangelical faith re- ceives, respects the Saviour. If then you would know what faith in Christ is, in distinction from other exercises of faith ; inquire, what is the testimony of God concerning his Son? What does the Scripture say of his character, his works, his in- structions, his atonement, his various offices and blessings? This testimony respecting Christ is just what faith receives. Determine precisely what this testimony is, and you determine the peculiar character of evangelical faith. And here we shall readily see how it comes to pass that faith in Christ so often has the sense of affectionate trust, or affiance ? The object, which the word of God, in this case reveals, and which evangelical faith respects, is obviously, and in the highest degree, worthy of such trust. He is infinitely wise, benevolent, and powerful, and therefore deserves to be trusted by all intelligent beings. THe is a glorious, all-sufficient Sa- vious, and therefore deserves to be trusted in by sinners. Cor- dial affiance, or trust, is the very disposition in us, which is agreeable to the character and offices of Christ. To admit that there is such a Saviour, and yet to repose no affectionate trust in him, would be a shocking and most criminal inconsisten- cy. Accordingly, this affectionate trust, which always accom- panies faith when such is its object, becomes frequently the principal thing signified by the word. By this principle, you may easily trace out the particular senses, in which the word, faith, is used in various other pas- sages of Scripture. First, see what is the nature of the object, to which faith has respect in the particular case to be consider- ed. Then see what is the temper of mind with which we ought to contemplate that object ; or what is the effect it ought to pro- — duce upon us, That feciRer of mind, that proper effect of faith 18 may become the chief thing intended by the writer who uses the word. In some passages, for example, faith is obviously used, as Schleusner and others remark, for conversion to Christian- aty ; because such conversion is the proper consequence of be- lieving the truths of the Gospel ; whereas if a man should be- lieve those truths, and yet not turn from his sins, he would be guilty of doing violence to his own reason. In other places, faith seems to denote obedience ; manifestly, because. faith respects Christ, as a righteous Lawgiver and Ruler, and so directly leads to obedience ; and a man who should believe Christ to be such a Lawgiver and Ruler, and yet should not obey him, would act most inconsistently and perversely. The practical results of the view which has now been taken of the nature and influence of faith, and the reflections arising from it, are so numerous and important, that I shall feel it neces- sary to give them greater prominence and extent than is usual. 1. We are led to reflect on the general character of false faith. False faith always misapprehends, in a greater or less degree, the meaning of the divine testimony. This is one of its chief faults. The other is, that even where, as to speculation, it correctly understands the divine testimony, it is wanting in right feeling. There is one particular kind of faith, which has had no small credit in some parts of the Christian world, but which we can easily prove to be unscriptural and false, by the principles established in the foregoing discussion. In the exercise of that kind of faith to which I now refer, a man believes, without re- gard to his character, that Christ died for him in particular, and has forgiven, or certainly will forgive his sins. Consider now, that true faith always looks to the divine testimony, and is con- formed to it. In this case, then, the first question is, what is the testimony of God respecting those who are pardoned, and 19 to whom the blessings of Christ’s death are promised? The answer is at hand. Repent and believe, that your sins may be blotted out. He that believeth on the Son, hath life; but he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him. Without holiness no man shall see the Lord. But under the influence of that faith, which I would now expose, a man believes, without any evidence of piety, that God has for- given his sins, and made him an heir of heaven. He has not repented ; has not been born again ; is without holiness. Still he believes his sins are forgiven, and his name written in heav- en. But in believing this, he dzsbelieves the divine testimony. The Scripture declares, that no man of such a character is par- doned. He believes that he is pardoned, because he does not believe the word of God. We have here, then, a general test of faith. It is not our business to inquire, whether any man’s faith is agreeable to this or that system of opinions, to such a deduction of reason, or to such a dream of fancy. Our simple inquiry is, whether it is agreeable to the word of God; whether, as to apprehension and feeling, it is an exact counterpart to the divine testimony. 2. It is easy to see what influence Christian faith must have in forming our religious opinions. A man of faith regulates his opinions by the only rule of faith, the word of God. Whatever may be the subject of investigation, he seeks to know what God the Lord will say. Whether the doctrines of Scripture are agreeable to his previous views, or not; whether comprehensi- ble, or incomprehensible, is not his question at all. When he finds what God says, his inquiry ends ; his opinions are fixed. But a man wanting in Christian faith is not satisfied with this. He may indeed perceive what God says; but he must look fur- ther. One says; how can this be? It is so inconsistent with reason, so different from every thing which nature and philoso- phy teach, that I must regard it as utterly incredible. Another 20 asks, whether the doctrine in question would be agreeable to his particular party. The object of inquiry with a third is, whether the doctrine proposed would require him to deny any of his in- clinations, or to forego any of his honors or pleasures. In. des- pite of the clearest evidence from the word of God, they gov- ern their opinions by just such considerations as these. And all this, because they have not faith. What wonder is it then, that men, destitute of faith, should be carried about with every wind of doctrine, and embrace opinions as distant as possible from the decisions of holy writ. We see also, that Christians are likely to agree in their re- ligious opinions, in proportion to the activity and strength of their faith. ‘The testimony of God is one. The rule of their opin- ions is one. If their faith is active in searching after the tes- timony of God, and strong to receive it, whatever it may be, they are surely in tlie way to union. My third reflection is, that Christian faith is suited at once to humble man, and to glorify God. First ; it humbles man., The divine testimony, which it receives, rises far above the reach of our understanding, and by its sacred and incomprehensible doc- trines, is suited to bring down the pride of reason. Again; the divine testimony represents man to be exceedingly guilty, vile, and helpless. When we believe that testimony, we believe our- selves to be just so guilty, vile, and helpless. ‘Thus we are laid low, and made to feel that shame and blushing belong to us. But the same faith that humbles man, exalts and glorifies God. The Apostle says, Rom. 4: 20, 21. that Abraham stag- gered not at the promise of God through unbelief ; but was strong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully persuaded that what he had promised, he was able also to perform. ‘The promise, as you will recollect, was one which seemed impossible to be performed. But Abraham readily believed it, and anti- cipated the performance of it as a certainty. He was as fully 21 persuaded of it, as though it had already taken place. All this he believed, purely because God had promised it. Now this persuasion of Abraham’s mind was highly honorable to God. Whenever we believe any thing on the authority of God’s word, we honor him, as a God of truth. This is eminently the case when the accomplishment of God’s word is attended with pe- culiar difficulties, so that our believing it can arise from no cause, but our confidence in the divine veracity and power. Again ; Abraham saw the land of Canaan in the possession of a ferocious and powerful people. Yet because he had confidence in God, he believed that the land would be given to his children for an inheritance. Isaac and Jacob believed the same, though to human reason nothing could appear more improbable. The faith of Christians honors God in the same way. They know the greatness of their guilt, the penalty of the law, the justice of God. And yet they believe, purely on the authority of God’s word, that they may be pardoned. They know the deceit, the hardness, the obstinacy of their hearts; and yet they have such ¢onfidence in God, that they are persuaded he can heal these spiritual maladies, and make them holy. They have such an apprehension of the love, the power, and the faithfulness of God, that they confidently believe, because he hath said it, that all nations, how deplorable soever their present condition, shall be given to Christ for an inheritance; that idolatry, and superstition, and every form of sin and misery shall be banished from the world ; that kings, and rulers, and all people shall bow to the King of Zion, and the knowledge of the Lord fill the earth. However difficult the work which God promises to per- form; however diverse from any thing they ever knew in other cases; they have such honorable apprehensions of God, that they believe it will certaimly be accomplished. Thus, in the exercise of faith, they show their high estimation of the glorious character of God ; and this most of all, when they themselves 22 are in straits; when they can see nothing but darkness and dan- ger, and when, so far as human power can go, their case is hopeless. ‘To repose trust in God in such circumstances; to look to him for support, direction and deliverance, when all oth- er help fails, shows what exalted thoughts they entertain of his infinite perfections. 4. It is obvious that all the defects of our character and con- duct are owing to the want, or the weakness of faith. Without faith in the general sense, man has in fact no mo- tives to a holy life ; because all the motives to holiness are found in those invisible things which are the objects of faith, and which are brought by faith to have an influence on the mind. Were there no God, no moral government, no law with divine sanc- tions, no eternal retribution, there would be no motives to holi- ness, and of course no holiness. And if a man does not cor- dially believe in a moral law and government, and a future retri- bution, it will be to him just asthough there were none. Inoth- er words, there will be nothing, there can be nothing, which will have any influence upon him, as a motive to holy action. It is clear then that faith, in this view, is indispensable to the exercise of holiness. But not to dwell upon this general view of faith; we know that the Scriptures in various places represent the want or weakness of Christian faith, as the cause of what is faulty in the character and conduct of men, and of Christians, as well as others. Suffer me then, brethren, to use freedom of speech on this subject, and to say, that one of the prominent faults in our character is a worldly spirit. Do we not set our affections on earthly friends, relations, riches, honors, and enjoyments ? Does not a regard to these govern our conduct? Do not the zeal and diligence we show in our pursuits spring chiefly from this source? See here the consequence of the want of faith.— This is the victory which overcometh the world, says an Apostle, 23 even our faith. If we had faith; that is, if we cordially and steadily believed what the Scriptures teach ; if we had an abi- ding, lively sense of the glory of God, the excellence of his law . and government, our guilty, and wretched state, the beauty and — all-sufficiency of Christ, the endless joys of heaven and the end- less sufferings of hell ; if these objects were continually present to our view, and our understandings and hearts were filled with them ; the things of this dying world would all sink into nothing. No earthly pleasures could allure us. None of the honors or riches of the world could excite our desire. Upon them all we should see the broad stamp of vanity and insignificance, and a worldly spirit would die away. Again. Are we not frequently conscious of a reluctance to forsake all for Christ? He has told us that, if we will do this, we shall have an hundred fold in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting. Why are we so reluctant? Why go away from him, as the young man in the gospel did, with heav- iness of heart? It is our unbelief, brethren. We are not cor- dially persuaded of the truth and importance of what Christ declares. ‘The good which he promises we regard not as a pre- cious reality. We do not look upon it with feelings correspon- — dent to its nature and worth. Had we strong, lively faith in the promises of Christ ; there is no present advantage we should not freely relinquish, and no suffering we should not cheerful- ly undergo, for the sake of that eternal inheritance which he has promised to the faithful. Are we not conscious of a lamentable degree of insensibility and sloth in the concerns of religion? And how is this to be accounted for? Are not the eternal objects made known by the word of God, of sufficient importance to rouse our attention ? Is not the favour of him who made us, and of him who died for us, and the enjoyment of his everlasting kingdom, worthy of being sought with diligence? Is not an eternity of insupport- 24 able suffering dreadful enough to’ excite our most watchful care to avoid it? Yes, brethren. But our unbelief makes all these appear distant and uncertain. It takes away from things eter- nal their power to interest the heart, and to produce emotion and effort, and leaves us as supine and dormant, as though the glorious objects of religion had no existence. ’Tis unbelief also, that renders us so wndifferent to the sal- vation of sinners, and the prosperity of the church. Did we see eternal things in the light of divine truth, and apprehend, in any suitable measure, their importance, their certainty, and their nearness ; what a lively sensibility should we have to the inter- ests of our connexions, and friends, and all our fellow men. What concern for immortal souls, ready to perish. What strong desire for their redemption from sin and death. How alive should we be to every thing which stands connected with the prosperity of the church, and the interests of eternity. It is the want of a lively faith in the great things of the unseen world, that renders us so superficial and heartless in our devo- tions. If in our seasons of secret and social worship, we should have faith ; if we should look into eternity ; should see just be- fore us the resurrection of the dead, the judgment seat, and all the generations of men assembled to receive their irreversible doom ; could we be dull and wandering in our prayers? If we knew that all these things were shortly to burst upon our view ; would earthly trifles be suffered to break in upon our devo- tions? Would not all the ardor of our souls be kindled up in our addresses to our God and our Judge ? To this same source we are to trace all the follies and sins apparent in our lives. If the eye of our faith were always open and always fixed on the certain, tremendous, glorious things of another world; if, wherever we went and whatever we did, these eternal objects were present to our view, and had full pos- session of our feelings ; every irregular passion would lose its 25 power, and we should become circumspect and holy in all our conduct. And is it indeed so, my brethren, that. our earthly minded- ness, our reluctance to forsake all for Christ, our insensibility and sloth in religion, our indifference in regard to the prosperity of the church and the salvation of sinners, our dull and heart- less devotions, and all the irregularities of our temper and con- duct are owing to the want of a steady, strong, lively faith? Of what vast importance is it, then, that we should’possess such a faith ; and of course, that we should diligently employ those means which are suited to promote it, Here indulge me a few moments, while I say, that the aris cipal means of promoting a strong, lively faith, is the exercise of it. It results from the constitution of the mind, that all our af- fections and habits are strengthened by exercise. Every time, therefore, that we view eternal things in the light of revelation ; every time we look at them with a full persuasion of their cer- tainty, and a suitable sense of their importance ; we do some~ thing towards promoting a strong, steady faith. This salutary influence of exercising faith is not however in all cases equal in degree, but will be very much according to circumstances ; and particularly will it be in proportion to the difficulty which attends such an exercise. A single instance of faith, in circum- stances like those in which Abraham confidently believed the promise of God, will go farther towards establishing a living principle of faith in the mind, than many acts of faith, where no difficulty is encountered. In such a ease as that of Abraham, there is a struggle, acontest. Obstacles are met and removed ; enemies are subdued ; and the power of faith is established. ‘Take care, then, brethren, when difficulties multiply ; when dark elouds are spread over you ; when sense and reason are nouplussed, and you have nothing in heaven or earth to rest upon, but the simple word of God; in such cases, take care to 4 ‘ 26 have faith, strong faith. Go forth at the divine word, leaving all, and not knowing whither you go. Sacrifice your Isaacs. March right forward into the sea; and, if God command, dip your feet in the waters, and wade, and swim, and buffet the waves, believing that God Almighty will help you through. I have only one more remark; namely; that clear views and deep impressions of divine things, and powerful movings of affection towards them, or, which is the same thing, strong, an- imated exercises of faith, will do vastly more towards a habit of faith, than other exercises which are comparatively feeble and lifeless. You may exercise a weak, unanimated faith ma- ny years, and not do so much towards giving the mind the char- acter of steady, unyielding faith, as may be done in an hour or a minute, in which eternal things come with clearness to the soul, waking up all its powers, and exciting acts of vigorous, undivided, unwavering faith. Such acts of faith have an abi- ding influence. ‘They produce a permanent character. Some- thing as our being transported into the third heaven, and seeing and hearing what Paul saw and heard, would produce an im- pression on our minds that would remain through life, and show its effects through eternity. Let us then be sensible how vastly important it is, that di- vine, eternal things should take deep hold onour minds ; should excite strong emotions ; should rouse all our powers to action ; should fill our capacities, and exhaust the energies of our souls. And let us seize every occasion and apply ourselves to every means, favorable to such a state of mind. By retirement; by watchful care not to be engrossed with earthly pursuits ; by devoutly reading the Scriptures; by heavenly contemplation ; by mortifying all sinful affection ; by spiritual converse with di- vine and eternal objects, and by ardent, incessant desires and prayers after them, let us endeavour to'get away from the de- lusion of sensible things ; to rise dbove the present world, and i : 27 to bring our understandings and hearts under the influence of divine truth ; deeming ourselves happy, when favored with afew moments of clear, spiritual knowledge, and strong faith; and then advancing from moments to hours, and from hours to days, ‘till we come to look with an undiverted eye at things not seen and eternal, and from morning to night, and from Sabbath to Sabbath, have our feelings and actions all swayed by faith in God. Oh! blessed attainment! When shall we rise to any thing like this? Lorp, increase our faith. earn are sbict mate 2 ha coyote Lal a sEBHLOF & of ibe hie pay Ph ro oy “ayrtvtd Ha fl clthok) eed fro (hove Ps eens “Bea agai ye w paid ay : Bees 7 bawie ~s Ray Ai. tah 4 ~ PREACHED ON SUNDAY, FEB. 15, 1863, a a= THE PULPIT AND THE STATE: ¢ | | | A DISCOURSE, — erg EE ae ee REV. WILLARD SPAULDING, | Hl ol \ i i) ‘ PASTOR OF THE FIRST UNIVERSALIST SOCIETY IN SALEM. = 3 } | : oats | 1 oT: | / | PUBLISHED BY | i CHARLES A. BECKFORD, ~“ ; i} No. 9 Central Street, Salem. | alt. i | i | ; 1. | es | . He | | PRINTED BY REQUEST OF THE PROPRIETORS. Sheet | i. 4 { _« ee ee es i =o | | fe ee | PZ SALEM: ;* ney i Charles W: Swasey, Printer, No. 27 Washington Street. . (o\] iS “se 1863. eae IPC: ae : ES) ae. ee 3 ri , <3 oF \ ‘eee 3: . THE PULPIT AND THE STATE: A DISCOURSE, PREACHED ON SUNDAY, FEB. 15, 1863, REV. WILLARD SPAULDING, PASTOR OF THE FIRST UNIVERSALIST SOCIETY IN SALEM. RO PUBLISHED BY CHARLES A. BECKFORD, No. 9 Central Street, Salem. PRINTED BY REQUEST OF THE PROPRIETORS. SALEM: Charles W. Swasey, Printer, No. 27 Washington Street. 1863. THE PULPIT AND THE STATE. ‘Righteousness exalteth a nation; but Sin is a reproach to any _ people.’’— Prov. xiv, 34. The voice of inspiration teaches us that Government is of divine origin. The necessity for it, doubtless, is found in our very nature. One form may have no higher sanction than another, but a government of some kind must exist. Man may engage in the erection of the structure, but it is not strictly a human creation, since he is forced to the ac- complishment of the work. Laws may be changed by hu- man influence ; they may be, justly or unjustly, broken by revolution ; but law itself cannot be annihilated. “The powers that be are ordained of God.” All the civil organizations of the world profess to be grounded upon divine principles. They claim to rest on no false or arbitrary basis, but on the eternal laws of right, which proceed from the mouth of God. As His work, they acknowledge allegiance to Him. He is “King of kings and Lord of lords,” since it is his right to rule whatever he has formed. The magistrate and the subject alike act under the solemn influence of an oath, registered in heaven. Their suplications ascend together to the Deity, from whom is all their support. The State is no less dependent upon Him, than the individuals of whom it is composed ; and it is, equal- ly with them, subject to His decrees. \ 4 All governments acknowledge the existence of a relig- ious element in man, and that provision for its development has been divinely made. ‘They admit that it is the most im- portant part of his being, and that the religion he accepts is paramount to all other forces opperating upon him. No State can stand on the principles of Infidelity. Let it deny the existence of Deity, make morality conventional, teach the doctrine that might constitutes right, and remove the grounds of hope, and its days will quickly be numbered. Let it remember only that its subjects are physical and men- tal beings, and they will shortly crush it beneath their feet. There must be Rituals, or there can beno Civil Seryice. There must be Altars, or there can be no Magistrates. No gov- ernment in the Christian world could stand a day without an acknowledgment of the Gospel;—no treasure would be given for its support, no arms would be stretched out im its defence. If it were not so, public opinion would .be found mightier than the sword, and ideas more than a match for hissing bullets. The word of God cannot be overcome. It is, therefore, the highest wisdom in the State to encourage its promulgation. Its own safety depends upon its accep- tance. It is not difficult to perceive how Civil Organizations are influenced by Religion. It is, doubtless, its first office te mould the individual character. We derive from it the spirit by which we are animated. Outward circumstances, though not unimportant, have comparatively little influence upon us. Mental culture, which is indeed desirable, is far _ less potent. It is Religious Education which forms the indi- vidual mind. Every human body must partake of the char- acter of the elements of which it is composed. In material things, the result of combinations may be totally unlike the combining elements, but it is not so in the human world. The State is like its constituent parts. Demoralize its mem- 5 bers, weaken their sense of right, inspire them with selfish- ness, and inflame their passions, and it will soon crumble to ruin. Nothing but adversity can come upon it. You have opened the fountains of evil, and the deluge,is at hand. But it will be otherwise with the State, when those who compose it accept the principles of true religion. When they become loyal to Truth and Justice; when the spirit of Equality pervades their hearts, and they are bound together by the ties of Fraternal Sympathy ; when they become anima- ted with every Christian virtue, then will the State have before it a glorious career of prosperity. It will advance in all the elements,of material wealth, for God has promised this bless- ing tu those that do his will. The energies of the civil body now become irresistible, for the arm of Righteousness is in- deed omnipotent. The mind of the nation is rapidly devel- oped, and large additions are made to the intellectual treas- ures of the world. No limit is set to the existence of such a body, for it is as true of States as of men, that the righteous shall live forever. Every State that dies, perishes by a suicidal hand. Under the benign influence of our holy religion, a more glorious commonwealth shall arise than the _world has ever known. The pages of history yet to be written, will be brighter than those which are already penned. The Civil History of the world truly reflects its Religious Progress. If we find but little to admire in the nations of antiquity, it is because they were founded in heathenism. In this school the Sovereign was educated, and, unless pre- served by a special providence, he came forth a tyrant. He learned therein, not that he was made for the State, but that it was made for him. Deceptive, cruel and exacting, he was ever an object of fear. Here and there we find a monarch, the history of whose reign is not written in letters of blood, (2) 6 but they are exceptions to the general rule. The subject was no better than the sovereign. Weak, superstitious and debased, he readily accepted the yoke prepared for him. We should naturally expect that nations composed of such material, would have a miserable existence, and come to an inglorious end. They were smitten with the plague of Idol- atry, from which there is no recovery. When the Jews for- got Jehovah, the rod of destruction was laid upon them; and every nation committing the same ‘offence must endure a similar judgment. The Moslem faith was based on deception, its author claiming for it a divine origin, when he knew it was from beneath. There were in it jewels of truth, but they were all purloined, and were rendered of little value by the set- ting they received. Conscious of its inherent weakness, its advocates resorted to the sword for its promulgation. They knew there was no safety for it, except in the destruction of all opposing systems. It became at once a State religion, and its influence thoroughly pervaded the civil body. Treach- ery has, perhaps, been the leading characteristic of every Mohammedan government. Imbecility and a tendeney to disorganization are every where apparent. The elements of steady and continued progress are entirely wanting. This religion has appropriated the fairest and most favored regions of the earth, only to cast upon them the shadow of death. Heathenism itself presents a higher civilization. Though inconsistent with enlightened reason, it is yet no counterfeit, and the State resting upon it has a better basis, We are not surprised that the question is raised, whether governments founded on the Koran should be longer toler- ated in the world. Christianity affords the only sufficient foundation for the State. A new light dawned upon the nations on its in- -I1 troduction into the world. The Christian Government, next to the Christian Church, is the most glorious structure we are permitted to behold. Under its benign influence, the civil institutions of men were destined to attain to a high degree of perfection. It was to undo the pernicious: work which wrong systems of belief had accomplished. It contains a perfect code of morals, so simple that all may comprehend it, and so beautiful as to inspire admiration in: every heart. It enlightens conscience with heavenly wisdom, and quickens it with diyine life. It dignifies man in his own estimation, by opening to his vision the gates of immortal being, and thus elevates the plane of his present life. It teaches him to manifest, in every character he may be called to sustain, the virtues with which it seeks to imbue his soul. It bids him remember the grandeur of his being, and his re- sponsibility to his God, in every organization im which he may be summoned to act. It is, therefore, fitted alike for the Ruler and Subject, teaching the former that he should be a “minister of God for good,” and the latter that he should “do: that which is good,” being “subject, not only for wrath, but also. for conscience sake.” The Christian monarch, whatever may be brought against the system by which he rules, can never become a tyrant. He will exer- cise his authority in a paternal spirit. Only a Christian People can be fitted for Self-Government. The Gospel alone can give true freedom, and strengthen us for its preservation. Instructed by it, we understand the mission of government, and become qualified to discharge the duties of the citizen. Through its influence the’ State becomes the harmonious , counterpart. of the Church. | The first governments which bore the Christian name, were doubtless but little better than those which immedi- 8 ately preceded them. They were oppressive, and not wor- thy to endure. The leaven of Christian truth had begun to operate upon them, but the work of regeneration could not be completed in a day. Long periods of time would be re- quired for its accomplishment. The Gospel was given and established by miracle, but it was not in this manner to be continuously promulgated. Its triumphs were to be grad- ually achieved, in accordance with the laws of our being. Efforts were made, which were but too successful, to engraft upon it the erroneous systems of belief which had been pre- viously entertained; and for centuries the so called Chris- tian world might, with greater propriety, have been termed heathen. The corruptions of the new system were mani- fest, not only in the condition of the Church, but also in that of the State—both magistrates and subjects being dis- qualified for their duties. The hand that kindled a strange fire upon the Christian altar, wrote a heathen statute for the government of the people. We should be careful not to charge to our religion, the works which have been wrought out by its false apostles. When the light of the Reformation dawned upon the world, the State was benefitted by it equally with the Church. The minds of men were enfranchised—left free to appro- priate all the truth lying within their grasp. They were elevated to a perception and realization of their rights. Their energies were aroused, so that things before regard- ed as impossible, became certain of accomplishment. De- spondency gave way to hope, although they were endued with the spirit of sacrifice, and ever ready for martyrdom. When men are educated to discern their Religious rights, they become qualified to judge of those which are Political in their character; and the same forces which rend the bands of superstition, will soon break the fetters of civil bondage. The liberties enjoyed in western Europe are 9 clearly, traceable to the Reformation. The monarchies which there exist are limited by public opinion, and by statutes which the people have authoritatively demanded of their ru- lers. They would take no denial, and the swords drawn against them were compelled to return to their scabbards. Luther, while addressing the Pope, was listened to with fear by all the tyrants of the world, who heard in his burning words their own sentence of doom. His disciples were not only the Apostles of the Church, but the Patriots of the Realm. The pen with which he wrote his Exegesis of the Bible, was to be employed in tracing out Constitutions for the People. Those who, under his valiant leadership, as- sailed the Pope, were afterward to dethrone kings. He began the work of exterminating all systems of oppression, and left it to his followers for completion. Eminent in this pioneer labor were the Puritan Fathers, who prosecuted the work with persistent energy. Though their hands were not entirely clean, yet they dealt heavy blows against tyrants in surplices and in royal robes. They were eminently a thinking people, and, though by no means free from fanaticism, followed in the main the way of wis- dom. No obstacles could dishearten them; their zeal in- creased with every trial; they were terribly in earnest, for they were ready to yield up their possessions and their lives, rather than abandon their honest convictions. They asked nothing as citizens, but everything as followers of Christ. They were never Politicians, but always Religion- ists. They bore this character not only in the Church, but also in the Parliment, and om the Battle Field. They fought the most valiantly as they prayed the most fervently. In this character they felt themselves the equals of lords and sovereigns, not believing that any one had a right to oppress the heritage of God. (3) 10 The highest type of Puritanism in England was pro- duced in Cromwell, and its best work in the Commonwealth, though it endured but fora season. Sagacious, firm and patriotic, with perfect faith im the Word of God, which he sought to take as his guide, he labored to rid his country of a burden, which, unfortunately, she chose longer to wear. He shed the blood of royalty; and though the throne re- mained, he hung over it an avenging sword, to teach every new occupant that there is a point of forbearance beyond which the people will not go. The people of England owe to Puritanism, as the highest interpretation of the Gospel, the liberties they now enjoy. To the same source is the American nation indebted for its free institutions. The Faith of our Fathers, which was strengthened and made more precious to them by the trials through which they had passed, brought them to this al- most wilderness land, and out of it has arisen the govern- ment which secures to us the enjoyment of our civil and re- ligious rights. If this government is more perfect than any other which has ever been framed, it is because that FarrH had more divine truth im it than was contained in any creed which had ever been accepted among men. Our fathers saw, in the light which it shed upon their vision, the “Inalienable Rights” with which the Creator had endowed them. It* inspired them with the deepest hatred of oppression. It imparted to them, in its fullest measure, the spirit of self sacrifice. It gave to them, along with the most undaunted heroism, energies which could not be resisted. Finding in the Gospel a charter of human rights, they resolved on its preservation, though they might be called, in the prosecution of the work, to dwell in barren wilds and wade through bloody seas. They produced the Declaration of Indepen- dence, as the correct political exegesis of the New Testa- 4 11 ment. Others had sought in that book the “divine right of kings ;” they found in it THE DIVINE RIGHTS OF THE PEO- PLE. The doctrine of Human Fraternity, which is one of its fundamental principles, had, in their view, an application to the State. Accepting this principle, they went on to the assertion of the essential equality of men, and of their com- mon rights. The Revolution was a religious war; those who fell in it were Christian martyrs. The instrument of government which followed it, was the work of consecrated hands. We do not err when we say that the American Commonwealth is a divine creation. It was wrought out through the instrumentality of human hands, but the guid- ing influence and the moving power were from on high. It is founded on the Word of God, which has exalted it above all other nations. We have seen that the State is of divine appointment ; that it is professedly based on religious principles; that, in the very nature of things, it must be powerfully influenced thereby —the civil history of the world being little more than the record of their operation. It follows that the Pul- pit, as the chief exponent of divine truth, owes to the State the most important duties. It may contribute greatly to its prosperity and glory, or, by its neglect, hasten it to ruin. Its general labors, if faithfully performed, will tend to secure the former result ; but specific efforts should be put forth to that end. Its sphere is surely not political, but it by no means follows that it must forget the government in its prayers and instructions; for the State is more than a po- litical body. It speaks to men as laborers, as parents, as neighbors—why should it not address them as citizens? Caucuses and Elections, Platforms and Parties, Congresses, Judges and Presidents, come legitimately within its notice. 12 It must, of course, discuss these themes in their moral bear- ings. No feeling of timidity, no time-serving policy, should prevent its accomplishment of this work. While it seeks the salvation of individual hearts, let it labor with equal energy and directness to save the nation from moral death. Let it carry the revival of the Church into the State, before it has sinned away the day of grace. The sphere which some have marked out for the Pulpit is altogether too narrow. There is infinitely more danger that it will not fill up its proper boundaries, than that it will pass beyond them. Indeed, those pulpits which are re- garded by many as the most religious, preach the least of practical Christianity. Most of their productions have no conceivable application to life. They tend rather to blind the minds of men to the world, than to open before them their duties, and lead them to take up the burdens which Providence calls them to bear. Formerly the Pulpit was not allowed the light of Science, and hence many of its ut- terances have been found contradictory to the facts of na- ture. It is still, to no inconsiderable extent, denied the aid of Philosophy, and hence the absurdities of the creed-book - are without number. The whole man should speak, and not a single faculty, rendered inefficient by separation from the other powers; and all nature, and every department of hu- man life, should furnish themes for discourse. The Bible, we admit, is not a political treatise; yet, how much of the Old Testament was addressed to the Jews as anation. The magistrate and subject were continually in view. Nor is the Gospel silent upon their duties. John the Baptist was imprisoned and beheaded for condemning the sin of Herod. Christ labored for the salvation of Jeru- salem, with a zeal which can never be equaled. His apos- tles spoke to allsclasses in the State, teaching them, with 13 great faithfulness, their respective duties. They condemned wickedness in the high places of the land. We want a pul- pit to-day that shall endeavor to follow the examples placed before us in the Scriptures. The Christian minister, to be prepared for the perform- ance of his whole duty, should become acquainted with sub- jects of national concern. It is often said that he is igno- rant of them, and hence is not qualified to give instruction to men in reference to their civil obligations. We do not say that he should neglect at all the study of the Bible, or cease his efforts to unravel the mysteries of theology, or la- bor any the less earnestly to remove the common vices of the world. We do not affirm that he should confine his at- tention chiefly to profane history; that he should become learned in the law; or that he should rise to the eminence of the statesman. He should not abandon his holy calling to become a politician; he should not seek place or power ; he should not engage in the arts of: political strife. But he should understand the nature and mission of Government ; the essentials of a proper civil organization, and the whole range of civil virtues. He should know what may be justly re- quired of the several departments of the State, what will con- tribute to its weal or woe, and whether it is tending to pros- perity or ruin. He should stand as a sentinel on its watch- towers. Let him study the political press, look into the cau- cus, listen to the voice of the tribune. Let him scan parties, and look over the whole machinery by which elections are carried. Let him be a man of political observation and re- flection, and then will the Pulpit become a positive power in the State, and none the less so in the Church. The Pulpit should impart to the people the true spirit of Patriotism, which will constitute their best preparation for (4) 14 the discharge of their civil duties. Attachment to the land in which we live, and to the institutions established over us, may be a natural sentiment, but it needs to be educated and strengthened by religion. The people of a land are not bound together by mountain chains or far-reaching vales; they are not held by the ties of industrial interests; a com- mon language and religion are not sufficient to preserve them as one body; nor is the memory of a common life, reach- ing through long periods of the past, and made up of earn- est struggles, successes and disappointments. Deeper chords than these, and stronger, must unite them. Patriotism is a religious sentiment. It is, in its most perfect state, a feel- ing of Brotherhood, inspired by the Gospel of Christ; it is an attachment to institutions which we feel to be funda- mentally right, and which, therefore, must meet our needs. Its memories reach back to the Christian patriots and mar- tyrs who were instrumental in achieving them, while its hopes are cherished, and its prayers are offered, for the generations of the future. It embraces a feeling of grati- tude to God for the blessings which flow from the State, while it imparts to the mind.a solemn sense of its responsibility to him. Thus it consecrates the land and all its interests. It makes it holy ground; every legitimate interest, a subject of prayer; every service it requires, divine in its character. Destroying the spirit of fierce and blind partizanship, it fills the nation with true charity. It eradicates the spirit- of in- equality or sectionalism, seeking only the common good. It admits of no corruption. The Christian patriot would soon- - er rob his mother than wrong his country. The State _ which is pervaded by true patriotism, can command for de- fence all the treasure within its borders; and there is not one of its subjects who will not pour out his blood in its support. The patriotism of a nation is its defence; and this sentiment must be implanted by the Church. It is a 15 power imparted by the Gospel. It is fire taken from the altar. It is a light beaming in upon the heart from the realms of day. The Pulpit should teach the people not to forget their religion while acting the part of citizens. Singular as it may seem, there are many men who stand well in the Church, but who are a disgrace to the State. They pray well, but they vote infamously. They are honest in trade, but tricky in politics. They are charitable as neighbors, while, as members of a party, they are full of bitterness and gall. They are honorable in the general affairs of life, but, to pro- mote an election, there is no depth of meanness to which they will not go. Ordinarily they are careful in the selec- tion of their associates; but in the caucus and town meet- ing, they are “brothers to dragons and companions to owls.” In all this they seem to think they are doing right. They make a virtue of necessity. They do not stop to reflect that victory won by unfair means is worse than defeat. It is better that we should wrong one another, than wrong the State; that we should slander our neighbor, than infuse a poisonous spirit into an entire party; that we should in- vite crime to our own dwellings, than conduct it to the bal- lot box. The standard of morality is low enough in the business world, but it is still lower in the political. Men should be taught to carry their religion as citizens wher- ever they go. They should be morally educated by the pul- pit for the special trusts which will devolve upon them in that character, for a general preparation will not be found sufficient. The moral qualifications of the citizen is a theme eminently appropriate for discussion at the present time. One must be converted to the depths of his soul before he is fit for the caucus, or can pass safely through the ordeal of a general election. 16 But the professing Christian who throws off his religion when he enters the political arena, is not alone to be con- demned. He also is to be censured, who, accepting the Gospel as his guide, believes he is justified in neglecting the claims of the State. He witnesses the corruption which exists therein. Multitudes, having no other means for sup- port, crowd around the public treasury. Professing to serve the civil body, they care only to serve themselves. Others, ~ without merit to lift them from obscurity, set on foot some dishonest schemes to secure for themselves place and power. Victory, if not sought for pelf or place, is desired by some for the sake of the victory. The Christian man, who is a stran- ger to such motives, absents himself from the contest. He fears, if he were to engage in it, he might also become cor- rupt in his faith and morals; and so, abandoning the Com- monwealth, he clings to his altar. He prays that all may go well with the State, and hopes that a Special Providence will be interposed for its preservation. There are multi- tudes of the most moral and religious members of commu- nity who thus neglect their civil duties. Hence our elec- tions, in many cases, are carried by the selfish and debased. The rabble and the mob take possession of the ballot box, and grog-shops and brothels win the day. This evil has been endured too long. It is the imperative duty of the Pul- pit to impress upon the mind of every Christian man the importance of discharging the obligations he owes to the Commonwealth. If we are to have the Caucus, let the Church be represented in it. If we-are to have the Ballot Box, let it receive the votes of those who have faith im God, and seek to do his will. If we are to have a Government, let it be Christian in its character. ‘ It is the duty of the occupant of the sacred desk to teach the necessity of selecting fit individuals for places of trust 17 in the State. The best government, if administered badly, becomes a curse to its subjects. A republic becomes intol- erable when under the control of demagogues, while a mon- archy may well be borne, if the sovereign is paternal. The people of our land need to be instructed to elect their own rulers, for surely a large proportion of those who rise to authority, elevate themselves. Incompetent men, weak and vacillating, and, what is worse, morally depraved, are fre- quently our rulers. They use the power.with which they are invested to perpetuate their term of office, which ought instantly to close; to strengthen their party, and not to. benefit the nation; to divide and distract the land, rather than preserve its unity and secure to it the blessings of peace. Our Fathers put statesmen in places of authority ; men who feared God, and who, by his blessing, could hold the helm of the Ship of State with a firm and steady hand. Then there was calm deliberation in the halls of legislation, and treason was not rampant in the land. Have we such men in our land to-day? If we have not, God save the State. If we have them, and because of the corruption of politics they cannot be elevated to office, the Pulpit should make them available. Surely it does not go beyond its sphere when it would charge the citizen to vote for the wise, the patriotic, the Christian man. It should be heard in all our elections, not preaching politics or the doctrines of the partizan, but warning the people that they will surely mourn if they consent that the wicked may bear rule; counselling them to select their officers with great caution and prudence, having only in view the highest interests of the State. The people should be taught by their religious instruc- tors the importance of obeying the laws. They are of their own enactment, and they should not stultify themselves by (5) 18 trampling them under foot. If they are wrong, let them be amended or repealed; but while they remain upon the stat- ute book, let them be kept.. If one may be set aside, so may another, till at length anarchy prevails. We do not say that the servants of God in the elder ages did wrong in resisting heathen laws; but we live under a Christian gov- ernment, which is of our own creation, and which we ean modify at our will, and it is our duty to obey it. Our only security for property, life, and all of our rights, is found in its protecting care. It is not left optional with the people, as some pulpits have taught, to keep the law, or break it and take the penalty. They are to keep it,—and they have no — right to choose the latter alternative. Those clergymen are to be condemned,—and that in the strongest terms, — who, singling out certain enactments, instruct their hearers that they are not to regard them. Such teaching tends to un- dermine the State. It leads directly to rebellion and trea- son. It would bring about the very condition of affairs which now exists in the Southern portion of our Republic. But, while the Pulpit should instruct the people to obey the laws of the land, it should condemn those statutes which are morally wrong, and advocate their abrogation. If there is anything contradictory to our religion incorporated into the fundamental law, it should demand that it be stricken out. It has a right to urge the people to the performance of this work, and address itself to legislative bodies to the same end. The wickedness of the law should be made to appear; its disastrous effects should be revealed, in the same manner that individual sinfulness is exposed and rebuked. The Pulpit condemns sin in the Individual, the Household, and the Church; it should do no less in the State. A wick- ed government will accomplish infinitely more evil work than the individual is able to effect, since its action directly im- fluences many millions, and its example disheartens the good 19 in all nations. The results of its movements are not limited to the present, but extend far into the future. A corrupt government or party is not likely to purify itself, but the influences which redeem it must be external. Such a government demoralizes the Church itself, which is com- pelled by the law of self-preservation to undertake the work of its redemption. It gives a bill of indulgence for the com- mission of sins, which are forbidden in the Gospel of Christ. The Christian Minister has been far too reluctant in re- buking the sins of the civil body. He has been deterred by the cry raised against political preaching, by a desire to avoid disturbance, and perhaps, in some cases, by the fear of want. He needs more of the spirit of self-sacrifice. Let him, if need be, put off his soft raiment, and put on camel’s hair ; let him give up his rich repast, and go out in‘search of locusts and wild honey. Let him not cry “Peace, Peace, when there is no peace;” but smite right and left against the enemies of God seated in authority. The wildest tem- pest is preferable to the calmest air, when freighted with the miasma of death. Do we preach Politics when we rebuke wrong in the State? Then I suppose that is Mercantile preaching which condemns dishonesty in trade; and that is Scientific preaching which charges the instructors of our schools to regard the moral interests of their pupils. Such folly should be frowned upon, and be repeated no more. It is the duty of the Pulpit to condemn the traitors who are now threatening the destruction of the Government, and it should demand the overthrow of that institution which has incited them to their unholy work. If the disloyal take ref- uge in the Church, they should be drawn out; if oppression claims the sanction of religion, the Christian teacher should characterize it as a device of the devil. If we have in our midst, religious bodies which tolerate treason, or forbid their 20 elected teachers to condemn it, as we have reason to fear may be the case, they should be broken up. If we may ered- it the journals of the day, a professedly Christian Chureh, in a neighboring State, has instructed its committee to no- tify every Clergyman coming to occupy its desk, that in no way must he refer, either in the discourse or the prayer, to the war which is now devastating the land, or to that sys- tem of oppression which an eminent servant of Christ has justly defined as “the sum of all villanies.” Is this the nine- teenth century? Is this New England, the land of the Pil- erims, and are we their descendants? Such a body cannot be called a Church of Christ. It is a communion of “cop- perheads ;” it is a nest of traitors; it is a church of the dey- il; and were we called to officiate as the head of such an or- ganization, we would, failing in our efforts to regenerate it, see to it that its ruin was thoroughly accomplished. It should no longer remain to disgrace the age, and defile the land which the apostles of impartial liberty have purified with their blood. All honor to the pulpits of our nation which have rebuked its sins, calling upon it to abandon them, and bring forth fruits meet for repentance. Righteousness alone can exalt a nation. No individual can be truly prosperous and honorable, without moral worth. He may have wealth and learning, but, unaccompanied by rectitude of heart, they will avail little. He must “do just- ly, love mercy, and walk humbly with his God.” So is it with the State. Let it fulfil the command “to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the op- pressed go free, and that ye break every yoke,” and it shall realize the promised reward. “It shall build the old waste places, and raise up the foundation of many generations.” Its “light shall break forth as the morning, and its health shall spring forth speedily.” When “Righteousness goes before it,” the “Glory of the Lord shall be its rearward. 21 Let the Pulpit, then, “cry aloud, spare not, lift up the voice like a trumpet, and show the people their transgres- sion.” Let it inspire them anew with the Spirit of Liberty; unite again, and draw still closer, the ties of fraternal love; and teach them to be loyal to the eternal principles of Jus- tice. ; Oh, that the Pulpit of America had done its duty to the State. Perils are upon us. The Union, which was cement- ed by the blood of our Fathers, is threatened with destruc- tion. The Constitution, the wisest and the best instrument of government which man has ever produced, is no longer acknowledged by a large portion of our Confederacy. The Liberties we have enjoyed, and which we have hoped to hand down unimpaired to our children, are in danger. And why is this? It is because so many of our people have de- parted from the principles, and abandoned the purposes, of the founders of the Rebublic, who designed that America should be the home of the free to the end of the ages. They believed that the little cloud of servitude which hung over it in their day, would soon vanish, when the entire heaven would be bright with the ight of Freedom. Their degenerate sons have labored to divide their inheritance be- tween Liberty and Bondage, and to make these opposite principles perpetual and eternal here. To this end they have employed and prostituted all the arts of diplomacy and legislation ; and, failing in these instrumentalities, they have now fesorted to the sword. The soil of our country must be drenched anew with the blood of her children. Would these perils have come upon us if the Pulpit had done its duty? But it is awakening to a sense of its obligations to the State. Its most fervent prayers arise to heaven for its preservation. It is speaking in thunder tones in behalf of the Constitution and the Union. It is discoursing earnestly upon the universal and everlasting Rights of Man. Glori- (6) 22 ous, indeed, is the response of the people, who are offering their treasures and their lives for the redemption of the land. Moved by a religious impulse, they have marched to the post of danger, and, standing there in the very footprints of the Fathers, they will achieve another and a grander victory in the name of Liberty and Humanity. It is a holy warfare; well may the sons of the Church enlist therein. Let the tempest of treason rage—God is mightier than the storm. Let the last great contest between Freedom and Oppression be fought, since it must be so, in the land of Washington. Surely oppressors and traitors can win no permanent tri- umphs here. When the smoke of the, struggle shall have passed away, they shall be found writhing in the agonies of a second death, and every Christian Patriot of the world shall cry, AMEN ! »4-4 Dee SERMON, PREACHED BEFORE THE ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH, IN THE EASTERN DIOCESE, GRACE CHURCH, NEW BEDFORD, MASS., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1837. BY WILLIAM H. LEWIS, Rector of St. Michael’s Church, Marblehead. Boston: PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL PRESS. Torrey & Blair, printers. 1837. ti i ee . . ; New Bedford, Sept. 27, 1837. Rey. and Dear Sir, The undersigned, clergymen of the Eastern Diocese, adopt the present method of expressing to you the satisfac- tion with which they listened to the practical and impres- sive views of ministerial character embodied in your Con- vention Sermon, and as we are precluded by a standing tule of the Convention from acting officially on the subject, we, individually, request you to furnish a copy of your dis- course for the press. Very affectionately, Your brethren in Christ, John West, John Bristed, Alexander H. Vinton, Eras- tus D’Wolf, S. G. Appleton, Wm. Horton, T. Edson, Jona. M. Wainwright, Alfred L. Baury, S. B. Babcock, Thos. M. Clark, Washington Van Zandt, E. Monroe, Thomas Peck, George Taft, James Pratt, J. P. Fenner, John S. Stone, Jos. H. Clinch, E. Livermore, G. W. Hathaway, M. A. D’Wolf Howe, George Waters, A. H. Cull, Dan’l Leach, Ira Warren, Thomas H. Vail, Sam- uel Fuller, Jr. — the fact that “underneath are the everlasting arms,” for in cases of doubt, distress, danger, extreme want, heavy sickness and seeming death, what Azan arm would suffice to hold us up? And is not the discipline of each one of us, whilst we dwell upon the earth, extremely varied, so that no one can pass through life without surprise, trouble, shame, and defeat? Of course I know that there are times in the history of all of us, when the everlasting arms hardly seem to be needed, or craved, or allowed; when human strength appears to be enough, native wit sufficient, one’s own right arm all conquering, and the human will, and work, and success, are called all in all; when victory comes with hardly an effort; prizes seem to be wrenched from time; and the days are slaves to the magician’s wand, that seems to ¥ be made and used by one’s own desire ; when wealth, friends, prosperity, power, and everything materially good, seem to be mortgaged to the possessor at a huge interest against the power of a foreclosure ; when God is sometimes forgotten, heaven ignored, self alone worshipped, and a philosophy woven out of one’s own brain is the object of adoration, approval, and boast. Well, even then, in this hour of assumed personal ability, I declare on the ground of phil_ osophy alone, that ‘underneath are the everlasting arms,” that is, unless when prosperous we rise up and say that we are self-created ; that we have existed from all eternity; and that we have an everlasting earthly inheritance ! So that, just here, where we find denial of God, selfsuffi- ciency, and human autocracy, I claim that just as long as there is mortality, there must be a power behind the throne, although unconfessed, and profaned, and set aside. But there comes a day when “all is not gold that glitters ;” when the power of the material becomes crippled; when riches take wings and fly away; or health becomes muffled, or broken ; or strength departs ; or utter prostration appears ; or seeming death is at hand; and thus, I say, at such times we all become insufficient, and empty, and wretched, and ery out for the arms that are underneath, that have always been holding us up, that have never been withdrawn, although so constantly ignored. It. is sometimes one of the strongest evidences of the living God when some proud spirit, some man of immense wealth, who has for years defied heaven and earth, who has seemed to trample upon human rights all the time; —- 5 who has used the world as a sponge uses water, to gather up all that can be held; who has become a huge receiver, but never a giver, finds some day the material wrecked, and that which seemed everlasting, but a vapor, and loses all that was called a support; when such an one, a Croesus so long, but thoroughly bereft at last, calls upon a God that never before was named, and wants, in the crushing experience, “the everlasting arms.’ We may say, in our surprise, why did not that proud spirit find out, in the days of such great bounty, the holy Giver of splendid gifts, and zzex make the life a glory, a peace, and a sacred power ? and why did such an one wait till the days of dark- ness before finding the true light ? and yet let us be glad, even at the eleventh hour, the soul cried out, “ Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” But how much nobler the character that, whether in pros- perity or in adversity, never forgets the everlasting support ; that uses wealth, power, position, and influence, all as gifts, loans, and trusts, holding the same as a steward, and dispens- ing the same, like the gentle rain of heaven for no mere personal benefit ; and ready when the call comes, without a protest, to render back the trust, and knowing, even in emptiness, that “underneath are the everlasting arms.” How with this faith, one seemingly bereft of all, yet pos- sesses all, and stands upon a rock that can never be under- mined. , If sickness should come, there is no rebellion ; or pain, there is no distrust of the Almighty ; or if seeming death is at hand, still the face and heart are bright, and the splendors of celestial lights glorify the soul, so that the 6 house, the chamber, and the bed, are found to be places of worship, and the music of the heavenly choir can be per- petually heard. “ Underneath are the everlasting arms.” These words seem to light up the past, the present and the future. All ” history is a splendid testimony to the perpetual guardianship of a never-sleeping Providence. Take the centuries in parts, like stones in a mosaic, and events will seem tangled, rough, unsuggestive and useless, having but little marks of a super- intending wisdom, devoid entirely of beauty, or order, or power, and we frequently must exclaim why this? why that? where was God at the time? But put the centuries together, read them together, see how each stone fits into the other stone, and all the stones combined make an impressive pict- ure, speaking of a glorious artist, and at once, our hallelujahs rise up to the great King of kings. Year by year, little seems to be done, and much seems to be undone, and events dance forward and back, as if driven by relentless chance, and even take each hundred years alone, and we are puzzled by the record, but put eighteen centuries together, then al] the inhabitants of the earth and heaven must perforce sing aloud, ‘Glory be to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, now and forever.” So now, when we are puzzled, this very day, when events seem to be tangled; when skep- ticism and socialism, and materialism, seem to have the upper hand ; when we sometimes feel that the guiding love of God is withdrawn, and that chaos will overwhelm us ; when auto- cratic Russia stands dazed, and pleasure-loving France is stu- pefied, and philosophical Germany isin doubt, and intellec- tual England is distressed, and liberty-loving America is bewildered ; even xow, if we will, we can find underneath the disturbance the Everlasting Arms, and nothing can really withstand the control of the Almighty. So for the future, we need not be afraid, for God still lives, will never die, from everlasting to everlasting will still be God, and He will put all the rough stones together and polish them, and make a mosaic that will be the wonder of all eter- nity, and we cannot outvote the blessed King of kings. If it ‘were not for this great truth as I looked towards the future, I should become almost overpowered by my despair, as I see day by day, and ever increasing, the insolence of the sich, the tyranny of the poor, the self sufficiency of the unbeliever, the selfishness of humanity, and the fatal blows so constantly give? to honor, integrity and holiness. Andas we thus behold the power of sin growing, we feel like saying with Bishop Heber : “ From foes that would the land devour, From guilty pride and lust of power, From wild sedition’s lawless hour, From yoke of slavery ; From blinded zeal by faction led, From giddy change by fancy bred, From poisonous error’s serpent head, Good Lord, preserve us free.” And then we say with Zihn: “ God liveth ever, Wherefore soul, despair thou never, Our God is good, in every place His love is known, His help is found, His mighty arm and tender grace Bring good from ills that hem us round. Easier than we think can He Turn to joy our agony, ; Soul, remember mid thy pains, God, o’er all, forever reigns.” “ Underneath are the everlasting arms.” B this statement should not be true; suppose no God, and no everlasting arms, and no sw we are all balanced on a straw over a precipice, tion! What then? Why then, all our instincts take ; then all life is a series = contra ae be ce than chance itself . - Now which alternative shall we take? Shall we | derneath the everlasting arms forever and ever, in in eternity? or shall we say that a senseless pow beings greater than itself, and then after givi “) t the ability to scale heaven with their thought, them at last to eternal oblivion ? Choose each and all. “Underneath are the everlasting arms.” seem to me especially befitting as we gather together church after a long rest, and take up our works a -freshed, strengthened, consecrated and convinced, more sure than ever before, that underneath are | ing arms. For many weeks, in my mental vision, way into the depths of the mountains ; huge rocks have on my side, a deep ravine close by, an arch, with tons nes, ats a? 4, FS fat ot snow, hanging with wondrous beauty close at hand, and five dear ones, who have worshipped in this church, have seemed to gaze at the glorious works of God. What joy for the eye ; what a peace for the heart, what a sacred lesson for the mem- ory, what a foretaste of heaven! But soon four of the num- ber leave the spot where the glory was the greatest, and but one stands in his youthful beauty, his noble courage, his cheerful faith, stands with kindling eye, and throbbing heart, and eloquent voice, when all at once the chariot of the Lord comes and wraps in a mantle of white that young man, and he is translated from the earthly mountains to the mountains of God in heaven, and those, but a few minutes before at the very spot where he was taken, gaze like the prophet of old, at the ascending angel, and although they cannot see his form, know that underneath are the everlasting arms—under- neath him, underneath them, un‘erneath us all, promoting him and sparing them awhile, but in God’s good time, if we are faithful, lifting us all up to the city of the New Jeru- salem. I will not dwell longer upon that scene which must dwell with some of you as long as you breathe the breath of life. I will not speak more of my vision, whzch to some of you was such a terrible reality, but I will earnestly try to assure you, and myself, and all the earth, that “underneath are the. ’ everlasting arms;"’ underneath the aged one so patient in his sickness, so grateful to the dear ones who cared for him so gently, and so ready to go if God ordered; over whose form I offered the prayer for help on the last Sunday we met in this church ; underneath the boy who was just ,. * ys i : 10 beginning to be a man, as he was suddenly caught up to heaven; underneath his companions who were spared awhile to dwell with us; and underneath the world, and all the inhabitants thereof. Yes, forever and forever are everlasting arms of God holding us up, for he has given his glorious promise through the words of the blessed Redeemer: “Lo, Iam with you always, even unto the end of the world.” Yet, after all that we have said, we have just within a few days, through a large portion of the United States, passed through an experience that might seem to set aside forever the comforting doctrine that “underneath are the everlasting arms.” Indeed to many it must have seemed that all eternal support had been withdrawn, and that every- thing solid had disappeared, as the earth began to shake, and buildings commenced to fall, and fire offered its too friendly fellowship, and multitudes of people were filled with alarm, and prostrated in prayer, whilst hearts were broken, and many souls went suddenly out of their earthly tene- ment! Where, then, were the “Everlasting Arms?” Did the people of Charleston, and Cleveland, and Washington, and Savannah, and other cities, find God at their side when everything else seemed to be slipping away? Yes; then, closer than ever were the “ Everlasting Arms ”’ around every mortal body and every anguished soul, and many who never prayed before, bore powerful testimony to this great truth when they cried out, ““God have mercy upon us,’ and uttered other piteous appeals to the great King of kings, because then there was a clear confession that God was 11 near, and that God alone could help; and just as long as we all have such a support, earthquakes cannot destroy us; fire cannot burn us up; tidal waves cannot submerge us; and no earthly power can put us down, or put us out, for the spiritual body can never be destroyed, and the heart that rests on God can never be broken ! eae $< pes é ~- — ~ ae —s - io ie . fcr 20 48 JAN 3 "6 MAY 1559 MAY a ‘ae FEB 2 Sap - AB? i | ESP EF f 4 Form 3385—385M—9-34—C. P. Co. Scn. R 252 $485Z nos.3 Sch oo! of Religion ini