ee ee ee en ee A a a 
 
 The Christian Beli’ eyed from the Hear of Death. 
 ® 
 
 A DISCOURSE 
 
 BY TAR 
 
 REV. DR. FULLER, 
 
 PreacHed DecemBer 1, 1861. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THEIR PRIVATE USE, 
 BY : 
 MEMBERS OF THE SEVENTH BAPTIST CHURCH, BALTIMORE. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 PRINTED BY W. M. INNES, 
 
 ADAMS EXPRESS BUILDING. 
 
 
 
 1861. 
 

 
The Christian Delivered from the Hear of Death. 
 
 A DISCOURSE 
 
 BY TAE 
 
 REV. DR. FULLER, 
 
 PreacHeD DrcrmeBer 1, 1861. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THEIR PRIVATE USE, 
 BY 
 MEMBERS OF THE SEVENTH BAPTIST CHURCH, BALTIMORE. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 PRINTED BY W. M. INNES, 
 
 ADAMS EXPRESS BUILDING. 
 
 
 
 1861. 
 

 
 Baltimore, December 10, 1861. 
 Rey. Dr. R. FuLtier :— i) 
 
 Dear BrotHer:—It is the belief of the members of the Church, and 
 others who loved, esteemed, and honored your daughter, and who are not 
 willing that the sermon preached on the Sabbath after her death, should be 
 lost—that its publication would be the means of doing much good; and we 
 hope you will consent to furnish a copy for that purpose. 
 
 Affectionately, your Brethren, 
 
 WM. T. FOSTER, WM. CRANE, 
 EUGENE LEVERING, HIRAM WOODS, Jr., 
 THOS. M. JOHNSON, W. H. PERKINS, 
 
 JEFFERSON SCHULTZE, A.J. LOWNDES. 
 A. A. CHAPMAN, ~ 
 
 Baltimore, Dec. 13, 1861. 
 BreLoveD BRETHREN : 
 
 You are aware that [had no written discourse. The manuscript sent was 
 prepared afterwards, as I was notified of your kind wishes, but it gives the 
 sermon with some accuracy. 
 
 ‘‘As sorrowing, yet always rejoicing;’’ none are always rejoicing, but 
 those who as to earthly things have cause for sorrow; then is fulfilled that 
 promise, ‘‘ That my joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full.” 
 
 My toils, prayers, praises, joys, sorrows, life, death, belong to the 
 Church; I therefore comply with your request. But—for reasons you will 
 at once appreciate—I beg that there be printed only as many copies as the 
 members desire to have, and that there may not be what is properly a 
 “publication.” 
 
 Very affectionately vour brother and pastor, 
 
 : RICHARD FULLER. 
 Messrs. W. T. FOSTER, WM. CRANE, 
 
 EUGENE LEVERING, HIRAM WOODS, Jr., 
 THOMAS M. JOHNSON, A. A. CHAPMAN, 
 JEFFERSON SCHULTZE, W. H. PERKINS. 
 
 A. J. LOWNDES, 
 
 
 
SERMON. 
 
 Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself like- 
 wise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power 
 of death, that is, the devil: And deliver them who, through fear of death, were all their 
 lifetime subject to bondage. Wer. 2: 14, 15. 
 
 ‘Whether we be aftlicted, it is for your consolation and 
 salvation.’’ It may seem hard that—besides their studies, 
 toils and sacrifices—pastors should be smitten by God for 
 the sake of their flocks; but any sorrow should be wel- 
 come to us, when we remember what He endured who 
 “loved the Church and gave himself for it.”” The Serip- 
 tures, indeed, represent this as a sublime privilege, that 
 to us it is given thus to be partakers of Christ’s afflictions 
 —‘‘ Who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up 
 that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in my 
 flesh for his body’s sake, which is the Chureh.’’ Nor can 
 tongue tell, nor thought conceive the sweetness of those 
 consolations which are mercifully vouchsafed to ministers, 
 while passing through this discipline, by Him ‘‘ who com- 
 forteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to 
 comfort them that are in any trouble, by the comfort 
 wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.”’ 
 
 The passage selected for this morning comes to you from 
 a chamber in which—with a triumph for transcending all 
 I had ever witnessed, or read, or conceived—death was 
 swallowed up in victory. During the last four days of her 
 

 
 4 
 
 illness, the physician assured me that my sainted child 
 suffered the pangs of a hundred deaths ; but her soul was 
 filled with unutterable blessednéss. While complying 
 with the prescriptions of her medical attendants, she de- 
 sired that no anodynes might be administered, lest they 
 should affect her mind. ‘‘The cup that my Father hath 
 given me,’’ she said, ‘‘shall I not drink it?”’ ‘*My body 
 suffers, but my soul is flooded with happiness.”’ ‘‘I have 
 no wish but to glorify God by my death.’ ‘*How in- 
 effably precious is Jesus to me, how I love and adore him.”’ 
 After remarking that she had all her life been afraid to 
 die, she repeated the words just read as our text, exclaim- 
 ing, ‘‘Nota fear now, not a doubt ; all is joy unspeakable 
 and full of glory.” 
 
 My beloved brethren, wherever I may be, I am still 
 thinking of you; and I no sooner heard this last remark, 
 than my mind reverted to you. I said, I will preach to 
 them from those verses—I must seek to arm them with 
 these defences, these heavenly consolations against death, 
 
 The Apostle is speaking of the children of God. ‘*Foras- 
 much then, as the children, &c., &c.;’’ the same ‘‘children’’ 
 mentioned in the preceding verse. The Devil, who ‘‘ hath 
 the power of death,’’ is careful not to alarm his victims ; 
 he disguises from them the formidable character of death. 
 Hence philosophers falsely so called, libertines, duellists, 
 men of the world, and worldly professors, can, ike guilty 
 Jonah, sleep on, regardless of their danger. The God of 
 this world blinds their minds, till they glide over the 
 precipice ; they die as the fool dieth. The text refers to 
 the children of God. Of them it declares, that the tempt- 
 er—by inspiring a dread of death—often impairs their joy, 
 keeps them under a miserable bondage—literally, de- 
 presses them; and that the incarnation and death of the 
 Son of God ought to liberate them from this servile yoke, 
 dispel their apprehensions, and cause them to rise to a 
 triumphant superiority over all fear of death. Let us 
 meditate upon a truth which so deeply concerns each of 
 us, and which is so full of consolation. 
 
5 
 
 I.—Sitting, as I have sat for several days and nights, 
 looking death in the face, and seeing in that face only 
 smiles, I asked myself, What then is it which renders 
 death so universally formidable? And the first answer 
 was, The impenetrable veil which shrouds the future, the 
 darkness which, to sense and reason, hangs so gloomily 
 over all beyond the ‘grave. Love keeps its vigils at the 
 bedside of one dearer to you than life. At this post of 
 observation you watch the insidious, inexorable progress 
 of the disease. The fatal moment at length arrives. You 
 embrace your child, so beloved and cherished. You ex- 
 change the tenderest adieus. Gradually an invisible cur- 
 tain descends between you and the object of these warm 
 and yearning affections. In a moment a separation takes 
 place most mysterious and awful; there is a silence which 
 no cries, no imploring appeals can break. Those lips 
 which had just spoken to you in such endearing accents 
 are sealed. The hands you still hold, and whose last pres- 
 sure told you so much, are relaxed. The eyes whicha 
 moment before had beamed upon you with such heavenly 
 softness are quenched. And the question breaks in on the 
 heart with the power and earnestness of eternity—Is this 
 the termination of life? or is there another, an immortal 
 life,-upon which the soul has entered ? 
 
 And there is no question which can so agitate the human 
 mind. Oh, this is no matter of cold abstract speculation. 
 Every day it is pressing upon the inmost spirit of some 
 mourner bending over the couch of death. Every day 
 some Martha and Mary are shedding floods of tears for a 
 brother, who had been to them friend, counsellor, pro- 
 tector. Every day some Joseph is mourning for his father 
 with a lamentation so bitter, that ‘‘the place is called 
 Abel Mizraim ;’’ some Rachel is weeping for her children 
 and refusing to be comforted ; some David is exclaiming, 
 ‘QO, my son, my son, would God I had died for thee.’’ 
 Yes, each day, hour, minute, second, some human heart 
 is cleft in twain, and pours its unavailing bursts of 
 anguish, or sits in a silent agony more terrible than the 
 

 
 6 
 
 most piercing shrieks and wailings. Now, need | tell you | 
 that a heart thus bowed down cannot be satisfied with con- 
 jectures and peradventures? No, it needs solid, stable 
 consolation ; it requires a light from heaven to dissipate 
 the obscurity of the future, a revelation from God to lift 
 the veil and dispel all fear and misgiving. 
 
 I do not undervalue the arguments for an indestructible 
 life which reason furnishes: and, as the subject 1s of such 
 vast concern, I will indicate, in so many words, those 
 which seem to me of most value. 
 
 First, we carry within ourselves the instinctive conscious- 
 ness of a spiritual principle distinct from, and infinitely 
 superior to, the material body. When you use your tongue 
 to utter, or your fingers to write your thoughts, you 
 know it is not the tongue nor the fingers which think; they 
 are only the instruments employed by the mind, the spir- 
 itual faculty. We compare, reason, reflect, contrive, re- 
 member, hope, love: but it is palpably absurd to suppose that 
 these are acts of our physical organization. Now, whether 
 this spiritual principle shall live forever or be destroyed, de- 
 pends entirely upon the will of God; and God has written 
 upon our very nature some intimations of its immortal ex- 
 istence. 
 
 For he has impressed upon humanity, wherever it is dif 
 fused, a conviction of existence beyond the tomb. No na- 
 tion has ever been discovered which did not cling to this 
 faith. Whence this universal belief? That which has 
 been held as certain by all men, everywhere, and at all 
 times, assuredly seems to be a truth either written on the 
 structure of the soul, or transmitted from an original rey- 
 elation communicated at our creation. : 
 
 Another fact. We are endowed by God with irrepressi- 
 ble aspirations and longings for a happiness which we 
 know can never be attained in this life, for a happiness 
 which is eternal. Is not this yearning a prophecy? The 
 body has no appetites for which God has not provided ; is 
 it possible that this hungering and thirsting of the soul is 
 never to be gratified? The future, like the past, is noth- 
 
e 
 ‘ 
 
 ing to a brute, it lives only in the present. To man, the 
 present is comparatively little; to him the transcendent 
 value of life—its happiness and dignity—is in memory 
 and hope. Hence the very idea of annihilation is over- 
 whelming to him. He instinctively revolts at the very 
 thought, that memory, hope, reason, love ever can be 
 destroyed. And it is a most instructive—I had almost 
 said a conclusive fact, that this horror of extinction, this 
 instinct of endless duration, this anticipation of immortal 
 life, becomes more articulate and stronger, just as the soul 
 becomes holy :—that is, just as its views are clear, and its 
 dictates and wishes in harmony with the will of God con- 
 cerning it, 
 
 I know that, look where we will around us, the prospect 
 is gloomy enough as to the perpetuation of life. The veg- 
 etable and animal creations are ever decaying and perish- 
 
 ing So, too, with human existence. ‘‘One generation 
 passeth away, and another cometh.’ Thedarkness, cor- 
 
 ruption, oblivion of the tomb swallow up race after race, 
 and no trace of them remains. In all this, however, we 
 see only ‘‘the dust returning to the dust from which it 
 was taken.’ The Scriptures declare that *‘ The Spirit re- 
 turns to God who gave it:’” and to argue that, because 
 material substances decay, therefore the soul inust perish, 
 is to overlook entirely the distinctions between matter and 
 spirit. 
 
 Observe carefully any merely material development, and 
 you will find that it soon attains its completion and then 
 ceases. This is true of all vegetable growth, of all animal 
 life, even of that noblest organism, the human frame. 
 But the more the soul expands, the more it unfolds bound- 
 less powers of growth and expansion. Nay, the very pro- 
 perties of matter require. that its increase should be soon 
 arrested. If a tree should continue to grow, it would cast 
 its shade over the land and prevent the growth of other 
 trees. But the more the soul is enlarged, the more in- 
 vigorating and blessed are the influences it exerts over 
 other souls. Extend this thought into eternity, and you 
 
 
 
8 
 
 will feel something of the meaning of that expression, 
 
 “<The power of an endless life,’ the power of the soul to 
 
 dilate its own divine faculties through eternity, and 
 through eternity to diffuse happiness upon other souls. 
 Ponder, too, another distinction between spirit and mat- 
 ter. The latter, when it decays, is not destroyed ; it still 
 exists, and passes into other, often into higher forms. But 
 if my mind, thought, reason, conscience, memory, hope, 
 love of truth, of purity, of God, become extinct, there is utter 
 and unutterable destruction. For these are peculiar to 
 myself, and can never belong to any other being. 
 
 We are sometimes told of man’s insignificance. I might 
 pronounce this croaking a libel; but, admitting all that 
 is said of man’s meanness, I affirm that a being who can 
 know himself, and lament his inieriority to his own stand- 
 ard of intellectual and moral perfection, cannot be insig- 
 nificant. He is great—greater than the earth, greater 
 than the stars, greater than the sun, greater than all the 
 material universe; for the earth, the stars, the sun, the 
 material universe are all unconscious of their own exist- 
 ence, nor can they conceive of, and aspire after higher and 
 more splendid creations. 
 
 But man’s guilt and depravity. Beit so. What then? 
 This very consciousness of guilt is.an intimation—a very 
 strong intimation of immortality. For, if there were no 
 future life, no judgment, no retribution after death, con- 
 science could not exert its tremendous power. The sense 
 of sin is terrible, because we feel that the consequences of 
 sin are not exhausted here, that its real punishment will 
 be inflicted hereafter. : 
 
 Let me only add that the scenes often presented in the 
 chamber of dying Christians furnish an evidence almost 
 irresistible that the soul does not decay with the decay of 
 the physical system. Those superhuman triumphs amidst 
 convulsions of pain—those ineffable joys which transport 
 the soul while disease and anguish shoot through every 
 nerve and fibre of the material frame—those songs of ex- 
 ultation in the very moment when the body is dissolving— 
 
bite? 
 oo 
 
 9 
 
 it is almost impossible to witness such a spectacle, without 
 feeling that there is in man the germ of an imperishable 
 existence, that he is destined by God for immortality. 
 
 I might multiply reflections like these. Ido not pre- 
 tend, however, that these arguments, with the addition of 
 others, would establish a certainty. Still, if man is crea- 
 ted for future and unwasting life, I would expect reason 
 to give some intimation of this magnificent truth; and I 
 think we have enough to awaken presumption, expectation, 
 a well founded hope. 
 
 But, my brethren—when just parted by death from one 
 most loving, lovely, and beloved—presumption, expecta- 
 tion, hope, will not do. ‘‘I hope there is something after 
 death ;’’—this was all that the wisest and best of the an- 
 cient philosophers could say. But O, cruel consolation, 
 excruciating conjecture which soon remits the heart to 
 the most agonizing doubts and apprehensions. No, no; 
 guesses, peradventures, probabilities will not do; we need 
 proof, assurance; let me have these, let the veil be re- 
 moved ; let me know certainly that the being so dear has 
 been translated to a sphere of immortal life; and I am 
 satisfied, | dry my tears; death is disarmed of this terror, 
 death is but the beginning of a higher, sublimer exist- 
 ence, death is swallowed up in victory. Give me this 
 assurance, ————_————. but who can give it tome? Five 
 hundred generations have passed into that shadowy land, 
 but no messenger, no whisper has come back from the 
 tomb. Worlds were little to barter for the certainty, but 
 
 worlds cannot purchase it. 1 ask the earth, I conjure the 
 
 Skies, I weary the heights and torture the depths with my 
 imploring cries ;—but earth and sky, height and depth re- 
 turn only a cold, dead, chilling echo. Where, then, can 
 assurance be obtained? Blessed be God, there is a teacher 
 who perfectly ascertains every thing here. The Cross tow- 
 ers like a beacon between that dusky world and ours, irra- 
 diating each with celestial brightness. ‘‘ By his death’’ 
 Jesus delivers his children from all fear of falling back into 
 
 2 
 
10 
 
 nothing. He has ‘‘abolished death,’’ (how energetically 
 does the Apostle announce the very truth I am urging) 
 
 ‘Cand has brought life and immortality to light through 
 
 the Gospel.’ The demonstration here is so simple that a 
 
 child can comprehend it, and so irrefragable that I defy 
 
 the acutest genius to detect a flaw or frame even a plausi- 
 
 ble objection. 
 
 For, whatever may be doubtful, one thing is incontesta- 
 ble, the death and resurrection of the Redeemer forever 
 establish the truth of his doctrine. I need not exhibit to 
 you the proofs of that death and resurrection. If it were 
 proper to convey such communications from this place, I 
 would make one remark, I would say that, in other days 
 I was accustomed to sift evidence—to subject it to the 
 severest cross examination; that I have scrutinized the 
 testimony on this subject with a more critical jealousy for 
 fear lest a religious education might have biased my mind; 
 and that no fact in history rests upon more ‘‘rocky strength 
 of foundation’ than the Saviour’s death and resurrection. 
 On this great event, you remember, He staked the certain- 
 ty of his doctrine. The Jews would not be convinced by 
 his miracles, they demandeda sign. ‘‘ Let him come down 
 from the cross,’’ they said, ‘‘aud we will believe.” He 
 gives them more than they required. He enters the tomb, 
 and emerges, ‘‘the resurrection and the life,’’ on the third 
 day. His doctrine, then, is forever established. 
 
 But, now, what is the Saviour’s doctrine? It is, as we 
 have already seen, the assertion of life and immortality. — 
 We said, just now, that upon our very nature there is the 
 impress of a future existence; and it is a striking fact, 
 that revelation takes for granted this irrepressible consei- 
 ousness. Jesus never once enters into any argument, nor 
 advances any proofs upon this subject. He speaks to man 
 as a being who carries within him a light which had be- 
 came dim, and which needed only,to be trimmed and re- 
 freshed. He appeals constantly and directly to a spiritual 
 principle in the human bosom; this he addresses clearly, 
 
: 11 
 
 solemnly, and with perfect confidence, knowing that his 
 voice would find an mstant response. 
 
 Another remark. The soul’s immortality is taught by 
 Jesus, not in any detached passages; it is a truth which 
 underlies and pervades the whole of his religion. Much 
 he promises to ‘‘the life which now is; but it is ‘‘the 
 life that is to come’’ which he constantly proposes, as the 
 object of our devoutest aspirations. His disciples are not 
 to fear them who can destroy only the body, but him who 
 can cast soul and body into hell. They are to labor, not 
 for the meat which perisheth, but for that which endureth 
 to everlasting life. They are not to lay up treasure on 
 earth, but in heaven. They are not to expect rewards on 
 earth, but in heaven. They are to welcome trials and 
 sacrifices, that they may receive a kingdom prepared for 
 them before the foundation of the world. In short, all 
 terrestrial pomps and charms are to be despised, and per- 
 secution, poverty, pain, dungeons, swords, scaffolds, fires, 
 the most frightful martyrdoms are to be preferred to the 
 pleasures of sin. And why all this? Why, because the 
 soul is immortal, because the gain of the whole world 
 would be no sort of equivalent for its loss. 
 
 And, oh! the earnestness with which the Saviour press- 
 ed this grand doctrine. Man’s ignorance of God drew 
 from him his bitterest tears, causing him to utter that in- 
 tense lamentation, ‘‘O, righteous Father, the world hath 
 not known thee.’ But next to this dismal phenomenon, 
 the spectacle which pierced his heart with the acutest an- 
 guish was man’s neglect of his spiritual nature. He did 
 not overlook the body ; he sympathized with its wants and 
 miseries. He fed it, healed its infirmities, cured its dis- 
 eases, raised it from the tomb. But it was the soul——its 
 imperial capacities—its magnificent endowments—above 
 all, its eternal life—an existence which shall endure when 
 worlds, stars, suns, shall have expired—it was this that 
 absorbed his thoughts aud kindled solicitudes indefatiga- 
 ble and extinguishable; for this he pleaded with unuttera- 
 ble yearnings. His entire ministry—his sermons, his warn- 
 
12 
 
 ings, his entreaties, his tears—was a voice from heaven, pro- 
 claiming the immortality of the soul, and beseeching men 
 to awake to a truth so solemn, glorious, consoling, rejoic- 
 ing, inspiring. 
 
 My Friends, I cannot tell how this subject affects you. 
 Even in Christians the cry of the soul is stifled by the 
 clamors of the world and the passions. Here, to-day, in 
 the sanctuary itself, your spiritual discernments are so 
 dull and darkened, that this truth excites scarcely an emo- 
 tion in your minds. But in the chamber where death has 
 just removed one most dear to you; kneeling beside the bed 
 and gazing upon that form which had so long been the 
 object of your tenderest affections ; looking into that pale, 
 sweet face, and feeling that for one word from those lips 
 you would give all which life has or hopes for ;—there, 
 oh, there, this doctrine is unspeakably precious. Close 
 your eyes. Do not let your thoughts rest upon the casket, 
 lovely as that is. The soul, the spirit—that which was 
 and is the being vou loved--has been taken from this 
 valley of tears, and has entered upon her true life. The 
 angels who rejoiced over her repentance, experience new 
 delights at her emancipation. Could she speak, she would — 
 say, in the language of Jesus, ‘‘Why seek you the living 
 among the dead?’’ ‘‘If you loved me you would rejoice 
 because I go to my Father.’’ Shall not this assurance 
 sweeten the bitterness of separation? Will you surrender 
 yourself to convulsions of grief, and shed floods of tears, 
 because the imprisoned spirit is set free-and exults in ever- 
 lasting life? Was it only yourself you loved, and the 
 happiness you enjoyed in her society? If you truly loved 
 her, could you mourn and weep, because she has ceased to 
 see, as you see—through organs so limited in their vision— 
 and now sees as she is seen by God ? because she no longer 
 knows as you know—with a knowledge which is only a 
 sort of ignerance—but knows even as she is known? be- 
 cause she lives—not as we live—a few years of weakuess, 
 infirmity, sorrow, sin—but as God lives—expatiating in 
 spiritual, celestial, immortal existence ? 
 
 
 
13 
 
 The first fearful trait about death is, the uncertainty as 
 to the something, anything, after death ; and you see how 
 the cross supplies such an antidote to these apprehensions, 
 that it may be truly said, ‘‘ Jesus Christ hath abolished 
 death and brought life and immortality to light through 
 the Gospel.’ I wish here to pause for a moment, and— 
 as the matter is of infinite importance—to ask each of you, 
 with individual reference, whether you believe in this 
 glorious doctrine? I know you will answer, To be sure I 
 do, I never had a doubt of it. But if you have never 
 known the misery of an earnest doubt, I am afraid you 
 have never known the rapture of an earnest faith, as to 
 this subject. To rejoice in the full assurance of immor- 
 tality, you must reflect ; you must feel the folly of all the 
 sophistries which infidels can bring against it; you must 
 take in the proofs which reason furnishes, and the demon- 
 stration which the Gospel supplies. ‘‘If a man die, shall 
 he live again?’’ Never, in all my lite, have I ever known 
 any sort of scepticism as to this question ; yet it seems to 
 me I only believed that I believed. Would that I could 
 impart to you the happiness, the triumphant assurance, 
 the transports, with which I now realize its certainty and 
 its magnificence. 
 
 Il.—Thus far our argument has supposed that man is 
 innocent, and it fortifies us only against the fear of annihi- 
 lation; but there is another and more awful terror in 
 leaving this world. Man isa sinner. We have seen that 
 he carries within him an instinct of his spiritual nature, 
 and that Jesus constantly takes this fer granted. Now his 
 consciousness of guilt is still more clear, and the Saviour 
 always deals with him as a being whose conscience leaves 
 no room for denial or evasion on this point; he takes for 
 granted man’s inward sense of transgression and accounta- 
 bility after death for sin. This truth renders death for- 
 midable indeed, for the soul then passes into the presence 
 of its judge, and receives that sentence which fixes its des- 
 tiny amidst the changeless retributions of eternity. And, 
 now, what I say is, that by his death Jesus delivers his 
 
14 
 
 people forever and perfectly from all fear on this score. 
 This is our second article. ‘‘The sting of death is sin, 
 and the strength of sin is the law, but thanks be unto 
 God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ.” 
 
 Men and brethren, for twenty-five years—ever since it 
 pleased God to call me by his grace and to put me into 
 the ministry—I have sought always and everywhere to 
 preach Christ Jesus and him crucified. As a fact, as a 
 doctrine, as the only foundation of hope, holiness, salva- 
 tion, Christ has been to me ‘‘all and in all;’’ but never 
 did my faith rest upon the atonement with such a perfect 
 confidence, such a delightful recumbency as now rejoices 
 my whole soul. Sitting beside that departed saint, and 
 hearing her often exclaim, ‘‘ Not a doubt, not a fear, all is 
 peace and joy and blessedness,’’ I asked her, upon what 
 she relied with such triumphant assurance? ‘‘I know,”’ 
 my dearest child, I said, ‘‘that ‘many daughters have 
 done virtuously, but you have excelled them all,’ and 
 members of the church have called and told me how they 
 all loved you.’’ She at once interrupted me. ‘‘Do not, 
 my dear father, I beg you, utter one word about me. 
 Speak only of Jesus, his blood and righteousness. JI am 
 a poor sinner saved by grace, who feels her unworthiness, 
 and laments that, having so short a life, she did not de- 
 vote it more entirely to such a Saviour.’’ ‘‘ How, then, is 
 it that not a cloud not a shadow is upon the brightness 
 of your prospect?’’ ‘‘How?”’ she replied, looking up 
 into my face with surprise, ‘‘ How? did He not die for me? 
 does not his blood cleanse from all sin?’’ Here she was 
 convulsed by one of those paroxysms of agony which nearly 
 suffocated her, during which I heard her murmuring in 
 broken accents, ‘‘ Father, not my will, but thine.’’ As soon 
 as it had passed, she remarked, with a smile of angelic 
 sweetness, ‘‘ These are only the throes of the poor body; the 
 spirit is in perfect peace. For your sakes I hope God will 
 spare me these spasms, for I see they overcome you; but for 
 myself, I scarcely feel them, such is the blessedness which 
 
‘ 15 
 
 fills my whole being till it runs over. I desire not a 
 ~ pang less than my Saviour sees good for me. He does all 
 things well.’’ And then, resuming her former theme, 
 she said, ‘‘ Washed in his blood, how can I doubt? 
 Clothed in his spotless righteousness, what can I fear ? 
 ‘They have washed their robes and made them white in 
 the blood of the lamb.’ ”’ 
 
 Our text ascribes the Christian’s disenthralment trom 
 fear to the ‘‘death of Jesus.”’ Socinians tell us of his 
 virtues, his miracles, his example; and if they refer to 
 his crucifixion, it is only as the highest exhibition of dis- 
 interested love, or as a proof of the truth of his doctrine— 
 bad reasoning, by the way, for a man’s sealing his creed 
 with his blood has nothing to do with its truth. A mar- 
 tyr convinces us of his sincerity, but more men have died 
 for error than for truth. The Scriptures attribute the 
 whole of salvation to the blood, the death of Christ. This 
 fundamental truth, that his death was a real satisfaction 
 for sin, foolish men have denounced as a dogma utterly 
 irrational. But—while the atonement is a mystery—the 
 very mystery which the Apostle declares, ‘‘Kye had not 
 seen, nor ear heard, neither had it entered into the heart 
 of man to conceive,’’—yet, of this great doctrine, as of im- 
 mortality, I affirm, that reason and revelation speak with 
 one voice. 
 
 Without at all discussing the inspired account of the 
 Fall, it is a matter of palpable observation and experi- 
 ence, that man is a fallen being, that humanity is not in 
 its normal and original purity, as it must have come from 
 the hands of the Creator. Now—admitting this degene- 
 racy—I can form no idea of the Deity which does not in- 
 spire the hope that he will interpose to rescue us from 
 ruin, and restore us to his favor and his image. 
 
 More than that. Such an expectation is confirmed and 
 raised almost to certainty by multiplied and most signifi- 
 cant intimations, which I find in God’s conduct towards 
 our apostate world. For, if humanity be abandoned—if, 
 in the divine contemplation, there had been no purpose of 
 
 
 
16 
 
 restoration, why has the race been continued ? why are we 
 the recipients of so many mercies? why so much pains— 
 such care—so many heaven appointed checks to restrain 
 us from vice? why so many motives to impel us to virtue? 
 why, amidst conscious guilt and ruin, has man always 
 cherished such anticipations of an august deliverer, that 
 Jesus is styled ‘‘The Desire of all nations,’ and the 
 whole creation is represented as ‘‘ groaning together,” 
 struggling in the pangs of a magnificent regeneration ? 
 When the old men wept as they remembered the gorgeous- 
 ness of Solomon’s temple, God assured them that the ‘‘ glory 
 of the latter house should be greater,’ because the Mes- 
 siah would appear in its courts. And in man’s very na- 
 ture there is a gospel which, while he mourns his con- 
 scious degeneracy, inspires the noblest hopes of a salva- 
 tion which shall confer upon him a more abundant life 
 than that received at creation—of a redemption to crown 
 him with a glory far transcending that of Paradise. 
 
 And then, see, too, how enlightened reason confesses 
 and admires the harmony of this “great salvation’? with 
 every attribute of the divine Being. In the satisfaction 
 of Calvary God’s justice is satisfied; for, on the very 
 theatre which had witnessed the dishonor of the law, that 
 law is vindicated and magnified: God’s holiness is satis- 
 fied; for Jesus does not save his people in sin, but from 
 sin. In the Gospel scheme mercy is not a weakness—as 
 it often is in human administrations,—it 1s the exercise of 
 amazing love and compassion-through an expedient which 
 
 awfully asserts the inviolable majesty of Jehoyah’s moral 
 
 government. In short, from the vicarious sufferings of 
 the Son of Goda fresh revenue of honor accrues to every 
 perfection of the Deity. They are all blended into a belt 
 of light, a zodiac of softened splendors, which illuminates 
 the earth with joy, irradiates heaven with new raptures, 
 and pours fresh adorable effulgence upon the divine char- 
 acter. 
 
 I was right, then, when I affirmed, not only that there 
 is in the doctrine of the atonement nothing to shock my 
 
intellect, but that reason stands ready to weleome such a 
 salvation as the only possible salvation for man—if indeed 
 it be revealed. And is not revealed? Is it not the great 
 revelation of the Gospel? Is it not the Gospel, ‘‘the good 
 news, ‘‘the glad tidings of great joy’? Upon this point 
 I need not accumulate proofs from the sacred Oracles. 
 Thank God, I am addressing a Christian Church. You 
 not only know the certainty of ‘‘this faithful saying and 
 worthy of all acceptation,’’ but you have gladly received 
 it as the foundation of all your faith and hope. Let me 
 only quote a single text, which I select because I am speak- 
 ing of our deliverance from every apprehension as to the 
 consequences of sin in eternity, and the passage occurs in 
 precisely such an argument addressed by Paul to the Cor- 
 inthians. ‘‘Moreover, brethren,’ these are his words, ‘‘I 
 declare unto you the Gospel which I preached unto you, 
 which also ye received, and wherein ye stand, by which 
 also ye are saved.’ He is recapitulating, you observe, 
 that Gospel which was the substance of all his preaching, 
 the source of all piety to his hearers, and the only ground 
 of salvation. Well, and what is that Gospel? ‘‘For I 
 delivered unto you first of all, that which I also received, 
 how that Christ died for our sins according to the Serip- 
 tures.” This, then, is that Gospel. It is not that Christ 
 died as a martyr, but that he ‘‘died for our sins.’’ There 
 was an adequate object for that amazing phenomenon, the 
 Lord of life and glory expiring upon the cross. ‘‘He bore 
 our sins in his own body on the tree.’ ‘‘He who knew 
 no sin was made a sin-offering for us.’’ This is the Gos- 
 pel; this is the revelation which Paul ‘‘received’’ from 
 God; which is the burden of all ‘‘the Scriptures,’’—the 
 adoring theme of patriarchs, prophets, apostles; and 
 which, acting by inspiration, he delivered ‘‘firs¢ of all,’ — 
 predicated as the great doctrine on which all evangelical 
 truth rests,—as the only foundation of salvation which can 
 be laid—the foundation which God has laid—and, building 
 upon which, no man, no matter how multiplied and aggra- 
 vated his guilt, can ever be disappointed. 
 
 2 
 19) 
 
18 
 
 Christ having died for our sins—having carried them | 
 
 with him up on the cross, down into the tomb,—and hay- 
 ing ‘‘risen for our justification,’’—his resurrection being 
 the proclamation of heaven that a full satisfaction had 
 been made,—the Holy Spirit assures us that those who be- 
 
 lieve in him cannot die in their sins. ‘‘There is, there- . 
 
 fore, no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus.” 
 Why not? Because in Christ they died, in Christ they 
 rose, in Christ they perfectly satisfied the demands of jus- 
 tice. After this, how can a Christian have a single doubt 
 or fear? Ah, I know the tempter sometimes exerts all 
 his malignity in that trying moment when the child of 
 God is enfeebled by disease, when flesh and heart are fail- 
 ing. Satan is branded by inspiration as ‘‘the accuser of 
 the brethren.’’ And never is he more subtle and malicious 
 than when he employs what the Apostle designates as the 
 
 ‘power of death ;°’ when he assails the mind during its 
 
 conflict with the last enemy, arraying before the memory 
 all the sins of the past, and seeking to fill the conscience 
 with alarms. But, let the Christian only remember 
 ‘‘whom he has believed ;’’ let him turn from these sug- 
 gestions of his own faithlessness and vileness, and fix his 
 eyes upon the Cross. One single look there will be 
 enough ; all terror will instantly vanish, heavenly peace, 
 assurance, joy, will settle down upon his soul. 
 
 To his prophet Zacheriah God disclosed a vision which 
 is full of consolation for us. ‘‘And he showed me Joshua, 
 the high priest, standing before the angel of the Lord, 
 and Satan standing at his right hand to resist (accuse) 
 him. And the Lord said unto Satan, The Lord rebuke 
 thee, O Satan; even the Lord that hath chosen Jerusalem 
 rebuke thee. Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire? 
 Now Joshua was clothed with filthy garments, and stood 
 before the angel. And he answered, and spake unto those 
 that stood before him, saying, Take away the filthy gar- 
 ments from him. And unto him he said, Behold I have 
 caused thine iniquity to pass from thee, and I will clothe 
 thee with change of raiment. And I said, Let them set 
 
19 
 
 a fair mitre upon his head. So they set a fair mitre upon 
 his head, and clothed him with garments. And the angel 
 of the Lord stood by.’’ Here, even in the presence of the 
 Angel of the covenant, the devil appears, and the High 
 Priest himself is charged with defilement. Nor can the 
 man of God repel. the impeachment; for, in the light of 
 God’s countenance, all his righteousnesses are only as 
 filthy apparel. But there was one who could silence the 
 accuser; and who at once dispels the alarm and confusion 
 of his servant, by assuring him that he was a brand 
 plucked by sovereign grace from the burning, that all his 
 iniquity was taken away, that he should receive white 
 garments and a crown of righteousness which the Lord, 
 the righteous Judge, would give hin. 
 
 Iil.—The last mournful and fearful thing in death is 
 the parting of all sublunary ties, the disruption of those 
 cords which had so long and closely bound us to the earth. 
 In this view, death is a spipwreck of all our affections, 
 associations, possessions, prospects, hopes and joys. Every 
 thing near and dear to us is comprehended in that word, 
 Iife. Deathrends us away fromexistence, and seems to con- 
 sign us to a darkness and sterility which are rendered 
 only the more dismal by the brightness and redundancy of life 
 we seeallaroundus. Inthisaspectdeath appearsespecially 
 gloomy. In this aspect the Gospel is especially rich in 
 revelations which rob the grave of its terrors. But it is 
 just in this view of death, and of the power of the Cross 
 to raise the Christian above all fear and inspire the most 
 glorious anticipations, that a preacher feels the utter in- 
 adequacy of all human thought and language. 
 
 T have told you that, during the days and nights which 
 it pleased God to allow me to spend in that chamber so 
 filled with heavenly manifestations, my thoughts turned 
 to you. And, last Sabbath, at this very hour, you were 
 thinking of me, your prayers were ascending for me. 
 My beloved brethren, those supplications were not in vain. 
 It was then, above all, that the soul of my child was rav- 
 ished with illapses of celestial joy which seemed too much 
 
20 
 
 for her to bear, that the hearts of all who were present 
 burned within them, and their eyes overflowed with tears 
 of wonder, love and adoration. ‘‘This light affliction, 
 which is but for a moment, worketh out for me a far more 
 exceeding and eternal weight of glory.’’ ‘My soul 
 longeth, yea even fainteth for the courts of the Lord.” 
 “‘T reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not 
 worthy to be compared with the_glory which shall be re- 
 vealed in me.’’ ‘‘My whole being is flooded with un- 
 utterable blessedness.”’ ‘I rejoice with joy unspeakable 
 and full of glory.’ These are some of the passages she 
 repeated again and again; but I can give you no idea of 
 the tones of her voice trembling with delight, of the rap- 
 ture which shone in her eyes, of the angelic light which 
 suffused her whole countenance, All this was only a faint 
 morning twilight breaking in through the decaying tene- 
 ment of clay,—only a few feeble rays falling upon a form 
 racked with pain. What, then, must the noontide of 
 glory be to the emancipated spirit exulting in immortal 
 vigor. 
 
 We see one dear to us depart in peace, we are assured 
 of the soul’s higher, everduring life, and we know that 
 sin has been expiated; but how irrepressible are our 
 yearnings to penetrate the unseen world and learn some- 
 thing of its economy? That thinking, rejoicing being, 
 which was here but a moment since, where is it now? 
 what is it now? She, so long and intimately present with 
 me, so recently conversing with me, how does she now 
 exist? with what society does she now mingle? what are 
 her enjoyments? how does she communicate with other 
 spirits? what are her thoughts, feelings, enjoyments ? 
 All that I so long to know, she is this instant experienc- 
 ing. Would that some voice would solve the problem; 
 that some glimpse could dart upon my mind. 
 
 One man, indeed, was caught up into the third heaven, 
 and then brought back to earth. But when we gather 
 round him, and eagerly ask for information compared 
 with which all other researches are contemptible, he dis- 
 
 
 
21 
 
 appoints us; he puts his hand upon his mouth; he de- 
 clares that it is ‘‘unlawful’’ (impossible constituted as 
 we are) to communicate anything as to what he saw and 
 heard. Reclining on her Saviour’s bosom, at ‘‘the very 
 gate of heaven’’—I use her own words,—not at the out- 
 side of the gate where Jacob lay and angels could reach 
 him only by a ladder, but inside among the angels,—my 
 daughter again and again said to us, ‘‘Would that I had 
 words to utter what I feel, but it is as unspeakable as it is 
 full of glory.’’ In short, the Holy Spirit tells us that *it 
 doth not yet appear what we shall be.’ And, now, if 
 this be so, of course I can only impair the surpassing 
 grandeur of the subject by attempting to say anything 
 upon it. 
 
 However,—as the text declares that we know enough of 
 heaven to dissipate all gloomy images of death,—let me 
 stammer out a thought or two; thoughts which are not 
 mine, but which God has revealed to us by his Spirit. 
 Let me falter out some of these ideas, and, then, let me 
 ask how it is that Christians can ever speak of losses, dis- 
 ruptions, separations at death? how we can be so un- 
 believing as to aftlict ourselves—so selfish as not to rejoice, 
 when_one we love has escaped from this vale of sorrow, 
 and passed to the full fruition of such ‘‘ glory, honor, and 
 immortality.’ 
 
 Regard death as a repose from all which makes lite a 
 sea of troubles, a ceaseless struggle with fears without and 
 fightings within. ‘‘There the wicked cease from troub- 
 ling, and the weary are at rest.’ ‘‘There remaineth a 
 rest for the people of God,’’—rest trom sin, temptation, 
 affliction, disappointment, fear, pain, sickness, all infirmi- 
 ties of the body, the mind, the spirit. 
 
 Regard death as an emancipation from all the gross 
 appetites of the body,—from all those passions those 
 ‘*fleshly lusts which war against the soul,’’—and as the 
 full gratification of all the boundless longings of the 
 spirit after the ‘‘beauties of holiness,’ after perfect trans- 
 formation into the image of God. ‘‘ We shail be like him, 
 
22 
 
 tor we shall see him as he is.’ ‘‘ As for me I shall be 
 satisfied, when I awake with thy likeness.’’ ‘‘ And they 
 shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither 
 shall the sun heht-on them, nor any heat. For the 
 Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them. 
 and shall lead them unto fountains of living water. And 
 God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes’’;———all 
 tears of sorrow,—but, oh Lamb of God, Redeemer of my 
 soul, never shalt thou wipe away the tears of love and 
 gratitude with which I will bathe those feet once pierced 
 with cruei nails for me. 
 
 Consider death as the translation of the purified spirit 
 from the darkness which now clouds its vision, into the 
 clear azure radiance which bathes and ravishes the “‘ saints 
 in light.’’ ‘‘Now we see through a glass darkly, but 
 then face to face; now I know in part, but then shall I 
 know even as also [ am known.” ‘‘And there shall be 
 no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of 
 the sun; for the Lord God giveth them lhght, and they 
 shall reign forever and ever.’’ ‘‘The sun shall be no more 
 thy light by day, neither for brightness shall the moon 
 give light unto thee ; but the Lord shall be unto thee an 
 everlasting light, and thy God thy glory.”’ 
 
 View death as the final and complete overthrow of all 
 our spiritual enemies ;—as the hour in which we shall be 
 ‘‘more than conquerors through Him that loved us,’’—in 
 which we shall everlastingly triumph over the world, 
 over those inward foes whose treacherous power con- 
 spires against our salvation, over ‘‘the last enemy” him- 
 self. This conflict finished, the Christian will exclaim, 
 “Thanks be unto God who giveth us the victory through 
 our Lord Jesus Christ ;’’ the whole field will then be clear, 
 nothing will be left which can ever molest or make him 
 afraid; his soul will expatiate through eternity, and find 
 only immortal life and glory. ‘‘After this I beheld, and 
 lo, a great multitude which no man could number, of all 
 nations and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood be- 
 fore the throne and before the Lamb, clothed with white 
 
23 
 
 robes, and palms in their hands. And one of the elders 
 answered, saying unto me, What are these which are 
 arrayed in white robes, and whence come they? And I 
 said, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are 
 they which came out of great tribulation, and have 
 washed their robes and made them white in the blood of 
 the Lamb.’ ‘‘Andthey overcame by the blood of the 
 Lamb.” 
 
 Contemplate death as the investiture of the child and 
 heir of God with the full reversion of glory from which 
 he had been so long debarred in this house of his bondage. 
 To convey some idea of this glory, inspiration has heaped 
 up and exhausted all glowing and dazzling imagery. 
 We are told of a city whose streets are gold ;—of rivers 
 of water pure as crystal;—-of the walls of the city re- 
 splendent with the mingled effulgence of diamonds, ame- 
 thysts, sapphires, every radiant jewel ;—of a building so 
 magnificent that God alone could be its architect, 
 rearing and garnishing it with all the exuberance 
 of celestial skill and affluence ;—of regal sceptres, dia- 
 dems, thrones;—of a glory which shall cause cheru- 
 bim and seraphim forever to gaze upon the saints 
 and to ‘‘admire in them’’ the matchless beauties of the 
 Redeemer himself;—of a glory, an exceeding glory, a far 
 more exceeding and eternal weight of glory ;—of the me- 
 diatorial glory of the Son of God in whose victorious hon- 
 ors all the ransomed shall share, being glorified together 
 with him, ‘‘sitting with him in his throne even as he sits 
 in his Father's throne.’ 
 
 We speak of the bitter separations caused by death ; 
 and to the living they are bitter, heart rending. But 
 think of the society into which the soul is then introduced. 
 Here, how unsatisfying are all our friendships ; how im- 
 possible, even in the dearest associations, to find perfect 
 congeniality and sympathy; how foolish to apply the 
 term permanent to unions so easily impaired, and which, 
 however sincere, must to-morrow be dissolved. In heaven 
 we shall experience all the delights of the purest love, of 
 the most tender intimacies, of the divinest communications, 
 
24 
 
 of harmonies which Jesus declares shall be as ineffable 
 
 and eternal as those between him and his Father. ‘‘ Ye 
 are come unto Mount Zion, and unto the city of the living 
 God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable 
 company of angels, to the general assembly and church of 
 the first born, which are written in heaven, and to the 
 spirits of the justified made perfect.’ 
 
 Thad just repeated this glowing passage to my dying child, 
 when, lifting her eyes to heaven, she at once said, ‘*Yes, 
 and oh, to Him, to Him, to Jesus.’ ‘Take in that thought. 
 “Father I will that they also whom thou hast given me, be 
 with me where lam;’’ death accomplishes this prayer, death 
 wafts me to the arms of my Redeemer. Who can conceive 
 the rapture of that meeting—the eternity of blessedness 
 concentrated in that first embrace? There he is! that 
 Jesus in whom I believed; in whom—when I saw him 
 not—I rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of glory. My 
 beloved is now mine, and I am his forever; nor can height, 
 nor depth, nor length, nor breadth ever again separate me 
 from this ‘‘fairest among ten thousand, and altogether 
 lovely ’’,—ever again interrupt the seraphic ardors which 
 absorb my soul. 
 
 Nor only this outward and ravishing beauty of the di- 
 vine ‘‘ Mediator of the new covenant.’” Death bears the 
 purified spirit ‘‘to God;’’ reveals the glories of the God- 
 head spiritually, directly, clearly. This is the beatific 
 vision—the soul’s highest delight, its perfection in know- 
 ledge, sanctity, love, bliss. ‘‘Blessed are the pure 
 in heart, for they shall see God.” ‘‘Therefore are they 
 before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in 
 his temple, and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell 
 among them.” 
 
 But I shall never have done; and after having said all, 
 I would feel that I had said nothing—that I had only 
 faltered out some imbecilities and incoherencies. How- 
 ever, these incoherencies and imbecilities are not rhapso- 
 dies, they are—to employ the Apostle’s idea—the inartic- 
 ulate lspings of a child who catches some glimpses of the 
 
 , 
 
25 
 
 excellent glory vouchsafed by the Holy Spirit, but can 
 neither comprehend nor utter what he feels. And, now, 
 enter if you can,—enter as well as you can—into these 
 ‘thoughts, unite them, give full plumage to your faith, let 
 imagination transport you to those abodes of purity, love, 
 and blessedness. After this, come back to earth, and say 
 to yourself,—-My friend, my father, my mother, my wife, 
 my child has passed from a world of sorrow, and is now 
 in full possession of all this felicity, comprehends all this 
 felicity, experiences all these joys, raptures, ecstasies; 
 and will be entranced with new, ever increasing joys, rap- 
 tures, ecstasies, while the ages of eternity roll on. 
 
 My brethren, my very dear brethren, I say again, that 
 I know not how these truths affect you; for my own part, 
 Tam almost overwhelmed by the reflection, that for man, 
 for sinners, such things have been prepared by God. Ifa 
 single shadow could dim the triumphant exultation of my 
 soul, it would be a doubt whether such a destiny can in- 
 deed be ours. But eternal truth dissipates all doubt. 
 God's word dispels every fear and gives an assurance as 
 immovable as his throne. On every page-of this volume I 
 find the certainty of these things forever settled. Above 
 all, when I fix my eyes upon the Cross, I glory in a faith 
 which ‘‘is the substance’ ’—the unequivocal evidence—of 
 these unseen realities. ‘‘He that spared not his own Son, 
 but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him 
 also freely give us all things?’ What treasures can 
 God’s wealth possess, God's love bestow, which are too 
 rich after such a donation? ‘‘If children, then heirs, 
 heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.”” 
 
 Yes, life and immortality are brought to light through 
 the Gospel. Heaven, and all we can conveive, and all we 
 cannot conceive of heaven,—all that Jesus enjoys, all that 
 God can confer in heaven, is ours.”’ ‘‘All things are ours, 
 whether life, or death, things present, or things to come, 
 all are ours;’’ and ours by uno foreign conveyance, no doubt- 
 ful claim, but indefeasibly, by the most amazing title, by 
 
 our new birthright; ours because we are the children and 
 4 Z 
 
26 
 
 heirs of God. My soul, if these truths are unmeaning 
 sounds to thee, if they do not inspire the noblest gratitude 
 and joy, the fault is thine own; thou art ‘loading thyself 
 with thick clay,’’ thou art debasing thyself in the pursuit 
 of ‘‘lying vanities,’’ and forgetting a heritage which turns 
 the whole earth int6 contempt. After this, shall death be 
 formidable to me? When one I love has been mercifully 
 removed from this scene of tribulation to those mansions 
 of glory, can-I wish to bring her back again? Can I 
 speak of death as a gloomy valley?—ah, radiant gloom, 
 brightened by her Saviour’s presence, through which 
 angels bore her rejoicing spirit up to the bosom of her 
 God. Can I mourn any loss she has suffered in death?— 
 inestimable loss by which she has gained ‘‘an inheritance 
 among the saints in hght.’’ Shall I represent death as a 
 shipwreck?—blessed shipwreck, which has rescued her 
 from all the storms, surges, fears, sufferings of a weary 
 voyage, and stranded her soul upon ‘‘an inheritance in- 
 corruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away.” 
 
 But it is time to finish. My friends, God declares that 
 when he afflicts a pastor, it is ‘‘for your consolation and 
 salvation.’’ Upon some of you, all my preaching from 
 this desk and from house to house, all my exhortations 
 and tears have been fruitless; shall my repeated sorrows 
 also be in vain? Is it not high time to awake out of sleep 
 and come to Christ, that he may give you life? Twice, 
 and in quick succession, have my afflictions appealed to 
 the young in this congregation, and admonished them that 
 death envies those who seem to bid fairest for many years. 
 I implore the young not to despise these touching, piercing 
 calls from eternity, but to cast themselves upon the Saviour 
 and receive the mercy he offers. Some of you are advanced 
 in life; is it not unutterable infatuation to put away the 
 thought of death, and, while ‘‘gray hairs are here and 
 there upon you,’’ still to neglect so great salvation? All of 
 you, all of you, before it shall be forever too late, be warned, 
 be wise. This immortality is yours; will you make it an 
 immortality of darkness and despair? To you, all the ex- 
 
 
 
27 
 
 exceeding riches of Christ’s atonement, all the glory and 
 blessedness of heaven are freely proffered; will you reject 
 them, and plant thorns in your dying pillow, and precipi- 
 tate yourselves into abysses of everlasting misery? 
 
 But I have no heart to-day for such gloomy thoughts. 
 Christians, my dearly beloved brethren, I turn to you. 
 Would that I could make you feel this subject as I do; 
 after all, however, if you are Christians, the truths you 
 have heard are to you the realities of faith. And, now, 
 is it not deplorable that you still regard death as most of 
 you do? that—while in the New Testament death is con- 
 stantly represented as a consummation ‘‘far better’? than 
 life; while the first Christians had ‘‘a desire to depart 
 and be with Christ; while they were ‘‘ever looking for, 
 and hasting to, the coming of the Son of God; while 
 they habitually viewed the body as only ‘‘the tent’’* in 
 which the soul tarries a few days, and rejoiced in the cer- 
 tainty that as soon as the tabernacle should be taken down 
 the soul would enter into ‘‘a building of God, a house not 
 made with hands, eternal in the heavens;”’ while they groan- 
 ed, earnestly desiring to exchange this temporary abode for 
 celestial mansions, for royal garments in the skies; while 
 they longed that ‘‘mortality should be swallowed up in 
 life’’—the mortal life be merged in the immortal; 
 is it not lamentable, that, while these aspirations glowed 
 in their bosoms, and these prospects filled them with rap- 
 ture, the grave appears to us thronged with dreadful as- 
 pects, we shrink from death as the direst calamity, antici- 
 pate it as a sad necessity, compared with which the 
 weariest and most wretched earthly life is a sort of para- 
 dise. How is it, that our theology, our sermons, our 
 prayers, our very hymns are all wrong as to a matter of 
 such infinite importance? 
 
 Alas, the reason is too manifest. We have no realiz- 
 ing sense of our immortality. We plunge into the world, 
 and are so absorbed by its cares and projects, that eternal 
 life is to us only an empty idea. We do not meditate 
 
 2 Corinthians 5; 1—5. 
 
ahd 
 
 28 
 
 upon the Cross and its soul subliming revelations, and 
 hence do not glory in it, nor experience its power to lift us 
 above all fear of condemnation. We drive hard after 
 earthly pleasures, riches, honors, devote no time to 
 heavenly contemplations, and thus debase our spiritual 
 
 capacities, and avert our eyes from the pleasures, riches, 
 
 honors reserved for us beyond the skies. 
 
 I beseech you, I adjure you, let not the afflictions of a 
 pastor who loves you with his whole heart be lost upon 
 you. If you frustrate the gracious purpose of God towards 
 you in these strokes under which my heart bleeds, he may 
 send others upon me, and ‘‘break me with breach upon 
 
 breach.’ Have pity upon me, O, my friends, and spare. 
 
 me, ‘‘lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow.’ But 
 recollect, if your pastor’s afflictions will not do, God may 
 turn his hand upon you, and chasten you in his sore dis- 
 pleasure, and heap desolation upon your hearths. 
 
 At all events, sickness, sorrow, death must one day 
 enter your habitations. Prepare to meet them. Ponder 
 the truths to which you have listened, that you may be 
 armed for the trying hour. I bow my knees to the Father 
 of mercy, that your dear children may be continued to 
 you; but O, give yourselves no rest, give God no rest, 
 day nor night, until they be all gathered to Jesus ;—that 
 so, if they should be taken, you may know the unspeaka- 
 ble solace which sweetens my otherwise overwhelming 
 bereavements. 
 
 I feel that there has been much which is personal in 
 this discourse, but I know you will bear it with indul- 
 gence. The thoughts and emotions which, while I sat 
 in that glorified chamber, exalted my soul to heaven in 
 
 the consciousness of new and ravishing manifestations of 
 
 the Redeemer ‘‘in me,’’—and which have vainly struggled 
 for utterance here to-day, may appear to you too hallowed 
 for such a public communication. They at first seemed 
 to me as revelations which, like Mary, I ought to ‘‘keep 
 and ponder in my own heart.’’ But the more I have 
 mused on them, the more has the fire burned, and the 
 
29 
 
 more have I been compelled to speak with my tongue. 
 ‘What I shew you in secret,’ says Jesus, ‘‘that speak 
 ye in the light; what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye 
 on the house tops.”’ And, now, why should I not open 
 to you all my heart, and tell you, that the last Thursday 
 was the only real thanksgiving day I ever passed in my 
 life. It was, you remember, the day appointed for the 
 public acknowledgment of mercies received from God. Its 
 early dawn found me beside the couch upon which lay, in 
 all the surpassing loveliness of death, that form so long and 
 tenderly cherished. ThereI sat ‘‘in bitterness for my first- 
 born,”’ but serene with héavenly consolations; and there the 
 tempter dared to intrude, and to profane even the sanctity 
 of that shrine with his loathsome suggestions. Yes, he 
 whispered, this is thanksgiving day; and you at least 
 ought to observe it with devout gratitude; for the God 
 you worship has loaded you with benefits. Without any 
 fault of yours, nay in spite of your earnest efforts, the 
 country you love is rent by civil war. Your dear native 
 State has been invaded. The place of your birth, the 
 scenes of your childhood and youth, are laid waste. Your 
 earliest friends, all who have cherished you and been en- 
 deared to you from your infancy, are driven as exiles from 
 their old ancestral homes, and the temple in which you 
 first preached Jesus is hung in sackcloth. You, too, are 
 reduced to comparative poverty; aud, in a few brief 
 months, blow after blow has relentlessly beat upon your 
 heart, and torn from you those in whom your life was 
 bound up. You, at least, ought to adore the tender mer- 
 cies of your God to-day. He has been very good to you. 
 
 With such infernal thoughts was my soul insulted 
 by the arch enemy of God and man; but oh! the peace of 
 God which passeth all understanding, the gratitude and 
 Joy which overflowed in gushing tears, as I turned away, 
 and exclaimed, ‘‘ Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that 
 is within me bless his holy name.’’ And all day long 
 that Psalm made melody in my heart; and ‘‘in the night 
 that song was with me, and my prayer unto the God of 
 
30 : 
 
 my life.’’ Yes, I then knew all that David could have 
 experienced, when he said, ‘‘ Because thy loving-kindness 
 is better than life, my lips shall praise thee. Thus will I 
 bless thee while I live; I will lift up my hands in thy 
 name. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fat- 
 ness, and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips, 
 when I remember thee upon my bed, and think on thee in 
 the night watches.’’ 
 
 Be prepared, my brethren, for the hour when your 
 homes shall become houses of mourning; be prepared to 
 meet death yourselves. ‘‘Be ye also ready, for in such an 
 hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh.’’ Study 
 carefully the text upon which I have attempted to preach 
 to you, replenish your minds with its exhaustless conso- 
 lations, and supplicate the aids of the Spirit whose office 
 it is to ‘‘take of the things of Christ and shew them unto 
 us.’ Life and immortality,—take in all the glory of these 
 words. The mansions to which Jesus has gone, to which 
 those so dear to you have passed, and the attractions of 
 which you now feel,—let those mansions be kept steadily 
 
 in view. Above all, ascend Mount Calvary, and make its — 
 
 summit the Pisgah of your souls. Live near the Cross, 
 in contrite confession of sin, in simple childlike faith, in 
 adoring gratitude, in reverential sympathy with that 
 amazing mystery of love, that altar and that sacrifice. 
 
 Ah! I shall soon be dying, 
 Time swiftly glides away ; 
 But on my Lord relying, 
 T hail the happy day. 
 
 The day when I must enter 
 Upon a world unknown, 
 
 My helpless soul I venture 
 On Jesus Christ alone. 
 
 He once, a spotless victim, 
 Upon Mount Calv’ry bled, 
 Jehovah did afflict him, 
 And bruise him in my stead. 
 
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 Hence, all my hope arises, 
 Unworthy as I am, 
 
 My soul most surely prizes 
 The sin-atoning Lamb. 
 
 To him by grace united, 
 I joy in him alone, 
 
 And now, by faith, delighted, 
 Behold him on his throne. 
 
 There he is interceding 
 For all who on him rest, 
 
 The grace from him proceeding 
 Shall waft me to his breast. 
 
 Then, with the saints in glory, 
 The grateful song I’ll raise, 
 
 And chant my blissful story, 
 In high seraphic lays. 
 
 Free grace, redeeming merit, 
 And sanctifying love, 
 
 Of -Father, Son and Spirit, 
 Shall charm the courts above.