THE MORTAL AND. THE IMMORTAL
A SERMON,
PREACHED IN
ST. JAMES' CHURCH, BATON ROUGE,
IN IMPROVEMENT OF TIIE
C II A 11 A C T E R AND I) E A T H
OF THE
HON. HENRY CLAY.
Rev. JOHN S. CIIADBOl'RNE. llectoi
NEW ORLEANS :
PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE PICAYUNE.
1S52.
THE MORTAL AND THE IMMORTAL:
A SERMON,
PREACHED IN
ST. JAMES' CHURCH, BATON ROUGE,
IN IMPROVEMENT OF THE
CHARACTER AND DEATH
OF THE
HON. HENRY CLAY,
BY THE
Rev. JOHN S. CHADBOURNE, Rector.
NEW ORLEANS:
PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE PICAYUNE.
1852.
SERMON
on the
CHARACTER AND DEATH OF
HON. HENRY CLAY.
2 Sam. iii., 38 A prince and a great man fallen.
These words are a part of the lamentation of David
over the death of Abner. Abner, a man of great military
talents and experience, has been treacherously slain by Joab;
and this too at a time when he had just been instrumental
in putting an end to the civil war which followed the eleva¬
tion of David to the throne. The strong and universal
expression of sorrow, therefore, which was called forth at
his grave, was perfectly natural and just. The King, we
are told, "lifted up his voice and wept at the grave of
Abner, and all the people wept. And the King said unto
his servants, know ye not that there is a prince and a great
man fallen this day in Israel?"
Kindred emotions of sorrow now swell the hearts of the
American people. A great man—great in our age—great
in our century—great in the world's history—great in
virtue—great in intellect—great in everything which can
exalt the human character—has fallen. The event was not
unexpected, and yet it broke upon us with stunning foroe.
That burning face extinguished! That thunderous
tongue stripped of its electrical fluid ! That mighty spirit
4
driven away from the earth! That Nestor form consigned
to the dust! How strong, how remorseless, is Death ! He
has smitten down our old pilot for the storm. He has torn
our eagles from the clouds. He has shattered and diminished
our mountains. He has robbed our skies of their draperies.
He has enriched himself with the spoils of genius, of wisdom,
of patriotism, of glory. The winds, the cataracts, the thunders
of nature remain, but those of Eloquence are no more !
The King of Terrors has hitherto been painted "with a
crowd of emaciated diseases following in his train; but
you may now paint twenty million impoverished and mourn¬
ing Freemen in their place. All eyes are turned in sorrow
to the grave. Partisan prejudice is dead. It yielded up its
breath to Justice long before the Mighty yielded up his
to his God.
To speak of the character of the illustrious dead merely
for the purpose of eulogy, is no part of my intention. His
character needs no eulogy. It is enshrined in the affections
of every American heart. It is interwoven in threads of
gold and purple, in the gorgeous web of his country's
history through the long period of half a century. His
monuments, more enduring than brass and marble, tower
upon all the hills of our National prosperity and National
glory. His public services are emblazoned upon our
National banner itself in many of its brightest stars.
Freedom will ever love and reverence him. History will
be proud of him as one of her favorite sons. The sister
Arts, with their chisel, their pencil, their lyre, will delight to
do him honor. His name can never die. When the Capitol,
which he so long illuminated by his eloquence, and so often
preserved by his patriotism, shall have crumbled into ruins
and have mingled with the dust, the great dome of his fame
will still tower in unbroken strength, and in undiminished
splendor over his country and over the world—a thing upon
which the sun may look down in his course and learn that
he has a rival—a thing to sever the storm of treason—a
thing upon which the angel of liberty will stand, whether
freemen or serfs shall dwell below, with her stars and
stripes all unfurled ! I do not, therefore, propose anything
by way of eulogy. It would be presumptuous as well as
useless ; it would be here out of place as well as insipid.
In attempting to unfold his history, character, and destiny,
I shall have two or three practical objects in view. 1..I
would pay a me'.ancholy debt, which patriotism owes to the
5
great public services of the deceased. Patriotism demands
our words. " The King lifted up his voice and wept, and
all the people wept." Patriotism may know well enough
that she can make the lauiels of her lamented one no
greener, and yet she cannot refrain from bathing them with
her tears. She would give expression to her gratitude;
she would speak of her loss. It is not only rational and
just, but it is also wise and salutary for her to do so ; for
this is one of the ways by which she keeps the breath of
life in her own soul. And the Pulpit, free from partisan
sentiment, may ever properly be her agent in this work.
What it did of old, it may now do—it may lift up its voice
and weep over the great dead. 2. .1 would hold up before
you a majestic example for your imitation. I would take
you out before the Alps of character that your souls may be
sublimated. I would show you what a resolute and perse¬
vering man, though his early years may be overclouded
by poverty and obscurity, can achieve for his own
immortality, and for the welfare of his race, during the
brief period allotted to man upon the earth. I would also
show you this great man with all his laurels upon him—
himself almost idolised by his country—upon his knees,
broken-hearted and penitent, before his God. We are told
that when a dead body was cast into the tomb in which the
bones of the Prophet Elisha were reposing, the body was
electrified and restored to life by contact with the bones.
The miracle was probably intended, in part, to teach the
life-giving power of the example which the Prophet had
left behind him. Of the examples of the good and great,
death cannot rob us. 3..I would improve the melancholy
event before us in admonishing you of the vanity of life—of
the certain end of everything that is mortal. When the eyes
of the whole nation are fixed upon the grave, it seems a
seasonable time for the Pulpit to cry to them, in the spirit
of Jonah to the slumbering people of Nineveh—"Yet a
little while, and darkness and oblivion shall cover you all!"
These several objects may best be accomplished, perhaps,
by briefly regarding the illustrious dead from the following
points of view : the Man—the Student—the Orator—the
Patriot—the Christian—the Corpse—the Disembodied
Spirit.
The Man. We are first to glance at his social history
and character. Henry Clay was born April 12, 1777,
in Hanover county, Virginia. His father, also a native
1*
6
of Virginia, was a minister of respectable standing in the
Baptist denomination of that State. Both his parents were
adorned by those social virtues that seldom fail to secure
dignity and happiness in domestic life, and which are the
richest legacy that parents can bequeath to their children.
His father died when Henry was too young to afterwards
have any recollection of his smiles and endearments. He
left his wife with seven children to protect, and with scarcely
any pecuniary means for their support. The straitened
circumstances of the widow obliged her to put her sons to
business before they had completed even an ordinary English
education. At the age of fourteen years, the future states¬
man was placed in a store at Richmond. He was not
destined, however, to remain long in this situation ; for his
step-father (his mother had married again) discovering his
uncommon natural talents, became warmly interested in
his behalf, and succeeded in obtaining for him a side-clerk¬
ship in the office of the Clerk of the High Court of Chan¬
cery. Here his mean dress and awkward manners at first
excited the ridicule of his companions; but his brilliant
mind and strict attention to his duties soon commanded
their respect and admiration. While in this situation, he
attracted the notice of Chancellor Wythe—a name almost
as great in our jurisprudence as it is upon our Declaration
of Independence—who, charmed by his genius and industry,
at once extended to him a friendship which he ever after¬
wards enjoyed. The Chancellor took him nobly by the
hand; he threw open to him his ample library; he per¬
suaded him to embrace the profession of law; and was
thus instrumental in raising him from obscurity, and in
giving him to his country and to the world. In T/97, Mr.
Clay was admitted to practise law at the bar of his native
State ; and, in the autumn of the same year, he removed to
Kentucky to establish himself in his profession. He after¬
wards referred to his comfortless condition and gloomy
prospects at this time, in the following touching language :
" I established myself in Lexington, without patrons, with¬
out the favor or countenance of the great or opulent, with¬
out the means of paying my weekly board, and in the
midst of a bar uncommonly distinguished by eminent
membeis." His talents and industry, however, soon lifted
him into plenty and reputation.
To an observing eye, these particulars of his early history
are not merely fortuitous and unmeaning events and circum-
7
stances; but they are pregnant with the wise designs of
Providence. Providence, without interfering with man's
free agency, or obviating the necessity of individual effort,
makes a great character; and He has a toay of making it.
In ninety-nine instances out of a hundred, this way is through
poverty and suffering. God is the author of providence, and
the author of nature; and His laws in both are analogous,
and illustrative of each other. Go out upon the mountain,
and you will find the nest of the eagle, that " child of the
sun," composed of a few naked sticks, and built upon the
rock. You will find him a scorner of luxury and down.
You will find him rearing his young in a royal poverty, and
driving them forth into the storm to strengthen their pinions,
as soon as they are fledged. Go out upon the plain, and
you will find that the oalc, whose gnarled trunk is fit for the
bulwarks of navies, is an old acquaintance of the tempest.
You will find that it began to struggle with the elements
when a sapling. So it is also with the eagle or the oak in
human character. The character of our Gnarled One is
connected with his early history as effect is connected with
cause. His youthful struggles developed the germ of great¬
ness in his nature. They fired his ambition ; they aroused
his energies ; they hardened his fortitude ; they disciplined
his patience ; they kindled his sympathies ; they taught him
self-reliance ; they gave him habits of industry which were
as necessary to his comfort as was the very air that he
breathed. If his will was of iron, it was* because its ore
had been purged in the furnace. If his perseverance was
inflexible and conquerless, it was because it had been " a
man of war from his youth." If his affections, domestic and
social, were like jewels—vivid, incorruptible and precious,
it was because they had been formed in the vttcanic region.
If his great heart bled over the wrongs and sufferings of the
poor, it was because it had itself tasted poverty's bitter cup.
It he was ever ready to extend his hand in encouragement
aud counsel to the unbefriended and aspiring young man, it
was because he himself had began his professional career,
iu adversity and neglect, and " without the means of paying
his weekly board." It is good for a man," says the prophet,
44 that he bear the yoke in his youth and all experience
confirms the truth of revelation.
Decision of character—energy of character—simplicity
of character—integrity of character—fearlessness of char¬
acter—they were his; and it is such noble traits that
8
compose the royal diadem upon Manhood's brow, and the
lion-robe upon Manhood's shoulders.
That his character, however, had faults, and great faults,
must not be denied. But over these we would draw the
veil of oblivion. We would bury them in the grave toge¬
ther with that mortality from which they chiefly flowed.
If he had been faultless, he would not have been human.
His errors, rather than his virtues, unite him with his race.
Great allowance, besides, should be made for the infirmities
of one, who, at so early an age, was deprived of the holy
influences of parental instruction and guidance; who had
the peculiar temperament of genius ; whose life for the most
part was spent amid the smoke and turmoil of political
warfare ; and who was surrounded by a public opinion so
monstrous and so diabolical, that it required the sacrifice of
human life as an atonement for an injury or an imaginary
insult. No one, I think, regretted his errors more deeply
than did the lamented dead himself. Some of them were
doubtless inexcusable ; but they were all human. And they
may remind us, that man, in his best estate, is a mere worm
of the dust, and needs to be cleansed in a Saviour's blood.
They may exhibit by contrast the holy and majestic char¬
acter of Him, who, amid sorer temptations, remained with¬
out spot or blemish—his Redeemer and ours.
The Stcdekt. I was next to speak of this great man
as a student. Gifted with natural talents of the highest
order, he did not suffer them to run to waste or to riot, by
neglecting their cultivation ; but he early began the work
of disciplining and improving them, and began it in earnest.
To a log-schoolhouse in his native county, where he obtained
the rudiments of an ordinary English education, he was
indebted for |^1 the systematic instruction he ever enjoyed.
Those Platonic shades of philosophy and science, where
the mind is disciplined, polished and stored with knowledge,
by a long and methodical course of study and tuition, he
was never privileged to enter. The friendship and society
of Chancellor Wythe, however, were to him a school in
almost every department of learning to which his taste or
ambition aspired; though they could not, of course, alto¬
gether remove the disadvantages under which he labored.
But he made the most of his time and opportunities. He
applied himself to the cultivation of his mind, with an
enthusiasm which knew no fatigue, and could be discour¬
aged by no difficulties. His duties for the day in the Chan-
9
eery office discharged, he devoted his nights to reading and
reflection. While his fellow clerks went out into gaming
houses and frivolous society in search of amusement, he
found it at home with his books and his own thoughts. His
companions were sages and orators and bards. His solitary
taper burned deep into the night-watches. His weary brow
might often throb with pain, but it must not be impatient
for repose ; for it was destined for the laurel, and the laurel
must be purchased with a price. What cared he for sleep,
except as a means of refreshment ? It might be sweet and
luxurious, but it robbed him of his time, and he knew he
would have enough of it in his grave. It was by application
like this, through a long series of years, that the foundations
of his powerful intellect were laid; that he supplied in a
great measure the deficiencies of a scanty education ; and
that he was enabled, at last, to so far outstrip other young
men of his own age, who had enjoyed all the advantages
which wealth and the best literary institutions in our land
could furnish—many of them his equals, perhaps, in natural
talents.
We are apt to attribute intellectual greatness almost
exclusively to natural endowments. We behold the orator
in his might—we are amazed at his wonderful powers—our
hearts boupd, our blood tingles, our lips hold their breath,
at his words and we are ready to exclaim, " the gods have
come down to us in human form 1" It is not so. But man
rather, by the struggles of severe and patient toil, has been
climbing up to the gods. While others have been asleep,
he has been awake. While they have been idle and frivo¬
lous, he has been industrious and masculine. He has known
toil, in comparison to which the bearing of hods or the
swinging of sledges is child's play. By the furnace of
Vulcan, in heat and in sweat, has he forged his chains and
his bugles. In the camp of Mars, by marchings and counter-
marchings, by charges and retreats, by battle and wounds,
has he reduced to subjection and order and strength the
resistless army of his mental powers. And without such
toil, without such training, there can never be anything
beyond the semblance of greatness. The mind by nature
is in a state of entire ignorance, and entire rebellion to the
will. Genius, though it may accumulate knowledge with
more facility than ordinary talent, is nevertheless harder to
discipline, from its very eccentricities. The great man
before us, whose youth was devoted so earnestly to inenta|
10
cultivation, remarks : " I inherited nothing but infancy and
ignorance."
The Orator. But if the Muses are thus severe in their
exactions, they are ever generous in their rewards.
The character and attributes of Mr. Clay's oratory are
too well known to require illustration. Possessing a tall
and commanding figure, a sonorous and musical voice, a
face that mirrored every emotion of his soul, a strong and
lucid logic, a vivid imagination, a pure and copious diction,
a mind stored with extensive knowledge, a heart which was
the abode of benevolent and sublime sentiments, a power of
concentration that buried him in his subject, and a vehemence
that set everything in conflagration around him—he has had
few, if any, superiors in his noble art.
HP eloquence was marvellous. In one of his great efforts,
beginning in a soft and subdued manner, broken only by an
occasional peal of distant thunder, his discourse would
gather darkness and fury, as it rolled upward, till, at length,
the whole heavens became overspread, and amid the
tumultuous roar of Oratory, you would almost imagine your¬
self to be in a convu'sion of the elements—lightning's
blazing, winds howling, torrents descending around you.
How noble, how god like does man appear in the exercise
of such great powers! Nature, with her seas, her fluids
and her sun, can make a thunder-storm; but here was a
human mind that could make such a storm ! Here was a
human mind of which the universe in its riches and giant-
en rgies was emblem.
The Patriot. We come now to behold these great
powers of mind devoted to the service of his country.
Cradled in that dreadful struggle for independence, which
gave to the world the American Republic, he afterwards
did no dishonor to the patriotic period of his birth. What¬
ever difference of opinion there may be as to the soundness
and expediency of' some of the public measures he
originated, or advocated, there can be none in relation to
the sincerity of his devotion to the honor and welfare of
his country. He loved every inch of soil in her broad
territory, and with the affection which a son has for his
mother. His patriotism was too great to be circumscribed
within the harrow bounds of sectional lines. With him there
was no North, no South, no East, no West. A purer, a
loftier, a mote fearless patriot never breathed. Partisan
fetters he spumed. The part of the demagogue he could
11
never play. Meanness in politics he abhorred as much as
he did meanness in social life. He was ambitious, and
inextinguishably so ; but his ambition never corrupted his
public virtue. He would " rather be right, than be Presi¬
dent." Here is his own definition of public virtue : "That
patriotism, which catching its inspiration from the immortal
God, and leaving at an immeasurable distance below, all
lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates
and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion
and of death itself—that is public virtueHe was in the
councils of his country for near half a century. The great
measures of State he originated, and which evinced his
public spirit, are too numerous to mention, He did more
than any other man of his age to extend our commerce, to
improve our rivers, to build our factories, and to develope the
rich resources of our soil. Fleets, and bridges, and roads,
and cities, were his creations. Providence seems to have
had a great design of benevolence to our country in keep¬
ing him alive until our sectional difficulties were settled.
And God he thanked, that those eyes which shed their first
tears amid the terrible struggle that brought this Union into
existence, were not called upon to shed their last ones upon
its shattered and blackened ruins.
I have said that his name would be cherished by posterity.
Go forward a hundred years upon the path of our country's
destiny. Our ancient forests have all disappeared. Our fertile
valleys are all filled with bloom and with harvests. Our
vast prairies are covered with flocks. Cities send up their
rpar of commerce and traffic where solitude now sways her
sceptre. The fire-horse bathes his impatient feet in the
waves of the Atlantic, and thunders away over his iron
track, to cool them in the Pacific. Our population has
swollen into the teeming magnificence of a hundred
million. They are all freemen. They hold the destiny of
the world in their hands. They, themselves, are half the,
world. And they all repeat the name, and reverence the
memory of CLAY. They know that his powerful arm
first set in motion a hundred of the mighty industrial wheels
that are rolling and clanging around them. And they are
familiar with the great measures of pacification by which
he saved their glorious Union, when Fanaticism would have
torn it to pieces.* Preserving by his wisdom what Washing-
, * The insane ravings of Northern abolitionists remind one of Milton's mob of
devils, who would rather reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
12
ton achieved by his sword, he occupies a place almost
equal to his in their affections. Go forward another hundred
years—and then another—and then another—but when will
the names of Demosthenes and Cicero cease to be house¬
hold words?
" How sleep the great who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest I
When spring with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod."
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There honor comes a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay.
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there 1"
The Christian. But let us regard this great man froni
a yet more interesting point of view. Let us behold his
cheek bathed with the tears of penitence for his sins, and
his mighty tongue set on fire over the wonders of
a Redeemer's love.
For Christianity he ever entertained a profound reverencO.
His was a mind too vast, too luminous and too serious for
either scepticism or ridicule—that offspring of ignorance
or levity—to find in it a moment's lodgdement. He
regarded the religion of Jesus not only as being of divine
origin, but also as the most ennobling, the most fertilising,
and the most comforting blessing ever bestowed upon the
hitman family. He recognised the dealings of an all-wise
Providence in the affairs both of individuals and nations.
In a speech which he made in the U. S. Senate, during the
administration of Gen. Jackson, advocating a resolution to
request the President to appoint and recommend a National
Fast, on account of that terrible scourge, the Asiatic
Cholera, which had extended its ravages to the American
continent, and filled the public mind with consternation and
dismay, he remarks : " I am a member of no religious
sect, and I am not a professor of religion. I regret that 1
am not. I wish that I were, and I trust that I shall he. I
have and always have had a profound regard for Christianity,
the religion of my fathers, and for its rites, its usages and
its observances." That this wonderful universe was made
in its magnificence by chance, and is governed in its har¬
monies by accident, he never dreamed. That it is dis¬
creditable to a man, though he were covered all over with
the world's laurels, to worship his Maker in his sanctuary,
he was so simple-minded as never to discover.
13
It was late in life, however—a procrastination which he
afterwards deeply regretted—when, by a public profession
of religion, he solemnly dedicated himself to the service of
his God, and gave his important testimony, in common with
thousands of the earth's great ones before him, of the utter
insufficiency of the world, with all its trumpets of fame,
and all its employments of patriotism and letters, to cleanse
a guilty conscience or satisfy the thirsts of an immortal soul.
He was baptised, and admitted into our holy communion,
some six or seven years ago, by the Rector of Christ Church,
Lexington. Thus was the desire which he had before so
publicly expressed in the Senate, to be a member of the
church, at length, in God's mercy, fulfilled. He was now
numbered with God's people. He had now a spiritual as
well as a mental relationship with David, and Solomon, and
Isaiah, and Paul. So long a traveller over life's dreary
wilderness—so battered by the storm, so scorched by the
sun—so weary and so thirsty—he had at last found a shelter
in which to repose, and a fountain of pure and unfailing
water at which to drink. He had found a glory in prospect,
compared with which all the glory of the world is dimness
and vanity. I know something of his Christianity from
personal observation. I enjoyed,in common with thousands
of his countrymen, his acquaintance ; I have often preached
in the church at which- he, when at home, was a constant
and punctual attendant; I have met him in the councils of
the diocese to which he belonged ; and I can bear testimony
of his sincere interest in the welfare of our beloved church,
and of his most serious and most devout deportment in
God's house. A resolution was introduced into the Ken¬
tucky Diocesan Convention, some two or three years ago,
declaring it to be the duty of the church to make more
ample and available provision for the religious instruction
of the black population. The resolution had no warmer,
as it had no abler, supporter than Mr. Clay. You could
see the benevolence of the man and the christian in his
whole manner on the occasion.
As Mr. Clay presided at the celebrated debate between
Drs. Campbell and Rice, on the subject of Baptism, and
had, therefore, a good opportunity to weigh in his powerful
mind the argument in favor of immersion, as an exclusive
mode of baptism, it may not be amiss to remark, that he
received the sacrament by pouring, not by immersion, as
was erroneously reported at the time.
2
14
And liovv a christian can die !
" The world recedes, it disappears;
Heaven oppns on iny eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings—I mount, I fly;
O grave, where is thy victory !
O death, where is thy sting i"
For a person, whose days have been spent in obscurity—
who has been trampled upon by poverty and contempt—who
has formed few worldly associations, and has few or no
friends—to die calmly and submissively, taking a purely
philosophical view of the matter, would not seem to require
a very great struggle with our instinctive love of life and
dread of death. But for this son of glory to unloose his
mighty grasp upon human society—to break up political
associations of the most thrilling character, running through
the long period of fifty years—to leave many of his own
great public measures when they were but half developed
in their practical workings—to forsake multitudes of the
warmest and most devoted friends that a man ever had—to
depart from the scenes of his triumphs and his fame, and
depart from them forever—would seem to require a severe
and bitter struggle, though the body might be staggering
under the weight of' years. And yet, for months before the
messenger of death arrived, he was even joyfully awaiting
his approach ; and he finally bade adieu to the world with¬
out a single sigh or a single regret. Such is the pOAver of
Christian faith. It can reconcile to the grave the great as
well as the obscure—the prosperous as Avell as the down¬
trodden—the young as Avell as the old. But supposing he
had never connected himself Avitli the church—supposing
he had had nothing about his death-bed to dispel its shades
but the wish that he were a christian ! I thank God that I
am not called upon to paint the dark pictur '1 lie
"was going home." Going home—they G
they were strangers and pilgrims on
home—" Our Father, Avho art in heave
The Corpse. We come noAv to fix
moment, in terror, upon the great man,
whose earthly history and character Ave have
corpse. His venerable body, pallid and cold, f
rotunda of the capitol, soon to be committed to I
the streets of our cities, and our public buildings tin
the land, clad in the emblems of mourning—our i
banner lowered upon all our ships and fortifications—
15
guns sending their solemn reverberations over hill and dale
seldom befoie has death spoken to us in a voice so loud, so
awful, and so impressive.
And what is death ? It is easy to answer the question in
a, general way._ It is something which destroys human life.
Something which mocks at human greatness and human
affection, and baffles human skill. Something which has been
ravaging the world for six thousand years, and has made
the earth we inhabit one vast sepulchre of departed genera¬
tions. Something that is traveling upon our own path, and
will speedily bear us away upon a bourne from which we
shall never return. Something whose terrors and remorse-
lessness are looking through the glassy eyes of the emaciated
face upon which we are gazing. Something which was sent
into the world to scourge man for his sins. This much we
may know of it, but no more. We see its effects upon the
body, and we are told the moral reason of its existence
but we know nothing of its nature. It is as mysterious as
is life itself.
It may seem strange, however, that death should have
dominion over the christian. That the Almighty, weary
and angry with evil doers, should deliver them up to the
King of Terrors, does not seem surprising; but why should.
He thus scourge His own people—the lovers of His law—
the redeemed of His Son % The common answer to this
question is, that death to them is a blessing; that it is a
tempest which wafts them to the port where they would be.
But this answer is not free from objection. For, after we
have said all the handsome things in our power about death,
it must still be admitted to be in its manner a dreadful
scourge. How piercing its pains. How heart-rending the
final farewell. How frightful its effects upon the body.
God if He thought proper, could open a less gloomy way
than this, for His people to pass to their rest. But the
mystery will, perhaps, be solved, if we suppose that God in
death would keep before the world a perpetual monument
of His anger at sin. And the more upright and virtuous
the man whom it destroys—the more magnificent his
intellect, and the greater the degree of his usefulness to his
race, the more awful, of course, the monument. Gather
around the bier, then, of our departed great one. See how-
death has reduced his revered form into ruins and pallors 1
See how he has silenced this tongue of thunder, and palsied
this hand of charity! Follow the corpse to its narrow resting-
16
place. Behold it imprisoned in darkness and solitude—
the food of lizards and worms! O, what a terrible monu¬
ment of the guilt of the sin with which he was infected
when he came into the world.
The Disembodied Spirit. But we are told that when
the body goes to the dust from whence it came, the soul
returns to God who gave it; and reason as well as revelation
teaches the sublime truth.
I do not propose to enter into an argument to prove the
immortality of the soul. I simply ask if it is possible that
any rational person can look upon this corpse, and look
down into this grave, and say that this is the last of this
mighty being 1 Are you going to class Mm with the brute
and the clod ? Is this the melancholy encj of such great¬
ness ? That marvellous mind, which could stamp its image
upon its country and upon the world—which could fill all
coming time with its glory, and nourish all posterity with
its thoughts and its sentiments—which could set in motion
wheels of industry that will continue to roll on for a thousand
years, and spread the sails of fleets that will forever whiten
the ocean—which could scour the universe on its wings of
imagination, and thunder like the heavens themselves in its
oratory—is that mind now extinguished ? has it gone down
to darkness and oblivion ? is it the food of the worm ? No;
in its capacity, its energy, its effects, its desires, its mystery,
it had its emblem in eternity, and it therefore belonged to
eternity.
"Shade of the mighty !"—but a few days ago, and it was
with us. We could hear its words ; we could see its smiles,
and feel its power. But it is now gone; it has vanished
from our sight; it is no more an inhabitant of the, earth.
In what particular place in the great universe it now dwells ;
amid what magnificent landscapes it reposes; what addi¬
tional faculties and powers have been imparted to it; what
clouds it makes its chariots ; what winds its wings; what
sublime amplitudes of space it explores—we know not.
But this we do know—" eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,
neither have entered into the heart of man the things which
God hath prepared for those who love him." This we do
know, that the souls of the righteous are satisfied in all
their immortal yearnings and aspirations; for " they can
hunger no more, they can thirst no more"; and millions of
eloquent voices perpetually cry, "Alleluia! the Lord God
omnipotent reigneth !" Here, then, is a two-fold immor-
17
tality—an immortality upon earth, and an immortality in
heaven.
The Eloquent Preacher. The life of such a man
should make its proper impression upon us. It is one great
voice of eloquence. And I would beg you in conclusion, by
way of recapitulation, to listen for a moment to this voice.
Let me be silent, and let him speak. His voice, so thrilling
while he was living, is now more thrilling than ever. It
now borrows its imagery and pathos from death as well as
life—from heaven as well as earth. He encourages, he
counsels, he warns, he inspires us. He cries to our young
men from the obscure condition in which he was born : " Be
not ashamed of poverty and humble parentage. If your
early years are cast amid adversity, you can claim kindred
with the most illustrious of the earth. Providence has
ordained such a condition to you for your good. It is better
to make an obscure name distinguished by your own efforts
and virtues, than to disgrace a distinguished one by your
imbicility and vices. It is better to be the first of your house
than the last of it." He cries to them from amid the
flickerings of the solitary taper which witnessed his early
struggles after knowledge: " This is the way in which the
world's great ones are made. Be discouraged by no
difficulties. Gather up your fragments of time. Waste
not a moment. Fools and fops may ridicule you, but they
shall yet crouch in conscious imbecility at your feet Scatter
your seed broad-cast upon the generous soil, and patiently
await the coming harvest." He cries to them from amid
his great efforts of oratory : " Man inheriting nothing but
infancy and ignorance, can make himself powerful and
sublime. He can grasp the trident of Neptune to sway the
tumultuous passions of his race. If I had been idle and
frivolous, like my fellow clerks, my name would have
gone down with theirs into oblivion. Of what value are
your moments ! A moment is a thunderbolt! A moment is
a sun!" He cries to our statesmen from amid the affections
his country, and the halo of his fame: " This is the
noble reward of patriotism. Love your country; labor
for her welfare ; cherish her institutions; defend her union;
and she shall wrap her own bespangled banner around you ;
she shall clothe herself' in mourning at your departure;
and she shall be thronged by a myriad posterity, who shall
reverence your name, and rehearse your acts forever."
He cries to us all from beside the font at which he kneeled
18
for baptism : " I have long sought happiness in the world,
and have never found it. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
1 have had no comfort in my afflictions. I consider it the
duty of man to worship and obey the glorious Being who is
his creator and preserver. I am ready to take up the cross.
I feel my need of pardon and moral cleansing. I trust in
Jesus Christ as my saviour. I pray that his divine Spirit may
renovate and purify me." He cries to us from his bed of
d,eath. As his lips grow white—as his eyes grow dim, he
turns to us and cries : " See how a christian can die ! I
bid adieu to the world—I consign my body to the dust,
without a single regret. If I were an unpardoned sinner,
how miserable would be my condition ! My soul would
shudder over its doom. My bones would tremble; my
flesh would be pierced with fire. It is a tremendous thing
to die !" He cries to us from the grave : " All flesh is
grass. Come near, ye who are great, as well as ye who
are obscure—kings and warriors, orators and bards—come
near, and look upon my ghastly face, that ye may learn
your own certain doom. My eyes are sightless ! My arms
. are motionless ! I am imprisoned in darkness ! The worm
revels over me ! I once was alive, and saw the sun like
you. Death may long delay his coming, but when he does
come, he will know how to strangle his victim." He cries
to us from amid his glory in the shies. "With his own
burning face he looks down upon us in pity as we grovel in
care and prerplexity, and cries—" immortal beixgs ! lift up
your eyes to these clouds and rainbows ! Here is a destiny
^worthy of your noble faculties, and worthy of your highest
^ambition to attain!"