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SERMONS, 
 
SERMONS 
 
 PREACHED IN ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, 
 
 GLASGOW. 
 
 ^BY 
 
 THOMAS CHALMERS, D.D. 
 
 MINISXKK 01 ST. JOHN's CHURCH, GLASGOW. 
 
 GLASGOW: 
 
 PRINTED FOR CHALMERS AND COLLINS 
 
 WAHGH AND INNES, EDINBURGH; 
 
 B. M. TIMS, DUBLIN; 
 
 AND G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON. 
 
 1823. 
 
Printed by W. Colfins fc Co. 
 Glasgow. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following Sermons are of too miscel- 
 laneous a character to be arranged accord- 
 ing to the succession of their topics, and 
 they are, therefore, presented to the reader 
 as so many compositions that are almost 
 wholly independent of each other. 
 
 Two of the Sermons treat of Predesti- 
 nation, and the Sin against the Holy Ghost. 
 There are topics of a highly speculative 
 character, in the system of Christian Doc- 
 trine, which it is exceedingly difficult to 
 manage, without interesting the curiosity 
 rather than the conscience of the reader. 
 
Vlll 
 
 And yet, it is irom their fitness of appli- 
 cation to the conscience, that they derive 
 their chief right to appear in a volume of 
 Sermons; and I should not have ventured 
 any publication upon either of these Doc- 
 trines, did I not think them capable of 
 being so treated as to subserve the great 
 interests of practical godliness. 
 
 The Sermons all relate to topics that 
 I hold to be strictly congregational, with 
 the exception of the thirteenth and four- 
 teenth in the volume, which belong rather 
 to Christian Economics, than to Christian 
 Theology — to the " outer things of the 
 house of God," rather than to the things 
 of the sanctuary, or the intimacies of the 
 spiritual life. I, perhaps, ought therefore 
 to apologize for the appearance of these two 
 in a volume of Congregational Sermons, 
 and yet I have been led by experience to 
 feel the religious importance of their sub- 
 
IX 
 
 ject, and I think that much injury has been 
 sustained by the souls of our people, from 
 the neglect of obvious principles both in 
 the business of education, and in the busi- 
 ness of public charity. I have, however, 
 more comfort in discussino; this armmient 
 from the press, than from the pulpit, which 
 ought to be kept apart for loftier themes, 
 and which seems to sufler a sort of desecra- 
 tion when employed as the vehicle for any 
 thing else than the overtures of pardon to 
 the sinner, and the hopes and duties of the 
 believer. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SERMON I. 
 
 THE CONSTANCY OF GOD IN HIS WORKS AN ARGUMENT 
 FOR THE FAITHFULNESS OF GOD IN HIS WORD. 
 
 " For ever, O Lord, thy word is settled in heaven. Thy faith- 
 fulness is unto all generations : thou hast established the earth, 
 and it abideth. They continue this day according to thine or- 
 dinances: for all are thy servants." — Psalm cxix. 89, 90, 91. 17 
 
 SERMON II. 
 
 THE EXPULSIVE POWER OF A NEW AFFECTION. 
 
 " Love nt)t the world, neither the things that are in the world. If 
 any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. — 
 1 John n. 15 37 
 
 SERMON III. 
 
 THE SURE WARRANT OF A BELIEVER'S HOPE. 
 
 " For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by 
 the death of his Son ; much more, being reconciled, we shall be 
 saved by his life." — HoMANs v, 10 90 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 SERMON IV. 
 
 THE RESTLESSNESS OF HUMAN AMBITION. 
 
 " How say yc to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain? — O 
 that I had the wings of a dove, that I may fly away, and be at 
 rest." — Psalm XI. 1. and Lv. 6 119 
 
 SERMON V. 
 
 THE TRANSITORY NATURE OF VISIBLE THINGS. 
 " The things which ai-e seen are temporal." — 2 Cor. iv. 18. . . 138 
 
 SERMON VI. 
 
 ON THE UNIVERSALITY OF SPIRITUAL BLINDNESS. 
 
 " Stay yourselves, and wonder; cry ye out, and cry: they are drun- 
 ken, but not with wine ; they stagger, but not with strong drink. 
 For the Lord hath poured out upon you the spirit of deep sleep, 
 and hath closed your eyes : the prophets and your rulers, the seers 
 hath he covered. And the vision of all is become unto you as the 
 words of a book that is sealed, which men deliver to one that is 
 learned, saying, Read this, I pray thee: and he saith, I cannot; 
 for it is sealed. And the book is delivered to him that is not 
 learned, sajdng, Read this, I pray thee : and he saith, I am not 
 learned." — Isaiah xxix. 9 — 12 159 
 
 SERMON VII. 
 
 ON THE NEW HEAVENS AND THE NEW EARTH. 
 
 " Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens 
 and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness." — 2 Pet. in. 
 13. 191 
 
CONTENTS. XIU 
 
 SERMON VIII. 
 
 THE NATURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 
 
 " For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power." — 1 Cor. 
 IV. 20 216 
 
 SERMON IX. 
 
 ON THE REASONABLENESS OF FAITH. 
 
 " But before faith came, we were kept imdcrthe law, shut up unto 
 the faith which should afterwards be revealed." — Gal. ni. 23. 241 
 
 SERMON X. 
 
 ON THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH. 
 
 " And he said unto them. The Sabbath was made for man, and not 
 man for the Sabbath."— Mark ii. 27 267 
 
 SERMON XI. 
 
 ON THE DOCTRINE OF PREDESTINATION. 
 
 " And now I exliort you to be of good cheer : for tliere shall be no 
 loss of any man's life among you, but of the ship. Paul said to 
 the centurion and to the soldiers, Except these abide in the ship, 
 ye cannot be saved." — Acts xxvu. 22, 31. ; 294< 
 
 SERMON XII. 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF THE SIN AGAINST THE HOLY 
 GHOST. 
 
 " Wherefore I say unto you. All manner of sin and blasphemy shall 
 be forgiven unto men-, but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost 
 shall not be forgiven unto men. And whosoever speaketh a word 
 against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him : but whosoever 
 speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, 
 neither in this world, neither in the world to come." — Matth. 
 xn. 31, 32 , . . . . .326 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 SERMON XIII. 
 
 ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE TO 
 THE LOWER ORDERS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Better is a poor and a wise child than an old and foolish king, who 
 will no more be admonished." — Eccles. iv. 13 361 
 
 SERMON XIV. 
 
 ON THE DUTY AND THE MEANS OF CHRISTIANIZING 
 OUR HOME POPULATION. 
 
 " And he said unto them, Go ye into all tlie world, and preach the 
 Gospel to every creatm-e." — Mark x\a. 15 381 
 
 SERMON XV. 
 
 ON THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN KNOWLEDGE AND 
 CONSIDERATION. 
 
 " The ox knoweth his owner, and tlie ass his master's crib: but 
 Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider." — Isa. i. 3. 405 
 
SERMON I. 
 
 THE CONSTANCY OF GOD IN HIS WORKS AN ARGU- 
 MENT FOR THE FAITHFULNESS OF GOD IN 
 HIS WORD. 
 
 PSALM CXIX. 89, 90, 91. 
 
 For ever, O Lord, thy word is settled in heaven. Thy 
 faithfulness is unto all generations : thou hast established 
 the earth, and it abideth. They continue this day ac- 
 cording to thine ordinances: for all are thy servants. 
 
 In these verses there is affirmed to be an anal- 
 ogy between the word of God and the works of 
 God. It is said of his word, that it is settled in 
 heaven, and that it sustains its faithfulness from 
 one generation to another. It is said of his 
 works, and more especially of those that are im- 
 mediately around us, even of the earth which 
 we inhabit, that as it was established at the first 
 so it abideth afterwards. And then, as if to 
 perfect the assimilation between them, it is said 
 of both in the 91st verse, *' They continue this 
 
18 
 
 clay according to thine ordinances, for all are 
 thy servants ;" thereby identifying the sureness 
 of that word which proceeded from his lips, with 
 the unfailing constancy of that Nature which 
 was formed and is upholden by his hands. 
 
 The constancy of Nature is taught by uni- 
 versal experience, and even strikes the popular 
 eye as the most characteristic of those features 
 which have been impressed upon her. It may 
 need the aid of philosophy to learn how unvary- 
 ing Nature is in all her processes — how even her 
 seeming anomalies can be traced to a law that is 
 inflexible — how what might appear at first to be 
 the caprices of her waywardness, are, in fact, the 
 evolutions of a mechanism that never changes 
 — and that the more thoroughly she is sifted and 
 put to the test by the interrogations of the cu- 
 rious, the more certainly will they find that she 
 walks by a rule which knows no abatement, and 
 perseveres with obedient footstep in that even 
 course, from which the eye of strictest scrutiny, 
 has never yet detected one hair-breadth of de- 
 viation. It is no longer doubted by men of 
 science, that every remaining semblance of ir- 
 regularity in the universe is due, not to the 
 fickleness of Nature, but to the ignorance of 
 man — that her most hidden movements are con- 
 
19 
 
 ducted with a uniformity as rigorous as Fate — 
 that even the fitful agitations of the weather 
 have their law and their principle — that the in- 
 tensity of every breeze, and the number of drops 
 in every shower, and the formation of every 
 cloud, and all the occurring alternations of storm 
 and sunshine, and the endless shiftings of tempe- 
 rature, and those tremulous varieties of the air 
 which our instruments have enabled us to dis- 
 cover, but have not enabled us to explain — that 
 still, they follow each other by a method of suc- 
 cession, which, though greatly more intricate, 
 is yet as absolute in itself as the order of the 
 seasons, or the mathematical courses of astrono- 
 my. This is the impression of every philoso- 
 phical mind with regard to Nature, and it is 
 strengthened by each new accession that is made 
 to science. The more we are acquainted with 
 her, the more are we led to recognise her con- 
 stancy; and to view her as a mighty though 
 complicated machine, all whose results are sure, 
 and all whose workings are invariable. 
 
 But there is enough of patent and palpable 
 regularity in Nature, to give also to the popular 
 mind, the same impression of her constancy. 
 There is a gross and general experience that 
 teaches the same lesson, and that has lodged in 
 
 Bg 
 
20 
 
 every bosom a kind of secure and steadfast con- 
 fidence in the uniformity of her processes. The 
 very child knows and proceeds upon it. He is 
 aware of an abiding character and property in 
 the elements around him — and has already 
 learned as much of the fire, and the water, 
 and the food that he eats, and the firm ground 
 that he treads upon, and even of the gravitation 
 by which he must regulate his postures and his 
 movements, as to prove, that infant though he 
 be, he is fully initiated in the doctrine, that Na- 
 ture has her laws and her ordinances, and that 
 she continueth therein. And the proofs of this 
 are ever multiplying along the journey of human 
 observation : insomuch, that when we come to 
 manhood, we read of Nature's constancy 
 throughout every department of the visible 
 world. It meets us wherever we turn our eyes. 
 Both the day and the night bear witness to it. 
 The silent revolutions of the firmament give it 
 their pure testimony. Even those appearances 
 in the heavens, at which superstition stood 
 aghast, and imagined that Nature was on the 
 eve of giving way, are the proudest trophies of 
 that stability which reigns throughout her pro- 
 cesses — of that unswerving consistency where- 
 with she prosecutes all her movements. And 
 the lesson that is thus held forth to us from the 
 
21 
 
 heavens above, is responded to by the earth below j 
 just as the tides of ocean wait the footsteps of the 
 moon, and, by an attendance kept up without 
 change or intermission for thousands of years, 
 would seem to connect the regularity of earth 
 with the regularity of heaven. But, apart from 
 these greater and simpler energies, we see a 
 course and a uniformity everywhere. - We re- 
 cognise it in the mysteries of vegitation. We 
 follow it through the successive stages of growth, 
 and maturity, and decay, both in plants and 
 animals. We discern it still more palpably in 
 that beautiful circulation of the element of 
 water, as it rolls its way by many thousand 
 channels to the ocean — and, from the surface of 
 this expanded reservoir, is again uplifted to the 
 higher regions of the atmosphere — and is there 
 dispersed in light and fleecy magazines over the 
 four quarters of the globe — and at length ac- 
 complishes its orbit, by falling in showers on a 
 world that waits to be refreshed by it. And all 
 goes to impress us with the regularity of Nature, 
 which in fact teems, throughout all its varieties, 
 with power, and principle, and uniform laws of 
 operation — and is viewed by us as a vast labo- 
 ratory, all the progressions of which have a rigid 
 and unfailing necessity stamped upon them. 
 
22 
 
 Now, this contemplation has at times served 
 to foster the atheism of philosophers. It has led 
 them to deify Nature, and to make her immu- 
 tability stand in the place of God. They seem 
 impressed with the imagination, that had the 
 Supreme Cause been a being who thinks, and 
 wills, and acts as man does, on the impulse of a 
 felt and a present motive, there would be more 
 the appearance of spontaneous activity, and less 
 of mute and unconscious mechanism in the ad- 
 ministrations of the universe. It is the very 
 unchangeableness of Nature, and the steadfast- 
 ness of those great and mighty processes where- 
 with no living power that is superior to Nature, 
 and is able to shift or to control her, is seen to in- 
 terfere — it is this which seems to have impressed 
 the notion of some blind and eternal fatality on 
 certain men of loftiest but deluded genius. 
 And, accordingly, in France, where the physi- 
 cal sciences have, of late, been the most culti- 
 vated, have there also been the most daring 
 avowals of atheism. The universe has been 
 affirmed to be an everlasting and indestructible 
 effect; and from the abiding constancy that is 
 seen in Nature, through all her departments, 
 have they inferred, that thus it has always been, 
 and that thus it will ever be. 
 
23 
 
 But this atheistical impression that is derived 
 from the constancy of Nature, is not pecuhar to 
 the disciples of philosophy. It is the familiar 
 and the practical impression of every-day life. 
 The world is apprehended to move on steady 
 and unvarying principles of its own; and these 
 secondary causes have usurped, in man's esti- 
 mation, the throne of the Divinity. Nature in 
 fact is personified into God: and as we look to 
 the performance of a machine without thinking 
 of its maker, — so the very exactness and cer- 
 tainty, wherewith the machinery of creation per- 
 forms its evolutions, has thrown a disguise over 
 the agency of the Creator. Should God inter- 
 pose by miracle, or interfere by some striking 
 and special manifestation of providence, then 
 man is awakened to the recognition of him. 
 But he loses sight of the Being who sits behind 
 these visible elements, while he regards those at- 
 tributes of constancy and power which appear 
 in the elements themselves. They see no de- 
 monstration of a God, and they feel no need of 
 him, while such unchanging, and such unfail- 
 ing energy continues to operate in the visible 
 world around them ; and we need not go to the 
 schools of ratiocination in quest of this infidelity, 
 but may detect it in the bosoms of simple and 
 unlettered men, who, unknown to themselves. 
 
24 
 
 make a god of Nature, and just because of Na- 
 ture's constancy ; having no faith in the unseen 
 Spirit who originated all and upholds all, and 
 that, because all things continue as they were 
 from the beginning of the Creation. 
 
 Such has been the perverse effect of Nature's 
 constancy on the alienated mind of man: but 
 let us now attend to the true interpretation of 
 it. God has, in the first instance, put into our 
 minds a disposition to count on the uniformity 
 of Nature, insomuch that we universally look for 
 a recurrence of the same event in the same cir- 
 cumstances. This is not merely the belief of ex- 
 perience, but the belief of instinct. It is antece- 
 dent to all the findings of observation, and may 
 be exemplified in the earliest stages of child- 
 hood. The inflmt who makes a noise on the 
 table with his hand, for the first time, antici- 
 pates a repetition of the noise from a repetition 
 of the stroke, with as much confidence as he 
 who has witnessed, for years together, the invari- 
 ableness wherewith these two terms of the suc- 
 cession have followed each other. Or, in other 
 words, God, by putting this faith into every 
 human creature, and making it a necessary part 
 of his mental constitution, has taught him at all 
 times to expect the like result in the like cir- 
 
25 
 
 cumstances. He has thus virtually told him 
 what is to happen, and what he has to look for 
 in every given condition — and by its so happen- 
 ing accordingly, he just makes good the veracity 
 of his own declaration. The man who leads me 
 to expect that which he fails to accomplish, I 
 would hold to be a deceiver. God has so 
 framed the machinery of my perceptions, as that 
 I am led irresistibly to expect, that everywhere 
 events will follow each other in the very train 
 in which I have ever been accustomed to observe 
 them — and when God so sustains the uniformity 
 of Nature, that in every instance it is rigidly so, 
 he is just manifesting the faithfulness of his 
 character. Were it otherwise, he would be prac- 
 tising a mockery on the expectation which he 
 himself had inspired. God may be said to have 
 promised to every human being, that Nature 
 will be constant — if not by the whisper of an 
 inward voice to every heart, at least by the 
 force of an uncontrollable bias which he has 
 impressed on every constitution. So that, when 
 we behold Nature keeping by its constancy, we 
 behold the God of Nature keeping by his faith- 
 fulness — and the system of visible things, with 
 its general laws, and its successions which are 
 invariable, instead of an opaque materialism to 
 intercept from the view of mortals the face of the 
 
26 
 
 Divinity, becomes the mirror which reflects 
 upon them the truth that is unchangeable, the 
 ordination that never fails. 
 
 Conceive that it had been otherwise — first, 
 that man had no faith in the constancy of Na- 
 ture — then how could all his experience have 
 profited him ? How could he have applied the 
 recollections of his past, to the guidance of his 
 future history? And, what would have been 
 left to signalize the wisdom of mankind above 
 that of veriest infancy ? Or, suppose that he 
 had the implicit faith in Nature's constancy, 
 but that Nature was wanting in the fulfilment of 
 it — that at every moment his intuitive reliance 
 on this constancy, was met by some caprice or 
 waywardness of Nature, which thwarted him in 
 all his undertakings — that, instead of holding 
 true to her announcements, she held the children 
 of men in most distressful uncertainty, by the 
 freaks and the falsities in which she ever in- 
 dulged herself — and that every design of human 
 foresight was thus liable to be broken up, by 
 ever and anon the putting forth of some new 
 fluctuation. Tell me, in this wild misrule of 
 elements changing their properties, and events 
 ever flitting from one method of succession to 
 another, if man could subsist for a single day. 
 
27 
 
 when all the accomplishments without, were 
 thus at war with all the hopes and calculations 
 within. In such a chaos and conflict as this, 
 would not the foundations of human wisdom 
 be utterly subverted? Would not man, with his 
 powerful and perpetual tendency to proceed on 
 the constancy of Nature, be tempted, at all 
 times, and by the very constitution of his be- 
 ing, to proceed upon a falsehood ? It were the 
 way, in fact, to turn the administration of Na- 
 ture into a system of deceit. The lessons of 
 to-day, would be falsified by the events of to- 
 morrow. He were indeed the father of lies 
 who could be the author of such a regimen as 
 this — and well may we rejoice in the strict order 
 of the goodly universe which we inhabit, and re- 
 gard it as a noble attestation to the wisdom and 
 beneficence of its great Architect. 
 
 But it is more especially as an evidence of 
 his truth, that the constancy of Nature is ad- 
 verted to in our text. It is of his faithfulness 
 unto all generations that mention is there made 
 — and for the growth and the discipline of your 
 piety, we know not a better practical habit than 
 that of recognizing the unchangeable truth of 
 God, throughout your daily and hourly expe- 
 rience of Nature's unchangeableness. Your 
 
28 
 
 faith in it is of his working — and what a condi- 
 tion would you have been reduced to, had the 
 faith which is M^thin, not been met by an entire 
 and unexcepted accordancy with the fulfihnents 
 that are without! He has not told you what to 
 expect by the utterance of a voice — but he has 
 taught you what to expect by the leadings and 
 the intimations of a strong constitutional tenden- 
 cy — and, in virtue of this, there is not a hu- 
 man creature who does not believe, and almost 
 as firmly as in his own existence, that fire will 
 continue to burn, and water to cool, and mat- 
 ter to resist, and unsupported bodies to fall, and 
 ocean to bear the adventurous vessel upon its 
 surface, and the solid earth to uphold the tread 
 of his footsteps ; and that spring will appear 
 ag-ain in her wonted smiles, and summer will 
 glow into heat and brilliancy, and autumn will 
 put on the same luxuriance as before, and win- 
 ter, at its stated periods, revisit the world with 
 her darkness and her storms. We cannot sum 
 up these countless varieties of Nature ; but the 
 firm expectation is, that throughout them all, 
 as she has been established, so she will abide 
 to the day of her final dissolution. And I call 
 upon you to recognize in Nature's constancy, 
 the answer of Nature's God to this expectation. 
 All these material agents are, in fact, the organs 
 
29 
 
 by which he expresses his faithfuhiess to the 
 world ; and that unveering generaUty which 
 reigns and continues everywhere, is but the per- 
 petual demonstration of a truth that never va- 
 ries, as well as of laws that never are rescinded. 
 It is for us, that he upholds the world in all its 
 regularity. It is for us, that he sustains so unvi- 
 olably the march and the movement of those 
 innumerable progressions, which are going on 
 around us. It is in remembrance of his pro- 
 mises to us, that he meets all our anticipations 
 of Nature's uniformity, with the evolutions of a 
 law that is unalterable. It is because he is a 
 God that cannot lie, that he will make no inva- 
 sion on that wondrous correspondency which 
 he himself hath instituted between the world 
 that is without, and our little world of hopes, 
 and projects, and anticipations that are within. 
 By the constancy of Nature, he hath imprinted 
 upon it the lesson of his own constancy — and 
 that very characteristic wherewith some would 
 fortify the ungodliness of their hearts, is the 
 most impressive exhibition which can be given 
 of God, as always faithful, and always the 
 same. 
 
 This, then, is the real character which the 
 constancy of Nature should lead us to assign 
 
30 
 
 to him who is the Author of it. In every hu- 
 man understanding, he hath planted a univer- 
 sal instinct, by which all are led to believe, that 
 Nature will persevere in her wonted courses, 
 and that each succession of cause and effect 
 which has been observed by us in the time that 
 is past, will, while the world exists, be kept up 
 invariably, and recur in the very same order 
 through the time that is to come. This con- 
 stancy, then, is as good as a promise that he 
 has made unto all men, and all that is around 
 us on earth or in heaven, proves how inflexi- 
 bly the promise is adhered to. The chemist in 
 his laboratory, as he questions Nature, may be 
 almost said to put her to the torture, when tried 
 in his hottest furnace, or probed by his search- 
 ing analysis, to her innermost arcana, she by a 
 spark, or an explosion, or an effervescence, or 
 an evolving substance, makes her distinct re- 
 plies to his investigations. And he repeats her 
 answer to all his fellows in philosophy, and they 
 meet in academic state and judgment to reit- 
 erate the question, and in every quarter of the 
 globe her answer is the same — so that, let the 
 experiment, though a thousand times repeated, 
 only be alike in all its circumstances, the result 
 which cometli forth is as rigidly alike, without 
 deficiency, and without deviation. We know 
 
31 
 
 how possible it is for these worshippers at the 
 footstool of science, to make a divinity of mat- 
 ter ; and that every new discovery of her se- 
 crets, should only rivet them more devotedly 
 to her throne. But there is a God who liveth 
 and sitteth there, and these unvarying responses 
 of Nature, are all prompted by himself, and are 
 but the utterances of his immutability. They 
 are the replies of a God who never changes, and 
 who hath adapted the whole materialism of cre- 
 ation to the constitution of every mind that he 
 hath sent forth upon it. And to meet the ex- 
 pectation which he himself hath given of Na- 
 ture's constancy, is he at each successive instant 
 of time, vigilant and ready in every part of his 
 vast dominions, to hold out to the eye of all 
 observers, the perpetual and unfailing demon- 
 stration of it. The certainties of Nature and 
 of Science, are in fact the vocables by which 
 God announces his truth to the world — and 
 when told how impossible it is that Nature can 
 fluctuate, we are only told how impossible it is 
 that the God of Nature can deceive us. 
 
 The doctrine that Nature is constant, when 
 thus related, as it ought to be, with the doctrine 
 that God is true, might well strengthen our 
 confidence in him anew witli every new expe- 
 
32 
 
 rience of our history. There is not an hour or 
 a moment, in which we may not verify the one — 
 and, therefore, not an hour or a moment in 
 Avhich we may not invigorate the other. Every 
 touch, and every look, and every taste, and ev- 
 ery act of converse between our senses and the 
 things that are without, brings home a new de- 
 monstration of the steadfastness of Nature, and 
 along with it a new demonstration both of his 
 steadfastness and of his faithfulness, who is the 
 Governor of Nature. And the same lesson may 
 be fetched from times and from places, that are 
 far beyond the limits of our own personal his- 
 tory. It can be drawn from the retrospect of 
 past ages, where, from the unvaried currency 
 of those very processes which we now behold, 
 we may learn the stability of all his ways, whose 
 goings forth are of old, and from everlasting. 
 It can be gathered from the most distant ex- 
 tremities of the earth, where Nature reigns with 
 the same unwearied constancy, as it does around 
 us — and where savages count as we do on a uni- 
 formity, from which she never falters. The les- 
 son is commensurate with the whole system of 
 things — and with an effulgence as broad as the 
 face of creation, and as clear as the light which 
 is poured over it, does it at once tell that Na- 
 ture is unchangeably constant, and that God is 
 inichangeably true. 
 
33 
 
 And so it is, that in our text there are pre- 
 sented together, as if there was a tie of likeness 
 between them — that the same God who is fixed 
 as to the ordinances of Nature, is faithful as to 
 the declarations of his word; and as all experience 
 proves how firmly he may be trusted for the 
 one, so is there an argument as strong as expe- 
 rience, to prove how firmly he may be trusted 
 for the other. By his work in us, he hath awak- 
 ened the expectation of a constancy in Nature, 
 which he never disappoints. By his word to 
 us, should he awaken the expectation of a cer- 
 tainty in his declarations, this he will never dis- 
 appoint. It is because Nature is so fixed, that 
 we apprehend the God of Nature to be so faith- 
 ful. He who never falsifies the hope that hath 
 arisen in every bosom, from the instinct which 
 he himself hath communicated, will never falsi- 
 fy the hope that shall arise in any bosom from 
 the express utterance of his voice. Were he a 
 God in whose hand the processes of Nature 
 were ever shifting, then might we conceive him 
 a God from whose mouth the proclamations of 
 grace had the like characters of variance and 
 vacillation. But it is just because of our re- 
 liance on the one, that we feel so much of repose 
 in our dependence upon the other — and the 
 
 same God who is so unfailing in the ordinances 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 of" his creation, do wc hold to be equally unfailing 
 in the ordinances of his word. 
 
 And it is strikingly accordant with these 
 views, that Nature never has been known to re- 
 cede from her constancy, but for the pin*pose of 
 giving place and demonstration to the authority 
 of the word. Once, in a season of miracle, did 
 the word take the precedency of Nature, but 
 ever since hath Nature resumed her courses, 
 and is now proving, by her steadfastness, the 
 authority of that, which she then proved to be 
 authentic by her deviations. When the word 
 was first ushered in. Nature gave way for a pe- 
 riod, after which she moves in her wonted or- 
 der, till the present system of things shall pass 
 away, and that faith which is now upholden by 
 Nature's constancy, shall then receive its accom- 
 plishment at Nature's dissolution. And O how 
 God magnifieth his word above all his name, 
 when he tells that heaven and earth shall pass 
 away, but that his word shall not pass away — 
 and that while his creation shall become a wreck, 
 not one jot or one tittle of his testimony shall 
 fail. The world passeth away — but the word 
 endureth for ever — and if the faithfulness of 
 God stand forth so legibly on the face of the 
 temporary world, how surely may we reckon 
 
35 
 
 on the faithfulness of that word, which has a 
 vastly higher place in the counsels and fulfil- 
 ments of eternity. 
 
 The argument may not be comprehended by 
 all, but it will not be lost, should it lead any to 
 feel a more emphatic certainty and meaning 
 than before in the declarations of the Bible — and 
 to conclude, that he, who for ages, hath stood so 
 fixed to all his plans and purposes in Nature, 
 will stand equally fixed to all that he proclaims, 
 and to all that he promises in Revelation. To 
 be in the hands of such a G od, might well strike 
 a terror into the hearts of the guilty — and that 
 unrelenting death which, with all the sureness 
 of an immutable law, is seen, before our eyes, 
 to seize upon every individual of every species 
 of our world, full well evinces how he, the un- 
 compromising Lawgiver, will execute every ut- 
 terance that he has made against the children of 
 iniquity. And, on the other hand, how this very 
 contemplation ought to encourage all who are 
 looking to the announcements of the same God 
 in the Gospel, and who perceive that there he 
 has embarked the same truth, and the same un- 
 changeableness, on the offers of mercy. All 
 Nature gives testimony to this, that he cannot lie 
 
 — and seeing that he has stamped such enduring 
 
 c 2 
 
36 
 
 properties on the elements even of our perishable 
 world, never should I falter from that confidence 
 which he hath taught me to feel, when I thintv 
 of that property wherewith the blood which 
 was shed for me, cleanseth from all sin ; and of 
 that property wherewith the body which was 
 broken, beareth the burden of all its penalties. 
 He who hath so nobly met the faith that he has 
 given unto all in the constancy of Nature, by a 
 uniformity which knows no abatement, will 
 meet the faith that he has given unto any in the 
 certainty of grace, by a fulfilment unto every 
 believer, which knows no exception. 
 
 And it is well to remark the difference that 
 there is between the explanation given in the 
 text, of Nature's constancy, and the impression 
 which the mere students or disciples of Nature 
 have of it. It is because of her constancy that 
 they have been led to invest her, as it were, in 
 properties of her own ; that they have given a 
 kind of independent power and stability to mat- 
 ter } that in the various energies which lie scat- 
 tered over the field of visible contemplation, 
 they see a native inherent virtue, whicli never 
 for a single moment is slackened or suspended — 
 and therefore imagine, that as no force from 
 without seems necessary to sustain, so as little. 
 
37 
 
 perhaps, is there need for any such force from 
 without to originate. The mechanical certainty 
 of all Nature's processes, as it appears in their 
 eyes to supersede the demand for any upholding 
 agency, so does it also supersede, in the silent 
 imaginations of many, and according to the ex- 
 press and bold avowals of some, the demand 
 for any creative agency. It is thus, that Nature 
 is raised into a divinity, and has been made to 
 reign over all, in the state and jurisdiction of an 
 eternal fatalism ; and proud Science, which by 
 wisdom knoweth not God, hath, in her march 
 of discovery, seized upon the invariable certain- 
 ties of Nature, those highest characteristics of 
 his authority and wisdom and truth, as the in- 
 struments by which to disprove and to dethrone 
 him. 
 
 Now compare this interpretation of monstrous 
 and melancholy atheism, with that which the 
 Bible gives, why all things move so invariably. 
 It is because that all are thy servants. It is be- 
 cause they are all under the bidding of a God 
 who has purposes from w^iich he never falters, 
 and hath issued promises from which he never 
 fails. It is because the arrangements of his vast 
 and capacious household are already ordered 
 for the best, and all the elements of Nature are 
 
38 
 
 the ministers by which he fulfils them. That is 
 the master who has most honour and obedience 
 from his domestics, throughout all whose ordi- 
 nations, there runs a consistency from which he 
 never deviates ; and he best sustains his dignity 
 in the midst of them, who, by mild but resistless 
 sway, can regulate the successions of every 
 hour, and affix his sure and appropriate service 
 to every member of the family. It is when we 
 see all, in any given time, at their respective 
 places, and each distinct period of the day 
 having its own distinct evolution of business or 
 recreation, that we infer the wisdom of the 
 instituted government, and how irrevocable the 
 sanctions are by which it is upholden. The 
 vexatious alternations of command and of coun- 
 termand ; the endless fancies of humour, and 
 caprice, and waywardness, which ever and anon 
 break forth, to the total overthrow of system; 
 the perpetual innovations which none do foresee, 
 and for which none, therefore, can possibly 
 be prepared — these are not more harassing to 
 the subject, than they are disparaging to the 
 truth and authority of the superior. It is in the 
 bosom of a well-conducted family, where you 
 witness the sure dispensation of all the reward 
 and encouragement which have been promised, 
 and the unfailing execution of the disgrace and 
 
39 
 
 the dismissal that are held forth to obstinate 
 disobedience. Now those very quaUties of which 
 this uniformity is the test and the characteris- 
 tic in the government of any human society, 
 of these also is it the test and the characteristic 
 in the government of Nature. It bespeaks the 
 wisdom, and the authority, and the truth of 
 him who framed and who administers. Let there 
 be a King eternal, immortal, and invisible, and 
 let this universe be his empire — and in all the 
 rounds of its complex but unerring mechanism, 
 do I recognize him as the only wise God. In 
 the constancy of Nature, do I read the constan- 
 cy and truth of that great master Spirit, who 
 hath imprinted his own character on all that 
 hath emanated from his power ; and when told 
 that throughout the mighty lapse of centuries, 
 all the courses both of earth and of heaven, 
 have been upholden as before, I only recognize 
 the footsteps of him who is ever the same, and 
 whose faithfulness is unto all generations. That 
 perpetuity, and order, and ancient law of suc- 
 cession, which have subsisted so long, through- 
 out the wide diversity of things, bear witness 
 to the Lord of hosts, as still at the head of his 
 well -marshalled family. The present age is only 
 re-echoing the lesson of all past ages — and that 
 spectacle, whicli has misled those who by wisdom 
 
40 
 
 know not God, into dreary atheism, has en- 
 hanced every demonstration both of his veracity 
 and power, to all intelligent worshippers. We 
 know that all things continue as they were from 
 the beginning of creation. We know that the 
 whole of surrounding materialism stands forth, 
 to this very hour, in all the inflexibility of her 
 wonted characters. We know that heaven, and 
 earth, and sea, still discharge the same functions, 
 and subserve the very same beneficent processes. 
 We know that astronomy plies the same rounds 
 as before, that the cycles of the firmament 
 move in their old and appointed order, and that 
 the year circulates, as it has ever done, in grate- 
 ful variety, over the face of an expectant world — 
 but only because all are of God, and they con- 
 tinue this day according to his ordinances — for 
 all are his servants. 
 
 Now it is just because the successions which 
 take place in the economy of Nature, are so 
 invariable, that we should expect the succes- 
 sions which take place in the economy of God*s 
 moral government to be equally invariable. 
 That expectation which he never disappoints 
 when it is the fruit of a universal instinct, 
 he surely will never disappoint when it is the 
 fruit of his own express and immediate revela- 
 
41 
 
 tion. If because God hath so estabhshed it, it 
 Cometh to pass, then of whatsoever it may be 
 affirmed that God hath so said it, it will come 
 equally to pass. I should certainly look for the 
 same character in the administrations of his spe- 
 cial grace, that I, at all times, witness in the 
 administrations of his ordinary providence. If 
 I see in the system of his world, that the law 
 by which two events follow each other, gives 
 rise to a connection between them that never is 
 dissolved, then should he say in his word, that 
 there are certain invariable methods of succes- 
 sion, in virtue of which, when the first term of it 
 occurs, the second is sure at all times to follow, I 
 should be very sure in my anticipations, that it 
 will indeed be most punctually and most rigidly 
 so. It is thus, that the constancy of Nature is 
 in fullest harmony with the authority of Revela- 
 tion — and that, when fresh from the contem- 
 plation of the one, I would listen with most 
 implicit faith to all the announcements of the 
 other. 
 
 When we behold all to be so sure and settled 
 in the works of God, then may we look for all 
 being equally sure and settled in the word of 
 God. Philosophy hath never yet detected one 
 iota of deviation from the ordinances of Na- 
 
42 
 
 turc — and never, therefore, may we conclude, 
 shall the experience either of past or future 
 ages, detect one iota of deviation from the or- 
 dinances of Revelation. He who so pointedly 
 adheres to every plan that he hath established in 
 creation, will as pointedly adhere to every pro- 
 clamation that he hath uttered in Scripture. 
 There is nought of the fast and loose in any of 
 his processes — and whether in the terrible de- 
 nunciations of Sinai, or those mild proffers of 
 mercy that were sounded forth upon the world 
 through Messiah, who upholdeth all things by 
 the word of his power, shall we alike experience 
 that God is not to be mocked, and that with him 
 there is no variableness, neither shadow of turn- 
 ing. 
 
 With this certainty, then, upon our spirits, 
 let us now look not to the successions which he 
 hath instituted in Nature, but to the successions 
 which he hath announced to us in the word of 
 his testimony — and let us, while so doing, fix 
 and solemnize our thoughts by the considera- 
 tion, that as God hath said it, so will he do it. 
 
 The first of these successions, then, on which 
 we may count infallibly, is that which he hath 
 proclaimed between sin and punishment. The 
 
43 
 
 soul that sinneth it shall die. And here there 
 is a common ground on which the certainties of 
 divine revelation meet and are at one v^^ith the 
 certainties of human experience. We are told 
 in the Bible, that all have sinned, and that, 
 therefore, death hath passed upon all men. 
 The connection between these two terms is an- 
 nounced in Scripture to be invariable — and all 
 observation tells us, that it is even so. Such 
 was the sentence uttered in the hearing of our 
 first parents ; and all history can attest how God 
 hath kept by the word of his threatening — and 
 how this law of jurisprudence from heaven is 
 realized before us upon earth, with all the cer- 
 tainty of a law of Nature. The death of man 
 is just as stable and as essential a part of his 
 physiology, as are his birth, or his expansion, 
 or his maturity, or his decay. It looks as much 
 a thing of organic necessity, as a thing of arbi- 
 trary institution — and here do we see blended 
 into one exhibition, a certainty of the divine 
 word that never fails, and a constancy in Nature 
 that never is departed from. It is indeed a strik- 
 ing accordancy, that what in one view of it ap- 
 pears to be a uniform process of Nature, in ano- 
 ther view of it, is but the unrelenting execution 
 of a dread utterance from the God of Nature. 
 From this contemplation may we gather, that 
 
44 
 
 God is as certain in all his words, as he is con- 
 stant in all his ways. Men can philosophize on 
 the diseases of the human system — and the la- 
 borious treatise can be written on the class, and 
 the character, and the symptoms, of each of 
 them — and in our halls of learning, the ample 
 demonstration can be given, and disciples may 
 be taught how to judge and to prognosticate, 
 and in what appearances to read the fell pre- 
 cursors of mortality — and death has so taken 
 up its settled place among the immutabilities 
 of Nature, that it is as familiarly treated in the 
 lecture-rooms of science, as any other pheno- 
 mena which Nature has to offer for the exercise 
 of the human understanding. And, O how of- 
 ten are the smile and the stoutness of infidelity 
 seen to mingle with this appalling contempla- 
 tion — and how little will its hardy professors 
 bear to be told, that what gives so dread a cer- 
 tainty to their speculation is, that the God of 
 Nature and the God of the Bible, are one — 
 that when they describe, in lofty nomenclature, 
 the path of dying humanity, they only describe 
 the way in which he fulfils upon it his irrevoca- 
 ble denunciation — that he is but doing now to 
 the posterity of Adam what he told to Adam 
 himself on his expulsion from paradise — and 
 that, if the universality of death prove how 
 
45 
 
 every law in the physics of creation is sure, it 
 just as impressively proves, how every word of 
 God's immediate utterance to man, or how ev- 
 ery word of prophecy is equally sure. 
 
 And in every instance of mortality which you 
 are called to witness, do we call upon you to 
 read in it the intolerance of God for sin, and 
 how unsparingly and unrelentingly it is, that 
 God carries into effect his every utterance 
 against it. The connection which he hath in- 
 stituted between the two terms of sin and of 
 death, should lead you from every appeal that 
 is made to your senses by the one, to feel the 
 force of an appeal to your conscience by the 
 other. It proves the hatefulness of sin to God, 
 and it also proves with what unfaltering con- 
 stancy God will prosecute every threat, until he 
 hath made an utter extirpation of sin from his 
 presence. There is nought which can make 
 more palpable the way in which God keeps 
 every saying in his perpetual remembrance, and 
 as surely proceeds upon it, than doth this uni- 
 versal plague wherewith he hath smitten every 
 individual of our species, and carries off its 
 successive generations from a world that sprung 
 from his hand in all the bloom and vigour of 
 immortality. When death makes entrance upon 
 
46 
 
 a family, and, perhaps, seizes on that one mem- 
 ber of it, all whose actual transgressions might 
 be summed up in the outbreakings of an occa- 
 sional waywardness, wherewith the smiles of in- 
 fant gaiety were chequered — still how it demon- 
 strates the unbending purposes of God against 
 our present accursed nature, that in some one 
 or other of its varieties, every specimen must 
 die. And so it is, that from one age to ano- 
 ther, he makes open manifestation to the world, 
 that every utterance which hath fallen from him 
 is sure j and that ocular proof is given to the 
 character of him who is a Spirit, and is invisi- 
 ble; and that sense lends its testimony to the 
 truth of God, and the truth of his Scripture; and 
 that Nature, when rightly viewed, instead of 
 placing its inquirers at atheistical variance with 
 the Being who upholds it, holds out to us the 
 most impressive commentary that can be given, 
 on the reverence which is due to all his com- 
 munications, even by demonstrating, that faith 
 in his word is at unison with the findings of our 
 daily observation. 
 
 But God hath further said of sin and of its 
 consequences, what no observation of ours has 
 yet realized. He hath told us of the judgment 
 that Cometh after death, and he hath told us 
 
47 
 
 of the two diverse paths which lead from the 
 judgment seat unto eternity. Of these we have 
 not yet seen the verification, yet surely we have 
 now seen enough to prepare us for the unfailing 
 accomplishment of every utterance that cometh 
 from the lips of God. The unexcepted death 
 which we know cometh upon all men, for that 
 all have sinned, might well convince us of the 
 certainty of that second death which is threat- 
 ened upon all who turn not from sin unto the 
 Saviour. There is an indissoluble succession 
 here between our sinning and our dying — and 
 we ought now to be so aware of God as a God 
 of precise and peremptory execution, as to look 
 upon the succession being equally indissoluble, 
 between our dying in sin now, and rising to ev- 
 erlasting condemnation hereafler. The sinner 
 who wraps himself in delusive security — and 
 that, because all things continue as they have 
 done, does not reflect of this very characteristic, 
 that it is indeed the most awful proof of God's 
 immutable counsels, and to himself the most 
 tremendous presage of all the ruin and wretch- 
 edness which have been denounced upon him. 
 The spectacle of uniformity that is before his 
 eyes, only goes to ascertain that as God hath 
 purposed, so, without vacillation or inconstancy, 
 will he ever perform. He hath already given a 
 
48 
 
 sample, or an earnest of this, in the awful rava- 
 ges of death ; and we ask the sinner to behold, 
 in the ever-recurring spectacle of moving fune- 
 rals, and desolated families, the token of that 
 still deeper perdition which awaits him. Let 
 him not think that the God who deals his relent- 
 less inflictions here on every son and daughter 
 of the species, will falter there from the work 
 of vengeance that shall then descend on the 
 heads of the impenitent. O how deceived then 
 are all those ungodly, who have been building 
 to themselves a safety and an exemption on the 
 perpetuity of Nature ! All the perpetuity whicli 
 they have witnessed, is the pledge of a God who 
 is unchangeable — and who, true to his threat- 
 ening as to every other utterance which passes 
 his lips, hath said, in the hearing of men and of 
 angels, that the soul which is in sin shall perish. 
 
 But, secondly, there is another succession 
 announced to us in Scripture, and on the cer- 
 tainty of which we may place as firm a reliance 
 as on any of the observed successions of Nature 
 — even that which obtains between fliith and 
 salvation. He who believeth in Christ, sliall 
 not perish, but shall have life everlasting. The 
 same truth which God hath embarked on the 
 declarations of his wrath against the impenitent. 
 
49. 
 
 he hath also embarked on the declarations of his 
 mercy to the believer. There is a law of con- 
 tinuity, as unfailing as any series of events in 
 Nature, that binds with the present state of an 
 obstinate sinner upon earth, all the horrors 
 of his future wretchedness in hell — but there is 
 also another law of continuity just as unfailing, 
 that binds the present state of him who putteth 
 faith in Christ here, with the triumphs and the 
 transports of his coming glory hereafter. And 
 thus it is, that what we read of God*s constancy 
 in the book of Nature, may well strengthen our 
 every assurance in the promises of the Gospel. 
 It is not in the recurrence of winter alone, and 
 its desolations, that God manifests his adherence 
 to established processes. There are many pe-, 
 riodic evolutions of the bright and the beautiful 
 along the march of his administrations — as the 
 dawn of morn; and the grateful access of spring, 
 with its many hues, and odours, and melodies;, 
 and the ripened abundance of harvest; and 
 that glorious arch of heaven, which Science 
 hath now appropriated as her own, but which 
 nevertheless is placed there by God as the un- 
 failing token of a sunshine already begun, and 
 a storm now ended — all these come forth at 
 appointed seasons, in a consecutive order, yet 
 mark the footsteps of a beneficent Deity. And 
 
50 
 
 so the economy of grace lias its regular succes- 
 sions, which carry liovvever a blessing in their 
 train. The faith in Christ, to which we are in- 
 vited upon earth, has its sure result, and its 
 landing-place in heaven — and just with as un- 
 erring certainty as we behold in the courses of 
 the firmament, will it be followed up by a life 
 of virtue, and a death of hope, and a resurrec- 
 tion of joy fulness, and a voice of welcome at the 
 judgment-seat, and a bright ascent into fields 
 of ethereal blessedness, and an entrance upon 
 glory, and a perpetual occupation in the city of 
 the^living God. 
 
 To all men hath he given a faith in the con- 
 stancy of Nature, and he never disappoints it. 
 To some men hath he given a fliitli in the pro- 
 mises of the Gospel, and he is ready to bestow 
 it upon all who ask, or to perfect that which is 
 lacking in it — and the one faith will as surely 
 meet with its corresponding fulfilment as the 
 other. The invariableness that reigns through- 
 out the kingdom of Nature, guarantees the like 
 invariableness in the kingdom of grace. He 
 who is steadfast to all his appointments, will be 
 true to all his declarations — and those very exhi- 
 bitions of a strict and undeviating order in our 
 universe, which have ministered to the irreligion 
 
51 
 
 of a spurious philosophy, form a basis on which 
 the behever can prop a firmer confidence than 
 before, in all the spoken and all the written tes- 
 timonies of God. 
 
 With a man of taste, and imagination, and 
 science, and who is withal a disciple of the Lord 
 Jesus, such an argument as this must shed a 
 new interest and glory over his whole contem- 
 plation of visible things. He knows of his Sa- 
 viour, that by him all things were made, and 
 that by him too all things are upholden. The 
 world, in fact, was created by that Being whose 
 name is the Word, and from the features that 
 are imprinted on the one, may he gather some 
 of the leading characteristics of the other. 
 More expressly will he infer fi'om that sure and 
 established order of Nature, in which the whole 
 family of mankind are comprehended, that the 
 more special family of believers are indeed en- 
 circled within the bond of a sure and a well-or- 
 dered covenant. In those beauteous regularities 
 by which the one economy is marked, will he 
 be led to recognize the "yea" and the *'amen'* 
 which are stamped on the other economy — and 
 when he learns that the certainties of science 
 are unfailing, does he also learn that the sayings 
 of Scripture are unalterable. Both he knows to 
 
 D2 
 
52 
 
 emanate from the same source; and every new 
 experience of Nature*s constancy, will just rivet 
 him more tenaciously than before to the doctrine 
 and the declarations of his Bible. Furnished 
 with such a method of interpretation as this, let 
 him go abroad upon Nature, and all that he sees 
 will heighten and establish the hopes which Re- 
 velation hath awakened. Every recurrence of 
 the same phenomena as before, will be to him 
 a distinct testimony to the faithfulness of God. 
 The very hours will bear witness to it. The 
 lengthening shades of even will repeat the lesson 
 held out to him by the light of early day — and 
 when night unveils to his eye the many splen- 
 dours of the firmament, will every traveller on 
 his circuit there, speak to him of that mighty and 
 invisible King, all whose ordinations are sure. 
 And this manifestation from the face of heaven, 
 will be reflected to him by the panorama upon 
 earth. Even the buds which come forth at their 
 appointed season on the leafless branches; and 
 the springing up of the flowers and the herb- 
 age, on the spots of ground from which they had 
 disappeared ; and that month of vocal harmony 
 wherewith the mute atmosphere is gladdened as 
 before, with the notes of joyous festival ; and so, 
 the regular march of the advancing year through 
 all its footsteps of revival, and progress, and ma- 
 
53 
 
 tiirity, and decay — these are to him but the di- 
 versified tokens of a God whom he can trust, 
 because of a God who changeth not. To his eyes, 
 the world reflects upon the word the lesson of 
 its own wondrous harmony; and his science, in- 
 stead of a meteor that lures him from the great- 
 er light of Revelation, serves him as a pedestal 
 on which the stability of Scripture is more firmly 
 upholden. 
 
 The man who is accustomed to view aright the 
 uniformity of Nature's sequences, will be more 
 impressed with the certainty of that sequence 
 which is announced in the Bible between faith 
 and salvation — and he of all others, should re-as- 
 sure his hopes of immortality, when he reads, 
 that the end of our faith is the salvation of our 
 souls. In this secure and wealthy place, let him 
 take up his rest, and rejoice himself greatly 
 with that God who has so multiplied upon him 
 the evidences of his faithfulness. Let him 
 henceforth feel that he is in the hands of one 
 who never deviates, and who cannot lie — and 
 who, as he never by one act of caprice, hath 
 mocked the dependence that is built on the 
 foundation of human experience, so, never by 
 one act of treachery, w411 he mock the depend- 
 ence that is built on the foundation of the divine 
 testimony. And more particularly, let him think 
 
S4 
 
 of Christ, who hath all the promises in his hand, 
 that to him also all power has been committed 
 in heaven and in earth — and that presiding 
 therefore, as he does, over that visible admini- 
 stration, of which constancy is the unfailing at- 
 tribute, he by this hath given us the best pledge 
 of a truth that abideth the same, to day, and 
 yesterday, and for ever. 
 
 We are aware, that no argument can of itself 
 work in you the faith of the Gospel — that words 
 and reasons, and illustrations, may be multiplied 
 . without end, and yet be of no efficacy — that if 
 the simple manifestation of the Spirit be with- 
 held, the expounder of Scripture, and of all its 
 analogies with creation or Providence, will lose 
 his labour — and while it is his part to prosecute 
 these to the uttermost, yet nought will he find 
 more surely and experimentally true, than that 
 without a special interposition of light from on 
 high, he runneth in vain, and wearieth him- 
 self in vain. It is for him to ply the instrument, 
 it is for God to give unto it the power which 
 availeth. We are told of Christ, on his throne 
 of mediatorship, that he hath all the energies 
 of Nature at command, and up to this hour do 
 we know with what a steady and luifaltering 
 hand he hath wielded them. Look to the pro- 
 
55 
 
 mise as equally steadfast, of " Lo, I am with 
 you always, even unto the end of the world" — 
 and come even now to his own appointed ordi- 
 nance in the Uke confidence of a fellowship 
 with him, as you would to any of the scenes or 
 ordinations of Nature, and in the confidence 
 that there the Lord of Nature will prove himself 
 the same that He has ever been.* The blood 
 that was announced many centuries ago to 
 cleanse from all sin, cleanseth still. The body 
 which hath borne in all past ages the iniquity 
 of believers, beareth it still. That faith which 
 appropriates Christ and all the benefits of his 
 purchase, to the soul, still performs the same of- 
 fice. And that magnificent economy of Nature 
 which was established at the first, and so abid- 
 eth, is but the symbol of that higher economy 
 of grace which continueth to this day accord- 
 ing to all its ordinances. 
 
 " Whosoever eateth my flesh, and drinketh 
 my blood,'* says the Saviour, " shall never die." 
 When you sit down at his table, you eat the 
 bread, and you drink the wine by which these 
 are represented — and if this be done worthily. 
 
 * This Sermon was delivered on the morning of a Communion Sab- 
 bath. 
 
56 
 
 if there be a right correspondence between the 
 hand and tlie heart in this sacramental service, 
 then by faith do you receive the benefits of the 
 shed blood, and the broken body ; and your 
 so doing will as surely as any succession takes 
 place in the instituted courses of Nature, be fol- 
 lowed up by your blessed immortality. And the 
 brighter your hopes of glory hereafter, the ho- 
 lier will you be in all your acts and affections 
 here. The character even now will receive a 
 tinge from the prospect that is before you — and 
 the habitual anticipation of heaven will bring 
 down both of its charity and its sacredness up- 
 on your heart. He who hath this hope in him 
 purifieth himself even as Christ is pure — and 
 even from the present, if a true approach to the 
 gate of his sanctuary, will you carry a portion 
 of his spirit away with you. In partaking of 
 these, his consecrated elements, you become 
 partakers of his gentleness and devotion, and 
 unwearied beneficence — and because like him in 
 time, you will live with him through eternity. 
 
SERMON 11. 
 
 THE EXPULSIVE POWER OF A NEW AFFECTION. 
 
 1 JOHN II. 15. 
 
 " Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. 
 If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not 
 in him." 
 
 There are two ways in which a practical moralist 
 may attempt to displace from the human heart 
 its love of the world — either by a demonstration 
 of the world's vanity, so as that the heart shall 
 be prevailed upon simply to withdraw its regards 
 from an object that is not worthy of it ; or, by 
 setting forth another object, even God, as more 
 worthy of its attachment, so as that the heart 
 shall be prevailed upon not to resign an old af- 
 fection, which shall have nothing to succeed it, 
 but to exchange an old affection for a new one. 
 My purpose is to show, that from the constitu- 
 
.OJ 
 
 tion of our nature, the former method is alto- 
 gether incompetent and ineffectual — and that 
 the latter method will alone suffice for the res- 
 cue and recovery of the heart from the wrong 
 affection that domineers over it. After having 
 accomplished this purpose, I shall attempt a few 
 practical observations. 
 
 Love may be regarded in two different con- 
 ditions. The first is, when its object is at a dis- 
 tance, and then it becomes love in a state of de- 
 sire. The second is, when its object is in pos- 
 session, and then it becomes love in a state of 
 indulgence. Under the impulse of desire, man 
 feels himself urged onward in some path or pur- 
 suit of activity for its gratification. The facul- 
 ties of his mind are put into busy exercise. In 
 the steady direction of one great and engross- 
 ing interest, his attention is recalled from the 
 many reveries into which it might otherwise 
 have wandered ; and the powers of his body 
 are forced away from an indolence in which it 
 else might have languished ; and that time is 
 crowded with occupation, which but for some 
 object of keen and devoted ambition, might 
 have drivelled along in successive hours of 
 weariness and distaste — and though hope does 
 not always enliven, and success does not always 
 
59 
 
 crown this career of exertion, yet in the midst 
 of this very variety, and with the alternations 
 of occasional disappointment, is the machinery 
 of the whole man kept in a sort of congenial 
 play, and upholden in that tone and temper 
 which are most agreeable to it. Insomuch, 
 that ii\ through the extirpation of that desire 
 which forms the originating principle of all this 
 movement, the machinery were to stop, and to 
 receive no impulse from another desire substi- 
 tuted in its place, the man would be left with 
 all his propensities to action in a state of most 
 painful and unnatural abandonment. A sensi- 
 tive being suffers, and is in violence, if, after hav- 
 ing thoroughly rested from his fatigue, or been 
 relieved from his pain, he continue in possession 
 of powers without any excitement to these 
 powers ; if he possess a capacity of desire with- 
 out having an object of desire ; or if he have a 
 spare energy upon his person, without a coun- 
 terpart, and without a stimulus to call it into 
 operation. The misery of such a condition is 
 often realized by him who is retired from busi- 
 ness, or who is retired from law, or who is even 
 retired from the occupations of the chase, and of 
 the gaming table. Such is the demand of our 
 nature for an object in pursuit, that no accumu- 
 lation of previous success can extinguish it — 
 
60 
 
 and thus it is, that the most prosperous mer- 
 chant, and the most victorious general, and the 
 most fortunate gamester, when the labour of their 
 respective vocations has come to a close, are 
 often found to languish in the midst of all their 
 acquisitions, as if out of their kindred and rejoic- 
 ing element. It is quite in vain with such a 
 constitutional appetite for employment in man, 
 to attempt cutting away from him the spring or 
 the principle of one employment, without pro- 
 viding him with another. The whole heart and 
 habit will rise in resistance against such an un- 
 dertaking. The else unoccupied female who 
 spends the hours of every evening at some play 
 of hazard, knows as well as you, that the pecu- 
 niary gain, or the honourable triumph of a suc- 
 cessful contest, are altogether paltry. It is not 
 such a demonstration of vanity as this that will 
 force her away from her dear and delightful oc- 
 cupation. The habit cannot so be displaced, as 
 to leave nothing but a negative and cheerless va- 
 cancy behind it — though it may so be supplant- 
 ed as to be followed up by another habit of em- 
 ployment, to which the power of some new af- 
 fection has constrained her. It is willingly sus- 
 pended, for example, on any single evening, 
 should the time that wont to be allotted to gam- 
 ing, require to be spent on the preparations of 
 
' 61 
 
 an approaching assembly. Tlie ascendant power 
 of a second affection will do, what no exposition 
 however forcible, of the folly and worthless - 
 ness of the first, ever could eifectuate. And 
 it is the same in the great world. You never 
 will be able to arrest any of its leading pur- 
 suits, by a naked demonstration of their vani- 
 ty. It is quite in vain to think of stopping one 
 of these pursuits in any way else, but by stimu- 
 lating to another. In attempting to bring a 
 worldly man intent and busied with the prose- 
 cution of his objects, to a dead stand, you have 
 not merely to encounter the charm which he an- 
 nexes to these objects — but you have to en- 
 counter the pleasure which he feels in the very 
 prosecution of them. It is not enough, then, 
 that you dissipate the charm, by your moral, 
 and eloquent, and affecting exposure of its illu- 
 siveness. You must address to the eye of his 
 mind another object, with a charm powerful 
 enough to dispossess the first of its influences, 
 and to engage him in some other prosecution as 
 full of interest, and hope, and congenial activi- 
 ty, as the former. It is this which stamps an 
 impotency on all moral and pathetic declama- 
 tion about the insignificance of the world. A 
 man will no more consent to the misery of be- 
 ing without an object, because that object is a 
 
62 
 
 trifle, or of being without a pursuit, because 
 that pursuit terminates in some frivolous or fugi- 
 tive acquirement, than he will voluntarily sub- 
 mit himself to the torture, because that torture 
 is to be of short duration. If to be without de- 
 sire and without exertion altogether, is a state 
 of violence and discomfort, then the present 
 desire, with its correspondent train of exertion, 
 is not to be got rid of shnply by destroying it. 
 It must be by substituting another desire, and 
 another line or habit of exertion in its place — 
 and the most effectual way of withdrawing the 
 mind from one object, is not by turning it away 
 upon desolate and unpeopled vacancy — but by 
 presenting to its regards another object still 
 more alluring. 
 
 These remarks apply not merely to love con- 
 sidered in its state of desire for an object not 
 yet obtained. They apply also to love consider- 
 ed in its state of indulgence, or placid gratifica- 
 tion, with an object already in possession. It is 
 seldom that any of our tastes are made to disap- 
 pear by a mere process of natural extinction. At 
 least, it is very seldom, that this is done through 
 the instrumentality of reasoning. It may be done 
 by excessive pampering — but it is almost never 
 done by the mere force of mental determination. 
 
63 
 
 But what cannot be thus destroyed, may be dis- 
 possessed — and one taste may be made to give 
 way to another, and to lose its power entirely 
 as the reigning affection of the mind. It is thus, 
 that the boy ceases, at length, to be the slave 
 of his appetite, but it is because a manlier taste 
 has now brought it into subordination — and that 
 the youth ceases to idolize pleasure, but it is be- 
 cause the idol of wealth has become the stronger 
 and gotten the ascendancy — and that even the 
 love of money ceases to have the mastery over 
 the heart of many a thriving citizen, but it is 
 because drawn into the whirl of city politics, 
 another affection has been wrought into his mo- 
 ral system, and he is now lorded over by the 
 love of power. There is not one of these trans- 
 formations in which the heart is left without an 
 object. Its desire for one particular object may 
 be conquered ; but as to its desire for having 
 some one object or other, this is unconquerable. 
 Its adhesion to that on which it has fastened the 
 preference of its regards, cannot willingly be 
 overcome by the rending away of a simple sepa- 
 ration. It can be done only by the application 
 of something else, to which it may feel the adhe- 
 sion of a still stronger and more powerful pre- 
 ference. Such is the grasping tendency of the 
 
64 
 
 human heart, that it must have a somethmg to 
 lay hold of — and which, if wrested away with- 
 out the substitution of another something in its 
 place, would leave a void and a vacancy as pain- 
 ful to the mind, as hunger is to the natural sys- 
 tem. It may be dispossessed of one object, or 
 of any, but it cannot be desolated of all. Let 
 there be a breathing and a sensitive heart, but 
 without a liking and without affinity to any of 
 the things that are around it, and in a state of 
 cheerless abandonment, it would be alive to no- 
 thing but the burden of its own consciousness, 
 and feci it to be intolerable. It would make no 
 difference to its owner, whether he dwelt in the 
 midst of a gay and goodly world, or placed afar 
 beyond the outskirts of creation, he dwelt a so- 
 litary unit in dark and unpeopled nothingness. 
 The heart must have something to cling to — and 
 never, by its own voluntary consent, will it so 
 denude itself, of all its attachments, that there 
 shall not be one remaining object that can draw 
 or solicit it. 
 
 The misery of a heart thus bereft of all relish 
 for that which wont to minister enjoyment, is 
 strikingly exemplified in those, who, satiated 
 with indulgence, have been so belaboured, as it 
 
65 
 
 were, with the variety and the poignancy of the 
 pleasurable sensations that they have expe- 
 rienced, that they are at length fatigued out of 
 all capacity for sensation whatever. The dis- 
 ease of ennui is more frequent in the French 
 metropolis, where amusement is more exclusive- 
 ly the occupation of the higher classes, than it 
 is in the British metropolis, where the longings 
 of the heart are more diversified by the resour- 
 ces of business and politics. There are the 
 votaries of fashion, who, in this way, have at 
 length become the victims of fashionable ex- 
 cess — in whom the very multitude of their en- 
 joyments, has at last extinguished their power 
 of enjoyment — who, with the gratifications of 
 art and nature at command, now look upon all 
 that is around them with an eye of tastelessness 
 — who, plied with the delights of sense and of 
 splendour even to weariness, and incapable of 
 higher delights, have come to the end of all 
 their perfection, and like Solomon of old, found 
 it to be vanity and vexation. The man whose 
 heart has thus been turned into a desert, can 
 vouch for the insupportable languor which 
 must ensue, when one affection is thus plucked 
 away from the bosom, without another to re- 
 place it. It is not necessary that a man receive 
 pain from any thing, in order to become miser- 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 jible. It is barely enough that he looks with 
 distaste to every thing — and in that asylum which 
 is the repository of minds out of joint, and 
 where the organ of feeling as well as the organ 
 of intellect, has been impaired, it is not in the 
 cell of loud and frantic outcries, where you 
 will meet with the acme of mental suffering. 
 But that is the individual who outpeers in wretch- 
 edness all his fellows, who throughout the whole 
 expanse of nature and society, meets not an ob- 
 ject that has at all the power to detain or to in- 
 terest him; who neither in earth beneath, nor 
 in heaven above, knows of a single charm to 
 which his heart can send forth one desirous or 
 responding movement; to whom the world, in 
 his eye a vast and empty desolation, has left him 
 nothing but his own consciousness to feed upon 
 — dead to all that is without him, and alive to 
 nothing but to the load of his own torpid and 
 useless existence. 
 
 It will now be seen, perhaps, why it is that 
 the heart keeps by its present affections with so 
 much tenacity — when the attempt is, to do them 
 away by a mere process of extirpation. It will 
 not consent to be so desolated. The strong 
 man, whose dwelling-place is there, may be 
 compelled to give way to another occupier — but 
 
67 
 
 unless another stronger than he, has power to 
 dispossess and to succeed him, he will keep his 
 present lodgment unviolable. The heart would 
 revolt against its own emptiness. It could not 
 bear to be so left in a state of waste and cheer- 
 less insipidity. The moralist who tries such a 
 process of dispossession as this upon the heart, 
 is thwarted at every step by the recoil of its own 
 mechanism. You have all heard that Nature 
 abhors a vacuum. Such at least is the nature of 
 the heart, that though the room which is in it 
 may change one inmate for another, it cannot 
 be left void without the pain of most intolerable 
 suffering. It is not enough then to argue the 
 folly of an existing affection. It is not enough, 
 in the terms of a forcible or an affecting demon- 
 stration, to make good the evanescence of its 
 object. It may not even be enough to associate 
 the threats and the terrors of some coming ven- 
 geance, with the indulgence of it. The heart 
 may still resist the every application, by obedi- 
 ence to which, it would finally be conducted to 
 a state so much at war with all its appetites as 
 that of downright inanition. So to tear away 
 an affection from the heart, as to leave it bare 
 of all its regards, and of all its preferences, were 
 a hard and hopeless undertaking — and it would 
 appear as if the alone powerful engine of dispos- 
 
 E2 
 
68 
 
 session, were to bring the mastery of another 
 affection to beai* upon it. 
 
 We know not a more sweeping interdict upon 
 the affections of Nature, than tliat wliicli is de- 
 livered by the Apostle in the verse before us. 
 To bid a man, into whom there has not yet en- 
 tered the great and ascendant influence of the 
 principle of regeneration — to bid him withdraw 
 his love from all the things that are in the world, 
 is to bid him give up all the affections that are 
 in his heart. The world is the all of a natural 
 man. He has not a taste nor a desire, that points 
 not to a something placed within the confines of 
 its visible horizon. He loves nothing above it, 
 and he cares for nothing beyond it ; and to bid 
 him love not the world, is to pass a sentence of 
 expulsion on all the inmates of his bosom. To 
 estimate the magnitude and the difficulty of such 
 a surrender, let us only think that it were just as 
 arduous to prevail on him not to love wealth, 
 which is but one of the things in the world, as 
 to prevail on him to set wilful fire to his own 
 property. This he might do with sore and pain- 
 ful reluctance, if he saw that the salvation of his 
 life hung upon it. But this he would do willing- 
 ly, if he saw that a new property of tenfold 
 value was instantly to emerge from the wreck of 
 
69 
 
 the old one. In this case there is something 
 more than the mere displacement of an affec- 
 tion. There is the overbearing of one affection 
 by another. But to desolate his heart of all love 
 for the things of the world, without the substi- 
 tution of any love in its place, were to him a 
 process of as unnatural violence, as to destroy 
 all the things that he has in the world, and give 
 him nothing in their room. So that, if to love 
 not the world be indispensable to one's Christi- 
 anity, then the crucifixion of the old man is not 
 too strong a term to mark that transition in his 
 history, when all old things are done away, and 
 all things become new. 
 
 We hope that by this time, you understand the 
 impotency of a mere demonstration of this 
 world's insignificance. Its sole practical effect, 
 if it had any, would be to leave the heart in a 
 state which to every heart is insupportable, and 
 that is a mere state of nakedness and negation. 
 You may remember the fond and unbroken ten- 
 acity with which your heart has often recurred to 
 pursuits, over the utter frivolity of which it sigh- 
 ed and wept but yesterday. The arithmetic of 
 your short-lived days, may on Sabbath make the 
 clearest impression upon your understanding—^ 
 and from his fancied bed of death, may the 
 
70 
 
 preacher cause a voice to descend in rebuke and 
 mockery on all the pursuits of earthliness — and 
 as he pictures before you the fleeting generations 
 of men, with the absorbing grave, whither all 
 the joys and interests of the world hasten to 
 their sure and speedy oblivion, may you, touched 
 and solemnized by his argument, feel for a mo- 
 ment as if on the eve of a practical and perma- 
 nent emancipation from a scene of so much va- 
 nity. But the morrow comes, and the business 
 of the world, and the objects of the world, and 
 the moving forces of the world come along with 
 it — and. the machinery of the heart, in virtue of 
 which it must have something to grasp, or some- 
 thing to adhere to, bjings it under a kind of 
 moral necessity to be actuated just as before — 
 and in utter repulsion towards a state so unkind- 
 ly as that of being frozen out both of delight 
 and of desire, does it feel all the warmth and 
 the urgency of its wonted solicitations — nor in 
 the habit and history of the whole man, can we 
 detect so much as one symptom of the new crea- 
 ture — so that the church, instead of being to 
 him a school of obedience, has been a mere 
 sauntering place for the luxury of a passing and 
 theatrical emotion ; and the preaching which is 
 mighty to compel the attendance of multitudes, 
 which is mighty to still and to solemnize the 
 
71 
 
 hearers into a kind of tragic sensibility, which 
 is mighty in the play of variety and vigour that 
 it can keep up around the imagination, is not 
 mighty to the pulling down of strongholds. 
 
 The love of the world cannot be expunged 
 by a mere demonstration of the world's worth- 
 lessness. But may it not be supplanted by the 
 love of that which is more worthy than itself? 
 The heart cannot be prevailed upon to part with 
 the world, by a simple act of resignation. But 
 may not the heart be prevailed upon to ad- 
 mit into its preference another, who shall subor- 
 dinate the world, and bring it down from its 
 wonted ascendancy? If the throne which is 
 placed there, must have an occupier, and the 
 tyrant that now reigns has occupied it wrong- 
 fully, he may not leave a bosom which would 
 rather detain him, than be left in desolation. 
 But may he not give way to the lawful sover- 
 eign, appearing with every charm that can se- 
 cure his willing admittance, and taking unto 
 himself his great power to subdue the moral na- 
 ture of man, and to reign over it? In a word, if 
 the way to disengage the heart from the positive 
 love of one great and ascendant object, is to 
 fasten it in positive love to another, then it is 
 not by exposing the worthlessness of the for- 
 
72 
 
 mer, but by addressing to tlie mental eye the 
 worth and excellence of the latter, that all old 
 things are to be done away, and all things are 
 to become new. 
 
 To obliterate all our present affections, by 
 simply expunging them, and so as to leave the 
 seat of them unoccupied, would be to destroy 
 the old character, and to substitute no new cha- 
 racter in its place. But when they take their 
 departure upon the ingress of other visitors, 
 when they resign their sway to the power and 
 the predominance of new affections, when aban- 
 doning the heart to solitude, they merely give 
 place to a successor who turns it into as busy a 
 residence of desire, and interest, and expecta- 
 tion as before — there is nothing in all this to 
 thwart or to overbear any of the laws of our 
 sentient nature — and we see how, in fullest ac- 
 cordance with the mechanism of the heart, a 
 great moral revolution may be made to take place 
 upon it. 
 
 This, we trust, will explain the operation of 
 that charm which accompanies the effectual 
 preaching of the gospel. The love of God, 
 and the love of the world, are two affections, not 
 merely in a state of rivalship, but in a state of 
 
73 
 
 enmity — and that so irreconcilable, that they 
 cannot dwell together in the same bosom. We 
 have already affirmed how impossible it w^ere for 
 the heart, by any innate elasticity of its own, to 
 cast the world away from it, and thus reduce it- 
 self to a wilderness. The heart is not so consti- 
 tuted, and the only way to dispossess it of an 
 old affection, is by the expulsive power of a new 
 one. Nothing can exceed the magnitude of the 
 required change in a man's character — when 
 bidden as he is in the New Testament, to love 
 not the world ; no, nor any of the things that 
 are in the world — for this so comprehends all 
 that is dear to him in existence, as to be equi- 
 valent to a command of self-annihilation. But 
 the same revelation which dictates so mighty an 
 obedience, places within our reach as mighty 
 an instrument of obedience. It brings for ad- 
 mittance, to the very door of our heart, an affec- 
 tion which once seated upon its throne, will 
 either subordinate every previous inmate, or bid 
 it away. Beside the world, it places before the 
 eye of the mind, him who made the world, and 
 with this peculiarity, which is all its own — that 
 in the Gospel do we so behold God, as that we 
 may love God. It is there, and there only, 
 where God stands revealed as an object of con- 
 fidence to sinners — and where our desire after 
 
74 
 
 him is not chilled into apathy, by that barrier of 
 human guilt which intercepts every approach 
 that is not made to him through the appointed 
 Mediator. It is the bringing in of this better 
 hope, whereby we draw nigh unto God — and 
 to live without hope, is to live without God, and 
 if the heart be without God, the world will then 
 have all the ascendancy. It is God apprehend- 
 ed by the believer as God in Christ, who alone 
 can dispost it from this ascendancy. It is when 
 he stands dismantled of the terrors which belong 
 to him as an offended lawgiver, and when we 
 are enabled by faith, which is his own gift, to 
 see his glory in the face of Jesus Christ, and to 
 hear his beseeching voice, as it protests good 
 will to men, and entreats the return of all who 
 will to a full pardon, and a gracious acceptance 
 — it is then, that a love paramount to the love 
 of the world, and at length expulsive of it, first 
 arises in the regenerating bosom. It is when 
 released from the spirit of bondage, with which 
 love cannot dwell, and when admitted into the 
 number of God's children, through the faith 
 that is in Christ Jesus, the spirit of adoption is 
 poured upon us — it is then that the heart, brought 
 under the mastery of one great and predominant 
 affection, is delivered from the tyranny of its 
 former desires, in the only way in which deliver- 
 
75 
 
 ance is possible. And that faith which is re- 
 vealed to us from heaven, as indispensable to a 
 sinner's justification in the sight of God, is also 
 the instrument of the greatest of all moral and 
 spiritual achievements on a nature dead to the 
 influence, and beyond the reach of every other 
 application. 
 
 Thus may we come to perceive what it is that 
 makes the most effective kind of preaching. It 
 is not enough to hold out to the world's eye the 
 mirror of its own imperfections. It is not enough 
 to come forth with a demonstration, however 
 pathetic, of the evanescent character of all its 
 enjoyments. It is not enough to travel the walk 
 of experience along with you, and speak to 
 your own conscience, and your own recollec- 
 tion of the deceitfulness of the heart, and the 
 deceitfulness of all that the heart is set upon. 
 There is many a bearer of the Gospel message, 
 who has not shrewdness of natural discernment 
 enough, and who has not power of character- 
 istic description enough, and who has not the 
 talent of moral delineation enough, to present 
 you with a vivid and faithful sketch of the ex- 
 isting follies of society. But that very corrup- 
 tion which he has not the faculty of represent- 
 ing in its visible details, he may practically be 
 the instrument of eradicating in its principle. 
 
76 
 
 Let him be but a faithful expounder of the gos- 
 pel testimony. — Unable as he may be to apply a 
 descriptive hand to the character of the present 
 world, let him but report with accuracy the 
 matter which revelation has brought to him from 
 a distant world, — unskilled as he is in the work 
 of so anatomizing the heart, as with the power 
 of a novelist to create a graphical or impressive 
 exhibition of the worthlessness of its many af- 
 fections — let him only deal in those mysteries 
 of peculiar doctrine, on which the best of no- 
 velists have thrown the wantonness of their de- 
 rision. He may not be able, with the eye of 
 shrewd and satirical observation, to expose to 
 the ready recognition of his hearers, the desires 
 of worldliness — ^but with the tidings of the gos- 
 pel in commission, he may wield the only en- 
 gine that can extirpate them. He cannot do 
 what some have done, when, as if by the hand 
 of a magician, they have brought out to view, 
 from the hidden recesses of our nature, the foi- 
 bles and lurking appetites which belong to it. — 
 But he lias a truth in his possession, which into 
 whatever heart it enters, will, like the rod of 
 Aaron, swallow up them all — and unqualified 
 as he may be, to describe the old man in all the 
 nicer sliading of his natural and constitutional 
 varieties, with him is deposited that ascendant 
 
77 
 
 influence under which the leading tastes and 
 tendencies of the old man are destroyed, and he 
 becomes a new creature in Jesus Christ our 
 Lord. 
 
 Let us not cease then to ply the only instru- 
 ment of powerful and positive operation, to do 
 away from you the love of the world. Let us 
 try every legitimate method of finding access to 
 your hearts for the love of him who is greater 
 than the world. For this purpose, let us, if pos- 
 sible, clear away that shroud of unbelief which 
 so hides and darkens the face of the Deity. 
 Let us insist on his claims to your affection — and 
 whether in the shape of gratitude, or in the shape 
 of esteem, let us never cease to affirm, that in 
 the whole of that wondrous economy, the pur- 
 pose of which is to reclaim a sinful world unto 
 himself^ — he, the God of love, so sets himself 
 forth in characters of endearment, that nought 
 but faith, and nought but understanding, are 
 wanting, on your part, to call forth the love of 
 your hearts back again. 
 
 And here let me advert to the incredulity of 
 a worldly man ; when he brings his own sound 
 and secular experience to bear upon the high 
 doctrines of Christianity — when he looks on re- 
 
78 
 
 generation as a thing impossible — when feeling 
 as he does, the obstinacies of his own heart on 
 the side of things present, and casting an intel- 
 ligent eye, much exercised perhaps in the ob- 
 servation of human life, on the equal obstinacies 
 of all who are around him, he pronounces this 
 whole matter about the crucifixion of the old 
 man, and the resurrection of a new man in his 
 place, to be in downright opposition to all that 
 is known and witnessed of the real nature of hu- 
 manity. We think that we have seen such men, 
 who, firmly trenched in their own vigorous and 
 homebred sagacity, and shrewdly regardful of 
 all that passes before them through the week, 
 and upon the scenes of ordinary business, look 
 on that transition of the heart by which it gra- 
 dually dies unto time, and awakens in all the life 
 of a new-felt and ever-growing desire towards 
 God, as a mere Sabbath speculation ; and who 
 thus, with all their attention engrossed upon the 
 concerns of earthliness, continue unmoved, to 
 the end of their days, amongst the feelings, and 
 the appetites, and the pursuits of earthliness. 
 If the thought of death, and another state of 
 being after it, comes across them at all, it is 
 not with a change so radical as that of being 
 born again, that they ever connect the idea of 
 preparation. They have some vague concep- 
 
79 
 
 tion of its being quite enough that they acquit 
 themselves in some decent and tolerable way 
 of their relative obligations ; and that, upon the 
 strength of some such social and domestic mo- 
 ralities as are often realized by him into whose 
 heart the love of God has never entered, they 
 will be transplanted in safety from this world, 
 where God is the Being with whom it may al- 
 most be said, that they have had nothing to do, 
 to that world where God is the Being with whom 
 they will have mainly and immediately to do 
 throughout all eternity. They admit all that is 
 said of the utter vanity of time, when taken up 
 with as a resting place. But they resist every 
 application made upon the heart of man, with 
 the view of so shifting its tendencies, that it shall 
 not henceforth find in the interests of time, all 
 its rest and all its refreshment. They, in fact, 
 regard such an attempt as an enterprise that is 
 altogether aerial — and with a tone of secular 
 wisdom, caught from the familiarities of every- 
 day experience, do they see a visionary charac- 
 ter in all that is said of setting our affections on 
 the things that are above ; and of walking by 
 faith ; and of keeping our hearts in such a love 
 of God as shall shut out from them the love of 
 the world ; and of having no confidence in the 
 flesh; and of so renouncing earthly things as 
 to have our conversation in heaven. 
 
80 
 
 Now, it is altogether worthy of being remarked 
 of those men who thus disreHsh spiritual Christi- 
 anity, and, in fact, deem it an impracticable ac- 
 quirement, how much of a piece their incredulity 
 about the demands of Christianity, and their in- 
 credulity about the doctrines of Christianity, 
 are with one another. No wonder that they feel 
 the w^ork of the New Testament to be beyond 
 their strength, so long as they hold the words 
 of the New Testament to be beneath their at- 
 tention. Neither they nor any one else can dis- 
 possess the heart of an old affection, but by the 
 expulsive power of a new one — and, if that new 
 affection be the love of God, neither they nor 
 any one else can be made to entertain it, but 
 on such a representation of the Deity, as shall 
 draw the heart of the sinner towards him. Now 
 it is just their unbelief which screens from the 
 discernment of their minds this representation. 
 They do not see the love of God in sending his 
 Son unto the world. They do not see the ex- 
 pression of his tenderness to men, in sparing 
 him not, but giving him up unto the death for 
 us all. They do not see the sufficiency of the 
 atonement, or the sufferings that were endured 
 by him who bore the burden that sinners should 
 have borne. They do not see the blende*d ho- 
 liness and compassion of the Godhead, in that he 
 
Bl 
 
 passed by the transgressions of his creatures, 
 yet could not pass them by without an expia- 
 tion. It is a mystery to them, how a man should 
 pass to the state of godliness from a state of na- 
 ture — but had they only a believing view of God 
 manifest in the flesh, this would resolve for them 
 the whole mystery of godliness. As it is, they 
 cannot get quit of their old aftections, because 
 they are out of sight from all tliose truths which 
 have influence to raise a new one. They are 
 like the children of Israel in the land of Egypt, 
 when required to make bricks without straw — 
 they cannot love God, while they want the only 
 food which can aliment this affection in a sin- 
 ner's bosom — and however great their errors 
 may be both in resisting the demands of the 
 Gospel as impracticable, and in rejecting the 
 doctrines of the Gospel as inadmissible, yet 
 there is not a spiritual man (and it is the prero- 
 gative of him who is spiritual to judge all men) 
 who will not perceive that there is a consistency 
 in these errors. 
 
 But if there be a consistency in the errors, 
 in like manner is there a consistency in the 
 truths which are opposite to them. The man 
 who believes in the peculiar doctrines, will rea- 
 dily bow to the peculiar demands of Christianity. 
 
m 
 
 ^hen he is told to love God supremely, this 
 may startle another, but it will not startle liim 
 to whom God has been revealed in peace, and 
 in pardon, and in all the freeness of an offered 
 reconciliation. When told to shut out the world 
 from his heart, this may be impossible with him 
 who has nothing to replace it — but not impossi- 
 ble with him, who has found in God a sure and 
 a satisfying portion. When told to withdraw 
 his affections from the things that are beneath, 
 this were laying an order of self-extinction upon 
 the man, who knows not another quarter in the 
 whole sphere of his contemplation, to which he 
 could transfer them — ^but it were not grievous 
 to him whose view has been opened up to the 
 loveliness and glory of the things that are 
 above, and can there find for every feeling of 
 his soul, a most ample and delighted occupation. 
 When told to look not to the tilings that are 
 seen and temporal, this were blotting out the 
 light of all that is visible from the prospect of 
 him in whose eye there is a wall of partition be- 
 tween guilty nature and the joys of eternity — 
 but he who believes that Christ liath broken 
 down this wall, finds a gathering radiance upon 
 his soul, as he looks onwards in faith to the 
 things that are unseen and eternal. Tell a man 
 to be holy — and how can he compass such a per- 
 
83 
 
 fonnance, when his alone fellowship v/ith holi- 
 ness is a fellowship of despair ? It is the atone- 
 ment of the cross reconciling the holiness of the 
 lawgiver with the safety of the offender, that 
 hath opened the way for a sanctifying influence 
 into the sinner's heart, and he can take a kin- 
 dred impression from the character of God now 
 brought nigh, and now at peace with him. Se- 
 parate the demand from the doctrine, and you 
 have either a system of righteousness that is 
 impracticable, or a barren orthodoxy. Bring 
 the demand and the doctrine together — and the 
 true disciple of Christ is able to do the one, 
 through the other strengthening him. The mo- 
 tive is adequate to the movement ; and the bid- 
 den obedience of the Gospel is not beyond the 
 measure of his strength, just because the doc- 
 trine of the Gospel is not beyond the measure 
 of his acceptance. Tlie shield of faith, and the 
 hope of salvation, and the Word of God, and 
 the girdle of truth — these are the armour that 
 he has put on ; and with these the battle is won, 
 and the eminence is reached, and the man 
 stands on the vantage ground of a new field, and 
 a new prospect. The effect is great, but the 
 cause is equal to it — and stupendous as this mo- 
 ral resurrection to the precepts of Christianity, 
 undoubtedly is, there is an element of strength 
 
 F2 
 
84 
 
 enough to give it being and continuance in the 
 principles of Christianity. 
 
 The object of the Gospel is both to pacify 
 the sinner's conscience, and to purify his heart; 
 and it is of importance to observe, that what 
 mars the one of these objects, mars the other 
 also. The best way of casting out an impure 
 affection is to admit a pure one ; and by the love 
 of what is good, to expel the love of what is 
 evil. Thus it is, that the freer the Gospel, the 
 more sanctifying is the Gospel; and the more it 
 is received as a doctrine of grace, the more will 
 it be felt as a doctrine according to godliness. 
 This is one of the secrets of the Christian life, 
 that the more a man holds of God as a pension- 
 er, the greater is the payment of service that 
 he renders back acrain. On the tenure of " Do 
 this and live," a spirit of fearfulness is sure to 
 enter; and the jealousies of a legal bargain chase 
 away all confidence from the intercourse between 
 God and man ; and the creature striving to be 
 square and even with his Creator, is, in fact, 
 pursuing all the while his own selfishness, in- 
 stead of God's glory ; and with all the conformi- 
 ties which he labours to accomplish, the soul of 
 obedience is not there, the mind is not subject 
 to the law of God, nor indeed under such an 
 
85 
 
 economy ever can be. It is only when, as in 
 the Gospel, acceptance is bestowed as a pre- 
 sent, without money and without price, that 
 the security which man feels in God is placed 
 beyond the reach of disturbance — or, that he 
 can repose in him, as one friend reposes in ano- 
 ther — or, that any liberal and generous under- 
 standing can be established betwixt them — the 
 one party rejoicing over the other to do him 
 good — the other finding that the truest gladness 
 of his heart lies in the impulse of a gratitude, 
 by which it is awakened to the charms of a new 
 moral existence. Salvation by grace — salvation 
 by free grace — salvation not of works, but ac- 
 cording to the mercy of God — salvation on such 
 a footing is not more indispensable to the deliv- 
 erance of our persons from the hand of justice, 
 than it is to the deliverance of our hearts from 
 the chill and the weight of ungodliness. Re- 
 tain a single shred or fragment of legality with 
 the Gospel, and you raise a topic of distrust be- 
 tween man and God. You take away from the 
 power of the Gospel to melt and to conciliate. 
 For this purpose, the freer it is, the better it is. 
 That very peculiarity which so many dread as 
 the germ of antinomianism, is, in fact, the 
 germ of a new spirit, and a new inclination 
 against it. Along with the light of a free Gos- 
 
86 
 
 pel, does there enter the love of the Gospel, 
 which, in proportion as you impair the freeness, 
 you are sure to chase away. And never does 
 the sinner find within himself so mighty a mo- 
 ral transformation, as when under the belief that 
 he is saved by grace, he feels constrained there- 
 by to offer his heart a devoted thing, and to 
 deny ungodliness. 
 
 To do any work in the best manner, you 
 would make use of the fittest tools for it. And 
 we trust, that what has been said may serve in 
 some degree, for the practical guidance of those 
 who would like to reach the great moral achieve- 
 ment of our text — but feel that the tendencies 
 and desires of Nature are too strona; for them. 
 We know of no other way by which to keep the 
 love of the world out of our heart, than to keep 
 in our hearts the love of God — and no other 
 way by which to keep our hearts in the love of 
 God, than building ourselves up on our most 
 holy faith. Tiiat denial of the world which is 
 not possible to him that dissents from the Gos- 
 pel testimony, is possible, even as all things are 
 possible to him thatbelieveth. To try this with- 
 out faith, is to work without the riglit tool or 
 the right instrument. But faith workcth by 
 love; and the way of expelling from the heart 
 
87 
 
 the love which transgresseth the law, is to ad- 
 mit into its receptacles the love which fulfiUeth 
 the law. 
 
 Conceive a man to be standing on the margin 
 of this green world ; and that, when he looked 
 towards it, he saw abundance smiling upon ev- 
 ery field, and all the blessings which earth can 
 afford, scattered in profusion throughout every 
 family, and the light of the sun sweetly resting 
 upon all the pleasant habitations, and the joys 
 of human companionship brightening many a 
 happy circle of society — conceive this to be the 
 general character of the scene upon one side of 
 his contemplation ; and that on the other, be- 
 yond the verge of the goodly planet on which 
 he was situated, he could descry nothing but a 
 dark and fathomless unknown. Think you that 
 he would bid a voluntary adieu to all the bright- 
 ness and all the beauty that were before him 
 upon earth, and commit himself to the fright- 
 ful solitude away from it. Would he leave its 
 peopled dwelling places, and become a solitary 
 wanderer through the fields of nonentity ? If 
 space offered him nothing but a wilderness, 
 would he for it abandon the homebred scenes of 
 life and of cheerfulness that lay so near, and 
 exerted such a power of urgency to detain 
 
88 
 
 him? Would not he cling to the regions of 
 sense, and of life, and of society ? — and shrink- 
 ing away from the desolation that was beyond 
 it, would not he be glad to keep his firm foot- 
 ing on the territory of this world, and to take 
 shelter under the silver canopy that was stretch- 
 ed over it ? 
 
 But if, during the time of his contemplation, 
 some happy island of the blest had floated by ; 
 and there had burst upon his senses the light of 
 its surpassing glories, and its sounds of sweeter 
 melody ; and he clearly saw, that there, a pu- 
 rer beauty rested upon every field, and a more 
 heart-felt joy spread itself among all the fami- 
 lies ; and he could discern there, a peace, and a 
 piety, and a benevolence, which put a moral 
 gladness into every bosom, and united the whole 
 society in one rejoicing sympathy with each oth- 
 er, and with the beneficent Father of them all. 
 — Could he further see, that pain and mortality 
 were there unknown ; and above all, that sig- 
 nals of welcome were hung out, and an avenue 
 of communication was made for him — perceive 
 you not, that what was before the wilderness, 
 would become the land of invitation ; and that 
 now the world would be the wilderness? What 
 unpeopled space coidd not do, can be done by 
 
89 
 
 space teeming with beatific scenes, and beatific 
 society. And let the existing tendencies of the 
 heart be what they may to the scene that is near 
 and visibly around us, still if another stood re- 
 vealed to the prospect of man, either through the 
 channel of faith, or through the channel of his 
 senses — then, without violence done to the con- 
 stitution of his moral nature, may he die unto 
 the present world, and live to the lovelier world 
 that stands in the distance away firom it. 
 
SERMON III. 
 
 THE SURE WARRANT OF A BELIEVER S HOPE. 
 
 ROMANS V. ]0. 
 
 " For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God 
 by the death of his Son; much more, being reconciled, 
 we shall be saved by his life." 
 
 St. Paul, who, by the way, is by far the most 
 argumentative of all the Apostles — and who, 
 from being the most successful of them all, 
 proves that argument is both a legitimate and a 
 powerful weapon in the work of making Chris- 
 tians, sometimes undertakes to reason upon one 
 set of premises, and then to demonstrate how 
 much more valid and irresistible is the conclu- 
 sion which he tries to establish, when he is in 
 actual possession of another and more favour- 
 able set of premises. In this way a great addi- 
 tional strength is made to accrue to his argu- 
 
91 
 
 ment — and the how much more with which he 
 finishes, causes it to come with greater power 
 and assurance upon his readers — and it is this 
 which gives him the advantage of what is well 
 known, both in law and in logic, under the phrase 
 of argumejitum afortiore, or, an argument which 
 affirms a thing to be true in adverse and unpro- 
 mising circumstances, and therefore far more 
 worthy of being held true in likelier circum- 
 stances. It is quite a familiar mode of reason- 
 ing in common discourse. If a neighbour be 
 bound to sympathize with the distresses of an 
 unfortunate family, how much more, when that 
 neighbour is a relative ? If I obtained an offer 
 of friendship from a man in difficulties, how 
 much more may I count upon it should he now 
 be translated into a state of sufficiency and ease? 
 If, in the very heat of our quarrel, and under 
 the discouragement of all my provoking inso- 
 lence towards him, my enemy forbear the ven- 
 geance which he had the power to inflict, how 
 much more, should the quarrel be made up, and 
 I have been long in terms of reconciliation with 
 him, may I feel myself secure from the effects 
 of his indignation ? Such also is the argument 
 of my text. There is one state of matters in 
 which God sets forth a demonstration of friend- 
 ship to the world, and this is compared with the 
 
92 
 
 present and actual state oi' matters, more favour- 
 able than the former, and from which, there- 
 fore, the friendship of God may be still more 
 surely inferred, and still more firmly confided 
 in. But it will be further seen, that in this 
 short sentence of the Apostle, there lies a com- 
 pound argument which admits of being separated 
 into distinct parts. There is a reference made 
 to a two-fold state of matters, which by being 
 resolved into its two particulars, brings out two 
 accessions of strength to the conclusion of our 
 Apostle, which are independent of each other. 
 He, in fact, holds forth a double claim upon our 
 understanding, and we propose to view succes- 
 sively the two particulars of which it is made 
 up. 
 
 There is first then a comparison made between 
 one state of matters, and another state of mat- 
 ters which obtain in our earth — and there is at 
 the same time a comparison made between one 
 state of matters, and another state of matters 
 which obtain in heaven — and from each of these 
 there may be educed an argument for strength- 
 ening the assurance of every Christian, in that 
 salvation which the Gospel has made known to 
 us. 
 
93 
 
 Let us first look then to the two states upon 
 earth — and this may be done either with a re- 
 ference to this world's history, or it may be 
 done wdth a reference to the personal history of 
 every one man who is now a believer. 
 
 That point of time in the series of general 
 history at which reconciliation was made, was 
 when our Saviour said that it is finished, and 
 gave up the ghost. God may be said to have 
 then become reconciled to the world, in as far 
 as he was ready to enter into agreement with all 
 who drew nigh in the name of this great propi- 
 tiation. Now think of the state of matters upon 
 earth, previous to the time when reconciliation 
 in this view was entered upon. Think of the 
 strength of that moving principle in the bosom 
 of the Deity, which so inclined him towards a 
 world then lying in the depths of ungodliness — 
 and from one end to another of it, lifting the 
 cry of rebellion against him. There was no 
 movement on the part of the world towards 
 God — no returning sense of allegiance towards 
 him from whom they had revolted so deeply — 
 no abatement of that profligacy which so rio- 
 ted at large over a wide scene of lawless, and 
 thankless, and careless abandonment — no miti- 
 gation of that foul and audacious insolence by 
 
94 
 
 which the throne of heaven was assailed ; and 
 a spectacle so full of offence to the unfallen was 
 held forth, of a whole province in arms against 
 the lawful Monarch of creation. Had the world 
 thrown down its weapons of disobedience — had 
 a contrite and relenting spirit gone previously 
 forth among its generations — had the light which 
 even then glimmered in the veriest wilds of Pa- 
 ganism, just up to the strength and degree of 
 its influence, told aright on the moral sensibili- 
 ties of the deluded and licentious worshippers 
 — had they, whose conscience was a law unto 
 themselves, just acted and followed on as they 
 might under the guidance of its compunctious 
 visitations — had there been any thing like the 
 fortligoing of a general desire, however faint, 
 towards that iniknown Being, the sense and 
 impression of whom were never wholly obliter- 
 ated — then it might have been less decisive of 
 God's will for reconciliation, that he gave way 
 to these returning demonstrations on tlie part of 
 his alienated creatures, and reared a pathway of 
 communication by which sinners may draw nigh 
 unto God. But for God to have done this very 
 tiling, when these sinners were persisting in the 
 full spirit and determination of their unholy 
 warfare — for him to have done so, when instead 
 of any returning loyalty rising up to him like 
 
95 
 
 the incense of a sweet-sme]ling savour, tlie 
 exhalations of idolatry and vice blackened the 
 whole canopy of heaven, and ascended in a 
 smoke of abomination before him — for him to 
 have done so at the very time that all flesh had 
 corrupted its ways, and when either with or 
 without the law of revelation, God saw that the 
 wickedness of man was great in the earth, and 
 that every imagination of the thoughts of his 
 heart was only evil continually — in these circum- 
 stances of deep and unalleviated provocation, 
 and when God may have eased him of his ad- 
 versaries, by sweeping the whole of this moral 
 nuisance away from the face of the universe 
 which it deformed — for such a time to have been 
 a time of love, when majesty seemed to call 
 for some solemn vindication, but mercy could 
 not let us go — surely, if through such a barrier 
 between God and the guilty, he, in the long- 
 ings of his desire after them, forced a path-way 
 of reconciliation, he never will turn himself 
 away from any, who cheered forward by his 
 own entreaties, are walking upon that path. 
 But if, when enemies, he himself found out 
 an approach by which he might beckon them to 
 enter into peace with him, how much more 
 when they are so approaching, will he meet them 
 with the light of his countenance, and bless them 
 with the joys of his salvation. 
 
96 
 
 But this argument may be looked to in another 
 way. Instead of fixing our regards upon that 
 point in the general history of the world, when 
 the avenue was struck out between our spe- 
 cies and their offended Lawgiver; and through 
 the rent vail of a Saviour's flesh, a free and 
 consecrated way of access was opened for the 
 guiltiest of them all — let a believer in Christ fix 
 his regards upon that passage in his own personal 
 history at which he was drawn in his desires 
 and in his confidence to this great Mediator, and 
 entered upon the grace wherein he now stands, 
 and gave up his evil heart of unbelief^ and made 
 his transition out of darkness to the marvellous 
 light of the Gospel. Let him compare what he 
 was, when an alien from God, through wicked 
 works of his own, with what he is when a hum- 
 ble but confiding expectant of God's mercy 
 through the righteousness of another. Who 
 translated him into the condition which he now 
 occupies ? Who put into his heart the faith of 
 the Gospel ? Who awakened him from the dor- 
 mancy and unconcern of Nature ? Who stirred 
 up that restless but salutary alarm which at 
 length issued in the secure feeling of reconcilia- 
 tion ? There was a time of his past life when 
 the whole doctrine of salvation was an offence 
 to him, when its preaching was foolishness to 
 
97 
 
 his ears ; when its phraseology tired and disgust- 
 ed him ; when, in hght and lawless companion- 
 ship, he put the warnings of religious counsel, 
 and the urgency of menacing sermons away from 
 his bosom — a time when the world was his all, 
 and when he was wholly given over to the idola- 
 try of its pursuits, and pleasures, and projects of 
 aggrandisement — a time when his heart was un vi- 
 sited with any permanent seriousness about God, 
 of whom his conscience sometimes reminded 
 him, but whom he soon dismissed from his ear- 
 nest contemplation — a time when he may have 
 occasionally heard of a judgment, but without 
 one practical movement of his soul towards the 
 task of preparation — a time when the overtures 
 of peace met him on his way, but which he, in 
 the impetuous prosecution of his own objects, 
 utterly disregarded — a time when death plied 
 him with its ever-recurring mementoes, but 
 which he, overlooking the short and summary 
 arithmetic of the few little years that lay be- 
 tween him and the last messenger, placed so far 
 on the back ground of his anticipation, that this 
 earth, this passing and perishable earth, formed 
 the scene of all his solicitudes. Is there none 
 here present who remembers such a time of his 
 bygone history, and with such a character of 
 alienation from God and from his Christ, as I 
 
 G 
 
98 
 
 have now given to it? And who, I ask, recal- 
 led him from this alienation ? By whose guidance 
 was he conducted to that demonstration either 
 of the press or of the pulpit, which awakened 
 him ? Who sent that afflictive visitation to his 
 door, which weaned his spirit from the world, 
 and wooed it to the deathless friendships, and 
 the ever-during felicities of heaven ? Who made 
 known to him the extent of his guilt, with the 
 overpassing extent of the redemption that is 
 provided for it? It was not he himself who 
 originated the process of his own salvation. 
 God may have abandoned him to his own cours- 
 es J and said of him as he has done of many oth- 
 ers, " I will let him alone, since he will have it 
 so;" and given him up to that judicial blindness, 
 under which the vast majority of the world are 
 now sleeping in profoundest lethargy ; and with- 
 held altogether that light of the spirit which he 
 had done so much to extinguish. But if instead 
 of all this, God kept by him in the midst of his 
 thankless provocations — and while he was yet a 
 regardless enemy, made his designs of grace to 
 bear upon him — and throughout all the mazes 
 of his chequered history, conducted him to the 
 knowledge of himself as a reconciling God — and 
 so softened his heart with family bereavements, 
 or so tore it from all its worldly dependencies 
 
99 
 
 by the disasters of business, or so shook it with 
 frightful agitation by the terrors of the law, or 
 so shone upon it with the light of his free Spirit, 
 as made it glad to escape from the treachery of 
 nature's joys and nature's promises, into a rely- 
 ing faith on the offers and assurances of the Gos- 
 pel — why, just let him think of the time when 
 God did so much for him— and then think of 
 the impossibility that God will recede from him 
 now, or that he will cease from the prosecution of 
 that work in circumstances of earnest and de- 
 sirous concurrence on the part of the believer, 
 which he himself begun in the circumstances 
 either of his torpid unconcern, or of his active 
 and haughty defiance. The God who moved 
 towards him in his days of forgetfulness, will not 
 move away from him in his days of hourly and 
 habitual remembrance — and he who intercepted 
 him in his career of rebellion, will not withdraw 
 from him in his career of new obedience — and 
 he who first knocked at the door of his con- 
 science, and that too in a prayerless, and thank- 
 less, and regardless season of his history, will not, 
 now that he prays in the name of Christ, and 
 now that his heart is set upon salvation, and now 
 that the doctrine of grace forms all his joy and 
 all his dependence ; he who thus found him out 
 a distant and exiled rebel, will not abandon him 
 
 G2 
 
100 
 
 now that his fellowship is with the Father, and 
 with the Son. It is thus, that the believer may 
 shield his misgiving heart from all its desponden- 
 cies. It is.thiis, that the argument of the text 
 goes to fortify his faith, and to perfect that which 
 is lacking in it. It is thus tliat the how much 
 more of the Apostle should cause him to abound 
 more and more in the peace and the joy of be- 
 lieving — and should encourage every man who 
 has laid hold on the hope set before us, to steady 
 and confirm his hold still more tenaciously than 
 before, so as to keep it fast and sure even unto 
 the end. 
 
 With a man who knows himself to be a be- 
 liever, this argument is quite irresistible, and it 
 will go to establish his faith, and to strengthen 
 it, and to settle it, and to make it perfect. But 
 it is possible for a man really to believe, and yet 
 to be in ignorance for a time whether he does 
 so or not — and it is possible for a man to be in 
 earnest about his soul, and yet not to have re- 
 ceived that truth which is unto salvation — and 
 it is possible for him to be actuated by a strong 
 general desire to be right, and yet to be walk- 
 ing among the elements of uncertainty — and it 
 is possible for him to be looking to that quar- 
 ter whence the truths of the Gospel are offered 
 
101 
 
 to his contemplation, and yet not to have attain- 
 ed the distinct or satisfying perception of them — 
 thoroughly engaged in the prosecution of his 
 peace with God, determinedly bent on this ob- 
 ject as the highest interest he can possibly as- 
 pire after, labouring after a settlement, and, un- 
 der all the agonies of a fierce internal war, seek- 
 ing, and toiling, and praying for his deliverance. 
 It is at the point of time when faith enters the 
 heart, that reconciliation is entered upon — nor 
 can we say of this man, that he is yet a believ- 
 er, or, that he has passed from the condition of 
 an enemy to that of a friend. And yet upon 
 him the argument of the text should not be 
 without its efficacy. It is such an argument as 
 may be employed not merely to confirm the 
 faith which already exists, but to help on to its 
 formation that faith which is struggling for an 
 establishment in the heart of an inquirer. It 
 falls, no doubt, with fullest and most satisfying 
 light upon the heart of a conscious believer — 
 and yet may it be addressed, and with perti- 
 nency too, to men under their first and earliest 
 visitations of seriousness. For give me an ac- 
 quaintance of whom I know nothing more than 
 that his face is towards Zion — give me one ar- 
 rested by a sense of guilt and of danger, and 
 merely groping his v/ay to a place of enlarge- 
 
102 
 
 meiit — give me a soul not in peace, but in per- 
 plexity, and in the midst of all those initial 
 difficulties which beset the awakened sinner, 
 ere Christ shall give him liglit — give me a la- 
 bouring and heavy laden sinner, haunted by the 
 reflection, as if by an arrow sticking fast, that 
 the mighty question of his eternity is yet un- 
 resolved. There are many I fear amongst you 
 to whom this tremendous uncertainty gives no 
 concern — but give me one who has newly taken 
 it up, and who, in the minglings of doubt and 
 despondency, has not yet found his way to any 
 consolation — and even with him may it be found, 
 that the same reason which strengthens the hope 
 of an advanced Christian, may well inspire the 
 hope of him who has still his Christianity to 
 find, and thus cast a cheering and a comforting 
 influence on the very infancy of his progress. 
 For if it was in behalf of a careless world that 
 the costly apparatus of redemption was reared — 
 if it was in the full front and audacity of their 
 most determined rebellion, that God laid the plan 
 of reconciliation — if it was for the sake of men 
 sunk in the very depths of ungodliness, that he 
 constructed his overtures of peace, and sent 
 forth his Son with them amongst our loathsome 
 and polluted dwelling-places — if to get at his 
 strayed cliildren, he had thus to find his way 
 
103 
 
 through all those elements of impiety and ungod- 
 liness, which are most abhorrent to the sanctity 
 of his nature, think you, my brethren, think 
 you that the God who made such an advancing 
 movement towards the men whose faces were 
 utterly away from him — is this a God who will 
 turn his own face away from the man who is 
 moving towards God, and earnestly seeking af- 
 ter him, if haply he may find him ? 
 
 This argument obtains great additional force, 
 when we look to the state of matters in heaven 
 at the time that we upon earth were enemies, 
 and compare it with the state of matters in hea- 
 ven, now that we are actually reconciled, or are 
 beginning to entertain the offers of reconcilia- 
 tion. Before the work of our redemption, Jesus 
 Christ was in primeval glory — and though a 
 place of mystery to us, it was a place of se- 
 cure and ineffable enjoyment — insomuch, that 
 the fondest prayer he could utter in the depths 
 of his humiliation, was to be taken back again 
 to the Ancient of days, and there to be restored 
 to the glory which he had with him before the 
 world was. It was from the heights of celestial 
 security and blessedness that he looked with an 
 eye of pity on our sinful habitation — it was from 
 a scene where beings of a holy nature surround- 
 
104 
 
 ed him, and the full homage of the Divinity 
 was rendered to him, and in the ecstacies of 
 his fellowship with God the Father, all was peace, 
 and purity, and excellence — it was from this that 
 he took his voluntary departure, and went out 
 on his errand to seek and to save us. And it 
 was not the parade of an unreal suffering that 
 lie had to encounter; but a deep and a di'eadful 
 endurance — it was not a triumphant promenade 
 through this lower world, made easy over all its 
 obstacles by the energies of his Godhead ; but 
 a conflict of toil and of strenuousness — it was 
 not an egress from heaven on a journey bright- 
 ened through all its stages by the hope of a 
 smooth and gentle return ; but it was such an 
 exile from heaven as made his ascent and his re- 
 admittance there the fruit of a hard won victory. 
 We have nothing but the facts of revelation to 
 guide or to inform us, and yet from these we 
 most assuredly gather, that the Saviour, in step- 
 ping down from the elevation of his past eter- 
 nity, incurred a substantial degradation — that 
 when he wrapped himself in the humanity of 
 our nature, he put on the whole of its infirmi- 
 ties and its sorrows — that for the joy which he 
 renounced, he became acquainted with grief, 
 and a grief too commensurate to the whole bur- 
 den of our world's atonement — that the hidings 
 
105 
 
 of his Father's countenance were terrifying to 
 his soul — and when the offended justice of the 
 Godhead was laid upon his person, it required 
 the whole strength of the Godhead to sustain 
 it. What mean the agonies of the garden? 
 What mean the bitter cries and complainings of 
 abandonment upon the cross ? What meaneth 
 the prayer that the cup might pass away from 
 him, and the struggle of a lofty resolution with 
 the agonies of a mighty and unknown distress, 
 and the evident symptoms of a great and toil- 
 some achievement throughout the whole pro- 
 gress of this undertaking, and angels looking 
 down from their eminencies, as on a field of 
 contest, where a great Captain had to put forth 
 the travailling of his strength, and to spoil prin- 
 cipalities and powers, and to make a show of 
 them openly ? W^as there nothing in all this do 
 you think, but the mockery of a humiliation 
 that was never felt — the mockery of a pain that 
 was never suffered — the mockery of a battle that 
 was never fought? No, my brethren, be assured 
 that there was, on that day, a real vindication of 
 God's insulted majesty. On that day there was 
 the real transference of an avenging hand, from 
 the heads of the guilty to the head of the innocent. 
 On that day one man died for the people, and 
 there was an actual laying on of" the iniquities of 
 
106 
 
 us all. It was a war of strength and of suffering 
 in highest possible aggravation, because the war 
 of elements which were infinite. The wrath 
 which millions should have borne, was all of it 
 discharged. Nor do we estimate aright what we 
 owe of love and obligation to the Saviour, till 
 we believe, that the whole of that fury, which if 
 poured out upon the world, would have served 
 its guilty generations through eternity — that all 
 of it was poured into the cup of expiation. 
 
 A more adequate sense of this might not only 
 serve to awaken the gratitude which slumbers 
 within us, and is dead — it might also, through 
 the aid of the argument in my text, awaken and 
 assiu'e our confidence. If when we were ene- 
 mies, Christ ventured on an enterprise so pain- 
 ful — if, when loathsome outcasts from the sa- 
 cred territory of heaven, he left the abode of his 
 Father, and exchanged love, and adoration, and 
 congenial felicity among angels, for the hatred 
 and persecution of men — if, when the agonies 
 of the coming vengeance were still before him, 
 and the dark and dreary vale of suffering had 
 yet to be entered upon, and he had to pass under 
 the inflictions of that sword which the Eternal 
 God awakened against his Fellow, and he had 
 still to give himself up to a death equivalent in 
 
107 
 
 the amount of its soreness to the devouring iire, 
 and the everlasting burnings, which but for him 
 believers would have borne — if, when all this 
 had yet to be travelled through, he, nevertheless, 
 in his compassionate longing for the souls of 
 men, went forth upon the errand of winning 
 them to himself, — ^let us just look to the state of 
 matters in heaven then, and compare it with the 
 state of matters now. Christ has there ascended 
 on the wings of victory — and he is now sitting 
 at God's right hand, amid all the purchased tri- 
 umphs of his obedience — and the toil, and the 
 conflict, and the agony, are now over — and from 
 that throne of mediatorship to which he has been 
 exalted, is it his present office to welcome the 
 approaches of all who come, and to save to the 
 uttermost all who put their trust in him. And 
 is it possible, we would ask, my brethren, is it 
 possible that he who died to atone, now that he 
 lives, will not live to make intercession for us ? 
 Can the love for men which bore him through 
 a mighty and a painful sacrifice, not be strong 
 enough to carry him onwards in peace and in 
 triumph to its final consummation ? Will he 
 now abandon that work which his own hands 
 have so laboriously reared ? — or leave the cause 
 for which he has already sustained the weight 
 of such an endurance, in the embryo and un- 
 
108 
 
 finished state of an abortive undertaking? Will 
 he cast away from liirn tlic spoils of that victory 
 for which he bled ; and how can it be imagined 
 for a moment, but by such dark and misgiving 
 hearts as ours, that he whose love for a thank- 
 less world carried him through the heat and the 
 severity of a contest that is now ended, will 
 ever, with the cold and forbidding glance of an 
 altered countenance spurn an inquiring world 
 away from him ? 
 
 The death of a crucified Saviour, when beheld 
 luider such a view, is the firm stepping stone to 
 confidence in a risen Saviour. You may learn 
 from it that his desire and your salvation are 
 most thoroughly at one. Of his good-will to 
 have you into heaven, he has given the strongest 
 pledge and demonstration, by consecrating, with 
 his own blood, a way of access, through which 
 sinners may draw nigh. And now, that as our 
 forerunner, he is already there — now that he has 
 gone up again to the place from which he arose 
 — now that to the very place which he left to 
 die, and that, that the barrier to its entrance 
 from our world may be moved away, he has as- 
 cended alive and in glory, without another 
 death to endure, for death has no more the do- 
 minion over him — will ever he do any thing to 
 
109 
 
 close that entrance which it has cost him so 
 much to open ? Will he thus throw away the 
 toil and the travail of his own soul, and reduce to 
 impotency that apparatus of reconciliation which 
 he himself has reared, and at an expense too, 
 equal to the penance of many millions through 
 eternity ? What he died to begin, will he not 
 now live to carry forward ; and will not the love 
 which could force a way through the grave to its 
 accomplishments — now that it has reached the 
 summit of triumph and of elevation which he 
 at present occupies, burst forth and around the 
 field of that mighty enterprise, which was begun 
 in deepest suffering, and will end in full and 
 finished glory? 
 
 This is a good argument in all the stages of a 
 man's Christianity. Whether he has found, or 
 is only seeking — whether he be in a state of faith, 
 or in a state of inquiry — whether a believer like 
 Paul and many of the disciples that he was ad- 
 dressing, or an earnest and convinced sinner 
 groping the way of deliverance, and labouring 
 to be at rest, there may be made to emanate 
 from the present circumstances of our Saviour, 
 and the position that he now occupies, an argu- 
 ment either to perpetuate the confidence where 
 it is, or to inspire it where it is not. If, when an 
 
110 
 
 enemy, I was reconciled, and that too by his deatli 
 — if he laid down his life to remove an obstacle 
 in the way of my salvation, how much more, 
 now that he has taken it up, will he not accom- 
 plish that salvation ? It is just fulfilling his own 
 desire. It is just prospering forward the very 
 cause that his heart is set upon. It is just fol- 
 lowing out the facilities which he himself has 
 opened — and marching onward in glorious pro- 
 cession, to the consummation of those triumphs, 
 for which he had to struggle his way through a 
 season of difficulties that are now over. It is 
 thus that the believer reasons himself into a 
 steadier assurance than before — and peace may 
 be made to flow through his heart like a mighty 
 river — and resting on tlie foundation of Christ, 
 he comes to feel himself in a sure and wealthy 
 place — and the good-will of the Saviour rises in- 
 to an undoubted axiom — so as to chase away 
 all his distrust, and cause him to delight him- 
 self greatly in the riches of his present grace, 
 and in the brightening certainty of his coming 
 salvation. 
 
 And this view of the matter is not only fitted 
 to heighten the confidence that is already form- 
 ed — but also to originate the confidence that 
 needs to be inspired. It places the herald of 
 
Ill 
 
 salvation on a secure and lofty vantage ground. 
 It seals and authenticates the offer with which 
 he is intrusted- — and with which he may go 
 round among the guiltiest of this world's popu- 
 lation. It enables him to say, that for guilt even 
 in the season of its most proud and unrepentant 
 defiance, did Christ give himself up unto the 
 death — and that to guilt even in this state of 
 hardihood, Christ in prosecution of his own work 
 has commissioned him to go with the overtures 
 of purchased mercy — and should the guilt which 
 has stood its ground against the threatenings of 
 power, feel softened and arrested by pity's pre- 
 venting call, may the preacher of forgiveness 
 affirm in his Master's name, that he, who for 
 the chief of sinners, bowed himself down unto 
 the sacrifice, will not now, that he has arisen 
 a Prince and a Saviour, stamp a nullity upon 
 that contest, the triumph of which is awaiting 
 him ; but the bitterness of which has passed 
 away. He will not turn with indifference and 
 distaste from that very fruit which he himself 
 has fought for. But if for guilt in its full im~ 
 penitency, he dyed his garments, and waded 
 through the arena of contest and of blood — 
 then should the most abandoned of her children 
 begin a contrite movement towards him, it is 
 not he who will either break the prop for whicJi 
 
112 
 
 he feels, or quench his infant aspiration. He 
 will look to him as the travail of his own soul, 
 and in him he will be satisfied. 
 
 We know not what the measure of the sinful- 
 ness is of any who now hear us. But we know, 
 that however foul his depravity, and however 
 deep the crimson dye of his manifold iniquities 
 may be, the measure of the gospel warrant reach- 
 es even unto him. It was to make an inroad 
 on the territory of Satan, and reclaim from it 
 a kingdom unto himself, that Christ died — and 
 I speak to the farthest off in guilt and alienation 
 amongst you — take the overture of peace that 
 is now brought to your door, and you will add 
 to that kingdom which he came to establish, and 
 take away from that kingdom which he came to 
 destroy. The freeness of this Gospel has the ho- 
 nour of him who liveth and was dead for its gua- 
 rantee. The security of the sinner and the glo- 
 ry of the Saviour, are at one. And with the 
 spirit of a monarch who had to fight his way to 
 the dominion which was rightfully his own, will 
 he hail the returning allegiance of every rebel, 
 as a new accession to his triumphs, as another 
 trophy to the might and the glory of his great 
 undertaking. 
 
lis 
 
 But, amid aU this latitude of call and of invi- 
 tation, let me press upon you that alternative 
 character of the Gospel, to which I have often 
 adverted. I have tried to make known to you, 
 how its encouragements rise the one above 
 the other to him who moves towards it. But 
 it has its corresponding terrors and severities, 
 which also rise the one above the other to him 
 who moves away from it. If the transgressor 
 will not be recalled by the invitation which 
 I have now made kno^sii to him, he wiU be 
 rivetted thereby into deeper and more hope- 
 less condemnation. If the offer of peace be not 
 entertained by him, then, in the very proportion 
 of its largeness and generosity, will the provoca- 
 tion be of his insultinoj treatment in havins; re- 
 jected it. Out of the mouth of the Son of man 
 there cometh a two-edged sword. There is par- 
 don free as the light of heaven to aU who will. 
 There is wrath accumulated, and irretrievable 
 wrath to all who will not. " Kiss the Son, there- 
 fore, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the 
 way : when his -s^Tath is kindled but a little, 
 blessed only are they who put their trust in 
 him." 
 
 It is the most delusive of aU calculations to 
 put off the acceptance of tlie Gospel, because 
 
114 
 
 of its ficencss — and because it is free at all 
 times — and because the present you think may 
 be the time of your unconcern and liberty, and 
 some distant future be the time of your return 
 through that door which will still be open for 
 you. The door of Christ's mediatorship is ever 
 open, till death put its unchangeable seal upon 
 your eternity. But the door of your own heart, 
 if you are not receiving him, is shut at this mo- 
 ment, and every day is it fixing and fastening 
 more closely — and long ere death summon you 
 away, may it at length settle immoveably upon 
 its hinges, and the voice of him who standeth 
 without, and knocketh, may be unheard by the 
 spiritual ear — and, therefore, you are not made 
 to feel too much, though you feel as earnestly 
 as if now or never was the alternative on which 
 you were suspended. It is not enough, that the 
 Word of God, compared to a hammer, be weigh- 
 ty and powerful. The material on which it 
 works must be capable of an impression. It is 
 not enough, that there be a free and forcible ap- 
 plication. There must be a willing subject. 
 You are unwilling now, and therefore it is that 
 conversion does not follow. To-morrow the 
 probability is, that you will be still more unwil- 
 ling — and, therefore, though the application be 
 the same, the conversion is still at a greater dis- 
 
115 
 
 tance away from you. And thus, while the 
 application continues the same, the subject 
 hardens, and a good result is ever becoming 
 more and more unlikely — and thus may it go 
 on till you arrive upon the bed of your last 
 sickness, at the confines of eternity — and what, 
 I would ask, is the kind of willingness that 
 comes upon you then ? Willing to escape the 
 pain of hell — this you are now, but yet not wil- 
 ling to be a Christian. Willing that the fire and 
 your bodily sensations be kept at a distance from 
 each other — this you are now, for who of you 
 at present, would thrust his hand among the 
 flames ? Willing that the frame of your animal 
 sensibilities shall meet with nothing to wound 
 or to torture it — this is willingness of which the 
 lower animals, incapable of religion, are yet as 
 capable as yourself. You will be as willing then 
 for deliverance from material torments as you 
 can be now — but there is a willingness which 
 you want now, and which, in all likelihood will 
 then be still more beyond the reach of your at- 
 tainment. If the free Gospel do not meet with 
 your willingness now to accept and to submit to 
 it, neither may it then. And I know not, my 
 brethren, what has been your experience in 
 death-beds ; but sure I am, that both among 
 the agonies of mortal disease, and the terrors 
 
 H2 
 
116 
 
 of the malefactor's cell, Christ may be offered, 
 and the offer be sadly and sullenly put away. 
 The free proclamation is heard without one ac- 
 companying charm — and the man who refused 
 to lay hold of it through life, finds, that in the 
 impotency of his expiring grasp, he cannot ap- 
 prehend it. And O, if you but knew how of- 
 ten the word of faith may fall from the minister, 
 and the work of faith be left undone upon the 
 dying man, never would you so postpone the 
 purposes of seriousness, or look forward to the 
 last week of your abode upon earth as to the 
 convenient season for winding up the concerns 
 of a neglected eternity. 
 
 If you look attentively to the text, you will 
 find, that there is something more than a shade 
 of difference between being reconciled and be- 
 ing saved. Reconciliation is spoken of as an 
 event that has already happened — salvation as 
 an event that is to come. The one event may 
 lead to the other ; but there is a real distinction 
 between them. It is true, that the salvation 
 instanced in the preceding verse, is salvation 
 from wrath. But it is the wrath which is incur- 
 red by those who have sinned wilfully, after they 
 had come to the knowledge of the truth — 
 ** when there remaineth no more sacrifice for 
 
117 
 
 sin, but a certain fearful looking for of judg- 
 ment and fiery indignation, which shall devour 
 the adversaries." Jesus Christ will save us 
 from this by saving us from sin. He who hath 
 reconciled us by his death, will, by his life, ac- 
 complish for us this salvation. Reconciliation 
 is not salvation. It is only the portal to it. Jus- 
 tification is not the end of Christ's coming — it 
 is only the means to an ultimate attainment. By 
 his death he pacified the lawgiver. By his life 
 he purifies the sinner. The one work is finished. 
 The other is not so, but is only going on unto 
 perfection. And this is the secret of that un- 
 willingness which I have already touched upon. 
 There is a v/illingness that God would lift off 
 from their persons the hand of an avenger. 
 But there is not a willingness that Christ would 
 lay upon their persons the hand of a sanctifier. 
 The motive for him to apprehend tliem is to 
 make them holy. But they care not to appre- 
 hend that for which they are apprehended. 
 They see not that the use of the new dispensa- 
 tion, is for them to be restored to the image they 
 have lost, and, for this purpose, to be purged 
 from their old sins. This is the point on which 
 they are in darkness — " and they love the dark- 
 ness rather than the light, because their deeds 
 are evil.*' They are at all times willing for the 
 
118 
 
 reward without the service. But they are not 
 willing for the reward and the service together. 
 Tlie willingness for the one they alwa) s have. 
 But the wiUingness for both they never have. 
 They have it not to day — and it is not the ope- 
 ration of time that will put it in them to-mor- 
 row. Nor will disease put it in. Nor will age 
 put it in. Nor will the tokens of death put it 
 in. Nor will the near and terrific view of eter- 
 nity put it in. It may call out into a livelier 
 sensation than before, a willingness for the re- 
 ward. But it will neither inspire a taste nor a 
 willingness for the service. A distaste for God 
 and godliness, as it was the reigning and para- 
 mount principle of his life, so may it be the 
 reigning and paramount principle of his death- 
 bed. As it envenomed every breath which he 
 drew, so may it envenom his last — and the spi- 
 rit going forth to the God who gave it, with all 
 the enmity that it ever had, God will deal with 
 it as an enemy. 
 
SERMON IV. 
 
 THE RESTLESSNESS OF HUMAN AMBITION. 
 
 PSALM XL L and LV. 0. 
 
 " How say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain ? 
 — O that I had the wings of a dove, that I may fly away, 
 and be at rest." 
 
 To all those who are conversant in the scenery 
 of external nature, it is evident, that an object 
 to be seen to the greatest advantage must be 
 placed at a certain distance from the eye of the 
 observer. The poor man's hut, though all with- 
 in be raggedness and disorder, and all around 
 it be full of the most nauseous and disgusting 
 spectacles — ^yet, if seen at a sufficient distance, 
 may appear a sweet and interesting cottage. 
 That field where the thistle grows, and the face 
 of which is deformed by the wild exuberance 
 of a rank and pernicious vegetation, may delight 
 
120 
 
 the eye of a distant spectator by the loveliness 
 of its verdure. That lake, whose waters are 
 corrupted, and whose banks poison the air by 
 tlieir marshy and putrid exhalations, may charm 
 the eye of an enthusiast, who views it from an 
 adjoining eminence, and dwells with rapture on 
 the quietness of its surface, and on the beauty 
 of its outline — its sweet border fringed with the 
 gayest colouring of Nature, and on which spring- 
 lavishes its finest ornaments. All is the effect 
 of distance. It softens the harsh and disgusting 
 features of every object. What is gross and or- 
 dinary, it can dress in the most romantic attrac- 
 tions. The country hamlet it can transform into 
 a paradise of beauty, in spite of the abominations 
 that are at every door, and the angry brawlings 
 of the men and the women who occupy it. All 
 that is loathsome or offensive, is softened down 
 by the power of distance. You see the smoke 
 rising in fantastic wreaths through the pure air, 
 and the village spire peeping from among the 
 thick verdure of the trees, which embosom it. 
 The fancy of our sentimentalist swells with 
 pleasure, and peace and piety supply their de- 
 lightful associations to complete the harmony 
 of the picture. 
 
 This principle may serve to explain a feeling 
 
121 
 
 which some of you who now hear me may have 
 experienced. On a fine day, when the sun threw 
 its unclouded splendours over a whole neigh- 
 bourhood, did you never form a wish that your 
 place could be transferred to some distant and 
 more beautiful part of the landscape ? Did the 
 idea never rise in your fancy, that the people 
 who sport on yon sunny bank are happier than 
 yourself — that you would like to be buried in 
 that distant grove, and forget, for a while, in 
 silence and in solitude, the distractions of the 
 world — that you would like to repose by yon 
 beautiful rivulet, and soothe every anxiety of 
 your heart by the gentleness of its murmurs — 
 that you would like to transport yourself to the 
 distance of miles, and there enjoy the peace 
 which resides in some sweet and sheltered con- 
 cealment? In a word, was there no secret as- 
 piration of the soul for another place than what 
 you actually occupied? Instead of resting in 
 the quiet enjoyment of your present situation, 
 did not your wishes wander abroad and around 
 you — and were not you ready to exclaim with 
 the Psalmist in the text, " O that I had the 
 wings of a dove ; for I would fly to yonder 
 mountain, and be at rest?" 
 
 But what is of most importance to be observed 
 
122 
 
 is, that even when you have reached the moun- 
 tain, rest is as far from you as ever. As you 
 get nearer the wished-for spot, the fairy en- 
 chantments in which distance had arrayed it, 
 gradually disappear ; when you at last arrive at 
 your object, the illusion is entirely dissipated ; 
 and you are grieved to find, that you have car- 
 ried the same principle of restlessness and dis- 
 content along with you. 
 
 Now, what is true of a natural landscape, is 
 also true of that moral landscape, which is pre- 
 sented to the eye of the mind when it contem- 
 plates human life, and casts a wide survey over 
 the face of human society. The position which 
 I myself occupy is seen and felt with all its dis- 
 advantages. Its vexations come home to my 
 feelings with all the certainty of experience. 
 I see it before mine eyes with a vision so near 
 and intimate, as to admit of no colouring, and 
 to preclude the exercise of fancy. It is only 
 in those situations which are without me, where 
 the principle of deception operates, and where 
 the vacancies of an imperfect experience are 
 filled up by the power of imagination, ever rea- 
 dy to summon the fairest forms of pure and un- 
 mingled enjoyment. It is all resolvable, as be- 
 fore, into the principle of distance. I am too 
 
123 
 
 far removed to see the smaller features of the 
 object which I contemplate. I overlook the 
 operation of those minuter causes, which expose 
 every situation of human life to the inroads of 
 misery and disappointment. Mine eye can only 
 take in the broader outlines of the object be- 
 fore me, and it consigns to fancy the task of 
 filling them up with its finest colouring. 
 
 Am I unlearned ? I feel the disgrace of ig- 
 norance, and sigh for the name and the distinc- 
 tions of philosophy. Do I stand upon a literary 
 eminence ? I feel the vexations of rivalship, 
 and could almost renounce the splendours of 
 my dear-bought reputation for the peace and 
 shelter which insignificance bestows. Am I 
 poor ? I riot in fancy upon the gratifications of 
 luxury, and think how great I would be, if in- 
 vested with all the consequence of wealth and 
 of patronage. Am I rich ? I sicken at the de- 
 ceitful splendour which surrounds me, and am 
 at times tempted to think, that I would have 
 been happier far if born to a humbler station, I 
 had been trained to the peace and innocence of 
 poverty. Am I immersed in business ? I re- 
 pine at the fatigues of employment, and envy 
 the lot of those who have every hour at their 
 disposal, and can spend all their time in the sweet 
 
124 
 
 relaxations of amusement and society. Am I 
 exempted from the necessity of exertion? I 
 feel the corroding anxieties of indolence, and 
 attempt in vain to escape that weariness and 
 disgust which useful and regular occupation can 
 alone save me from. Am I single ? I feel the 
 dreariness of solitude, and my fancy warms at 
 the conception of a dear and domestic circle. 
 Am I embroiled in the cares of a family ? I am 
 tormented with the perverseness or ingratitude 
 of those around me ; and sigh in all the bitter- 
 ness of repentance, over the rash and irrecover- 
 able step by which I have renounced for ever 
 the charms of independence. 
 
 This, in fact, is the grand principle of liuman 
 ambition, and it serves to explain both its rest- 
 lessness and its vanity. What is present is seen 
 in all its minuteness, and we overlook not a 
 single article in the train of little drawbacks, 
 and difficulties, and disappointments. What is 
 distant is seen under a broad and general as- 
 pect, and the illusions of fancy are substituted 
 in those places which we cannot fill up with the 
 details of actual observation. What is present 
 fills me with diss^ust. What is distant allures 
 me to enterprise. I sigh for an office, the busi- 
 ness of which is more congenial to my temper. 
 
125 
 
 I fix mine eye on some lofty eminence in the 
 scale of preferment. I spurn at the condition 
 which I now occupy, and I look around me and 
 above me. The perpetual tendency is not to 
 enjoy his actual position, but to get away from 
 it — and not an individual amongst us who does 
 not every day of his life join in the aspiration 
 of the Psalmist, " O that I had the wings of a 
 dove, that I may fly to yonder mountain, and 
 be at rest." 
 
 But the truth is, that we never rest. The 
 most regular and stationary being on the face 
 of the earth, has something to look forward to, 
 and something to aspire after. He must realize 
 that sum to which he annexes the idea of a com- 
 petency. He must add that piece of ground 
 which he thinks necessary to complete the do- 
 main of which he is the proprietor. He must 
 secure that office which confers so much honour 
 and emolument upon the holder. Even after 
 every effort of personal ambition is exhausted, 
 he has friends and children to provide for. The 
 care of those who are to come after him, lands 
 him in a never-ending train of hopes, and wish- 
 es, and anxieties. O that I could gain the vote 
 and the patronage of this honourable acquain- 
 tance — or, that I could secure the political in- 
 
126 
 
 fluehce of tliat great man who honours me with 
 an occasional call, and addressed me the other 
 day with a cordiality which was quite bewitch- 
 ing — or that my young friend could succeed in 
 his competition for the lucrative vacancy to 
 which I have been looking forward, for years, 
 with all the eagerness which distance and un- 
 certainty could inspire — or that we could fix 
 the purposes of that capricious and unaccount- 
 able wanderer, who, of late indeed has been very 
 particular in his attentions, and whose connec- 
 tion we acknowledge, in secret, would be an ho- 
 nour and an advantage to our family — or, at all 
 events, let me heap wealth and aggrandisement 
 on that son, who is to be the representative of 
 my name, and is to perpetuate that dynasty 
 which I have had the glory of establishing. 
 
 This restless ambition is not peculiar to any 
 one class of society. A court only offers to 
 one's notice a more exalted theatre for the play 
 of rivalship and political enterprise. In the bo- 
 som of a cottage, you may witness the operation 
 of the very same principle, only directed to ob- 
 jects of greater insignificance — and though a 
 place for my girl, or an apprenticeship for my 
 boy, be all that I aspire after, yet an enlightened 
 observer of tlic human cliaractcr will perceive 
 
127 
 
 in it the same eagerness of competition, the 
 same jealousy, the same maUcious attempts to 
 undermine the success of a more Hkely pretend* 
 er, the same busy train of passions and anxie- 
 ties which animate the exertions of him who 
 struggles for precedency in the cabinet, and 
 lifts his ambitious eye to the management of an 
 empire. 
 
 This is the universal property of our nature. 
 In the whole circle of your experience, did you 
 ever see a man sit down to the full enjoyment of 
 the present, without a hope or a wish unsatisfied? 
 Did he carry in his mind no reference to futu- 
 rity — no longing of the soul after some remote 
 or inaccessible object — no day-dream which 
 played its enchantments around him, and which 
 even when accomplished, left him nothing more 
 than the delirium of a momentary triumph ? Did 
 you never see him, after the bright illusions of 
 novelty were over — when the present object had 
 lost its charm, and the distant begun to practise 
 its allurements — when some gay vision of futu- 
 rity had hurried him on to a new enterprise, and 
 in the fatigues of a restless ambition, he felt a 
 bosom as oppressed with care, and a heart as 
 anxious and dissatisfied as ever ? 
 
128 
 
 This is the true, though tlie curious, and I 
 had almost said, the farcical picture of human 
 life. Look into the heart which is the seat of 
 feeling, and you there perceive a perpetual ten- 
 dency to enjoyment, but not enjoyment itself — 
 the cheerfulness of hope, but not the happiness 
 of actual possession. The present is but an in- 
 stant of time. The moment that you call it 
 your own, it abandons you. It is not the ac- 
 tual sensation which occupies the mind. It is 
 what is to come next. Man lives in futurity. 
 The pleasurable feeling of the moment forms 
 almost no part of his happiness. It is not the 
 reality of to-day which interests his heart. It 
 is the vision of to-morrow. It is the distant ob- 
 ject on which fancy has thrown its deceitful 
 splendour. When to-morrow comes, the ani- 
 mating hope is transformed into the dull and 
 insipid reality. As the distant object draws 
 near, it becomes cold and tasteless, and unin- 
 teresting. The only way in which the mind can 
 support itself, is by recurring to some new 
 anticipation. This may give buoyancy for a 
 time — but it will share the fate of all its prede- 
 cessors, and be the addition of another folly to 
 the wretched train of disappointments that have 
 gone before it. 
 
129 
 
 What a curious object of contemplation to a 
 superior being, who casts an eye over this lower 
 world, and surveys the busy, restless, and un- 
 ceasing operations of the people who swarm 
 upon its surface. Let him select any one indi- 
 vidual amongst us, and confine his attention to 
 him as a specimen of the whole. Let him pur- 
 sue him through the intricate variety of his 
 movements, for he is never stationary ; see him 
 with his eye fixed upon some distant object, 
 and struggling to arrive at it ; see him pressing 
 forward to some eminence which perpetually re- 
 cedes away from him ; see the inexplicable be- 
 ing, as he runs in full pursuit of some glittering 
 bauble, and on the moment he reaches it, throws 
 it behind him, and it is forgotten ; see him un- 
 mindful of his past experience, and hurrying 
 his footsteps to some new object with the same 
 eagerness and rapidity as ever ; compare the ec- 
 stacy of hope with the lifelessness of posses- 
 sion, and observe the whole history of his day 
 to be made up of one fatiguing race of vanity, 
 and restlessness, and disappointment; 
 
 " And, like the glittering of an idiot's toy, 
 Doth Fancy mock his vows." 
 
 To complete the unaccountable history, let 
 us look to its termination. Man is irregular in 
 
130 
 
 his movements, but this does not hinder the re- 
 gidarity of Nature. Time will not stand still to 
 look at us. It moves at its own invariable pace. 
 The winged moments fly in swift succession 
 over us. The great luminaries which are sus- 
 pended on high, perform their cycles in the 
 heaven. The sun describes his circuit in the 
 firmament, and the space of a few revolutions 
 will bring every man among us to his destiny. 
 The decree passes abroad against the poor child 
 of infatuation. It meets him in the full career 
 of hope and of enterprise. He sees the dark 
 curtain of mortality falling upon the world, and 
 upon all its interests. That busy, restless heart, 
 so crowded with its plans, and feelings, and an- 
 ticipations forgets to play, and all its fluttering 
 anxieties are hushed for ever. 
 
 Where then is that resting place which the 
 Psalmist aspired after ? What are we to mean 
 by that mountain, that wilderness, to which he 
 prayed that the wings of a dove may convey 
 him, afar from the noise and distractions of the 
 world, and hasten his escape from the windy 
 storm, and the tempest? Is there no object, in 
 the whole round of human enjoyment, which 
 can give rest to the agitated spirit of man ? 
 Will he not sit down in the fulness of con- 
 
131 
 
 tentment, after he has reached it, and bid a final 
 adieu to the cares and fatigues of ambition ? Is 
 this longing of the mind a principle of his na- 
 ture, which no gratification can extinguish ? 
 Must it condemn him to perpetual agitation, 
 and to the wild impulses of an ambition which 
 is never satisfied? 
 
 We allow that exercise is the health of the 
 mind. It is better to engage in a trifling pur- 
 suit, if innocent, than to watch the melancholy 
 progress of time, and drag out a weary existence 
 in all the languor of a consuming indolence. 
 But nobody will deny that it is better still, if the 
 pursuit in which we are engaged be not a trif- 
 ling one — if it conducts to some lasting grati- 
 fication — if it leads to some object, the posses- 
 sion of which confers more happiness than the 
 mere prospect — if the mere pleasure of the 
 chase is not the only recompense — but where, 
 in addition to this, we secure some reward pro- 
 portioned to the fatigue of the exercise, and that 
 justifies the eagerness with which we embarked 
 in it. So long as the exercise is innocent, bet- 
 ter do something than be idle : but better still, 
 when the something we do, leads to a valuable 
 and important termination. Any thing rather 
 than the ignoble condition of that mind which 
 
 12 
 
132 
 
 feels the burden of itself^ — and which knows not 
 how to dispose of the weary lioiirs that hang so 
 oppressively upon it. But there is certainly a 
 ground of preference in the objects which in- 
 vite us to exertion — and better far to fix upon 
 that object which leaves happiness and satisfac- 
 tion behind it, than dissipate your vigour in a 
 pursuit which terminates in nothing — and where 
 the mere pleasure of occupation is the only cir- 
 cumstance to recommend it. When we talk of 
 the vanity of ambition, we do not propose to 
 extinguish the principles of our nature, but to 
 give them a more useful and exalted direction. 
 A state of hope and of activity is the element 
 of man — and all that we propose, is to withdraw 
 his hopes from the deceitful objects of fancy, 
 and to engage his activity in the pursuit of real 
 and permanent enjoyments. 
 
 Man must have an object to look forward to. 
 Without this incitement the mind languishes. 
 It is thrown out of its element, and, in this un- 
 natural suspension of its powers, it feels a dreari- 
 ness, and a discomfort, far more unsufferable 
 than it ever experienced from the visitations of 
 a real or positive calamity. If such an object 
 does not offer, he will create one for himself. 
 The mere possession of wealth, and of all its 
 
I S3 
 
 enjoyments, will not satisfy him. Possession 
 carries along with it the dulness of certainty, 
 and to escape from this dulness, he will trans- 
 form it into an uncertainty — he will embark it 
 in a hazardous speculation, or he will stake it at 
 the gaming-table j and from no other principle 
 than that he may exchange the lifelessness of 
 possession, for the animating sensations of hope 
 and of enterprise. It is a paradox in the moral 
 constitution of man ; but the experience of ev- 
 ery day confirms it — that man follows what he 
 knows to be a delusion, with as much eager- 
 ness as if he were assured of its reality. Put the 
 question to him, and he will tell you, that if you 
 were to lay before him all the profits which his 
 fancy anticipates, he would long as much as 
 ever for some new speculation ; or, in other 
 words, be as much dissatisfied as ever with the 
 position which he actually occupies — and yet, 
 with his eye perfectly open to this circumstance, 
 will he embark every power of his mind in the 
 chase of what he knows to be a mockery and a 
 phantom. 
 
 Now, to find fault with man for the pleasure 
 which he derives from the mere excitement of 
 a distant object, would be to find fault with the 
 constitution of his nature. It is not the general 
 
134 
 
 principle of his activity which I condemn. It 
 is the direction of that activity to a useless and 
 unprofitable object. The mere happiness of the 
 pursuit does not supersede the choice of the ob- 
 ject. Even though you were to keep religion 
 out of sight altogether, and bring the conduct 
 of man to the test of worldly principles, you 
 still presuppose a ground of preference in the 
 object. Why is the part of the sober and in- 
 dustrious tradesman preferred to that of the dis- 
 sipated gambler ? Both feel the delights of a 
 mind fully occupied with something to excite 
 and to animate. But the exertions of the one 
 lead to the safe enjoyment of a competency. 
 The exertions of the other lead to an object 
 which, at best, is precarious, and often land 
 you in the horrors of poverty and disgrace. 
 The mere pleasure of exertion is not enough to 
 justify every kind of it : you must look forward 
 to the object and the termination — and it is the 
 judicious choice of the object which, even in the 
 estimation of worldly wisdom, forms the great 
 point of distinction betwixt prudence and folly. 
 Now, all that I ask of you, is to extend the ap- 
 plication of the same principle to a life of reli- 
 gion. Compare the wisdom of the children of 
 light, with the wisdom of a blind and worldly 
 generation — the prudence of the Christian who 
 
135 
 
 labours for immortality, with the prudence of 
 him who labours for the objects of a vain and 
 perishable ambition. Conti'ast the littleness of 
 time, with the greatness of eternity — the restless 
 and unsatisfying pleasures of the world, with the 
 enjoyments of heaven so pure, so substantial, 
 so unfading — and tell me which plays the high- 
 er game — he, all whose anxiety is frittered away 
 on the pursuits of a scene that is ever shifting, 
 and ever transitory ; or he, who contemplates 
 the life of man in all its magnitude ; who acts 
 upon the wide and comprehensive survey of its 
 interests, and takes into his estimate the mighty 
 roll of innumerable ages. 
 
 There is no resting-place to be found on this 
 side of time. It is the doctrine of the Bible, and 
 all experience loudly proclaims it. I do not ask 
 you to listen to the complaints of the poor, or 
 the murmurs of the disappointed. Take your 
 lesson from the veriest favourite of fortune. 
 See him placed in a prouder eminence than he 
 ever aspired after. See him arrayed in brighter 
 colours than ever dazzled his early imagination. 
 See him surrounded with all the homage that 
 fame and flattery can bestow — and after you 
 have suffered this parading exterior to practise 
 its deceitfulness upon you, enter into his soli- 
 
136 
 
 tilde — mark his busy, restless, dissatisfied eye, 
 as it wanders uncertain on every object — enter 
 into his mind, and tell me if repose or enjoy- 
 ment be there ; see him the poor victim of cha- 
 grin and disquietude — mark his heart as it nau- 
 seates the splendour which encompasses him — 
 and tell me, if you have not learned, in the truest 
 and most affecting characters, that even in the 
 full tide of a triumphant ambition, " man la- 
 bours for the meat which perisheth, and for the 
 food which satisfieth not." 
 
 What meaneth this restlessness of our nature ? 
 What meaneth this unceasing activity which 
 longs for exercise and employment, even after 
 every object is gained, which first roused it to 
 enterprise? What mean those unmeasurable 
 longings, which no gratification can extinguish, 
 and which still continue to agitate the heart of 
 man, even in the fulness of plenty and of en- 
 joyment. If they mean any thing at all, they 
 mean, that all which this world can offer, is not 
 enough to fill up his capacity for happiness — that 
 time is too small for him, and he is born for 
 something beyond it — that the scene of his 
 earthly existence is too limited, and he is formed 
 to expatiate in a wider and a grander theatre — 
 that a nobler destiny is reserved for him — and 
 
137 
 
 that to accomplish the purpose of his being, he 
 must soar above the littleness of the world, and 
 aim at a loftier prize. 
 
 It forms the peculiar honour and excellence 
 of religion, that it accommodates to this proper- 
 ty of our nature — that it holds out a prize suited 
 to our high calling — that there is a grandeur in 
 its objects, which can. fill and surpass the ima- 
 gination — that it dignifies the present scene by 
 connecting it with eternity — that it reveals to 
 the eye of faith the glories of an unperishable 
 world — and how, from the high eminencies of 
 heaven, a cloud of witnesses are looking down 
 upon earth, not as a scene for the petty anxieties 
 of time, but as a splendid theatre for the ambi- 
 tion of immortal spirits. 
 
SERMON Y. 
 
 THE TRANSITORY NATURE OF VISIBLE THINGS. 
 
 2 CORINTHIANS IV. 18. 
 " The things which are seen are temporal." 
 
 The assertion that the things which are seen are 
 temporal, holds true in the absolute and univer- 
 sal sense of it. They had a beginning, and they 
 will have an end. Should we go upwards through 
 the stream of ages that are past, we come to a 
 time when they were not. Should we go onward 
 through the stream of ages that are before us, 
 we come to a time when they will be no more. 
 It is indeed a most mysterious flight which the 
 imagination ventures upon, when it goes back 
 to the eternity that is behind us — wlien it mounts 
 its ascending way through the millions and the 
 millions of years that are already gone through, 
 and stop where it may, it finds the line of its 
 
139 
 
 march always lengthening beyond it, and losing 
 itself in the obscurity of as far removed a dis- 
 tance as ever. It soon reaches the commence- 
 ment of visible things, or that point in its pro- 
 gress when God made the heavens and the earth. 
 They had a beginning, but God had none ; and 
 what a wonderful field for the fancy to expa- 
 tiate on, when we get above the era of created 
 worlds, and think of that period when, in re- 
 spect of all that is visible, the immensity around 
 us was one vast and unpeopled solitude. But 
 God was there in his dwelling place, for it 
 is said of him, that he inhabits eternity; and the 
 Son of God was there, for we read of the glory 
 which he had with the Father before the world 
 was. The mind cannot sustain itself under the 
 burden of these lofty contemplations. It can- 
 not lift the curtain which shrouds the past eter- 
 nity of God. But it is good for the soul to be 
 humbled under a sense of its incapacity. It is 
 good to realize the impression which too often 
 abandons us, that he made us, and not we our- 
 selves. It is good to feel how all that is tempo- 
 ral lies in passive and prostrate subordination be- 
 fore the will of the uncreated God. It is good 
 to know how little a portion it is that we see of 
 him and of his mysterious ways. It is good to 
 lie at the feet of his awful and unknown majesty 
 
140 
 
 — alid while secret things belong to him, it is 
 good to bring with us all the helplessness and 
 docility of children to those revealed lessons 
 which belong to us and to our children. 
 
 But this is not the sense in which the tempo- 
 ral nature of visible things is taken up by the 
 Apostle. It is not that there is a time past in 
 which they did not exist — but that there is a 
 time to come in which they will exist no more. 
 He calls them temporal, because the time and 
 the duration of their existence will have an end. 
 His eye is full upon futurity. It is the passing 
 away of visible things in the time that is to come, 
 and the ever during nature of invisible things 
 through the eternity that is to come, which the 
 Apostle is contemplating. Now, on this one 
 point we say nothing about the positive annihila- 
 tion of the matter of visible things. There is 
 reason for believing, that some of the matter of 
 our present bodies may exist in those more glo- 
 rified and transformed bodies which we are af- 
 terwards to occupy. And for any thing we 
 know, the matter of the present world, and of 
 the present system may exist in those new hea- 
 vens and that new earth, wherein dwelleth righ- 
 teousness. There may be a transfiguration of 
 matter without a destruction of it — and, there- 
 
141 
 
 fore it is, that when we assert with the Apostle 
 in the text, how things seen are temporal, we 
 shall not say more than that the substance of 
 these things, if not consigned back again to the 
 nothing from which' tliey had emerged, will be 
 employed in the formation of other things total- 
 ly different — that the change will be so great, 
 as that all old things may be said to have passed 
 away, and all things to become new — that after 
 the wreck of the last conflagration, the desolat- 
 ed scene will be repeopled with other objects ; 
 the righteous will live in another world, and the 
 eye of the glorified body will open on another 
 field of contemplation from that which is now 
 visible around us. 
 
 Now, in this sense of the word temporal, the 
 assertion of my text may be carried round to all 
 that is visible. Even those objects which men 
 are most apt to count upon as unperishable, be- 
 cause, without any sensible decay, they have 
 stood the lapse of many ages, will not weather 
 the lapse of eternity. This earth will be burnt 
 up. The light of yonder sun will be extinguish- 
 ed. These stars will cease from their twinkling. 
 The heavens will pass away as a scroll — and as 
 to those solid and enormous masses which, like 
 the firm world we tread upon, roll in mighty 
 
142 
 
 circuit througli the immensity around us, it 
 seems tlie solemn language of revelation of 
 one and all of them, tliat from the face of him 
 who sitteth on the throne, the earth and the 
 heavens will fly away, and there will be found 
 no place for them. 
 
 Even apart from the Bible, the eye of obser- 
 vation can witness, in some of the hardest and 
 firmest materials of the present system, the evi- 
 dence of its approaching dissolution. What 
 more striking, for example, than the natural 
 changes which take place on the surface of the 
 world, and which prove that the strongest of 
 Nature's elements must, at last, yield to the 
 operation of time and of decay — that yonder 
 towering mountain, though propped by the 
 rocky battlements which surround it, must at 
 last sink under the power of corruption — that 
 every year brings it nearer to its end — that at this 
 moment, it is wasting silently away, and letting 
 itself down from the lofty eminence which it now 
 occupies — that the torrent which falls from its 
 side never ceases to consume its substance, and 
 to carry it off in the form of sediment to the 
 ocean — that the frost which assails it in win- 
 ter loosens the solid rock, detaches it in pieces 
 from the main precipice, and makes it fall in 
 
143 
 
 fragments to its base — that the power of the 
 weather scales off the most flinty materials, and 
 that the wind of heaven scatters them in dust 
 over the surrounding country — that even though 
 not anticipated by the sudden and awful con- 
 vulsions of the day of God's wrath, nature con- 
 tains within itself the rudiments of decay — that 
 every hill must be levelled with the plains, and 
 every plain be swept away by the constant opera- 
 tion of the rivers which run through it — and 
 that, unless renewed by the hand of the Al- 
 mighty, the earth on which we are now treading 
 must disappear in the mighty roll of ages and of 
 centuries. We cannot take our flight to other 
 worlds, or have a near view of the changes to 
 which they are liable. But surely if this world, 
 which, with its mighty apparatus of continents 
 and islands, looks so healthful and so firm after 
 the wear of many centuries, is posting visibly to 
 its end, we may be prepared to believe that the 
 principles of destruction are also at work in 
 other provinces of the visible creation — and that 
 though of old God laid the foundation of the 
 earth, and the heavens are the work of his 
 hands, yet they shall perish ; yea, all of them 
 shall wax old like a garment, and as a vesture 
 shall he change them, and they shall be changed. 
 
144 
 
 We should be out of place in all this style of 
 observation, did we not follow it up with the sen- 
 timent of the Psalmist, " These shall perish, 
 but thou shalt endure ; for thou art the same, 
 and thy years have no end." What a lofty 
 conception does it give us of the majesty of 
 God, when we think how he sits above, and pre- 
 sides in high authority over this mighty series 
 of changes — when after sinking under our at- 
 tempts to trace him through the eternity that is 
 behind, we look on the present system of things, 
 and are taught to believe that it is but a single 
 step in the march of his grand administrations 
 through the eternity that is before us — when we 
 think of this goodly universe, summoned into 
 being to serve some temporary evolution of his 
 great and mysterious plan — when we think of the 
 time when it shall be broken up, and out of its 
 disordered fragments other scenes and other 
 systems shall emerge — surely, when fatigued 
 with the vastness of these contemplations, it 
 well becomes us to do the homage of our reve- 
 rence and wonder to the one Spirit which con-» 
 ceives and animates the whole, and to the one 
 noble design which runs through all its fluctua- 
 tions. 
 
 But there is another way in which the ob- 
 
145 
 
 jects that are seen are temporal. The object 
 may not merely be removed from us, but we 
 may be removed from the object. The disap- 
 pearance of this earth, and of these heavens 
 from us, we look upon through the dimness of 
 a far-placed futurity. It is an event, therefore, 
 which may regale our imagination j which may 
 lift our mind by its sublimity ; which may dis- 
 engage us in the calm hour of meditation from 
 the littleness of life, and of its cares ; and which 
 may even throw a clearness and a solemnity 
 over our intercourse with God. But such an 
 event as this does not come home upon our 
 hearts with the urgency of a personal interest. 
 It does not carry along with it the excitement 
 which lies in the nearness of an immediate con- 
 cern. It does not fall with such vivacity upon 
 our conceptions, as practically to tell on our pur- 
 suits, or any of our purposes. It may elevate 
 and solemnize us, but this effect is perfectly 
 consistent with its having as little influence on 
 the walk of the living, and the moving, and the 
 acting man, as a dream of poetry. The preacher 
 may think that he has done great things with 
 his eloquence — and the hearers may think that 
 great things have been done upon them — for 
 they felt a fine glow of emotion, when they 
 heard of God sitting in the majesty of his high 
 
 K 
 
146 
 
 counsels, over the progress and the destiny of 
 created things. But the truth is, my brethren, 
 that all this kindling of devotion which is felt 
 upon the contemplation of his greatness, may 
 exist in the same bosom, with an utter distaste 
 for the holiness of his character ; with an entire 
 alienation of the heart and of the habits from 
 the obedience of his law ; and above all, with 
 a most nauseous and invincible contempt for the 
 spiritualities of that revelation, in which he has 
 actually made known his will and his ways to 
 us. The devotion of mere taste is one thing — 
 the devotion of principle is another. And as 
 surely as a man may weep over the elegant suf- 
 ferings of poetry, yet add to the real sufferings 
 of life by peevishness in his family, and inso- 
 lence among his neighbours — so, surely may a 
 man be wakened to rapture by the magnificence 
 of God, while his life is deformed by its rebel- 
 lions, and his heart rankles with all the foulness 
 of idolatry against him. 
 
 Well, then, let us try the other way of bring- 
 ing the temporal nature of visible things to bear 
 upon your interests. It is true, that this earth, 
 and these heavens, will at length disappear ; but 
 they may outlive our posterity for many genera- 
 tions. However, if they disappear not from us. 
 
147 
 
 we most certainly shall disappear from them. 
 They will soon cease to be any thing to you — 
 and though the splendour and variety of all 
 that is visible around us, should last for thou- 
 sands of centuries, your eyes will soon be closed 
 upon them. The time is coming when this 
 goodly scene shall reach its positive consumma- 
 tion. But, in all likelihood, the time is coming 
 much sooner, when you shall resign the breath 
 of your nostrils, and bid a final adieu to every 
 thing around you. Let this earth, and these 
 heavens be as enduring as they may, to you they 
 are fugitive as vanity. Time, with its mighty 
 strides, will soon reach a future generation, and 
 leave the present in death and in forgetfulness 
 behind it. The grave will close upon every 
 one of you, and that is the dark and the silent 
 cavern where no voice is heard, and the light of 
 the sun never enters. 
 
 But more than this. Though we live too 
 short a time to see the great changes which 
 are carrying on in the universe, we live long 
 enough to see many of its changes — and such 
 changes too as are best fitted to warn and to 
 teach us ; even the changes which take place 
 in society, made up of human beings as frail 
 and as fugitive as ourselves. Death moves us 
 
 K2 
 
148 
 
 away from many of those objects which are 
 seen and temporal — but we live long enough to 
 see many of these objects moved away from us 
 — to see acquaintances falling every year — to 
 see families broken up by the rough and un- 
 sparing hand of death — to see houses and neigh- 
 bourhoods shifting - their inhabitants — to see a 
 new race, and a new generation — and, whether 
 in church or in market, to see unceasing chan- 
 ges in the faces of the people who repair to 
 them. We know well, that there is a poetic me- 
 lancholy inspired by such a picture as this, 
 which is altogether unfruitful — and that totally 
 apart from religion, a man may give way to the 
 luxury of tears, when he thinks how friends 
 drop away from him — how every year brings 
 along with it some sad addition to the registers 
 of death — how the kind and hospitable mansion 
 is left without a tenant — and how, when you 
 knock at a neighbour's door, you find that he 
 who welcomed you, and made you happy, is no 
 longer there. O that we could impress by all 
 this, a salutary direction on the fears and on the 
 consciences of individuals — that we could give 
 them a living impression of that coming day, 
 when they shall severally share in the general 
 wreck of the species — when each of you shall 
 be one of the many whom the men of the next 
 
149 
 
 generation may remember to have lived in yon- 
 der street, or laboured in yonder manufactory — 
 when they shall speak of you, just as you speak 
 of the men of the former generation — who, 
 when they died, had a few tears dropped over 
 their memory, and for a few years will still con- 
 tinue to be talked of. O could we succeed in 
 giving you a real and living impression of all 
 this ; and then may we hope to carry the lesson 
 of John the Baptist with energy to your fears, 
 " Flee from the coming wrath." But there is 
 something so very deceiving in the progress of 
 time. Its progress is so gradual. To-day is so 
 like yesterday that we are not sensible of its de- 
 parture. We should make head against this de- 
 lusion. We should turn to personal account 
 every example of change or of mortality. When 
 the clock strikes, it should remind you of the 
 dying hour. When you hear the sound of the 
 funeral bell, you should think, that in a little 
 time it will perform for you the same office. 
 When you wake in the morning, you should 
 think that there has been the addition of ano- 
 ther day to the life that is past, and the sub- 
 traction of another day from the remainder of 
 your journey. When the shades of the evening 
 fall around you, you should think of the stea- 
 dy and invariable progress of time — how the 
 
150 
 
 sun moves and moves till it will see you out — 
 and how it will continue to move after you die, 
 and see out your children's children to the lat- 
 est generations. Every thing around us should 
 impress the mutability of human affairs. An 
 acquaintance dies — you will soon follow him. 
 A family moves from the neighbourhood — learn 
 that the works of man are given to change. 
 New families succeed — sit loose to the world, 
 and withdraw your affections from its unstable 
 and fluctuating interests. Time is rapid, though 
 we observe not its rapidity. The days that are 
 past appear like the twinkling of a vision. The 
 days that are to come will soon have a period, 
 and will appear to have performed their course 
 with equal rapidity. We talk of our fathers and 
 our grandfathers, who figured their day in the 
 theatre of the world. In a little time, we will 
 be the ancestors of a future age. Posterity will 
 talk of us as of the men that are gone — and our 
 remembrance will soon depart from the face of 
 the country. When we attend the burial of an 
 acquaintance, we see the bones of the men of 
 other times — in a few years, our bodies will be 
 mangled by the power of corruption, and be 
 thrown up in loose and scattered fragments 
 among the earth of the new made grave. When 
 we wander among the tombstones of the church- 
 
151 
 
 yard, we can scarcely follow the mutilated let- 
 ters that compose the simple story of the inha- 
 bitant below. In a little time, and the tomb 
 that covers us will moulder by the power of the 
 seasons — and the letters will be eaten away — 
 and the story that was to perpetuate our re- 
 membrance, will elude the gaze of some future 
 inquirer. 
 
 We know that time is short, but none of us 
 know how short. We know that it will not go 
 beyond a certain limit of years; but none of 
 us know how small the number of years, or 
 months, or days may be. For death is at work 
 upon all ages. The fever of a few days may 
 hurry the likeliest of us all from this land of 
 mortality. The cold of a few weeks may settle 
 into some lingering but irrecoverable disease. 
 In one instant the blood of him who has the pro- 
 mise of many years, may cease its circulation. 
 Accident may assail us. A slight fall may pre- 
 cipitate us into eternity. An exposure to rain 
 may lay us on the bed of our last sickness, from 
 which we are never more to rise. A little spark 
 may kindle the midnight conflagration, which 
 lays a house and its inhabitants in ashes. A 
 stroke of lightning may arrest the current of 
 life in a twinkling. A gust of wind may over- 
 
152 
 
 turn the vessel, and lay the unwary passenger in 
 a watery grave. A thousand dangers beset us 
 on the slippery path of this world ; and no age 
 is exempted from them — and from the infant 
 that hangs on its mother's bosom, to the old 
 man who sinks under the decrepitude of years, 
 we see death in all its woeful and affecting va- 
 rieties. 
 
 You may think it strange — but even still we 
 fear, we may have done little in the way of send- 
 ing a fruitful impression into your consciences. 
 We are too well aware of the distinction between 
 seriousness of feeling, and seriousness of prin- 
 ciple, to think that upon the strength of any 
 such moving representation as we are now indul- 
 ging in, we shall be able to dissipate that con- 
 founded spell which chains you to the world, to 
 reclaim your wandering affections, or to send 
 you back to your week-day business more pure, 
 and more heavenly. But sure we are you ought 
 to be convinced, how that all which binds you 
 so cleavingly to the dust is infatuation and vani- 
 ty; that there is something most lamentably 
 wrong in your being carried away by the delu- 
 sions of time — and this is a conviction which 
 should make you feel restless and dissatisfied. 
 We are well aware, that it is not human eloquence. 
 
153 
 
 or human illustration, that can accomplish a vic- 
 tory over the obstinate principles of human cor- 
 ruption — and therefore it is that we feel as if we 
 did not advance aright through a single step of a 
 sermon, unless we look for the influences of that 
 mighty Spirit, who alone is able to enlighten 
 and arrest you — and may employ even so hum- 
 ble an instrument as the voice of a fellow mor- 
 tal, to send into your heart the inspiration of un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 I now shortly insist on the truth, that the 
 things which are not seen are eternal. No 
 man hath seen God at any time, and he is 
 eternal. It is said of Christ, " whom having 
 not seen, we love, and he is the same to- 
 day, yesterday, and for ever." It is said of 
 the Spirit, that, like the wind of heaven, he 
 eludes the observation, and no man can tell of 
 him whence he cometh, or whither he goeth — 
 and he is called the Eternal Spirit, through 
 whom the Son offered himself up without spot 
 unto God. We are quite aware, that the idea 
 suggested by the eternal things which are spo- 
 ken of in our text, is heaven, with all its cir- 
 cumstances of splendour and enjoyment. This 
 is an object which, even on the principles of 
 taste, we take a delight in contemplating : and 
 
154 
 
 it is also an object set before us in the Scrip- 
 tures, though with a very sparing and reserved 
 hand. All the descriptions we have of heaven 
 there, are general, very general. We read of the 
 beauty of the heavenly crown, of the unfading na- 
 ture of the heavenly inheritance, of the splendour 
 of the heavenly city — and these have been seized 
 upon by men of imagination, who, in the con- 
 struction of their fancied paradise, have embel- 
 lished it with every image of peace, and bliss, 
 and loveliness ; and, at all events, have thrown 
 over it that most kindling of all conceptions, 
 the magnificence of eternity. Now, such a pic- 
 ture as this has the certain effect of ministering 
 delight to every glowing and susceptible imagi- 
 nation. And here lies the deep-laid delusion, 
 which we have occasionally hinted at. A man 
 listens, in the first instance, to a pathetic and 
 high wrought narrative on the vanities of time — 
 and it touches him even to the tenderness of 
 tears. He looks, m the second instance, to the 
 fiicinating perspective of another scene, rising 
 in all the glories of immortality from the dark 
 ruins of the tomb, and he feels within him all 
 those ravishments of fancy, which any vision of 
 united grandeur and loveliness would inspire. 
 Take these two together, and you have a man 
 weeping over the transient vanities of an ever- 
 
155 
 
 shifting world, and mixing with all this softness, 
 an elevation of thought and of prospect, as he 
 looks through the vista of a futurity, losing it- 
 self in the mighty range of thousands and thou- 
 sands of centuries. And at this point the delu- 
 sion comes in, that here is a man who is all that 
 religion would have him to be — a man weaned 
 from the littleness of the paltry scene that is 
 around him — soaring high above all the evanes- 
 cence of things present, and things sensible — 
 and transferring every affection of his soul to the 
 durabilities of a pure and immortal region. It 
 were better if this high state of occasional im- 
 pressment on the matters of time and of eter- 
 nity, had only the effect of imposing the false- 
 hood on others, that the man who was so touch- 
 ed and so transported, had on that single ac- 
 count the temper of a candidate for heaven. 
 But the falsehood takes possession of his own 
 heart. The man is pleased with his emotions 
 and his tears — and the interpretation he puts up- 
 on them is, that they come out of the fulness 
 of a heart all alive to religion, and sensibly af- 
 fected with its charms, and its seriousness, and 
 its principle. Now, my brethren, I will venture 
 to say, that there may be a world of all this kind 
 of enthusiasm, with the very man who is not 
 moving a single step towards that blessed eter- 
 
156 
 
 nity, over which his fancy dehghts to expatiate. 
 The moving representation of the preacher 
 may be listened to as a pleasant song — and 
 the entertained hearer return to all the invet- 
 erate habits of one of the children of this world. 
 It is this, my brethren, which makes me fear 
 that a power of deceitftdness may accompany 
 the eloquence of the pulpit — that the wisdom of 
 words may defeat the great object of a practical 
 work upon the conscience — that a something 
 short of a real business change in the heart, 
 and in the principles of acting, may satisfy 
 the man who listens, and admires, and resigns 
 his every feeling to tlie magic of an impressive 
 description — that, strangely compounded beings 
 as we are, broken loose from God, and proving 
 it by the habitual voidness of our hearts to a 
 sense of his authority, and of his will ; that blind 
 to the realities of another world, and slaves to the 
 wretched infatuation which makes us cleave 
 with the full bent of our affections to the one by 
 which we are visibly and immediately surround- 
 ed ; that utterly unable, by nature, to live above 
 the present scene, while its cares, and its in- 
 terests are plying us every hour with their ur- 
 gency ; that the prey of evil passions which 
 darken and distract the inner man, and throw 
 us at a wider distance from the holy Being 
 
157 
 
 who forbids the indulgence of them ; and yet 
 with all this weight of corruption about us, hav- 
 ing minds that can seize the vastness of some 
 great conception, and can therefore rejoice in 
 the expanding loftiness of its own thoughts, as 
 it dwells on the wonders of eternity; and 
 having hearts that can move to the impulse of a 
 tender consideration, and can, therefore, sad- 
 den into melancholy at the dark picture of death, 
 and its unrelenting cruelties ; and having fan- 
 cies that can brighten to the cheerful colouring 
 of some pleasing and hopeful representation, 
 and can, therefore, be soothed and animated 
 when some sketch is laid before it of a pious 
 family emerging from a common sepulchre, and 
 on the morning of their joyful resurrection, for- 
 getting all the sorrows and separations of the 
 dark world that has now rolled over them — O 
 my brethren, we fear it, we greatly fear it, that 
 while busied with topics such as these, many a 
 hearer may w^eep, or be elevated, or take plea- 
 sure in the touching imagery that is made to 
 play around him, while the dust of this perish- 
 able earth is all that his soul cleaves to — and its 
 cheating vanities are all that his heart cares for, 
 or his footsteps follow after. 
 
 The thing is not merely possible — but we see 
 
158 
 
 in it a stamp of likelihood to all that experience 
 tells us of the nature or the habitudes of man. 
 Is there no such thing as his having a taste for 
 the beauties of landscape, and, at the same 
 time, turning with disgust from what he calls 
 the methodism of peculiar Christianity ? Might 
 not he be an admirer of poetry, and, at the same 
 time, nauseate with his whole heart, the doc- 
 trine and the language of the New Testament ? 
 Might not he have a fancy that can be regaled 
 by some fair and well-formed vision of immor- 
 tality — and, at the same time, have no prac- 
 tical hardihood whatever for the exercise of la- 
 bouring in the prescribed way after the meat 
 that endureth ? Surely, surely, this is all very 
 possible — and it is just as possible, and many we 
 believe to be the instances we have of it in real 
 life, when an eloquent description of heaven is 
 exquisitely felt, and wakens in the bosom the 
 raptures of the sincerest admiration, among 
 those who feel an utter repugnancy to the hea- 
 ven of the Bible — and are not moving a single 
 inch through the narrowness of the path which 
 leads to it. 
 
SERMON VI. 
 
 ON THE UNIVERSALITY OF SPIRITUAL BLINDNESS. 
 
 ISAIAH XXIX. 9—12. 
 
 " Stay yourselves, and wonder ; cry ye out, and cry : they 
 are drunken, but not with wine ; they stagger, but not 
 with strong drink. For the Lord hath poured out upon 
 you the spirit of deep sleep, and hath closed your 
 eyes: the prophets and your rulers, the seers hath he 
 covered. And the vision of all is become unto you 
 as the words of a book that is sealed, which men deliver 
 to one that is learned, saying. Read this, I pray thee : 
 and he saith, 1 cannot; for it is sealed. And the book is 
 delivered to him that is not learned, saying, Read this, I 
 pray thee : and he saith, I am not learned." 
 
 What is affirmed in these verses of a vision and 
 prophecy, holds so strikingly true of God's 
 general revelation to the world, that we deem 
 the lesson contained in them to be not of partial, 
 but permanent application — and we therefore 
 proceed immediately, to the task of addressing 
 this lesson, both to the learned and unlearned of 
 the present day. 
 
160 
 
 Let me, in the first place, dwell for a little on 
 the complaints which are uttered by these two 
 classes respecting the hidden and impenetrable 
 character of the book of God*s communication 
 — and, in the second place, try to explain the 
 nature of that sleep which is upon both, and 
 in virtue of which both are alike in a state of 
 practical blindness to the realities of the divine 
 word — and, in the third place, raise a short ap- 
 plication upon the whole argument. 
 
 I. There is a complaint uttered in these verses, 
 first by the learned — and, secondly, by the un- 
 learned — and we shall consider each of them in 
 order. 
 
 1st, If a book be closed down by a material 
 seal, then, till that seal be broken, there lies a 
 material obstacle even in the way of him who 
 is able to read the contents of it. And we 
 have no doubt, that the possession of the art 
 of reading would form the most visible and pro- 
 minent distinction, between the learned and the 
 unlearned in the days of Isaiah. But it no 
 longer, at least in our country, forms the dis- 
 tinction between these two classes. Many a 
 man who can barely read in these days, will 
 still say, and say with truth, that he is not 
 
161 
 
 learned. We must now tlierefore strike a higlier 
 mark of distinction — and, in reference to the 
 Bible, such a mark can be specified. This 
 book is often made the subject of a much higher 
 exercise of scholarship than the mere reading 
 of it. It may be read in its original languages. 
 It may be the theme of many a laborious com- 
 mentary. The light of contemporaneous his- 
 tory may be made to shine upon it, by the dili- 
 gence of an exploring antiquarian. Those 
 powers and habits of criticism, which are of so 
 much avail towards the successful elucidation of 
 the mind and meaning of other authors, may 
 all be transferred to that volume of which God 
 is the author — and what, after all this, it may 
 be asked, is the seal or the obstacle which stands 
 in the way of learned men of our present gen- 
 eration ? How is it that any of them can now 
 join in the complaint of their predecessors, in 
 the days of Isaiah — and say, I cannot read this 
 book because it is sealed ? Or, is there any re- 
 maining hindrance still, in virtue of which, 
 the critics, and the grammarians, and the ac- 
 complished theologians of our age, are unable 
 to reach the real and effective understanding of 
 the words of this prophecy ? 
 
 Yes, my brethren, there is such an obstruc- 
 
 L 
 
162 
 
 tion as you now inquire after — and it is wonder- 
 ful to tell, how little the mere erudition of 
 Scripture helps the real discernment of Scrip- 
 ture — how it may be said, of many of its most 
 classical expounders, that though having eyes, 
 they see not, and though having ears, they hear 
 not — how doctrine, which if actually perceived 
 and credited, would bring the realities of an 
 eternal world to bear with effect upon their con- 
 duct, is, operatively speaking, just as weak as if 
 they did not apprehend it even in its literal sig- 
 nificancy — how the mere verbiage of the matter 
 is all in which they appear to be conversant, 
 without any actual hold of sight, or of convic- 
 tion, on the substance of the matter — how dex- 
 terously they can play at logic with the terms of 
 the communication, and how dimly and defi- 
 ciently they apprehend the truths of it — how, 
 after having exhausted the uttermost resources 
 of scholarship on the attempt of forcing an en- 
 trance into the region of spiritual manifesta- 
 tion, they only find themselves labouring at a 
 threshold of height and of difficulty, which 
 they cannot scale — how, as if struck with 
 blindness, like the men of Sodom, they weary 
 themselves in vain to find the door — and after 
 having reared their stately argumentations about 
 the message of peace, they have no peace ; about 
 
163 
 
 the word of faith, they have no faith; about 
 the doctrine of godliness, they have no godli- 
 ness. 
 
 And it is not enough to say, that all this is 
 not due to the want of discernment, but to the 
 want of power — for the power lies in the truth 
 — and the truth has only to be seen or believed, 
 that it may have the power. The reflection may 
 never have occurred to you — but it is not the 
 less just on that account, how little of actual 
 faith there is in the world. Many call it a mere 
 want of impression. We call it a want of belief. 
 Did we really believe, that there was a God in 
 existence — did we really believe, that with the 
 eye of a deeply interested judge, he was now 
 scrutinizing all the propensities of our heart, 
 and appreciating, with a view to future retri- 
 bution, all the actions of our history — did we 
 really believe, that sin was to him that hateful 
 enemy with which he could keep no terms, and 
 to which he could give no quarter ; and that 
 with every individual who had fallen into it, 
 either in its guilt it must be expiated, and in its 
 presence be finally done away, or the burden of 
 a righteous vengeance would rest upon his per- 
 son through eternity — did we really believe, 
 that in these circumstances of deepest urgency, 
 
 L2 
 
164 
 
 a way of redemption has been devised, and that 
 to all whom the tidings of it had reached the of- 
 fer of deliverance, both from sin in its condem- 
 nation, and from sin in its power, was made, 
 through the atoning blood and sanctifying spi- 
 rit of a complete and omnipotent Saviour — did 
 we really believe, that such an offer was lying 
 at the door of every individual, and that his 
 reliance upon its honesty constituted his accep- 
 tance of the offer — did we really believe, that 
 throughout the fugitive period of our abode in 
 this world, which was so soon to pass away, 
 God in Christ was beseeching every one of us 
 to reconciliation ; and even now, as if at the 
 place of breaking forth, was ready to begin that 
 great renewing process, whereby there is made 
 a commencement of holiness upon earth, and a 
 consummation both of holiness and happiness in 
 heaven — were these, which we all know to be 
 the truths of Christianity, actually believed, the 
 power of them upon our hearts would come, and 
 come immediately, in the train of the percep- 
 tion of them by our understandings. If we re- 
 main unquickened by the utterance of them, it 
 is because, in the true sense of the term, we re- 
 main unconvinced by them. The utterance of 
 them may be heard as a very pleasant song — 
 and the representation of them be viewed as a 
 
165 
 
 vely lovely picture — but the force of a felt and 
 present reality is wanting to the whole demon- 
 stration. And all that reason can do is to adjust 
 the steps of the demonstration — and all that elo- 
 quence can do, is to pour forth the utterance 
 — and all that conception can do is to furnish 
 its forms and its colouring to the picture. And 
 after learning has thus lavished on the task the 
 whole copiousness of its manifold ingredients, 
 may we behold in the person of its proudest vo- 
 tary, that his Christianity to him is nothing bet- 
 ter than an aerial phantom— ^that it is of as lit- 
 tle operation in disposting sense, and nature, 
 and ungodliness from his heart, as if it were 
 but a nonentity, or a name — that to his eye, a 
 visionary dimness hangs over the whole subject 
 matter of the testimony of the Bible — and still 
 untranslated into the life, and the substance, and 
 the reality of these things, he may join in the 
 complaint of the text, as if they lay sealed in 
 deepest obscurity from his contemplation. 
 
 Make what you like in the way of argument, 
 of so many simple conceptions, if the concep- 
 tions themselves do not carry the impress of vi- 
 vidness and reality along with them — the rea- 
 soning, of which they form the materials, may 
 be altogether faultless — and the doctrine in 
 
166 
 
 which it terminates, be held forth as altogether 
 impregnable — yet will it share in all the obscu- 
 rity which attaches to the primary elements of 
 its formation — and while nature can manage the 
 logical process which leads from the first simple 
 ideas, to the idtimate and made-out conclusion, 
 she cannot rid herself of the dimness in which, 
 to her unrenewed eye, the former stand invested ; 
 and she must, therefore, leave the latter in 
 equal dimness. 
 
 The learned just labour as helplessly under 
 a want of an impression of the reality of this 
 whole matter, as the unlearned — and if this be 
 true of those among them, who, with learning 
 and nothing more, have actually tried to deci- 
 pher the meaning of God's communication — if 
 this be true of many a priest and many a theo- 
 logian, with whom Christianity is a science, and 
 the study of the Bible is the labour and the busi- 
 ness of their profession — what can we expect of 
 those among the learned, who, in the pursuits 
 of a secular philosophy, never enter into con- 
 tact with the Bible, either in its doctrine or in 
 its language, except when it is obtruded on 
 them ? Little do they know of our men of gene- 
 ral literature, who have not observed the utter 
 listlessness, if not the strong and active contempt 
 
167 
 
 wherewith many of them hear the doctrine of 
 the book of God*s counsel uttered in the phra- 
 seology of that book — how, in truth, their secret 
 impression of the whole matter is, that it is a 
 piece of impenetrable mysticism — how in their 
 eyes, there is a cast of obscurity over all the pe- 
 culiarities of the Gospel — and if asked to give 
 their attention thereto, they promptly repel the 
 imposition under the feeling of a hopeless and 
 insuperable darkness, which sits in obsolete cha- 
 racters over the entire face of the evangelical 
 record. There may be bright and cheering ex- 
 amples to the contrary — of men in the highest 
 of our literary walks, who, under a peculiar 
 teaching, have learned what they never learned 
 from all the lessons of the academy. But apart 
 from this peculiar influence, be assured that 
 learning is of little avail. The sacred page may 
 wear as hieroglyphical an aspect to the lettered, 
 as to the unlettered. It lies not with any of the 
 powers or processes of ordinary education to 
 dissipate that blindness, wherewith the god of 
 this world hath blinded the mind of him who 
 believes not. To make the wisdom of the New 
 Testament his wisdom, and its spirit his spirit, 
 and its language his best-loved and best- under- 
 stood language, there must be a higher influ- 
 ence upon the mind, than what lies in human 
 
168 
 
 art, or in human explanation. And till this 
 is brought to pass, the doctrine of the atone- 
 ment, and the doctrine of regeneration, and the 
 doctrine of fellowship with the Father and the 
 Son, and the doctrine of a believer's progres- 
 sive holiness, under the moral and spiritual 
 power of the truth as it is in Jesus, will, as to 
 his own personal experience of its meaning, re- 
 main so many empty sounds, or so many deep 
 and hidden mysteries — and just as effectually, 
 as if the book were held together by an iron 
 clasp, which he has not strength to unclose, 
 may he say of the same book lying open and le- 
 gible before him, that he cannot read it, because 
 it is sealed. 
 
 2. So much for the complaint of the learned; 
 and as for the complaint of the unlearned, it 
 happily, in the literal sense of it, is not applica- 
 ble to the great majority of our immediate 
 countrymen, even in the very humblest walks of 
 society. They can read the book. They can 
 put together its letters, and pronounce its words, 
 and make a daily exercise, if they choose, of 
 one or more of its chapters. They have learn- 
 ing enough to carry them thus far — but not so 
 far as to keep them from joining the unlearned 
 ol" mv text in the complaint that I am not 
 
169 
 
 learned. They cannot for example estimate the 
 criticism of many an expounder. They have not 
 time to traverse the weary extent of many a pon- 
 derous and elaborate commentary. And those 
 who have had much of Christian intercourse with 
 the poor, must have remarked the effect which 
 their sense of this inferiority has upon many 
 an imagination — how it is felt by not a few of 
 them, that they labour under a hopeless disad- 
 vantage, because they want the opportunities 
 of a higher and a more artificial scholarship — 
 and that if they could only get nearer to their 
 teachers in respect of literary attainment, they 
 would be nearer that wisdom which is unto sal- 
 vation — and that though they can read the book 
 in the plainest sense of the term, they cannot 
 read it with any saving or salutary effect, just 
 because, in the language of my text, they say, 
 that they are not learned. And thus it is, that 
 the man who has the literary accomplishments 
 after which they sigh, meets with two distinct 
 exhibitions to instruct and to humble him. The 
 first is, when the poor look up to him as to one 
 who, because he has the scholarship of Christi- 
 anity, must have the saving knowledge of it 
 also — when he intimately feels that the luminary 
 of science may shine full upon him, while not 
 
170 
 
 one ray to cheer or to enligliten, may pass in- 
 to his heart from the luminary of the Gospel. 
 The second is, when he observes, among the 
 poor, those who live, and who rejoice under the 
 power of a revelation, to which himself is a 
 stranger — those who can discern a beauty and an 
 evidence in the doctrine of Christ, which have 
 never beamed with full radiance upon his own 
 understanding — those whose feelings and whose 
 experience move in a consonancy with the truths 
 of the New Testament, which, in his own expe- 
 rience, he never felt — those whose daily path be- 
 speaks the guidance of a wisdom which never 
 yet shone upon his own way, and who are blest 
 with a peace and a joy in believing, which have 
 never found entrance into his own desolate bo- 
 som. 
 
 This gives us a new sight of the peculiarity 
 which lies in the Bible — and by which it stands 
 distinguished from all other compositions. There 
 may remain a seal upon its meaning to him, who 
 in the ordinary sense of the term, is learned, 
 while the seal may be removed, and the meaning 
 lie open as the light of day to him, who in the 
 same sense is unlearned. It may come with all 
 the force of a felt and perceived reality upon the 
 
171 
 
 one, while the reality is not perceived, and 
 therefore not felt by the other. To the man of 
 literary accomplishment, the report of eternal 
 things may reach no other influence than that 
 of a sound upon his ear, or of a shadowy repre- 
 sentation upon the eye of his fancy. To the 
 unlettered workman, it may reach an influence 
 as substantial and as practical, as the report of 
 to-morrow's work, or to-morrow's wages. The 
 latter may be led to shape his actual measures 
 by the terms of the message of revelation. The 
 former may lavish all the powers of science, and 
 subtlety, and speculation upon the ^rms — and 
 yet be as untouched in his personal habits by 
 all the information which it lays before him, as 
 if the message were untrue. It is not learning 
 that has made the difference — for the veil may 
 be upon the eyes of him who is rich in this ac- 
 quirement, while it is taken away from him who, 
 in respect of scholarship, is poor, and blind, and 
 destitute. There is not a single weapon in the 
 whole armoury of human learning, by which 
 the proudest of its votaries can force his en- 
 trance into a region of spiritual manifestation. 
 The wise and the prudent cannot, on the strength 
 of any of their own peculiar resources, they 
 cannot, with all their putting forth of desire 
 and energy, attain unto those things which are 
 
172 
 
 reveaJed unto babes. There is a barrier iiere 
 against which all the machinery of the schools 
 may be made to play without effect. And it 
 would look as if argument might as soon remove 
 the film from the eye of him who labours under 
 a natural blindness, as dissipate that thick and 
 impalpable obscurity which lies in the way of all 
 spiritual discernment. 
 
 There are two immediate uses to which all 
 this may be rendered subservient. The first, to 
 rebuke the poor for an apology which they are 
 sometimesi^heard to make, when convicted of 
 blindness and ignorance in regard to the essen- 
 tial truths of Christianity. The second, while 
 we do not sustain the apology, to encourage 
 them with the assurance, that it is just as com- 
 petent for them to be wise unto salvation, as for 
 those in the higher and more cultivated walks of 
 human society. 
 
 In pressing home the truths and overtures of 
 Christianity on the poor, we often meet with 
 the very answer of the text, " I am not learned." 
 This answer is not copied by them from the 
 text. But the text true, as the Bible strikingly 
 and universally is, in all its descriptions of Na- 
 ture, copied it from them. It is in truth a very 
 
173 
 
 frequent conception among them, that had they 
 the advantages of a higher scholarship than 
 what they actually possess, they would be near- 
 er the wisdom which is unto salvation. This 
 ministers a kind of false security to their hearts, 
 under the consciousness of a lack of knowledge, 
 and that too of vital necessity to their immortal 
 well-being. They think that there is an igno- 
 rance which necessity attaches to their condi- 
 tion — and that this should alleviate the burden 
 of their condemnation, in that they know not 
 God. They spend the day in drudgery — and 
 think, that on this account, they must also spend 
 it in a state of desolation, as to the whole light 
 and learning of the Gospel. They are apt to 
 look upon it, not as their fault, but as their doom, 
 that they are strangers to the doctrine of peace 
 and of righteousness — and often regard it to be 
 as effectual a plea for justifying their ignorance 
 of what is sacred, as of what is profane and se- 
 cular, that they are not learned. 
 
 Now we refuse this apology altogether — and 
 we should like to warn you in time, that it will 
 stand you in no stead, nor be of any avail to 
 you in the day of reckoning. The word of the 
 Lord is in your hands, and you can at least 
 read it. The candle of the Lord may be lighted 
 
174 
 
 in your hearts, and you can at least pray for it. 
 The Gospel is preached unto you as well as un- 
 to others — and you can, at least, attend to it. 
 There will no incurable darkness settle upon 
 your minds, unless you love the darkness. There 
 will no fixed and obstinate unbelief adhere to 
 your understandings, unless your deeds are evil. 
 This will be your condemnation, if you are 
 found to be without knowledge and without 
 faith. But be assured, that all the aids and pro- 
 mises of Christianity are unto you as well as unto 
 others — and if you grieve not the spirit by your 
 wilful resistance — if you put not at a distance 
 from you that Holy Ghost which is given to 
 those who obey him, by your disobedience — if 
 you despise not the grace of God by your daily 
 and habitual neglect of those mercies, in the use 
 of which alone, God undertakes to meet you 
 with its influences — then be assured, that all the 
 comforts of the Gospel, and all its high and 
 heavenly anticipations, will descend more richly 
 upon you, than upon the noble and wealthy 
 of our land — and let your work through the 
 week be what it may, there is not an hour of it 
 which may not be sweetened by a blessing from 
 above, which may not be regaled and heigh- 
 tened into rapture by the smile of a present 
 Deitv. 
 
175 
 
 It is not merely to blame you, that we thus 
 speak. It is further to encourage you, my 
 friends — and that, by an assurance which we cast 
 abroad among you, and that, too, with all the 
 confidence of one who has the warrant of in- 
 spiration. The knowledge which is life everlast- 
 ing, is just as accessible to the poor, as it is to 
 the rich, who have time to prosecute, and mo- 
 ney to purchase education. Whatever the bar- 
 rier may be, which rises as a wall of separation 
 between Nature and the Gospel, it is just as 
 impenetrable to the learned as it is to the un- 
 learned—and however the opening through that 
 barrier is made, it is made as often, and oftener, 
 for the purpose of sending a beam of spiritual 
 light into the heart of the latter, than into the 
 heart of the former. The Gospel may as eifec- 
 tually be preached unto the poor, as unto the 
 wealthy. Simply grant to the one the capacity 
 of reading, and the opportunity of hearing — 
 and he is, at the very least, in as fair circum- 
 stances for becoming one of the children of 
 light as the other. In respect of human sci- 
 ence, there is a distinction between them. In 
 respect of the Gospel, that distinction is utterly 
 levelled and done away. Whatever the incapa- 
 city of Nature be for the lessons and the light 
 of revelation, it is not learning commonly so 
 
176 
 
 called, which resolvCvS the incapacity ; and until 
 that peculiar instrument be actually put forth 
 which can alone resolve it, the book of revela- 
 tion may pass and repass among them — the one 
 complaining, that he cannot read it, because he 
 is not learned — the other equally complaining, 
 that he cannot read it, because it is sealed. 
 
 II. Let us now proceed, in the second place, 
 to explain a circumstance which stands associated 
 in our text, with the incapacity both of learned 
 and unlearned, to discover the meaning of God's 
 communications — and that is the spirit of a deep 
 sleep which had closed the eyes of the people, 
 and buried in darkness and insensibility the 
 prophets, and the rulers, and the seers, as well 
 as the humblest and most ignorant of the land. 
 
 The connection between the one circumstance 
 and the other is quite palpable. If a peasant and 
 a philosopher, for example, were both literally 
 asleep before me — and that so profoundly, as 
 that no voice of mine could awaken them — 
 then they are just in the same circumstances, 
 with regard to any demonstration which I ad- 
 dressed to their understandings. The powers 
 and acquirements of the latter would be of no 
 avail to him in such a case. They are in a state 
 
177 
 
 of dormancy, and that is just as firm an obsta- 
 cle in the way of my reasoning, or of my infor- 
 mation, as if they were in a state of non-exis- 
 tence. Neither would it at all help tlie con*- 
 veyance of my meaning to their mind, that 
 while dead to all perception of the argument 
 which issued from my lips, or even of the sound 
 which is its vehicle, the minds of both of them 
 were most busily alive and active amongst the 
 imagery of a dream — the one dreaming too, 
 perhaps, in the style of some high intellectual 
 pursuit — and the other dreaming in the style of 
 some common and illiterate occupation. Such, 
 indeed, may be the intoxication of their fancy, 
 that in respect of mental delirium, they may be 
 said to be drunken, but not with wine, and to 
 stagger, but not with strong drink. Still, though 
 in the language of the text, I should cry out, 
 and cry, it may be just as difficult to aw^aken 
 them to a sense of what I am saying, out of a 
 reverie of imagination, as it is to awaken them 
 out of a simple and unconscious slumber. Nay, 
 the very engagement of their fancy with its ever- 
 floating and aerial pictures, may have the ef- 
 fect of more strongly detaining the mind from 
 the call which I vainly lift, for the purpose of 
 arousing them. And as the visionary scenes, 
 whether of bliss, or of anxiety, or of sadness, 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 or of eager pursuit, or of bright or of fearful 
 anticipation, pass successively before them, the 
 reaHty of my waking address may fall unheeded 
 upon each — and though the one be learned, and 
 the other be unlearned, it, in respect of their 
 listening to me, and their understanding of me, 
 totally annuls this difference between them, that 
 their eyes are firmly closed, and a deep sleep 
 is poured upon them both. 
 
 Such, it is possible to conceive, may be the 
 profoundness of this lethargy, as to be unmoved 
 by the most loud and terrifying intimations. I 
 may lift this note of alarm, that a fire has broken 
 out in the premises, and is on the eve of burst- 
 ing into their apartment — and yet such may be 
 the death-like sleep of both, that both may lie 
 motionless and unconscious on the very confines 
 of their approaching dissolution. Or, what 
 would be more affecting still — both, in the airy 
 chase of their own imagination, may be fully 
 engrossed among the pictures and the agitations 
 of a dream, and be inwardly laughing, or cry- 
 ing, or striving, or pursuing, or rejoicing — and 
 that, while the flame is at their door, which in a 
 few minutes is to seize upon and to destroy 
 them. 
 
179 
 
 When a man is asleep and dreaming, he is 
 alive only to his own fancies, and dead to all 
 the realities of the visible world around him. 
 Awaken him, and he becomes intelligent and 
 alive to these realities — but there may still be 
 other realities to which he is not yet awakened. 
 There may remain a torpor upon his faculties, 
 in virtue of which he may have as little sense 
 and as little feeling of certain near and impend- 
 ing realities, as the man who is wrapt in the in- 
 sensibility of his midnight repose, has of earth 
 and of all its concerns. The report of an angry 
 God, and a coming eternity may as little dis- 
 turb him, as the report of a conflagration in the 
 premises, disturbs the sleeping inmate before 
 he is awakened. It is not learned argument 
 which works out, in the one case, the escape of 
 him who is in danger. Could we only awaken 
 him, we would need no argument. Neither is 
 it learned argument which works out, in the 
 other case, the escape of him who is in danger. 
 It is the cry of " Awake, O sinner," lifted with 
 power enough to arouse him out of his spiritual 
 lethargies. It is the shaking of the soul out of 
 those heavy slumbers, under which it is weigh- 
 ed down to deep and strong insensibility, about 
 the awful urgencies of guilt, and danger, and 
 death, by which it is encompassed. When the 
 
 M 2 
 
180 
 
 house which covers a sleeping peasant and a 
 sleeping philosopher, is in flames, it is not by 
 a demonstration of philosophy that the one is 
 awakened, and the other is left to perish in the 
 ruin — and when both are awakened by the same 
 call, it is not at the bidding of philosophy that 
 the one hastens his escape, while the other lin- 
 gers in the midst of destruction. They need 
 only to be recovered to the use of senses which 
 were alike suspended with both, that both may 
 flee with equal promptitude from the besetting 
 calamity. And the same of the coming wrath — 
 the same of the consuming fire, that is now rea- 
 dy to burst on the head of the guilty, from the 
 storehouse of treasured vengeance — the same 
 of all the surrounding realities of God, and 
 judgment, and eternity, which lie on every side 
 of us. It is not philosophy which awakes him 
 who has it, to a sense of these things. Neither 
 is it the want of philosophy which keeps him 
 who has it not, fast asleep among the vanities 
 and day-dreams of a passing world. All the 
 powers of philosophy operating upon all the 
 materials of philosophy, will never dissolve the 
 infatuation of him who is not yet aroused either 
 from the slumbers, or from the visions of car- 
 nality. To effect this, there must be either the 
 bestowment of a new sense, or the restoration 
 
181 
 
 of an old sense, which has been extinguished. 
 And be he learned or be he unlearned, such an 
 awakening as this will tell alike upon both. 
 The simple view of certain simple realities, to 
 which the vast majority of the world are asleep, 
 will put each of them into motion. And when 
 his eyes are once opened by the force of such 
 a demonstration, will he either flee from the 
 coming wrath, or flee for refuge to the hope set 
 before him in the Gospel, without the bidding 
 or the voice of philosophy to speed his way. 
 
 And that the vast majority of the world are, 
 in truth, asleep to all those realities which con- 
 stitute the great materials of religion, may be 
 abundantly proved by experience — and we can- 
 not proceed far in the details of such a proof, 
 without leading many an individual hearer to 
 carry the topic home to his own experience. 
 For this purpose, let us just compare the kind 
 of feeling and perception, w^hich we have about 
 an event that may happen on this side of time, 
 with the feeling and perception about an event, 
 as nearly similar as possible, that will happen on 
 the other side of time, and try how much it is 
 that we are awake as to the former, and asleep as 
 to the latter. Should we assuredly know, that 
 in a few years we are to be translated into a 
 
182 
 
 splendid affluence, or sunk into the most abject 
 and deplorable poverty, how keen would be our 
 anticipation, whether of hope or of fear, and 
 why? because we are awake unto these things. 
 We do assuredly know, that in a few years we 
 pass that mysterious portal, which leads to bliss, 
 or pain, or annihilation — and these are certain- 
 ties which we do not keenly anticipate, and just 
 because we are asleep unto these things. Should 
 we behold a neighbour on the same path of en- 
 terprise with ourselves, suddenly arrested by the 
 hand of bankruptcy, and be further told to our 
 conviction, that the same fatality is sure to en- 
 counter all who are treading that path, we 
 would retrace, or move aside, or do our utter- 
 most to evade it — because all awake to the dis- 
 grace and wretchedness of bankruptcy. We 
 every month behold such a neighbour arrested 
 by the hand of death — nor can we escape the 
 conviction, that sooner or later, he will cast his 
 unfailing weapon at ourselves — and yet no one 
 practical movement follows the conviction, be- 
 cause we are asleep to a sense of the mighty ruin 
 which awaits us from unsparing and universal 
 mortality. Should the house in which you live, 
 be entered with violence by the executioners of 
 a tyrant's will, and a brother, or a child, be hur- 
 ried away to a perpetual dungeon — if made to 
 
183 
 
 know, that it was because such a doom had been 
 laid upon the whole family, and that sooner or 
 later, its infliction was most surely in reserve for 
 every successive member of it — would not you 
 be looking out in constant terror, and live in 
 constant insecurity, and prove how feelingly you 
 were awake to a sense of the sufferings of an 
 earthly imprisonment ? But though death break 
 in upon our dwelling, and lay a ruthless grasp 
 on the dearest of its inmates, and leave the as- 
 surance behind him, that he will not cease his 
 inroads on this devoted household, till he has 
 swept it utterly away — all we know of the lone- 
 liness of the church-yard, and all we read of 
 the unseen horrors of that eternity to which the 
 impenitent and the unbeliever are carried by 
 the ministers of the wrath of God, fail to dis- 
 turb us out of the habit of living here, as if here 
 we were to live for ever — and that, just because 
 while awake to all the reality which lieth on this 
 side of the grave, we are asleep to the consider- 
 ation both of the grave itself, and of all the re- 
 ality that lies beyond it. 
 
 Now, the question comes to be, how is this 
 sleep dissipated ? Not, we affirm, and all expe- 
 rience will go along with us, not by the power 
 of natural argument — not by the demonstrations 
 
184 
 
 of human learning, for these are just as power- 
 less with him who understands them, as with 
 him who makes his want of learning the pretence 
 for putting them away — not by putting the old 
 materials of thought into a new arrangement — 
 not by setting such things as the eye of Nature 
 can see, or its ear can hear, or its heart can 
 conceive into a new light — not by working in 
 the varied processes of combination, and abstrac- 
 tion, and reasoning, with such simple and ele- 
 mentary ideas as the mind of man can appre- 
 hend. The feelings and the suggestions of all 
 our old senses put together, will not make out 
 for us a practical impression of the matters of 
 faith — and there must be a transition as great 
 as that by which man awakens out of the sleep of 
 nature, and so comes to see the realities of Na- 
 ture which are around him — there must be a 
 something equivalent to the communication of 
 a new sense, ere a reality comes to be seen in 
 those eternal things, where no reality was felt 
 or seen, however much it may have been ac- 
 knowledged before. 
 
 It is true, that along the course of our ordi- 
 nary existence, we are awake to the concerns 
 of our ordinary existence. But this is not a 
 wakefulness which goes to disturb the profound- 
 
185 
 
 ness of our insensibility, as to the concerns of a 
 higher existence. We are in one sense awake, 
 but in another most entirely, and, to all hu- 
 man appearance, most hopelessly and irrecover- 
 ably asleep. We are just in the same condition 
 with a man who is dreaming, and so moves for 
 the time in a pictured world of his own. He 
 is not steeped in a more death-like indifference 
 to the actual and the peopled world around 
 him, than the man who is busy for the short 
 and fleeting pilgrimage of his days upon earth, 
 among its treacherous delusions, is shut in all 
 his sensibilities, and all his thoughts, against 
 the certainties of an immortal state. And the 
 transition is not greater from the sleeping fan- 
 cies of the night, to the waking certainties of 
 our daily business, than is the transition from 
 the day-dreams of a passing world, to those sub- 
 stantial considerations, which wield a presiding 
 authority over the conduct of him who walketh 
 not by the sight of that which is around him, 
 but by the faith of the unseen things that are 
 above him, and before him. To be thus trans- 
 lated in the habit of our mind, is beyond the 
 power of the most busy and intense of its natu- 
 ral exercises. It needs the power of a new and 
 simple manifestation — and as surely as the 
 dreamer on his bed behoves to be awakened. 
 
186 
 
 ere he be restored to a just sense of his earthly 
 condition, and of his earthly circumstances, so 
 surely must there be a distinct awakening made 
 to pass on the dark, and torpid, and overborne 
 faculties of us all, ere the matters of faith come 
 to be clothed to our eye in the characters of 
 certainty, and we be made truly to apprehend 
 the bearing in which we stand to the God who 
 is now looking over us, to the eternity which is 
 now ready to absorb us. 
 
 This awakening calls for a peculiar and a 
 preternatural application. We say preternatural, 
 for such is the obstinacy of this sleep of nature, 
 that no power within the compass of nature can 
 put an end to it. It withstands all the demon- 
 strations of arithmetic. Time moves on without 
 disturbing it. The last messenger lifts many 
 a note of preparation — but so deep is the leth- 
 argy of our text, that he is not heard. Every 
 year do his approaching footsteps become more 
 distinct and more audible — ^yet every year rivets 
 the affections of the votary of sense more tena- 
 ciously than before, to the scene that is around 
 him. One would think, that the fall of so many 
 acquaintances on every side of him, might at 
 length have reached an awakening conviction 
 into his heart. One would think, that standing 
 
187 
 
 alone, and in mournful survey amid the wreck 
 of former associations, the spell might have been 
 already broken, which so fastens him to a per- 
 ishable world. O why were the tears he shed 
 over his children's grave, not followed up by 
 the deliverance of his soul from this sore in- 
 fatuation? Why, as he hung over the dying 
 bed of her with whom he had so oft taken 
 counsel about the plans and the interests of 
 life, did he not catch a glimpse of this world's 
 vanity, and did not the light of truth break in 
 upon his heart from the solemn and apprehend- 
 ed realities beyond it ? But no. The enchant- 
 ment, it would appear, is not so easily dissolved. 
 The deep sleep which the Bible speaks of, is 
 not so easily broken. The conscious infirmities 
 of age cannot do it. The frequent and touching 
 specimens of mortality around us, cannot do it. 
 The rude entrance of death into our own houses, 
 and the breaking up of our own families, cannot 
 do it. The melting of our old society away 
 from us, and the constant succession of new 
 faces, and new families, in their place, cannot 
 do it. The tolling of the funeral bell, which 
 has rung so many of our companions across the 
 confines of eternity, and in a few little years, 
 will perform the same office for us, cannot do 
 it. It often happens, in the visions of the night. 
 
188 
 
 that some fancied spectacle of terror, or shriek 
 of alarm, have frightened us out of our sleep, 
 and our dream together. But the sleep of world- 
 liness stands its ground against all this. We hear 
 the moanings of many a death-bed — and we wit- 
 ness its looks of imploring anguish — and we 
 watch the decay of life, as it glimmers onwards 
 to its final extinction — and we hear the last 
 breath — and we pause in the solemn stillness 
 that follows it, till it is broken in upon by the 
 bursting agony of the weeping attendants — and 
 in one day more, we revisit the chamber of 
 him, who, in white and shrouded stateliness, 
 lies the effigy of what he was — and we lift the 
 border that is upon the dead man's counten- 
 ance, and there we gaze on that brow so cold, 
 and those eyes so motionless — and, in two days 
 more, we follow him to his sepulchre, and min- 
 gled with the earth, among which he is to be 
 laid, we behold the skulls and the skeletons of 
 those who have gone before him — and it is the 
 distinct understanding of nature, that soon shall 
 have every one of us to go through the same 
 process of dying, and add our mouldering bo- 
 dies to the mass of corruption that we have 
 been contemplating. But mark the derange- 
 ment of nature, and how soon again it falls 
 to sleep among the delusions of a world, of the 
 
189 
 
 vanity of which it has recently got so striking 
 a demonstration. Look onwards but one single 
 day more, and you behold every trace of this 
 loud and warning voice dissipated to nothing. 
 The man seemed, as if he had been actually 
 awakened — but it was only the start and the 
 stupid glare of a moment, after which he has 
 lain him down again among the visions and the 
 slumbers of a soul that is spiritually dead. He 
 has not lost all sensibility any more than the 
 man that is in a midnight trance, who is busied 
 with the imaginations of a dream. But he has 
 gone back again to the sensibilities of a world 
 which he is so speedily to abandon — and in these 
 he has sunk all the sensibilities of that everlast- 
 ing world, on the confines of which he was 
 treading but yesterday. All is forgotten amid 
 the bargains, and the adventures, and the bus- 
 tle, and the expectation of the scene that is 
 immediately around him. Eternity is again shut 
 out — and amid the dreaming illusions of a fleet- 
 ing and fantastic day, does he cradle his infatu- 
 ated soul into an utter unconcern about its com- 
 ing torments, or its coming triumphs. 
 
 Yes ! my brethren, we have heard the man 
 of serious religion denounced as a visionary. 
 But if that be a vision which is a short-lived de- 
 
190 
 
 ceit — and that be a sober reality which survives 
 the fluctuations both of time and of fancy — 
 tell us if such a use of the term be not an utter 
 misapplication — and whether with all the justice, 
 as well as with all the severity of truth, it may 
 not be retorted upon the head of him, who, though 
 prized for the sagacity of a firm, secular, and 
 much-exercised understanding, and honoured 
 in the market-place for his experience in the 
 walks and the ways of this world's business, 
 has not so much as entered upon the beginning 
 of wisdom, but is toiling away all his skill 
 and all his energy on the frivolities of an idiot's 
 dream. 
 
SERMON VII. 
 
 ON THE NEW HEAVENS AND THE NEW EARTH. 
 
 2 PETER III. 13. 
 
 " Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new 
 heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteous- 
 ness." 
 
 There is a limit to the revelations of the Bi- 
 ble about futurity, and it were a mental or spi- 
 ritual trespass to go beyond it. The reserve 
 which it maintains in its informations, we also 
 ought to maintain in our inquiries — satisfied to 
 know little on every subject, where it has com- 
 municated little, and feeling our way into re- 
 gions which are at present unseen, no further 
 than the light of Scripture will carry us. 
 
 But while we attempt not to be " wise above 
 that which is written," we should attempt, and 
 
192 
 
 that most studiously, to be wise up to that which 
 is written. The disclosures are very few and 
 very partial, which are given to us of that bright 
 and beautiful economy, which is to survive the 
 ruins of our present one. But, still there are 
 such disclosures — and on the principle of the 
 things that are revealed belonging unto us, we 
 have a right to walk up and down, for the pur- 
 pose of observation, over the whole actual ex- 
 tent of them. What is made known of the de- 
 tails of immortality, is but small in the amount, 
 nor are we furnished with the materials of any 
 thing like a graphical or picturesque exhibition 
 of its abodes of blessedness. But still some- 
 what is made known, and which, too, may be 
 addressed to a higher principle than curiosity, 
 being like every other Scripture, " profitable 
 both for doctrine and for instruction in righ- 
 teousness." 
 
 In the text before us, there are two leading 
 points of information, which we should like suc- 
 cessively to remark upon. The first is, that in 
 the new economy which is to be reared for the 
 accommodation of the blessed, there will be 
 materialism, not merely new heavens, but also 
 a new earth. The second is, that as distinguish- 
 ed from the present, which is an abode of re- 
 bellion, it will be an abode of righteousness. 
 
193 
 
 I. We know historically that earth, that a 
 solid material earth, may form the dwelling of 
 sinless creatures, in full converse and friendship 
 with the Being who made them — that, instead 
 of a place of exile for outcasts, it may have a 
 broad avenue of communication with the spiri- 
 tual world, for the descent of ethereal beings 
 from on high — that, like the member of an ex- 
 tended family, it may share in the regard and 
 attention of the other members, and along with 
 them be gladdened by the presence of him who 
 is the Father of them all. To inquire how this 
 can be, were to attempt a wisdom beyond Scrip- 
 ture : but to assert that this has been, and there- 
 fore may be, is to keep most strictly and modestly 
 within the limits of the record. For, we there 
 read, that God framed an apparatus of mate- 
 rialism, which, on his own surveying, he pro- 
 nounced to be all very good, and the leading 
 features of which may still be recognized among 
 the things and the substances that are around 
 us — and that he created man with the bo- 
 dily organs and senses which we now wear — 
 and placed him under the very canopy that is 
 over our heads — and spread around him a sce- 
 nery, perhaps lovelier in its tints, and more smil- 
 ing and serene in the whole aspect of it, but 
 certainly made up, in the main, of the same 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 objects that still compose the prospect of our 
 visible contemplations — and there, working with 
 his hands in a garden, and with trees on every 
 side of" him, and even with animals sporting at 
 his feety was this inhabitant of earth, in the 
 midst of all those earthly and familiar accom- 
 paniments, in full possession of the best immu- 
 nities of a citizen of heaven — sharing in the de- 
 light of angels, and while he gazed on the very 
 beauties which we ourselves gaze upon, rejoicing 
 in them most as the tokens of a present and pre- 
 siding Deity. It were venturing on the region 
 of conjecture to affirm, whether, if Adam had 
 not fallen, the earth that we now tread upon, 
 would have been the everlasting abode of him 
 und his posterity. But certain it is, that man, 
 at the first, had for his place this world, and, 
 at the same time, for his privilege, an uncloud- 
 ed fellowship with God, and, for his prospect, 
 an immortality, which death was neither to in- 
 tercept nor put an end to. He was terrestrial 
 in respect of condition, and yet celestial in re- 
 spect both of character and enjoyment. His 
 eye looked outwardly on a landscape of earth, 
 while his heart breathed upwardly in the love of 
 heaven. And though he trode the solid plat- 
 form of our world, and was compassed about 
 with its horizon — still was he within the circle 
 
195 
 
 of God's favoured creation, and took his place 
 among the freemen and the denizens of the great 
 spiritual commonwealth. 
 
 This may serve to rectify an imagination, of 
 which we think that all must be conscious — as 
 if the grossness of materialism was only for those 
 who had degenerated into the grossness of sin j 
 and that, when a spiritualizing process had purg- 
 ed away all our corruption, then, by the step- 
 ping stones of a death and a resurrection, we 
 should be borne away to some ethereal region, 
 where sense, and body, and all in the shape 
 either of audible sound, or of tangible substance, 
 were unknown. And hence that strangeness of 
 impression which is felt by you, should the sup- 
 position be offered, that in the place of eternal 
 blessedness, there will be ground to walk upon; 
 or scenes of luxuriance to delight the corporeal 
 senses ; or the kindly intercourse of friends talk- 
 ing familiarly, and by articulate converse to- 
 gether; or, in short, any thing that has the least 
 resemblance to a local territory, filled with va- 
 rious accommodations, and peopled over its 
 whole extent by creatures formed like ourselves 
 — having bodies such as we now wear, and facul- 
 ties of perception, and thought, and mutual com- 
 munication, such as we now exercise. The 
 
 N 2 
 
196 
 
 common imagination that we have of paradise 
 on the other side of death, is, that of a lofty 
 aerial region, where the inmates float in ether, 
 or are mysteriously suspended upon nothing — 
 where all the warm and sensible accompaniments 
 which give such an expression of strength, and 
 life, and colouring, to our present habitation, 
 are attenuated into a sort of spiritual element, 
 that is meagre, and imperceptible, and utterly 
 uninviting to the eye of mortals here below — 
 where every vestige of materialism is done 
 away, and nothing left but certain unearthly 
 scenes that have no power of allurement, and 
 certain unearthly ecstacies, with which it is felt 
 impossible to sympathise. The holders of this 
 imagination forget all the while, that really there 
 is no essential connection between materialism 
 and sin — that the world which we now inhabit, 
 had all the amplitude and solidity of its present 
 materialism, before sin entered into it — that God 
 so far, on that account, from looking slightly 
 upon it, after it had received the last touch of 
 his creating hand, reviewed the earth, and the 
 waters, and the firmament, and all the green 
 herbage, with the living creatures, and the man 
 whom he had raised in dominion over them, 
 and he saw every thing that he had made, and 
 behold it was all very good. They forget that 
 
197 
 
 on the birth of materiaUsm, when it stood out in 
 the freshness of those glories which the great 
 Architect of Nature had impressed upon it, that 
 then *' the morning stars sang together, and all 
 the sons of God shouted for joy." They forget 
 the appeals that are made everywhere in the 
 Bible to this material workmanship — and how, 
 from the face of these visible heavens, and the 
 garniture of this earth that we tread upon, the 
 greatness and the goodness of God are reflect- 
 ed on the view of his worshippers. No, my 
 brethren, the object of the administration we 
 sit under, is to extirpate sin, but it is not to 
 sweep away materialism. By the convulsions 
 of the last day, it may be shaken, and broken 
 down from its present arrangements, and thrown 
 into such fitful agitations, as that the whole of 
 its existing framework shall fall to pieces, and 
 with a heat so fervent as to melt its most solid 
 elements, may it be utterly dissolved. And 
 thus may the earth again become without form, 
 and void, but without one particle of its sub- 
 stance going into annihilation. Out of the 
 ruins of this second chaos, may another heaven 
 and another earth be made to arise; and a new 
 materialism, with other aspects of magnificence 
 and beauty, emerge from the wreck of this 
 mighty transformation ; and the world be peo- 
 
198 
 
 pled as before, with the varieties of material 
 lovehness, and space be again lighted up into a 
 firmament of material splendour. 
 
 Were our place of everlasting blessedness so 
 purely spiritual as it is commonly imagined, 
 then the soul of man, after, at death, having 
 quitted his body, would quit it conclusively. 
 That mass of materialism with which it is asso- 
 ciated upon earth, and which many regard as a 
 load and an incumbrance, would have leave to 
 putrify in the grave, without being revisited by 
 supernatural power, or raised again out of the 
 inanimate dust into which it had resolved. If 
 the body be indeed a clog and a confinement to 
 the spirit, instead of its commodious tenement, 
 then would the spirit feel lightened by the de- 
 parture it had made, and expatiate in all the 
 buoyancy of its emancipated powers, over a 
 scene of enlargement. And this is, doubtless, 
 the prevailing imagination. But why then, af- 
 ter having made its escape from such a thral- 
 dom, should it ever recur to the prison-house 
 of its old materialism, if a prison-house it really 
 be. Why should the disengaged spirit again be 
 fastened to the drag of that grosser and hea- 
 vier substance, which many think has only the 
 effect of weighing down its activity, and infus- 
 
199 
 
 ing into the pure element of mind an ingredient 
 which serves to cloud and to enfeeble it. In 
 other words, what is the use of a day of resur- 
 rection, if the union which then takes place is 
 to deaden, or to reduce all those energies that 
 are commonly ascribed to the hving principle, in 
 a state of separation ? But, as a proof of some 
 metaphysical delusion upon this subject, the 
 product, perhaps, of a wrong though fashion- 
 able philosophy, it would appear, that to embody 
 the spirit is not the stepping-stone to its degra- 
 dation, but to its preferment. The last day will 
 be a day of triumph to the righteous — because 
 the day of the re-entrance of the spirit to its 
 much-loved abode, where its faculties, so far 
 from being shut up into captivity, will find their 
 free and kindred development in such material 
 organs as are suited to them. The fact of the 
 resurrection proves, that, with man at least, the 
 state of a disembodied spirit, is a state of un- 
 natural violence — and that the resurrection of 
 his body is an essential step to the highest per- 
 fection of which he is susceptible. And it is 
 indeed an homage to that materialism, which 
 many are for expunging from the future state 
 of the universe altogether — that ere the imma- 
 terial soul of man has reached the ultimate 
 glory and blessedness which are designed for it, 
 
200 
 
 it must return and knock at that very grave 
 where He the mouldered remains of the body 
 which it wore — and there inquisition must be 
 made for the flesh, and the sinews, and the 
 bones, which the power of corruption has per- 
 haps for centuries before, assimilated to the 
 earth that is around them — and there, the mi- 
 nute atoms must be re-assembled into a struc- 
 ture that bears upon it the form and the linea- 
 ments, and the general aspect of a man — and 
 the soul passes into this material framework, 
 which is hereafter to be its lodging-place for 
 ever — and that, not as its prison, but as its plea- 
 sant and befitting habitation — not to be tram- 
 melled, as some would have it, in a hold of ma- 
 terialism, but to be therein equipped for the 
 services of eternity — to walk embodied among 
 the bowers of our second paradise — to stand 
 embodied in the presence of our God. 
 
 There will, it is true, be a change of personal 
 constitution between a good man before his 
 death, and a good man after his resurrection — 
 not, however, that he will be set free from his 
 body, but that he will be set free from the cor- 
 rupt principle which is in his body — not that 
 the materialism by which he is now surrounded 
 will be done away, but that the taint of evil by 
 
201 
 
 which this materialism is now pervaded, will 
 be done away. Could this be eftected without 
 dying, then death would be no longer an essen- 
 tial stepping-stone to paradise. But it would 
 appear of the moral virus which has been trans- 
 mitted downwards from Adam, and is now spread 
 abroad over the whole human family — it would 
 appear, that to get rid of this, the old fabric 
 must be taken down, and reared anew; and that, 
 not of other materials, but of its own materials, 
 only delivered of all impurity, as if by a refining 
 process in the sepulchre. It is thus, that what 
 is " sown in weakness, is raised in power" — and 
 for this purpose, it is not necessary to get quit 
 of materialism, but to get quit of sin, and so to 
 purge materialism of its malady. It is thus that 
 the dead shall come forth incorruptible — and 
 those, we are told, who are alive at this great 
 catastrophe, shall suddenly and mysteriously be 
 changed. While we are compassed about with 
 these vile bodies, as the apostle emphatically 
 terms them, evil is present, and it is well, if 
 through the working of the Spirit of grace, evil 
 does not prevail. To keep this besetting ene- 
 my in check, is the task and the trial of our 
 Christianity on earth — and it is the detaching 
 of this poisonous ingredient which constitutes 
 that for which the believer is represented as 
 
202 
 
 groaning earnestly, even the redemption of the 
 body that he now wears, and which will then 
 be transformed into the likeness of Christ's 
 glorified body. And this will be his heaven, 
 that he will serve God without a struggle, and 
 in a full gale of spiritual delight — because with 
 the full concurrence of all the feelings and all 
 the faculties of his regenerated nature. Before 
 death, sin is only repressed — after the resurrec- 
 tion, sin will be exterminated. Here he has to 
 maintain the combat, with a tendency to evil 
 still lodging in his heart, and working a perverse 
 movement among his inclinations ; but after his 
 warfare in this world is accomplished, he will no 
 lonser be so thwarted — and he will set him 
 down in another world, with the repose and the 
 triumph of victory for his everlasting reward. 
 The great constitutional plague of his nature 
 will no longer trouble him j and there will be 
 the charm of a genial affinity between the puri- 
 ty of his heart, and the purity of the element 
 he breathes in. Still it will not be the purity 
 of spirit escaped from materialism, but of spirit 
 translated into a materialism that has been clari- 
 fied of evil. It will not be the purity of souls 
 unclothed as at death, but the purity of souls 
 that have again been clothed upon at the resur- 
 rection. 
 
203 
 
 But the highest homage that we know of to 
 materiaUsm, is that which God, manifest in the 
 flesh, has rendered to it. That He, the Divinity, 
 should have wrapt his unfathomable essence in 
 one of its coverings, and expatiated amongst us 
 in the palpable form and structure of a man; and 
 that he should have chosen such a tenement, not 
 as a temporary abode, but should have borne it 
 with him to the place which he now occupies, 
 and where he is now employed in preparing the 
 mansions of his followers — that he should have 
 entered within the vail, and be now seated at 
 the right hand of the Father, with the very bo- 
 dy which was marked by the nails upon his 
 cross, and wherewith he ate and drank after 
 his resurrection — that he who repelled the ima- 
 gination of his disciples, as if they had seen a 
 spirit, by bidding them handle him and see, and 
 subjecting to their familiar touch, the flesh and 
 the bones that encompassed him ; that he should 
 now be throned in universal supremacy, and 
 wielding the whole power of heaven and earth, 
 have every knee to bow at his name, and every 
 tongue to confess, and yet all to the glory of 
 God the Father — that humanity, that substan- 
 tial and embodied humanity, should thus be ex- 
 alted, and a voice of adoration from every crea- 
 ture, be lifted up to the Lamb for ever and 
 
204 
 
 ever — does this look like the abolition of" mate- 
 rialism, after the present system of it is destroy- 
 ed ; or does it not rather prove, that transplant- 
 ed into another system, it will be preferred to 
 celestial honours, and prolonged in immortality 
 throughout all ages ? 
 
 It has been our careful endeavour, in all that 
 we have said, to keep within the limits of the 
 record, and to offer no other remarks than those 
 which may fitly be suggested by the circum- 
 stance, that a new earth is to be created, as 
 well as a new heavens, for the future accommo- 
 dation of the righteous. We have no desire to 
 push the speculation beyond what is written — 
 but it were, at the same time, well, that in all 
 our representations of the immortal state, there 
 was just the same force of colouring, and the 
 same vivacity of scenic exhibition, that there is 
 in the New Testament. The imagination of a 
 total and diametric opposition between the re- 
 gion of sense and the region of spirituality, 
 certainly tends to abate the interest with which 
 we might otherwise look to the perspective that 
 is on the other side of the grave ; and to deaden 
 all those sympathies that we else might have 
 with the joys and the exercises of the blest 
 in paradise. To rectify this, it is not necessary 
 
205 
 
 to enter on the particularities of heaven — a to- 
 pic on which the Bible is certainly most sparing 
 and reserved in its communications. But a great 
 step is gained, simply by dissolving the alliance 
 that exists in the minds of many between the 
 two ideas of sin and materialism ; or proving, 
 that when once sin is done away, it consists with 
 all we know of God's administration, that mate- 
 rialism shall be perpetuated in the full bloom 
 and vigour of immortality. It altogether holds 
 out a warmer and more alluring picture of the 
 elysium that awaits us, when told, that there, 
 will be beauty to delight the eye ; and music to 
 regale the ear; and the comfort that springs 
 from all the charities of intercourse between 
 man and man, holding converse as they do on 
 earth, and gladdening each other with the be- 
 nignant smiles that play on the human counte- 
 nance, or the accents of kindness that fall in 
 soft and soothing melody from the human voice. 
 There is much of the innocent, and much of 
 the inspiring, and much to affect and elevate 
 the heart, in the scenes and the contemplations 
 of materialism — and we do hail the information 
 of our text, that after the dissolution of its pre- 
 sent frame-work, it will again be varied and 
 decked out anew in all the graces of its unfading 
 verdure, and of its unbounded variety — that in 
 
206 
 
 addition to our direct and personal view of the 
 Deity, when he comes down to tabernacle with 
 men, we shall also have the reflection of him in 
 a lovely mirror of his own workmanship — and 
 that instead of being transported to some abode 
 of dimness and of mystery, so remote from hu- 
 man experience, as to be beyond all compre- 
 hension, we shall walk for ever in a land re- 
 plenished with those sensible delights, and those 
 sensible glories, which, we doubt not, will lie 
 most profusely scattered over the " new heavens 
 and the new earth, wherein dwelleth righteous- 
 ness." 
 
 II. But though a paradise of sense, it will 
 not be a paradise of sensuality. Though not 
 so unlike the present world as many apprehend 
 it, there will be one point of total dissimilarity 
 betwixt them. It is not the entire substitution 
 of spirit for matter, that will distinguish the 
 future economy from the present. But it will 
 be the entire substitution of righteousness for 
 sin. It is this which signalizes the Christian 
 from the Mahometan paradise — not that sense, 
 and substance, and splendid imagery, and the 
 glories of a visible creation seen with bodily 
 eyes, are excluded from it, — but that all which 
 is vile in principle, or voluptuous in im])urity, 
 
207 
 
 will be utterly excluded from it. There will be 
 a firm earth, as we have at present, and a heaven 
 stretched over it, as we have at present ; and it 
 is not by the absence of these, but by the ab- 
 sence of sin, that the abodes of immortality 
 will be characterized. There will both be hea- 
 vens and earth, it would appear, in the next 
 great administration — and with this speciality to 
 mark it from the present one, that it will be a 
 heavens and an earth, " wherein dwelleth righ- 
 teousness.'* 
 
 Now, though the first topic of information 
 that we educed from the text, may be regarded 
 as not very practical, yet the second topic on 
 which I now insist, is most eminently so. Were 
 it the great characteristic of that spirituality 
 which is to obtain in a future heaven, that it was 
 a spirituality of essence, then occupying and 
 pervading the place from which materialism had 
 been swept away, we could not, by any possi- 
 ble method, approximate the condition we are 
 in at present, to the condition we are to hold 
 everlastingly. We cannot etherealize the matter 
 that is around us — neither can we attenuate our 
 own bodies, nor bring down the slightest de- 
 gree of such a heaven to the earth that we now 
 inhabit. But when we are told that materialism 
 
208 
 
 is to be kept up, and that the spirituahty of our 
 future state hes not in the kind of substance 
 which is to compose its framework, but in the 
 character of those who people it — this puts, if 
 not the fulness of heaven, at least a foretaste 
 of heaven, within our reach. We have not to 
 strain at a thing &o impracticable, as that of 
 diluting the material economy which is without 
 us — we have only to reform the moral economy 
 that is within us. We are now walking on a 
 terrestrial surface, not more compact, perhaps, 
 than the one we shall hereafter walk upon, and 
 are now wearing terrestrial bodies, not firmer 
 and more solid, perhaps, than those we shall 
 hereafter wear. It is not by working any change 
 upon them, that we could realize, to any extent, 
 our future heaven. And this is simply done 
 by opening the door of our heart for the influx 
 of heaven's affections — by bringing the whole 
 man, as made up of soul, and spirit, and body, 
 under the presiding authority of heaven's prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 This will make plain to you how it is, that 
 it could be said in the New Testament, that the 
 " kingdom of heaven was at hand" — and how, 
 in that book, its place is marked out, not by 
 locally pointing to any quarter, and saying, Lo, 
 
209 
 
 liere, or lo there, but by the simple affirmation 
 that the kingdom of heaven is within you — and 
 how, in defining what it was that constituted 
 the kingdom of heaven, there is an enumera- 
 tion, not of such circumstances as make up an 
 outward condition, but of such feeUngs and 
 qualities as make up a character, even righteous- 
 ness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost — 
 and how the ushering in of the new dispen- 
 sation is held equivalent to the introduction of 
 this kingdom into the world — all making it evi- 
 dent, that if the purity and the principles of 
 heaven begin to take effect upon our heart, 
 what is essentially heaven begins with us, even 
 in this world ; that instead of ascending to some 
 upper region, for the purpose of entering it, 
 it may descend upon us, and make an actual 
 entrance of itself into our bosoms ; and that so 
 far, therefore, from that remote and inaccessi- 
 ble thing which many do regard it, it may, 
 through the influence of the word which is nigh 
 unto you, and of the Spirit that is given to 
 prayer, be lighted up in the inner man of an in- 
 dividual upon earth, whose person may even 
 here, exemplify its graces, and whose soul may 
 even here realize a measure of its enjoyments. 
 
 And hence one great purpose of the incarna- 
 o 
 
210 
 
 tion of our Saviour. He came clown amongst 
 us in the full perfection of heaven's character, 
 and has made us see, that it is a character 
 which may be embodied. All its virtues were, 
 in his case, infused into a corporeal frame-work, 
 and the substance of these lower regions was 
 taken into intimate and abiding association with 
 the spirit of the higher. The ingredient which 
 is heavenly, admits of being united with the in- 
 gredient which is earthly — so that we, who, by 
 nature, are of the earth, and earthly, could we 
 catch of that pure and celestial element which 
 made the man Christ Jesus to differ from all 
 other men, then might we too be formed into 
 that character, by which it is that the members 
 of the family above differ from those of the out- 
 cast family beneath. Now, it is expressly said 
 of him, that he is set before us as an example j 
 and we are required to look to that living exhi- 
 bition of him, where all the graces of the upper 
 sanctuary are beheld as in a picture ; and instead 
 of an abstract, we have in his history a familiar 
 representation of such worth, and piety, and ex- 
 cellence, as could they only be stamped upon our 
 own persons, and borne along with us to the place 
 where he now dwelleth — instead of being shun- 
 ned as aliens, we should be welcomed and re- 
 cognized as seemly companions for the inmates 
 
211 
 
 of that place of holiness. And, in truth, the 
 great work of Christ's disciples upon earth, is 
 a constant and busy process of assimilation to 
 their Master who is in heaven. And we live 
 under a special economy, that has been set up 
 for the express purpose of helping it forward. 
 It is for this, in particular, that the Spirit is pro- 
 vided. We are changed into the image of the 
 Lord, even by the Spirit of the Lord. Nursed 
 out of this fulness, we grow up unto the stature 
 of perfect men in Christ Jesus — and instead of 
 heaven being a remote and mysterious unknown, 
 heaven is brought near to us by the simple ex- 
 pedient of inspiring us where we now stand, 
 with its love, and its purity, and its sacredness. 
 We learn from Christ, that the heavenly graces 
 are all of them compatible with the wear of an 
 earthly body, and the circumstances of an 
 earthly habitation. It is not said in how many 
 of its features the new earth will differ from, or 
 be like unto the present one — but we, by turn- 
 ing from our iniquities unto Christ, push for- 
 ward the resemblance of the one to the other, 
 in the only feature that is specified, even that 
 " therein dwelleth righteousness." 
 
 And had we only the character of heaven, we 
 
 should not be long of feeling what that is 
 
 o 2 
 
212 
 
 which essentially makes the comfort of heaven. 
 " Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest iniquity; 
 therefore, God thy God, hath anointed thee with 
 the oil of gladness, above thy fellows." Let us 
 but love the righteousness which he loves, and 
 hate the iniquity which he hateth, and this, of 
 itself, would so soften and attune the mecha- 
 nism of our moral nature, that in all the move- 
 ments of it, there should be joy. It is not suf- 
 ficiently adverted to, that the happiness of hea- 
 ven lies simply and essentially in the well-going 
 machinery of a well-conditioned soul — and that 
 according to its measure, it is the same in kind 
 with the happiness of God, who liveth for ever 
 in bliss ineffable, because he is unchangeable in 
 being good, and upright, and holy. There may 
 be audible music in heaven, but its chief delight 
 will be in the music of well-poised affections, and 
 of principles in full and consenting harmony 
 with the laws of eternal rectitude. There may 
 be visions of loveliness there, but it will be the 
 loveliness of virtue, as seen directly in God, and 
 as reflected back again in family likeness from 
 all his children — it will be this that shall give its 
 purest and sweetest transports to the soul. In a 
 word, the main reward of paradise, is spiritual 
 joy — and that, springing at once from the love 
 and the possession of spiritual excellence. It 
 
213 
 
 is such a joy as sin extinguishes on the moment 
 of its entering the soul; and such a joy as is 
 again restored to the soul, and that immediately 
 on its being restored to righteousness. 
 
 It is thus that heaven may be established up- 
 on earth, and the petition of our Lord's prayer 
 be fulfilled, *' Thy kingdom come." This pe- 
 tition receives its best explanation from the one 
 which follows: " Thy will be done on earth as 
 it is done in heaven." It just requires a simi- 
 larity of habit and character in the two places, 
 to make out a similarity of enjoyment. Let us 
 attend, then, to the way in which the services 
 of the upper sanctuary are rendered — not in the 
 spirit of legality, for this gendereth to bondage ; 
 but in the spirit of love, which gendereth to the 
 beatitude of the affections rejoicing in their best 
 and most favourite indulgence. They do not 
 work there, for the purpose of making out the 
 conditions of a bargain. They do not act 
 agreeably to the pleasure of God, in order to 
 obtain the gratification of any distinct will or 
 distinct pleasure of their own, in return for it. 
 Their will is, in fact, identical with the will of 
 God. There is a perfect unison of taste and of 
 inclination, between the creature and the Crea- 
 tor. They are in their element, when they are 
 
214 
 
 feeling righteously, and doing righteously. 
 Obedience is not drudgery, but delight to 
 them ; and as much as there is of the congenial 
 between animal nature, and the food that is 
 suitable to it, so much is there of the congenial 
 between the moral nature of heaven, and its sa- 
 cred employments and services. Let the will 
 of God, then, be done here, as it is done there, 
 and not only will character and conduct be the 
 same here as there, but they will also resemble 
 each other in the style, though not in the de- 
 gree of their blessedness. The happiness of 
 heaven will be exemplified upon earth, along 
 with the virtue of heaven — for, in truth, the 
 main ingredient of that happiness is not given 
 them in payment for work ; but it lies in the 
 love they bear to the work itself. A man is 
 never happier than when employed in that 
 which he likes best. This is all a question of 
 taste: but should such a taste be given as to 
 make it a man's meat and drink to do the will 
 of his Father, then is he in perfect readiness for 
 being carried upwards to heaven, and placed 
 beside the pure river of water of life, that pro- 
 ceedeth out of the throne of God and of the 
 Lamb. This is the way in which you may make 
 a heaven upon earth, not by heaping your re- 
 luctant offers at the shrine of legaUty, but by 
 
215 
 
 serving God because you Jove him ; and doing 
 his will, because you delight to do him honour. 
 
 And here we may remark, that the only pos- 
 sible conveyance for this new principle into the 
 heart, is the Gospel of Jesus Christ — that in no 
 other way than through the acceptance of its 
 free pardon, sealed by the blood of an atone- 
 ment, which exalts the Lawgiver, can the soul 
 of man be both emancipated from the fear of 
 terror, and solemnized into the fear of humble 
 and holy reverence — that it is only in conjunc- 
 tion with the faith which justifies, that the love 
 of gratitude, and the love of moral esteem, are 
 made to arise in the bosom of regenerated man ; 
 and, therefore, to bring down the virtues of hea- 
 ven, as well as the peace of heaven, into this 
 lower world, we know not what else can be 
 done, than to urge upon you the great propitia- 
 tion of the New Testament — nor are we aware 
 of any expedient by which all the cold and 
 freezing sensations of legality can be done 
 away, but by your thankful and unconditional 
 acceptance of Jesus Christ, and him crucified. 
 
SERMON VIII. 
 
 THE NATURE OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 
 
 1 CORINTHIANS IV. 20. 
 
 " For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power." 
 
 There is a most important lesson to be derived 
 from the variety of senses in which the phrases 
 " kingdom of God," and " kingdom of heaven," 
 are evidently made use of in the New Testa- 
 ment. If it, at one time, carry our thoughts to 
 that place where God sits in visible glory, and 
 where, surrounded by the family of the blessed, 
 he presides in full and spiritual authority — it, at 
 another time, turns our thoughts inwardly upon 
 ourselves, and instead of leading us to say, Lo, 
 here, or lo, there, as if to some local habitation 
 at a distance, it leads us, by the declaration, 
 
217 
 
 that the " kingdom of God is within us,** to 
 look for it into our own breast, and to exa- 
 mine whether heavenly affections have been 
 substituted there in the place of earthly ones. 
 Such is the tendency of our imagination upon 
 this subject, that the kingdom of heaven is ne- 
 ver mentioned, without our minds being impel- 
 led thereby to take an upward direction — to go 
 aloft to that place of spaciousness, and of splen- 
 dour, and of psalmody, which forms the resi- 
 dence of angels ; and where the praises both 
 of redeemed and unfallen creatures, rise in one 
 anthem of gratulation to the Father, who re- 
 joices over them all. Now, it is evident, that 
 in dwelling upon such an elysium as this, the 
 mind can picture to itself a thousand delicious 
 accompaniments, which, apart from moral and 
 spiritual character altogether, are fitted to re- 
 gale animal, and sensitive, and unrenewed man. 
 There may be sights of beauty and brilliancy 
 for the eye. There may be sounds of sweetest 
 melody for the ear. There may be innumerable 
 sensations of delight, from the adaptation which 
 obtains between the materialism of surrounding 
 heaven, and the materialism of our own trans- 
 formed and glorified bodies. There may even 
 be poured upon us, in richest abundance, a 
 higher and a nobler class of enjoyments — and 
 
218 
 
 separate still from the possession of holiness, of 
 that peculiar quality, by the accession of which 
 a sinner is turned into a saint, and the man 
 who, before, had an entire aspect of secularity 
 and of the world, looks as if he had been cast 
 over again in another mould, and come out 
 breathing godly desires, and aspiring, with a 
 newly created fervour, after godly enjoyments. 
 And so, without any such conversion as this, 
 heaven may still be conceived to minister a set 
 of very refined and intellectual gratifications. 
 One may figure it so formed, as to adapt itself 
 to the senses of man, though he should possess 
 not one single virtue of the temple, or of the 
 sanctuary — and one may figure it to be so form- 
 ed, as, though alike destitute of these virtues, 
 to adapt itself even to the spirit of man, and to 
 many of the loftier principles and capacities of 
 his nature. His taste may find an ever-recurring 
 delight in the panorama of its sensible glories ; 
 and his fancy wander untired among all the re- 
 alities and all the possibilities of created excel- 
 lence ; and his understanding be feasted to ec- 
 stacy among those endless varieties of truth, 
 which are ever pouring in a rich flood of dis- 
 covery, upon his mind ; and even his heart be 
 kept in a glow of warm and kindly affection 
 among the cordialities of that benevolence, by 
 
219 
 
 which he is surrounded. All this is possible 
 to be conceived of heaven — and when we add 
 its secure and everlasting exemption from the 
 agonies of hell, let us not wonder, that such a 
 heaven should be vehemently desired by those 
 who have not advanced by the very humblest 
 degree of spiritual preparation, for the real hea- 
 ven of the New Testament — who have not the 
 least congeniality of feeling with that which 
 forms its essential and characteristic blessed- 
 ness — who cannot sustain on earth for a very 
 short interval of retirement, the labour and the 
 weariness of communion with God — who, though 
 they could reHsh to the uttermost, all the sensi- 
 ble and all the intellectual joys of heaven, yet 
 hold no taste of sympathy whatever, with its 
 hallelujahs, and its songs of raptured adoration 
 — and who, therefore, if transported at this mo- 
 ment, or if transported after death, with the 
 frame and character of soul that they have at 
 this moment, to the New Jerusalem, and the 
 city of the living God, would positively find 
 themselves aliens, and out of their kindred and 
 rejoicing element, however much they may sigh 
 after a paradise of pleasure, or a paradise of 
 poetry. 
 
 It may go to dissipate this sentimental ilhi- 
 
220 
 
 sion, if we ponder well the meaning which is 
 often assigned to the kingdom of heaven in the 
 Bible — if we reflect, that it is often made to 
 attach personally to a human creature upon 
 earth — as well as to be situated locally in some 
 distant and mysterious region away from us — 
 that to be the subjects of such a kingdom, it is 
 not indispensable that our residence be within 
 the limits of an assigned territory, any more, in 
 fact, than that the subject of an earthly sovereign 
 should not remain so, though travelling, for a 
 time, beyond the confines of his master's juris- 
 diction. He may, though away from his coun- 
 try in person, carry about with him in mind a 
 full principle of allegiance to his country's so- 
 vereign — and may both, in respect of legal du- 
 ty, and of his own most willing and affection- 
 ate compliance with it, remain associated with 
 him both in heart and in political relationship. 
 He is still a member of that kingdom, in the do- 
 mains of which he was born — and in the very 
 same way, may a man be travelling the jour- 
 ney of life in this world, and be all the while 
 a member of the kingdom of heaven. The 
 Being who reigns in supreme authority there, 
 may, even in this land of exile and alienation, 
 have some one devoted subject, who renders to 
 the same authority the deference of his heart, 
 
221 
 
 and the subordination of his whole practice. 
 The will of God may possess such a moral as- 
 cendancy over his will, as that when the one 
 commands, the other promptly and cheerfully 
 obeys. The character of God may stand re- 
 vealed in such charms of perfection and grace- 
 fulness to the eye of his mind, that by ever 
 looking to him, he both loves and is made like 
 unto him. A sense of God may pervade his 
 every hour, and every employment, even as it 
 is the hand of God which preserves him conti- 
 nually, and through the actual power of God, 
 that he lives and moves, as well as has his be- 
 ing. Such a man, if such a man there be on 
 the face of our world, has the kingdom of God 
 set up in his heart. He is already one of the 
 children of the kingdom. He is not locally in 
 heaven, and yet his heaven is begun. He has 
 in his eye the glories of heaven ; though, as yet, 
 he sees them through a glass darkly. He feels 
 in his bosom the principles of heaven ; though 
 still at war with the propensities of nature, they 
 do not yet reign in all the freeness of an undis- 
 puted ascendancy. He carries in his heart the 
 peace, and the joy, and the love, and the ele- 
 vation of heaven ; though, under the incum- 
 brance of a vile body, the spiritual repast which 
 is thus provided, is not without its mixtures, and 
 
222 
 
 without its mitigation. In a word, the essential 
 elements of heaven*s reward, and of heaven's 
 felicity, are all in his possession. He tastes 
 the happiness of heaven in kind, though not in 
 its full and finished degree. When he gets to 
 heaven above, he will not meet there witli a hap- 
 piness differing in character from that which he 
 now feels ; but only higher in gradation. There 
 may be crowns of material splendour. There 
 may be trees of unfading loveliness. There 
 may be pavements of emerald — and canopies of 
 brightest radiance — and gardens of deep and 
 tranquil security — and palaces of proud and 
 stately decoration — and a city of lofty pinnacles, 
 through which there unceasing flows a river 
 of gladness, and where jubilee is ever rung with 
 the concord of seraphic voices. But these are 
 only the accessaries of heaven. They form 
 not the materials of its substantial blessedness. 
 Of this the man who toils in humble drudgery, 
 an utter stranger to the delights of sensible 
 pleasure, or the fascinations of sensible glory, 
 has got already a foretaste in his heart. It con- 
 sists not in the enjoyment of created good, nor 
 in the survey of created magnificence. It is 
 drawn in a direct stream, through the channels 
 of love and of contemplation, from the fulness 
 of the Creator. It emanates from the counte- 
 
223 
 
 nance of God, manifesting the spiritual glories 
 of his holy and perfect character, on those 
 whose characters are kindred to his own. And 
 if on earth there is no tendency towards such 
 a character — no process of restoration to the 
 lost image of the Godhead — no delight in prayer 
 — no relish for the sweets of intercourse with 
 our Father, now unseen, but then to be reveal- 
 ed to the view of his immediate worshippers — 
 then, let our imaginations kindle as they may, 
 with the beatitudes of our fictitious heaven, the 
 true heaven of the Bible is what we shall never 
 reach, because it is a heaven that we are not 
 fitted to enjoy. 
 
 But such a view of the matter seems not 
 merely to dissipate a sentimental illusion which 
 obtains upon this subject. It also serves to 
 dissipate a theological illusion. Ere we can en- 
 ter heaven, there must be granted to us a legal 
 capacity of admission — and Christ by his atoning 
 death, and perfect righteousness, has purchased 
 this capacity for those who believe — and they, 
 by the very act of believing, are held to be in 
 possession of it, just as a man by stretching 
 out his hand to a deed or a passport, becomes 
 vested with all the privileges which are thereby 
 conveyed to the holder. Now, in the zeal of 
 
224 
 
 controversialists, (and it is a point most assured- 
 ly about which they cannot be too zealous) — in 
 their zeal to clear up and to demonstrate the 
 ground on which the sinner's legal capacity 
 must rest — there has, with many, been a sad 
 overlooking of what is no less indispensable, 
 even his personal capacity. And yet even on 
 the lowest and grossest conceptions of what that 
 is which constitutes the felicity of heaven, it 
 would be no heaven, and no place of enjoyment 
 at all, without a personal adaptation on the part 
 of its occupiers, to the kind of happiness which 
 is current there. If that happiness consisted 
 entirely in sights of magificence, of what use 
 would it be to confer a title-deed of entry on a 
 man who was blind? To make it lieaven to 
 him, his eyes must be opened. Or, if that hap- 
 piness consisted in sounds of melody, of what 
 use would a passport be to the man who was 
 deaf? To make out a heaven for him, a cliange 
 must be made on the person which he wears, as 
 well as in the place which he occupies — and his 
 ears must be unstopped. Or, if that happiness 
 consisted in fresh and perpetual accessions of 
 new and delightful truth to the understanding, 
 what would rights and legal privileges avail to 
 him who was sunk in helpless idiotism ? To 
 provide him with a heaven, it is not enough that 
 
225 
 
 he be transported to a place among the mansions 
 of the celestial : he must be provided with a 
 new faculty — and, as before, a change behoved 
 to be made upon the senses ; so now, ere heaven 
 can be heaven to its occupier, a change must 
 be made upon his mind. And, in like manner, 
 my brethren, if that happiness shall consist in 
 the love of God for his goodness, and in the 
 love of God for the moral and spiritual ex- 
 cellence which belongs to him — if it shall con- 
 sist in the play and exercise of affections direct- 
 ed to such objects as are alone worthy of their 
 most exalted regard — if it shall consist in the 
 movements of a heart now attracted in rever- 
 ence and admiration towards all that is noble, 
 and righteous, and holy — it is not enough to con- 
 stitute a heaven for the sinner, that God is there 
 invisible manifestation, or that heaven is lighted 
 up to him in a blaze of spiritual glory. His heart 
 must be made a fit recipient for the impression 
 of that glory. Of what possible enjoyment to 
 him is heaven, as his purchased inheritance, 
 if heaven be not also his precious and his much- 
 loved home ? To create enjoyment for a man, 
 there must be a suitableness between the taste 
 that is in him, and the objects that are around 
 him. To make a natural man happy upon 
 
 earth, we may let his taste alone, and surround 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 him with favourable circumstances — with smil- 
 ing abundance, and merry companionship, and 
 bright anticipations of fortune or of fame, and 
 the salutations of public respect, and the gaieties 
 of fashionable amusement, and the countless 
 other pleasures of a world, which yields so 
 much to delight and to diversify the short-lived 
 period of its fleeting generations. To make 
 the same man happy in heaven, it would suffice 
 simply to transmit him there with the same 
 taste, and to surround him Mdth the same cir- 
 cumstances. But God has not so ordered hea- 
 ven. He will not suit the circumstances of 
 heaven to the character of man — and therefore 
 to make it, that man can be happy there, no- 
 thing remains but to suit the character of man 
 to the circumstances of heaven — and, therefore 
 it is, that to bring about heaven to a sinner, it 
 is not enough that there be the preparation of a 
 place for him, there must be a preparation of 
 him for the place — it is not enough that he be 
 meet in law, he must be meet in person — it is 
 not enough that there be a change in his foren- 
 sic relation towards God, there must be a change 
 in the actual disposition of his heart towards 
 him ; and unless delivered from his earth-born 
 propensities — unless a clean heart be created, 
 and a right spirit be renewed — unless trans- 
 
227 
 
 formed into a holy and a godlike character, it 
 is quite in vain to have put a deed of entry into 
 his hands — heaven will have no charm for him — 
 all its notes of rapture will fall with tasteless in- 
 sipidity upon his ear — and justification itself 
 will cease to be a privilege. 
 
 Let us cease to wonder, then, at the frequent 
 application, in Scripture, of this phrase to a state 
 of personal feeling and character upon earth — 
 and rather let us press upon our remembrance 
 the important lessons which are to be gathered 
 from such an application. In that passage where 
 it is said, that the " kingdom of God is not 
 meat and drink, but righteousness, and peace, 
 and joy in the Holy Ghost,'* there can be no 
 doubt that the reference is altogether personal, 
 for the apostle is here contrasting the man who, 
 in these things, serveth Christ, with the man 
 who eateth unto the Lord, or who eateth not 
 unto the Lord. And in the passage now before 
 us, there can be as little doubt, that the refer- 
 ence is to the kingdom of God, as fixed and 
 substantiated upon the character of the human 
 soul. He was just before alluding to those who 
 could talk of the things of Christ, while it re- 
 mained questionable whether there was any 
 change or any effect that could at all attest the 
 
 V2 
 
228 
 
 power of these things upon their person and 
 character. This is the point which he proposed 
 to ascertain on his next visit to them. " I will 
 come to you shortly, if the Lord will, and will 
 know not the speech of them which are puffed 
 up, but the power. For the kingdom of God 
 is not in word, but in power." It is not enough 
 to mark you as the children of this kingdom; 
 or as those over whose hearts the reign of God 
 is established ; or as those in whom a prepara- 
 tion is going on here for a place of glory and 
 blessedness hereafter — that you know the terms 
 of orthodoxy, or that you can speak its language. 
 If even an actual belief in its doctrine could re- 
 side in your mind, without fruit and without 
 influence, this would as little avail you. But it 
 is well to know, both from experience and from 
 the information of him who knew what was in 
 man, that an actual belief of the Gospel, is at 
 all times an effectual belief — that upon the en- 
 trance of such a belief, the kingdom of God 
 comes to us with power, being that which avail- 
 eth, even faith, working by love, and purifying 
 the heart, and overcoming the world. 
 
 One of the simplest cases of the kingdom of 
 God in word, and not in power, is that of a 
 child, with its memory stored in passages of 
 
229 
 
 Scripture, and in all the answers to all the ques- 
 tions of a substantial and well-digested cate- 
 chism. In such an instance, the tongue may 
 be able to rehearse the whole expression of 
 evangelical truth, while neither the meaning of 
 the truth is perceived by the understanding, nor 
 of consequence, can the moral influence of the 
 truth be felt in the heart. The learner has got 
 words, but nothing more. This is the whole 
 fruit of his acquisition — nor would it make any 
 difference, in as far as the effect at tlie time is 
 concerned, though, instead of words adapted 
 to the expression of Christian doctrine, they 
 had been the words of a song, or a fable, or any 
 secular narrative and performance whatever. 
 This is all undeniable enough — if we could on- 
 ly prevail on many men, and many women, not 
 to deny its application to themselves — if we 
 could only convince our grown-up children of 
 the absolute futility of many of their exercises — 
 if we could only arouse from their dormancy, 
 our listless readers of the Bible — our men, who 
 make a mere piece-work of their Christianity ; 
 who, in making way through the Scriptures, do 
 it by the page, and, in addressing prayers to 
 their Maker, do it by the sentence ; with whom 
 the perusal of the sacred volume, is absolutely 
 little better than a mere exercise of the lip, or of 
 
230 
 
 the eye, and a preference for orthodoxy is lit- 
 tle better than a preference for certain familiar 
 and well-known sounds ; where the thinking 
 principle is almost never in contact with the 
 matter of theological truth, however conver- 
 sant both their mouths and their memories may 
 be with the language of it — so that in fact the 
 doctrine by the knowledge of which, and the 
 power of which it is, that we are saved, lies as 
 effectually hidden from their minds, as if it lay 
 wrapt in hieroglyphical obscurity ; or, as if their 
 intellectual organ was shut against all communi- 
 cation with any thing without them — and thus 
 it is, that what is not perceived by the mental 
 eye, having no possible operation upon the men- 
 tal feelings, or mental purposes, the kingdom 
 of God Cometh to them in word only, while 
 not in power. 
 
 But again, what is translated word in this 
 verse, is also capable of being rendered by the 
 term reason. It may not only denote that which 
 constitutes the material vehicle by which the 
 argument conceived in the mind of one man is 
 translated into the mind of another — it may 
 also denote the argument itself} and when ren- 
 dered in this way, it offers to our notice a very 
 interesting case, of which there are not want- 
 
231 
 
 ing many exemplifications. In the case just 
 now adverted to, the mere word is in the mouth, 
 without its corresponding idea being in the 
 mind ; but in the case immediately before us, 
 ideas are present as well as words, and every 
 intellectual faculty is at its post, for the purpose 
 of entertaining them — the attention most tho- 
 roughly awake — and the curiosity on the stretch 
 of its utmost eagerness — and the judgment most 
 busily employed in the work of comparing one 
 doctrine, and one declaration with another — 
 and the reason conducting its long or its intri- 
 cate processes — and, in a word, the whole ma- 
 chinery of the mind as powerfully stimulated 
 by a theological, as it ever can be, by a natural 
 or scientific speculation — and yet, with this 
 seeming advancement that it makes from the 
 language of Christianity to the substanceo of 
 Christianity, what shall we think of it, if there 
 be no advancement whatever in the power of 
 Christianity — no accession to the soul of any 
 one of those three ingredients, which, taken to- 
 gether, make up the apostle's definition of the 
 kingdom of God — no augmentation either of 
 its righteousness, or its peace, or its joy in 
 the Holy Ghost — the man, no doubt, very much 
 engrossed and exercised with the subject of 
 divinity, but with as little of the real spirit and 
 
232 
 
 character of divinity, thereby transferred into 
 his own spirit, and his own character, as if he 
 were equally engrossed and equally exercised 
 with the subject of mathematics — remaining in 
 short, after all his doctrinal acquisitions of the 
 truth, an utter stranger to the moral influence 
 of the truth — and proving, in the fact of his 
 being practically and personally the very same 
 man as before, that if the kingdom of God is 
 not in word, it is as little in argument, but in 
 power. 
 
 If it be of importance to know, that a man 
 may lay hold, by his memory, of ail the language 
 of Christianity, and yet not be a Christian — it 
 is also of importance to know, that a man may 
 lay hold, by his understanding, of all the doc- 
 trine of Christianity, and yet not be a Chris- 
 tian. It is our opinion, that in this case the 
 man has only an apparent belief, without hav- 
 ing an actual belief — that all the doctrine is 
 conceived by him, without being credited by 
 him — that it is the object of his fancy, without 
 being the object of his faith — and that, as on 
 the one hand, if the conviction be real, the 
 consequence of another heart, and another cha- 
 racter, will be sure — so, on the other hand, and 
 on the principle of " by their fruits shall ye 
 
233 
 
 know them," if he want the fruit, it is just 
 because he is in want of the foundation — if 
 there be no produce, it is because there is no 
 principle — having experienced no salvation from 
 sin here, he shall experience no salvation from 
 the abode of sinners hereafter. If faith were 
 present with him, he would be kept by the 
 power of it unto salvation, from both — but des- 
 titute as he proves himself to be now of the 
 faith which sanctifies, he will be found then, in 
 the midst of all his semblances and all his delu- 
 sions, to have been equally destitute of the faith 
 which justifies. 
 
 And it is, perhaps, not so difficult to stir up, 
 in the mind of the learned controversialist, and 
 the deeply-exercised scholar, the suspicion, that 
 with all his acquirements in the lore of theolo- 
 gy, he is, in respect of its personal influence 
 upon himself, still in a state of moral and spi- 
 ritual unsoundness — it is not so difficult to raise 
 this feeling of self-condemnation in his mind, 
 as it is to do it in the mind of him who has se- 
 lected his one favourite article, and there re- 
 solved, if die he must, to die hard has taken 
 up his obstinate and invulnerable position — and 
 retiring within the intrenchment of a few verses 
 of the Bible, will defy all the truth and all the 
 
234 
 
 thunder of its remaining declarations; and with 
 an ortliodoxy which carries on all its play in 
 his head, without one moving or one softening 
 touch upon his heart, will stand out to the 
 eye of the world, both in avowed principle, 
 and in its corresponding practice, a secure, 
 sturdy, firm, impregnable Antinomian. He 
 thinks that he wall have heaven, because he has 
 faith. But if his faith do not bring the virtues 
 of heaven into his heart, it will never spread 
 either the glory or the security of heaven around 
 his person. The region to which he vainly 
 thinks of looking forward, is a region of spirit- 
 uality — and he himself must be spiritualized, 
 ere it can prove to him a region of enjoyment. 
 If he count on a different paradise from this, 
 he is as widely mistaken as they who dream of 
 the luxury that awaits them in the paradise of 
 Mahomet. He misinterprets the whole under- 
 taking of Jesus Christ. He degrades the sal- 
 vation which He hath achieved, into a salvation 
 from animal pain. He transforms the heaven 
 which He has opened, into a heaven of animal 
 gratifications. He forgets, that on the great 
 errand of man's restoration, it is not more neces- 
 sary to recal our departed species to the heaven 
 from which they had wandered, than it is to 
 recal to the bosom of man its departed worth. 
 
235 
 
 and its departed excellence. The one is what 
 faith will do on the other side of time. But 
 the other just as certainly faith must do on this 
 side of time. It is here that heaven begins. 
 It is here that eternal life is entered upon. It 
 is here that man first breathes the air of immor- 
 tality. It is upon earth that he learns the rudi- 
 ments of a celestial character, and first tastes 
 of celestial enjoyments. It is here, that the 
 well of water is struck out in the heart of re- 
 novated man, and that fruit is made to grow 
 unto holiness, and then, in the end, there is life 
 everlasting. The man whose threadbare ortho- 
 doxy is made up of meagre and unfruitful po- 
 sitions, may think that he walks in clearness, 
 while he is only walking in the cold light of 
 speculation. He walks in the feeble sparks of 
 his own kindling. Were it fire from the sanc- 
 tuary, it would impart to his unregenerated bo- 
 som, of the heat, and spirit, and love of the 
 sanctuary. This is the sure result of the faith 
 that is unfeigned — and all that a feigned faith 
 can possibly make out, will be a fictitious title- 
 deed, which will not stand before the light of 
 the great day of final examination. And thus 
 will it be found, I fear, in many cases of marked 
 and ostentatious professorship, how possible a 
 thing it is to have an appearance of the king- 
 
'236 
 
 dom of God in word, and the kingdom of God 
 in letter, and the kingdom of God in controversy 
 — while the kingdom of God is not in power. 
 
 But once more — instead of laying a false 
 security upon one article, it is possible to have 
 a mind familiarized to all the articles — to admit 
 the need of holiness, and to demonstrate the 
 channel of influence by which it is brought 
 down from heaven upon the hearts of believers 
 — to cast an eye of intelligence over the whole 
 symphony and extent of Christian doctrine — to 
 lay bare those ligaments of connection by which 
 a true faith in the mind is ever sure to bring a 
 new spirit and a new practice along with it — 
 and to hold up the lights both of Scripture and 
 of experience, over the whole process of man*s 
 regeneration. It is possible for one to do all 
 this-;— and yet to have no part in that regenera- 
 tion — to declare with ability and effect the Gos- 
 pel to others, and yet himself be a castaway — 
 to unravel the whole of that spiritual mechanism, 
 by which a sinner is transformed into a saint, 
 while he does not exemplify that mechanism 
 upon his own person — to explain what must be 
 done, and what must be undergone in the pro- 
 cess of becoming one of the children of the 
 kingdom, while he himself remains one of the 
 
237 
 
 children of this world. To him the kingdom 
 of God hath come in word, and it hath come 
 in letter, and it hath come in natural discern- 
 ment ; but it hath not come in power. He may- 
 have profoundly studied the whole doctrine of 
 the kingdom — and have conceived the various 
 ideas of which it is composed — and have embo- 
 died them in words — and have poured them 
 forth in utterance — and yet be as little spiritua- 
 lized by these manifold operations, as the air is 
 spiritualized by its being the avenue for the 
 sounds of his voice to the ears of his listening 
 auditory. The living man may, with all the 
 force of his active intelligence, be a mere vehi- 
 cle of transmission. The Holy Ghost may leave 
 the message to take its own way through his 
 mind — and may refuse the accession of his in- 
 fluence, till it make its escape from the lips of 
 the preacher — and may trust for its conveyance 
 to those aerial undulations by which the report 
 is carried forward to an assembled multitude — 
 and may only, after the entrance of hearing 
 has been effected for the terms of the message, 
 may only, after the unaided powers of moral and 
 physical nature have brought the matter thus far, 
 may then, and not till then, add his own influ- 
 ence to the truths of the message, and send them 
 with this impregnation from the ear to the con- 
 
238 
 
 science of any vvliomhe listeth. And thus from 
 the workings of a cold and desolate bosom in 
 the human expounder, may there proceed a 
 voice, which on its way to some of those who are 
 assembled around him, shall turn out to be a 
 voice of urgency and power. He may be the 
 instrument of blessings to others, which have 
 never come with kindly or effective influence 
 upon his own heart. He may inspire an energy, 
 which he does not feel, and pour a comfort into 
 the wounded spirit, the taste of which, and the 
 enjoyment of which is not permitted to his 
 own — and nothing can serve more effectually 
 than this experimental fact to humble him, and 
 to demonstrate the existence of a power which 
 cannot be wielded by all the energies of Na- 
 ture — a power often refused to eloquence, often 
 refused to the might and the glory of human 
 wisdom — often refused to the most strenuous 
 exertions of human might and human talent, 
 and generally met with in richest abundance 
 among the ministrations of the men of simpli- 
 city and prayer. 
 
 Some of you have heard of the individual 
 who, under an oppression of the severest me- 
 lancholy, implored relief and counsel from his 
 physician. The unha])py patient was advised 
 
239 
 
 to attend the performances of a comedian, who 
 had put all the world into ecstacies. But it 
 turned out, that the patient was the comedian 
 himself — and that while his smile was the signal 
 of merriment to all, his heart stood uncheered 
 and motionless, amid the gratulations of an ap- 
 plauding theatre — and evening after evening, 
 did he kindle around him a rapture in which 
 he could not participate — a poor, helpless, de- 
 jected mourner, among the tumults of that high- 
 sounding gaiety, which he himself had created. 
 
 Let all this touch our breasts with the per- 
 suasion, of the nothingness of man. Let it 
 lead us to withdraw our confidence from the 
 mere instrument, and to carry it upwards to 
 him who alone worketh all in all. Let it recon- 
 cile us to the arrangements of his providence, 
 and assure our minds, that he can do with one 
 arrangement, what we fondly anticipated from 
 another. Let us cease to be violently affected 
 by the mutabilities of a fleeting and a shifting 
 world — and let nothing be suffered the power 
 of dissolving for an instant, that connection of 
 trust which should ever subsist between our 
 minds and the will of the all-working Deity. 
 Above all, let us carefully separate between 
 our liking for certain accompaniments of the 
 
240 
 
 word, and our liking for the word itself. — Let us 
 be jealous of those human preferences, which 
 may bespeak some human and adventitious in- 
 fluence upon our hearts, and be altogether 
 different from the influence of Christian truth 
 upon Christianized and sanctified affections. 
 Let us be tenacious only of one thing — not of 
 holding by particular ministers — not of saying, 
 that " I am of Paul, or Cephas, or Apollos" — 
 not of idolizing the servant, while the Master is 
 forgotten, — but let us hold by the head, even 
 Christ. He is the source of all spiritual influ- 
 ence — and while the agents whom he employs, 
 can do no more than bring the kingdom of 
 God to you in word — it lies with him either to 
 exalt one agency, or to humble and depress ano- 
 ther — and either with or without such an agen- 
 cy, by the demonstration of that Spirit, which 
 is given unto faith, to make the kingdom of 
 God come into your hearts with power. 
 
SERMON IX. 
 
 ON THE REASONABLENESS OF FAITH. 
 
 GALATIANS III. 23. 
 
 " But before faith came, we were kept under the law, shut 
 up unto the faith which should afterwards be revealed." 
 
 " Shut up unto the faith." This is the ex- 
 pression which we fix upon as the subject of our 
 present discourse — and to let you more effectu- 
 ally into the meaning of it, it may be right to 
 state, that in the preceding clause *' kept under 
 the law," the term kept^ is, in the original Greek, 
 derived from a word which signifies a sentinel. 
 The mode of conception is altogether military. 
 The law is made to act the part of a sentry, 
 guarding every avenue but one — and that one 
 leads those who are compelled to take it to the 
 faith of the Gospel. They are shut up to this 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 faith as their only alternative — like an enemy 
 driven by the superior tactics of an opposing 
 general, to take up the only position in which 
 they can maintain themselves, or fly to the only 
 town in which they can find a refuge or a secu- 
 rity. This seems to have been a favourite style 
 of argument with Paul, and the way in which 
 he often carried on an intellectual warfare with 
 the enemies of his Master's cause. It forms the 
 basis of that masterly and decisive train of rea- 
 soning, v/hich we have in his epistle to the Ro- 
 mans. By the operation of a skilful tactics, he, 
 (if we may be allowed the expression) manoeu- 
 vered them, and shut them up to the faith of 
 the Gospel. It gave prodigious effect to his 
 argument, when he reasoned with them, as he 
 often does, upon their own principles, and turned 
 them into instruments of conviction against 
 themselves. With the Jews he reasoned as a 
 Jew. He made a full concession to them of the 
 leading principles of Judaism — and this gave 
 liim possession of the vantage ground upon 
 which these principles stood. He made use of 
 the Jewish law as a sentinel to shut them out of 
 every other refuge, and to shut them up to the 
 refuge laid before them in the Gospel. He led 
 them to Christ by a schoolmaster which they 
 could not refuse — and the lesson of this school- 
 
243 
 
 master, though a very decisive, was a very sliort 
 one. " Cursed be he that continueth not in all 
 the words of this law to do them." But, in 
 point of fact, they had not done them. To 
 them then belonged the curse of the violated 
 law. The awful severity of its sanctions was 
 upon them. They found the faith and the free 
 offer of the Gospel to be the only avenue open 
 to receive them. They were shut up unto this 
 avenue ; and the law, by concluding them all 
 to be under sin, left them no other outlet but 
 the free act of grace and of mercy laid before 
 us in the New Testament. 
 
 But this is not the only example of that pe- 
 culiar way in which St. Paul has managed his 
 discussions with the enemies of the faith. He 
 carried the principle of being all things to all 
 men into his very reasonings. He had Gentiles 
 as well as Jews to contend with — and he often 
 made some sentiment or conviction of their 
 own, the starting point of his argument. In 
 this same epistle to the Romans, he pleaded 
 with the Gentiles the acknowledged law of na- 
 ture and of conscience. In his speech to the 
 men of Athens, he dated his argument from a 
 point in their own superstition. In this Avay he 
 drew converts both from the ranks of Judaism, 
 
244 
 
 and the ranks of idolatry — and whether it was 
 the school of Gamaliel in Jerusalem, or the 
 school of poetry and philosophy in countries of 
 refinement, that he had to contend with, his ac- 
 complished mind was never at a loss for princi- 
 ples by which he bore down the hostility of his 
 adversaries, and shut them up unto the faith. 
 
 But there is a fashion in philosophy as well as 
 in other things. In the course of centuries, 
 new schools are formed, and the old, with all 
 their doctrines, and all their plausibilities, sink 
 into oblivion. The restless appetite of the hu- 
 man mind for speculation, must have novelties 
 to feed upon — and after the countless fluctua- 
 tions of two thousand years, the age in which 
 we live has its own taste, and its own style of 
 sentiment to characterize it. If Paul, vested with 
 a new apostolical commission, were to make his 
 appearance amongst us, we should like to know 
 how he would shape his argument to the reign- 
 ing taste and philosophy of the times. We should 
 like to confront him with the literati of the day, 
 and hear him lift his intrepid voice in our halls 
 and colleges. In his speech to the men of 
 Athens, he refers to certain of their own poets. 
 We sliould like to hear his references to the poe- 
 try and tlie publications of modern Europe — 
 
245 
 
 and while the science of this cultivated age 
 stood to listen in all the pride of academic dig- 
 nity, we should like to know the arguments of 
 him who was determined to know nothing save 
 Jesus Christ, and him crucified. 
 
 But all this is little better than the indulgence 
 of a dream. St. Paul has already fought the 
 good fight, and his course is finished. The bat- 
 tles of the faith are now in other hands — and 
 though the wisdom, and the eloquence, and the 
 inspiration of Paul have departed from among 
 us, yet he has left behind him the record of 
 his principles. With this for our guide, we 
 may attempt to do what he himself calls upon 
 us to do. We may attempt to be followers of 
 him. We may imitate him in the intrepid avow- 
 al of his principles — and we may try, however 
 humbly and imperfectly, to imitate his style of 
 defending them. We may accommodate our ar- 
 gument to the reigning principles of the day. 
 We may be all things to all men — and out of 
 the leading varieties of taste and of sentiment 
 which obtain in the present age, and in the pre- 
 sent country, we may try if we can collect 
 something, which may be turned into an instru- 
 ment of conviction for reclaiming men from 
 their delusions, and shutting them up unto the 
 faith. 
 
246 
 
 There is first, tlien, the school of Natural Re- 
 ligion — a school founded on the competency 
 of the human mind to know God by the exer- 
 cise of its own faculties — to clothe him in the 
 attributes of its own demonstration — to serve 
 him by a worship and a law of its own disco- 
 very — and to assign to him a mode of procedure 
 in the administration of this vast universe, upon 
 the strength and the plausibility of its own the- 
 ories. We have not time at present for exposing 
 the rash and unphilosophical audacity of all 
 these presumptions. We lay hold of one of them, 
 and we maintain, that if steadily adhered to, and 
 consistently carried into its consequences, it 
 would empty the school of natural religion of 
 all its disciples — it would shut them up unto the 
 faith, and impress one rapid and universal move- 
 ment into the school of Christ. The principle 
 which we allude to makes a capital figure in their 
 self-formed speculations ; and it is neither more 
 nor less than the judicial government of God 
 over moral and accountable creatures. They 
 hold that there is a law. They hold the human 
 race to be bound to obedience. They hold the 
 autliority of the law to be supported by sanc- 
 tions ; and that the truth, and justice, and dig- 
 nity of the Supreme Being are involved in these 
 sanctions being enforced and executed. One 
 
247 
 
 step more, and they are fairly shut up unto the 
 faith. That law which they hold to be in full 
 authority and operation over us, has been most 
 unquestionably violated. We appeal, as Paul did 
 before us, to the actual state of the human 
 heart, and of human performances. We ask them 
 to open their eyes to the world around them — 
 to respect, like true philosophers, the evidence 
 of observation, and not to flinch from the de- 
 cisive undeniable fact which this evidence lays 
 before them. Men are under the law, and that 
 law they have violated. ** There is not a just 
 man on earth, that sinneth not." It is not to 
 open, shameless and abandoned profligacy, that 
 we are pointing your attention. We make our 
 confident appeal to the purest and loveliest of the 
 species. We rest our cause with the most virtu- 
 ous individual of our nature. We enter his heart, 
 and from what passes there, we can gather enough, 
 and more than enough, to overthrow this totter- 
 ing and unsupported fabric. We take a survey 
 of its desires, its wishes, its affections — and we 
 put the question to the consciousness of its pos- 
 sessor, if all these move in obedient harmony 
 even to the law of natural religion. The ex- 
 ternal conduct viewed separately and in itself, 
 is, in the eye of every enlightened moralist, no- 
 thing. It is mere visible display. Virtue con- 
 
248 
 
 sists in the motive which lies behind it ; and the 
 soul is the place of its essential residence. 
 Bring the soul then into immediate comparison 
 with the law of God. Think of the pure and 
 spiritual service which it exacts from you. 
 Amid all the busy and complicated movements 
 of the inner man, is there no estrangement from 
 God? Are there no tumultuous wanderings 
 from that purity, and goodness, and truth, 
 which even philosophers ascribe to him? Is 
 there no shortcoming from the holiness of his 
 law, and the magnificence of his eternity ? Is 
 there no slavish devotion to the paltry things 
 of sense and of the world ? Is there no dreary 
 interval of hours together, when God is unfelt 
 and unthought of? Is there no one time when 
 the mind delivers itself up to the guidance of its 
 own feelings, and its own vanities — when it 
 moves at a distance from heaven — and whether 
 in solitude or among acquaintances, carries along, 
 without any reference to that Being whose arm is 
 perpetually upon me ; who, at this moment, is 
 at my right hand, and measures out to me every 
 hairbreadth of my existence — who upholds me 
 ihrough every point of that time which runs 
 from the first cry of my infancy, to that dark 
 hour when the weight of my dying agonies is 
 upon me^whose love and whose kindness are 
 
249 
 
 ever present, to give me every breath wliich I 
 draw, and every comfort which I enjoy ? We 
 grant the disciples of natural rehgion the truth 
 of their own principle, that we are under the 
 moral government of the Almighty — and by the 
 simple addition of one undeniable fact to their 
 speculation, we shut them up unto the faith. 
 The simple fact is, that we are rebels to that 
 government, and the punishment of these re- 
 bels is due to the vindication of its insulted 
 authority. To say, that God will perpetually 
 interpose with an act of oblivion, would be 
 vastly convenient for us — but what then becomes 
 of that moral government which figures away 
 in the demonstrations of moralists? Does it 
 turn out after all, to be nothing more than an 
 idle and unmeaning declamation, on which they 
 love to expatiate — without any thing like real 
 attention or belief on the part of the thinking 
 principle ? If they are not true to their own 
 professed convictions, we can undertake to shut 
 them up to nothing. This is slipping from un- 
 der us — but it is by an actual desertion of their 
 own principle. If you cannot get them to 
 stand to the argument, the argument is dis- 
 charged upon them in vain. If this be the 
 result, we do not promise ourselves that all 
 we can say shall have any weight upon their 
 
250 
 
 convictions — not, however, because they liave 
 gained a victory, but because they have betaken 
 themselves to flight. At the very moment that we 
 thought of shutting them up, and binding them 
 in captivity to the obedience of the truth, they 
 have turned about and got away from us — but 
 how? By an open renunciation of their own 
 principle. Look at the great majority of infidel 
 and demi-infidel authors, and they concur in re- 
 presenting man as an accountable subject, and 
 God as a judge and a lawgiver. Examine then 
 the account which this subject has to render — 
 and you will see, in characters too glaring to be 
 resisted, that with the purest and most perfect 
 individual amongst us, it is a wretched account 
 of guilt and deficiency. What make you of 
 this? Is the subject to rebel and disobey every 
 hour, and the King, by a perpetual act of indul- 
 gence, to efface every character of truth and 
 dignity from his government? Do this, and 
 you depose the legislator from his throne. You 
 reduce the sanctions of his law to a name and 
 a mockery. Yoii^ive the lie to your own specu- 
 lation. You pull the fabric of his moral govern- 
 ment to pieces — and you give a spectacle to 
 angels which makes them weep compassion on 
 your vanity — poor, pigmy, perishable man, pre- 
 scribing a way to the Eternal, and bringing 
 
251 
 
 down the high economy of Heaven to the 
 standard of his convenience, and his wishes. 
 This will never do. If there be any truth in 
 the law of God over the creatures whom he 
 has formed, and if that law we have trampled 
 upon, we are amenable to its sentence. Ours 
 is the dark and unsheltered state of condem- 
 nation — and if there be a single outlet or way 
 of escaping, it cannot be such a way as will 
 abolish the law, and degrade the Lawgiver — but 
 it must be such a way as will vindicate and ex- 
 alt the Deity — as will pour a tide of splendour 
 over the majesty of his high attributes — and as 
 in the sublime language of the prophet, who 
 saw it from afar, will magnify his law, and make 
 it honourable. To this way we are fairly shut 
 up. It is our only alternative. It is offered to 
 us in the Gospel of the New Testament. I am 
 the way, says the Author of that Gospel, and 
 by me, if any man enter in, he shall be saved. 
 In the appointment of this Mediator — in his 
 death, to make propitiation for the sins of the 
 world — in his triumph over the powers of dark- 
 ness — in the voice heard from the clouds of 
 heaven, and issuing from the mouth of God 
 himself, " This is my beloved Son, in whom I 
 am well pleased" — in the resistless argument 
 of the Apostle, who declares God to be just, 
 
252 
 
 and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus — 
 in the undoubted miracles which accompanied 
 the preaching of this illustrious personage, and 
 his immediate followers — in the noble train of 
 prophecy, of which he was the object and the 
 termination — in the choir of angels from heaven, 
 who sung his entrance into the world — and in 
 the sublime ascension from the grave, which 
 carried him away from it — in all this we see a 
 warrant and a security given to the work of our 
 redemption in the New Testament, before which 
 philosophy and all her speculations vanish into 
 nothing. Let us betake ourselves to this way. 
 Let us rejoice in being shut up unto it. It is 
 passing, in fact, from death unto life — or, from 
 our being under the law, which speaks tribula- 
 tion and wrath to every soul of man that doeth 
 evil, to being under the grace which speaks 
 quietness and assurance for ever to all that re- 
 pair to it. The Scripture hath concluded all 
 to be under sin, that the promise by faith of 
 Jesus Christ might be giv^en to them that be- 
 lieve. 
 
 We now pass on from the school of natural 
 religion to another school, possessing distinct 
 features — and of which we conceive the most ex- 
 pressive designation to be, the school of Classi- 
 
253 
 
 cal Morality. The lessons of this school are 
 given to the public in the form of periodical es- 
 says, elaborate dissertations on the principles of 
 virtue, eloquent and often highly interesting 
 pictures of its loveliness and dignity, the charm 
 that it imparts to domestic retirement, and its 
 happy subservience to the peace, and order, and 
 well-being of society. It differs from the former 
 school in one leading particular. It does not 
 carry in its speculations so distinct and positive 
 a reference to the Supreme Being. It is true, 
 that our duties to him are found to occupy a 
 place in the catalogue of its virtues; but then the 
 principle on which they are made to rest, is not 
 the will of God, or obedience to his law. They 
 are rather viev,^ed as a species of moral accom- 
 plishment — the effect of which is to exalt and 
 embellish the individual. They form a compo- 
 nent part of what they call virtue — but if their 
 virtue be looked upon in no other light than as 
 the dress of the mind, we maintain, that in the 
 act of admiring this dress, and of even attempt- 
 ing to put it on, you may stand at as great a 
 distance from God, and he be as little in your 
 thoughts, as in the tasteful choice of your ap- 
 parel, for the dress and ornament of the body. 
 The object of these writers is not to bring their 
 readers under a sense of the dominion and au- 
 
254 
 
 thority of God. The main principle of their 
 morality, is not to please God, but to adorn man 
 — to throw the splendour of virtue and accom- 
 plishment around him — to bring him up to what 
 they call the end and the dignity of his being — 
 to raise him to the perfection of Iiis nature — and 
 to rear a spectacle for the admiration of men 
 and of angels, whom they figure to look down 
 with rapture, from their high eminence, on the 
 perseverance of a mortal in the career of worth, 
 and integrity, and honour. This is all very fine. 
 It makes a good picture — but what we insist upon 
 IS, that it is a fancy picture ; that, without the 
 limits of Christianity and its influence, you will 
 not meet with a single family, or a single indi- 
 vidual, to realize it — that the whole range of 
 human experience furnishes no resemblance to 
 it — and that it is as unlike to what we find 
 among the men of the world, or in the familiar 
 walks of society, as the garden of Eden is im- 
 like the desolation of a pestilence. The repre- 
 sentation is beautiful — but it is still more flat- 
 tering than it is fair. It is a gaudy deception, 
 and stands at as great a distance from the 
 truth of observation, as it does from the truth 
 of tlic New Testament. There is positively 
 nothing like it in the whole round of human 
 experience. It is tlie mere glitter of imagi- 
 
255 
 
 nation. It may serve to throw a tinsel colour- 
 ing over the pages of an ambitious eloquence 
 — but with business and reality for our ob- 
 jects, we may describe the tour of many thou- 
 sand families, or take our station for years in 
 the market-place, and in our attempts to realize 
 the picture which has been laid before us, we 
 will be sure to meet with nothing but vanity, 
 fatigue, and disappointment. Now, the ques- 
 tion we have to put to the disciples of this school 
 is, are they really sincere in this admiration of 
 virtue ? Is it a true process of sentiment within 
 them ? We are willing to share in their admira- 
 tion, and to ascend the highest summit of moral 
 excellence along with them. We join issue with 
 them on their own principle, and coupling it 
 with the obvious and undeniable fact of man's 
 depravity, we shut them up unto the faith. Vir- 
 tue is the idol which they profess to venerate — 
 and this virtue, as it exists in their own concep- 
 tions, and figures in their own dissertations, they 
 cannot find. In proportion to their regard for 
 virtue, must be their disappointment at missing 
 her — and when we witness the ardour of their 
 sentiments, and survey the elegance of their 
 high-wrought pictures, what must be the humi- 
 liation of these men, we think, when they look 
 on the world around tliem, and contrast the 
 
'256 
 
 purity of their own sketches, with the vices and 
 the degradation of the species. Grosser beings 
 may be . satisfied with the average morality of 
 mankind — but if there be any truth in their 
 liigh standard of perfection, or any sincerity in 
 their aspirations after it, it is impossible that 
 they can be satisfied. By one single step do we 
 lead them from the high tone of academic sen- 
 timent, to the sober humility of the Gospel. 
 Give them their time to expatiate on virtue, 
 and they cannot be too loud or eloquent in her 
 praises. We have only a single sentence to add 
 to their description : The picture is beautiful, 
 but on the whole surface of the world we defy 
 them to fasten upon one exemplification — and 
 by every grace which they have thrown around 
 their idol, and every addition they have made 
 to her loveliness, they have only thrown man- 
 kind at a distance more helpless and more irre- 
 coverable from their high standard of duty and 
 of excellence. 
 
 The tasteful admirer of eloquent description 
 and beautiful morality, turns with disgust from 
 those mortifying pictures of man, which abound 
 in the New Testament. We only ask them to 
 combine, with all this finery and eloquence, 
 wiiat has been esteemed as the best attribute 
 
257 
 
 of a philosopher, respect for the evidence of 
 observation. We ask them to look at man as he 
 is, and compare him with man as they would have 
 him to be. If they find that he falls miserably 
 short of their ideal standard of excellence, what 
 is this but making a principle of their own the 
 instrument of shutting them up unto the faith 
 of the Gospel, or, at least, shutting them up 
 unto one of the most peculiar of its doctrines, 
 the depravity of our nature, or the dismal ravage 
 which the power of sin has made upon the mo- 
 ral constitution of the species. The doctrine 
 of the academic moralist, so far from reaching a 
 wound to the doctrine of the Apostle, gives an 
 additional energy to all his sentiments. " My 
 mind approves the things which are more excel- 
 lent, but how to perform that which is good, I 
 find not." " I delight in the law of God after 
 the inward man." " But the good that I would 
 I do not, and the evil that I would not, that I 
 do." 
 
 But the faith of the Gospel does not stop 
 here. It does not rest satisfied with shutting 
 you up unto a belief of the fact of human de- 
 pravity. That depravity it proposes to do away. 
 It professes itself equal to the mighty achieve- 
 ment of rooting out the deeply seated corrup- 
 
258 
 
 tion of' our nature — of making us new creatures 
 in Christ Jesus — of destroying the old man and 
 his deeds, and bringing every rebellious move- 
 ment within us under the dominion of a new 
 and a better principle. If sincere in your ad- 
 miration of virtue, you are shut up unto the 
 only expedient for the re-establishment of vir- 
 tue in the world. That expedient is the Spirit 
 of God working in the heart of believers — 
 quickening those who were dead in trespasses 
 and sins, and bringing into action the same 
 mighty power which raised Jesus from the 
 grave, for raising us who believe in Jesus to 
 newness of life and of obedience. This is the 
 process of sanctification laid before us in the 
 New Testament. A wonderful process it un- 
 doubtedly is — but are we who walk in a world 
 of myctery, who have had only a few little 
 years to look about us, and are bewildered at 
 every step amid the variety of his works and of 
 his counsels, are we to reject a process because 
 it is wonderful ? Must no step, no operation 
 of the mighty God be admitted, till it is brought 
 under the dominion of our faculties? — and shall 
 we who strut our little hour in the humblest of 
 his mansions, prescribe a law to him whose arm 
 is abroad upon all worlds, and whose eye can 
 take in, at a single glance, the unn)easurable 
 
259 
 
 fields of creation and providence? Be it as 
 wonderful as it may — enough for us that it is 
 made sure by the distinct and authentic testi- 
 mony of heaven — and if, from the mouth of Je- 
 sus, who is heaven's messenger, we are told, 
 that " unless a man be born of the Spirit, he 
 cannot enter into the kingdom,'* it is our part 
 submissively to acquiesce, and humbly to pray 
 for it. Whatever repugnance others may feel 
 to this part of the revealed counsels of God, 
 those who look to a sublime standard of moral 
 excellence, and sigh for the establishment of its 
 authority in the world, ought to rejoice in it. 
 It is the only remaining expedient for giving ef- 
 fect and reality to their own declamations, and 
 they are fairly shut up unto it. Long have they 
 tried to repair the disorders of a ruined world. 
 Many an expedient has been fallen upon. Tem- 
 ples have been reared to science and to virtue — 
 and from the lofty academic chair, the wisdom 
 of this world has lifted its voice amid a crowd 
 of listening admirers. For thousands of years, 
 the unaided powers and principles of humanity, 
 have done their uttermost— and tell us, ye ad- 
 vocates for the dignity of the species, the amount 
 of their operation. If you refuse to answer, we 
 shall answer for you — and do not hesitate to say, 
 that mighty in promise, and wretched in accom- 
 
 R2 
 
260 
 
 plishment, you have positively done nothingr- 
 that all the wisdom of the schools, and all its 
 vapouring demonstrations, have not had the 
 least perceptible weight, when brought to bear 
 upon the mass of human character, and hu- 
 man performance — that the corruption of the 
 inner man has not yielded at all to your reason- 
 ing, and remains as unsubdued and as obsti- 
 nate a principle as ever — that the power of 
 depravity in the soul of man is beyond you — 
 and that setting aside the real operation of 
 Christianity in the hearts of individuals, and the 
 surface dressing which the hand of legislation 
 has thrown over the face of society, the human 
 soul, if seen in its nakedness, would still be 
 seen in all its original deformity — as strong in 
 selfishness, as lawless in propensity, as devoted 
 to sense and to time, as estranged from God, 
 as unmindful of the obedience, and as indiffer- 
 ent to the reward and the inheritance of his 
 children. 
 
 The machine has gone into disorder — and 
 there is not a single power within the compass 
 of the machinery itself that is able to repair 
 it. You must do as you do in other cases — 
 you must have recourse to some external appli- 
 cation. The in efficacy of every tried expedient 
 
261 
 
 shuts you up unto the only remaining one. Ev- 
 ery human principle has been brought to bear 
 upon it in vain, and we are shut up unto the ne- 
 cessity of some other principle that is beyond 
 humanity, and above it. Tlie Spirit of God 
 is that mighty principle. That Spirit which 
 moved on the face of the waters, and made 
 light, and peace, and beauty to emerge out of 
 the wild war of nature and her elements, is the 
 revealed agent of Heaven, for repairing the 
 disorders of sin, and restoring the moral crea- 
 tion of God to health and to loveliness. It 
 will create us anew unto good works. It will 
 make us again after that image in which we were 
 originally formed. It will sanctify us by the 
 faith that is in Jesus. And by that mighty 
 power whereby it is able to subdue all things 
 unto itself, it will obtain the victory over that 
 spirit which now worketh in the children of dis- 
 obedience. The resurrection of Jesus from the 
 dead is the first fruit of its operation — and to 
 him who believes it is the satisfying pledge of 
 its future triumphs. That body, which, left to 
 itself, would have mouldered into fragments, is 
 now in all the bloom of immortality, at the right 
 hand of the everlasting throne. We have tried 
 the operation of a thousand principles in vain. 
 Let us repair to this, so great in promise, and 
 
262 
 
 so mighty in performance. It has ah-eady achiev- 
 ed its wonders. It has wrought those miracles 
 of faith and fortitude which, in the first ages of 
 Christianity, threw a gleam of triumph over the 
 horrors of martyrdom. It has given us displays 
 of the great and the noble which are without 
 example in history — and from the first moment 
 of its operation in the world, it has been work- 
 ing in those unseen retirements of the cottage 
 and the family, where the eye of the histo- 
 rian never penetrates. The admirers of virtue 
 are fliirly shut up unto the faith — for faith is 
 the only avenue that leads to it. " To your 
 faith add virtue," says the Apostle — and that 
 you may be able to make the addition, the 
 promise of the Spirit is given to them that be- 
 lieve. 
 
 We should now pass on to another school, the 
 school of fine feeling and poetical sentiment. 
 It differs from the former in this — that while the 
 one, in its dissertations on virtue, carries you 
 up to the principles of duty, the other paints 
 and admires it as a tasteful exhibition of what 
 is fair and lovely in human character. The one 
 makes virtue its idol because of its rectitude ; 
 the other makes virtue its idol because of its 
 beauty — and the process of reasoning by which 
 
263 
 
 they are shut up unto the faith, is the same in 
 both. Look at the actual state of the world, 
 and you find that both the rectitude and the 
 beauty are a-wanting, If you admire the one, 
 and love the other, you are shut up unto the 
 only expedient that is able to restore them — and 
 that expedient is sanctioned by the truth of 
 heaven, and has all the power of omnipotence 
 employed in giving effect to the operation — the 
 Spirit of God subduing all things unto itself — 
 putting the law in our hearts, and writing it in 
 our minds — and by bringing the soul of man 
 under the influence of " whatsoever things are 
 pure, or honest, or lovely, or of good report," 
 creating a finer spectacle, and rearing a fairer 
 and more unfading flower, than ever grew in 
 the gardens of poetry. 
 
 The processes are so entirely similar, that we 
 would not have made it the distinct object of 
 your attention, had it not been for the sake of 
 an argument in behalf of the faith, which may 
 be addressed with great advantage to the liter- 
 ary and cultivated orders of society. There are 
 few people of literary cultivation, who have 
 not read a novel. In this fictitious composi- 
 tion, there are often one or two perfect charac- 
 ter's that figure in the history, and delight the 
 
264 
 
 imagination of the reader — and you are at last 
 landed in some fairy scene of happiness and vir- 
 tue, which it is quite charming to contemplate, 
 and which you would like to aspire after — per- 
 haps some interesting family in the bosom of 
 which love, and innocence, and tranquillity, 
 have fixed themselves — where the dark and 
 angry passions never enter — where suspicion is 
 unknown, and every eye meets another in the 
 full glance of cordiality and affection — where 
 charity reigns triumphant, and smiles benefi- 
 cence and joy upon the humble cottages which 
 surround it. Now this is very soothing, and 
 very delightful. It makes you glad to think 
 of it. The fancy swells with rapture, and the 
 moral principle of our nature lends its full appro- 
 bation to a scene so virtuous and so exemplary. 
 So much for the dream of fancy. Let us com- 
 pare it with the waking images of truth. Walk 
 from Dan to Beersheba, and tell us, if without 
 and beyond the operation of Gospel motives, 
 and Gospel principles, the reality of life ever 
 furnished you with a picture that is at all like 
 the elegance and perfection of this fictitious 
 history. Go to the finest specimen of such a 
 family. Take your secret stand, and observe 
 them in their more retired and invisible mo- 
 ments. It is not enough to pay them a cere- 
 
265 
 
 monious visit, and observe them in the put on 
 manners and hoUday dress of general company. 
 Look at them when all this disguise and finery 
 are thrown aside. Yes, we have no doubt, 
 that you will perceive some love, some tender- 
 ness, some virtue — but the rough and untutored 
 honesty of truth compels us to say, that along 
 with all this, there are at times mingled the bit- 
 terness of invective, the growlings of discontent, 
 the harpings of peevishness and animosity, and 
 all that train of angry, suspicious, and discor- 
 dant feelings, which imbitter the heart of man, 
 and make the reality of human life a very so- 
 ber affair indeed, when compared with the high 
 colouring of romance, and the sentimental extra- 
 vagance of poetry. 
 
 Now, what do we make of all this ? We in- 
 fer, that however much we may love perfection, 
 and aspire after it, yet there is some want, some 
 disease in the constitution of man, which pre- 
 vents his attainment of it — that there is a feeble- 
 ness of principle about him — that the energy of 
 his practice does not correspond to the fair pro- 
 mises of his fancy — and however much he may 
 delight in an ideal scene of virtue and moral ex- 
 cellence, there is some lurking malignity in his 
 
266 
 
 constitution, which, without the operation of 
 that mighty power revealed to us in the Gos- 
 pel, makes it vain to wish, and hopeless to as- 
 pire after it. 
 
SERMON X. 
 
 ON THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH. 
 
 MARK II. 27. 
 
 *' And he said unto them, The Sabbath was made for man, 
 and not man for the Sabbath." 
 
 The first recommendation of the Sabbath is 
 the place which it occupies in the decalogue. 
 There was much of Jewish observancy swept 
 away with the ruin of the national institu- 
 tions. There was much of it designed for a 
 temporary purpose, and which fell into disuse 
 among the worshippers of God after that purpose 
 was accomplished. A Christian of the present 
 day, looks upon many of the most solemn ser- 
 vices of Judaism in no other light than as frag- 
 ments of a perishable ritual — nor does he ever 
 think, that upon himself they have any weight 
 
268 
 
 of personal obligation. But this does not liold 
 true of all the duties and all the services of Ju- 
 daism. There is a broad line of distinction be- 
 tween that part of it which is now broken up, 
 and that part of it which still retains all the au- 
 thority of a perpetual and immutable law. Point 
 us out a single religious observance of the He- 
 brews that is now done away, and we are able to 
 say of it, and of all the others which have ex- 
 perienced a similar termination, that they, every 
 one of them, lie without the compass of the 
 ten commandments. They have no place what- 
 ever in that great record of duty which was 
 graven on tables of stone, and placed within 
 the holy of holies, under the mercy-seat. Now, 
 how does the law of the Sabbath stand as to 
 this particular ? Does it lie within or without 
 a limit so tangible, and forming so distinct and 
 so noticeable a line of demarcation ? We see it 
 then standing within this record, of which all 
 the other duties are of such general and such 
 imperishable obligation. We meet with it in the 
 interior of that hallowed ground, of which ev- 
 ery other part is so sacred and so inviolable. 
 We perceive it occupying its own conspicuous 
 place in that register of duties, all of which 
 have the substance and the irrevocable per- 
 manency of moral principle. On reading over 
 
269 
 
 the other articles of this memorable code, we 
 see all of them stamped with such enduring 
 characters of obligation, as no time can wear 
 away — and the law of the Sabbath taking its 
 station in the midst of them, and enshrined on 
 each side of it among the immutabilities of 
 truth, and justice, and piety. It is true, that 
 much of Judaism has now fallen into desue- 
 tude, and that many of its dearest and most 
 distinguished solemnities are now regarded in 
 no other light than as the obsolete and re- 
 pealed observances of an antiquated ritual. 
 But it is worthy of being well observed, that 
 the whole of this work of demolition took 
 place around and without the line of demar- 
 cation. We see no attempt whatever to vio- 
 late the sanctity of the ground which this line 
 encloses. We no where see any express or re- 
 corded incursion upon any one of the obser- 
 vances of the decalogue. We perceive an Apos- 
 tle in the New Testament making his allusion to 
 the fifth of these observances, and calling it 
 the first commandment with promise — and by 
 the very notice he bestows on the arrangement 
 of the duties, are we given to understand, that 
 no attempt had been made to disturb their 
 order, or to depose any one of them from 
 the place which had been assigned to it. We 
 
270 
 
 should count it an experiment of tlie most 
 fearful audacity, without the intimation of any 
 act of repeal passed in the high legislature 
 of heaven, to fly in the face of that Sabbath 
 law, which stands enrolled among the items 
 of so notable and so illustrious a document, 
 — and nothing short of a formal and absolute 
 recallment can ever tempt us to think, that 
 the new dispensation of the Gospel has crea- 
 ted so much as one vacancy in that register 
 of duties, which bears upon the aspect of its 
 whole history the impress of a revealed stand- 
 ard that is unalienable and everlasting. We 
 cannot give up one article in that series of en- 
 actments which, in every one age of the Chris- 
 tian world, has been revealed as a code, not of 
 ceremonial but of moral law. We cannot con- 
 sent, but on the ground of some resistless and 
 overbearing argument, to the mutilation of the in- 
 tegrity of this venerable record. We see through- 
 out the whole line of the Jewish history, that it 
 stood separate and alone ; and that free from all 
 the marks of national or local peculiarity, it 
 bore upon it none of the frailty of the other in- 
 stitutions, but has been preserved and handed 
 down to us an unchanged standard of duty, for 
 all generations. We see, at the very commence- 
 ment of the Mosaic dispensation, how God 
 
271 
 
 himself thought fit to signalize it — for, from 
 the place where he stood, did he proclaim the 
 ten commandments of the law, in the hearing 
 of the assembled multitude — while every other 
 enactment, whether moral or ceremonial, was 
 conveyed to the knowledge of the people, 
 through the medium of a human legislator. 
 And we should feel that, in dethroning any one 
 of the preceptive impositions of the decalogue 
 from its authority over our practice, we were 
 bidding defiance to the declared will of the 
 Eternal ; and resisting a voice which sounds as 
 loudly and as impressively to our conscience, as 
 the one that issued in thunder from the flaming 
 top of Sinai, and scattered dismay among the 
 thousands of Israel. 
 
 But, secondly, in the practice of the Christian 
 world, the Sabbath has been moved forward by 
 one day — and the remembrance to which it is 
 now consecrated, is a different one from that 
 of the creation of the world. For this change 
 we can find no positive enactment — but we can 
 quote the uncontrolled observation of it down 
 from the period of the apostolical age. We 
 are sure that a practice so early and so univer- 
 sal, could not have been introduced without 
 the sanction of Heaven's inspired messengers. 
 
272 
 
 And, mark the limit of that liberty which has 
 been taken with the fourth commandment. It 
 amounts to nothing more than the circumstan- 
 tial change of a day. Had the early Chris- 
 tians felt themselves warranted to take more 
 liberty, they would have taken it — for then 
 was the time when Christianity took its deter- 
 minate movement away from the practices of 
 the old dispensation, and established all its 
 distinctions as a religion of principle, and a 
 religion of spiritual character. But widely as 
 the one religion departed from the other, there 
 never, in any one age of the church, has 
 been a departure from the observance of a 
 Sabbath, appropriated to the more solemn and 
 peculiar exercises of piety. The change in the 
 day goes to prove that Christianity is not a re- 
 ligion of mere days. But while it has abandon- 
 ed one particular day, you find it transferring 
 itself to another—^and in the choice of that 
 other it is guided by the affecting remembrance 
 of an event, the contemplation of which is fit- 
 ted to strengthen the faith, and to refresh the 
 piety, and to waken the best and most religious 
 feelings of those who are spiritually engaged in 
 it. It commemorates the rise of the crucified 
 Saviour from the grave — of him who is the first 
 fruits of them who slept — of him who by that 
 
273 
 
 Spirit which is committed to him, raises all those 
 who are dead in trespasses and sins, to newness 
 of life — of him who is the great agent of Hea- 
 ven for repairing all the disorders and all the 
 deformities of the moral world — of him by 
 whom, as the Word of God, the universe was 
 at first created, but who has since earned a 
 more enduring title to the memory of Christians, 
 by taking upon him that great scheme, in vir- 
 tue of which, there are to emerge out of this 
 ruined and rebellious province, a new heaven 
 and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteous- 
 ness. At the first creation of the world, the 
 Spirit moved over the turbulence of its con- 
 fused and jarring elements, and awoke them all 
 to order and to harmony. When Adam fell, we 
 know not what precise mischief it inflicted on 
 the material world — but we know that the mo- 
 ral world went back again into a wild chaos of 
 dark and disorderly rebellion — and the heart 
 of man lost its obedience to the attractive in- 
 fluences of that great principle which can alone 
 subdue it into harmonious accordancy with the 
 law of God — and the resurrection of Christ from 
 the grave was a mighty and essential step in the 
 counsels of heaven for quelling all the violence 
 of this elementary war, — " for unless I go away, 
 the Comforter cannot come ; but if I go to my 
 
 s 
 
274 
 
 Father, I shall send him." And from the place 
 which he now occupies, does the Spirit come 
 down at the commission of the exalted Saviour, 
 and he moves on the face of this spiritual chaos, 
 and is ever and anon reclaiming some portion 
 of a moral and renovated empire from the rug- 
 ged domain of a world lying in wickedness. And 
 the time is yet to come when this ever-renovat- 
 ing Spirit shall fulfil its conclusive triumph, by 
 spreading an entire aspect of worth, and piety, 
 and moral loveliness over the wide extent of a 
 now sinful creation. And thus it is, that while 
 the day of Sabbath has been changed, there is a 
 most affecting remembrance which gives to the 
 observation of Sabbath the full import and sig- 
 nificancy of its original purpose — the remem- 
 brance of a new creation emerging from an old 
 one-— the animating view of life and immortality 
 rising in splendour from the corruption of the 
 grave — the contemplation of an ascended Sa- 
 viour, who pours the promise of the Father on 
 all his believing disciples — and working in them 
 by the Spirit the graces of the new creature, 
 prepares them for a welcome entrance into those 
 regions, where sin is unknown, and where death 
 is swallowed up in victory. 
 
 But, thirdly, in addition to the slight circum- 
 
275 ^ 
 
 stantial change which has been made upon the 
 Sabbath, and which we are sure no honest and 
 enhghtened Christian can ever construe into an 
 entire and absolute repeal of the whole institu- 
 tion — there is a general change affecting every 
 one of the ten commandments, but which was 
 never so well understood till the new dispensa- 
 tion was fully and fairly ushered into the world. 
 We do not mean to say, that the worthies of the 
 Old Testament were utter strangers to that doc- 
 trine of grace on which the Spirit of God, work- 
 ing in larger measure on the minds of the Apos- 
 tles, from the day of Pentecost, has poured so 
 clear and so celestial a splendour. We believe 
 that many Jews were, under the shadow of their 
 types and their sacrifices, trained to the faith, 
 and the humility, and the affectionate obedience 
 of creatures who knew themselves to be incapa- 
 ble of perfect conformity to the law of God — 
 and that, in the act of serving him, they stood on 
 essentially the same footing of mercy to pardon 
 and grace to help in the time of need, on which 
 a spiritual Christian of the day now feels him- 
 self to be so firmly and so conclusively establish- 
 ed. The change we are alluding to, then, did 
 not take place at the first settlement of the new 
 dispensation. It only came out at that time in- 
 to more distinct exhibition ; and it consists in 
 
 S2 
 
276 
 
 this; that whereas the direct and natural way 
 of taking up the promulgated law of God, is to 
 take it up as a law of works, and to labour at 
 the performance of it on the understood condi- 
 tion of " This do, and ye shall live" — and as 
 this condition has not been fulfilled by a single 
 son or daughter of the species, then, unless 
 some new arrangement of the matter between 
 God and man had been entered into, life was 
 forfeited by every one of us, and we should just 
 have been what the New Testament tells us we 
 actually are, anterior to our reception of the 
 Gospel, the children of wrath, and under the 
 full operation of the sentence, that '* the soul 
 which sinneth it shall die." Now, it would lead 
 us away from our subject into a most intermin- 
 able excursion, did we say all that might be per- 
 tinently and substantially said on the precise 
 turn which the Gospel has given to the obliga- 
 tion of the law. Eternal life is no longer the 
 wages of perfect obedience. It is the gift of 
 God through Jesus Christ our Lord. The man 
 who has faith to perceive the reality of this gift, 
 lays hold of it, and rejoices in all the enlarge- 
 ment of conscious forgiveness, and in all the 
 cordialities of a secure and confident reconcilia- 
 tion, with the God whom he had offended. But 
 this faith does not set him loose from any one 
 
277 
 
 of the duties of obedience. Had no other doc- 
 trine been proposed to the beUever, than the 
 single one of forgiveness through the redemption 
 that is in the blood of Jesus, then we can con- 
 ceive how the dawning of the Gospel faith might 
 be a signal for the emancipation of the whole 
 man from the restraints of moral obligation. 
 But other doctrines have been proposed; and 
 faith, which is neither more nor less than a re- 
 liance on the divine testimony, gives an equally 
 honest and welcome admission to all the particu- 
 lars of that testimony. It embraces all the par- 
 ticulars of God's communication' — and such is 
 the amplitude of its grasp, that though as a 
 principle, it is single and undivided, and can be 
 defined within the limits of a short sentence — 
 yet grant us the existence of this principle, and 
 then you grant us room enough, and provision 
 enough for giving effect to every one of the les- 
 sons of revelation. When faith attaches itself 
 to the doctrine of reconciliation through Christ, 
 it will make him who possesses it, to walk be- 
 fore God without fear. When faith attaches 
 itself to the doctrine, that " without holiness 
 no man can see God, it makes him who possesses 
 it, to " walk before God without fear, in righ- 
 teousness and in holiness." When faith attaches 
 itself to the doctrine, that unless ye do such and 
 
278 i 
 
 such commandments, ye shall not inherit the 
 kingdom of God, it makes him who possesses 
 it, feel as constraining an urgency of personal 
 interest in the work of keeping these command- 
 ments, as if the old covenant of works had got 
 up again, and he behooved to ply his assiduous 
 task for the rewards of perfect obedience. 
 When faith attaches itself to the doctrine of 
 every man receiving his award at the judgment- 
 seat, according to the deeds done in the bo- 
 dy, it makes him who possesses it just strive with 
 as much earnestness to multiply good deeds — 
 as if each performance done at the bidding of 
 the Saviour, was a distinct addition to the trea- 
 sure reserved for him in heaven. But faith does 
 attach itself to every one of these doctrines, or 
 it is no faith at all. It gives the homage of its 
 reliance to each particular of the law and the 
 testimony. It clears its unfettered way from 
 among the perplexities of human arrangement ; 
 and disowning every authority but that of the 
 one master, it sits at his feet with the docility of 
 a little child, and appropriates to its right influ- 
 ence every item of his communications. And 
 thus it is, that the man who is in simplicity 
 and in good faith a believer, while he rejoices 
 all the day, long in the sunshine of a counte- 
 nance which he knows to be friendly to him. 
 
279 
 
 labours all the day long at his faithful and 
 assiduous task of doing every thing to the glo- 
 ry of God. There is room enough in his en- 
 larged heart for knowing, that while the one is 
 his offered privilege, the other is his required 
 duty — and free, as he is, from all the embroil- 
 ments of a darkening speculation, he does not 
 wait for the adjustment of any human contro- 
 versy on the subject, but taking himself to his 
 Bible, he both lives in all the security of the 
 offered reconciliation, and without questioning 
 the simple announcement of the Saviour, that 
 ** if ye love me, ye will keep my command- 
 ments," he also lives in all the diligence of one 
 who is " steadfast and unmoveable, and always 
 abounding in the work of the Lord." 
 
 It is true, that there is a difference between 
 being under the law, and under grace. But 
 how does this difference affect the morality of 
 a Christian? Let us take the deliverance of 
 an Apostle upon the subject. ** Shall we sin," 
 says Paul, " because we are not under the law, 
 but under grace? God forbid." Quite the 
 contrary, for it is precisely because we are un- 
 der grace, that sin hath not dominion over us. 
 We must shorten this explanation, and bring it 
 to bear on the observation of the Sabbath. 
 
280 
 
 The great interest of practical obedience is upi- 
 held under the dispensation of the Gospel, by 
 all the securities of positive and preceptive ob- 
 ligation. But more than this — there is such a 
 change wrouglit by grace in the heart of every 
 believer, that he not only understands the obli- 
 gation, but is made cordially to acquiesce in it. 
 There is such a revolution in his desires, that 
 it is now his meat and drink to do the will of 
 that God, against whom there existed within 
 him the most stubborn and revolting enmity. 
 The man, who, by faith, now looks on God as 
 his friend, will have no difficulty in understand- 
 ing this change, for he feels it — and there is 
 not a believer on the face of the earth who 
 does not, from the time of his becoming so, love 
 that law which he aforetime violated. This law 
 was at first graven on tables of stone, and held 
 out for the government of a helpless and guilty 
 race, who were both unable and unwilling to 
 yield to it the loyalty of their obedience ; and 
 it therefore served to them for a ministry of con- 
 demnation. When the dispensation of grace 
 was brought in, this law was not abrogated. 
 One of the most illustrious exercises of the 
 grace of God, consisted in his putting forth a 
 device for securing the observance of his laws, 
 and this device is neither more nor less than 
 
281 
 
 putting the law in our hearts, and writing it in 
 our minds. On the change taking place from 
 our being under the law, to our being under 
 grace, the law, to use the language of the Bi- 
 ble, is taken down from the place it formerly 
 occupied on tablets of stone, and from which it 
 frowns upon us in all the wrath of its violated 
 dignity ; and it is graven on the fleshly tablets 
 of the heart — or, in other words, the man is en- 
 dowed with a liking for that which he formerly 
 rebelled against. And grant him possessed of 
 the genuine principle of faith; and there can 
 be no doubt, that the spirit, true to his office, 
 has been at work within him, and has given a 
 new bent to his affections, and has turned them 
 to the love of those commandments, which he 
 aforetime hated and resisted, and has establish- 
 ed in his bosom this omnipotent security for obe- 
 dience, that the taste and the inclinations of the 
 new creature, are now upon its side ; and as if 
 carried forward by the spontaneous and inborn 
 alacrity of a constitutional impulse, does the 
 man who is thus transformed, and thus acted 
 upon by that Spirit, for which he never ceases 
 to pray, run with delight in the way of all the 
 commandments. 
 
 Now, we have already attempted to satisfy 
 
282 
 
 you, that there is no erazure of the fourth 
 commandment from that lettered record of the 
 law, which is met with in your Bibles, and 
 where the institution of the Sabbath is graven 
 as indelibly as any one of the unchangeable 
 moralities, among which it is situated. But 
 by the new dispensation of the Gospel, this 
 law is made to stand in another place. It is 
 conveyed, as it were, from its old position, on 
 a tablet of stone, and written in the characters 
 of a living epistle on the tablet of a believer's 
 heart. Now the question we have to put is, in 
 this transference of the law from its old to its 
 new repository, does any one of its articles fall 
 away from it, and is lost, as it were, in the pas- 
 sage, by being loosened and detached from the 
 other articles, among which it was incorporated? 
 We can specify some, at least, of the ten com- 
 mandments, which have found their way safe 
 and entire to the heart of him who has embraced 
 the Gospel, and lives under the power of its 
 purifying influences. We are sure, that such a 
 man will have his supreme affections fastened 
 upon God, and renouncing every idol whether 
 of wealth, or of ambition, or of vanity, that can 
 detlu'one the Father of his spirit from his right- 
 ful ascendancy, he will prefer no one object of 
 regard, or of reverence before him. We are sure, 
 
283 
 
 that such a man will be quite in earnest to have 
 a right knowledge and conception of God — 
 that the Being he worships may be the true 
 God — and lest, by directing his homage to some 
 false and distorted picture of his own fancy, he 
 may incur all the guilt, and be carried away by 
 all the delusion of him who falls down to a ma- 
 terial image, in lowly and bending adoration. We 
 are sure that such a man will do honour to the 
 hallowed name of his Master, who is in heaven, 
 and be sickened and appalled by that profane- 
 ness which is so current in many of our compa- 
 nies. We are sure that such a man will revere his 
 earthly parents, and will stand by them in the 
 midst of their sinking infirmities ; and whether 
 in the form of a declining father, or a widowed 
 mother, who has thrown the whole burden of 
 her dependance on the 'children who remain 
 to her, we are sure that he will never turn 
 a contemptuous ear to the feebleness of their 
 entreating voice — but will bid his proud and as- 
 piring manhood give up to their authority all its 
 waywardness, and all its tumultuous indepen- 
 dence. We are quite sure, that in the heart of 
 such a man, there is an aspiration of kindliness 
 toward every thing that breathes, and that the 
 commandment " Thou shalt not kill'* carries in 
 his bosom the widely extended import of thou 
 
284 
 
 shalt not conceive one purpose, nor carry against 
 a single human being, one rankling sentiment 
 of malignity. We are sure, that such a man, far 
 removed from all that is licentious in practice, 
 will recoil, even in the unseen solitude of 
 thought, from all that is licentious in concep- 
 tion, and spurning away from the pure sanc- 
 tuary of his heart every evil and unhallowed 
 visitation, he will present to the approving eye 
 of Heaven, all the adornments of a spiritual 
 temple, all the graces and all the beauties of an 
 unspotted ofiering. We are sure, that such a man, 
 with a hand unsoiled by any one of the gains 
 of injustice, will, with all the sensitiveness of 
 high-minded and honourable principle, keep 
 himself as nobly aloof from substantial as from 
 literal dishonesty. He will feel superior to ev- 
 ery one of those tolerated artifices, and those 
 practical disguises, which, throughout the great 
 mass of mercantile society, have so hardened 
 and so worn down the consciences of those, who 
 for years, have been speeding and bustling 
 their way amongst a variety of manifold trans- 
 actions — and in the high walk of simplicity and 
 godly sincerity, will he carry along with him the 
 impress of one of the peculiar people, amid all 
 the legalized fraudulency of a selfisli and un- 
 principled generation. We are quite sure, that 
 
285 
 
 such a man, seeing he had put on the deeds of 
 the new creature, would never suffer the burn- 
 ing infamy of a he to rest upon him. All that 
 was within him, and about him, would be clear 
 as the ethereal firmament. The wiles of a de- 
 ceitful policy would be utterly unknown to him. 
 The openness and the ingenuousness of truth, 
 would sit upon his forehead, and his every ut- 
 terance bear upon it as decided a stamp of autho- 
 rity, as if shielded by a solemn appeal to God 
 and to the judgment-seat. And, lastly, we are 
 quite sure, that such a man could not breathe 
 a single avaricious desire after the substance of 
 another. His heart is set on another treasure. 
 He has entered the service of another master 
 than the mammon of unrighteousness. His af- 
 fections have settled on a more enduring sub- 
 stance. With the eye of faith, he looks to hea- 
 ven, and to its unfading and unperishable riches ; 
 and all the splendours of this world's vain and 
 empty magnificence, sink into worthlessness be- 
 fore them. He can eye the golden career of 
 his more prosperous neighbours, without one 
 wistful sentiment either of covetousness or of 
 envy ; and feels not the meanness and the hard- 
 ships of his humbler condition, amid the tran- 
 quillites of a heart that is cherishing a better 
 prospect, and reposing on the sure anticipation 
 of a happier and more enduring home. 
 
286 
 
 Well, then, in the Jieart of this man, of 
 wliom we suppose nothing more than that he 
 has drunk in the genius of our better dispen- 
 sation, we find graven in the most legible and 
 distinct characters, nine of the commandments. 
 We meet with all the ten in the letter of the 
 Old Testament, and we find nine out of these 
 ten in a state of most vigorous and entire opera- 
 tion, under the Spirit of the New Testament. 
 What has become of the fourth commandment ? 
 Has it sunk and disappeared under the stormy 
 vicissitudes of that middle passage, through 
 which all the rest have found their way, from 
 the tablets of a literal inscription, and have got- 
 ten their secure and unviolable lodgment with- 
 in the tablet of a Christian heart? If we look 
 into that heart, do we meet with no trace of the 
 commandment we are in quest of? Will you tell 
 us, that the law of the Sabbath is erazed, we 
 will not say from the remembrance, but from 
 the affection of any one of the actual Christians 
 by whom you are surrounded ? Has it left be- 
 hind it a vacancy in that spiritual tablet which 
 is graven by the Spirit of God, when he writes 
 the law in the believer's heart, and puts it into 
 his mind ? This is a question of observation — 
 and speaking from our own observation, we ne- 
 ver, in tlie whole round of it, met with a man, 
 
287 
 
 drawn by the cords of love to the doing of 
 the other commandments, and carrying m his 
 heart either a distaste or an indifference for 
 the fourth of them ? We may have seen men 
 high in honour, and earning by their integ- 
 rity the rewards of an unsullied reputation 
 amongst their fellow-citizens, carrying a visible 
 contempt for the Sabbath law throughout the 
 whole line of their Sabbath-history — but all the 
 truth and all the justice of these men are such 
 constitutional virtues as may exist in a charac- 
 ter which owns not, and feels not the power of 
 godliness — and sure we are, that wanting this 
 power, several of the other commandments can 
 be specified, to which they are as utter strangers 
 as to the commandment of the seventh day. We 
 repeat it, therefore, that if you grant us a man 
 who bears about with him in his bosom, a warm 
 and conscientious attachment to all the articles 
 of the decalogue but this one, before we look at 
 him, we say with confidence, that search him, 
 and both in his heart and in his practice, this 
 one is to be found — and that we shall not fail to 
 meet the Sabbath law as firmly established as 
 any other within the secrecies of his bosom, 
 and standing out as conspicuously on the front 
 of his external observations. We never, in the 
 whole course of our recollections, met with a 
 
288 
 
 Christian friend, who bore upon his character 
 every other evidence of the Spirit's operation, 
 who did not remember the Sabbath day, and 
 keep it holy. We appeal to the memory of ail the 
 worthies who are now lying in their graves, 
 that eminent as they were in every other grace 
 and accomplishment of the new creature, the 
 religiousness of their Sabbath-day shone with 
 an equal lustre amid the fine assemblage of vir- 
 tues which adorned them. In every Christian 
 household, it will be found, that the discipline 
 of a well-ordered Sabbath is never forgotten 
 amongst the other lessons of a Christian edu- 
 cation — and we appeal to every individual who 
 now hears us, and who carries the remembrance 
 in his bosom of a father's worth, and a father's 
 piety, if on the coming round of the seventh 
 day, an air of peculiar sacredness did not spread 
 itself over that mansion, where he drew his first 
 breath, and was taught to repeat his infant 
 hymn, and lisp his infant prayer. Rest assured, 
 that a Christian, having the love of God written 
 in his heart, and denying the Sabbath a place 
 in its affections, is an anomaly that is no where 
 to be found. Every Sabbath image, and every 
 Sabbath circumstance, is dear to him. He loves 
 the quietness of that hallowed morn. He loves 
 the church-bell sound, which summons him to 
 
289 
 
 the house of prayer. He loves to join the cho- 
 rus of devotion, and to sit and Hsten to that 
 voice of persuasion which is Hfted in the hear- 
 ing of an assembled multitude. He loves the 
 retirement of this day from the din of worldly 
 business, and the inroads of worldly men. He 
 loves the leisure it brings along with it — and 
 sweet to his soul is the exercise of that hallow- 
 ed hour, when there is no eye to witness him 
 but the eye of heaven — and when in solemn 
 audience with the Father, who seeth him in se- 
 cret, he can, on the wings of celestial contem- 
 plation, leave all the cares, and all the vexations, 
 and all the secularities of an alienated world be- 
 hind him. O how is it possible, that a man can 
 be under the dominion of a principle of piety, 
 who does not love that day which brings round 
 to piety its most precious opportunities ? How 
 is it possible, that he can wear the character of 
 a religious being, if the very day which offers 
 him the freest time for the lessons and the exer- 
 cises of religion, is spent in other exercises, or 
 idly suffered to roll over his head in no exer- 
 cise at all? How is it possible, that there can 
 exist within him any honest care of his eternity, 
 if the best season for carrying on, without dis- 
 turbance, the preparations of eternity, pass away 
 in disgust and in weariness? How is it possible, 
 
290 
 
 with all the tenderness of his instinctive nature 
 for the members of his family, that there can be 
 one particle of tenderness for their souls, if this 
 day run on at large from all the restraints of 
 Christian discipline, and careless parents giving 
 themselves up to neglect and to indolence, make 
 no effort to reclaim the wild ignorance of chil- 
 dren, untaught and untrained to that wisdom 
 which is unto salvation ? The thing is not to be 
 conceived; and upon the strength of all these im- 
 possibles, do we assert, that every real Christian 
 has the love of the Sabbath engraven on the 
 tablet of the inner man — that if you had a 
 window to his bosom, you would there see the 
 fourth commandment filling up as large a space 
 of that epistle, which is written not with ink, 
 but with the Spirit of the living God, as it does 
 on the decalogue of Moses — that this is not the 
 peculiarity of some accidental Christians, meet- 
 ing our observation on some random walk over 
 the face of Christian society — that it is the con- 
 stant and universal attribute of all Christians — 
 that in every age of the cliurch the love of the 
 Sabbath, and an honest delight in all its pious 
 and profitable observances, have ever stood out 
 among the visible lineaments of the new crea- 
 ture in Jesus Christ our Lord — that the PTcat 
 Spirit, whose office it is to inscribe the law of 
 
291 
 
 God on the hearts of those whose sins are 
 forgiven them, and whom he has admitted 
 into the privileges of his new and his better 
 covenant, has never omitted, in a single instance, 
 to make the remembrance of the Sabbath one of 
 the most conspicuous, and one of the most in- 
 delible articles of that inscription. And thus 
 has it happened, that without any statutory en- 
 actment in the whole compass of the New 
 Testament upon the subject — without any for- 
 mal setting forth of Sabbath observation, or 
 any laying down of a Sabbath ceremonial, the 
 grave, the solemn, the regular, and with all this, 
 the affectionate keeping of this distinguished 
 day, has come down to us through a series of 
 eighteen centuries, and may be recognized to 
 this hour as the ever present badge of every 
 Christian individual — and as the great index and 
 palladium of religion in every Christian land. 
 
 We shall just say one thing more upon this sub- 
 ject at present. What now becomes of him, who, 
 like a special pleader, with a statute book in his 
 hand, thinks that the New Testament has set 
 him at large from every one style of Sabbath 
 observation, because he cannot find in it any 
 laying down of Sabbath observances ? He will 
 not own the force of any obligation till it be 
 
 T2 
 
292 
 
 shown to him as one of the clauses in the bond. 
 His constant appeal is to the bond. He will 
 not exceed, by a single inch, the literalities of the 
 bond. He will square his every service, and his 
 every offering by the bond — and when he is 
 charged with any one of the misdemeanours of 
 Sabbath-breaking, he will tell you that it is not 
 specified in the bond. Why, my brethren, if 
 the bond be what he stands upon, he just wak- 
 ens up against himself the old ministry of con- 
 demnation. If it be on the just and even foot- 
 ing of the bond, that he chooses to have his ex- 
 actly literal dealings with God, on this footing 
 God will enter into judgment with him — and 
 soon, and very soon, will he convict him of his 
 glaring deficiencies from his own favourite stan- 
 dard the bond. Ah, my brethren, when a Chris- 
 tian serves his reconciled Father, it is the service 
 of a liberal and spontaneous attachment. His 
 aim is to please him and to glorify him to the 
 uttermost ; and he is never more delighted than 
 when it is in his power to offer the God whom 
 he loves, some of those substantial testimonies 
 of affection which no jealousy can extort by any 
 of its enactments, and the letter of no law is 
 able to embody in any of its descriptions. With 
 such a spirit, and such a cordiality within, we 
 cannot doubt for a moment the delight which 
 
293 
 
 such a man will take in the Sabbath, and how 
 dear to his bosom will the affecting remem- 
 brance be to which it is consecrated — and how 
 diligently he will cultivate its every hour to 
 the purpose for which it was made — and how, 
 knowing that the Sabbath was made for man, he 
 will earnestly and honestly give himself to the 
 task of realizing all its usefulness to himself and 
 to his family. And do you think, that God 
 will not see this ? Do you think, that he will 
 stand in need of any literal specifications by 
 which he may mark the character of this man 
 on the day of retribution ? Will he not be able 
 to read that epistle which he himself has engrav- 
 en on the fleshly tablets of his heart ? Will he 
 not know his own ? Will he not recognize all 
 the lineaments of that new creature, which has 
 been fashioned by his own spirit — and on that 
 day when the secrets of every heart are laid 
 open, will not the Sabbath observations of an ho- 
 nest and affectionate believer, flowing, as they 
 do, from the impulses of a love for that law 
 which is written on his mind, be put down among 
 those good deeds which shall be found to praise, 
 and honour, and glory, at the solemn reckoning 
 of the judgment seat? 
 
SERMON XL 
 
 ON THE DOCTRINE OF PREDESTINATION. 
 
 ACTS XXVII. 22, SI. 
 
 " And now I exhort you to be of good cheer : for there 
 shall be no loss of any man's life among you, but of the 
 ship. Paul said to the centurion and to the soldiers, Ex- 
 cept these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved." 
 
 The comparison of these two verses lands us in 
 what may appear to many to be a very dark 
 and unprofitable speculation. Now, our object 
 in setting up this comparison, is not to foster in 
 any of you a tendency to meddle with matters 
 too high for us — but to protect you against the 
 practical mischief of such a tendency. You 
 have all heard of the doctrine of predestination. 
 It has long been a settled article of our church. 
 And there must be a sad deal of evasion and of 
 unfair handling with particular passages, to get 
 free of the evidence which we find for it in the 
 
29.5 
 
 Bible. And independently of Scripture alto- 
 gether, the denial of this doctrine brings a 
 number of monstrous conceptions along with 
 it. It supposes God to make a world, and not 
 to reserve in his own hand the manan-ement of 
 its concerns. Though it should concede to him 
 an absolute sovereignty over all matter, it de- 
 poses him from his sovereignty over the region 
 of created minds, that far laiore dignified and 
 interesting portion of his works. The greatest 
 events in the history of the universe, are those 
 which are brought about by the agency of wil- 
 ling and intelligent beings — and the enemies of 
 the doctrine invest every one of these beings 
 with some sovereign and independent principle 
 of freedom, in virtue of which it may be as- 
 serted of this whole class of events, that they 
 happened, not because they were ordained of 
 God, but because the creatures of God, by their 
 own uncontrolled power, brought them into ex- 
 istence. At this rate, even he to whom we give 
 the attribute of omniscience, is not able to say 
 at this moment, what shall be the fortune or the 
 fate of any individual — and the whole train of 
 future history is left to the wildness of acci- 
 dent. All this, carries along with it so com- 
 plete a dethronement of God — it is bringing 
 his creation under the dominion of so many 
 
296 
 
 nameless and undeterminable contingencies — 
 it is taking the world and the current of its 
 history so entirely out of the hands of him 
 who formed it — it is withal so opposite to what 
 obtains in every other field of observation, where, 
 instead of the lawlessness of chance, we shall 
 find that the more we attend, the more we per- 
 ceive of a certain necessary and established 
 order — that from these and other considerations 
 which might be stated, the doctrine in question, 
 in addition to the testimonies which we find for it 
 in the Bible, is at this moment receiving a very 
 general support from the speculations of infidel 
 as well as Christian philosophers. 
 
 Assenting, as we do, to this doctrine, we 
 state it as our conviction, that God could point 
 the finger of his omniscience to every one indi- 
 vidual amongst us, and tell what shall be the fate 
 of each, and the place of each, and the state of 
 suffering or enjoyment of each at any one pe- 
 riod of futurity, however distant. Well does he 
 know those of us who are vessels of wrath fitted 
 for destruction, and those of us whom he has 
 predestinated to be conformed to the image of 
 his dear Son, and to be rendered meet for the 
 inheritance. We are not saying, that we, or that 
 any of you could so cluster and arrange the two 
 
297 
 
 sets of individuals. This is one of the secret 
 things which belong to God. It is not our duty 
 to be altogether silent about the doctrine of pre- 
 destination — for the Bible is not silent about it, 
 and it is our duty to promulgate and to hold up 
 our testimony for all that we find there. But 
 certain it is, that the doctrine has been so in- 
 judiciously meddled with — it has tempted so 
 many ingenious and speculative men to trans- 
 gress the limits of Scripture — it has engen- 
 dered so much presumption among some, and 
 80 much despondency among others — it has 
 been so much abused to the mischief of prac- 
 tical Christianity, that it were well for us all, 
 could we carefully draw the line between the 
 secret things which belong to God, and the 
 things which are revealed, and belong to us and 
 to our children. 
 
 With this view, we shall, in the first place, 
 lay before you the observations which are sug- 
 gested by the immediate history in the passage 
 now submitted to you. And in the second 
 place, we shall attempt to evince its applica- 
 tion to us of the present day, and in how far it 
 should carry an influence over the concerns of 
 practical godliness. 
 
298 
 
 I. In the 22d verse Paul announces in abso- 
 lute terms, that all the men of the ship were to 
 be saved. He had been favoured with this in- 
 timation from the mouth of an angel. It was 
 the absolute purpose of God, and no obstacle 
 whatever could prevent its accomplishment. 
 To him belongs that knowledge which sees ev- 
 ery thing, and that power which determines ev- 
 ery thing ; and he could say to his prophet, 
 " These men will certainly be saved." Compare 
 this with what we have in the Slst verse. By 
 this time the sailors had given up all hope of 
 the safety of the vessel. They had toiled, as 
 they thought, in vain — and in despair of doing 
 any good, they ceased from working the ship, 
 and resolved to abandon her. With this view, 
 they let down the boat to try the chance of de- 
 liverance for themselves, and leave the passen- 
 gers to perish. Upon this Paul, though his 
 mind had been previously assured, by an intima- 
 tion from the foreknowledge and predestination 
 of God, that there should be no loss of men's 
 lives, put on all the appearance of earnestness 
 and urgency — and who can doubt, that he really 
 felt this earnestness at the moment of his speak- 
 ing to the centurion, when he told him, that un- 
 less these men should abide in the ship, they 
 would not be saved? He had before told them, 
 
299 
 
 in the most unrestricted terms, that they would 
 be saved. But this does not restrain his prac- 
 tical urgency now — and the urgency of Paul 
 gave an alarm and a promptitude to tlie mind 
 of the centurion — and the centurion ordered his 
 soldiers to cut the ropes which fastened the 
 boat to the vessel, that the sailors, deprived of 
 this mode of escape, might be forcibly detained 
 among them — and the soldiers obeyed — and the 
 sailors were kept on board, and rendered the 
 full benefit of their seamanship and their exer- 
 tions. They did what other passengers could 
 not do. They lightened the ship. They took 
 up the anchors. They loosed the rudder-bands. 
 They hoised up the mainsail to the wind — and 
 the upshot of this long intermediate process, 
 with all its steps, was, that the men escaped safe 
 to land, and the decree of God was accom- 
 plished. 
 
 Now, in the first instance, it was true, in the 
 most absolute sense of the word, that these 
 men were to be saved. And in the second in- 
 stance, it was no less true, that unless the sailors 
 abode in the ship, they could not be saved. 
 And the terms of this apparent contradiction 
 admit of a very obvious reconciliation on the 
 known truth, that God worketh by instruments. 
 
300 
 
 He may carry every one purpose of his into im- 
 mediate accomplishment by the direct energy 
 of his own hands. But, in point of fact, this is 
 not his general way of proceeding. He chooses 
 rather to arrive at the accomplishment of many 
 of his objects by a succession of steps, or by 
 the concurrence of one or more visible instru- 
 ments, which require time for their operation. 
 This is a truth to which all nature and all expe- 
 rience lend their testimony. It was his purpose 
 that, at the moment I am now addressing you, 
 there should be light over the face of the coun- 
 try, and this purpose he accomplishes by the 
 instrumentality of the sun. There is a time 
 coming, when light shall be furnished out to us 
 in another way — when there shall be no need 
 either of the sun or the moon to lighten the 
 city of our habitation — but when the glory of 
 God shall lighten it, and the Lamb shall be the 
 light thereof. But this is not the way at pre- 
 sent, and, therefore, it is both true, that it was 
 God's purpose there should be light over us 
 and around us at this moment, and that unless 
 the sun had risen upon us this morning, there 
 would have been no such light. It may be the 
 purpose of God to bless the succeeding year 
 with a plentiful harvest. He could accomplish 
 this purpose in two ways. He could make the 
 
301 
 
 ripened corn start into existence by a single 
 word of his power. But this is not the actual 
 way in which he carries such designs into ac- 
 complishment. He does it by the co-operation 
 of many visible instruments. It is true, he can 
 pour abundance among us even in the midst of 
 adverse weather and unfavourable seasons. But 
 he actually does it by means of favourable wea- 
 ther and favourable seasons. It is not in spite 
 of bad weather that we receive from his hands 
 the blessings of plenty — but in consequence of 
 good weather — sunshine and shower succeeding 
 each other in fit proportion — calm to prevent 
 the shaking of the corn, and wind in sufficient 
 quantity to winnow it and make a prosperous in- 
 gathering. Should it be the purpose of God to 
 give a plentiful harvest to us next year, it will 
 certainly happen, and yet it may be no less true, 
 that unless such weather come, we shall have 
 no plentiful harvest. God, who appoints the 
 end, orders and presides over the whole series 
 of means which lead to it. These visible causes 
 are all in his hand. They are the instruments 
 of his power. The elements are his, and he 
 can either restrain their violence, or let them 
 loose in fury upon the world. 
 
 Now, look upon human beings as the in- 
 
302 
 
 struments of his pleasure, and you have an 
 equally complete explanation of the passage 
 before us. You will be made to understand 
 how it is true, that it was God's absolute pur- 
 pose that the men of the vessel should be saved, 
 and how it is equally true, that unless the sailors 
 abode in the ship, they could not be saved. 
 Why, the same God who determined the end, 
 gave certain efficacy to the means which he 
 himself had instituted and set agoing for the 
 accomplishment of tlie end. It does not at all 
 affect the certainty of God's influence over these 
 means, that, in addition to wind, and water, and 
 material elements, there were also human beings 
 employed as instruments for carrying his pur- 
 pose into execution. It is expressly said of God, 
 not only that he stilleth the waves of the sea, 
 but that he also stilleth the tumults of the peo- 
 ple, and that he can turn the heart of man as the 
 rivers of water, turning it whithersoever he will. 
 He appoints the end, and it does not at all lessen 
 the sure and absolute nature of the appointment, 
 that he brings it about by a long succession of 
 means, provided that it is his power which gives 
 effect to every step in the progress and opera- 
 tion of these means. Now, in the case before 
 us, there was just such a progress as we pointed 
 out in the case of a favourable harvest. He had 
 
303 
 
 determined, that all the men of the vessel should 
 be saved j but agreeably to the method of his 
 administration in other cases, he brought it 
 about by the operation of instruments. He 
 did not save them against the use of instruments, 
 but he did it by the use of instruments. The 
 instruments he employed were men. Paul 
 speaking to the centurion — the centurion order- 
 ing the soldiers to cut the ropes, and let the 
 boat away from the vessel — the sailors obliged 
 to work for their own safety — these were the 
 instruments of God, and he had as much com- 
 mand over them as of any others he has created. 
 He brought about the saving of the men by 
 means of those instruments, as certainly as he 
 brings about a good harvest by the instrument 
 of favourable weather, and congenial seasons. 
 He is as much master of the human heart and 
 its determinations, as he is of the elements. He 
 reigns in the mind of man, and can turn its 
 purposes in any way that suits his purposes. 
 He made Paul speak. He made the centurion 
 listen and be impressed by it. He made the 
 soldiers obey. He made the sailors exert them- 
 selves. The conditional assertion of the 31st 
 verse was true — but he made the assertion serve 
 the purpose for which it was uttered. He over- 
 ruled the condition, and brought about the ful- 
 
304 
 
 filment of" the absolute prophecy in the 22d 
 verse. The whole of this process was as com- 
 pletely overruled by him as any other process in 
 nature — and in virtue too of the very same power 
 by which he can cause the wind of heaven to fly 
 loose upon the world, make the rain descend, the 
 corn ripen into harvest, and all the blessings of 
 plenty sit in profusion over a happy and a fa- 
 voured land. 
 
 There is no inconsistency then between these 
 verses. God says in one of them, by the mouth 
 of Paul, that these men were certainly to be 
 saved. And Paul says in the other of these 
 verses, that unless tlie centurion and soldiers 
 were to do so and so they should not be saved. 
 In one of the verses, it is made to be the cer- 
 tain and unfailing appointment of God. In the 
 other it is made to depend on the centurion. 
 There is no difficulty in all this, if you would 
 just consider, that God, who made the end cer- 
 tain, made the means certain also. It is true, 
 that the end was certainly to happen, and it is 
 as true that the end would not have happened 
 without the means — but God secured the hap- 
 pening of both, and so gives sureness and con- 
 sistency to the passage before us. 
 
305 
 
 Now, it is worth while to attend here botli to 
 the conduct of Paul who gave the directions, 
 and to the conduct of the centurion who obeyed 
 them. Paul, who gave the directions, knew, 
 in virtue of the revelation that was made to 
 him some time before, that the men were cer- 
 tainly to be saved, and yet this does not pre- 
 vent him from urging them to the practical adop- 
 tion of means for saving themselves. He knew 
 that their being saved was a thing predestinated, 
 and as sure as the decree of heaven could make 
 it ; but he must likewise have known, that while 
 it was God's counsel they should be saved, it 
 was also God's will that they should be saved 
 by the exertions of the sailors — that they were 
 the instruments he made choice of — that this 
 was the way in which he wished it to be brought 
 about — and Paul had too high a reverence for 
 the will of God, to decline the use of those prac- 
 tical expedients, which formed the likeliest way 
 of carrying this will into effect. It is a very 
 striking circumstance, that the same Paul who 
 knew absolutely and unequivocally that the men 
 were to be saved, could also say, and say with 
 truth, that unless the sailors were detained in 
 the ship, they should not be saved. Both were 
 true, and both were actually brought about. 
 The thing was done by the appointment of 
 
 u 
 
S06 
 
 (jod, and it was also done by a voluntary act 
 on the part of the centurion and his soldiers. 
 Paul knew of the appointment, but he did not 
 feel himself exempted by this knowledge, from 
 the work of practically influencing the will of 
 the people who were around him ; and the w^ay 
 in which he got them to act, was by bringing 
 the urgency of a prevailing argument to bear 
 upon them. He told them that their lives de- 
 pended upon it. God put it into Paul's heart 
 to make use of the argument, and he gave it 
 that influence over the hearts of those to whom 
 it was addressed, that by the instrumentality of 
 men, his purpose, conceived from eternity, and 
 revealed beforehand to the Apostle, was carried 
 forward to its accomplishment. 
 
 And again, as the knowledge that they were 
 to be saved, did not prevent Paul from giving 
 directions to the centurion and soldiers for sav- 
 ing themselves, neither did it prevent them from 
 a practical obedience to these directions. It 
 does not appear w^hether they actually at this 
 time believed Paul to be a messenger of God — 
 though it is likely, from the previous history of 
 the voyage, that they did. If they did not, then 
 they acted as the great majority of men do, they 
 acted as unconscious instruments for the execu- 
 
307 
 
 tion of the divine purposes. But if they did be- 
 lieve Paul to be a prophet, it is highly striking 
 to observe, that the knowledge they had gotten 
 from his mouth of their really and absolutely 
 escaping with their lives, did not slacken their 
 utmost degree of activity in the business of 
 working for the preservation of their lives, at a 
 bidding from the mouth of the same prophet. 
 He is a prophet from God — and whatever he 
 says must be true. He tells us we are to escape 
 with our lives — let us believe this and rejoice 
 in it. But he also tells us, that unless we do cer- 
 tain things, we shall not escape with our lives — 
 let us believe this also, and do these things. A 
 fine example, on the one hand, of their faithful 
 dependence on his declarations, and, on the 
 other, of their practical obedience to his require- 
 ments. If one were to judge by the prosperous 
 result of the whole business, the way in which 
 the centurion and soldiers were affected by the 
 different revelations of Paul, was the very way 
 which satisfied God — for it was rewarded with 
 success, and issued both in the fulfilment of his 
 decree, and the completion of their deliver- 
 ance. 
 
 II. We now come to the second thing pro- 
 posed, which was to evince the application of 
 
 11 2 
 
308 
 
 the passage to us of the present day — and how 
 far it should carry an influence over the con- 
 cerns of practical godliness. 
 
 We shall rejoice in the first instance, if the ex- 
 planation we have now given, have the effect of 
 clearing away any of those perplexities which 
 throw a darkening cloud over the absolute and 
 universal sovereignty of God. We are ready 
 enough to concede to the Supreme Being the 
 administration of the material world, and to put 
 into his hand all the force of its mighty elements. 
 But let us carry the commanding influence of 
 Deity into the higher world of moral and intelli- 
 gent beings. Let us not erect the will of the 
 creature into an independent principle. Let us 
 not conceive that the agency of man can bring 
 about one single iota of deviation from the 
 plans and the purposes of God — or that he can 
 be thwarted and compelled to vary in a single 
 case, by the movement of any of those subor- 
 dinate beings whom he himself has created. 
 There may be a diversity of operations, but it 
 is God who worketli all in all. Look at the re- 
 solute and independent man, and you there see 
 the purposes of the human mind entered upon 
 with decision, and followed up by vigorous and 
 successful exertion. But tliese only make up 
 
309 
 
 one diversity of God's operations. The will of 
 man, active, and spontaneous, and fluctuating 
 as it appears to be, is an instrument in his hand 
 — and he turns it at his pleasure — and he brings 
 other instruments to act upon it — and he plies 
 it with all its excitements — and he measures the 
 force and proportion of each of them — and ev- 
 ery step of every individual receives as deter- 
 minate a character from the hand of God, as 
 every mile of a planet's orbit, or every gust of 
 wind, or every wave of the sea, or every par- 
 ticle of flying dust, or every rivulet of flowing 
 water. This power of God knows no excep- 
 tions. It is absolute and unlimited, and while 
 it embraces the vast, it carries its resistless influ- 
 ence to all the minute and unnoticed diversities 
 of existence. It reigns and operates through 
 all the secrecies of the inner man. It gives 
 birth to every purpose. It gives impulse to ev- 
 ery desire. It gives shape and colour to every 
 conception. It wields an entire ascendancy 
 over every attribute of the mind ; and the will, 
 and the fancy, and the understanding, with all 
 the countless variety of their hidden and fugi- 
 tive operations, are submitted to it. It gives 
 movement and direction through every one 
 point in the line of our pilgrimage. At no one 
 moment of time does it abandon us. It follows 
 
310 
 
 us to the hour of death, and it carries us to 
 our place and our everlasting destiny in the 
 region beyond it. It is true, that no one gets 
 to heaven, but he, who by holiness, is meet 
 ibr it. But the same power which carries us 
 there, works in us the meetness. And if we 
 are conformed to the image of the Saviour, it 
 is by the energy of the same predestinating God, 
 whose good pleasure it is to give unto us the 
 kingdom prepared for us before the foundation 
 of the world. 
 
 Thus it is that some are elected to everlasting 
 life. This is an obvious doctrine of Scripture. 
 The Bible brings it forward, and it is not for us, 
 the interpreters of the Bible, to keep it back 
 from you. God could, if it pleased him, read 
 out at this moment, the names of those in this 
 congregation, who are ordained to eternal life, 
 and are written in his book. In reference to 
 their deliverance from shipwreck, he enabled 
 Paul to say of the whole ship's company, that 
 they were to be saved. In reference to your 
 deliverance from wrath and from punishment, 
 he could reveal to us the names of the elect 
 among you, and enable us to say of them that 
 they are certainly to be saved. 
 
311 
 
 But again, the same God who ordains the 
 end, ordains also the means which go before it. 
 In virtue of the end being ordained and made 
 known to him, Paul could say that all the men's 
 lives were to be saved. And in virtue of the 
 means being ordained and made known to him, 
 he could also say, that unless the sailors abode 
 in the ship, they should not be saved. In the 
 same manner, if the ordained end were made 
 known to us, we could, perhaps, say of some 
 individual among you, that you are certainly to 
 be saved. And if the ordained means were 
 made known to us, we could say, that unless 
 you are rendered meet for the inheritance of the 
 saints in light, you shall not be saved. Now 
 the ordination of the end God has not been 
 pleased to reveal to us. He has not told us who 
 among you are to be saved, as he told Paul of 
 the deliverance of his ship's company. This is 
 one of the secret things which belong to him, 
 and we dare not meddle with it. But he has 
 told us about the ordained means, and we know, 
 through the medium of the Bible, that unless 
 you do such and such things, you shall not be 
 saved. This is one of the revealed things which 
 belong to us, and with as great truth and prac- 
 tical urgency as Paul made use of, when he said 
 to the centurion and soldiers, that unless these 
 
312 
 
 men abide in the ship ye shall not be saved, do 
 we say to one and to all of you, unless ye repent 
 ye shall not be saved — unless ye do works meet 
 for repentance, ye shall not be saved — unless ye 
 believe the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, ye 
 shall not be saved — unless ye are born again, 
 ye shall not be saved — unless the deeds done in 
 your body be good deeds, and ye bring forth 
 those fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus 
 Christ to the praise and glory of God, ye shall 
 not be saved, 
 
 Mark the difference between the situation of 
 Paul urging upon the people of the ship the im- 
 mediate adoption of the only way by which their 
 lives could be saved, and the situation of an 
 ordinary minister urging it upon the people of 
 his church, to take to that way of faith and re- 
 pentance, by which alone they can save their 
 souls from the wrath that is now abiding on 
 them. Paul did know that the people were cer- 
 tainly to escape with their lives, and that did 
 not prevent him from pressing upon them the 
 measures which they ought to adopt for their 
 preservation. Even then, though a minister did 
 know those of his people whose names are writ- 
 ten in the book of life, tliat ought not to hinder 
 him from pressing it upon them to lay hold of 
 
313 
 
 eternal life — to lay up their treasure in heaven — 
 to labour for the meat that endureth — to follow 
 after that holiness, without which no man shall 
 see the Lord — to be strong in the faith, and such 
 a faith too as availeth, even faith which work- 
 eth by love, and of which we may say, even to 
 those whom we assuredly know to be the chosen 
 heirs of immortality, that unless this faith abid- 
 eth in them, they shall not be saved. But it so 
 happens, that we do not know who are, and who 
 are not, the children of election. This is a se- 
 cret thing belonging to God, and which is not 
 imparted to us. Even though it were imparted 
 to us, still it would be our part to say to those 
 of whose final salvation we were assured, believe 
 the Gospel, or you shall not be saved — repent, 
 or you shall not be saved — purify yourselves 
 even as God is pure, or you shall not be saved. 
 But we are not in possession of the secret — and 
 how much more then does it lie upon us to ply 
 with earnestness the fears and the consciences 
 of our hearers, by those revealed things which 
 God hath been pleased to make known to us ? 
 What ! if Paul, though assured by an angel from 
 heaven of the final deliverance of his ship's 
 company, still persists in telling them, that if 
 they leave certain things undone, their deliver- 
 ance will be impossible — shall we, utterly in the 
 
314 
 
 dark about the final state of a single hearer we 
 are addressing, let down for a single instant the 
 practical urgency of the New Testament ? The 
 predestination of God respecting the final escape 
 of Paul and his fellow-travellers from shipwreck, 
 though made known to the Apostle, did not 
 betray him into the indolence which is ascribed, 
 and falsely ascribed, to the belief of this doc- 
 trine ; nor did it restrain him from spiriting on 
 the people to the most strenuous and fatiguing 
 exertions. And shall we, who only know in 
 general that God does predestinate, but cannot 
 carry it home with assurance to a single indi- 
 vidual, convert this doctrine into a plea of in- 
 dolence and security ? Even should we see the 
 mark of God upon their foreheads, it would 
 be our duty to labour them with the necessity 
 of doing those things, which, if left undone, 
 will exclude from the kingdom of God. But, 
 we make no such pretensions. We see no 
 mark upon any of your foreheads. We possess 
 no more than the Bible, and access through 
 the Mediator to him, who, by his Spirit, can 
 open our understandings to understand it. 
 The revealed things which we find there be- 
 long to us, and we press them upon you — " Un- 
 less ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." " If 
 ye believe not in tlie Son of God, the wrath of 
 
315 
 
 God abideth on you." *' Be not deceived, nei- 
 ther covetous, nor thieves, nor extortioners, 
 nor drunkards, shall inherit the kingdom of 
 God." " He who forsaketh not all, shall not 
 be a disciple of Christ." *' The fearful, and 
 the unbelieving, and the abominable, and all 
 liars shall have their part in the lake which 
 burnetii witli fire and brimstone." These are 
 plain declarations, and apart from the doctrine 
 of predestination altogether, they ought, and if 
 they are believed and listened to, they will 
 have a practical influence upon you. We call 
 upon you not to resist this influence, but to 
 cherish it. If any of you are the children of 
 election, it is by the right influence of revealed 
 things upon your understandings and your con- 
 sciences, that this secret thing will be brought to 
 pass. Paul said as much to the centurion and 
 the soldiers, as that if you do the things I call 
 upon you to do, you will certainly be saved. 
 They did what he bade them, and the decree of 
 God respecting their deliverance from ship- 
 wreck, a decree which Paul had the previous 
 knowledge of, was accomplished. We also feel 
 ourselves warranted to say to one and to all of 
 you, " Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
 ye shall be saved." " Repent and be converted, 
 and your sins shall be forgiven you." Return 
 
316 
 
 unto God, and he will be reconciled. If you 
 do as we bid you, God's decree respecting your 
 deliverance from hell, a decree which we have 
 not the previous knowledge of, will be made 
 known by its accomplishment. 
 
 Again, we call upon you, our hearers, to 
 compare your situation with that of the centu- 
 rion and the soldiers. They were told by a pro- 
 phet that they were to be saved, and when that 
 prophet told them what they were to do for the 
 purpose of saving themselves, they obeyed him. 
 They did not say, *' O it is all predestinated, 
 and we may give up our anxieties, and do no- 
 thing." They were just as strenuous and as 
 active, as if there had been no predestination in 
 the matter. Paul's previous assurance, that all 
 was to end well, had no effect in lulling them 
 to indolence. It did end well, not however 
 without their exertions, but by their exertions. 
 How much more does it lie upon you to enter 
 with earnestness upon the business of doing. 
 We can give you no assurance of its being the 
 decree of God, that any of you shall be saved. 
 But we can give you the assurance, that you will 
 be saved, if you do such and such things. Sure- 
 ly, if the people whom Paul addressed, did not 
 feel themselves exempted by their knowledge 
 
317 
 
 of God's decree, from practically entering upon 
 those measures which carried forward its accom- 
 plishment, you, who have no such knowledge, 
 must feel doubly impelled by the uncertainty 
 which hangs over you, to the work of making 
 your calling and your election sure. You know 
 in general, that predestination is a doctrine of 
 the Bible, but there is not one of you who can 
 say of himself, that God has made known his 
 decrees to me, and given me directly to under- 
 stand, that I am the object of a blessed predes- 
 tination. This is one point of which you know 
 nothing ; but there is another point of which 
 you know something — and that is, if I believe, 
 if I repent, if I be made like unto Christ, if I 
 obtain the Holy Spirit to work in me a confor- 
 mity to his image, and I am told, that I shall 
 obtain it if I ask it — then by this I become an 
 heir of life, and the decree of which I know 
 nothing at the outset of my concern about sal- 
 vation, will become more and more apparent to 
 me as I advance in a meetness for heaven, and 
 will, at length, become fully, and finally, and 
 conclusively made known by its accomplish- 
 ment. I may suffer my curiosity to expatiate 
 on the question, " Am I, or am I not, of the 
 election of God?'* But my wisdom tells me 
 that this is not the business on hand. It is not 
 
318 
 
 the matter which I am called on to do with at 
 present. After Paul said to his companions, 
 that it was quite indispensable to their safety 
 that the sailors should be kept in the vessel, 
 what did the centurion and his men do? Did 
 they fall a speculating about the decrees ? Did 
 the}^ hug themselves in the confidence, that as 
 their safety was a point sure and determined 
 upon, they need to take no trouble at all in the 
 concern ? O no ! No sooner did Paul give the 
 word, than they acted upon it. They gave 
 themselves up with all the promptitude of men 
 whose lives were at stake, to the business on 
 hand. They cut the ropes — they let go the 
 boat — they kept in the sailors — and from the 
 Very first moment of Paul's address to them on 
 the subject, all was bustling, and strenuous, and 
 unremittmg activity ; till, by the unwearied per- 
 severance of these living and operative instru- 
 ments, the decree of God was accomplished. 
 Now, they were much better acquainted with 
 the decree which respected them, than you are 
 with the decree respecting you. They had the 
 beforehand knowledge of it, and will you be less 
 active, or less strenuous, than they ? Do, there- 
 fore, betake yourselves to the business on hand. 
 Let our exhortations to embrace the free offer 
 of the Gospel — to rely on Christ as your Sa- 
 
319 
 
 viour — to resolve against all your iniquities, and 
 turn unto him — to ply the throne of grace for 
 the strengthening influence of that Spirit, by 
 which alone you are enabled to die unto all sin, 
 and live unto all righteousness — let this have 
 an immediate, and a stirring, and a practical in- 
 fluence upon you. If you put this influence 
 away from you, you are in a direct way now 
 of proving what we tremble to think may be ren- 
 dered clear and indisputable at last, on the great 
 day of the revelation of hidden things, that you 
 have neither part nor lot in the matter. What- 
 ever the employment be which takes you up, and 
 hinders you from entering immediately on the 
 work of faith and repentance, it is an alarming 
 symptom of your soul, that you are so taken up 
 — and should the employment be an idle dream- 
 ing, and amusing of yourselves with the decrees 
 and counsels of heaven, it is not the less alarm- 
 ing. Some will spend their time in inquiries 
 about the number of the saved, when they 
 ought to be striving for themselves, that they 
 might obtain an entrance into the strait gate ; 
 and some will waste those precious moments in 
 speculating about the secrets of the book of life, 
 which they should fill up by supporting them- 
 selves, and making progress through the nar- 
 rowness of the way that leads to it. The plain 
 
320 
 
 business we lay upon you, is to put away from 
 you the evil of your doings — to submit your- 
 selves to Christ as he is offered to you — to fly 
 to his atoning sacrifice for the forgiveness of 
 your oftences — to place yourselves under the 
 guidance of his word, and a dependence on the 
 influences of his Spirit — to live no longer to 
 yourselves, but to him — and to fill up your 
 weeks and your days with those fruits of righ- 
 teousness, by which God is glorified. We stand 
 here by the decree of heaven, and it is by the 
 same decree that you are now sitting round and 
 listening to us. We feel the importance of the 
 situation we occupy ; and though we believe in 
 the sovereignty of God, and the unfailingness 
 of all his appointments, this, instead of restrain- 
 ing, impels us to bring the message of the Gos- 
 pel, with all the practical urgency of its invita- 
 tions, and its warnings, to bear upon you. We 
 feel, with all our belief in predestination, that 
 our business is not to forbear this urgency, but 
 to ply you with it most anxiously, and earnestly, 
 and unceasingly — and you should feel with the 
 same belijef in your mind, that your business is 
 not to resist this urgency, but to be guided by 
 its impulse. Who knows but we may be the 
 humble instrument, and you the undeserved 
 subjects of some higli and heavenly ordination? 
 
321 
 
 The cutting of the ropes was the turning point 
 on which the deliverance of Paul's company 
 from shipwreck was suspended. Who knows 
 but the urgency we now ply you with, telling 
 upon you, and carryhig your purposes along 
 with it, may be the very step in the wonderful 
 progress of God's operations, on which your 
 conversion hinges? We, therefore, press the 
 Gospel with all its duties, and all its promises, 
 and all its privileges upon you. O listen, and 
 resolve, and, manfully forsaking all that keeps 
 you from the Saviour, we call upon you, from 
 this moment, to give yourselves up unto him ; 
 and be assured, it is only by acting in obedience 
 to such calls laid before you in the Bible, and 
 sounded in your ear from the pulpit, that your 
 election unto life can ever be made known in 
 this world, or reach its positive consummation 
 in eternity. 
 
 And now you can have no difficulty in under- 
 standing how it is that we make our calling and 
 our election sure. It is not in the power of the 
 elect to make their election surer in itself than 
 it really is — for this is a sureness which is not 
 capable of receiving any addition. It is not in 
 the power of the elect to make it surer to God — 
 for all futurity is submitted to his all-seeing eye, 
 
322 
 
 and liis absolute knowledge stands in need of no 
 confirmation. But there is such a thing as the 
 elect beino; ignorant for a time of their own elec- 
 tion, and their being made sure of it in the pro- 
 gress of evidence and discovery. And there- 
 fore it is that they are called to make their elec- 
 tion sure to themselves, or to make themselves 
 sure of their election. And how is this to be 
 done ? Not by reading it in the book of God's 
 decrees — not by obtaining from him any direct 
 information about his counsels — not by confer- 
 ring with prophet or angel, gifted with the re- 
 velation of hidden things. But the same God 
 who elects some unto everlasting life, and keeps 
 back from them all direct information about it, 
 tells them that he who believeth, and he who re- 
 penteth, and he who obeyeth the Gospel, shall 
 obtain everlasting life. We shall never in this 
 world have an immediate communication from 
 him, whether we are of the elect or not — 
 but let us believe — let us repent — let us obey 
 the Saviour — and from the first moment of our 
 setting ourselves to these things in good ear- 
 nest, we may conceive the hope of a place 
 among the heirs of immortality. In the progress 
 and success of our endeavours, this hope may 
 advance and grow brighter within us. As we 
 grow in tlic exercises of faith and obechence. 
 
323 
 
 the light of a cheering manifestation is more 
 sensibly felt, and our hope ripens into assurance. 
 *' Hereby do we know that we know him, by our 
 keeping his commandments," is an evidence 
 which every year becomes clearer and more en- 
 couraging; and thus, by a well-sustained per- 
 severance in the exercises of the Christian life, 
 do we labour with all diligence to make our cal- 
 ling and election sure. We call upon you, in 
 the language of the Apostle, to have faith, and 
 to this faith add virtue, and knowledge, and 
 temperance, and patience, and godliness, and 
 brotherly kindness, and charity. It is by the 
 doing of these things, that you are made sure 
 of your calling and election, " for if ye do these 
 things," says Peter, " ye shall never fail, and 
 an entrance shall be ministered unto you abun- 
 dantly into the everlasting kingdom of our 
 Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." 
 
 If there be any of you who have not followed 
 this train of observation — if it still remain one 
 of those things of Paul which are hard to be 
 understood — let us beseech you, at least, that 
 you wrest it not to your own destruction, by 
 remitting your activity, and your diligence, and 
 your painstaking in the service of Christ. Why, 
 the doctrine of election leaves our duty to ex- 
 
 X2 
 
324 
 
 hort, and your duty to obey, on the same footing 
 on which it found them. We are commissioned 
 to lay before you the free offer of the Gospel — 
 to press it on the acceptance of one and all of 
 you — to assure every individual amongst you 
 of a hearty welcome from the Lord God merci- 
 ful and gracious — to call you to the service of 
 Christ, that great Master of the household of 
 faith — to urge it upon you, that you must re- 
 nounce every other master, and, casting all 
 your idols, and vanities, and iniquities away from 
 you, to close with the invitation, and be dili- 
 gent in all the duties and performances of the 
 Gospel. If you resist, or put off — if, blind to 
 the goodness of God in Christ Jesus, you suf- 
 fer it not to lead you to repentance — if the call 
 of •' awake to righteousness, and sin not,'* 
 make no practical impression on you — if the 
 true assurance of pardon for the sins of the 
 past, do not fill your heart with the desire of 
 sanctification for the future — if the word of 
 Christ be not so received by you as to lead 
 to the doing of it — then you are just leaving 
 undone those things, of which we say in the 
 words of the text, " Except these things be 
 done, ye cannot be saved" — and to all the guilt 
 of your past disobedience, you add the aggra- 
 vation of putting away from you both the of- 
 
325 
 
 fered atonement and the commanded repen- 
 tance of the Gospel, and " how can you escape 
 if you neglect so great a salvation?'* 
 
SERMON XII. 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF THE SIN AGAINST THE 
 HOLY GHOST. 
 
 MATTHEW XII. 31, 82. 
 
 " Wherefore I say unto you, All manner of sin and blas- 
 phemy shall be forgiven unto men : but the blasphemy 
 against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men. 
 And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of 
 man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh 
 against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, nei- 
 ther in this world, neither in the world to come." 
 
 Let us never suspend the practical influence of 
 what we do know, by idly rambling in a vain 
 and impertinent pursuit after what we do riot 
 know. Thus much we know from the Bible, 
 that God refuses not his Holy Spirit to them 
 who ask it — that every right movement of prin- 
 ciple within us is from him — that when we feel 
 an impulse of conscience, we feel the Spirit of 
 God knocking at the door of our hearts, and 
 challenging from us tliat attention and that obe- 
 
327 
 
 dience wliich are due to the great Lawgiver — 
 that if we follow not the impulse, we provoke 
 and dissatisfy him who is the Author of it — and 
 that there is such a thing as tempting him to 
 abandon us altogether, and to surrender the 
 friendly office of plying us any longer with his 
 admonitions and his warnings. Hence, an em- 
 phatic argument for immediate repentance. By 
 every moment of delay, we hasten upon ourselves 
 the awful crisis of being let alone. The con- 
 science is every day getting harder; and he who 
 sits, behind, and is the unseen Author of all its 
 instigations, is lifting every day a feebler voice; 
 and coming always nearer and nearer to that 
 point in the history of every determined sinner, 
 when left to his own infatuation, he can Jiold up 
 a stubborn and unyielding front to all that in- 
 strumentality of advice and of expostulation 
 which is brought to bear upon him. The 
 preacher plies him with his weekly voice, but 
 the Spirit refuses to lend it his constraining en- 
 ergy- — and all that is tender, and all that is ter- 
 rifying in his Sabbath argument plays around 
 his heart, without reaching it. The judgments 
 of God go abroad against him, and as he carries 
 his friends or his children to the gfave, a fevv^ 
 natural tears may bear witness to the tenderness 
 he bore them — but that Spirit who gives to these 
 
328 
 
 judgments all their moral significancy, withholds 
 from him the anointing which remaineth, and 
 the man relapses as before into all the obstinate 
 liabits, and all the uncrucified affections which 
 he has hitherto indulged in. The disease gath- 
 ers upon him, and gets a more rooted inveteracy 
 than ever — and thus it is, that there are thou- 
 sands and thousands more, who, though active 
 and astir on that living scene of population 
 which is around us, have an iron hardness upon 
 their souls, which makes them, in reference to 
 tlie things of God, dark and sullen as the grave, 
 and fast locks them in all the insensibility of 
 spiritual death. Is there no old man of your 
 acquaintance, who realizes this sad picture of 
 one left to himself, that we have now attempted 
 so rapidly to set before you ? Then know, that 
 by every deed of wilful sin, that by every mo- 
 ment of wilful delay in the great matter of re- 
 pentance, that by every stifled warning of con- 
 science, that by every deafening of its authori- 
 tative voice among the temptations of the world, 
 and the riot of lawless acquaintances, you are 
 just moving yourself to the limits of this help- 
 less and irrecoverable condition. We have no 
 doubt, that you may have the intention of mak- 
 ing a violent step, and suddenly turning round 
 to the right path ere you die. But this you will 
 
329 
 
 not do but by an act of obedience to the re- 
 proaches of a conscience that is ever getting 
 harder. This you will not do without the con- 
 straining influence of that Spirit, who is grad- 
 ually dying away from you. This you will not 
 do but in virtue of some overpowering persua- 
 sion from that monitor who is now stirring with- 
 in you, but with whom you are now taking the 
 most effectual method of drowning his voice, 
 and disarming him of all his authority. Do 
 not you perceive, that, in these circumstances, 
 every act of delay is madness — that you are 
 getting by every hour of it into deeper water — 
 that you are consolidating a barrier against your 
 future return to the paths of righteousness, which 
 you vainly think you will be able to surmount 
 when the languor and infirmity of old age have 
 got hold of you — that you are strengthening and 
 multiplying around you the wiles of an entangle- 
 ment, which all the strugglings of deathbed ter- 
 ror cannot break asunder — that you are insult- 
 ing the Spirit of God by this daily h^bit of stif- 
 ling and neglecting the other and the other call 
 that he is sounding to your moral ear, through 
 the organ of conscience. And O the desperate 
 hazard and folly of such a calculation ! Think 
 you, think you, that this is the way of gaining 
 his friendly presence at that awful moment, 
 
330 
 
 when tlie urgent sense of guilt and of danger 
 forces from the sinner an imploring cry as he 
 stands on the brink of eternity ? 
 
 " How long, ye simple ones, will ye love sim- 
 plicity, and the scorners delight in their scorn- 
 ing, and fools hate knowledge? Turn ye at 
 my reproof. Behold I will pour out my Spi- 
 rit unto you ; I will make known my words un- 
 to you. Because I have called, and ye refused ; 
 I have stretched out my hand, and no man re- 
 garded ; but ye have set at nought all my coun- 
 sel, and would none of my reproof: I also will 
 laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your 
 fear cometh. When your fear cometh as deso- 
 lation, and your destruction cometh as a whirl- 
 wind J when distress and anguish cometh upon 
 you : then shall tliey call upon me, but I will 
 not answer ; they shall seek me early, but they 
 shall not find me.*' 
 
 You see, then, how a man may shut against 
 himself all the avenues of reconciliation. Tliere 
 is nothing mysterious in the kind of sin by which 
 the Holy Spirit is tempted to abandon him to 
 that state in which there can be no forgiveness, 
 and no return unto God. It is by a movement 
 of conscience within him, that the man is made 
 
331 
 
 sensible of sin — that he is visited with the de- 
 sire of reformation — that he is given to feel his 
 need both of mercy to pardon, and of grace to 
 help him — in a word, that he is drawn unto the 
 Saviour, and brought into that intimate alliance 
 with him by faith, which brings down upon him 
 both acceptance with the Father, and all the 
 power of a new and a constraining impulse, to 
 the way of obedience. But this movement is a 
 suggestion of the Spirit of God, and if it be 
 resisted by any man, the Spirit is resisted. The 
 God who offers to draw him unto Christ, is re- 
 sisted. The man refuses to believe, because his 
 deeds are evil ; and by every day of perseve- 
 rance in these deeds, the voice which tells him 
 of their guilt, and urges him to abandon them, 
 is resisted — and thus, the Spirit ceases to 
 suggest, and the Father, from whom the Spirit 
 proceedeth, ceases to draw, and the inward 
 voice ceases to remonstrate — and all this be- 
 cause their authority has been so often put 
 forth, and so often turned from. This is the 
 deadly offence which has reared an impassable 
 wall against the return of the obstinately im- 
 penitent. This is the blasphemy to which no 
 forgiveness can be granted, because in its very 
 nature, the man who has come this length, feels 
 no movement of conscience towards that ground 
 
332 
 
 on wlncli alone forgiveness can be awarded to 
 him — and where it is never refused even to the 
 very worst and most maHgnant of human ini- 
 quities. This is the sin against the Holy Ghost. 
 It is not pecuhar to any one age. It does not 
 he in any one unfathomable mystery. It may 
 be seen at this day in thousands and thousands 
 more, who, by that most familiar and most fre- 
 quently exemplified of all habits, a habit of re- 
 sistance to a sense of duty, have at length stif- 
 led it altogether, and driven their inward moni- 
 tor away from them, and have sunk into a ['pro- 
 found moral lethargy, and so will never obtain 
 forgiveness — not because forgiveness is ever re- 
 fused to any who repent and believe the Gos- 
 pel, but because they have made their faith and 
 their repentance impracticable. They choose 
 not to repent — and this choice has been made 
 so often and so perseveringly, that the Spirit 
 has let them alone. They have obstinately 
 clung to their love of darkness rather than of 
 light, and the Spirit has at length turned away 
 from them since they will have it so. They wish 
 not to believe, because their deeds are evil, and 
 that Spirit has ceased to strive with them, who 
 has so often spoken to them in vain — and whose 
 many remonstrances have never prevailed upon 
 them to abandon the evil of their doings. 
 
333 
 
 Take all this attentively along with you, and 
 the whole mysterioiisness of this sin against the 
 Holy Ghost should be done away. Grant him 
 the office with which he is invested in the Word 
 of God, even the office of instigating the con- 
 science to all its reprovals of sin, and to all its 
 admonitions of repentance — and then, if ever 
 you witnessed the case of a man whose con- 
 science had fallen into a profound and irrecover- 
 able sleep, or, at least, had lost to such a degree 
 its power of control over him, that he stood 
 out against every engine which was set up to 
 bring him to the faith and the repentance of tlie 
 New Testament — behold in such a man a sinner 
 against conscience to such a woeful extent, that 
 conscience had given up its direction of him ; 
 or, in other words, a sinner against the Holy 
 Ghost to such an extent, that he had let down 
 the office of warning him away from that ground 
 of danger and of guilt on which he stood so im- 
 moveably posted — or, of urging him onward to 
 that sure road of access, where if a man seek 
 for pardon, he will never miss it, and where, if 
 he cry for the clean heart and the right spirit, 
 he will not cry in vain. 
 
 And as there is nothing dark or incompre- 
 hensible in the nature of this sin, so there is 
 
334 
 
 nothing in it to impair the freeness of the Gos- 
 pel — or the universaUty of its calls and of its 
 offers — or its power of salvation to all who will 
 — or that attribute which is expressly ascribed 
 to it, that where sin abounded, grace did much 
 more abound. It is never said that pardon 
 through that blood, which is distinctly stated to 
 cleanse from all sin, it is nowhere said, that this 
 pardon is extended to any but to those who be- 
 lieve. If you do not believe, you do not get 
 pardon — and if you will not believe, because 
 you love darkness rather than light — if you will 
 not believe, because you will not abandon those 
 evil deeds which the Spirit tells you through the 
 conscience, that you must forsake in coming un- 
 to Christ — if his repeated calls have been so un- 
 heeded and so withstood by you, that he has at 
 length ceased from striving, then the reason 
 why your sin is unpardonable, is just because 
 you have refused the Gospel salvation. The 
 reason why your case is irrecoverable, is just be- 
 cause you have refused the method of recovery 
 so long, and so often, that every call of repen- 
 tance has now come to play upon you in vain. 
 The reason why you li^ under a guilt that can 
 meet with no forgiveness, is not that one or all 
 of your sins are of a die so deep and so inveter- 
 ate, that the cleansing power of the Saviour's 
 
335 
 
 atonement cannot overmatch them. Let the 
 invitation to the fountain that is opened in the 
 house of Judah, circulate among you as freely 
 as the preacher's voice — for sure we are, that 
 there does not stand, at this moment, within the 
 reach of hearing us, any desperado in vice, so 
 sunk in the depths of his dark and unnatural 
 rebellion, that he is not welcome if he will. 
 But, if ye Xiill not come that ye may have life, 
 this is your sin. This is the barrier in the way 
 of your forgiveness. Grant us repentance and 
 faith, and we know not of a single mysterious 
 crime in the whole catalogue of human depra- 
 vity, that the atoning blood of our Saviour can- 
 not wash away. But withhold from us repen- 
 tance and faith — let us see the man who stands 
 unrebuked out of his wdckedness by all that 
 conscience has reproached him with — unmoved 
 out of the hardness of his unbelief by all that 
 power of tenderness, which should have softened 
 his unrelenting bosom, when told of the Saviour 
 who had poured out his soul unto the death for 
 him—if all this contempt and resistance of his 
 has been so long and so grievously persisted 
 in, that the Spirit has ceased to strive — then, 
 it is not the power of the Gospel that is in 
 fault, but the obstinacy of him who has re- 
 jected it. The sufficiency of the Gospel is not 
 
336 
 
 detracted from by so much as a jot or a tittle. 
 To this very hour may we proclaim it as the sa- 
 vour of life unto life, to tlie very worst of sinners 
 who receive it. But if he so turn aside from 
 its invitations, and the habit be so fixed with 
 him, and conscience get into a state of such 
 immoveable dormancy, that the Spirit gives him 
 over, it is not that the Gospel does not carry 
 a remedy along with it for one and all of his of- 
 fences, but because he refuses that Gospel, that 
 it is to him the savour of death unto death. 
 
 A king publishes a wide and unexcepted am- 
 nesty to the people of a rebellious district in his 
 empire, upon the bare act of each presenting 
 himself within a limited period, before an author- 
 ised agent, and professing his purposes of fu- 
 ture loyalty. Does it at all detract from the 
 clemency of this deed of grace, that many of 
 the rebels feel a strong reluctance to this per- 
 sonal exhibition of themselves ; and that the re- 
 luctance strengthens and accumulates upon them 
 by every day of their postponement; and tliat 
 even before the season of mercy has expired, it 
 has risen to such a degree of aversion on their 
 part, as to form a moral barrier in the way of 
 tlieir prescribed return, that is altogether im- 
 passable? Will you say, because there is no 
 
337 
 
 forgiveness to them, that there is any want of 
 amplitude in that charter of forgiveness which 
 is proclaimed in the hearing of all ; or, that par- 
 don has not been provided for every offence, be- 
 cause some offenders are to be found, with such 
 a degree of perverseness and of obstinacy in 
 their bosom, as constrains them to a determined 
 refusal of all pardon? 
 
 The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin ; 
 and there is not a human creature, who let him 
 repent and believe, will ever find the crimson 
 inveteracy of his manifold offences to be beyond 
 the reach of its purifying and its peace-speaking 
 power. And tell us if it detract by a single 
 iota from the omnipotence of this great Gospel 
 remedy, that there are many sinners in the 
 world who refuse to lay hold of it. To the 
 hour of death it is within the reach of all and 
 of any who will. This is the period in the his- 
 tory of each individual, at which this great act 
 of amnesty expires — and to the last minute of 
 his life, it is competent for me and for every 
 minister of the Gospel to urge it upon him, in 
 all the largeness and in all the universality which 
 belong to it — and to assure him, that there is not 
 a single deed of wickedness with which his faith- 
 ful memory now agonizes him, not one habit o£ 
 
 y 
 
338 
 
 disobedience that now clothes his retrospect of 
 the past in the sad colouring of despair, all the 
 guilt of which, and all the condemnation of 
 which, the blood of the offered Saviour cannot 
 do away. But, tliough we may offer, that is 
 not to say that he will accept. Though we 
 may proclaim and urge the proclamation in his 
 hearing, with every tone of truth and of ten- 
 derness, that is not to say, that our voice will 
 enter with power, or make its resistless way 
 through those avenues of his heart, where he 
 has done so much to rear a defending barrier, 
 that may prove to be impenetrable. Though 
 there be truth in our every announcement, that 
 is not to say, that the demonstration of the Spi- 
 rit will accompany it — even that Spirit who long 
 ere now may have left to himself the man, who, 
 his whole life long has grieved and resisted him. 
 It is still true, that the pardon lies at his accep- 
 tance ; and it may be as true, that there can be 
 no pardon to him because he has brought such 
 an inveterate blindness upon his soul, that he 
 will neither receive the truth, nor love it, nor 
 feel those genuine impulses by which it softens 
 the heart of man to repentance. And thus it is, 
 that while the blood of Christ cleanseth the 
 every sin of every believer, the sin against the 
 Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven, because with 
 
339 
 
 this sin, and with its consequences upon him, 
 man wills not, and repents not, and believes 
 not. 
 
 And now for the interesting question, — 
 How am I to know that I have committed this 
 sin, that is said to be beyond the reach of for- 
 giveness? We are sure, that the right solution 
 of this question, if well understood, would go 
 to dissipate all that melancholy which has been 
 felt upon the subject, by many a bewildered in- 
 quirer. You cannot take a review of the years 
 that are gone, and fetch up this mysterious sin 
 to your remembrance out of the history of the 
 sins that are past. There is not one of them, 
 which, if turned away from, in the faith of that 
 pardon that is through the blood of the atone- 
 ment, there is not one of them beyond the reach 
 of the great redemption of the Gospel. The sin 
 against the Holy Ghost is not some awful and 
 irrevocable deed, around which a disordered 
 fancy has thrown its superstitious array, and 
 which beams in deeper terror upon the eye of 
 the mind, from the very obscurity by which it 
 is encompassed. There ought to be no darkness 
 and no mystery about it. The sin against the 
 Holy Ghost is such a daring and obstinate re- 
 bellion against the prerogatives of conscience — 
 
 Y 2 
 
340 
 
 that all its calls to penitency have been repelled — 
 and all the urgency of its admonitions to flee to 
 the offered Saviour, has been withstood — and 
 all this obstinacy of resistance has been carried 
 forward to such a point in the history of the un- 
 happy man, that his conscience has ceased from 
 the exercise of its functions ; and the Holy Spi- 
 rit has laid down his office of prompting it ; and 
 the tenderness of a beseeching God may be 
 sounded in his ear — but unaccompanied as it is 
 by that power which makes a willing and obe- 
 dient people, it reaches not his sullen and inflexi- 
 ble heart. And instead, therefore, of looking 
 for that sin among those imaginary few who 
 mourn and are in distress, under an overwhelm- 
 ing sense of its enormity, I look for it to those 
 thousands, who, trenched among the secularities 
 of the world, or fully set on the mad career of pro- 
 fligacy, are posting their careless and infatuated 
 way — and suffering Sabbaths and opportunities to 
 pass over them — and turn with contempt from 
 the foolishness of preaching — and hold up the 
 iron front of insensibility against all that is ap- 
 palling in the judgments of God — and cling to 
 this perishable scene under the most touching 
 experiences of its vanity — and walk their un- 
 faultering path amid all the victims which mor- 
 tality has strewn around them — and every year 
 
341 
 
 drink deeper into the spirit of the world — till 
 the moral disease rises to such an inveteracy, that 
 all the engines of conversion, unaided, as they 
 are, by that peculiar force and demonstration 
 which is from on high, fall powerless as infancy 
 upon them, and every soul amongst them sunk 
 in torpor immoveable, will never, never, be 
 made to know the power and the life of a spi- 
 ritual resurrection. 
 
 We know nothing that goes farther to nullify 
 the Bible, than the habit of subjecting the inter- 
 pretation of its passages to any other principle, 
 than that all its parts must consist and be in har- 
 mony with each other. There .has a world of 
 mischief been done by the modifications that 
 have been laid on the obvious meaning of Scrip- 
 ture, with the purpose of rendering it more pal- 
 atable to our independent views of what is right, 
 and wise, and reasonable. This, in fact, is de- 
 posing the word of God from that primitive au- 
 thority which belongs to it, as the court of high- 
 est appeal — all whose decisions are final and ir- 
 reversible. Grant us that there is no contradic- 
 tion between what we find in the book of God*s 
 counsel, and what we know by the evidence of 
 our own experience, or the overbearing testi- 
 mony of others — and such we hold to be the ig- 
 
342 
 
 norance of man about the whole of that spiritual 
 and unseen world which lies beyond the circle 
 of his own observation, that we count it not 
 merely his most becoming piety, but we count 
 it also his soundest and most enlightened philo- 
 sophy, to sit down with the docility of a little 
 child to all that is intimated and made known to 
 him by a well-attested revelation. After the de- 
 ductions we have just now made, we know of 
 no other principle on which we should ever offer 
 to modify a verse or a clause of the written re- 
 cord; but the principle of that entire consistency 
 which must reign throughout all its communica- 
 tions. We know of no other cross-examination 
 which we have a right to set up on this witness 
 to the invisible things of faith — than to try it by 
 itself, and to condemn it, if possible, out of its 
 own mouth,;by confronting together its own de- 
 positions. We are only at freedom to sustain or 
 to qualify the literal sense of one of its announce- 
 ments, by the literal and equally authoritative 
 sense of some other of its announcements. And 
 such is our respect for the paramount authority 
 of Scripture, that we know of no discovery more 
 pleasing, than that by which the apparent in- 
 consistency between two places, is so cleared 
 up, that all necessity for encroacliing upon the 
 literal sense of either of them is completely 
 
343 
 
 done away — for it goes to establish our every 
 impression of the unviolable sanctity of its va- 
 rious communications, and to heighten our be- 
 lief that every semblance of opposition between 
 the particulars of the divine testimony, exists 
 not in the testimony itself, but in the misappre- 
 hension of our own dark and imperfect under- 
 standings. 
 
 Now, if you look to the 31st verse of the 
 12th chapter of Matthew, you will perceive, 
 that all who think the sin against the Holy 
 Ghost to lie in the commission of some rare and 
 monstrous, but at the same time specific iniqui- 
 ty, cannot admit the first clause of the verse 
 without qualifying it by some of the undeniable 
 doctrines of the New Testament. They would 
 say, it is not true that all manner of sin shall be 
 forgiven unto men, with the exception of this 
 blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, which they 
 conceive to occur but seldom in the history of 
 human wickedness. They would say, that there 
 is forgiveness to no sin whatever but on the 
 faith and the repentance of him who has incur- 
 red it — and we must, therefore, suppose this, 
 and qualify the clause by this indispensable con- 
 dition, and thus make the clause to tell us, how 
 such is the power of the Gospel, that all the sin 
 
344 
 
 and blasphemy shall be forgiven of those who 
 have embraced it — save that one sin against the 
 Holy Ghost, for the remission of which not even 
 their acceptance of the Gospel of Christ could 
 avail them. 
 
 Now, the explanation we have given of this 
 sin renders all this work of annexing terms and 
 modifications to this verse of the Bible unneces- 
 sary, and gives, we think, even to its literal and 
 unrestricted meaning, a most lucid consistency 
 with all that is leading and that is undeniable 
 in the doctrine of the N-ew Testament. If the 
 sin against the Holy Ghost be just that sin, in 
 virtue of which the calls and offers of the Gos- 
 pel are so rejected, as to be finally and irreversi- 
 bly put away from us, then it is true, it is abso- 
 lutely and unreservedly true, that all other man- 
 ner of sin shall be forgiven but this one only. 
 All who so reject this Gospel, have sinned 
 against the Holy Ghost — and none who accept 
 this Gospel have incurred this sin, nor shall they 
 want the forgiveness that is there provided for 
 them. It is quite in vain to think, that the sin 
 against the Holy Ghost is confined to that pe- 
 riod of the world, at which our Saviour made 
 his personal appearance in it. The truth is, 
 that it is since Christ withdrew from the world. 
 
345 
 
 that he now carries forward by the Spirit, as his 
 agent and substitute, the business of pressing 
 home upon men the acceptance of the Gospel, 
 by working with their consciences. He employs 
 the Spirit as his witness, since he himself has 
 gone away from us ; and as in the business of 
 entertaining the calls and the offers of the New 
 Testament, our doings are more exclusively with 
 this Spirit, and not at all with the Saviour him- 
 self personally, we are surely as much in the 
 way now of committing the sin in question, as 
 in those days when the Holy Ghost was not so 
 abundantly given, because Jesus Christ was not 
 then glorified. All those, be assured, who re- 
 fuse the Gospel now, do so because they refuse 
 the testimony of this witness — do so because 
 they stifle within them the urgency of his re- 
 buke, when he tells them of faith and of re- 
 pentance — do so, when he offers to convince 
 them on principles, that would be clear to them- 
 selves, could they only be so far arrested by the 
 imperious claims of God and of eternity, as at- 
 tend to them — convince them that they are in- 
 deed on a way of guilt and of alienation, which, 
 if not turned from, through the revealed Media- 
 tor, will land them in the condemnation of a 
 most righteous and unmitigable law. And thus, 
 in the day of reckoning, will this verse, in its 
 
346 
 
 most plain and obvious literality, be so accom- 
 plished on the hosts who are assembled round the 
 judgment-seat — that all who are free from this 
 sin shall have their every other sin forgiven, just 
 because they have obeyed the Gospel in embrac- 
 ing the overtures of forgiveness — and that all 
 who, on that day, shall find no escape, and no 
 forgiveness, have this doom laid upon them, 
 just because each, without exception, has in- 
 curred the sin to which no forgiveness is award- 
 ed, by the very act of neglecting the great sal- 
 vation. 
 
 The sin then against the Holy Ghost, so far 
 from conferring any rare distinction of wicked- 
 ness on him who is guilty of it, is, in fact, the 
 sin of all who, living under the dispensation of 
 the Gospel, have, by their rejection of it, made 
 it the " savour of death unto death." It is a 
 sin which can be charged upon every man who 
 has put the overtures of forgiveness away from 
 him. It is a sin which if, on the great day of 
 examination, you are found to be free from, 
 will argue your acceptance of the Gospel, in 
 virtue of which its forgiveness is made sure to 
 you. And it is a sin, which, if found on that 
 day to adhere to you, will argue your final re- 
 fusal of this same Gospel, in virtue of which 
 
34Y 
 
 your forgiveness is impossible — because you are 
 out of the only way given under heaven where- 
 by men can be saved. So that this sin, looked 
 upon by many as the sin of one particular age, 
 or, if possible to realize it in the present day, as 
 only to be met with in a few solitary instances 
 of enormous and unexpiable transgression, is 
 the very sin upon which may be made to turn 
 the condemnation and the ruin of the existing 
 majority of our species. 
 
 Before we are done with this subject, there is 
 one question that remains to be disposed of. 
 Does it appear, from the historical circumstances 
 of the case, that that conduct of the Pharisees 
 which called forth from our Saviour the denun- 
 ciation of the text, bears a resemblance to the 
 account we have given of the sin against the 
 Holy Ghost, as exemplified by the men of the 
 present generation ? In their rejecting of Christ, 
 was there a determined rebellion of purpose 
 against the light of their own conscience? 
 Was there a wilful and resolved suppression of 
 the force of evidence ? Was there a habitual 
 stifling within them of the movement and the 
 impulse of moral principle ? Was there a firm 
 and deliberate posting of themselves on the 
 ground of opposition, in the whole of their past 
 resistance to this Jesus of Nazareth? Was there 
 
348 
 
 an obstinate keeping of this ground ? Was there 
 an audacious and desperate intent of holding 
 out against all that could be offered in the shape 
 of proofs or of remonstrances on the side of 
 Christianity? Was there a voluntary darken- 
 ing, on their part, of the light of truth, when 
 it began to dawn upon their souls, and threat- 
 ened to carry their convictions away from them ? 
 Was there a habit of fetching up, at all hazards, 
 every argument, however false and however 
 blasphemous it may be, on which they might 
 rest the measures of a proud and interested par- 
 ty, and thus might give the shape and the co- 
 lour of plausibility to that systematic opposition 
 they had entered on ? 
 
 It strikes us, that the whole history of the 
 Pharisees in the New Testament, holds them 
 out in the very attitude of mind which we have 
 now described to you. And think you not that, 
 in the work of maintaining this attitude against 
 the warfare of all that moral and miraculous ar- 
 gument which was brought to bear upon them, 
 they never smothered the instigations of con- 
 science, and through it rebelled against that 
 Spirit, who conveyed, by this organ of the inner 
 man, the whispers of his still but impressive 
 voice ? " Which of you convinceth me of sin," 
 says the Saviour, " and if I tell you the truth, 
 
349 
 
 why do you not believe me ?" Did conscience 
 never tell them how impossible it was that Je- 
 sus of Nazareth could lie ? Did not the words 
 of him who spake as never man spake, bear up- 
 on them the impress of truth as well as of dig- 
 nity ? Is there not such a thing as the suspi- 
 cious aspect of an impostor, and is there not 
 also such a thing as the open, the declared, the 
 ingenuous, and altogether overbearing aspect 
 of integrity — and is it not conceivable, how, in 
 this way, the words of the Saviour might have 
 carried such a moral evidence along with them, 
 as to stamp an unquestionable character on all 
 his attestations ? Now, was there no resisting of 
 the Holy Spirit in the act of shutting the eye of 
 the judgment against the whole weight and au- 
 thority of this character ? In the person of Je- 
 sus of Nazareth, the men of that day were ho- 
 noured with the singular privilege of beholding 
 God manifest in the flesh — of seeing all the 
 graces of the Holy Spirit substantiated, without 
 one taint of imperfection, on the life and charac- 
 ter of one who wore the form of the species — of 
 witnessing, if we may so express ourselves, a sen- 
 sible exhibition of the Godhead — of hearing the 
 truth of God fall in human utterance upon their 
 ears, with a tone of inimitable candour — of see- 
 ing the earnest longing of God after the crea- 
 
350 
 
 tures he had formed, stamped in living and un- 
 deniable traces upon a human countenance — 
 of beholding the tenderness of God expressed 
 in human tears, by him wlio wept over the sins 
 and the sufferings of mankind — and all the 
 goodness of Deity distinctly announcing itself 
 in the mild and impressive sympathies of a hu- 
 man voice. Think you not that there was no 
 struggling with their own consciences, and no 
 wilful blinding' of their own hearts, on the part 
 of those by whom such an exhibition was re- 
 sisted? Surely, surely, the Spirit of God did 
 much to subdue their acquiescence in the alone 
 way of salvation — when all his fruits and all his 
 accomplishments were gathered upon the person 
 of the Redeemer into one visible assemblage — 
 when the whole force of this moral ascendancy 
 was made so nearly and so repeatedly to bear 
 upon them — when truth, with all its pleading 
 energy, assailed them — and gentleness tried to 
 win them over to the cause of their own eter- 
 nity — and the soft eye of compassion beamed 
 upon them — and the unwearied forbearance, 
 which no weight of personal injustice could 
 overcome, told them how, for their sakes, Jesus 
 of Nazareth was ready to do all and to suffer 
 all — and patience, even unto martyrdom, left a 
 meek, but a firm testimony behind it. O ! think 
 
351 
 
 you not, that in the perverse representations, 
 and the spiteful mahgnity, and the sullen im- 
 moveable hardness, by which all this was with- 
 stood and overborne, there was such an outrage 
 upon the authority of conscience, and such a 
 dark and determined principle of rebellion 
 against him who prompts it with all its instiga- 
 tions, as by provoking him to cast them off from 
 all his further communications, might raise an 
 eternal barrier against that faith, and that re- 
 pentance, and that obedience to the Gospel of 
 Christ, through which alone forgiveness is ex- 
 tended to a guilty world ? 
 
 To aggravate still further this resistance to 
 the moral claims of the Saviour, on the part of 
 his inflexible enemies, let us see how these very 
 claims told on the consciences of other men. 
 The officers whom they sent to apprehend him, 
 when they went faultered from the purpose, at 
 what they saw and heard — and when they re- 
 turned with their errand unfulfilled, and the 
 answer in their mouth, that " surely never man 
 spake like this man,'* they found the masters 
 they had to deal with were made of sterner ma- 
 terials — men who knew not what it was to faul- 
 ter — men who reproached them for their moral 
 sensibility — and who had sternly resolved, at all 
 
35^ 
 
 hazards, and in defiance to all principle, to rid 
 themselves of this dangerous pretender. Again, 
 when they instigated Pilate to a capital sentence 
 against him, the Roman Governor was shaken by 
 all that he observed of this innocent victim — 
 but look all the while at the unrelenting con- 
 stancy with which they kept by their purpose ; 
 and in the barbarous prosecution of it, schooled 
 the governor out of his difficulties ; and raised 
 the frenzy of the populace ; and surrounded the 
 best and kindest of the species with the scowl 
 of a brutal and reviling multitude. And, lastly, 
 when he had sealed his testimony by his blood, 
 mark how the man who presided over the exe- 
 cution, was overpowered into the acknowledg- 
 ment, that " Surely this was the Son of God ;" 
 and how they, unsoftened and unsubdued, stood 
 fast to their object — and got his body to be 
 watched, and a story to be devised, and a false- 
 hood of deliberate manufacture to be thrown 
 afloat, with which they might stem the growing 
 faith of our Saviour's resurrection. Now, in 
 this difference between the resolved and inflexi- 
 ble hatred of the Jewish persecutors of Christ, 
 and the relentings of other men, do you see no 
 suppression of the voice of conscience — no re- 
 sistance to that light of principle which sends 
 forth an occasional gleam over the path of the 
 
353 
 
 determinedly reprobate, do you see no one of 
 those ingredients which give to the sin against 
 the Holy Ghost all the malignancy that belongs 
 to it — or, rather, in this hard and unmoveable 
 hostility against one whose challenge to con- 
 vince him of sin, they dared not to entertain; 
 against one, of whom they could not fail to per- 
 ceive, that he was the mildest, and the sincerest, 
 and the most unoffending, and the most unwea- 
 ried in well-doing of all the characters that had 
 met their observation, do you not perceive how 
 it was in the cause of their own offended pride, 
 and their own threatened interest, that they 
 made their systematic resistance to every moral 
 argument, and hurried away their minds from 
 every painful remonstrance — and that too, in the 
 very style in which the obstinately impenitent 
 of the day do, in resistance to every demonstra- 
 tion of guilt, and to every warning of danger, 
 walk in the counsel of their own hearts, and in 
 the sight of their own eyes ? 
 
 It is very true, that it was upon an outward 
 act of speaking, on the part of the Pharisees, 
 that our Saviour uttered this remarkable denun- 
 ciation. But remember what he says himself 
 upon this subject — how the things which come 
 out of a man are evil, because they are the pro- 
 
 z 
 
354 
 
 ducts of a heart which is evil. Remember 
 what is said a few verses before — how our Sa- 
 viour, who knew what was in man, knew the 
 tlioughts of those Pharisees ; and it is upon his 
 knowledge of their thoughts, that he ascribed 
 such a malignity, and laid such a weight of con- 
 demnation on the words which conveyed them. 
 Jlem ember what is said a few verses after, 
 where the fruit is represented as bad, just be- 
 cause the tree is bad — where the words have 
 their whole character of evil imparted to them, 
 just because it is out of the abundance of the 
 heart that the mouth speaketh, and out of the 
 evil humours of the heart, that the man bring- 
 eth forth evil things. And surely, when, after 
 our Saviour had uttered such a peculiar sen- 
 tence of condemnation on the sin against the 
 Holy Ghost, he expressly connects the words 
 of the mouth, with the disposition of the heart, 
 ere he tells us that it was by our words we shall 
 be justified, and by our words we shall be con- 
 demned — we ought no longer to do what we 
 are sure is done by many in their obscure ima- 
 ginations upon this subject, we ought not to 
 liken the sin against the Holy Ghost to the 
 spell of some magical incantation, deriving the 
 whole of that deadly taint which belongs to it, 
 from some infernal charm with which the utter- 
 
355 
 
 ance of mere language is darkly and unaccount- 
 ably impregnated. But knowing that every de- 
 nunciation of our great spiritual Teacher, had 
 some clear and unchangeable principle of mo- 
 rality to rest upon — and perceiving, as we do, 
 that on this very occasion he refers us to the 
 disposition of the heart, as that which gives to 
 the utterance of the tongue all its malignity, let 
 us, when reading of this desperate guilt of the 
 Pharisees, look to the spirit and moral temper 
 of the Pharisees, and, if possible, gather a some- 
 thing that may carry to our own bosoms a salu- 
 tary and convincing application. 
 
 And a single glance at the circumstances 
 may be enough to satisfy us, that never, in any 
 one recorded passage of their history, did they 
 evince the bent of so inflexible a determination 
 against the authority of conscience — never such 
 a wilful darkening of their own hearts against 
 the light and the power of evidence, as in the 
 passage that is now before us. The whole 
 weight of that moral argument on which we 
 have already expatiated, was reinforced by a 
 miracle so striking and so palpable in its effects, 
 that all the people were thrown into amazement. 
 But what constituted the peculiarity of the mi- 
 racle was, that it was just such a miracle as the 
 z 2 
 
356 
 
 Pharisees themselves had been accustomed to 
 look upon with veneration, and liad viewed as 
 an example of successfid hostility against the 
 empire of darkness. They had faith in these 
 possessions. They counted every one of them 
 to be the work of Beelzebub, and the casting 
 out of any of them as a direct triumph of war- 
 fare against the prince of the devils. They 
 themselves, it would appear, laid claim to the 
 power of dispossessing these demons, and we 
 have no doubt that the imagination of such a 
 power residing with them and their children, or 
 proselytes, would help to give them that pro- 
 phetical sanctity in the eyes of the common peo- 
 ple, which they so much aspired after. But 
 when the very thing on which they tried to 
 strengthen their own claims to authority, was 
 done by that man, the progress of whose autho- 
 rity among his countrymen, they were deter- 
 mined, at all hazards, to arrest ; they went 
 round the whole compass of their principles, 
 and quashed the voice of every one of them, 
 rather than own the hand of God, or submit to 
 the demonstration of his power in the miracle 
 before them. It was indeed a desperate fetch 
 tliat they made for an argument, when the very 
 work in which they gloried, and on which they 
 founded the credit of their own order, was so 
 
357 
 
 maligned and misrepresented by them. They 
 had ever been in the habit of ascribing the pos- 
 sessions of that age to the power of Beelzebub — 
 and now to give a colour to their hatred of Je. 
 sus and his claims, they suppose the house of 
 Beelzebub to be divided against itself, and they 
 ascribe to his power a miracle, the doing of 
 which went to dispossess him of a part of his 
 empire. They pretended that their sons or their 
 proselytes had the power of casting out those 
 possessions, and never failed to ascribe this 
 power to the Spirit and the countenance of 
 God — but now they turned round upon the mat- 
 ter, and by rearing their argument against the 
 Saviour in the direct face of their own principle, 
 did they prove how firmly they were resolved to 
 lay hold of an anything, rather than admit the 
 claims of one who was so offensive to them. 
 Thus did they give, perhaps, at this moment, 
 a more conspicuous evidence than they had ever 
 done before, how every proof and every re- 
 monstrance would all be wasted upon them. 
 The Spirit of God had gone his uttermost 
 length with them, and on abandoning them 
 for ever, he left behind him their blood upon 
 their own head, and the misery of an irrecov- 
 erable condition, that was of their own bring- 
 ing on. He had long borne with them — and it 
 
358 
 
 will be seen in the day of reckoning, when all 
 mysteries are cleared up, how great the pa- 
 tience, and the kindness, and the unwearied per- 
 severance were which they had resisted. For 
 though the Spirit strives long, he does not strive 
 always ; and they brought on this crisis in their 
 history, just by the very steps in which every 
 impenitent man brings it on in the present day, 
 by a wilful resistance to the light of their own 
 understanding ; by a resolute suppression of the 
 voice of their own conscience. 
 
 But we must bring all these explanations to a 
 close. The distinction between speaking against 
 the Son of man, and speaking against the Holy 
 Ghost, may be illustrated by what he says of the 
 difference between bearing witness of himself, and 
 another bearing witness of him. If he had had 
 no other testimony than his own to offer, they had 
 not had sin. If he had not done the works before 
 them which none other man did, and which no 
 mere son of man could do, they had not had sin. 
 If he had had nothing to show on which to sus- 
 tain the character that signalized him above the 
 mere children of men, their resistance coidd 
 have been forgiven — but he had shown the most 
 abundant evidence on this point — he had just 
 performed a deed which theii' every habit, and 
 
359 
 
 their every conception, led them to ascribe to 
 the Spirit and the power of God — he had brought 
 forward what, to their own judgments, was the 
 testimony of the Spirit, and they resisted it. It 
 was no longer now an opposition to man, and a 
 railing of man, and a contemptuous negligence 
 of man — all this is sinful ; but it was not that 
 which blocked up the way against the remission 
 of sin — it was when they reviled him who of- 
 fered to lead them on in that way, that they were 
 ever strengthening the barrier which lay across 
 the path of acceptance. While the last and most 
 conclusive proof that would be given of Jesus 
 having indeed the seal and the commission of 
 the Spirit upon him, was not yet tried, and 
 found ineffectual — all their opposition to him 
 still partook of opposition to one of whom the 
 most decisive evidence that he was any thing- 
 more than the Son of man, was still in reserve. 
 It still partook of opposition to a fellow-man. 
 But when that decisive evidence was at length 
 offered, and the Spirit interposed with his last 
 and greatest attempt to vindicate his own seal, 
 and to authenticate his own commission on the 
 person of Jesus of Nazareth — then that which 
 was before the speaking evil of the Son of man, 
 became the speaking evil of the Son of God ; 
 and that, aggravated to the uttermost length 
 
360 
 
 that it now would be permitted to go. And the 
 Pharisees, by smothering the hglit of all that 
 evidence which the Holy Spirit had brought 
 forward, both in the miracles that were done, 
 and in the graces of that sinless example which 
 was set so impressively before them, had, by 
 that time, raised in their hearts such an en- 
 trenchment of prejudice against the faith of the 
 Gospel, and so discouraged the Holy Spirit from 
 any farther attempt to scale and to surmount it, 
 that all recovery was hopeless, and all forgive- 
 ness was impossible. 
 
SERMON XIII. 
 
 ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE 
 TO THE LOWER ORDERS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES IV. 13. 
 
 " Better is a poor and a wise child than an old and foolish 
 king, who will no more be admonished." 
 
 There is no one topic on which the Bible, 
 throughout the variety of its separate compo- 
 sitions, maintains a more lucid and entire con- 
 sistency of sentiment, than the superiority of 
 moral over all physical and all external distinc- 
 tions. This lesson is frequently urged in the 
 Old Testament, and as frequently reiterated in 
 the New. There is a predominance given in 
 both to worth, and to wisdom, and to principle, 
 which leads us to understand, that within the 
 compass of human attainment, there is an ob- 
 ject placed before u»of a higher and more esti- 
 
362 
 
 mable character than all the objects of a com- 
 mon-place ambition — that wherever there is 
 mind, there stands associated with it a nobler 
 and more abiding interest than all the aggran- 
 dizements which wealth or rank can bestow — 
 that within the limits of the moral and intellec- 
 tual department of our nature, there is a com- 
 modity which money cannot purchase, and pos- 
 sesses a more sterling excellence than all which 
 money can command. This preference of man 
 viewed in his essential attributes, to man viewed 
 according to the variable accessories by which 
 he is surrounded — this preference of the subject 
 to all its outward and contingent modifications 
 — this preference of man viewed as the posses- 
 sor of a heart, and of a spirit, and of capacities 
 for truth and for righteousness, to man signa- 
 lized by prosperity, and clothed in the pomp and 
 in the circumstance of its visible glories — this 
 is quite akin with the superiority which the Bible 
 every where ascribes to the soul over the body, 
 and to eternity over time, and to the Supreme 
 Author of Being over all that is subordinate 
 and created. It marks a discernment, uncloud- 
 ed by all those associations which are so current 
 and have so fatal an ascendancy in our world — 
 the wisdom of a purer and more ethereal region 
 than the one we occupy — tfte unpolluted clear- 
 
363 
 
 ness of a light shining in a dark place, which an- 
 nounces its own coming to be from above, and 
 gives every spiritual reader of the Bible to per- 
 ceive the beaming of a powerful and presiding 
 intelligence in all its pages. 
 
 One very animating inference to be drawn 
 from our text, is how much may be made of hu- 
 manity. Did a king come to take up his resi- 
 dence among you — did he shed a grandeur over 
 your city by the presence of his court, and give 
 the impulse of his expenditure to the trade of 
 its population — it were not easy to rate the value 
 and the magnitude which such an event would 
 have on the estimation of a common understand- 
 ing, or the degree of personal importance which 
 would attach to him, who stood a lofty object 
 in the eye of admiring townsmen. And yet it 
 is possible, out of the raw and ragged materials 
 of an obscurest lane, to rear an individual of 
 more inherent worth, than him who thus draws 
 the gaze of the world upon his person. By the 
 act of training in wisdom's ways the most tat- 
 tered and neglected boy who runs upon our 
 pavements, do we present the community with 
 that which, in wisdom's estimation, is of greater 
 price, than this gorgeous inhabitant of a palace. 
 And when one thinks how such a process may 
 
364 
 
 be multiplied among the crowded families that 
 are around us — when one thinks of the extent 
 and the density of that mine of moral wealth, 
 which retires, and deepens, and accumulates, 
 behind each front of the street along which we 
 are passing — when one tries to compute the 
 quantity of spirit that is imbedded in the depth 
 and the frequency of these human habitations, 
 and reflects of this native ore, that more than 
 the worth of a monarch may be stamped, by 
 instruction, on each separate portion of it — a 
 field is thus opened for the patriotism of those 
 who want to give an augmented value to the 
 produce of our land, which throws into insignifi- 
 cance all the enterprises of vulgar speculation. 
 Commerce may flourish, or may fail — and amid 
 the ruin of her many fluctuations, may elevate 
 a few of the more fortunate of her sons to the 
 affluence of princes. Thy merchants may be 
 princes, and thy traffickers be the honourable 
 of the earth. But if there be truth in our text, 
 there may, on the very basis of human society, 
 and by a silent process of education, materials 
 be formed, which far outweigh in cost and true 
 dignity, all the blazing pinnacles that glitter 
 upon its summit — and it is indeed a cheering 
 thouglit to the heart of a philanthropist, that 
 near him lies a territory so ample, on which he 
 
365 
 
 may expatiate — where for all his pains, and all 
 his sacrifices, he is sure of a repayment more 
 substantial, than was ever wafted by richly laden 
 flotilla to our shores — where the return comes 
 to him, not in that which superficially decks 
 the man, but in a solid increment of value fixed 
 and perpetuated on the man himself — ^where ad- 
 ditions to the worth of the soul form the pro- 
 ceeds of his productive operation — and where, 
 when he reckons up the profits of his enterprise, 
 he finds them to consist of that, which, on the 
 highest of all authorities, he is assured to be 
 more than meat, of that which is greatly more 
 than raiment. 
 
 Even without looking beyond the confines of 
 our present world, the virtue of humble life will 
 bear to be advantageously contrasted with all 
 the pride and glory of an elevated condition. 
 The man who, though among the poorest of them 
 all, has a wisdom and a weight of character, 
 which makes him the oracle of his neighbour- 
 hood — the man, who, vested with no other au- 
 thority than the meek authority of worth, car- 
 ries in his presence a power to shame and to 
 overawe the profligacy that is around him — 
 the venerable father, from whose lowly tene- 
 ment the voice of psalms is heard to ascend with 
 
366 
 
 the offering up of every evening sacrifice — the 
 Christian sage, who, exercised among life's 
 severest hardships, looks calmly onward to 
 heaven, and trains tlie footsteps of his cliildren 
 in the way that leads to it — the eldest of a well- 
 ordered family, bearing their duteous and hon- 
 ourable part in the contest with its difficulties 
 and its trials — all these offer to our notice such 
 elements of moral respectability, as do exist 
 among the lowest orders of human society, and 
 elements, too, which admit of being multiplied 
 far beyond the reach of any present calculation. 
 And while we hold nothing to be more unscrip- 
 tural than the spirit of a factious discontent with 
 the rulers of our land — while we feel nothing 
 to be more untasteful than [the insolence of a 
 vulgar disdain towards men of rank, or men of 
 opulence — yet should the king upon the throne 
 be taught to understand, that there is a dignity 
 of an intrinsically higher order than the dignity 
 of birth or of power — a dignity which may be 
 seen to sit with gracefulness on the meanest of 
 his subjects — and which draws from the heart 
 of the beholder a truer and profounder rever- 
 ence. 
 
 So that, were it for nothing more than to bless 
 and adorn our present state, there cannot be 
 
367 
 
 an attempt of greater promise, than that of ex- 
 tending education among the throng of our 
 peasantry — there cannot be a likeUer way of 
 filling the country with beauteous and exalted 
 spectacles — there cannot be a readier method 
 of pouring a glory over the face of our land, 
 than that of spreading the wisdom of life, and 
 the wisdom of principle, throughout the people 
 who live in it — a glory differing in kind, but 
 greatly higher in degree, than the glories of 
 common prosperity. It is well that the progress 
 of knowledge is now looked to by politicians 
 without alarm — that the ignorance of the poor 
 is no longer regarded as more essential to the 
 devotion of their patriotism, than it is to the 
 devotion of their piety — that they have, at 
 length, found that the best way of disarming 
 the lower orders of all that is threatening and 
 tumultuous, is not to enthral, but to enlighten 
 them — that the progress of truth among them, 
 instead of being viewed with dismay, is viewed 
 with high anticipation — and an impression great- 
 ly more just, and greatly more generous, is now 
 beginning to prevail, that the strongest rampart 
 which can possibly be thrown around the cause 
 of public tranquillity, consists of a people raised 
 by information, and graced by all moral and 
 all Christian accomplishments. 
 
368 
 
 For our own part, we trust, that the mighty 
 interval of separation between the higlier and 
 lower orders of our community, will, at length, 
 be broken down, not by any inroad of popular 
 violence — not by the fierce and devouring sweep 
 of any revolutionary tempest — not even by any 
 new adjustment, either of the limits of power, 
 or the limits of property — not, in short, as the 
 result of any battle, fought either on the arena 
 of war, or on the arena of politics — but as the 
 fruit of that gradual equalization in mind and 
 in manners, to which even now a sensible ap- 
 proach is already making on the part of our arti- 
 zans and our labourers. They are drawing to- 
 wards an equality, and on that field, too, in 
 which equality is greatly most honourable. And 
 we fondly hope, that the time is coming, when, 
 in frank and frequent intercourse, we shall be- 
 hold the ready exchange of confidence on the 
 one side, and affection on the other — when the 
 rich and the poor shall love each other more, 
 just because they know each other more — when 
 each party shall recognize the other to be vastly 
 worthier of regard and of reverence than is now 
 apprehended — when united by the sympathies 
 of a common hope, and a common nature, and 
 on a perfect level in all that is essential and 
 characteristic of humanity, they shall, at length, 
 
369 
 
 learn to live in love and peacefulness together, 
 as the expectants of one common heaven — as 
 the members of one common and rejoicing 
 family. 
 
 But, to attain a just estimate of the superi- 
 ority of the poor man who has wisdom, over 
 the rich man who has it not, we must enter into 
 the calculation of eternity — we must look to 
 wisdom in its true essence, as consisting of re- 
 ligion, as having the fear of God for its begin- 
 ning, and the rule of God for its way, and the 
 favour of God for its full and satisfying termi- 
 nation — we must compute how speedily it is, 
 that, on the wings of time, the season of every 
 paltry distinction between them must, at length, 
 pass away ; how soon death will strip the one 
 of his rags, and the other of his pageantry, and 
 send them, in utter nakedness, to the dust; 
 how soon judgment will summon them from their 
 graves, and place them in outward equality be- 
 fore the great disposer of their future lot, and 
 their future place, through ages which never 
 end ; how in that situation, the accidental dis- 
 tinctions of life will be rendered void, and per- 
 sonal distinctions will be all that shall avail 
 them ; how, when examined by the secrets of 
 the inner man, and the deeds done in their 
 
 A a 
 
370 
 
 body, the treasure of heaven shall be adjudged 
 only to him whose heart was set upon it in this 
 world ; and how tremendously the account be- 
 tween them will be turned, when it shall be 
 found of the one, that he must perish for lack of 
 knowledge, and of the other, that he has the 
 wisdom which is unto salvation. 
 
 And here it is of importance to remark, that 
 to be wise as a Christian is wise, it is not essen- 
 tial to have that higher scholarship which wealth 
 alone can purchase — that such is the peculiar 
 adaptation of the Gospel to the poor, that it 
 may be felt in the full force of its most powerful 
 evidence, by the simplest of its hearers — that 
 to be convinced of its truth, all which appears 
 necessary is, to have a perception of sin through 
 the medium of the conscience, and a perception 
 of the suitableness of the offered Saviour through 
 the medium of a revelation, plain in its terms, 
 and obviously sincere and affectionate in its calls. 
 Philosophy does not melt the conscience. Phi- 
 losophy does not make luminous that which in 
 itself is plain. Philosophy does not bring home, 
 with greater impression upon the heart, the 
 symptoms of honesty and good will, which 
 abound in the New Testament. Prayer may do 
 it. Moral earnestness may do it. The Spirit, 
 
371 
 
 given to those who ask him, may shine with the 
 light of his demonstration, on the dociUty of 
 those Uttle children, who are seeking, with their 
 whole hearts, the way of peace, and long to 
 have their feet established on the paths of righ- 
 teousness. There is a learning, the sole fruit 
 of which is a laborious deviation from the truth 
 as it is in Jesus. And there is a learning which 
 reaches no farther than to the words in which 
 that truth is announced, and yet reaches far 
 enough to have that truth brought home with 
 power upon the understanding — a learning, the 
 sole achievement of which, is to read the Bible, 
 and yet by which the scholar is conducted to 
 that hidden wisdom, which is his light in life, 
 and his passport to immortality — a learning, 
 which hath simply led the inquirer's way to that 
 place, where the Holy Ghost hath descended 
 upon him in rich effusion, and which, as he 
 was reading, in his own tongue, the wonderful 
 works of God, hath given them such a weight 
 and such a clearness in his eyes, that they have 
 become to him the words whereby he shall be 
 saved. And thus it is, that in many a cottage 
 of our land, there is a wisdom which is reviled, 
 or unknown, in many of our halls of literature — 
 there is the candle of the Lord shining in the 
 hearts of those who fear him — there is a secret 
 
 Aa2 
 
372 
 
 revealed unto babes, which is liidden from the 
 wise and the prudent — there is an eye which 
 discerns, and a mind that is well exercised on 
 the mysteries of the sure and the well-ordered 
 covenant — there is a sense and a feeling of the 
 preciousness of that cross, the doctrine of which 
 is foolishness to those who perish — there is a 
 ready apprehension of that truth, which is held 
 d,t nought by many rich, and many mighty, and 
 many noble, who will not be admonished — but 
 which makes these poor to be rich in faith, and 
 heirs of that kingdom which God hath prepared 
 for those who love him. 
 
 We know not, if any who is now present, has 
 ever felt the charm of an act of intercourse with 
 a Christian among the poor — with one, whose 
 chief attainment is, that he knows the Bible to 
 be true — and that his heart, touched and visited 
 by a consenting movement to its doctrine, feels it 
 to be precious. We shall be disappointed, if the 
 very exterior of such a man do not bear the im- 
 press of that worth and dignity which have been 
 stamped upon his character — ^if, in the very as- 
 pect and economy of his household, the traces 
 of his superiority are not to be found — if the 
 promise, even of the life that now is, be not 
 conspicuously realized on the decent sufficiency 
 
373 
 
 of his means, and the order of his well-condi- 
 tioned family — if the eye of tasteful benevolence 
 be not regaled by the symptoms of comfort and 
 cheerfulness which are to be seen in his lowly 
 habitation. And we shall be greatly disappoint- 
 ed, if, after having survived the scoiF of com- 
 panions, and run through the ordeal of nature's 
 enmity, he do not earn, as the fruits of the 
 good confession that he witnesses among his 
 neighbours, the tribute of a warm and willing 
 cordiality from them all — ^if, while he lives, he 
 do not stand the first in estimation, and when 
 he dies, the tears and acknowledgments of ac- 
 quaintances, as well as of kinsfolk, do not follow 
 him to his grave — if, even in the hearts of the 
 most unholy around him, an unconscious testi- 
 mony is not borne to the worth of holiness, so 
 as to make even this world's honour one of the 
 ingredients in the portion of the righteous. 
 But these are the mere tokens and visible ac- 
 companiments of Christian excellence — the pas- 
 sing efflorescence of a growth that is opening and 
 maturing for eternity. To behold this excellence 
 in all its depth, and in all its solidity, you must 
 examine his mind, and there see the vastly high- 
 er elements, with which it is conversant, than 
 those among which the children of this world 
 are grovelling — there see, how, in the hidden 
 
374 
 
 walk of the inner man, he treads a more ele- 
 vated path than is trodden either by the daugh- 
 ters of gaiety, or the sons of ambition — there 
 see, how the wliole greatness and imagery of 
 heaven are present to his thoughts, and what a 
 reach and nobleness of conception have gathered 
 upon his soul, by his daily approaches to hea- 
 ven's sanctuary. He lives in a cottage — and 
 yet he is a king and priest unto God. He is 
 fixed for life to the ignoble drudgery of a work- 
 man, and yet he is on the full march to a bliss- 
 ful immortality. He is a child in the mysteries 
 of science, but familiar with greater mysteries. 
 That preaching of the cross, which is foolish- 
 ness to others, he feels to be the power of God, 
 and the wisdom of God. That faithfulness 
 which annexes to all the promises of the Gospel — 
 that righteousness which is unto the believer — 
 that fulness in Christ, out of which the supplies 
 of light and of strength are ever made to de- 
 scend on the prayers of al] who put their trust 
 in him — that wisdom of principle, and wisdom 
 of application, by which, through his spirit- 
 ual insight into his Bible, he is enabled both to 
 keep his heart, and to guide the movements of his 
 history, — these are his treasures — these are the 
 elements of that moral wealth, by which he is 
 far exalted above the monarch, who stalks his 
 
375 
 
 little hour of magnificence on earth, and then 
 descends a ghost of departed greatness into the 
 land of condemnation. He is rich, just because 
 the word of Christ dwells in him richly in all 
 wisdom. He is great, because the Spirit of glo- 
 ry and of God rests upon him. 
 
 So that, the same conclusion comes back up- 
 on us with mightier emphasis than before. If 
 a poor child be capable of being thus trans- 
 formed, how it should move the heart of a city 
 philanthropist, when he thinks of the amazing 
 extent of raw material, for this moral and spi- 
 ritual manufacture that is on every side of him— ^ 
 when he thinks, that in going forth on some 
 Christian enterprise among a population, he is 
 in ti'uth, walking among the rudiments of a 
 state that is to be everlasting-— -that out of tlieir 
 most loathsome and unseemly abodes, a glory 
 •can be extracted, which will weather all the 
 storms, and all the vicissitudes of tliis world's 
 history — that, in the filth and raggedness of a 
 hovel, that is to be found, on which all the 
 worth of heaven, as well as all the endurance 
 •of heaven, can be imprinted-.-that he is, in a 
 word, dealing in embryo with the elements of a 
 great and future empire, which is to rise, inde- 
 structible and eternal, on the ruins of all that is 
 
376 
 
 earthly, and every member of which shall be a 
 king and a priest for evermore. 
 
 And before I pass on to the application of 
 these remarks, let me just state, that the great 
 instrument for thus elevating the poor, is that 
 Gospel of Jesus Christ, which may be preached 
 unto the poor. It is the doctrine of his cross 
 finding an easier admission into their hearts, 
 than it does through those barriers of human 
 pride, and human resistance, which are often 
 reared on the basis of literature. Let the testi- 
 mony of God be simply taken in, that on his 
 own Son he has laid the iniquities of us all — 
 and from this point does the humble scholar of 
 Christianity pass unto light, and enlargement, 
 and progressive holiness. On the reception of 
 this great truth, there hinges the emancipation 
 of his heart from a thraldom which represses 
 all the spiritual energies of those who live with- 
 out hope, and, therefore, live without God in 
 the world. It is guilt — it is the sense of his 
 awakened and unexpiated guilt, which keeps 
 man at so wide a distance from the God whom 
 he has offended. Could some method be de- 
 vised, by which God, jealous of his honour, 
 and man jealous of his safety, might be brought 
 together on a firm ground of reconciliation— 
 
377 
 
 it would translate the sinner under a new moral 
 influence, to the power of which, and the charm 
 of which, he, before, was utterly impracticable. 
 Jesus Christ died, the just for the unjust, to 
 bring us unto God. This is a truth, which, 
 when all the world shall receive it, all the world 
 will be renovated. Many do not see how a 
 principle, so mighty in operation, should be en- 
 veloped in a proposition so simple of utterance. 
 But let a man, by his faith in this utterance, 
 come to know that God is his friend, and that 
 heaven is the home of his fondest expectation ; 
 and in contact with such new elements as 
 these, he will evince the reach, and the habit, 
 and the desire of a new creature. It is this doc- 
 trine which is the alone instrument of God for 
 the moral transformation of our species. When 
 every demonstration from the chair of philosophy 
 shall fail, this will achieve its miracles of light 
 and virtue among the people — and however in- 
 fidelity may now deride — or profaneness may 
 now lift her appalling voice upon our streets — 
 or licentiousness may now offer her sickening 
 spectacles — or moral worthlessness may have 
 now deeply tainted the famiUes of our outcast 
 and long-neglected population, — however un- 
 equal may appear the contest with the powers 
 and the principles of darkness — ^yet let not the 
 
378 
 
 teachers of righteousness abandon it in despair; 
 God will bring forth judgment unto victory, 
 and on the triumphs of the word of his own tes- 
 timony, will he usher in the glory of the latter 
 days. 
 
 There is one kind of institution that never has 
 been set up in a country, without deceiving and 
 degrading its people ; and another kind of in- 
 stitution that never has been set up in a coun- 
 try, without raising both the comfort and the 
 character of its families. We leave it to the 
 policy of our sister kingdom, by the pomp and 
 the pretension of her charities, to disguise the 
 wretchedness which she cannot do away. The 
 glory of Scotland lies in her schools. Out 
 of the abundance of her moral and literary 
 wealth, that wealth which communication can- 
 not dissipate — that wealth which its possessor 
 may spread and multiply among thousands, and 
 yet be as affluent as ever — that wealth, which 
 grows by competition, instead of being ex- 
 hausted — this is what, we trust, she will be ever 
 ready to bestow on all her people. Silver and 
 gold she may have none — but such as she has 
 she will e-ive — she will send them to school. 
 iShe cannot make pensioners of them — but will, 
 if they like, make scholars of them. She will 
 
379 
 
 give them of that food by which she nurses and 
 sustains all her offspring — by which she renders 
 wise the very poorest of her children — by which, 
 if there be truth in our text, she puts into many 
 a single cottager, a glory surpassing that of the 
 mightiest potentates in our world. To hold out 
 any other boon, is to hold out a promise which 
 she and no country in the universe, can ever 
 realize — it is to decoy, and then most wretch- 
 edly to deceive — it is to put on a front of invi- 
 tation, by which numbers are allured to hunger, 
 and nakedness, and contempt. It is to spread 
 a table, and to hang out such signals of hospi- 
 tality, as draw around it a multitude expecting 
 to be fed, and who find that they must famish 
 over a scanty entertainment. A system replete 
 with practical mischief, can put on the sem- 
 blance of charity, even as Satan, the father of 
 all lying and deceitful promises, can put on the 
 semblance of an angel of light. But we trust, 
 that the country in which we live will ever be 
 preserved from the cruelty of its tender mer- 
 cies — that she will keep by her schools, and her 
 Scriptures, and her moralizing process ; and 
 that, instead of vainly attempting so to force 
 the exuberance of Nature, as to meet and sat- 
 isfy the demands of a population, whom she has 
 led astray, she will make it her constant aim 
 
380 
 
 so to exalt her population, as to establish every 
 interest that belongs to them, on the founda- 
 tion of their own worth and their own ca- 
 pabilities — that taunted, as she has been, by 
 her contemptuous neighbour, for the poverty of 
 her soil, she will at least prove, by deed and by 
 example, that it is fitted to sustain an erect, and 
 honourable, and high-minded peasantry ; and 
 leaving England to enjoy the fatness of her own 
 fields, and a complacency with her own institu- 
 tions, that we shall make a clean escape from 
 her error, and never again be entangled there- 
 in — that unseduced by the false lights of a 
 mistaken philanthropy, and mistaken patriotism, 
 we shall be enabled to hold on in the way of our 
 ancestors ; to ward off every near and threaten- 
 ing blight from the character of our beloved peo- 
 ple; and so to labour with the manhood of the 
 present, and the boyhood of the coming genera- 
 tion, as to enrich our land with that wisdom 
 which is more precious than gold, and that 
 righteousness which exalteth a kingdom. 
 
SERMON XI Y. 
 
 ON THE DUTY AND THE MEANS OF CHRISTIAN- 
 IZING OUR HOME POPULATION. 
 
 MARK XVI. 15. 
 
 ** And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and 
 preach the Gospel to every creature." 
 
 Christianity proceeds upon the native indispo- 
 sition of the human heart to its truths and its 
 lessons— and all its attempts for the establish- 
 ment of itself in the world are made upon this 
 principle. It never expects that men will, of 
 their own accord, originate that movement by 
 which they are to come in contact with the 
 faith of the Gospel — and, therefore, instead of 
 waiting till they shall move towards the Gospel, 
 it has been provided, from the first, that the Gos- 
 pel shall move towards them. The Apostles did 
 not set up their stationary college at Jerusalem, 
 
382 
 
 in the hope of embassies from a distance to in- 
 quire after the recent and wondrous revelation 
 that had broke upon the world. But they had 
 to go forth, and to preach among all nations, 
 beginning at Jerusalem. And, in like manner, 
 it never was looked for, that men, in the ardour 
 of their curiosity, or desire after the way of salva- 
 vation, were to learn the language of the Apostles, 
 that they might come and hear of it at their 
 mouth. But the Apostles were miraculously 
 gifted with the power of addressing all in their 
 own native language — and when thus furnished, 
 they went actively and aggressively about among 
 them. It is no where supposed that the demand 
 for Christianity is spontaneously, and in the first 
 instance, to arise among those who are not 
 Christians ; but it is laid upon those who are 
 Christians, to go abroad, and, if possible, to 
 awaken out of their spiritual lethargy, those who 
 are fast asleep in that worldliness, which they 
 love, and from which, without some external 
 application, there is no rational prospect of ever 
 arousing them. The dead mass will not quick- 
 en into sensibility of itself — and, therefore, un- 
 less some cause of fermentation be brought to 
 it from without, will it remain in all the slug- 
 gishness of its original nature. For there is an 
 utter diversity between the article of Christian 
 
383 
 
 instruction, and the articles of ordinary mer- 
 chandise. For the latter there is a demand, 
 to which men are natively and originally urged 
 by hunger or by thirst, or by the other physical 
 sensations and appetites of their constitution. For 
 the former there is no natural appetite. It is just 
 as necessary to create a spiritual hunger, as it is 
 to afford a spiritual refreshment — and so from 
 the very first, do we find, that for the spread of 
 Christianity in the world, there had to be not an 
 itinerancy on the part of inquirers, but a busy, 
 active, and extended itinerancy on the part of 
 its advocates and its friends. 
 
 Now, those very principles which were so obvi- 
 ously acted on at the beginning, are also the very 
 principles that, in all ages of the church, have 
 characterized its evangelizing processes. The 
 Bible Society is now doing, by ordinary means, 
 what was done by the miracle of tongues, in the 
 days of the Apostles — enabling the people of all 
 nations to read each in their own tongue, the 
 wonderful works of God. And the Missionary 
 Societies are sending forth, not inspired Apostles, 
 gifted with tongues, but the expounders of apos- 
 tolical doctrine, learned in tongues, over the face 
 of the globe. They do not presume upon such a 
 taste for the Gospel in heathen lands, as that the 
 
384 
 
 people there shall traverse seas and continents, 
 or shall set themselves down to the laborious ac- 
 quisition of some Christian language, that they 
 might either have access to Scripture, or the abil- 
 ity of converse with men that are skilled in the 
 mysteries of the faith. But this taste which they 
 do not find, they expect to create — and for this 
 purpose, is there now an incessant application 
 to Pagan countries, of means and instruments 
 from without — and many are the lengthened 
 and the hazardous journies which have been un- 
 dertaken — and voyages of splendid enterprise 
 have recently been crowned with splendid mo- 
 ral achievements ; insomuch, that even the fe- 
 rocity and licentiousness of the savage charac- 
 ter have given way under the power of the 
 truth ; and lands, that within the remembrance 
 of many now alive, rankled with the worst abo- 
 minations of idolatry, have now exchanged 
 them for the arts and the decencies of civiliza- 
 tion ; for village schools, and Christian Sabbaths, 
 and venerable pastors, who first went forth as 
 missionaries, and, as the fruits of their aposto- 
 lic labour, among these outcast wanderers, can 
 .now rejoice over holy grandsires, and duteous 
 children, and all that can gladden the philan- 
 thropic eye, in the peace, and purity, and com- 
 fort of pious families. 
 
385 
 
 Now, amid the splendour and the interest of 
 these more conspicuous operations, it is often 
 not adverted to, how much work of a mission- 
 ary character is indispensable for perpetuating, 
 and still more for extending Christianity at 
 home — how families, within the distance of half- 
 a-mile, may lapse, without observation or sym- 
 pathy on our part, into a state of practical 
 heathenism — how, within less than an hour's 
 walk, hundreds may be found, who morally 
 and spiritually live at as wide a separation from 
 the Gospel, and all its ordinances, as do the 
 barbarians of another continent — how, in many 
 of our crowded recesses, the families, which, 
 out of sight, and out of Christian sympathy, 
 have accumulated there, might, at length, sink 
 and settle down into a listless, and lethargic, 
 and, to all appearance, impracticable popula- 
 tion — leaving the Christian teacher as much to 
 do with them, as has the first missionary when 
 he touches on a yet unbroken shore. It is vain 
 to expect, that by a proper and primary impulse 
 originating with themselves, those aliens from 
 Christianity will go forth on the inquiry after 
 it. The messengers of Christianity must go 
 forth upon them. Many must go to and fro 
 amongst the streets, and the lanes, and those 
 deep intricacies, that teem with human life, to 
 
 B b 
 
386 
 
 an extent far beyond the eye or imagination of 
 the unobservant passenger, if we are to look 
 for the increase either of a spiritual taste, or of 
 scriptural knowledge among the families. That 
 mass which is so dense of mind, and, therefore, 
 so dense of immortality, must be penetrated in 
 the length and in the breadth of it ; and then 
 many will be found, who, however small their 
 physical distance from the sound of the Gospel, 
 stand at as wide a moral distance therefrom, as 
 do the children of the desert — and to overpass this 
 barrier, to send out upon this outfield, such mini- 
 strations as might reclaim its occupiers to the 
 habits and the observations of a Christian land, 
 to urge and obtrude, as it were, upon the notice 
 of thousands, what, without such an advance- 
 ment, not one of them might have moved a 
 footstep in quest of — these are so many approxi- 
 mations, that, to all intents and purposes, have 
 in them the character, and might, with the bles- 
 sing of God, have also the effect of a missionary 
 enterprise. 
 
 When we are commanded to go into all the 
 world, and preach the Gospel to every creature, 
 our imagination stretches forth beyond the li- 
 mits of Christendom ; and we advert not to 
 the millions who are within these limits, nay, 
 
387 
 
 within the sight of Christian temples, and the 
 sound of Sabbath bells, yet who never heard the 
 Gospel of Jesus Christ. They live to manhood, 
 and to old age, deplorably ignorant of the way 
 of salvation, and in ignorance, too, not the less 
 deplorable that it is wilful. It is this which so 
 fearfully aggravates their guilt, that, on the 
 very confines of light, they remain in darkness ; 
 and thereby prove, that it is a darkness which 
 they love, and which they choose to persist in. 
 Thus it will be found more tolerable for the 
 heathen abroad, than for the heathen at home — 
 and therefore it is, that for the duty of our text, 
 the wilds of Pagan idolatry, or of Mahometan 
 delusion, are not the only theatres — that for its 
 full performance, it is not enough that we equip 
 the missionary vessel, and go in quest of un- 
 taught humanity at a distance, and hold con- 
 verse with the men of other climes, and of other 
 tongues, and rear on some barbarous shore, the 
 Christianized village, as an outpost in that spi- 
 ritual warfare, by which we hope, at length, to 
 banish depravity and guilt, even from the far- 
 thest extremities of our species. These are 
 noble efforts, and altogether worthy of being 
 extended and multiplied a hundred fold. But 
 they are not the only efforts of Christian philan- 
 thropy — nor can they be sustained as a complete 
 
 Bb 2 
 
388 
 
 discharge from the obligation of preaching the 
 Gospel to every creature under heaven. For 
 the accomplishment of this, there must not only 
 be a going forth on the vast and untrodden 
 spaces that are without ; there must be a filling 
 up of the numerous and peopled vacancies that 
 are lyithin — a busy, internal locomotion, that 
 might circulate, and disperse, and branch off to 
 the right and to the left, among the many thou- 
 sand families which are at hand : And thorough- 
 ly to pervade these families ; to make good a 
 lodgment in the midst of them, for the nearer 
 or the more frequent ministrations of Christi- 
 anity than before ; to have gained welcome for 
 the Gospel testimony into their houses, and, in 
 return, to have drawn any of them forth to at- 
 tendance on the place of Sabbath and of solemn 
 services — this, also, is to act upon our text, 
 this is to do the part, and to render one of the 
 best achievements of a missionary. 
 
 " How can they believe," says Paul, " with- 
 out a preacher," — and " how can they preach, 
 except they be sent?" To make sure this pro- 
 cess, there must be a juxtaposition between him 
 who declares the word, and them who are ad- 
 dressed by it — but to make good this juxtapo- 
 sition, the Apostle never imagines that aliena- 
 
389 
 
 ted man is, of his own accord, to move towards 
 the preacher — and, therefore, that the preacher 
 must be sent, or must move towards him. And, 
 perhaps, it has not been adverted to, that in the 
 very first steps of this approximation, there is an 
 encouragement for going onward, and for ply- 
 ing the families of a city population with still 
 nearer and more besetting urgencies than be- 
 fore. It is not known how much the very jux- 
 taposition of an edifice for worship, tells upon 
 the church-going habit of the contiguous house- 
 holders — how many there are who will not move 
 at the sound of a distant bell, that with almost 
 mechanical sureness, will go forth, and mingle 
 with the stream of passengers, who are crowd-- 
 ing the way to a place that is at hand — how 
 children, lured, perhaps, at the first, by curio- 
 sity, are led so to reiterate their attendance, as 
 to be landed in a most precious habit for youth 
 and for manhood — how this tendency spreads 
 by talk, and sympathy, and imitation, through 
 each little vicinity ; and thus, in groupes, or in 
 clusters, might adjoining families be gained 
 over to the ordinances of religion — ^how the lea- 
 ven, when once set a-going, might spread by 
 the fermentation of converse, and mutual senti- 
 ment, through the whole lump ; till over the 
 face of a whole city department, the Christian 
 
390 
 
 fabric, which stands conspicuously in the midst 
 of it, and whither its people are rung every 
 Sabbath, to the ministrations of the Gospel, 
 might come to be its place of general repair ; 
 and attendance there be at length proceeded on 
 as one of the decencies of its established ob- 
 servation. Some of the influences in this pro- 
 cess may appear slight or fanciful to the super- 
 ficial eye — and yet they are known, and fami- 
 liarly known, to be of powerful operation. You 
 must surely be aware, that it makes all the prac- 
 tical difference in the world, to the retail and 
 custom even of an ordinary shop, should it de- 
 viate, by a very small hairbreadth, from the 
 minutest convenience of the public — should it 
 retire, by ever so little from the busy pavement, 
 or have to be ascended by two or three steps, 
 or require the slightest turn and change of direc- 
 tion from that beaten path which passengers do 
 inveterately walk in. And human nature on 
 a week-day, is human nature on the Sabbath. 
 There is no saying on how slight or trivial a cir- 
 cumstance it may be made to turn — and odd as 
 the illustration may appear, we feel confident 
 that we have not, at present, either a profound 
 or a pious hearer, who will undervalue one sin- 
 gle stepping-stone, by which a hearer more 
 might be brought to the house of God — who 
 
391 
 
 will despise any of the means, however humble, 
 that bring a human creature within the reach 
 of that word, which is able to sanctify and save 
 him — who will forget the wonted style of God's 
 administrations, by which, on these minutest in- 
 cidents of hfe, the greatest events of history are 
 oft suspended — or, who will deny that the same 
 Being, who, by the flight of a single bird, turn- 
 ed the pursuers of Mahomet away from him, 
 and so spared the instrument by which a gross 
 and grievous superstition hath found an ascen- 
 dancy over millions of immortal spirits, that he 
 can enlist in the cause of his own Son, even the 
 least and slightest familiarities of human prac- 
 tice; and with links, which in themselves are 
 exceeding small, can fasten and uphold the 
 chain, which runs through the earthly pilgri- 
 mage of man, and reaches to his eternity. 
 
 But after all, though local conveniency may 
 allure, in the first instance, to the house of God, 
 local conveniency will not detain the attendance 
 of multitudes, unless there be a worth and a 
 power in the services which are rendered there— 
 unless there be a moral earnestness in the heart 
 of the preacher, which may pour forth a sym- 
 pathy with itself through the hearts of a listen- 
 ing congregation — unless, acquitting himself as 
 
392 
 
 an upright minister of the New Testament, he 
 expound with faithf'uhiess, and some degree of 
 energy, those truths which are unto salvation ; 
 and so distribute among his fellow-sinners, the 
 alone substantial and satisfying food of the 
 soul — unless such a demonstration be given of 
 the awful realities in which we deal, as to 
 awaken in many bosoms the realizing sense of 
 death, and of the judgment-seat — and, above 
 all, unless the demands of the law, with its ac- 
 companying severities and terrors, be so urged 
 on the conviction of guilty man, as to make it 
 fall with welcome upon his ear, when told, that 
 unto him a Saviour has been born. These are 
 the alone elements of a rightful and well-earned 
 popularity. Eloquence may dazzle — and argu- 
 ment may compel the homage of its intellectual 
 admirers — and fashion may even, when these 
 are wanting, sustain through its little hour of 
 smile and of sunshine, a complacent attendance 
 on the reigning idol of the neighbourhood — but 
 it is only if armed with the panoply of scriptural 
 truth, that there will gather and adhere to him 
 a people who hunger for the bread of life, and 
 who make a business of their eternity. To fill 
 the church well, we must fill the pulpit well, 
 and see that the articles of the peace-speaking 
 blood, and the sanctifying Spirit, are the topics 
 
393 
 
 that be dearest to the audience, and on which 
 the Christian orator who addresses them most 
 loves to expatiate. These form the only endur- 
 ing staple of good and vigorous preaching ; and 
 unless they have a breadth, and a prominency, 
 and a fond reiteration in the sermons that shall 
 be delivered from the place where we now stand,* 
 they either will not, or ought not to be listened 
 to. 
 
 Yet grieved and disappointed should we be, 
 did he confine himself to Sabbath ministrations 
 — did he not go forth, and become the friend 
 and the Christian adviser of all who dwell with- 
 in the limits of his vineyard — did he not act the 
 part of an Apostle among you, from house to 
 house, and vary the fatigue of his preparations 
 for the pulpit, by a daily walk amongst the ig- 
 norant, or the sick, or the sorrowful, or the dy- 
 ing. It is your part to respect, as you would a 
 sanctuary, that solitude to which, for hours to- 
 gether, he should commit himself, in the work 
 of meditating the truths of salvation — and it is 
 his part to return your delicacy by his labours 
 of love, by the greetings of his cordial fellow- 
 
 * This Sermon was preached at the opening of a city chapel, which 
 has a local district assigned to it, and whose rule of seat-letting is on 
 the territorial principle. 
 
394 
 
 ship, by his visits of kindness. It is a wrong 
 imagination on the side of a people, when they 
 look on the Sabbath for a vigorous exposition of 
 duty or doctrine, from him whom they teaze, 
 and interrupt, and annoy, through tlie week — 
 and it is a wrong imagination on the side of a 
 pastor, when looking on the church as the sole 
 arena of his usefulness, he does not relax the 
 labour of a spirit that has been much exercised 
 on the great topics of the Christian ministry, by 
 frequent and familiar intercourse among those, 
 whom, perhaps, he has touched or arrested by 
 his Sabbath demonstrations. You ought to in- 
 trude not upon his arrangements and his studies ; 
 but he ought, in these arrangements, to provide 
 the opportunities of ample converse with every 
 spiritual patient, with every honest inquirer. 
 You should be aware of the distinction that he 
 makes between that season of the day which is 
 set apart for retirement, and that season of the 
 day which lies open to the duty of holding cour- 
 teous fellowship witli all — and of hiding not 
 himself from his own flesh. It is the gross in- 
 sensibility which obtains to the privileges both 
 of a sacred and literary order — it is tlie distur- 
 bance of a perpetual inroad on tliat prophet's 
 chamber, which ought, at all times, to be a safe 
 retreat of contemplation — it is the incessant 
 struggle that must be made for a professional 
 
395 
 
 existence, with irksome application, and idle 
 ceremony, and even the urgencies of friend- 
 ship — these are sufficient to explain those pulpit 
 imbecilities, of which many are heard to com- 
 plain, while themselves they help to create 
 them. And, therefore, if you want to foster the 
 energies of your future clergyman; if you would 
 co-operate with him in those mental labours, 
 by which he provides through the week for the 
 repast of your Sabbath festival ; if it is your 
 desire that an unction and a power shall be felt 
 in all his pulpit ministrations ; if here you would 
 like to catch a glow of heaven*s sacredness, and 
 receive that fresh and forcible impulse upon 
 your spirits, which might send you forth again 
 with a redoubled ardour of holy affection and 
 zeal on the business of life, and make you look 
 and long for the coming Sabbath, as another 
 delightful resting-place on your journey towards 
 Zion — then suffer him to breathe, without moles- 
 tation, in that pure and lofty region, where he 
 might inhale a seraphic fervency, by which to 
 kindle among his hearers his own celestial fire, 
 his own noble enthusiasm. If it be this, and not 
 the glee of companionship, or the drudgeries of 
 ordinary clerkship that you want from your mi- 
 nister, then leave, I beseech you, his time in 
 his own hand, and hold his asylum to be unvio- 
 lable. 
 
396 
 
 But, we trust, that from this asylum his ex- 
 cursions will be frequent — and sure we are, that 
 noui^ht but an affectionate forthijoine: is neces- 
 sary on his part, that he may have a warm and 
 a willing reception upon yours. It is utterly a 
 mistake, that any population, whatever be their 
 present habits, will discourage the approaches 
 of a Christian minister to their families. It is 
 a particularly wrong imagination, that in cities 
 there is a hard or an insolent defiance among 
 the labouring classes, which no assiduities of 
 service or of good-will on the part of their cler- 
 gyman can possibly overcome. Let him but 
 try what their temperament is in this matter, and 
 he will find it in every way as courteous and in- 
 viting, as among the most primitive of our 
 Scottish peasantry. Let him be but alert to 
 every call of threatening disease among his peo- 
 ple, and the ready attendant upon every death- 
 bed — let him ply not his fatiguing, but his easy 
 and most practicable rounds of visitation in the 
 midst of them — let him be zealous for their 
 best interests, and not in the spirit of a fawn- 
 ing obsequiousness, but in that of a manly, intel- 
 ligent, and honest friendship, let him stand forth 
 as the guardian of the poor, the guide and the 
 counsellor of their children ; it is positively 
 not in human nature to withstand the charm 
 
397 
 
 and the power which lie in such unwearied mi- 
 nistrations — and if visibly prompted by the af- 
 finity that there is in the man's heart for his 
 fellows of the species, there will, by a law of 
 the human constitution, be an affinity in theirs 
 towards him, which they cannot stifle, though 
 they would j and they will have no wish to stifle 
 it. 
 
 It is to this principle, little as it has been re- 
 cognized, and still less as it has been proceeded 
 on, it is to this that we confide the gathering at 
 length of a congregation within these walls, and 
 that too from the vicinities by which we are im- 
 mediately surrounded. That the chapel will be 
 filled at the very outset, from the district which 
 has been assigned to it, we have no expectation. 
 But we do fondly hope, as the fruit of his un- 
 wearied services, that its minister will draw the 
 kind regards of the people after him ; that an 
 impression will be made by his powerful and 
 reiterated addresses in the bosom of their fami- 
 lies, which may not stop there ; that the man 
 who prays at every funeral, and sits by every 
 dying bed, and seizes every opening for Chris- 
 tian usefulness that is afforded to him by the 
 visitations of Providence on the houses of the 
 surrounding neighbourhood, and who, while a 
 
398 
 
 fit companion for the great in his vineyard, 
 is a ready, and ever accessible friend to the 
 poorest of them all — it is utterly impossible, that 
 such a man, after his work of varied and active 
 benevolence, will have nought to address on the 
 Sabbath but empty walls. After being the 
 eye-witness of what he does, there will spring 
 up a most natural desire, and that cannot be re- 
 sisted, to hear what he says. It is not yet known 
 how much such attentions as these, kept up, and 
 made to play in busy and constant recurrence 
 upon one local neighbourhood — it is not yet 
 known how much and how powerfully they tell in 
 drawing the hearts of the people towards him 
 who faithfully and with honest friendship, dis- 
 charges them. They will make the pulpit which 
 he fills a common centre of attraction to the 
 whole territory over which he expatiates — and 
 we need not that we may see exemplified in hu- 
 man society, the worth and importance of the pas- 
 toral relationship, we need not go alone among 
 the sequestered vales, or the far and upland re- 
 treats of our country parishes. It is not a local 
 phenomenon dependent on geography. It is a 
 general one, dependent on the nature of man; 
 on those laws of the heart, which no change of 
 place or of circumstances can obliterate. To 
 gain the moral ascendancy of which we speak. 
 
399 
 
 it is enough if the upright and laborious clergy- 
 man have human feelings and human families on 
 every side of him. It signifies not where. Give 
 him Christian kindness, and this will pioneer a 
 way for him amongst all the varieties of place and 
 of population. Beside the smoke, and the din, 
 and the dizzying wheel of crowded manufacto- 
 ries, will he find as ready an introduction for 
 himself and for his office, as if his only walk 
 had been among peaceful hamlets, and with 
 nought but the romance and the rusticity of 
 nature spread out before him. It is utterly a 
 wrong imagination, and in the face both of ex- 
 perience and of prophecy, that in towns there 
 is an impracticable barrier against the capabili- 
 ties and the triumphs of the Gospel — that in 
 towns the cause of human amelioration must 
 be abandoned in despair — that in towns it is not 
 by the architecture of chapels, but by the archi- 
 tecture of prisons, and of barracks, and of bride- 
 wells, we are alone to seek for the protection of 
 society — that elsewhere a moralizing charm may 
 go forth among the people, from village schools 
 and sabbath services, but that there is a hardihood 
 and a ferocity in towns, which must be dealt 
 with in another way, and against which all the 
 artillery of the pulpit is feeble as infancy — that 
 a foul and a feverish depravity has settled there. 
 
400 
 
 which no spiritual application will ever extin- 
 guish : For amid all the devisings for the peace 
 and order of our community, do we find it to 
 be the shrewd and sturdy apprehension of ma- 
 ny, that all which can be achieved in our over- 
 grown cities, is by the strength of the secular 
 arm ; that a stern and vigorous police will do 
 more for public morals, than a whole band of 
 ecclesiatics ; that a periodical execution will 
 strike a more salutary terror into the hearts of 
 the multitude, than do the dreadest fulmina- 
 tions of the preacher's voice — and this will ex- 
 plain the derision and the distrust wherewith 
 that argimnient is listened to, which goes to set 
 forth the efficacy of Christian doctrine, or to 
 magnify the office of him who delivers it. 
 
 "We can offer no computation that will satisfy 
 such antagonists as these, of the importance of 
 Christianity even to the civil and the temporal 
 well-being of our species ; and we shall, there- 
 fore, plead the authority of our text, for extend- 
 ing its lessons to every creature — for going forth 
 with it to every haunt and every habitation where 
 immortal beings are to be found — for not mere- 
 ly carrying it beyond the limits of Christen- 
 dom, but for filling up with instruction the. 
 many blank, and vacant, and still unoccupied 
 
401 
 
 places, teeming with population, that, even 
 within these limits have not been overtaken. 
 What ! shall we be told, that if there is a man 
 under heaven, whom the Gospel has not yet 
 reached, it is but obedience to a last and so- 
 lemn commandment, when the missionary tra- 
 vels even to the farthest verge of our horizon, 
 that he may bear it to his door— shall we be 
 told of the thousands who are beside us, that, 
 though their souls are perishing for lack of 
 knowledge, we might, without one care or one 
 effort abandon them ? Are we to give up as 
 desperate, the Christian reformation of our 
 land, when we read of those mighty achieve- 
 ments, and those heavenly outpourings, by which 
 even the veriest wilds of heathenism have been 
 fertilized — or, with such an instrument to work 
 by as that of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which 
 in the hands of the Spirit of God hath wrought 
 its miracles on the men of all ages, shall 
 we forbear, as a hopeless enterprize, the evan- 
 gelizing of our own homes, the eternal salvation 
 of our own families? *' Be of good cheer," says 
 the Spirit to the apostle, " I have much people 
 for thee in this city j" and that, a city, too, the 
 most profligate and abandoned that ever flou- 
 rished on the face of our world. And still the 
 Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot 
 
 Cc 
 
402 
 
 save. Neither is his ear heavy, that it cannot 
 hear. It is open as ever to the cry of your in- 
 tercessions — and on these, we would devolve 
 our cause. We entreat the fellowship of your 
 prayers. We know, that all human exertion, 
 and eloquence, and wisdom, are vain, without 
 them — that, lacking that influence, which is 
 gotten down by supplications fi"om on high, 
 sermons are but high-sounding cymbals, and 
 churches but naked architecture — that mere 
 pains are of no avail, and that it only lies with- 
 in the eompass of pains and of prayers, to do 
 any thing. 
 
 And we, indeed, have great reason for en- 
 couragement, when we think of the subject of 
 our message. When we are bidden in the 
 text to preach, it is to preach the Gospel — it is 
 to proclaim good news in the hearing of the 
 people — it is to sound forth what surely must 
 be felt welcome by many — it is to sound forth 
 the glad tidings of great joy — it is to tell even 
 the chief of sinners, that God is now willing to 
 treat him as a sinner no longer ; that he invites 
 him to all the honours of righteousness; and that 
 in virtue of a blood which cleanseth from all sin, 
 and of an obedience, to the rewards of whicli 
 he is freely and fully invited, there is not a guil- 
 
403 
 
 ty creature in our world, who may not draw 
 nigh. Should he who preaches within these 
 walls, turn out the faithful and the energetic 
 expounder of this word of salvation — should 
 the blessing of God be upon his ways, and 
 that demonstration which cometh from on high, 
 accompany his words — should he, filled with 
 zeal in the high cause of your immortality, be 
 instant among you in season, and out of season — 
 and devoted to the work of his sacred ministry, 
 he make it his single aim to gather in a har- 
 vest of unperishable spirits, that by him as an 
 instrument of grace, have been rescued from 
 hell, and raised to a blissful eternity — should 
 this be indeed the high walk of his unremitting 
 toil, and his unwearied perseverance — then, such 
 is the power of the divine testimony, when 
 urged out of the fulness of a believer's heart, 
 and made to fall with the impression of his un- 
 doubted sincerity on those whom he addresses ; 
 that for ourselves we shall have no fear of a 
 good and a glorious issue to this undertaking — 
 and, therefore, as Paul often cast the success 
 of his labours on the prayers of them for whom 
 he laboured, would I- again entreat that your 
 supplications do ascend to the throne of grace 
 for him who is to minister amongst you in word 
 and in doctrine — that he may, indeed, be a pas- 
 
 C c 2 
 
404 
 
 tor according to God's own heart, who shall feed 
 a people here with knowledge and with spiritual 
 understanding — that the travail of his soul may 
 be blest to the conversion of many sons and 
 daughters unto righteousness — that he may 
 prove a comfort to all your hearts, and a great 
 public benefit to all your families. 
 
SERMON XV. 
 
 ON THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN KNOWLEDGE AND 
 CONSIDERATION. 
 
 ISAIAH I. S. 
 
 " The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib : 
 but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider." 
 
 It would appear, from this verse, that the chil- 
 dren of Israel neither knew nor considered — 
 but still there is a distinction suggested by it 
 between these two things. And in the book of 
 the prophet Malachi, we have a similar distinc- 
 tion, when the Lord says to the priests, *' If ye 
 will not hear, and if ye will not lay it to heart." 
 It is, in fact, possible for a man to do one of 
 these things, and not to do the other. He 
 may know the truth, and yet he may not con- 
 sider it. He may hear, and yet not lay to 
 heart. Nay, he may have heard of a particular 
 
406 
 
 doctrine so often as to have got it by heart, 
 without ever laying it to heart And this, 
 we hold, to be the just and the applicable com- 
 plaint that may be uttered of many proiessing 
 Christians in our day. 
 
 And thus it is, that we may gather the differ- 
 ence which there is between knowledge and 
 wisdom. The one is a speculative acquirement. 
 The other is a practical faculty or habit. By 
 the latter, we turn to its right and profitable use 
 the former. Thus it is, that there may be great 
 folly along with great scholarship — and, on the 
 other hand, may an unlettered mind be illustri- 
 ous in wisdom. You have, perhaps, seen when 
 there was great wealth, and yet, from the want 
 of judicious management, great want of comfort 
 in a family — and what stands in fine and beauti- 
 ful contrast with this, you may have witnessed 
 the union of very humble means, with such a 
 skill and consideration in the guidance of them, 
 as to have yielded a respectable appearance, and 
 a decent hospitality, and the sufficiency of a 
 full and regular provision. And so, with the 
 treasures of intellect, the acquisitions of the 
 mind, whereof one may be rich, being possessed 
 of most ample materials in all knowledge and 
 information, and yet have an ill-conditioned 
 
407 
 
 mind notwithstanding ; and another destitute 
 of all but the most common and elementary 
 truths, may yet, by a wise application of them, 
 have attained to the true light and harmony of 
 the soul, and be in sound preparation both for 
 the duties of time, and for the delights of eter- 
 nity. 
 
 All have so learned to number their days as 
 to know the extreme limit of human life upon 
 earth — yet all have not so learned to number 
 their days as to apply their hearts unto wisdom. 
 They are aware of their latter end, but they 
 consider not their latter end. 
 
 I. This distinction between knowledge and 
 wisdom, is abundantly realized even on the field 
 of earthly and of sensible experience. The man 
 of dissipation may have his eyes open to the 
 ruin of character and of fortune that awaits 
 him, yet the tyranny of his evil desires constrains 
 him to a perseverance in the ways of wretched- 
 ness. The man of indolence may foresee the 
 coming bankruptcy that will ensue on the slo- 
 venly management of his affairs, yet there is a 
 lethargy within that weighs him down to fatal 
 inactivity. The man of prone and headlong 
 irritation, may be able to discern the accumu- 
 
408 
 
 lating mischief that he raises against himself in 
 the hostility of those who are around him, and 
 may even look forward to the time when, desert- 
 ed by the friendship of all, he shall live a ne- 
 glected outcast from all human companionship ; 
 yet, continue as before to be hurried away by 
 the onward violence that seizes him. In all 
 these instances, there is no want of knowledge 
 in possession. But there is a want of knowledge 
 in use, or knowledge in application. The un- 
 happy man has the truth of the matter in his 
 head. But he does not lay it with the authori- 
 ty of a commander upon his practice. The 
 present urgency carries it over all thought of 
 the future consequences. He has received the 
 truth, but he does not give heed unto the truth. 
 He does not charge it upon his attention, or 
 give effectual warning of it to his fears, or to 
 his sense of prudence and of interest. It is not 
 of his ignorance that we complain, but of his 
 inconsideration. And thus, apart from the 
 things of spiritual contemplation altogether, 
 and on the mere ground of every day life, with 
 its passions and pursuits in this world, may the 
 distinction to which we now advert, be abun- 
 dantly exemplified. 
 
 n. But what we have now affirmed, even of 
 
409 
 
 those events and consequences that take place 
 along the journey of this world, is still more strik- 
 ingly apparent of that great event which marks its 
 termination. There is not a human creature of 
 most ordinary mind, and who hath overstepped 
 the limits of infancy, that does not know of death, 
 and with whom it does not rank among the most 
 undoubted of the certainties that await him. And 
 it is not only that of which he is most thoroughly 
 assured — but it is that of which, in the course of 
 observation and history, he is most constantly 
 reminded. And many are the aids and the ac- 
 companiments which might serve to deepen his 
 impression of it. The horror of every death that 
 he witnesses; and the pathos of every death 
 which he deplores ; and the distress, even unto 
 the measure of tragic sensibility, which is felt 
 when some tie of near and affecting relationship 
 is broken; and every act of attendance on those 
 last obsequies, when acquaintances meet to carry 
 one of their number to his grave ; and the aspect 
 of seriousness that gathers upon every inquiring 
 neighbourhood, when the word spreads that 
 some one of their friends is dying ; and the fre- 
 quency of those funeral processions that pass 
 along our streets, and so mingle the business of 
 death with the moving throng of the people 
 and the carriages, which the business of life has 
 
410 
 
 pressed into its service — these are the remem- 
 brancers that ever and anon hold up the lesson 
 of our mortality, and, one might think, should 
 effectually keep it from sinking for a single hour 
 into oblivion. But how is it truly and experi- 
 mentally ? That death of v^^hich we all know 
 so well, is scarcely ever in our thoughts. The 
 momentary touch of grief, and of seriousness, 
 wherewitli we are at times visited, speedily 
 goeth into utter dissipation. With as cheerful 
 and assured footsteps, do we tread the face of 
 this world, as if it were the scene of our immor- 
 tality — and the latter end of life is totally unseen 
 in the obscure and undefined distance at which 
 we have placed it, on the field of our contempla- 
 tions. It argues for the strength of that recoil 
 with which nature shrinks from the thought of 
 its own dissolution, that all these loud and re- 
 peated demonstrations pass so unheeded by — 
 and that walking though we be, over the accu- 
 mulated ruins of so many generations, we never- 
 theless will talk as merrily, and lift up our heads 
 as securely, as though beings who were to live 
 for ever. It seems not to work the slightest 
 abatement in the eagerness of man after this 
 world's interests, that a few years will sweep 
 them utterly away — and when we look to the 
 busy engrossment of all his faculties with the 
 
411 
 
 plans and the pursuits of earthliness, it Is but too 
 manifest, that it is one thing to know of death, 
 and another to consider of it. 
 
 This heedlessness of our latter end, is of a 
 character still more obstinate and incurable than 
 any such heedlessness as we have already 
 quoted, of reputation or fortune in the world. 
 It needs no impetuous appetite to overbear the 
 thought of death ; for in the calm equanimity 
 of many a sober and aged citizen, you will find 
 him as profoundly asleep to the feeling of his 
 own mortality, as he is to any of the feelings or 
 instigations of licentiousness. It needs no over- 
 weighing indolence of temperament to be all 
 listless and unmoved by the fears of our coming 
 death-bed; for many are to be found, who con- 
 sume every hour in the activities of business and 
 of daring adventure, without one emotion of 
 seriousness on the awful catastrophe that awaits 
 them. It needs no imprudence, or unguarded 
 violence, to betray a man into the forgetfulness 
 of death; for many is the cool and practised 
 calculator, and many is the sage of tranquil 
 philosophy, and many is the crafty politician, 
 who can look far into consequences, and is 
 skilled in all the expedients of his vocation — 
 and of whom it may be said, that the mind of 
 each is steeped in the oblivion of death. We 
 
412 
 
 are heedless of much that is before us, even in 
 this world ; but as to its last and closing scene, 
 there is a peculiar inveteracy of heedlessness 
 that we do not have as to any of the other fu- 
 turities of our earthly existence. Death is the 
 stepping-stone between the two worlds ; and so 
 it somewhat combines the palpable of matter, 
 with the shadowy and the evanescent of spirit. 
 It is the gateway to a land of mystery and of si- 
 lence, and seems to gather upon it something of 
 the visionary character which the things of faith 
 have to the eye of the senses. It is not a thing 
 unseen; but being an outlet to the region of 
 invisibles, there settles upon it a degree of that 
 faintness and obscurity wherewith the carnal 
 eye regards all that is told of the matters of 
 eternity. And so, amid all the varieties of tem- 
 perament in our species, there is a universal 
 heedlessness of death. It seems against the 
 tendency of nature to think of it. There is an 
 opposite bias that ever inclines us away from this 
 dark contemplation, towards the warm and liv- 
 ing realities of the peopled world around us. 
 The mind refuses to dwell on that dreary abode 
 of skulls and of sepulchres, and makes its will- 
 ing escape from all this hideous imagery, to so- 
 ciety, and to business, and to the whole interest 
 and variety of life. Instead of some mighty 
 
413 
 
 impulse being required to dispossess us of the 
 thought, it costs an effort of unnatural violence 
 to uphold it in our bosoms. The thing is known, 
 but it is not considered : and the giddy dance of 
 life is carried onwards, as if there were no de- 
 stroyer upon the way — the tide of human exis- 
 tence is borne as restlessly along, as if there 
 were no grave to absorb it. 
 
 This might serve to convince us, how unavail- 
 ing is the mere knowledge, even of important 
 truth, if not accompanied by the feeling, or the 
 practical remembrance of it. The knowledge, 
 in this case, only serves to aggravate our folly, 
 and to bring, on the utter heedlessness of our 
 lives, a more full and emphatic condemnation. 
 And on the subject of death, we would ask, how 
 is it that your fatal insensibility can be justified? 
 Has God left this matter without a witness? 
 Has he not strewed the whole path of your ex- 
 istence in the world with the mementos of its 
 affecting termination? Has he not pointed the 
 eye of your experience to the agonies of many 
 a death-bed, and brought it irresistibly down 
 upon your convictions, that these are the very 
 agonies through which you have to pass? In 
 every death of an acquaintance does he not lift 
 a voice of warning unto yourselves — and when 
 
414 
 
 that acquaintance is a relative or a friend, does 
 he not seek to grave upon your softened lieart 
 the lesson of mortality in characters of deeper 
 remembrance? Has he not tried to find access 
 for the truth, through the varied avenues of 
 feeling, and of observation, and of conscience? 
 And living, as you do, in the land of dying men, 
 have you not seen enough of this world's changes 
 to make the history of your life one continued 
 sermon upon the grave ? God has not been want- 
 ing in those demonstrations of Providence, which 
 should have rivetted a seriousness upon your 
 hearts, and transformed you out of the careless, 
 and gay, and worldly creature that you still are. 
 We protest, by the many sick-beds over which you 
 have hung, and by the deaths which you have 
 witnessed, and by the tears which you have shed 
 over them, that you have long ago had enough 
 to loosen your hold upon earth, and to break 
 that accursed spell by which you are so bound 
 to its lying vanities. You have enough to dis- 
 lodge from your bosom the spirit of the god of 
 this world; and O! therefore, that you were 
 wise, that you understood these things, that you 
 considered your latter end. 
 
 There is no topic on which the distinction 
 that there is between knowledge and considera- 
 
415 
 
 tion stands more palpably before us, than that 
 of death. All are assured of its coming, yet 
 how few so bethink, or so bestir themselves, as 
 to be prepared for its coming. The position 
 which this event occupies in the line of our ex- 
 istence, gives to it a peculiar advantage for il- 
 lustrating the distinction in question. It stands 
 on the extreme horizon of what is sensible, and 
 beyond it lie the dimness and the mystery of an 
 untrodden land. On this side of it are the mat- 
 ters of experience. On the other side of it are 
 the matters of faith. Now, it partakes with the 
 one in the certainty wherewith all must regard 
 it; and it partakes with the other in the nullity 
 of its practical influence, over the vast majority 
 of our species. As an object of knowledge, 
 there belongeth to it the assurance of a most 
 unquestioned truth ; as an object of considera- 
 tion, there belongeth to it the airy lightness of 
 a vain and visionary fable. It is believed, but 
 it is not minded ; and while, on the one hand, 
 it ranks among those experimental realities which 
 are most assuredly known, it, on the other hand, 
 ranks among those illusions of the fancy which 
 are practically and habitually disregarded. It 
 stands forth to the eye in all the plainness of 
 ocular demonstration, and yet with as little 
 power as if it were a tale of necromancy. It is 
 
416 
 
 quite obvious, that in the things of faitli, there 
 is a want of ascendant power over the hfe of 
 man ; and, to justify man, this has been ascribed 
 to their want of evidence. But where is the 
 want of evidence in death ? This is not a thing 
 of faith, but a thing of observation ; and makes 
 it as clear as day, that even when the evidence 
 is complete and irresistible, the effect may be 
 as utterly unsubstantial, as if it were a thing of 
 nought. This ought to alarm us. It should 
 lead us to apprehend, that there was enough of 
 argument, on the side even of what is spiritual 
 and unseen, to condemn our indifference to it. 
 If the certainty of death do not move us, it may 
 not be the uncertainty of what is on the other 
 side of death, that can account for the sluggish- 
 ness of our obstinate and unmoved carnality. 
 One thing is certain, that we can see an ac- 
 quaintance fall into his grave, and yet continue 
 to live here, as if this were our eternity. And 
 does not this make it probable, that though that 
 acquaintance were to rise again, and to tell us of 
 the world of spirits upon which he had entered, 
 we should be unaffected as before by the real 
 eternity that is awaiting us? Christ says to us 
 himself, that if we believe not Moses and the 
 prophets, neither should we believe though one 
 rose from the dead. This is the way in which 
 
417 
 
 we meet the demand of infidelity, for more of 
 proof, and more of information. The fact is, 
 that thousands have died before us, and are still 
 dying around us, and yet the heart of man re- 
 mains unvisited by any practical sense of his 
 mortality. And the presumption, therefore, is, 
 that though one of these thousands were to re- 
 vive, and to re-appear amongst us, fraught with 
 the tidings of heaven's glory, and hell's unut- 
 terable despair, we should still keep our ground 
 against him, and the heart of man be unvisited 
 as before, by any practical sense of his immor- 
 tality. It is not more of evidence that we want. 
 There is as much as ought to convince us now — 
 and if not convinced, there is as much as will 
 condemn us afterwards. The cause of our irre- 
 ligion is not that we could not know, but that 
 we do not, and will not consider. 
 
 This is a great practical use to which our in- 
 sensibility about death is capable of being turn- 
 ed. It proves, that our insensibility about eter- 
 nal things, may be due to something else than 
 to the defect of that evidence by which they 
 are accompanied. It causes us to perceive, that 
 a truth may be surely known, and yet not be 
 pondered, or not be proceeded upon. Surely to 
 know it is one thing — seriously to reflect upon it 
 
 Dd 
 
418 
 
 is another — and thus it may be, that the irreh- 
 gion of the world is due not to the want of a satis- 
 fying demonstration on God's part, for this might 
 have excused us ; but, to the want of right con- 
 sideration on ours, and this is inexcusable. 
 
 III. Let us now pass onwards, then, to the 
 invisibles of faith — to those things which do not, 
 like death, stand upon the confines of the spi- 
 ritual region, but are wholly within that region, 
 and which man hath not seen by his eye, or heard 
 by his ear — to the awful realities that will abide 
 in deep and mysterious concealment from us, 
 so long as we are in the body, and which not 
 till the body is dissolved, will stand in direct 
 manifestation before us. This character of un- 
 seen and spiritual, is not confined to things fu- 
 ture. There are things present which are spi- 
 ritual also. There is a present Deity, who 
 dwelleth in light, it is true, but it is light inac- 
 cessible — who is encompassed with glory, but it 
 is glory which we, in the body, cannot approach 
 unto — who stands revealed to angels and ador- 
 ing spirits ; but whom no man hath seen, nei- 
 ther can see. He is the King eternal and im- 
 mortal, but he is also the King invisible — who, 
 though not far from any one of us, is remote as 
 infinity itself, from the ken of our earthly senses 
 
419 
 
 — and shrouded in the obscurity of his own un- 
 fathomable nature, is he so veiled and darkened 
 from all human contemplation, that we cannot 
 behold him. 
 
 And yet, even of this great Spirit we may be 
 said, in one sense, to know, however little it is 
 that we may consider him. There are averments 
 about God which we have long recognized, and 
 ranked among our admitted propositions, though 
 we seldom recur to them in thought, and are 
 never adequately impressed by them. We know, 
 or think we know, that God is ; and that all other 
 existence is suspended upon his will; and that, 
 were it not for his upholding arm, the whole of 
 Nature would go into dissolution ; and that while 
 he sits in high authority over all worlds, there is 
 not one individual member of his vast family, 
 that is overlooked by him — and, more particu- 
 larly, that he looks with the eye of a wise and a 
 watchful judge, into every heart, and every con- 
 science ; and that he claims a right and a pro- 
 perty in the services of all his creatures ; and 
 that he is more absolutely the owner and the 
 master of them all, than is man of the machine 
 that he hath made, and to whose touch all its 
 movements are subordinate ; and that he is a 
 God of august and unviolable sacredness, in 
 
 Dd2 
 
420 
 
 whose preseiice evil cannot dwell, and between 
 the sanctity of whose nature and sin, there is a 
 wide and implacable enmity ; and that he does 
 not sit in lofty and remote indifference to the 
 characters of his children, but takes deep, and 
 perpetual, and most vigilant concern in them 
 all — loving their righteousness, hating their ini- 
 quity, treasuring their thoughts, and their pur- 
 poses, and their doings, in the book of his re- 
 membrance ; and that, with a view to the mani- 
 festation of them, on that day, when time shall 
 be no more, and each of his accountable offspring 
 shall have their condition awarded to them 
 through eternity — when the mystery of God 
 shall be finished, and the glory of his attributes 
 shall be made to shine forth at the close and the 
 consummation of all things. 
 
 Now, most of these things you know, or pro- 
 fess to know. They are recognized by you as 
 true propositions, and not to have them among 
 the articles of your creed, would be deemed by 
 you as monstrous and revolting infidelity. Most 
 of you would shudder at the thought of an 
 atheism, which could deny the existence of 
 God, or of a blasphemy that could disown his 
 government, or of a heresy that could profane 
 his character by stripping it of its trutli, and 
 
421 
 
 justice, and holiness. So dear, in fact, are your 
 long-established notions of the Divinity, that you 
 could not bear them to be meddled with — and 
 would hold that man to be the enemy of your 
 repose, who should offer to violate them. So 
 that, there do exist in your mind certain posi- 
 tions which regard a Deity, the affirmative of 
 which carries your consent, and the denial of 
 which would be painfully offensive to you — and 
 thus far may you be said to know God, and to 
 believe in him. 
 
 Now, as a proof how distinct this knowledge 
 of God is from the consideration of him, I will 
 venture to say, that even the first and simplest 
 of all these propositions is, by many, unthought 
 of for days and weeks together. The truth, that 
 God is, which all here present would shudder 
 to deny, is out of habitual regard, and habitual 
 remembrance. It lies like a forgotten thing in 
 some deep and latent depository — and as to its 
 being brought forth of its hiding-place, for hour- 
 ly use and meditation, this we never meet with, 
 but among a saintly and selected few, who are 
 indeed a very peculiar people. When God is 
 acknowledged, we cannot lift the charge of 
 theoretical atheism; but when, along with this, 
 God is unminded, surely then may we lift the 
 
422 
 
 charge of practical atheism. Now this is the 
 very charge that we prefer against the vast ma- 
 jority of our world. They have a knowledge of 
 God; but this, so far from extenuating their 
 thoughtlessness, brings upon it its most fearful 
 aggravation. It is just because they stand pre- 
 eminent among the creatures of our world, in 
 the faculty of understanding God, that they 
 also stand pre-eminent in the crime of their un- 
 godliness. It is for this, that they suffer in the 
 comparison with " the ox that knoweth his own- 
 er, and the ass tliat knoweth his master's crib*' — 
 and what they have learned of God, or are ca- 
 pable of learning, will bring upon their heed- 
 lessness of him, and of his ways, its severest 
 condemnation. 
 
 It is, indeed, one of the most fearful mysteries 
 of the human spirit, that a truth which, of all 
 others, most intimately concerns us, should yet, 
 of all others, be the most gladly bidden away 
 into oblivion — that, as rid of an unwelcome vi- 
 sitor, the mind of man is never more at ease, or 
 in its kindred and rejoicing element, than when 
 God is not in all his thoughts — that then it is, 
 when, as broken loose from imprisonment, the 
 heart revels in its own desires, and securely 
 blesses its deliverance from the hateful presence 
 
423 
 
 of one who constrained and overawed it — that 
 the creature should thus hide itself, as it were, 
 from the Creator, and in virtue of his perpetual 
 recoil from the Being who formed, and who up- 
 holds him, should so keep up a perpetual dis- 
 tance from God — that wholly given over to the 
 idolatry of the things that are made, the Maker 
 should, to him, be little better than a nonentity, 
 or a name — this is the marvel of the strange 
 and wayward nature that belongs to us, and 
 may well lead us to apprehend the visitation 
 upon it of some sore leprosy, the shock of some 
 great and total derangement. 
 
 For what truth of weightier import to us all 
 than simply that there is a God — that all the 
 busy and unceasing movements around us are 
 suspended on the will of a living Sovereign — 
 that those mighty forces which constantly uphold 
 the play and the mechanism of things, are not 
 the random energies of a Nature that is uncon- 
 scious ; but that one sitteth above, and wieldeth 
 them all at his pleasure — that a powerful and a 
 presiding intelligence hath originated all, and 
 overrules all — and that while our only converse 
 and concern are with the near and the visible, 
 that are on every side of us, there is an unseen 
 Spirit, to whom belongeth the mastery, and 
 
424 
 
 with whom alone it is that we have mainly and 
 substantially to do ? 
 
 Now, how is it that man practically responds 
 to this real condition of his being? Tell me, 
 from the intimate assurances of your own con- 
 science, or tell me, from the broad and palpable 
 character that sits upon the doings of your ac- 
 quaintances, whether God hath the ascendency 
 over them. Is there, all the day long, a felt so- 
 lemnity on your spirits, because of God, which 
 follows you whithersoever you go, and causes 
 you to walk with him in the world ? Or, are 
 you familiarized with the habit of submitting 
 your will to his will ? Or, have you ever, for 
 an hour together, looked upon yourselves in the 
 light of being the servants of another, and have 
 accordingly run and laboured as at the bidding 
 of that other ? Or, utter strangers to this, do 
 you not walk in the counsel of your own heart? 
 Do you not move as independently, as if in 
 yourself it was that you lived, and moved, and 
 had your being ? In the work that you prose- 
 cute, and the comforts that you enjoy, and even 
 the obligations of which you acquit yourselves 
 to relatives, and to friends, is there any fear of 
 God before your eyes ? — and is not the fear of 
 disgrace from men, a far more powerful check 
 
425 
 
 upon your licentiousness, than the fear of dam- 
 nation from him who is the judge and the dis- 
 cerner of men ? The mind is ever crowded 
 with thoughts, and wishes, and purposes, that 
 pass, in busy succession, through its chambers of 
 imagery, and minister the food of its unremit- 
 ting contemplations. Tell me how much of God 
 and of godliness there is in them all. Turn the 
 inward survey upon yourselves, and report to us 
 how much of this heavenly fruit groweth and 
 flourisheth there. O you have but spied the na- 
 kedness of the land — God is unto you a wilder- 
 ness, and your heart is to him a spiritual desola- 
 tion ! 
 
 This emptiness of a man's heart as to the re- 
 cognition of God, runs throughout the whole 
 of his history. He is engrossed with what is vi- 
 sible and secondary, and he thinks no farther. 
 The sense of a present and presiding Deity, is 
 habitually absent from his soul — and just be- 
 cause he will not stir himself up to consideration, 
 that he may lay hold of God, is he bounded, as 
 if by an impassable limit, to earth and to earth- 
 liness. It needs a force of thought and of re- 
 flection, to bear him across this barrier, which, 
 whether from indolence, or carnality, or a mis- 
 giving conscience, he does not choose to put 
 
426 
 
 into operation — and thus, does he Hve without 
 God in the world. "When he enjoys, it is with- 
 out gratitude. When he labours, it is without 
 the impulse of an obedient loyalty. When he 
 admires, it is without carrying the sentiment up- 
 wardly unto heaven, whence all that is lovely on 
 the face of our world, was strewn for its embel- 
 lishment, and the delight of its beholders. And 
 thus, may a traveller on his tour of recreation, 
 through some goodly land, be carried forward 
 from scene to scene, till the whole landscape of 
 an empire shall have passed behind him like a 
 shifting panorama — and, as he eyes the beau- 
 teous succession of verdant fields, and massy 
 foliage, and the many pictures of comfort or 
 elegance in human habitations, and the rapid 
 variety wherewith, in the speed and the turning 
 of his movements, he is, at one time, closed up- 
 on by the limits of a sweet and sequestered val- 
 ley, and, at another, breaks out in full and open 
 perspective, on the glories of half a province — 
 why, may all the ecstacy he feels be lavished on 
 the spectacles before him, without one thought 
 of that master hand, which spread out the whole 
 of this magnificence, and poured the tide of 
 lustre over it. No piety may mingle with this 
 contemplation — and not for the want of know- 
 ledge, but the want of thought, may tliere be 
 
427 
 
 as little of God in the eye of this raptured en- 
 thusiast, as in the brute unconscious gaze of 
 the creature that hath no understanding. 
 
 Now, this is God's controversy with man in 
 the text. He there complains of our heedless- 
 ness. He feels himself slighted, that we so sel- 
 dom think of him, and that he should be thus 
 neglected and set at nought, by his own offspring. 
 And this inconsideration of ours, is matter of 
 blame, just because it is a matter of wilfulness. 
 Man has a voluntary control over his thoughts. 
 He can turn and transfer them from one object 
 of mental contemplation to another. He may 
 think of God when he chooses. He may recal 
 his scattered imaginations, and summon all that 
 is within him to an act of attendance upon 
 God. He may bid his mind cease from its ram- 
 bles, and its reveries, and lift itself up to the 
 abode of the Eternal. He may lay an arrest on 
 the processes of the inner man, and say to it, 
 with authority, that now is the moment for an 
 aspiration, or a solemn feeling towards God. 
 He may repeat and multiply this effort into a 
 habit of seriousness. It may mix itself in with 
 his ordinary business. It may accompany him 
 on his walk, even through the streets of the 
 crowded city. It may season the hours of his 
 
428 
 
 social fellowship ; and what, at first, is difficult, 
 and irregular, and rare, may thus, by dint of 
 perseverance, settle down into an habitual ten- 
 dency. He may, at length, be familiarized to 
 the thought of God, as his master and his own- 
 er — and, at length, putting on the attitude of 
 a daily and hourly obedience, as the eye of a 
 servant looketh towards his master, so may his 
 eye be ever towards God. This is not the at- 
 titude of nature, but it may be tried and prac- 
 tised, and, at length, effectually learned. But 
 you will never reach it, unless you begin ; you 
 will never succeed in it, unless you persevere. 
 And, therefore, my plain advice to you is, that 
 you now set to it in good earnest. Lay a man- 
 date upon your thinking faculty, and send it 
 heavenward to God. There is many a useless 
 moment that may thus be turned to account — 
 many an idle waste in our existence, that may 
 thus be reclaimed to sacredness. This is true 
 spiritual education — the practice of godliness, 
 instead of the theory — the way of going about 
 it — and by which the soul may, at length, be 
 disciplined to the habit of setting God always 
 before it. 
 
 It is the absence of this habit which consti- 
 tutes the ungodliness of man. There cannot 
 
4^29 
 
 be a foLiller provocation than that man should 
 be satisfied to do without God — and this is the 
 provocation inflicted by all who have other cares 
 and other pleasures, which take up the whole of 
 their hearts, and have no room there for God 
 or for godliness. Each of you can best tell whe- 
 ther you fall under this description of habit and 
 of character. Is it not the truth now, that God 
 is scarcely in all your thoughts ? — that you feel 
 no encouragement in any of his promises, nei- 
 ther do you tremble under the fearfulness of 
 his denunciations? that you are otherwise em- 
 ployed than in the prosecution of your interest 
 with him? and are busied with plans, and ob- 
 jects, and anticipations of your own, wherewith 
 his will, and his glory, have nothing to do ? This 
 is your guilt. This, in the estimation of Hea- 
 ven's jurisprudence, is the very essence of sin- 
 fulness. Quite consistent, we do admit, with 
 much to soften and much most honourably to 
 signalize you — but involving you in the direct 
 charge, that none of you understandeth, and 
 none of you seeketh after God. 
 
 IV. But the distinction between those who on- 
 ly know, and those who also consider, is never 
 more strongly marked than in the peculiar doc- 
 trines of the Gospel. And fearful is the hazard, 
 
430 
 
 lest knowledge, and it alone, should satisfy the 
 possessor; lest he should settle down into a 
 treacherous complacency, because he has made 
 a right adjustment of the articles of his creed ; 
 lest he count it enough, that he has acquiesced, 
 at all points, in the orthodoxy of the question ; 
 and so come forth with a flaming Christianity, 
 that lies more in dogmatism than in devotion, 
 more in a sturdy intolerance of error, than in a 
 true and tender sincerity of heart. And the 
 very controversies of the church have served to 
 foster this delusion. The very quantity of de- 
 bate and of argument that has been expended 
 on theology, leads to a most hurtful misconceiv- 
 ing of this matter. You know, that the design 
 of argument is to carry you onward to a set of 
 just and accurate convictions. This, in fact, is 
 the landing place to which it brings you, and at 
 which it leaves you — and the danger is, that hav- 
 ing brought you there, you go no further — and 
 this place of arrival becomes your place of rest, 
 and stationary residence. It is the pride, and 
 the ambition, and the zeal of every intellectual 
 combatant, to carry the understanding of his 
 reader — and having done this, he is apt to sit 
 down and be satisfied with the triumphs of his 
 gotten victory ; and the scholar himself, seized 
 with the very same infection, may sit down, too. 
 
431 
 
 as if he had attained an ultimate good, in which 
 he may rejoice, and where he may now securely 
 and fearlessly repose. And yet, the whole 
 amount of his acquisition may be a mere notional 
 Christianity — a list of doctrines that are settled 
 and set by — that are as much within the grasp 
 of his knowledge as many other articles of hu- 
 man speculation and science — but are just as 
 little reiterated upon as they by a habit of fre- 
 quent and feeling consideration. And hence a 
 familiar exhibition to all who live in this our 
 scholastic land, where a people, fresh from their 
 catechisms, are primed and charged with ortho- 
 doxy, and all whose articles stand before you 
 in well-marshalled and metaphysical array — who 
 have a religion in their heads, but that has there 
 an almost exclusive occupancy — whom many a 
 stout defender of the faith would rejoice in as 
 his own, but in whom the Author and the Finish- 
 er of faith, finds little of that love or that obe- 
 dience which to him are the alone tests of dis- 
 cipleship — a people whom none can challenge 
 for ignorance, but whose still unmortified tem- 
 pers, and still unabated worldliness, may prove, 
 that though they do know, yet they do not con- 
 sider. 
 
 It were well, if such a people could be extri- 
 
432 
 
 cated from the strongholds of their yet impreg- 
 nable antinomianism. It were well to alarm 
 their conscience with the saying, that no know- 
 ledge and no belief will give them justification, 
 which does not give sanctification also. All 
 their doctrinal acquirements are precisely of as 
 little avail as is the knowledge of death, if they 
 think not of dying — or, as their knowledge of a 
 God, if they give no earnest heed to him. It 
 is well that they know ; but the blessing is turned 
 into a condemnation and a curse, if, while they 
 know, they do not consider. 
 
 There are no topics on which there has been 
 so much of controversy, or that has given rise 
 to so many an elaborate dissertation, as the 
 person and offices of Christ. And, doubtless, 
 the scholarship has been well employed, that res- 
 cued from the entanglements of sophistry, the 
 precious truth of the divinity of our Saviour. 
 And well may England rejoice in those lettered 
 ecclesiastics, who have put down, as far as ar- 
 gument could do it, the infidelity that decried 
 the truth of his high and heavenly apostleship. 
 And worthier far, than all the revenue of all her 
 colleges, is the return of criticism and of de- 
 monstration that they have made in behalf of his 
 great sacrifice, and of his unchangeable and 
 
433 
 
 ever-diiring priesthood. Yet, let it not be dis- 
 guised, that the knowledge of all these creden- 
 da is one thing, and the serious, the practical 
 consideration of them, is another — that many 
 a commentator has mastered the difficulties of 
 the question, who has not been solemnized by 
 the thought of its urgent and affecting realities 
 — that stalled orthodoxy, with her clear under- 
 standing, but untouched heart, has often launch- 
 ed upon heresy her mighty fulminations, and 
 manfully asserted the truth which she never 
 felt — that the peasant may catch direct from his 
 Bible, what the dignitary has gathered by wad- 
 ing through the erudition of distant centuries ; 
 and this veriest babe in literature may outstrip 
 the literary giant, because he not only knows 
 the truth, but wisely and duteously considers 
 it. 
 
 Let us, in like manner, look unto Jesus with 
 the eye of a plain Christian, instead of looking 
 to him with the eye of a profound critic, or com- 
 mentator. For this purpose, let us lay hold of 
 things that are palpably and unambiguously 
 told of him, and see whether, without learning 
 of him that which we do not know, much might 
 not be made by considering of him that which 
 we do know — and whether, out of such mate- 
 
 E e 
 
434 
 
 rials of thought as are within reach of all, there 
 miglit not a far more solemn impression come 
 upon the heart, and a far more powerful influ- 
 ence upon the character, than are to be witnes- 
 sed even among the most zealous and declared 
 professors of our day. 
 
 First, then, he is the Apostle of our profes- 
 sion, or we profess him to be our Apostle. Let 
 us consider him as such. Let us bethink our- 
 selves of all which this title implies. It means 
 one who is sent. The twelve were called apos- 
 tles, because sent to preach the Gospel unto 
 every creature. And, in like manner, he too 
 is an Apostle, because sent by his Father into 
 the world. He came to us from a place of 
 deep and unknown mystery — he traversed that 
 domain which separates the land of spirits from 
 the peopled and familiar land in which we 
 dwell — he burst upon our senses from a region 
 where all is invisible — and far more wonderful 
 than if he had been a visitor from another pla- 
 net than our own, did he light upon our world 
 from the dwelling-place of him who is the un- 
 created source of all worlds, from the very abode 
 and sanctuary of the Eternal. How it ought 
 to move us with awe at the approach of such a 
 messenger, when we think of the glory and the 
 
435 
 
 sacredness of his former habitation ! — of those 
 ineffable communions that he had with the Fa- 
 ther before the world was — and deep insight in- 
 to all those mysteries of God, that are to us 
 unsearchable ! How it ought to fasten upon it 
 the gaze of every mortal eye, that on the shore 
 of our world there has been an arrival from the 
 dark and the shrouded infinity which lies beyond 
 it — that, at length, out of realms which are afar, 
 a traveller hath come ; and that, though veiled 
 from everlasting in the obscurity of a remote 
 and lofty nature, he hath now stood revealed to 
 the observation of human senses, and poured 
 forth an utterance that can be taken up by 
 human ears! 
 
 And what ought to fasten upon him a still 
 more intense regard, he comes with a message 
 to our world — he comes straight from the Di- 
 vinity himself, and charged by him with a spe- 
 cial communication — God had broken silence, 
 and this great Apostle of our profession was the 
 bearer of that voice which speaketh from heaven 
 unto the children of men. It was a thing of 
 mighty import, indeed, that there should have 
 been an actual errand to us from the pavilion of 
 the Almighty's residence — that one familiarly 
 acquainted there should have come to taberna- 
 
 Ee2 
 
436 
 
 cle here, and to enter upon converse and com- 
 panionship with men — that he did announce 
 himself, and on satisfying credentials, to have 
 been sent amongst us from the upper paradise, 
 with tidings that he had to deliver, and on a work 
 that had been given him to do. And it ought, 
 at least, to make no diiference, that now he has 
 returned to the place from whence he came. 
 For he left behind him the records of his won- 
 drous embassy — and the authentic and the au- 
 thoritative voice of heaven still speaketh to 
 us there — and with our hands upon the Bible, 
 we are in contact with the very materials of a 
 communication from the Deity. In the breast 
 of the Godhead, there was a motion and a de- 
 sire towards our species, and here is the expres- 
 sion of it — the very transcript of that message 
 which our Apostle brought, and which our 
 Apostle left amongst us — the word that actually 
 came from the secret place of the Eternal, and 
 is fraught with those revealed things, which now 
 belong to us and to our children. I declare not 
 a novelty in your hearing. It is not a matter 
 of which you are ignorant, and which you need 
 to know. But it is a matter of which you are 
 woefully heedless, and which you need to con- 
 sider. We do not need to teach you what is 
 new. But we need to arrest you by the sense 
 
437 
 
 of what is old and forgotten. We charge your 
 neglect of the Scriptures of our faith upon 
 your neglect of that great Apostle, who is the 
 Author and the Finisher of our faith. By your 
 daily indifference to the word that is written, 
 you inherit all the guilt, and will come under 
 the very reckoning of those, who, in the days 
 of the Saviour, treated with neglect and indif- 
 ference, the word that was spoken. Our chal- 
 lenge against you is, that the Bible is to you 
 a thing of insipidity — that it is not desired by 
 you as the aliment of your souls — that though 
 unread for days together, you miss no necessary 
 food, you feel no vacancy, you are visited with 
 no hunger, you can do very well without this 
 nourishment of the spiritual life, and so give 
 reason to fear, that within you there is no spiri- 
 tual principle to sustain. And looking unto that 
 of which this written document is the memorial, 
 do we charge upon all who slight the perusal of 
 it, that they trample into insignificance a for- 
 mal embassy from heaven — that they treat with 
 contumely the messenger who came thenceforth 
 unto our world — that God by him has spoken, 
 and they have disregarded — that the daily spec- 
 tacle of the Bible before their eyes, is a daily 
 solicitation on the part of Christ to be heard, 
 and by their continued heedlessness to which. 
 
438 
 
 they, all their lives, set his character as an Apos- 
 tle, utterly to scorn. 
 
 The way to repair this treatment, is forthwith 
 to give your diligence unto the book — and to 
 press upon your moral sense, as you open it, that 
 now you are about to enter into converse with 
 God — and thus to fix and solemnize your atten- 
 tion, while you read those words of which Christ 
 may be called the Apostle or the messenger. 
 The act of reading the Bible, is the act of 
 holding conference with the Deity — and while 
 this is what all know, this is what few consider. 
 
 There is one topic which stands connected 
 with the apostleship of Christ, and that stamps 
 a most peculiar interest on the visit which he 
 made to us from on high. He is God mani- 
 fest in the flesh. In the character of a man, 
 hath he pictured forth to us the attributes of the 
 Divinity. He is the brightness of his Father's 
 glory, and the express image of his person — 
 yet, in virtue of the humanity wherewith he is 
 invested, hath he offered, even to the eye of 
 sense, a palpable representation of the God- 
 head. " He who hath seen me, hath seen the 
 Father" — and we, by fastening our attentive re- 
 gards upon his person and history, may gather 
 
439 
 
 the very aspect and lineaments of the King in- 
 visible. That Being, who had been so long 
 wrapt in profoundest secrecy from our world — 
 that Being, whom none could apprehend, for 
 no eye of mortal could carry him through that 
 dark and untrodden interval, by which the two 
 regions of sense and of spirit stand apart from 
 each other — the Being, who ever since the en- 
 trance of sin, had laid his jealous interdict on 
 the approaches of our species, and withdrawn 
 himself by a remote and lofty separation away 
 from us — he, at length, broke out from this veil 
 of deepest mystery, and in the person of him 
 who is at once his representative and his Apos- 
 tle, does he now stand before us in visible mani- 
 festation. And we, by considering this Apostle, 
 learn of God. By looking unto him, we look 
 unto the likeness of our Creator, and we be- 
 come acquainted with him. In the purity, and 
 the gentleness, and the simple majesty of Christ, 
 do we read the characteristics of the Deity. 
 And O how it concerns us to know, from this 
 narrative of unwearied well-doing, that there is 
 so much of benevolence in heaven — that the 
 Sovereign who sits in high authority there, is as 
 good as he is great — that there is a meekness to 
 soften the majesty of his nature, and a compas- 
 sionate longing after those men whom the hand 
 
440 
 
 of justice was lifted up to destroy — that even in 
 the holy of holies, there dwells a tenderness 
 for our degraded species — and could the secu- 
 rities of heaven's throne only be upholden, that 
 there were a good-will and a mercy on high, 
 ready to burst forth upon our world, and to cir- 
 culate, at large, over all its families. 
 
 But this leads us to another topic of con- 
 sideration, the priesthood of Christ. The atone- 
 ment that he made for sin has a foremost 
 place in orthodoxy. It is reiterated in all our 
 catechisms. It forms the burden and the ar- 
 gument of many a ponderous dissertation. And 
 to the popular mind, too, is it fully as fami- 
 liar as to the accomplished scholar in theolo- 
 gy. Insomuch, that scarcely an individual can 
 be met with, even in the humblest walks of 
 society, who does not know, and who could 
 not tell, that Christ died for the world. But 
 as we have often said, there is a knowledge 
 without consideration. A truth may be acquired, 
 and then cast, as it were, into some hidden cor- 
 ner of the mind, may it lie forgotten, as in a 
 dormitory. And thus it fares with many a pre- 
 cious doctrine of the Bible. We learn it most 
 readily from the question-book. We give the 
 vote to it oi" our most prompt and zealous affir- 
 
441 
 
 mative. We enlist it among the articles of our 
 creed — and espousing it as our own belief, do 
 we become partizans, or even advocates in its 
 favour. And yet all this may consist with an 
 entire practical heedlessness — with a deep tor- 
 por and unconcern about that truth which may 
 have come to us most abundantly in word, 
 though not at all in power. The soul may be 
 habitually inadvertent to that as a principle, 
 which is most zealously professed, and even con- 
 tended for as an opinion. And accordingly, we 
 are told by the apostle, of this very doctrine, 
 that Christ died for our sins according to the 
 Scriptures, how possible it is for men to re- 
 ceive it, yet not to remember it — that they may 
 have once committed it to their understanding, 
 as an article of faith, without having charged 
 it upon their memory as an article of hourly 
 and habitual recurrence — that it may have been 
 consented to by the mind, without being dwelt 
 upon by the mind — in which case, says Paul, 
 you have believed in vain ; and just because you 
 keep not in memory, or, rather, consider not, 
 and call not up to memory, that which I have 
 preached unto you. 
 
 And, therefore, would I again bid you con- 
 sider him who is the High Priest of your pro- 
 
442 
 
 fession. I call upon you ever and anon to think 
 of his sacrifice — and to ward off the legality of 
 nature from your spirits, by a constant habit of 
 recurrence, upon your part, to the atonement 
 that he hath made, and to the everlasting righ- 
 teousness that he hath brought in. Without 
 this, the mind is ever lapsing anon into aliena- 
 tion and distrust — and the habitual jealousy of 
 guilt, when not met, at all times, by a sense of 
 that blood which washeth it away, will throw us 
 back again to our wonted distance from God — 
 and instead of breathing the free air of confi- 
 dence in him, or rejoicing in the sunshine of his 
 reconciled countenance, there will be a flaw of 
 suspicion in all our intercourse, and instead of 
 loving him as a friend, we shall still stand in 
 dread of him as an accuser. There may be the 
 occasional recognition of Christ, and, perhaps, 
 along with it a gleam of light and of liberty. 
 But the general state will be, that of a mind 
 which is overcast. And, therefore, to keep all 
 clear, and habitually clear, would I advise a 
 regular forthgoing of your believing thoughts, 
 to the great decease that was accomplished at 
 Jerusalem. I would have you to look unto Je- 
 sus Christ, and unto him crucified, and be 
 lightened thereby. Forget not that for guilt 
 there has been an appropriate remedy provided 
 
443 
 
 in the Gospel — and the way tor you to stand 
 delivered from all your fears of its vengeance 
 and its agony, is to think of the vengeance that 
 has already been poured out, and of the agony 
 that has already been endured for it. Be very 
 sure, that when justice is satisfied, then mercy 
 set at large from this obstruction, is free to re- 
 joice over you. And justice is satisfied. The 
 sufferings of the garden and the cross, have ab- 
 sorbed it all — nor after Christ hath poured out 
 his soul unto the death for you, will it seek, in 
 the horrors of your condemned eternity, for a 
 double redress, and a double vindication. O 
 come out then from the prison-house of des- 
 pondency — and when you think of your sins, 
 think also of the ransom which has been paid 
 for them. On the strength of this, do make your 
 resolute stand against the spirit of bondage — 
 and looking, and looking hourly unto the vic- 
 tim who has already bled a full expiation, do 
 uphold yourself in the confidence, that sin is 
 made an end of, that transgression is finished, 
 that reconciliation for iniquity is made, and 
 that now the believer, released from captivity, 
 may walk before God in the security and the 
 triumph of an everlasting righteousness. 
 
 In other sacrifices, the priest is distinguish- 
 
444 
 
 able from the victim. Here they are the same. 
 He was the victim when dying. He is the 
 High Priest, now that he is risen again. And 
 thus does he still plead, in the ear of God, the 
 offering that was once made, and the power of 
 which endureth continually. That incense, with 
 the savour of which, God was well pleased, he 
 is at all times well pleased to be reminded of — 
 and only consider him who fills his mouth with 
 this argument in behalf of all who repair to him, 
 who can argue his sacrifice as an adequate re- 
 demption for the chief of sinners, and whose 
 glory as a physician and a Saviour, is most illus- 
 trated, when the most desperate of offenders 
 come unto him, and are healed. It is not 
 enough, that you have, at one time, imported 
 this into your understanding, and given it a 
 place there among the articles of your belief. 
 It is by keeping it in memory — it is by renew- 
 ing upon it your mental acts of faith and of 
 dependance — it is by again and again repairing 
 to it — and looking habitually unto him as your 
 Intercessor and High Priest, even as the chil- 
 dren of Israel looked daily to Jerusalem, 'at the 
 times of their morning and evening sacrifice. It 
 is thus, that peace is kept up in the heart — it is 
 thus, that instead of coming upon us at starts, 
 and in the sliape of a momentary visitation, it 
 
445 
 
 maintains the continuous flow within us, of a 
 river that is at once mighty and inexhaustible. 
 It is thus, that this doctrine of our faith, instead 
 of having only once made its entrance into our 
 creed, is used by us at all times as a cordial — 
 and the thought of Christ, as our acceptable 
 and all-prevailing High Priest, is often pre- 
 sent to the mind, and always felt to be pre- 
 cious. 
 
 And never forget that the way to maintain 
 peace of conscience, is also the way to maintain 
 purity of character. This is a mystery of the 
 Christian life which the world apprehendeth 
 not — and yet so realized, we think, by univer- 
 sal experience, that never do we reckon, in the 
 history of the church, or in any of its mem- 
 bers, had wilful sin place at the same time along 
 with a full exercise of faith on the testimony of 
 God. It is peace in the conscience, in fact, 
 that keeps up love in the heart. It is this which, 
 by putting joy, and hope, and confidence in the 
 bosom, furnishes the soul with the most power- 
 ful springs of obedience. It is this which 
 awakens gratitude in the bosom, that erenow 
 was beset with the cold distractions of legality ; 
 and under the constraining influence of the 
 
446 
 
 love of Christ, is it ever found, that the most 
 joyful believer is also the most fruitful believer, 
 living no longer to himself, but to Christ who 
 died for him, and who rose again. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by W. Collins & Co. 
 Glasgow. 
 
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 BY THOMAS CHALMERS, D. D. 
 
TO 
 
 THE MEMBERS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CONGREGATION 
 
 OF 
 
 ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, GLASGOW, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SERMONS 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED, 
 
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 DURING THE TIME OF HIS CONNECTION WITH THEM, 
 
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 WITH EVERY ASSURANCE OF HIS AFFECTIONATE DESIRE 
 
 FOR THEIR BEST INTERESTS, 
 

 Date Due 
 
 
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