LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 
 
 
 PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 
 
 From 
 
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 ) Library of Dr. James 
 
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 Division. 
 
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 DISCOURSES V5 
 
 JAN 24 1911 * 
 
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 BY THE LATE 
 
 REV. JAMES MARTIN, A.M., 
 
 MINISTER OF ST GEORGe's CHURCH, EDINRURGH ; 
 AND PART OF AN INTENDED SEKIES OF 
 
 LETTERS ON PRAYER, 
 
 WRITTEN RV HIM WHILE AT NICE. 
 
 TO WHICH IS FREFIXED, 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 OLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE COURT ; 
 
 SI31PKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., LONDON. 
 
 1835. 
 
Printed by Oliver & Boyd, 
 Tweeddale Court, High Street, Edinburgh. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 By the publication of a selection from the manu- 
 scripts of the late Mr Martin, and of a short sketch 
 of his life and character, nothing more is aimed at or 
 desired by those who have undertaken it, than to 
 preserve some memorial of a man of a very pure 
 and elevated mind, prematurely cut off from a 
 sphere of extensive usefulness, and a circle of friends 
 by whom he was greatly esteemed and beloved ; 
 which may at once be gratifying to them, and en- 
 couraging to those who are engaged in the same 
 sacred vocation to which he so faithfully devoted 
 his short but honourable life. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be naturally asked, how a Me- 
 moir comes to be published, of one whose course 
 was so brief, and who was comparatively little 
 known beyond the congregations to whom he mi- 
 nistered, whilst we have no biography of others, — 
 some of them old and venerable men, — who, for a 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 long period, occupied a large space in the ecclesias- 
 tical history of Scotland, and whose names are in- 
 corporated with the most important transactions 
 which, in the concerns of religion, or in Church af- 
 fairs, took place during the period in which they 
 lived ? 
 
 The answer to this is not difficult. To give a 
 full and accurate detail of the whole circumstances 
 and events of the public life of such men, and to 
 delineate with that fidelity which would be necessary, 
 the character which was unfolded in the various 
 situations in which they were placed, and in those 
 interesting scenes in which they distinguished them- 
 selves, were a matter of no easy accomplishment ; 
 and for this reason we judge that it has, in compa- 
 ratively few cases, been hitherto attempted. 
 
 It might not be a task of very great difficulty or 
 delicacy, to give a superficial sketch of the leading 
 occurrences in the life of a public man, and to de- 
 scribe what he appeared to be in the eye of the 
 world, and the effects which he produced on the po- 
 pular mind. But this is not all which belongs to 
 the biography of such an individual ; and it is quite 
 another thing to develope his true character, to ex- 
 hibit the real views and principles by which he was 
 governed during a long course of active service in 
 the open places of society, and amidst the agitations 
 and contentions of public life ; and to do justice, in 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 the face of a flippant and querulous world, to his 
 memory and his name. 
 
 But in giving a sketch of the character and of 
 the leading incidents in the history of such a man as 
 Mr Martin, the service required is not at all of this 
 kind. It is far less formidable, and may therefore, 
 perhaps without great presumption, be attempted. 
 For, although in the few last years of his life, he 
 was called to fill ostensible and prominent situations 
 in the pulpits of our Church, yet his course was 
 uniformly that of a quiet pastor and domestic mi- 
 nister of the Gospel, — the sphere of whose duties, 
 to the time when his physical constitution gave way, 
 called him but little into public life, or into the 
 high fields of controversy, or of general discussion ; 
 but whose labours and services, within the limits 
 to which they were confined, can never be but infi- 
 nitely valuable in the recollection of those who en- 
 joyed the privilege of his public ministry, or the 
 satisfaction and advantage of his private friendship. 
 Let it be added, that, in giving expression, in the 
 following Memoir, to any of those reflections which 
 irresistibly arise in the retrospect of the life of one 
 who was greatly endeared by an intimate and con- 
 stant intercourse, though only for a few years, the 
 strongest desire has been felt to avoid every thing 
 like excess or exaggeration. To indulge in these 
 would be an act of great mockery towards him, 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 whose own language was always so genuine and 
 sincere. And there is no occasion here to exagge- 
 rate ; for, if his character could be delineated in har- 
 mony and keeping with its own truthfulness, it were 
 enough. 
 
 From the great number of manuscripts which Mr 
 Martin left behind him, — all of them without the 
 remotest view of ever being printed, — it has been 
 found rather an anxious and difficult undertaking 
 to make a selection, and to prepare it for the press. 
 At one time, it was thought preferable to confine it 
 within the range of his very excellent course of lec- 
 tures on the Gospel of Luke ; and at another, to 
 give only the series of sermons on the successive 
 verses of the fifth chapter of the Second Epistle to 
 the Corinthians, to both of which allusion is made 
 in the succeeding Memoir. But after full consi- 
 deration, it has been judged most suitable, to com- 
 prise within this volume, a variety of insulated 
 discourses, preached at different times during Mr 
 Martin's ministry in Edinburgh, which appear to 
 present the fairest specimens of his general style of 
 preaching, and are, at the same time, known to 
 have been highly acceptable and useful to those 
 who, with the greatest regularity, waited upon his 
 ministry. 
 
 The Letters on Prayer which follow the Discourses, 
 and the occasion of which is also referred to in the 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 Memoir, must be considered, not as a complete 
 treatise on the subject, but as a fragment ; yet, in 
 this view, and as forming the very last service that 
 Mr Martin was permitted to render to his congre- 
 gation and to the Church, they possess an interest 
 which seemed to forbid that they should be with- 
 held. 
 
 Edinburgh, loth April 1835. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Memoir, Page xvii 
 
 DISCOURSES. 
 
 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 2 Kings, iv. 13 Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the cap- 
 tain of the host ? And she answered, I dwell among mine own people.... 1 
 
 DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 Psalm Ixxviii. 34. — When he slew them, then they sought him ; and they 
 returned and inquired early after God 17 
 
 DISCOURSE THIRD. 
 
 Isaiah, xl. 6, 7, 8 The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry ? 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field : 
 The grass withereth, the flower fadeth ; because the Spirit of the Lord 
 bloweth upon it : surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the 
 flower fadeth : but the word of our God shall stand for ever 32 
 
 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 Luke, ii. 14. — Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will 
 toward men 46 
 
XII CONTENTS. 
 
 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, iii. 18. — We all, with open face beholding as in a glass 
 the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from glory to 
 glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord Page G3 
 
 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 John, iii. 14, 15. — And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, 
 even so must the Son of man be lifted up ; that whosoever believeth in him 
 should not perish, but have eternal life 77 
 
 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 Psalm lxxvii. 19. — Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, 
 
 and thy footsteps are not known. 
 Psalm lxxxix. 14. — Justice and judgment are the habitation of thy throne : 
 
 mercy and truth shall go before thy face 96 
 
 DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 John, iv. 42. — Now we believe, not because of thy saying; for we have 
 heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour 
 of the world 112 
 
 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 1 Corinthians, v. 7> — Christ our passover is sacrificed for us 127 
 
 The Fencing of the Communion-table 144 
 
 The Address after the Communion 150 
 
 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 1 John, ii. 1. — These things I write unto you, that ye sin not. And if 
 any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the 
 righteous 15G 
 
 DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 Proverbs, iii. 6. — In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct 
 tliy paths 171 
 
CONTENTS. Xlll 
 
 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 Luke, iv. If!, 19. — The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath 
 anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor ; he hath sent me to heal the 
 broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of 
 sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the ac- 
 ceptable year of the Lord Page 185 
 
 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 Luke, xxii. 19, 20. — And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, 
 and gave unto them, saying, This is my body, which is given for you : 
 this do in remembrance of me. Likewise also the cup after supper, say- 
 ing, This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you... 203 
 
 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 Luke, xxiv. 50, 51, 52, 53. — And he led them out as far as to Bethany ; 
 and he lifted up his hands and blessed them. And it came to pass, while 
 he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven. 
 And they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy ; and 
 were continually in the temple, praising and blessing God. Amen... 217 
 
 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Hebrews, vii. 24. — But this man, because he continueth ever, hath an un- 
 changeable priesthood 233 
 
 DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, v. 1. — For we know, that, if our earthly house of this ta- 
 bernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made 
 with hands, eternal in the heavens 251 
 
 DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, v. 4. — We that are in this tabernacle do groan, being 
 burdened 2(14 
 
 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, v. /• — We walk by faith, not by sight 277 
 
XIV CONTEXTS. 
 
 LETTERS ON PRAYER. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Introductory Page 295 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Simplicity in Prayer 298 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 The Structure of Prayer 303 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Forms of Prayer 309 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 The Answer of Prayer 314 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Perseverance in Prayer 321 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Intercessory Prayer (commenced) 327 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 THE REV. JAMES MARTIN, 
 
 The subject of this Memoir was born at Brechin on the 
 30th July 1800. His respectable and excellent parents ful- 
 filled their duty to him in a manner not less judicious than 
 it was affectionate, and reaped their richest reward in the 
 future character of their son. 
 
 From his earliest days he was a boy of great spirit and 
 remarkable quickness ; fond of play, but when brought to 
 apply his mind to the business of the school, or to any of 
 his prescribed exercises, possessing an intellectual power by 
 which he was enabled to surmount all their difficulties, and 
 generally, in half the time which was required by others. 
 Among his companions he was distinguished by an air of re- 
 finement, great ingenuousness, manliness, and activity, — in- 
 somuch, that some of those who remember him as a boy, 
 when trying to recall the scenes of that period, have a dis- 
 tinct impression of his figure and manner, although they can 
 scarcely recollect a circumstance respecting those who were 
 his companions; whom he almost uniformly outstripped, 
 
XVlll MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 both in the employments of the school, and in all their pri- 
 vate competitions and rural games. 
 
 Of the season and scenes of his boyhood, he preserved a 
 very vivid remembrance, and often alluded to them. The 
 watchful kindness and care of his mother were especially 
 imprinted on his heart ; and when, in the spring of 1832, 
 and a few months before the state of his health obliged him 
 to leave his native country, he made an excursion for a 
 short time to Rothsay, attended by the affectionate sister 
 who is now the only remaining member of his father's family, 
 his mind was constantly dwelling on the early period of 
 their lives, and, by his conversation, he seemed to find a 
 peculiar pleasure in living, as it were, all their young days 
 over again. 
 
 It has sometimes been quaintly said, that the boy is 
 father to the man ; and the saying was verified in the case of 
 Mr Martin. For the very same cast of character which dis- 
 tinguished him in his earliest years, was strongly perceptible 
 during the whole of his future course. The instincts of his 
 childhood became the dispositions of his youth, and were gra- 
 dually ripened into the principles of his manhood. The 
 same quickness and aptness of perception, — the same courage 
 and independence of mind, — the same fixedness of pur- 
 pose and power of application, — the same ambition and 
 determination to excel in every thing in which he engaged, 
 — and the same steadiness of attachment and warmth of 
 heart which were visible in his youth, characterized his ad- 
 vanced years ; and he often remarked to those whom he 
 admitted to his private thoughts and experience, that there 
 appeared to be a spirit astir within him, as if it were a 
 separate part of his moral constitution, winch was inces- 
 santly urging him onwards and upwards, and would never 
 ollnw him to be at rest, or to remain satisfied with any de- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XIX 
 
 gree of attainments or of usefulness which he had as yet 
 reached. 
 
 At the early age of twelve he entered Marischal College, in 
 the University of Aberdeen, and was a competitor for one of the 
 bursaries. Upon this occasion, his mother, who well knew his 
 ardent temperament, would not allow him to compete for this 
 privilege, until he had given her his solemn assurance that, 
 should he prove unsuccessful, he would not be discomposed 
 by the disappointment, — a promise which he faithfully ful- 
 filled ; for, keen and aspiring as he naturally was, his ardour 
 was always under the control of that regard which he felt 
 for the wishes of his parents, towards whom he was never 
 conscious of having done any thing by which he thought 
 they would be grieved or offended. 
 
 His course at College was one of vigorous application and 
 unwearied study. His natural quickness, together with the 
 habit of perseverance which he acquired, rendered him an 
 accurate linguist ; whilst the more advanced stages of his 
 academical course, in the departments of mathematics and 
 philosophy, afforded, as was natural to a mind of such a 
 constitution as his, the highest gratification and enjoyment, 
 in the enlargement of his knowledge, the strengthening of 
 his reasoning powers, and the cultivation of an originally 
 fine taste in every thing connected either with science or 
 morals. To judge by one of the note-books which he kept 
 during his course at the University, he seems to have found 
 much gratification from the intercourse which he maintained 
 with his fellow-students ; where though there is but little 
 recorded of his own performances, he has copied out several 
 of what he appears to have considered the best of those 
 essays and exercises which were prepared and given in by 
 his companions, either at the Moral Philosophy Class or the 
 Literary Society of Marischal College. 
 
XX MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Soon after entering the University, Mr Martin appears to 
 have formed his resolution as to the profession to which he 
 would devote his life ; but, with that diffidence and caution 
 which always characterized him, he never mentioned the 
 circumstance until he had made trial of the steadiness of 
 his own purpose, and found that it was practicable to carry 
 it into effect. When at last he disclosed his long-kept 
 secret, and his plans for life were settled, he entered upon 
 the study of theology and its kindred branches with re- 
 doubled energy ; and the natural qualities of his mind found 
 in these pursuits a most engaging and appropriate exercise. 
 Resolved not to be satisfied with the mere formal discharge 
 of routine duties, or with the attainment of such a degree of 
 proficiency as might be barely sufficient to admit him to the 
 sacred calling which he had chosen, he set himself in good 
 earnest to become at once a thorough scholar and a sound 
 theologian. To the close of his life, indeed, he had, both 
 with respect to himself and others, an almost impatient 
 jealousy of every thing that was superficial, — a high-minded 
 contempt for all mere sciolists and smatterers, and for the 
 indulgence of that feeling which could permit an individual 
 to sit down in a state of indolent contentment with any 
 thing like inferiority, or even mediocrity, in those useful 
 attainments which were within his reach; and he accord- 
 ingly felt the deepest impression of the necessity of solidity 
 and depth, — of real, as well as apparent learning, in every 
 one who professed to be either a scholar or a divine. 
 
 In February 1818, he records, in a memorandum in his 
 note-book, that the previous eighteen months had been ex- 
 clusively devoted to his graver studies. At that period, 
 however, he had been led to read a popular poem just then 
 published, and upon this circumstance he adds the following 
 reflection : — " I have seldom found such an interruption ! 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXI 
 
 It recalled to my mind much of that amusement which 
 I formerly derived from works of imagination ; and I 
 still found that, though my feelings had long been re- 
 strained, they were by no means blunted. I know not 
 how, but I feel, after reading such a work, all my love 
 for severer study rekindled, and that every amusement in 
 which I mix, and which has nothing in it vicious or sin- 
 ful, only leads me to be more impressed with religious sen- 
 timents. 1 ' 
 
 One may easily perceive from such an observation as this, 
 that the assiduity of college-studies had considerably tem- 
 pered the playful dispositions of his earlier days. And yet, 
 on returning home during the vacation, while he inflexibly 
 maintained his studious habits, he entered with the greatest 
 spirit into the sports of his companions at Brechin, and 
 was foremost in all their schemes for exercise and recrea- 
 tion. But he had then evidently reached that period in his 
 mental history, though sooner than is generally the case, 
 even with men of a kindred character, when a contest takes 
 place between the different elements that enter into the 
 framework of an ardent and highly-tempered mind, — that 
 experimental collision between the opposite forces in its ori- 
 ginal constitution which is rendered unavoidable, when the 
 art of self-inspection has in some degree been acquired, and 
 the habits of reflection are gradually displacing the headlong 
 tendencies of youth, — when the judgment of a person of 
 strong intellect and sense gets fairly into play with the keen 
 impulses of his nature, and the true character comes to be 
 adjusted. It is an eventful period in the history of every 
 such man, and resembles the junction of two rivers, — the 
 original characteristics of which may have been dissimilar, 
 but which, in their blended course, — when the impetuosity 
 of the one has in some measure been controlled by the depth 
 
XX11 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 of the other, — form, both in volume and velocity, one noble 
 and majestic stream. 
 
 In accordance with these observations, it may be noticed, 
 that at the close of the University Session of 1818, Mr 
 Martin, in a short memorandum, thus gives expression to 
 his feelings : — " The session, now nearly completed, has 
 flown swiftly, swiftly away. I hope, however, by the bless- 
 ing of God, it has not been spent trivially or unprofitably. 
 My studies have been pretty regular and constant. They 
 have been on the three great heads of revealed religion, — 
 the Trinity, the Decrees of God, and Original Sin. They 
 have also included a considerable share of Church-history. 
 My spirit has, in general, and particularly when alone, been 
 inclined to the sombre. I have mixed but little in society, 
 yet I am surely inclined to it. My heart participates in the 
 happiness of my fellow-creatures, and pants to increase it to 
 the utmost, — I love to see them happy. 
 
 " Yet I have often thought that I could see through 
 the veil that envelopes my present state, and that God was 
 dealing with me in love, — that he was showing me the va- 
 nity of the world, — weaning me from its enjoyments, and 
 teaching me to lay up for myself treasures in heaven. I 
 have often found comfort, — might I say instruction ? in the 
 idea, that one day on earth I shall be a child of God, and 
 that I shall see the value of his present dealings, as prepara- 
 tory steps for an important change." 
 
 At this period, whilst his character preserved much of its 
 natural buoyancy and elasticity, and whilst he lost none of 
 the relish which he always had for the objects of external 
 nature, the enjoyments of friendship and domestic society, 
 and the simple pleasures of life, his mind became evidently 
 pervaded by a deeper seriousness, and, with his characteris- 
 tic fixedness of purpose, he redoubled his application to all 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XX111 
 
 those branches of study by which he might become qualified 
 for attaining eminence in the profession which he had 
 chosen. The sketch of the course of private study to be 
 pursued during the summer months of 1818, which he then 
 drew up, and scrupulously followed out, exhibits a striking 
 example of unrelaxing industry. Every thing is arranged 
 in the most exact order ; every hour of the day appropriated 
 to some useful purpose ; and the impression is irresistible, 
 that, his views for life being now finally settled, he entered 
 in the most solemn manner upon the work of a vigorous and 
 thorough preparation for it, by the acquisition of that com- 
 plete scholarship and enlarged information, as well as com- 
 prehensive theology, without which, no one knew better 
 than he did, that a clergyman can neither be useful nor re- 
 spectable ; and, above all, by the cultivation of that personal 
 devotedness to God which was still more, in his estimation, 
 the great and essential feature in the character of a minister 
 of the Gospel. 
 
 Towards the close of this year he became tutor in the fa- 
 mily of Mr Ogilvy of Tannadice, within a few miles of his 
 native place ; and in this situation he continued for several 
 years, proving himself a most conscientious preceptor to 
 those who were intrusted to his care ; while, by his habits 
 of arrangement, and the secret with which he was well ac- 
 quainted, of economizing and improving his time, he steadily 
 advanced in his own preparation for the ministry. 
 
 On the 15th August 1821, he received a license to preach 
 the Gospel from the Presbytery of Forfar, by the hands of a 
 most respectable and venerable minister of the Church, the 
 Rev. Dr Lyon of Glammis, whose son, the late Rev. Wil- 
 liam Lyon, of Union Chapel, Aberdeen, a young man of 
 great worth and high promise, — and who, too, was cut off 
 in the very beginning of his labours, — had been one of Mr 
 
XXIV MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Martin's most intimate companions at College ; and towards 
 both of these individuals he always cherished the greatest af- 
 fection and esteem. His first sermon was preached at Oath- 
 law, from the words, " God forbid that I should glory save 
 in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ ;" and, in recording 
 this circumstance in a single sentence in his note-book, he 
 adds the following reflection : — " I have to lament much 
 imperfection ; but I hope I have also some right wishes, and 
 that I sincerely lament my own sinfulness, and sincerely con- 
 fess my need of God's grace." 
 
 During the remainder of this and the following year, he 
 preached, as occasions offered, in the pulpits of the clergy 
 in the neighbourhood of Tannadice, where he resided, and 
 was uniformly considered a young man of superior attain- 
 ments and high promise. The love which he had for the 
 work to which he had devoted himself, and his kind and dis- 
 interested disposition, led him, also, for upwards of a year, 
 to give his services in the church of Cortachy, by officiating 
 once a-month for the individual who was assistant to the mi- 
 nister of that parish ; and this he did, without, in any de- 
 gree, infringing upon the week-day duties which he owed to 
 his pupils. 
 
 With Mr Ogilvy's family he afterwards removed to Edin- 
 burgh, where he passed the winter of 1821-1822. About 
 this period he formed the desire of undertaking a minute 
 investigation of the writings of the Greek fathers, and of 
 employing the results of his research in clearing up certain 
 intricate and interesting topics of discussion, and determin- 
 ing some living controversies, which had awakened his cu- 
 riosity and engaged his mind, either in the course of his 
 reading, or of his conversation with others. Had this pur- 
 pose been prosecuted, it might have given a new direction 
 to his history, and, peradventure, turned his course of use- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXV 
 
 fulness into a different channel from that in which, perhaps 
 more appropriately, it came afterwards to flow. For there 
 can be no doubt that, from the acquaintance with the an- 
 cient languages which he possessed, his fondness for criti- 
 cal study, and his inflexible perseverance, he might have 
 made a considerable figure in such a department of lite- 
 rature ; and by means of the opportunities which some 
 such privilege as a fellowship at Oxford or Cambridge 
 would have afforded, with all its pleasant appliances of 
 leisure, and libraries, and learned men, it is impossible 
 to say what his talents and ardour might have accom- 
 plished. 
 
 But the winter which he passed in Edinburgh appears 
 to have fixed him in the purpose of consecrating himself 
 entirely to the work of preaching the Gospel. Besides ob- 
 taining those benefits which, by its society and institu- 
 tions, the metropolis must always afford to a young man 
 of a cultivated and inquiring mind for advancing his ge- 
 neral improvement, Mr Martin at this time enjoyed an 
 advantage which he highly valued, and to which he uni- 
 formly looked back with the greatest gratitude and satis- 
 faction. This was the opportunity which he had of at- 
 tending the ministry of the Rev. Dr Gordon, then minister 
 of St Cuthbert , s Chapel ; whose character and example, no 
 less than his public ministrations, appear to have given greater 
 depth to all his religious sentiments, to have filled his mind 
 with a stronger sense of the high and honourable nature, as 
 well as the solemn responsibility of the ministerial office, 
 and to have set him forward in his course, more intensely 
 alive to the importance which attaches to the spiritual in- 
 terests of immortal beings, and more deeply impressed with 
 the magnitude of his own duties. At any rate, he certainly 
 did ascribe much that he had acquired in the seasoning of 
 
XXVI MEMOIR OF THK AUTHOR. 
 
 his mind, both with divine truth and devout feeling, to his 
 residence in Edinburgh at this period. 
 
 On the 8th April 1823, Mr Martin received a presenta- 
 tion to the church of Glenisla, in the Presbytery of Meigle, 
 and was ordained on the 18th September following. 
 
 The parish of Glenisla is a remote and sequestered district, 
 penetrating far into the Grampians, and in its scenery par- 
 taking of all the characteristics of a mountainous country. 
 The great proportion of its inhabitants, like the family of 
 Jacob, have ever been shepherds, both they and their fa- 
 thers; and when Mr Martin was settled among them, he 
 found them possessed of all that primitive simplicity and 
 kindheartedness, which are generally exhibited by a pastoral 
 people. They cherished the greatest respect for the clerical 
 office and character, and evinced the strongest wish to live 
 on the most intimate and cordial terms with their new mi- 
 nister. At the same time, being attached to many old no- 
 tions and natural prepossessions, it could not be concealed 
 that his delicate form and youthful appearance, his gentle 
 though not familiar manners, and the first impression of his 
 character, led several of them to fear that he was not alto- 
 gether suited for the situation to which he had been ap- 
 pointed ; and that he was of too slender a frame, and 
 too ethereal a mind, to enter into such a state of society 
 as existed among them, — to sympathize with their habits, 
 or fall in with their homely mode of life. Among other 
 things, upon his first entrance into the parish, and in the 
 prospect of commencing his ministry on the following Sab- 
 bath, he was warned that the parishioners would hope to 
 see him on that occasion " with nothing before him in the 
 pulpit except the Bible. 1 ' In this wish, — founded on an opi- 
 nion very general in Scotland, and by some persons called a 
 prejudice, but having a deeper foundation in our mental con- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXVU 
 
 stitution, and in the reason of things, than is always per- 
 ceived, — the young minister of Glenisla did not disappoint 
 his congregation. 
 
 In the course of a short period, every apprehension on 
 the part of the people was dispelled, and Mr Martin steadily 
 advanced to the attainment of their entire confidence and 
 affection. They were unsophisticated, and he was sincere, 
 faithful, and judicious ; and without compromising one prin- 
 ciple, far less winking at any sinful practice, he commended 
 himself to their respect and esteem, as one who had their 
 real interests deeply at heart, and the primary object of 
 whose life and labours was to do them good. Suiting his 
 ministrations and intercourse to their real character and cir- 
 cumstances, with that tact, discrimination, and kindness of 
 nature, which he so eminently possessed ; being regular and 
 diligent in his course of visiting and catechizing, in the 
 superintendence of Sabbath-schools, in his attention to the 
 sick, and in waiting by the bedside of the dying ; and par- 
 ticularly affectionate and encouraging in his admonitions to 
 the young to seek after God, — every one of his flock, who 
 was not utterly reprobate, came experimentally to know the 
 value of possessing such a pastor, — a course of conduct, 
 which uniformly operates with the same effect upon a sim- 
 ple-hearted people, and gains the homage even of those who 
 may not be permanently benefited by it in their most im- 
 portant interests. There were two practices prevalent in 
 the parish of Glenisla at the time when he became connect- 
 ed with it, which he felt had a most demoralizing effect on 
 the minds and habits of the people, as they ever must have. 
 The one was the encouragement given to illicit distillation ; 
 and the other, the mode in which funerals were conducted, 
 involving a great waste of time and substance, and tend- 
 ing to induce or to confirm habits of dissipation. Con- 
 
XXV111 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 vinced that the moral influence of truth, the enlightening 
 and quickening of the conscience, and the solemn consider- 
 ations which religion alone presents, when brought to bear 
 upon a community, through the agency of a minister whose 
 motives are properly understood and appreciated, are far 
 more effectual than any prohibitory denunciations or sump- 
 tuary laws, he set himself with vigour to the removal of these 
 evils. A complete extinction of them could not indeed be 
 expected to be the immediate result of his anxiety and ef- 
 forts ; yet, in this, his wisdom and decision were far from 
 being fruitless. And before his connexion with the parish 
 was dissolved, he had the satisfaction of knowing, that not 
 only the habits of many had undergone a perceptible im- 
 provement, and the duty of family-worship was more regu- 
 larly observed, but that some were brought in good earnest 
 under the power of godliness ; while the occasional opposi- 
 tion and resistance that he experienced from the enemies of 
 all religion, only served, as it will ever do with minds of a 
 similar mould, to stimulate him to redoubled zeal in his own 
 appropriate work. 
 
 It was only, however, when the tie which united Mr Mar- 
 tin to his first flock came to be broken, that the affection of 
 his people towards him, and the strength of the correspond- 
 ing interest with which they were regarded on his part, were 
 properly felt. Attached to their minister as were both the 
 congregations among whom he was afterwards settled, they 
 could not be more so than were the people of Glenisla. It 
 is no exaggeration to say, that mapy of them mourned 
 over the separation, as if it had been that of a beloved 
 relation ; and the strongest reverence for his name and 
 his usefulness is felt throughout the parish to the present 
 day. On the other hand, his attachment to the first 
 flock of his care was no less sincere and abiding. As the 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXIX 
 
 period of his removal from them approached, his spirits be- 
 came much depressed ; and when, after delivering his last 
 sermon, he paid a short visit to his intimate friend and neigh- 
 bour, Mr Loudon, then minister at Lintrathan, his mind 
 was in a state of great agitation and perplexity. Often, 
 after he had been settled in Edinburgh, did he revert to 
 the quiet and tranquil scene of his labours at Glenisla, to 
 the kindness and honest-heartedness of its people, and to 
 its rural scenery, in which he had found so much enjoy- 
 ment. And when he again came in contact with any of 
 his former parishioners, no one could witness their meet- 
 ing without having a strong impression of the peculiar na- 
 ture of that tie and that intercourse which had subsisted 
 between them. On their part, there was exhibited a re- 
 spectful but irrepressible joy at again seeing one who had 
 been so strongly endeared to them ; and on his, all that be- 
 nignity and tenderness, which told how much he still had 
 them on his heart. 
 
 Although, in many respects, nothing could be more dis- 
 similar than the spheres of his first and of his after services 
 in the Church, yet the few years which Mr Martin spent 
 in the seclusion of the country, formed an invaluable pre- 
 paration for the labours of the city. In its quiet retreat 
 he had enjoyed the opportunity of having his talents ma- 
 tured, his knowledge of himself and of the human heart 
 enlarged, his resources as a theologian augmented, and his 
 whole character as an industrious and assiduous clergyman 
 fixed and established. This must ever be an incalculable 
 advantage to any man who is afterwards called to labour 
 amidst the incessant distractions of a crowded community ; 
 and hence, when Mr Martin came to Edinburgh, young as 
 he then was, and humble and diffident as he always was, he 
 commended himself to those who had proper access to ob- 
 
XXX MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 serve him, as no raw or unfurnished youth, who had obtained 
 a premature advancement, but as a man, the solidity and 
 steadiness of whose character, and the extent of whose qua- 
 lifications were very rarely to be found at his time of life. 
 
 The circumstances connected with his translation to Edin- 
 burgh are not without interest, and may shortly be stated. 
 
 In 1827, the prospect of a vacancy having occurred in St 
 Cuthbert's Chapel, at Stockbridge, the Kirk-session very soon 
 thereafter unanimously resolved to invite Mr Martin to un- 
 dertake the pastoral care of this congregation. To him their 
 attention had been directed on a former occasion, when a va- 
 cancy had occurred in Hope Park Chapel, by the removal of 
 Dr Gordon to the New North Church, and when they had been 
 disappointed in securing the services of the Rev. John Bruce of 
 Guthrie. In declining the nomination, he, however, strongly 
 urged upon their notice the high qualifications of Mr Martin, 
 who had been mentioned to them from other quarters, as an in- 
 dividual altogether worthy of their choice; and founded his re- 
 commendation on a long course of the most intimate friendship 
 and intercourse. Some of those members of the Session of St 
 Cuthberfs, who were in consequence induced to take an op- 
 portunity of hearing Mr Martin in his little church among 
 the mountains, will not soon forget the Communion-Sab- 
 bath which they spent at Glenisla, or the fervour with which 
 he addressed to his pastoral people the words of eternal life 
 from a passage in the eighty -fourth Psalm. Circumstances, 
 however, led at that time to the selection of the Rev. John 
 Forbes, now of Glasgow ; but on the opening occurring 
 at Stockbridge, in the following year, the Session, after 
 being again disappointed in the hope of inducing Mr Bruce 
 to accept of it, at once fixed on Mr Martin, — a choice 
 which was immediately and cordially responded to by the 
 congregation, among whom he was settled on the 16th May 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXXI 
 
 1828, and commenced his labours on the following Sabbath, 
 with a short but energetic discourse from the Apostle's 
 words, — " I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in 
 much trembling." 
 
 It is not a very easy task to describe or to characterize the 
 labours of Mr Martin during the three years and a half of 
 his ministry at Stockbridge. It seems almost as if the re- 
 cord of them might be more appropriately looked for and 
 read in the tablet of many a heart, than in the pages of a 
 book, — so deep was the impression which they made, and so 
 little the noise. And yet it is not only due to his memory, 
 to give testimony to his fidelity and unwearied ardour in this 
 sphere of his usefulness, but may tend to refresh and re-in- 
 vigorate the minds of some who were then the objects of his 
 pastoral care, and for whose spiritual benefit he spent his 
 strength. 
 
 He was not long settled at Stockbridge, until the mode of 
 his preaching and his whole character laid a powerful arrest 
 on the minds of his congregation. At first he showed a con- 
 siderable degree of reserve, arising from the natural unob- 
 trusiveness of his disposition, — that delicacy which made him 
 instinctively retreat from every degree of observation, which 
 was not required by his real duties, — and from his antipathy 
 to every thing like display, or to be made the object of a 
 merely ceremonious deference, or of that bustling attention 
 which is so often paid to those who are invested with the 
 clerical office. But after the lapse of a short time, by his 
 uniformly calm and dignified demeanour, he commanded the 
 respect of every one who had occasion to observe him, and 
 was regarded as a man of lofty integrity and independence 
 of mind, as well as truly a man of God. There was a quick- 
 ness and discernment, as well as a solemnity and impressive- 
 ness, accompanying all his intercourse with his people, which 
 
XXXU MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 went beforehand, as it were, to gain an entrance to the mind 
 for every thing he said ; whilst his pulpit-discourses ere 
 long discovered to those who attended to them, distinct 
 traces of much thought and scriptural study, and were de- 
 livered with so much sincerity and simplicity, as made almost 
 every one feel how much he ought to be interested in the 
 truths to which he listened, seeing that the preacher was 
 himself so earnest in inculcating them. 
 
 During the first year of his ministry, he delivered a short 
 series of discourses on the character of Elijah, another on 
 that of John the Baptist, and a third on the history of 
 the Apostle Paul, which were peculiarly instructive, and 
 greatly esteemed by many in his congregation. These, as 
 well as not a few others, were especially interesting to a 
 large number of young persons, who became strongly at- 
 tached to his ministry, and waited on it with the greatest 
 advantage and delight ; feeling almost impatient during the 
 week for the coming Sabbath, when the subject was to be 
 resumed, and returning to the exercise with that feeling of 
 appetite and relish which is so favourable a symptom in those 
 who are privileged to hear the Gospel faithfully and affec- 
 tionately preached. In the following year he commenced a 
 course of lectures on the Gospel of Luke, which were the 
 result of much anxious study. These were uninterrupt- 
 edly continued during the whole period of his ministry at 
 Stockbridge, — the one on our Lord's Ascension, founded on 
 the closing words of the Evangelist's narrative, being the 
 last which he delivered in the chapel, when he took leave of 
 his congregation on the 11th September 1831. 
 
 Those who had the advantage of statedly hearing this 
 course of lectures, and who attentively followed Mr Martin 
 through his delineation of our Lord's life and character, may 
 possibly recall that period with the deepest gratitude for the 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXX1U 
 
 blessing communicated in such instruction. They cannot 
 have forgotten the illustration of the separate petitions con- 
 tained in the Lord's Prayer, which was remarkably im- 
 pressive ; or the deep insight into the Redeemer's character, 
 which was discovered during the exposition of the leading 
 events of his life, and more particularly of the closing scenes 
 of his history. In the contemplation of One, as he himself 
 expressed it, who was " almost too holy to look upon," his 
 spirit seemed bowed down in the lowliest abasement, whilst 
 it was also elevated and filled with the most ardent desire of 
 showing forth to others his blessed Master in all that majes- 
 ty and glory in which he himself beheld him, and of unceas- 
 ingly urging upon all hearts his claim to that love, and reve- 
 rence, and obedience, which his own truly rendered. 
 
 It has already been observed, that the time which Mi- 
 Martin spent in the comparative retirement of a country-pa- 
 rish had tended greatly to enrich and mature his mind, and 
 formed, therefore, a most valuable preparation for the very 
 different sphere in which he was afterwards called to labour. 
 Yet, from his pulpit at Stockbridge, he delivered but few of 
 the sermons which he had prepared at Glenisla, and scarcely 
 any of them without writing them anew. This circum- 
 stance not only indicates the judgment and fidelity with 
 which he discharged the duties of his new situation, but 
 serves also to mark the progress of his own mind, and his 
 rapid advancement in all that constitutes the highly-furnish- 
 ed and accomplished spiritual instructor. No one who at- 
 tentively followed the course of his public services could 
 avoid observing the successive steps of his improvement in 
 the true art of preaching. He gradually threw off every 
 thing that was juvenile, either in matter or manner, — he 
 cast away all inflated expressions, all mere ornament in the 
 illustration of his subjects ; he dealt but sparingly in ima- 
 
XXXIV MEMOIR OF TIIK AUTHOR. 
 
 ginative description, and not at all in mere generalizing or 
 empty declamation. Textuality, he often said, appeared to 
 him to be one of the chief excellences of a sermon, — the 
 bringing out by deep, and patient, and prayerful research, 
 what was the mind of the Divine Spirit in the Word, — and, 
 after having exhibited it in all its meaning and force, pressing 
 it home on the understandings and consciences of men. He 
 was always afraid of being guilty, and of being thought even 
 capable, of giving fanciful interpretations or adaptations of 
 Scripture. If, in the course of his illustration, he met with 
 any striking truth, any important principle, or ascertained 
 fact, in verification of which he could appeal to something 
 which was obvious and undeniable in the experience or con- 
 sciousness of his hearers, upon this he seized, and, as if anxi- 
 ous to render it the prominent point on which their minds 
 should rest, and that it should become a permanent element 
 in their reflections, or interweave itself, as it were, with the 
 hidden workings of each individual bosom, he recalled it again 
 and again in the course of the application of his subject. 
 
 This it was, and nothing merely adventitious or ex- 
 ternal, which formed the chief ingredient in his mode of 
 preaching, and rendered it so interesting to those in whose 
 hearts he succeeded in touching those chords that were in 
 unison with the feelings of his own ; which, indeed, is the 
 true secret of the success of any public speaker. Found- 
 ing his arguments upon ascertained facts or acknowledged 
 truths, and referring to something in his hearers with 
 which these correspond, and of which they themselves are 
 intimately conscious, he finds access at once to the seat of 
 conviction and the springs of conduct. By telling aloud all 
 that is in their hearts, he makes them feel as if he not only 
 had been privy to their thoughts, but had been the witness 
 of certain processes in their minds of which they themselves 
 
MKMOIK OF THE AUTHOR. XXXV 
 
 had hardly been aware, but which are now vividly recalled : 
 they wonder, perhaps, how this man comes to know so much 
 of their secret character, or how, at least, they had never 
 heard these things brought home to them before. And 
 hence, in cases where there is guilelessness and honesty, the 
 preacher comes insensibly to be intrenched in their affec- 
 tions as if he were a bosom-friend. If any one, therefore 
 is desirous of knowing what it was that rendered Mr Mar- 
 tin's preaching so interesting to those who regularly waited 
 on his ministry, and to whom it was blessed to be so useful, 
 it may be said, that, along with the humble and depend- 
 ent spirit in which the whole was done, and which gave 
 to all his studies and discourses their appropriate character, 
 it consisted in nothing more than this, — after drawing forth 
 what is in the Word of God, and then what is to be found 
 in the depths of the human heart, making the one of these, 
 in some penetrating, instructive, or consolatory way, as the 
 case might require, to bear upon the other. With this re- 
 mark, however, it is necessary prominently to conjoin ano- 
 ther, — that, one of the uniform characteristics of his preach- 
 ing, was to be found in the strictly evangelical strain by 
 which it was pervaded. His own mind being conclusively 
 arrested by the great doctrines of the Cross, and his heart 
 moving invariably under the influence of an overflowing 
 sense of redeeming love, he was constrained, by the moral 
 impulse of the new nature which was strengthening and 
 maturing within him, habitually to present and to enforce 
 upon others, that which was both the food and the cordial of 
 his own spiritual being. And this being done in perfect 
 keeping with good taste and propriety, and with the classi- 
 cal and academic style of his whole mind and character, the 
 manner and outward form of it at least could give no offence 
 to the most refined or cultivated hearer. 
 
XXXVI MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 There was one circumstance, with regard to his ser- 
 mons, which sometimes pressed upon his mind, — the so- 
 lemn apprehension which he felt, of speaking in certain 
 cases above the range of his own experience. He often 
 remarked, that surely this thought must be harassing to 
 every good man ; and that it seemed a very awful thing 
 for a servant of God to be proclaiming truths in which he 
 himself did not fully and perfectly sympathize, or represent- 
 ing the various features in the character of true believers, 
 the spiritual nature of Christ's kingdom, and the deep exer- 
 cises which occur in the hearts of Christians, far beyond 
 what he has ever found to be true in his own case. In like 
 manner, after having been called into some scene of heavy 
 affliction, he frequently observed, that he was afraid he 
 was unfit to be a minister of comfort, seeing he himself 
 had never known the depth of any such sorrow. Whilst 
 there is something both very quickening and affecting in 
 these thoughts, they must be considered as affording no equi- 
 vocal proof of the tenderness and humility of the mind in 
 which they dwelt ; and it is nevertheless most true, that one 
 reason why Mr Martin's discourses in public, as well as his 
 exhortations in private, were so impressive to those who heard 
 them, is to be found in the fact, that they came to their 
 hearts as being evidently the result of his own practical 
 knowledge, and the real transcript of his own feelings. 
 
 Take, as an example, the first sermon in this volume, 
 which has been selected as affording a fair specimen of 
 the author's doctrine, and of his ordinary manner- of preach- 
 ing on a practical subject, but which seems also peculiarly 
 illustrative of his own habit of mind. The view which it 
 contains of the Shunammite is a fine delineation of her cha- 
 racter, but is also, in the points to which it relates, very much 
 a portrait of his own. The same remark is applicable to his 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXXV11 
 
 sermon on the words, " Father, if thou be willing, remove 
 this cup from me ; nevertheless, not my will but thine be 
 done," which some individuals may recollect, though they 
 have not here the opportunity of reading it. It contained 
 an impressive representation of the mind that was in the 
 Divine Redeemer, under circumstances of the most intense 
 suffering to which he was subjected for the sinner's sake, 
 as if it had been the picture of that spirit of submission and 
 of humble acquiescence in the Divine will, which, dwelling 
 in the master, was in the course of being transfused into the 
 disciple's heart. 
 
 Again, if any one who regularly heard them, recalls 
 to his memory the discourses he delivered in St George's 
 during the summer of the year 1833, on the consecutive 
 verses of the fifth chapter of the Second Epistle to the 
 Corinthians, he cannot but recollect that they seemed to 
 embody the sentiments of a man who had the strongest 
 sense of the reality of eternal things, and of their nearness 
 and immediateness to himself, and were delivered with an 
 intense feeling of the infinite importance of the truths they 
 contained. 
 
 The method which has now been alluded to, of incorpo- 
 rating with his pulpit addresses the suggestions of his own 
 experience, and of identifying himself with his people, was 
 very consistent with another circumstance which may here be 
 noticed. In the selection of his subjects, and his manner of 
 preparing his sermons, Mr Martin generally adopted a mode 
 which, in as far as others may judge, was well fitted to secure 
 the primary ends of his ministry. The intercourse which he 
 had with his people most frequently suggested the topics on 
 which it seemed profitable that he should address them ; and 
 having fixed upon his subject, it became the matter of his 
 own meditations for a few days ; it was then pondered in his 
 
XXXV111 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 study in connexion with the light which all Scripture brought 
 to bear upon it, and when his mind had become fully charged 
 with the results of his own reflection and investigation, he 
 proceeded to commit them to writing, which he generally 
 did with a degree of rapidity that seemed to render this last 
 the least part of his labour. Rapt in the truth and im- 
 portance of what he was desirous of communicating, he 
 hurried on to the expression of it, comparatively regardless 
 as to the precise form in which it was conveyed, provided 
 the substance was preserved. 
 
 This circumstance will account for any carelessness of 
 composition which may be observable; and if any one 
 considers that his discourses were written solely for the 
 ear of his people, and that each of them was entirely a 
 new preparation, — never made up of extracts even from 
 his own writings, — and reflects, moreover, on the number 
 which he wrote, — being, with great regularity, a lecture and 
 a sermon in each week, — it will not appear wonderful that 
 he could attend but comparatively little to the rules of 
 polished composition. Notwithstanding this, however, every 
 attentive listener generally felt that he was addressed in 
 the natural language of true feeling. 
 
 With regard to the manner in which he conducted the 
 public prayers of his congregation, Mr Martin was a great 
 example. His addresses at the footstool of mercy were the 
 true cardiphunia, — the genuine utterance of a heart warmed 
 with devout feeling, and weighed down with a sense of his 
 own and of his people's wants, — the outpourings of a soul 
 which felt itself very near to the Divine presence, and was re- 
 plenished with the knowledge of the varied forms of Christian 
 experience, and of all the promises of Scripture which were 
 suitable to be pleaded in behalf of each individual of the 
 flock. And there cannot surely be one who suitably entered 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXXIX 
 
 into the supplications which he publicly offered up, who will 
 not respond to this representation. 
 
 In the performance of the more private, or domestic duties 
 of a clergyman, he was not less exemplary. The visit" 
 ing of his congregation, and especially the families of the 
 poor, was performed with the most untiring constancy, and 
 nothing was allowed to interfere with the discharge of this 
 part of his work. It was seldom possible to prevail on him 
 to enjoy a single day's relaxation, let the occasion be ever so 
 inviting ; and that never, if the case of any one of his people 
 was at all pressing on his mind, to whom his visits might 
 prove of the smallest comfort or advantage. In dealing 
 with those in the lower ranks of life, his kind yet dignified 
 manner immediately gained their confidence and respect. 
 They never could recognise ought in him but the clergy- 
 man, and the clergyman in no other light than that of their 
 
 f 
 real friend. His remarkable tact in this department o 
 
 duty exemplified how possible it is for a wise and good 
 man to win his way to the affections even of the most in- 
 sensible and vulgar, when he comes to them with a single- 
 minded concern for their spiritual interests ; for there is in 
 the very roughest form of human nature something which 
 commends a sustained course of kind and judicious deal- 
 ing, first to the attention, and gradually to the heart. Al- 
 though there was occasionally a boldness in his reproofs 
 and a fidelity in his exhortations, amounting almost to stern- 
 ness, yet there was not an individual among the many for 
 whose good he thus privately watched and laboured, who did 
 not feel the strongest reverence for his character, and very 
 few who did not entertain towards him a kindlier sentiment. 
 In addition to his course of domestic visitation at Stock- 
 bridge, he established a Home-mission in the district, with 
 two agents to conduct it, the fund for maintaining which 
 
Xl MEMOIlt OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 was, to a large extent, supplied by himself, and he frequently 
 preached in the stations during the week. He had also 
 meetings throughout the year for the different classes of 
 the young persons of his congregation, and for those who 
 sought admission, or who had been admitted to the Lord's 
 Table. These occasions were very solemn and impressive ; 
 to them, there is reason to think, that not a few can look 
 back with peculiar interest as the period of their first deep 
 impressions of religion ; and among the most valued articles 
 in the repositories of some of these individuals, there may 
 perhaps be found the notes of the instructions which then, 
 as well as in public, they received from the lips of their 
 faithful guide and humble-minded pastor. 
 
 From the abundant labours in which Mr Martin was thus 
 engaged, it may naturally be supposed that he could have 
 but very little time for any other employments. Yet, whilst 
 he remained at Stockbridge, he went through a course of 
 morning exercises along with a friend and former fellow-stu- 
 dent, to keep up his familiarity with the Hebrew language, 
 and contrived also to enlarge his knowledge of general litera- 
 ture, and to become acquainted with the best works of the 
 day. To enable him to accomplish all this, he went but 
 sparingly into general society, and was never to be seen in 
 any place of public resort. Even in the ecclesiastical courts, 
 which his situation as the minister of a chapel did not require 
 him to attend, but in the proceedings of which he could not 
 but be interested, he was very seldom to be found. And he 
 scrupulously avoided interfering in the least degree with other 
 people's affairs, or placing himself in circumstances where 
 he could not carry with him the distinct characteristics of 
 his office. No one could meet with him, even for the short- 
 est time, without observing his consistency in this respect, 
 which certainly formed one chief cause of the pure and un- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. xli 
 
 blemished character which he attained, as well as freed him 
 from many of those secular interruptions -which might 
 have consumed his time. Had he sought them, occasions 
 were not wanting in which he might, with great effect, 
 have mingled in some of those discussions and collisions, 
 whether in spheres of a public or private nature, which 
 are ever and anon arising to kindle the spirits and call 
 forth the energies of ardent men. But, little practised 
 as he was in the ways of the world, his natural sagacity 
 and self-knowledge enabled him to perceive that, even though 
 solicited and appealed to, it was better for him, in the situ- 
 ation which he then occupied, to avoid becoming entangled 
 with questions in which the performance of his own pe- 
 culiar duties was not involved ; and to escape from every 
 situation, by which, however pure his intentions, his cha- 
 racter as a minister of the Gospel might even seem to 
 be compromised, or his usefulness impaired. Having found 
 that, in the fulfilment of his own charge, he had sufficient 
 to engage him, he let every thing else alone. Hence he 
 never got into situations of trouble or disquietude ; he 
 never gave offence, and his life was placid and serene. And 
 when, from scenes of contest, or from amidst the tossings 
 and distractions of a bustling life, any of his friends broke 
 in upon the arcanum of his retirement, it was at once 
 soothing and instructive to witness the calmness and peace 
 in which he seemed uniformly to be shrined. One has 
 occasionally seen upon the shore in a tempestuous day, 
 when the waves beat high and dashed over the rocks that 
 withstood their force, — some quiet little creek or bay, under 
 the lee of a neighbouring reef, to which the wind did not 
 reach, and where the face of the water was smooth and clear, 
 while all was storm in the outer sea. So it ever seemed with 
 Mr Martin, — the little bay of his own room, or of his own 
 
xlii MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 heart, appeared always tranquil, though hurry and tumult 
 might prevail without. 
 
 It has been stated that he went but sparingly into company. 
 Yet he was in the farthest degree removed from being of 
 an unsocial disposition. On the contrary, he was suscep- 
 tible of the highest enjoyment from friendship ; and in 
 those circles where he felt no restraint, he was always hap- 
 py and cheerful, even playful, — full of conversation and 
 anecdote, and the most delicate humour. It was cere- 
 mony that he disliked, and he instinctively recoiled from all 
 mere gossiping, or from having his opinions inquired into, 
 only for the purpose of being quoted or repeated. Did 
 any one, however, address him with the simple and trans- 
 parent view of acquiring information, or obtaining counsel, 
 in order to profit by, and act upon it ? He threw off all 
 reserve, entered at once into his circumstances and feelings, 
 and ingenuously communicated whatever he thought likely 
 to satisfy or to guide him. Did any one express a senti- 
 ment in which he could not coincide, or allow himself to be 
 supposed as coinciding ? He declined entering into any wordy 
 discussion about it, but generally, in a sentence or two, and 
 with perfect suavity of manner, but an aspect of great firm- 
 ness and sincerity, said what was sufficient to make the in- 
 dividual think at least that he might be in the wrong, — 
 enough always to save himself from appearing to stand 
 pledged to any thing of which he truly disapproved. If his 
 equanimity was ever disturbed, it was in cases when he heard 
 of, or had occasion to animadvert upon, some exhibition of 
 great folly, ingratitude, or want of heart. And even then, 
 his excited look and manner tended only to give a new form 
 to his real character, and to show his innate love of truth, 
 goodness, and solid worth. 
 
 In the autumn of each year, he generally spent a week or 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOK. xliii 
 
 two with his father and sister at Brechin. These were sea- 
 sons of great refreshment to his mind; and to this filial and 
 fraternal' visit, he once or twice added a short excursion into 
 some part of the country which he had never before seen, in 
 which, if he could get any intimate friend to join him, he 
 enjoyed it all the more. Then it was that his mind pecu- 
 liarly exhibited its natural elasticity, and the spring and vi- 
 vacity of his spirit became almost like those of a boy dis- 
 charged from school, though, in any thing that he said or 
 did, he never appeared but in his own fixed and proper 
 character. There are those who enjoyed his society on some 
 of these occasions, who will recall, with the deepest interest, 
 the memory of such pleasant days. 
 
 Two circumstances, during the latter part of Mr Martinis 
 ministry at Stockbridge, were sources to him of much grati- 
 fication and encouragement. The one was his being re- 
 united in neighbourhood and constant intercourse with Mr 
 Bruce, who was at length induced to exchange a country 
 for a city sphere of usefulness, and removed from Guthrie to 
 the New North Parish of Edinburgh. The other was the 
 intimacy which he formed with Dr Chalmers, who, having 
 become a member of his congregation at Stockbridge, and 
 appreciating the high qualities of his mind and character, 
 gave him his powerful friendship and assistance during the 
 whole course of his future ministry. 
 
 The immeasurable loss which the congregation and parish 
 of St George, as well as the Church of Scotland at large, sus- 
 tained by the death of Dr Thomson, occasioned, as it might 
 well do, the deepest anxiety as to the selection of an individual 
 to occupy the pulpit which had been long filled by so distin- 
 guished a man. Those to whom it was committed executed 
 their difficult and delicate task with exemplary conscientious- 
 ness and disinterestedness ; and it is enough here to state, 
 
 o 
 
xliv MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOlt. 
 
 that of those whose services it was possible to secure, Mr 
 Martin was the person on whom, after the fullest inquiry 
 and observation, their minds came finally to settle ; and, 
 accordingly, a presentation was obtained from the patrons 
 in his favour. 
 
 During the progress of this affair, he could not be ignorant 
 of what was going forward ; yet he never made it the sub- 
 ject of a single remark. If others alluded to it, they only 
 perceived, from any thing he said, that of his own accord, 
 or by any instrument which he might employ, to seek for 
 such promotion, was of all things the farthest removed from 
 his mind, — that the bare contemplation of a change like 
 this was formidable to him ; and that he was perfectly pas- 
 sive in the matter, committing the issue of it, as he did 
 every thing in his lot, into the overruling hand of God. 
 When, however, the point was decided, he experienced a se- 
 vere struggle. For it will not be surprising to such as re- 
 member what was formerly stated with regard to the elements 
 of his original character, that all those principles were at 
 work which urged him onwards in the path of professional 
 distinction and usefulness ; whilst, at the same time, he 
 was satisfied with the place which had been given him, and 
 knew not what a change might produce. But having 
 learned to keep every natural instinct, whether of ambition 
 or of fearfulness, in subordination to higher incentives, — not 
 from any dissatisfaction with the post which he then occu- 
 pied, or with any of its accompaniments, — not from motives 
 of worldly honour and advantage, — but after seeking direc- 
 tion from Him whom in all his ways he sought to acknow- 
 ledge, and fully considering those intimations as to the path 
 of duty which arose out of the whole circumstances of the 
 case, and which are, in general, the best exponents of the 
 will of Providence, he judged it right to accept of the offer 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 of St George's. And in this he did no violence to his prin- 
 ciples. For true humility does not consist in declining a 
 situation to which, without any interference on our part, we 
 are called, but rather in accepting it, doing our best to fulfil 
 its duties, and feeling and acknowledging that it is through 
 Divine grace alone that we can discharge them. To refuse 
 an office on the plea that we are unfit for it, is just as fre- 
 quently the offspring of pride as of humility. 
 
 He was admitted minister of St George's on the 6th 
 October 1831, and entered upon the arduous duties of 
 his charge, with a mind at once modest and courageous, — 
 diffident, yet resolved. This new sphere of activity was, in 
 many respects, different from that which he had left ; but 
 he brought to it the same firmness of mind, — the same de- 
 votedness to the great objects of the Christian ministry, — 
 and the same gentle and inoffensive disposition which he had 
 uniformly exhibited. The spiritual advantage of his flock 
 was that which above all things he sought, as well as to ap- 
 prove himself faithful to the solemn obligations under which 
 he had come. Had he been a man of vanity, he might have 
 been elated by his advancement to the position which he 
 now occupied, and by the proofs of interest and attachment 
 which were gathering around him. But his principle was 
 that which Jonathan Edwards expressed regarding himself, 
 — " I desire not to seek for honour in any other way than 
 by seeking to be good, and to do good.'' 1 — " It humbles me," 
 said Mr Martin, to a friend at Brechin, towards the close of 
 his ministry at Stockbridge, where he was daily growing in 
 acceptance and usefulness, M when I think of so many of the 
 first people in Edinburgh, for respectability and religion, be- 
 ing collected round me.' 11 And the same lowly and unassum- 
 ing temper of mind pervaded all his conduct and intercourse 
 during the short period of his connexion with the congregation 
 
Xlvi MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 of St George's. Obtaining more than a ready access to the 
 families of a great many in the higher classes of society, he 
 never appeared among them but clothed in the independence 
 which belonged to his office, and intent upon the primary ob- 
 jects of a Christian pastor ; while his attention to the poor 
 and to those in the humbler walks of life, was as unremitting 
 as it had formerly been. For the benefit of a class of his pa- 
 rishioners who resided in a plebeian district, many of whom 
 could not, from their circumstances, obtain access to his 
 church, he established and supported a parochial mission ; 
 and, in the admirable school founded by Dr Thomson, he 
 sought, by every exertion in his power, to keep up that effi- 
 cient system of education, which, combining sound religious 
 knowledge with the best methods of communicating every 
 other branch of instruction, it had been the great aim of his 
 predecessor to introduce and to maintain. 
 
 A class of duties devolved on him as a minister of Edin- 
 burgh, to the discharge of which he had not been called at 
 Stockbridge. Becoming again a member of the Church 
 Courts, and having a superintendence of the affairs of some 
 of the public institutions of the city, an additional demand 
 was thus made upon his time, which, without great industry 
 on his part, was likely to interfere with his parochial and 
 congregational ministrations. But the prospect of these did 
 not oppress him. Short, no doubt, was the opportunity that 
 was given for the developement of his character in that wider 
 field of activity on which he had now entered ; and soon did 
 his strength fail, though from causes which there is too much 
 reason to conclude would ere long have come into operation 
 in any other sphere of exertion. Yet, a few months after 
 he was settled in St George's, and in the practical knowledge 
 of all that was required of him, although his bodily frame 
 had not advanced in robustness., his mind was in its meridian 
 
MEMOllt OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 xlvii 
 
 vigour, and he seemed like a strong man who rejoices to run 
 a race. 
 
 Hence, upon being solicited, and when considerable dif- 
 ficulties had occurred in filling up the office, he accepted the 
 appointment of one of the Secretaries of the Edinburgh Bi- 
 ble Society.. With the duties of this situation he associated 
 the idea of much honourable usefulness, not only in promot- 
 ing the primary object of disseminating the Word of God 
 throughout the world, but in upholding the great cause of pure 
 Bible circulation, which had been so intrepidly maintained 
 by the eminent person whom, in this office, as well as in his 
 church, he was called to succeed. The speech which he deli- 
 vered at the annual meeting of the Society in 1832, and which 
 is printed in its Report, exhibits the purity of principle and 
 Christian judgment by which he was guided in this depart- 
 ment of his labours ; and the resolution passed by the Di- 
 rectors, when the state of his health obliged him to relinquish 
 the office, is a testimony to the fidelity and zeal with which, 
 though but for a short season, he fulfilled its duties. 
 
 An occasion here presents itself for making one or two ob- 
 servations, which will not be thought inconsistent with the 
 views already given of Mr Martin by those who have at- 
 tended to them, nor considered out of season. 
 
 There is a gentleness of disposition, and a courteousness 
 of manner, that are sometimes allied to a character which, on 
 the whole, is spiritless and insipid. And there is a polish 
 and a delicacy, both of inward feeling and of external bear- 
 ing, which belong only to high-minded and noble natures, 
 and enter into all our best conceptions of the heroic and sol- 
 dierly character. It was in this latter combination that the 
 milder features of Mr Martin's mind and manners ever pre- 
 sented themselves to those who really knew him. He who 
 was as a lamb in peace, would have been a lion in war ; — the 
 
xlviii memoir of the author. 
 
 man who, in the tranquil and private paths of his profession, 
 or in scenes of domestic life, was so full of tenderness, and 
 always so unobtrusive, would, when circumstances required 
 it, and at the demand of duty, have snatched up his sword, 
 plunged into the thickest and hottest of the fight, gathered 
 fresh courage from every obstacle that opposed him, and 
 been among the foremost to crown the citadel with the en- 
 sign of victory. 
 
 And still more would he have displayed this gallant spirit 
 when called to stand upon the defensive. There can be no 
 doubt, from what he often said, that, in the wider and more 
 public sphere into which he was called as a minister of Edin- 
 burgh, had his life been spared and his bodily strength ad- 
 mitted of it, he would have laid himself out for taking an 
 active part in the general ecclesiastical proceedings of the 
 times. And in the controversy that has been kindled on the 
 subject of Civil Establishments of religion, and the fierce on- 
 set that has been made against the Church of his Fathers, he 
 would never have contented himself with the pusillanimous 
 position of one who beholds the struggle from afar, but would, 
 by this time, have flung himself on the battlements of the 
 Zion which he loved, and been one of those brave spirits who 
 shall yet successfully defend her against the hostile array that 
 have encamped against her permanence and peace. 
 
 In autumn 1832, Mr Martin spent a few weeks in the 
 country, and paid his annual visit at Brechin. After a year 
 of considerable exertion in his new charge, he seemed to feel 
 peculiarly the bracing effects of this season of relaxation. 
 I3ut he had scarcely returned home when some very alarm- 
 ing symptoms in the state of his health made their appear- 
 ance ; and, on the 28th September, he was suddenly seized 
 with a violent discharge of blood, apparently from his lungs. 
 This occurrence, though, from the feelings which he had ex- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. xlix 
 
 perienced for several days, did not appear very much to 
 surprise him, yet awakened the greatest apprehensions as to 
 its consequences. He was as calm, however, and composed, 
 as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Being placed in 
 an upright posture, and required not to make the least exer- 
 tion, or to speak, he presented the very picture of patience 
 and submission. To one of his friends who came to him 
 soon after this attack, he beckoned with a smile of compla- 
 cency for a slate which he had provided in order to commu- 
 nicate with those around him, and, in allusion to his own cir- 
 cumstances, and with reference to a passage on the subject of 
 faith, in one of Traill's sermons, on which they had been some 
 days before conversing, he wrote down these words, — " When 
 the wearied traveller is unable to proceed a step farther, he 
 can yet lie down when he is bidden, — this is faith."* 
 
 By the blessing of God on the means employed, there 
 was no immediate return of those symptoms which had ex- 
 cited so much concern in the minds of all his friends ; but 
 it was impossible to suppress the fears which had been oc- 
 casioned as to the future state of his health, and the prospect 
 of his being able to sustain the laborious duties of his charge. 
 In the course of a few weeks he recovered considerably from 
 this attack, but was laid aside from much of the active duty 
 which he would have wished to perform, — the only circum- 
 stance that seemed to disturb him during the whole of this 
 trial. As far as it was possible, however, his clerical friends 
 in the city and neighbourhood relieved his mind on this sub- 
 
 * These are not the precise words, although they exactly express the 
 meaning of the passage to which reference is made ; and which will be 
 found in page 269 of the first volume of the edition printed at Edin- 
 burgh, in 1810, of the Works of the Rev. Robert Traill, an inestima- 
 ble book, and one most highly valued by Mr Martin. 
 
 d 
 
1 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 ject, rallying round him with the most brotherly kindness and 
 affection, and engaging to supply his pulpit from day to day, 
 and to undertake the duties of the communion-season which 
 was then approaching, — in which he was able also himself to 
 take some share. 
 
 These services, as well as the deep sympathy of his con- 
 gregation, tended much to tranquillize his mind under a dis- 
 pensation that, to one so sensitive and conscientious, could 
 not be but peculiarly severe. Still he had many anxious re- 
 flections as to the path of duty which he ought to pursue. 
 Perceiving that it was at least possible, if not highly pro- 
 bable, that he should be unable permanently and adequately 
 to meet the claims of so important a situation, he sometimes 
 had almost resolved to demit the charge of St George's ; 
 but he was urged by the members of his Session, and from 
 many quarters, to relinquish this idea, and to devote the suc- 
 ceeding months, as much as possible, to the employment of 
 the means prescribed for the restoration of his health. He 
 accordingly engaged an assistant to officiate for him occasion- 
 ally on the Sabbath, whilst, as far as his strength permitted, 
 and perhaps considerably beyond it, he continued to minister 
 to the afflicted of his flock ; and after remaining through the 
 winter without any aggravation of the symptoms of his dis- 
 ease, he removed in the course of the spring for some time 
 to Rothsay, whence he returned so much recruited as to be 
 able to preside at the communion-service in the month of May, 
 and regularly to preach afterwards once every Sabbath. 
 
 Being prohibited, however, from making any other exer- 
 tion, and recommended to reside in the country, he applied 
 for the permission of the Presbytery of Edinburgh to do this, 
 having resolved that whilst he continued in the charge of a 
 parish, he would on no account become a non-resident mini- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. ll 
 
 ster without the sanction of his ecclesiastical superiors. This, 
 from the nature of the circumstances, was cheerfully granted, 
 and was accompanied with an universal expression of affec- 
 tion and esteem. 
 
 In the case of good men, when approaching any season of 
 eevere trial, or when they are about to be removed altogether 
 from the present state of existence, it has been observed 
 that there frequently occurs a certain ordering of outward 
 circumstances and events, — discernible, it may be, only in 
 the retrospect, — which seems as if designed to form a course 
 of preparation for the changes that are at hand, gradually 
 and gently to disengage them from life, and to smooth their 
 descent to the grave. The remark is not inapplicable in the 
 present instance. Withdrawing entirely for six days of the 
 week from active duty, and yet enabled on the Sabbath to 
 meet his congregation and to conduct their devotions, Mr 
 Martin, during the last summer of his life, and the few quiet 
 months which he spent in the cottage to which he retired at 
 Gogar, appears as if he had been undergoing that kindly 
 discipline by which he was to be fitted for the scenes through 
 which he had ere long to pass. There was in his state of 
 health what was sufficient to prevent his indulging any 
 strong anticipation of prolonged life, yet nothing so deter- 
 minate as to produce a fixed presentiment of an early death ; 
 and out of this there grew a confirmed spirit of humble ac- 
 quiescence in the Divine will, and of entire satisfaction with 
 whatever Almighty wisdom should appoint respecting him, 
 — unquestionably, under any circumstances, the highest 
 condition of the human mind. He seemed to have attained 
 the most firm assurance that God would do nothing and 
 permit nothing which he himself would not wish, did he but 
 know the bearing and issue of events, as God knew them. 
 
Hi MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 While at Rothsay, he had remarked to his sister, that he 
 thought his work was nearly finished, and during his resi- 
 dence at Gogar he once or twice made a similar observation. 
 Yet he was uniformly cheerful, — particularly so on the Sab- 
 bath after preaching, — and often spoke as if he felt himself 
 improving in health, and entertained a hope that he should 
 yet be equal to the resumption of all his duties. 
 
 When he returned home, however, at the close of the 
 season, after paying a short visit in Argyllshire, and spend- 
 ing a few days at Brechin, the symptoms of pulmonary dis- 
 ease returned, though not with the same violence as before ; 
 and his medical friends came decidedly to be of opinion, 
 that it was necessary he should remove to a warmer climate, 
 and recommended his spending the winter at Nice. 
 
 The circumstances connected with such a determination 
 could not but be most painful. In an infirm and uncertain 
 state of health, to be severed from every one of his friends, 
 and from all connexion with the sphere of those employments 
 in which he found his highest satisfaction, was no ordinary 
 trial. But his Christian faith, and the manly virtues of his 
 character, triumphed over the misgivings of nature ; and 
 having placed himself in the hands of those in whom he had 
 implicit confidence, his mind was at once made up to follow 
 their advice, as the only means which ife was left him to em- 
 ploy for the restoration of his health, and attaining the chief 
 object for which he would desire to live. Having made the 
 best arrangements which were possible for the supply of ser- 
 vice in his church and parish, in doing which he experienced 
 the greatest kindness and friendship from his brethren in the 
 ministry, he left Edinburgh on the 28th September 1833. 
 
 The advantages of foreign travel are turned very differently 
 to account by different individuals. Where some men see 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. liii 
 
 only persons and pictures, landscapes and works of art, others, 
 besides this, form opinions and principles, and acquire en- 
 larged information and practical instruction. The result 
 must, in every case, depend on the natural qualities, and on 
 the progress of individual minds ; and, had the circumstances 
 in which he was placed admitted of his fully enjoying it, no 
 one could have been more favourably constituted or better pre- 
 pared than Mr Martin, for profiting by the opportunity which 
 he now unexpectedly possessed of extending his knowledge 
 of men and things. Even though his health was broken, 
 and his mind necessarily anxious, it is evident, both from 
 the letters which he wrote and the observations contained in 
 a journal which he regularly kept, that he entered France 
 with much of that keen and ardent feeling which had charac- 
 terized his earlier years. 
 
 In his journey from Dieppe to Paris, he experienced all 
 those emotions which are natural to an inquiring and reflect- 
 ing mind on first visiting a foreign country. The manners 
 and habits of the people ; the conversations in which he 
 mingled ; the villages and chateaux he passed ; and the 
 scenes which he witnessed, particularly in the Cathedral of 
 Rouen, were all invested with a novelty and interest which 
 kindled up many latent emotions in his breast ; whilst Paris 
 itself awakened all his historical recollections, and in its 
 galleries of sculpture, and especially the Hall of the Romans, 
 his mind reverted to the descriptions of Tacitus, and em- 
 ployed itself in comparing the busts of the Emperors with 
 the various images which had long been imprinted on the 
 tablet of his imagination. 
 
 The following are the reflections which he makes on visiting 
 Notre Dame : — " Worship was going on while I was in Notre 
 Dame, but there was hardly any present, except the choir, 
 
Hv MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 •who were chanting the Psalms, and an old woman or two 
 counting their beads, or mumbling over their prayers at some 
 particular shrine. Sometimes a person would come in for a 
 moment, kneel on the pavement, and go out again. One 
 is ever ready to lose sight of that simple declaration of the 
 Saviour, — ' The hour cometh, and now is, when the true 
 worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth ; 
 for the Father seeketh such to worship him. - ' Alas ! how 
 much is this forgotten every where ; and how entirely lost 
 amidst the ceremonies with which the Church of Rome has 
 invested religious worship !" 
 
 During his stay at Paris he spent a very agreeable day in 
 visiting Versailles, along with Mr Pyt, one of the Protestant 
 ministers at Paris, with whom he had formerly corresponded 
 on the business of the Bible Society, and in the public wor- 
 ship of whose congregation he found much satisfaction in 
 joining. 
 
 On the 16th October, he left Paris, and seems to have 
 suffered considerably in his health during his journey to 
 Chalons, from the state of the weather and the nature of 
 the roads. At the latter place he took the steam-boat to 
 Lyons ; the sunrise on the morning of his departure, and 
 the scenes throughout the day, possessing a great charm for 
 an eye like his. The following is part of his description : — 
 " The autumnal tint was on all the trees, and I could well 
 conceive how the name of La Belle France was no more than 
 what this country deserved. I was often reminded of that 
 noble sail down the Clyde, which nobody can have seen with- 
 out admiring. But much as I love the scenes of my own 
 dear land, I must confess that the scene to-day far surpassed 
 it. The Saone is a nobler river than the Clyde. The range 
 
 of country much wider than about Dumbarton ; and beauty 
 
 3 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. Iv 
 
 and magnificence were so happily blended, that I can hardly 
 hope the Rhone will surpass them. I shall never forget a 
 magnificent and even rocky mountain, of no mean elevation, 
 rising from the very edge of the river, some miles before 
 reaching Lyons." 
 
 In the steam-boat he met with a priest, from whom he 
 obtained much information as to the nature of the education 
 of the young men who were training for the priesthood, and 
 other matters in which he was interested. But their conver- 
 sation dropped when they approached Lyons, so absorbed 
 was he in the scenery which every where met his eye, and 
 especially the remains of the Roman aqueduct, which are to 
 be seen about a league and a half from the city. At Lyons 
 he met with several Christian brethren, to whom he was in- 
 troduced by Mr Monod, the Protestant minister, and in 
 whose society he was much gratified. 
 
 On the 24th October he left Lyons, taking the steam-boat 
 on the Rhone as far as Avignon, and travelling from thence 
 to Brignolles by the Diligence. On the journey his mind 
 appears to have been intensely engaged in admiring the Alps, 
 and, according to his natural habit, in comparing them with 
 the mountains of Scotland. As was usual with him also, 
 one endeared itself to him peculiarly ; he describes it as 
 " one mass of living rock, of a grey silvery colour, with not 
 a lichen apparently to be found on it, which reminded me of 
 the everlasting hills of which the Psalmist speaks." 
 
 At Brignolles he went into a church during worship, and 
 remarks, — " It was about three-fourths full, almost with wo- 
 men. I question whether a much better week-day congre- 
 gation could be assembled in Edinburgh. I read part of 
 the diocesan address, by the Bishop of Frejus to his priests 
 and people, on the church-door. So far as I read, it was ex- 
 
lvi MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 cellent, — exhorting them to the knowledge of Jesus Christ, 
 in whom alone was eternal life. The greater part of it, how- 
 ever, was torn down, in which I hope there was nothing to 
 interfere with the sentiments in the commencement, which 
 were truly apostolical ; and I am pleased to indulge the 
 hope that this good bishop may be one of those truly 
 Christian pastors that the Church of Rome has sometimes 
 seen. 1 ' 
 
 At Antibes he experienced the greatest delight in gazing 
 on the deep bright blue of the Mediterranean ; and, on ob- 
 taining the first view of Nice, hailed it with emotions of no 
 ordinary kind, as the place to which, in the course of Provi- 
 dence, he had been conducted, for the trial of an experiment 
 on which so much of his future history might depend. 
 
 He remained at Nice three months. During this period 
 he was generally able to ride out every day, and found great 
 enjoyment in the scenery of the country, and the various ob- 
 jects which attracted his attention, of all which he gave a most 
 animated description, both in the letters which he wrote to his 
 friends and in his journal. Here, too, he met with some Chris- 
 tian men, from whose company and conversation he derived 
 much satisfaction and enjoyment. Besides the English clergy- 
 man of the place, and some others, he alludes particularly to 
 a gentleman from Scotland, another from Ireland, and a third 
 from America, sojourners for a season, like himself, in this 
 land of strangers, whose friendship and fellowship were emi- 
 nently soothing to him. And it was here, also, that he em- 
 ployed some portion of his time in fulfilling a request that 
 had been made to him by a member of his congregation at 
 St George's, whom he greatly esteemed, in embodying, in 
 the form of a few letters, his thoughts on the subject of 
 Prayer, which conclude the present volume, and which formed 
 
MEMOIll OF THE AUTHOR. lvil 
 
 part of the manuscripts that were transmitted to his friends 
 after his death. 
 
 During his continuance at Nice, his health did not be- 
 come worse ; yet it is too evident that it did not undergo 
 any material improvement, although he was most scrupu- 
 lous in attending to every thing necessary to secure the end 
 for which he had been sent thither ; and this, less from 
 any selfish feeling, than from the conscientious conviction 
 that it was a duty which he owed to others. His letters 
 were uniformly cheerful, though there were occasional indi- 
 cations of a want of confidence in the ultimate success of the 
 means which he was so faithfully employing for his restora- 
 tion. The following passages from one of them, and from 
 his journal while at Nice, exhibit different views of his state 
 of mind : — 
 
 " I am just as happy as I could be at such a distance 
 from my field of duty, and most thankful for past and pre- 
 sent mercies. The Sabbath is the day when I feel my exile 
 most. Last Sabbath, and during the Psalmody, when some 
 note was struck that brought my own dear flock before me, 
 I do confess that I wept bitterly in the chapel, and could 
 hardly get myself composed again. Surely I have been most 
 self-willed and rebellious, when no less severe and bitter a 
 chastisement than this would reclaim me I' 1 — " To-day I 
 went to the Protestant Chapel built by Lady Olivia Spar- 
 row, and after service visited the little cemetery. It contain- 
 ed the tombs of several of whom I had heard, and of Lady 
 Maxwell, one of the last, who has left a sweet savour of 
 piety and charity behind her at Nice. A mournful place this 
 little burying-ground is ! Why it should be more so than 
 any other burial-ground is not very clear to reason or to 
 faith ; and yet it is one of the last feelings with which a man 
 
Iviii MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 parts, the desire of mingling his dust with those of his kin- 
 dred ; though the poet has truly said, that a man can have 
 only one country, but he may any where find a grave." 
 
 Being recommended to leave Nice at this season, he did 
 so on the 10th February, in company with part of the family 
 of the Earl of Dalhousie, of whose kindness and attention 
 to him during the winter he was deeply sensible, and, part- 
 ing from them at Genoa, took the steam-boat for Leghorn and 
 Civita Vecchia, and arrived at Rome on the 22d. From the 
 severity of the weather, however, and the fatigue of travel- 
 ling, his health had suffered during this journey and voyage, 
 in a degree from which it never recovered. " Alas !" he 
 said in one of his letters, " there is no inspiration in Rome 
 to me at this moment, and never did ignorant Paysan tread 
 the Via Sacra with more indifference than I have done. 
 Yet I bless the Lord for many mercies. When I was pon- 
 dering how I should do living alone, I met the two young 
 gentlemen with whom I travelled from Edinburgh to Lyons, 
 and as they wished much that I would join them, and had a 
 spare room, I have done so. They are more than kind, and 
 one of them is a surgeon, — an object at present. I have found 
 here also a Christian friend to whom I was much attached 
 at Nice, and I have many introductions to excellent people, 
 if my health permitted me to deliver them- What an inte- 
 resting thing it is to find little knots of Christians wherever 
 you come ! At Nice, Leghorn, and Rome, St Paul might 
 still find brethren with whom he might be tempted to tarry 
 certain days. I am thankful to say that my own spirit has 
 been wonderfully sustained during these past weeks of trial. 
 I trust it is beginning to be divorced from all creature things. 
 I have been seeking to live by the day, and not trouble my- 
 self with to-morrow, which I may never see. I cannot al- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. lix 
 
 ways venture to face the thought of not seeing Edinburgh 
 again ; but I am seeking to familiarize my mind with the 
 thing as good, if the Lord appoint it." 
 
 The chastened and submissive state of mind which these 
 reflections indicate, was not inconsistent with his enjoying 
 much that he met with and saw in Rome. On the contrary, 
 his journal abounds with the most vivid descriptions of the 
 principal objects, — St Peter's and the Vatican, — the col- 
 leges and seminaries of the priests, — the apartments of Igna- 
 tius Loyola, — the villas, gardens, and terraces, which appear 
 to have afforded him peculiar pleasure ; and even the spec- 
 tacles of the Holy Week, which were naturally contemplated 
 with very different feelings. One day in March, when he 
 was unable for much exertion, he records, that he took a 
 drive to the spot, about two miles distant from Modern Rome, 
 where the Apostle Paul is said to have been beheaded. Af- 
 ter giving a description of the place, he remarks, — " There 
 can be no doubt that the whole is a fiction. St Paul, I 
 should think, would be beheaded in prison ; but one may be 
 pleased even with an imaginary spot for a moment, and so I 
 was disposed to be. Rome is strongly associated with St 
 Paul, as the place from which he wrote so many of his epis- 
 tles. It is almost certain that he suffered here ; and who 
 would not be willing to believe for a moment that he stood 
 on the very spot where the heroic Apostle finished his course, 
 after having so nobly kept the faith ! The whole of the last 
 chapter of 2d Timothy was fresh in my recollection ; and 
 who can doubt but the blessed Apostle found himself 
 strengthened and supported in his last moments, as he ex- 
 presses himself in the prospect of them ?"* 
 
 * These reflections may, perhaps, remind those who are familiar 
 
lx MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 One additional extract must close all that can here be 
 given from his own pen ; and the reflection with which it 
 terminates will not inappropriately lead to the short sequel 
 of his history. It is dated on a Sabbath, when, from the ef- 
 fects of cold and fever, he was unable to leave his room ; in 
 reference to which he says, — " I have been falling off ever 
 since I came to Rome, and now find myself so weak that I 
 can hardly walk. This new affliction is very trying, espe- 
 cially at the time on which my friends had built so much. 
 Yet I bless God, though I have never been worse than I 
 now am since my first illness, when I was very differently 
 situated, that I feel no disposition to question the wisdom 
 and goodness which run through this dispensation. Some- 
 times there was a shrinking from suffering, and a wish that 
 all were soon over rather than have many such conflicts to 
 meet ; but generally my mind has reposed upon God, as the 
 present help in time of trouble, and left all consequences to 
 him. I cannot forget the total freedom I have enjoyed 
 from all anxiety about my journey homewards, or how I 
 shall be able to travel. I mention this, as so contrary to 
 
 with the life of Henry Martyn, of his description of a similar exer- 
 cise of mind, when, during his travels in Persia, he arrived at Mount 
 Ararat, and fancied many a spot where Noah might possibly have of- 
 fered up his sacrifices. There are other points in the life and charac- 
 ter of that distinguished and devoted man, which one can hardly avoid 
 recalling, when thinking of the subject of the present Memoir. For 
 they were not only kindred spirits in the general end and great aim of 
 their existence, but there is a striking resemblance in several of the cir- 
 cumstances, both of their early and their latest days, as well as in some 
 of the forms in which the zeal and ardour, the humility and tenderness, 
 of their minds were manifested, in their fondness for philological stu- 
 dies, their love of simplicity, and the pure and elevated enjoyment 
 which they both appear to have derived from the objects of external 
 nature. 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. lxi 
 
 my natural disposition, which is so anxious. I hope it is 
 not indifference or recklessness, but springs from confidence 
 in God, who will order all things aright. O how small a 
 matter it is where one dies, if he dies in the Lord, and falls 
 asleep in Jesus !" 
 
 He continued at Rome for some weeks after this was 
 written ; and the following extract of a letter from Mr Vesey 
 Colclough, the gentleman from Ireland with whom he had 
 become acquainted at Nice, will communicate an impression 
 as to the state of his mind, as well as of his health, both 
 while he remained in that place, and during his continuance 
 at Rome : — 
 
 " We arrived at Nice about the same time, and I 
 
 was permitted the privilege of making his acquaintance im- 
 mediately on our arrival. For nearly two months I enjoyed 
 the advantage of his society, during which time, his health, 
 though evidently in a delicate state, was not such as to ex- 
 cite alarm, or debar him the advantages of horse-exercise, 
 and the enjoyment of the climate and scenery. Our con- 
 versation was generally on subjects of religion, and his mind 
 seemed uniformly in a tranquil and happy frame, except as 
 regarded his flock. This subject at first seemed to give 
 him much anxiety ; which, however, was graciously removed 
 after some time, of which he gave me repeated assurances. 
 
 " He joined me again at Rome, but with visible marks of 
 increased debility. Here I was permitted, in a slight de- 
 gree, to administer to his comfort, and daily to witness the 
 consolations he enjoyed in his Saviour. During my stay at 
 Rome, our intercourse was uninterrupted ; and I, there- 
 fore, had an opportunity of remarking his state of mind, 
 which was eminently raised above the world, and seemed 
 divested of almost every earthly anxiety. His rejoicing in 
 
lxii MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Christ Jesus increased with his debility. Walking one day 
 with him outside the walls of Rome, he said, that ' he found 
 himself so far on the way, that, had he his choice, he doubted 
 if he would return ;' and he often expressed a wish, that if 
 it pleased the Lord to remove him while on the Continent, 
 it might be at Leghorn, as there were many pious persons 
 there, whose acquaintance he had made in passing from Nice 
 to Rome." 
 
 Feeling himself gradually declining, he became anxious 
 to leave Rome, if, peradventure, he might yet be enabled 
 to reach his native country. He, accordingly, proceeded to 
 Leghorn, where he arrived on the 7th of May, much ex- 
 hausted ; and took up his residence in the San-Marco Ho- 
 tel, kept by Mr and Mrs Thomson, most respectable natives 
 of his own country, in whose house he had remained a night 
 on his way to Rome ; upon which occasion, it is not a little 
 remarkable, that, from the Christian and considerate atten- 
 tion which he experienced, and the strong association with 
 home which he here naturally felt, he had expressed himself, 
 as if this were the house, should it be the will of God that he 
 was not to return to his native country, in which he would pre- 
 fer to die ! The deep interest which Mr and Mrs Thomson 
 felt in the humble and heavenly-minded Scottish Pastor, who 
 had, in fact, returned to die under their roof, and their affec- 
 tionate care and kindness to him in his last days, can never 
 be remembered but with the warmest gratitude on the part of 
 those by whom he was loved and esteemed. There were others, 
 also, whose names might be mentioned, who, not more from 
 sympathy in his situation, than respect for his character, 
 strove, by every means in their power, to sooth and alleviate 
 his sufferings ; which it was mercifully ordered should nei- 
 ther be long nor severe. His intention on arriving at Leg- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxiii 
 
 horn had been to embark in the first vessel that should sail 
 for England ; but when this was found impossible, it was dis- 
 placed by a desire to depart and to be with Christ, accompa- 
 nied with the most devout thanksgivings for all the Divine 
 mercy and grace which he had experienced. His mind con- 
 tinued uninterruptedly tranquil and serene. To Mr Hare, 
 the English clergyman of the place, who waited on him with 
 the most brotherly affection, he expressed from day to day 
 his firm and unwavering dependence on the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, for that eternal life into the possession of which he 
 was about to enter ; and his preparation for this blessed in- 
 heritance being completed, and his Master's work with him 
 fulfilled, he peacefully fell asleep on the afternoon of Thurs- 
 day, the 22d May. 
 
 The following passages, in the letter in which Mr Hare 
 communicated to his father the intelligence of his death, 
 and in others from Mr and Mrs Thomson of the Hotel, 
 furnish a few particulars of the closing scene : — 
 
 Mr Hare writes, — " The decisive change did not take 
 place until the 20th, when the physician who attended him 
 apprized me of his approaching dissolution. From that 
 time, the progress of his disease was rapid ; but it was un- 
 attended by bodily suffering, and he retained his faculties to 
 the end. On Thursday he breathed his last, without a groan 
 or a struggle. I was not present, but Mr and Mrs Thom- 
 son were with him. As soon as they saw his end approach- 
 ing, they thought of sending for me ; but before they could 
 do so, he was no more. — I used to visit him every day, — 
 sometimes two or three times in the day, — but he was not 
 able to converse much, and could not hear me do more than 
 read a few verses of the Bible, or make some observations, 
 and pray. He seemed free from pain during his stay here, 
 
lxiv MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 — even his cough was not very troublesome. He was per- 
 fectly peaceful, and appeared earnestly to desire to depart. 
 It will be a satisfaction to know that every attention was 
 paid him, not only by the people of the hotel, but also by 
 many of our fellow-countrymen, who felt a deep interest in 
 him. — I can fully sympathize in the heartfelt sorrow into 
 which this sad event must plunge the many friends of my 
 dear departed brother. The loss is, indeed, of no common 
 magnitude, both to them and the Church of God. But it 
 ought to be a great assuagement to the bitterness of their 
 grief, that he over whom they mourn, has but made a transi- 
 tion from a scene of much tribulation to a state of untroubled 
 rest and unclouded felicity ; and that he is separated from 
 them by a very slight, and, it may be, a very temporary 
 partition. 1 ' 
 
 " On the Sabbath morning," says Mr Thomson, in a 
 
 letter to Mr Colclough, " I drew his attention to the sere- 
 nity of the atmosphere. ' Yes, 1 said he, ' this is the day 
 which the Lord made, — you are to have the communion 
 to-day, — " I was glad when they said unto me, Go ye up 
 unto the house of God,' 1 '' — will you come back and tell me 
 what you have heard ?' — I did so, but found him unable to 
 attend. 
 
 " About three hours before his death, on awaking, he 
 found me leaning on his bed, made an effort to get out his 
 hand, and said, with a most pleasant countenance, ' How 
 kind this is f I went in again about three o'clock, when he 
 requested me to read a portion of Scripture. I read the 
 fourteenth chapter of John, — when at the last verse, he 
 made a motion for me to stop, and then fell asleep. In a 
 few minutes, he started hastily, and said, with a strong voice, 
 ' What is meant by a free port ? my reason for asking is, 
 
MEMOIR OK THE AUTHOR. lxv 
 
 that I wish to import a hundred Bihles here. 1 These were 
 his last words. Ahout five, I found him dying, took him 
 by the hand, and felt the last feeble pulse. His spirit left 
 its earthly habitation at a quarter after five o'clock." 
 
 In another letter, to Mrs Ogilvy, Mr Martin's sister, Mrs 
 Thomson adds, — " On our first sight of him, when he was 
 on his way to Rome, our affections were drawn to him, — 
 there was something so expressive in his countenance. He 
 was only one night with us, and in the evening joined us in 
 family-worship; he was unable to read or explain any 
 part of the Scriptures, but gave us a most excellent prayer. 
 On his return from Rome, he was unfit for any fatigue ; so 
 we had not the pleasure of hearing him again. He did not 
 like to see many people, but rather to be alone, to commune 
 with his God ; he had great faith, and said that Christ was 
 all in all. His favourite Psalm was the thirty-ninth. He 
 told us how mercifully the Lord had dealt with him, and 
 that his parishioners were so kind and affectionate, and so 
 unwilling to let him give up his church. Dear man ! I do 
 not wonder they were much attached to him, — he was so 
 noble-minded, pious, amiable, modest, grateful, and afraid 
 to give trouble. He said very frequently, — ' What reason 
 have I to be thankful that I suffer so very little pain ;' and 
 his death was a very happy one, — just as if he had gone to 
 sleep, — so very calm."" 
 
 His funeral took place on the following evening, and was 
 attended by the English then resident at Leghorn ; and his 
 ashes repose in the English burying-ground, where a monu- 
 ment is now in the course of being erected, inscribed with 
 the following just and characteristic tribute which Dr Chal- 
 mers has cheerfully paid to the memory of his esteemed and 
 lamented friend : — 
 
HERE ARE INTERRED 
 THE EARTHLY REMAINS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE REV. JAMES MARTIN, 
 
 CHURCH OF SCOTLAND, 
 LATE MINISTER OF ST GEORGE'S CHURCH, EDINBURGH. 
 
 BORN AT BRECHIN, 30th JULY 1800. 
 DIED 22d MAY 1834. 
 
 IT WAS AMIDST THE LABOURS OF A VOCATION' WHICH HE ADORNED 
 
 THAT HIS STRENGTH GAVE WAY; 
 
 AND THOUGH HE CONSENTED TO TRY THE RESTORATIVE EFFECTS OF A MILDER CLIMATE, 
 
 HE SUNK UNDER THE POWER OF DISEASE, 
 
 TILL IN THIS PLACE, — TO HIM A LAND OF STRANGERS,— 
 
 HE BREATHED HIS LAST. 
 
 TO THE HIGH CULTURE OF AN ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEMAN AND SCHOLAR, 
 
 II i: \1)DED THE CULTURE OF A STILL HIGHER AND HOLIER D1SCIPLESHIP IN THE 
 
 SCHOOL OF JESUS CHRIST, — 
 
 AND HENCE AN UNION OF THE MOST REFINED SENSIBILITY 
 
 WITH THE DEEPEST SACREDNESS. 
 
 IN HIS OWN LAND, MANY ARE THE FRIENDS WHO HAVE BEEN SADDENED 
 
 BY THE TIDINGS OF HIS DEATH ; 
 
 AND MANY AMONG HIS SORROWING PEOPLE, 
 
 WHO REVERED HIM AS THEIR FAITHFUL AND CONSCIENTIOUS PASTOR WHILE HE LIVED, 
 
 AND IN WHOSE HEARTS THE SENSE OF HIS WORTH, AND PIETY, AND GOODNESS, 
 
 WILL LONG ABIDE AS ONE OF THEIR DEAREST AND MOST HALLOWED RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 . BUT CHRISTIANITY SPEAKS AN UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE ; 
 
 AND THERE IS A FELT AFFINITY BETWEEN ITS DISCIPLES 
 
 THROUGHOUT ALL THE CLIMES AND COUNTRIES 
 
 OF THE WORLD. 
 
 IIIIS HE RICHLY EXPERIENCED ALONG HIS JOURNEY ON THE CONTINENT OF EUROPE, — 
 THE PILGRIMAGE FROM HIS HOME TO HIS GRAVE. 
 
 IN THE LEADINGS OF THAT MERCIFUL PROVIDENCE WHICH DIRECTED ALL H IS FOOTSTEPS, 
 
 HE, AT PARIS, AND NICE, AND ROME, 
 
 WAS BROUGHT INTO CONVERSE WITH FOLLOWERS OF THE LORD JESUS, 
 
 WHO SOOTHED HIM ON HIS WAY; 
 
 AND AT LEGHORN, THERE WERE CHILDREN OF THE SAME SPIRITUAL FAMILY, 
 
 WHO OWNED HIM FOR A BROTHER, 
 
 TENDED HIS DYING MOMENTS, 
 
 IM) CLOSED HIS 
 
 EYES. 
 
DISCOURSES. 
 
DISCOURSES. 
 
 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 2 Kings, iv. 13. — Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the 
 captain of the host ? And she answered, I dwell among mine own 
 people. 
 
 Such was the answer of the Shunammite woman to Elisha, 
 when he sent to inquire in what way he could recompense 
 her care, and the attention which she had shown to his com- 
 forts and his wants. 
 
 Of the circumstances connected with her introduction to 
 the Prophet we read in the preceding verses ; and they are 
 set forth with all the simplicity and truth for which the nar- 
 ratives of Scripture are so remarkable. 
 
 It would seem that the occasion of their first meeting had 
 been purely accidental ; that the Prophet, on passing Shu- 
 nem, the place of her residence, had been respectfully in- 
 vited, and even constrained, to share her hospitality : and 
 finding himself welcomed with that unaffected kindness 
 which was so conspicuous in her whole demeanour, and 
 pressed no doubt to repeat his visits, he had not unwillingly 
 taken advantage of the offered kindness so often as he had 
 occasion to pass that way, which would appear to have been 
 frequent, as Shunem lay between Mount Carmel, the place 
 
a DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 of his own residence, and Bethel, the residence of the sons 
 of the prophets. 
 
 Whether the Shunammite woman had been aware of the 
 rank and character of her guest at their first meeting, the 
 history does not state ; nor is it of any consequence to de- 
 termine. It is certain, however, that she soon came to know 
 both ; and the way in which she manifested her regard for 
 the Prophet showed as much consideration and reverence 
 for the office which he bore, as it did of real kindness of 
 heart. Wishing that he might possess at her house every 
 thing requisite for his comfortable accommodation, and en- 
 joy at the same time that quiet and retirement which would 
 be exceedingly desirable in his circumstances, and which 
 she probably saw that he valued more than any thing else 
 which it was in her power to bestow ; — and, as if to rid him 
 of every feeling of restraint during his stay, and to leave him 
 entirely to his own pleasure in the choice of their society, 
 she said to her husband, who seems to have been like- 
 minded, " Behold now I perceive that this is an holy man 
 of God which passeth by us continually. Let us make a 
 little chamber, I pray thee, on the wall ; and let us set for him 
 there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick : and it 
 shall be, when he cometh to us, that he shall turn in thither.™ 
 We cannot wonder that the Prophet was struck with 
 an attention thus considerate, which had anticipated all 
 his wishes, and provided alike for his refreshment and 
 his privacy ; and that, impressed the more with it as 
 kindness shown him by a stranger on whom he had no claim, 
 and by a person of rank and consequence, — for the his- 
 tory informs us that she was a great woman, — he sent his 
 servant to inquire what return he could make for her kind- 
 ness, or in what way, most agreeable to her, he could mani- 
 fest his sense of the obligation under which she had laid him. 
 Aware that her station rendered her independent of any re- 
 ward such as he could offer, and that she possessed in abun- 
 dance the comforts and even the luxuries of life, he was 
 naturally led to ask whether his credit or influence, which 
 
DISCOURSE FIRST. 6 
 
 were by no means inconsiderable at the court of Judah, could 
 procure for her any such favours as, to those of her rank, 
 were naturally objects of ambition and desire, and how far 
 he could, by interesting himself in her behalf, either gratify 
 herself or any of her friends. And it was to a question of 
 this kind, — " Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or 
 to the captain of the host ?" — a question which, in an ordi- 
 nary mind, would have excited a thousand ambitious wishes, 
 but which excited not one in hers, — it was to this question 
 that, without manifesting any disrespect for the Prophet, or 
 any insensibility to the motive which prompted his offer, she 
 returned the answer in the text, — an answer indicative of a 
 disposition rarely exhibited in the world, and rarely ex- 
 hibited, I will say, among those who profess to be superior 
 to its honours or gratifications, — " I dwell among mine own 
 people." 
 
 After the explanation now given, it is hardly necessary to 
 premise, that the person by whom this language was uttered 
 appears to have been under the guidance of religious prin- 
 ciple, and one who, in spite of the growing degeneracy of 
 her age and country, truly reverenced and feared the God of 
 Israel. Of this we may perhaps find that there was greater 
 evidence in the language of the text than many may at first 
 sight be aware of; and there is something in the whole of 
 her intercourse with the Prophet, as already detailed, which 
 powerfully impresses us with this feeling, that she was go- 
 verned by higher motives than mere natural or instinctive 
 benevolence, — that there mingled with the kindness which 
 she showed him no selfish concern for her own interests, — 
 that she had no wish to do herself honour by entertaining a 
 prophet, — and that she made no affectation of respect for 
 him in order that she might be respected and gratified in 
 return. When we find it, indeed, so directly stated that the 
 motive which prompted her proposal and dictated her little 
 plans for the comfort and accommodation of Elisha, was 
 reverence for his character as a holy man of God, and the 
 desire to do honour to one whom God had so signally 
 
4 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 honoured as his servant, it can hardly, I think, be ques- 
 tioned, that the attention which she paid him arose from her 
 reverence for the Master whom he served ; — that it was not 
 Elisha, so much as the God of Elisha, to whom she felt 
 that she was on these occasions doing homage ; and there is, 
 therefore, as much evidence as we could reasonably expect 
 to find, that God had held that place in her heart which led 
 her to honour him in every one who was connected with him, 
 and that, amidst the ease and consequence attached to a high 
 station, she felt it to be her privilege as well as her duty, to 
 employ herself in any way that might evince her regard for 
 his character and will. It is in connexion with this obser- 
 vation that we are now shortly to consider the answer which 
 the Shunammite returned to the inquiry of the Prophet. And 
 there is, to our mind, such a right conception of her own 
 duty, and so much sound, and I had almost said Christian 
 discrimination, as to what properly belonged to her own 
 place, that I do wish that we might all be made to imbibe 
 the spirit which pervades this brief but expressive answer, 
 " I dwell among mine own people." 
 
 I therefore remark, in the Jirst place, That the language 
 of the Shunammite indicates a mind strongly alive to the 
 duties of her own peculiar sphere. 
 
 I can easily conceive such language as that of our text to 
 have been uttered without containing any sentiment so im- 
 portant as that which we have now stated to be implied in 
 it, and terms nearly similar may often be employed, and 
 would perhaps be the very first to suggest themselves to 
 many in answer to such a question, without being prompted 
 by any feeling of duty or obligation to those with whom in 
 providence they are connected. 
 
 Living in the midst of a society endeared to them by 
 many ties, with minds sensibly alive to all the sympathies 
 of human life, gratified by those kind attentions, and in- 
 dulging those warm and social affections which are a source 
 of so much happiness and enjoyment, it cannot be wonderful 
 though many may, through mere selfishness, and without 
 
DISCOURSE FIUST. 
 
 any stronger or better principle, refuse an offer which might 
 in the very smallest degree interfere with such a condition, 
 though the bare idea of being moved away from it should 
 be instantly rejected, and though thus the weakness, in- 
 stead of the strength of their sense of duty, should lead, in 
 their case, to the same result as occurred in that of the 
 Shunammite. 
 
 Had this been the amount of her character, however, we 
 had not deemed it at all necessary, or even proper, to com- 
 mend it to your imitation. However amiable or engaging 
 her conduct might in this case have appeared, there had 
 been nothing in it peculiarly deserving of Christian appro- 
 bation ; and she had only added another to the many examples 
 that may be found of a refined selfishness, which, instead of 
 indulging or tolerating, the word of God entering into the 
 heart, would in a moment expose and expel. To guard 
 you, therefore, against what we believe a very inadequate 
 conception of her answer, and of the character which that 
 answer indicates, we have already taken occasion to state, 
 that she appears to have been under the government of re- 
 ligious principle, and that the strong impression left upon 
 our mind by her sentiments and conduct is, that she was 
 one in whom the fear of God ruled. The view, accordingly, 
 which one possessed of these feelings and dispositions would 
 take of her situation, and of any change proposed in it, was 
 not likely to be hastily formed, or when formed, to be sepa- 
 rated from a regard to what might be, in the particular case 
 that was presented to her, the line of her duty. Regarding 
 her answer under this fight, it cannot therefore be considered 
 as an attempt to draw out of it a sentiment which was never 
 present to her mind, if we say that it indicated her to be 
 strongly alive to those peculiar duties which God had called 
 her to discharge, and with which the acceptance of the 
 proffered services of the Prophet might in no small degree 
 have interfered. 
 
 Had she, in answer to the question of Elisha, merely 
 stated that she had no wish to be introduced to the notice of 
 
6 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 the king or the captain of the host, — that she had no ambi- 
 tion to be known to them, and no favour to solicit from 
 them, — there might have been nothing peculiarly striking in 
 her language; but when, on the question being proposed, 
 her mind reverted so simply to the state of her own people, 
 — to those who naturally looked up to her for assistance and 
 protection, — when the consideration of these presented itself 
 so readily, and her mind rested so fixedly upon it, — when, 
 without adding a single word in explanation, she settled the 
 point in a moment, — " I dwell among mine own people, 1 ' — 
 it will hardly, I think, be questioned, that the thought of 
 their condition and advantage had been most familiar to her 
 mind, — that she had never been accustomed to think of her 
 own gratification apart from their comfort and well-being, — 
 and that, in the brief sentence in which she declined the 
 Prophet's kindness, there was compressed what, if expanded 
 and fully brought to light, had only disclosed how important 
 she felt her sphere of usefulness amongst them to be, and 
 how sensibly alive she was to the claims which they had on 
 her attention and regard. Brief as that sentence is, it is 
 not too much, I think, to infer from it, that she had sought 
 to be what God designed her to be, — that in the circle of 
 those over whom her influence extended, she had endea- 
 voured, by every dutiful attention, to encourage and incite 
 them to whatsoever was lovely and of good report, — that 
 she had sought to diffuse among them all that kindliness of 
 affection, and all that reverence for God and his will, which 
 pervaded her own mind, — that she had been the example 
 and pattern of every good word and work, — and that any 
 thing that would have broken in upon these, had been felt 
 as diverting her away from the serious purpose and proper 
 business of her life. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, indeed, that when Elisha in- 
 quired " What can be done for thee ? wouldest thou be 
 spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host P 11 that 
 he intended to remove her from the sphere in which God had 
 placed her ; and the question was probably asked with the 
 
DISCOURSE FIHST. / 
 
 view of ascertaining whether she was as selfish in the atten- 
 tions she had shown him as many others, though at the 
 same time, I make no doubt, with the sincere desire of gra- 
 tifying her in any matter that might promote her advantage, 
 and that his influence could command. Neither could the 
 most sanguine mind have anticipated, that, in return for her 
 little kindnesses to the Prophet, she could receive such fa- 
 vours or be honoured with such attentions, as had drawn 
 her forth from her retirement, to mingle in scenes of ambi- 
 tion and greatness. She probably felt, however, that the 
 admission of such thoughts as the inquiry of the Prophet 
 was very ready to suggest, would of themselves tend to with- 
 draw her from what she saw to be her own peculiar charge, 
 — that she could not allow her mind to rest on these objects 
 without being led in imagination to scenes from which she 
 would return less qualified for the humbler duties that were 
 assigned her, — that the temptation thus brought before her 
 could not be yielded to without seducing her, she knew not 
 how far away, from those whose interests and well-being were 
 her peculiar care ; and aware that it was easier at once to resist 
 than to withdraw from temptation, — persuaded that no situa- 
 tion could be half so honourable as that in which God had 
 designed her to honour him, — that she had enough, and more 
 than enough, in her own comparatively retired and humble 
 sphere, to require all her exertions and exhaust all her ener- 
 gies, — that she would only dissipate the talent which had 
 been given her by employing it on a wider field, whilst, if she 
 would lay it out to advantage, it required to be concentrated 
 on the field that lay around her ; aware of all these things, 
 and with a spirit which indicated how much her mind had 
 been trained to regard the path of duty, and how habitual 
 and familiar a thing it was to subordinate every thing to its 
 performance, she instantly put the thought of ambition and 
 honours away from her, and met the inquiry of the Prophet 
 firmly but modestly in the expressive sentence, " I dwell 
 among mine own people." 
 
 It can hardly be expected that the observations now made 
 
8 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 will commend themselves to those who have no feeling of 
 their obligations to honour God in the station in which he 
 has placed them, or who may have no distinct or serious con- 
 viction, that the place which they occupy has any thing to 
 do with the Divine determination and appointment. To such 
 persons the sentiment which breathes throughout the Shu- 
 nammite's answer will appear to savour of meanness and lit- 
 tleness of mind, rather than of any thing else ; or they may 
 consider that a mere narrow concern for those whom she de- 
 nominates her own people, an exclusive and almost selfish 
 spirit, was at the foundation of all ; and not a few, perhaps, 
 whose opinions on other points may be more correct, but for 
 whom nothing, unless it is showy, and attractive, and im- 
 posing in outward appearance, has any charm, will feel no 
 sympathy with the mind that possessed her. 
 
 But these things, which in others may excite little else 
 than pity or disgust, constitute to us the peculiar excellence 
 of her character ; and let others admire what they may, we 
 do conceive that there are few things, to a Christian mind 
 and a Christian taste, more worthy of admiration, than the 
 example of an individual seeking, in her own place, to ho- 
 nour God and to serve him ; and few characters more truly 
 great, according to the only right estimate of greatness, — the 
 estimate of the Bible, — than the character of those who, keep- 
 ing within the sphere in which God has fixed them, — concen- 
 trating upon it all their regard, — laying themselves out to 
 do their utmost within, it may be, its narrow boundaries, 
 whether it be the little circle of their own domestic duties, or 
 the wider circle of their neighbourhood, or the sphere of their 
 engagements in the world, — are giving resistance to all the 
 daily and hourly solicitations that might lead them away 
 from these, and are contentedly, and without envy, leaving 
 to others their honours and their pleasures, and even their 
 superior talents and wider opportunities of usefulness, — sa- 
 tisfied if they may, through the Divine blessing, do the work 
 which God has assigned them, and contribute, it matters not 
 in how small a measure, if it be in the way and measure in 
 
DISCOURSE FIRST. 9 
 
 which God intended it, to the promotion of his honour, and 
 the advancement of his glory in the world. 
 
 Such a spirit is, I am aware, very different from that which is 
 found among men, and not a little different from that which is 
 very generally found among Christians. Sin hath introduced 
 such a confusion into our moral perceptions, that it is even 
 difficult for us to conceive what would be the aspect of things, 
 were all to be as God designed it. But could we turn from 
 this world, where there are so few traces of his presence, to a 
 world where every thing continues to be as he at first or- 
 dained it, I doubt not that we should find the same devoted- 
 ness to their own peculiar duties, and the same resistance to 
 every solicitation that would lead them away from these, to 
 be the characteristics of those blessed spirits that live and 
 rejoice in the light of God's countenance. There are, we 
 know, differences of rank and authority among them, one 
 being differing from another, even as one star differeth from 
 another in glory. There are angels that occupy a high place 
 around the eternal throne, and there are angels to whom is 
 assigned the humbler place of watching over the interests of 
 our world, and of ministering to those who shall be heirs of 
 salvation. And yet I doubt not that the angel that is ap- 
 pointed to watch the footsteps of a little child through this 
 weary world of suffering and of care, feels his station to be 
 as important and as honourable, because the station which 
 God has assigned him, as the very highest of the cherubim 
 or the seraphim, who veil their faces with their wings con- 
 tinually in his presence, and transmit through countless 
 multitudes of adoring spirits the behests of the Eternal One ; 
 and that, habitually impressed with his own insignificance, 
 there is not so much as a wish felt that his place were ex- 
 changed for any other, either more important or more dis- 
 tinguished than that which God has assigned him. It is, 
 in fact, by the habitual recognition of such a principle as 
 this, that the order and the harmony of heaven is maintain- 
 ed. And conceiving that this was the principle which ani- 
 mated, however imperfectly, the individual so often alluded 
 
 'jri**" /******£ £- 
 
10 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 to, we cannot cease to press upon your regard and imitation 
 the spirit of her humble but expressive answer, " I dwell 
 among mine own people." 
 
 II. I remark, that the language of our text indicates, not 
 only that the Shunammite was strongly alive to the duties of 
 her own place, but found her happiness in honouring God 
 by the discharge of these duties. 
 
 This point, though it may be that which many may be dis- 
 posed first to remark, I do not conceive to be really the first 
 in importance, or even the most conspicuous feature in the 
 history of this woman. It appears, I think, not more from 
 a general consideration of her religious character, than from 
 the staid, quiet, and unobtrusive nature of her answer, that 
 the feeling and sense of duty, — the duty which she owed to 
 her people, — was uppermost in her mind, and prompted the 
 decisive language which she uttered ; and that, fortified by 
 this, she felt it comparatively an easy thing to bid every so- 
 licitation away from her. 
 
 For all this, however, you must be aware, that the con- 
 scious happiness which she enjoyed in the place which God 
 had given her, if it held not the first, held at least the second 
 place in her mind at the time ; and the readiness with which 
 she set every other consideration aside, — the entire compo- 
 sure of a spirit, the serenity of which was hardly ruffled by 
 any ambitious thoughts, if these did intrude themselves,— 
 the ease with which she shook herself free from the temptation 
 that to others of a different mind had appeared so inviting, 
 as if it had found nothing in her on which it could fasten, — 
 argued her to be in possession of a peace and enjoyment 
 which could arise from nothing else, than from having found, 
 — as I doubt not every one who acts in the same way will 
 find, — that, in honouring God as she felt that he required 
 her to honour him, he had effectually satisfied all her wants, 
 and really left her nothing more, comparatively speaking, to 
 desire. 
 
 You will observe the language which is now employed, — 
 
DISCOURSE F1E8T. 11 
 
 " honouring God in discharging the duties of her own 
 sphere, 11 — and I employ it, because there may be a disposi- 
 tion very like that of our text often manifested, without any 
 regard to the principle in which I have no doubt that this origi- 
 nated ; and because there are many who, either from natural 
 constitution, or from the circumstances in which they are 
 placed, may seek their happiness in the sphere in which God 
 has placed them, without being alive to the claims of his au- 
 thority, or really having the thought of God present to their 
 minds at all ; and who will, I doubt not, manifest in some 
 degree the same contentment and satisfaction which so emi- 
 nently distinguished the Shunammite. 
 
 It was for this purpose that we sought, at the very outset, 
 to impress upon your minds, that she gave evidence of being 
 governed by a regard to the Divine will, and that the first 
 thing manifest in her character, was a strong sense of the 
 duties which God had peculiarly called her to discharge. 
 And it is only now, coming reinforced, as it were, by this 
 testimony to the rectitude of her character, that we state, in 
 the second place (for this is the place which our own happi- 
 ness must ever hold, and by which alone it can be secured), 
 that the language of the text affords abundant evidence 
 that she had found, as God indeed had promised, that, in 
 honouring him, as he requires us to do him honour, her 
 own peace, and comfort, and well-being, were effectually 
 promoted. 
 
 I know very few subjects, indeed, on which it would be 
 easier to declaim, or easier to carry the feelings of many along 
 with us, than on the spirit of contentedness and entire satis- 
 faction with the arrangements of Divine Providence, which 
 the Shunammite's answer so conspicuously displayed. There 
 are very few, I am persuaded, who are insensible to the hap- 
 piness of such a spirit, let it be as far as it may from their 
 own ; and there are very few who are not disposed to regard 
 it as the ultimate object of all their ambition ; and no sub- 
 ject, therefore, may have greater charms, than the example 
 of one giving up, and that, too, without a struggle, or with- 
 
12 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 out the feeling of a sacrifice, every thing that to the natural 
 heart is an object of desire. 
 
 We feel, however, that to excite your minds by any view 
 of this kind, were to minister to a false and chimerical dis- 
 position. The mind which the Shunammite manifested, in- 
 stead of arising out of her peculiar circumstances, is that 
 which may be evinced in any station in which God has placed 
 us, provided the principles which dwelt in her mind dwell in 
 ours ; and indulge what hope and expectations you may, of 
 one thing you may be sure, that it will never be yours, un- 
 less you are brought to know, what there is every evidence 
 that she knew, the blessed hope of the Divine favour, — and 
 brought to know also, what her language so strongly indi- 
 cates, — the deep and strong persuasion, that it was only in 
 having her mind thus brought into subjection to the Divine 
 will, and made to seek its happiness in fulfilling the end for 
 which God designed her, that she could ever expect, truly 
 and lastingly, to realize it. We are far from saying, indeed, 
 even though she had felt the temptation more powerfully 
 than she appears to have done, that she would not, through 
 the strong sense of duty which she possessed, have at once 
 checked and resisted it ; but when she did this so readily and 
 without effort, — when there is so little, — I would say no ap- 
 pearance of conflicting interests, — it can hardly, I think, be 
 doubted, that she had found what she saw to be her own 
 place, to be, at the same time, the place of her own enjoy- 
 ment and blessedness ; and that she had felt the care of her 
 own people, and an attention to all the claims which they had 
 upon her regard, to be not merely the scene in which every 
 human affection had its proper and healthful exercise, but to 
 be the scene in which every divine affection also, and every 
 divine grace had its healthful and happy growth. 
 
 I am aware that this is no more than a mere inference 
 from the point which we have already had occasion to press 
 upon your attention, and that the unvarying rule of the 
 Word of God, true to uniform experience, is, that it is only 
 by preferring or giving the chief place to the honour of God, 
 
 8 
 
DISCOURSE FIRST. 13 
 
 in all our plans and purposes, that we become the heirs of its 
 promises, or come actually to realize the comforts it bestows. 
 It is still a point, however, which has a prominent place in 
 the character of the Shunammite, and which requires to be 
 prominently presented to you ; and I know few things more 
 salutary, or more necessary to be kept in view, for the daily 
 habit and practice of a Christian life, than this, — that, though 
 the performance of our several duties is neither to be your 
 confidence nor mine for eternity, nor to be the source of our 
 peace, or the foundation of our hope, still these can never be 
 separated, — that they have a reaction upon one another, — 
 that whilst faith produces all the fruits of holy obedience, by 
 these again is faith perfected ; and the mind thus kept awake 
 upon its proper objects, and moving in the sphere which God 
 hath assigned it, is made to taste that blessedness, the posses- 
 sion of which, I am persuaded, makes it no sacrifice to put 
 all the vain and empty pleasures of this life away. 
 
 There is a support, indeed, communicated by the con- 
 sciousness of walking in the path of appointed duty, — a con- 
 fidence towards God imparted, wherewith we may look up 
 for his approving, which is as much a blessing in itself, as 
 it is fruitful in strengthening every holy disposition within 
 us ; and the great reason why Christians enjoy so little of 
 the real contentment and peace of mind which the individual 
 referred to in our text experienced, — why they are so ready to 
 find a thousand temptations seducing them, and leading them 
 away both from peace and from holiness, is just the want of 
 a settled conviction, that the path of duty, however hum- 
 ble and retired, is the only path of real happiness, — that it 
 is in knowing and keeping the place which God hath assigned 
 us, that we are to realize the blessedness to which God hath 
 called us, — and that it is in vain to expect that this will 
 or can be our portion, whilst we are not seeking, in all humi- 
 lity of mind and simplicity of heart, to give ourselves to the 
 least as well as the greatest of those things which God hath 
 peculiarly given us in charge. Such was evidently the spirit 
 which possessed the Shunammite, when she expressed, in Ian- 
 
14 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 guage already so often quoted, the regard which she felt for 
 those with whom God, in his providence, had been pleased 
 to connect her, and evinced also, that she had found the re- 
 ward which God had generously attached to such a spirit, 
 when she could so simply, yet so firmly, resist all the solici- 
 tations that were made to lead her away from it. 
 
 Such are the chief things worthy of our notice in the ex- 
 pressive sentiment of the text ; and I have already so far an- 
 ticipated those reflections which the example of the Shunam- 
 mite woman may naturally suggest, that I might cilmost leave 
 it to yourselves to pursue them. If there is one thing more 
 remarkable than another in her character, it is the correct 
 estimate which she had formed of her own place, and of her 
 own sphere of duty and usefulness, and the sober and chas- 
 tened spirit which it evinces her to have attained. And 
 though this may be passed over without awakening a single 
 feeling in the minds of many, I know nothing more import- 
 ant, for all the business of a Christian's life, than to be ani- 
 mated with the mind that possessed her. It was not the 
 case with her only, it is so with all of us, that God has given 
 us a sphere of duty and of usefulness, — something which must 
 be done by us, or it is left altogether undone. In her case 
 this lay among her own people, — among those who naturally 
 and rightfully required the assistance and protection which she 
 could give, and where her influence might be daily employed 
 for promoting their temporal or spiritual interests ; but it may 
 be found by each of you as determinately laid down in the dis- 
 charge of your domestic and social duties, and in the fulfil- 
 ment of those engagements which employ you in the world, 
 — in the little circle in which Providence has fixed you, and 
 over which he has given you an influence to be exerted for 
 his glory. In like manner, the temptation to which she felt 
 that the offer of the Prophet subjected her, and which she 
 was enabled so firmly to resist, is to be found assailing you 
 every day in the numberless occasions which present them- 
 selves, whether of indulging your own ease, or your love of 
 self-gratification, or, what is no less dangerous, of extending, 
 
DISCOURSE FIRST. 15 
 
 as it may seem, your usefulness, — any thing, in short, by 
 which the humblest of the duties committed to you may 
 either be neglected, or carelessly and imperfectly performed. 
 She felt that she had a special trust given to her, and that 
 this trust it must be her object, in dependence, I doubt not, 
 on his blessing, to manage for God ; and believe me, or ra- 
 ther believe the Word of God, that you have each of you a 
 charge equally special and distinct, — that God has not left 
 it to your pleasure, any more than it was left to hers, in what 
 way you are to serve him, — that there is to be no will-wor- 
 ship in your obedience to him, any more than in the way of 
 approaching him, — and that it were vain to plead what you 
 had done to cultivate another man's vineyard, provided 
 your own had been left neglected and unimproved. It will 
 not be required of you, at least in the first instance, how far 
 you have laid yourselves out so as to be widely and generally 
 useful to your brethren of mankind, — how far you have ex- 
 pended your strength in great and extensive designs for their 
 good, whether in promoting, as every Christian will seek to 
 do, even to the very uttermost, their temporal or their spi- 
 ritual advantage. Perhaps God gave you no time or talents 
 for the attainment of so large and generous ends ; but it will 
 first of all be required of you how far you have sought to ho- 
 nour God in the discharge of every domestic and relative 
 duty, — how far you have sought to devote yourselves to him 
 in your families, — how far you have, by your example and 
 your precepts, endeavoured that they should be the sanc- 
 tuaries of genuine godliness, — how far you have made the 
 Christian instruction of your children and servants the ob- 
 jects of your serious and prayerful attention, — how far you 
 have been faithful and conscientious in your service, — and 
 how far, with the feeling of a delegated trust, you have 
 sought to be approved of God in all. 
 
 There is a dignity attached to every sphere of duty, how- 
 ever narrow and however humble. The feeling that God has 
 given it to me dignifies every thing ; it is the grand charac- 
 ter of heaven, that every one, — every angel, — has his own 
 
16 DISCOURSE FIRST. 
 
 place, and is satisfied ; and it is the strong perception of 
 these truths which endears to us the example of the Shunam- 
 mite ; whilst, for your encouragement to dwell among your 
 own people, as she did, — that is, in your case, to be found in 
 the path of appointed duty, turning neither to the right hand 
 nor to the left, — we see in her experience those blessed fruits 
 of contentment and satisfaction, which such a spirit brings 
 along with it ; evincing how truly God has, in every case, 
 identified our duty with our happiness, and how, in having 
 made us willing through his grace, to be, or to do, or to suf- 
 fer any thing for his sake, he is not unrighteous to forget our 
 work of faith or labour of love, but will recompense us even 
 here an hundred fold. 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 Psalm lxxviii. 3t. — When he slew them, then they sought him ; and 
 they returned and inquired early after God. 
 
 These words were spoken of the Israelites during the period 
 of their sojourning in the wilderness ; and they contain the 
 statement of a fact which may be authenticated, as any other 
 fact concerning them may be, by reference to their history. 
 Of the truth of the declaration, examples might be given 
 from the various calamities with which God visited them for 
 their transgressions, — calamities which never failed, in some 
 degree, to awaken in their minds the remembrance of their 
 guilt and unworthiness, and to bring them to God, that they 
 might deprecate his wrath, and express their desire to re- 
 turn to him and live. The particular fact, however, which 
 it presents, and which is not less verified by their history, is, 
 that whilst, on these occasions, they sought God, it was only 
 then that they did seek him ; that they neither turned to 
 him nor inquired after him, when there was no such urgent 
 and pressing necessity ; that with the removal of the cala- 
 mity their prayers and their inquiries passed away ;, and that 
 they remained very much in this condition, till they were 
 again roused, by some new and pressing danger, to bethink 
 themselves of him whom they had forgotten in the day of 
 ease and of enjoyment. 
 
 I cannot suppose it necessary to illustrate, at any length, 
 a feature in the character of God's ancient people, which 
 
18 DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 the most careless reader of the Old Testament, particularly 
 of that part of it more immediately referred to in the text, 
 can hardly fail to have remarked. The whole course of the 
 history of the Jews may be characterized as consisting of al- 
 ternate periods of ingratitude and compunction, according as 
 they were either enjoying the blessings of the Divine good- 
 ness, or suffering under the infliction of the Divine judgments, 
 — of alternate examples of departure from God in the season 
 of peace and prosperity, and of professed return to his fear 
 and obedience whenever the day of visitation and trial came. 
 And no one acquainted with the mere outline of their event- 
 ful history as a nation, can mistake the truth and correct- 
 ness of what may be given as a general summary of their 
 religious character, — " When God slew them, then they 
 sought him ; and they returned and inquired early after 
 God." 
 
 I consider this language, however, as not merely appli- 
 cable to them, but as expressive of that kind of religion 
 which is natural to all men ; and their history, in this point, 
 only exemplifies what the history of every man, in his natu- 
 ral ignorance of God, will be found to exemplify. I shall 
 first, therefore, endeavour to illustrate this truth from the 
 appearances of the world around us, preparatory to the se- 
 cond point which will then present itself, — the affecting view 
 which this gives us of human nature, and of the sentiments 
 and feelings which men generally entertain towards God. 
 
 I. In touching upon the former of these points, I may 
 almost take it for granted that there are few now present 
 who have not found something in their own experience an- 
 swerable to that which is declared of the Israelites. There 
 are few, I daresay, who have never, in some shape or other, 
 been visited by calamity ; and, without supposing that it was 
 to be compared with those visitations which God sent upon 
 the Israelites, it may still have been such as to make them 
 feel their own weakness and helplessness under it. Living 
 in a world such as that in which we dwell, — a world in which 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 19 
 
 we are so often visited with personal afflictions, and so often 
 made to suffer through the sufferings of others, — a world 
 so full of change and uncertainty, where our brightest pro- 
 spects are so ready to be overcast, and our fairest hopes to 
 be blighted, — there are few who have not experienced those 
 feelings of danger and insecurity which an Israelite must 
 have felt so deeply under the awful visitations which God 
 at times sent upon him on account of his iniquities, and 
 who have not been made to see that every thing which they 
 held most dear was at the mercy of a power over which they 
 possessed no control, and before which they might be crushed 
 in a moment. 
 
 Taking for granted that something of this nature has been 
 experienced by many whom I now address, it can hardly 
 have been experienced by any to such an extent as to make 
 them feel their own helplessness, without also bringing along 
 with it the thought of God, however strange his presence 
 or his power may have formerly been to them. Insensible 
 as our minds may naturally be to the Divine existence and 
 agency, and easily as we live without God in the world, it 
 would argue more than ordinary insensibility to suppose 
 that this could continue when the hour of trial and calamity 
 came. There is wrought in us a conviction of the truth 
 that we are in God's hand, and compassed by his power, 
 which it becomes as difficult then to banish, as it was before 
 difficult to produce ; and you could not take the most har- 
 dened and ungodly sinner perhaps, — the man whose whole 
 life may be a melancholy blank in every thing that relates 
 to God, — the man whose way may have been as opposite to 
 that which God requires him to follow, as if God had left 
 him to walk as he listed, — and bring him into a situation of 
 deep distress and danger, — a situation in which he trembled 
 for his own life, or trembled for the life of those that were 
 dear to him, — without finding, that even he who seemed 
 scarcely to acknowledge the existence of a higher power, 
 had then his deep thoughts and his solemn apprehensions of 
 God, and that even he might be forced to feel the presence 
 
20 DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 and to own the supremacy of Him who ruleth in the king- 
 doms of men, and giveth to every man severally as he wills. 
 Whatever the man may be at other times, unless he is rest- 
 ing in a cold and remorseless atheism, he then feels that he 
 has to do with God, — he cannot resist the thought that he 
 is in the hands of one who has power to kill and to make 
 alive, — he cannot but feel that with him it resteth either to 
 crush him or to bring him back again, — and, though void 
 of any true conceptions of the Divine character, or of any 
 true reverence for the Divine honour, and without any feel- 
 ing, more than ever he had, how much he had been pouring 
 contempt on God by his disregard of him, he could not 
 then but feel, though it were nothing better than the force 
 of a natural instinct, something which sent him to God as 
 naturally as the sense of danger may, in any other case, 
 prompt him to seek for deliverance, and for the surest and 
 the speediest way by which deliverance may be obtained. 
 
 Now in all this there is nothing mysterious, or which can 
 need explanation ; for it is the very same kind of inquiry 
 after God which is attributed to the Israelites, under the 
 pressure of those calamities which threatened then* destruc- 
 tion. There are few who, in such a situation, have not 
 shown the very same desire to be saved from the miseries 
 with which they were visited as did the Israelites, and who 
 have not betaken themselves to God for deliverance with the 
 selfsame feeling that their help must come from him, — who 
 have not besought with equal fervour the removal of that 
 wrath which they were conscious they had provoked, and 
 who have not, with the same seriousness as they evinced, 
 professed their resolution to live more mindful of him. But 
 too often, also, has it been seen, in the case of multitudes as 
 in theirs, that when moved by tender pity for their wretch- 
 edness, God has removed the apprehension and the dread 
 which overwhelmed them, the recognition of his presence 
 and of his working has passed away, — that with the removal 
 of the suffering they have forgotten him whose compassion 
 they had besought, — that every conviction of their guilt 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 21 
 
 and undeservedness has been lost when the present danger 
 which awakened their consciences has been withdrawn, — 
 and that the fruit of all their inquiry after God, and of all 
 their professed return to his fear and obedience, has been as 
 evanescent as the morning cloud, or the early dew which 
 passeth away. 
 
 I cannot suppose it necessary to authenticate by examples 
 a state of things which does, I am persuaded, commend 
 itself to every man in the sight of God, not merely as that 
 which he has often seen in others, but which he has too 
 often experienced in himself; and melancholy as it may be 
 to think that we should require to be brought into distress 
 and extremity in order to feel the reality of the Divine pre- 
 sence and working, — that there should be so little, I had 
 almost said nothing, in the mercies which we enjoy at the 
 hand of God to awaken in us the feelings of affectionate de- 
 pendence, — the case is yet more melancholy when, after 
 this indifference has been overcome, and we have been made 
 to feel how truly we are in his hands, and that he compass- 
 eth all our ways, we should yet so easily relapse into all the 
 regardlessness of which we were before guilty, — that the 
 very circumstance which gave God new claims upon our 
 obedience, should prove, by the perversity of our nature, 
 the very circumstance that led us to disregard him, — that 
 the very blessing for which we supplicated and for which, if 
 withheld, we had continued to supplicate, when freely and 
 graciously imparted, should prove the occasion of shutting 
 out G )d from our thoughts, — and that, as if we owed him 
 nothing, and had no cause either of gratitude or of obligation, 
 we should return to our former indifference to his authority 
 and supremacy. Who would have thought, for example, 
 had they seen a tender and affectionate family weeping 
 round the sick, or, what they feared, the dying bed of one of 
 their number, — had they heard the sentiment which every 
 one of them was forward to utter, — that none but God could 
 avail them in the hour of their extremity,— or had they 
 heard the earnestness with which their cry was uplifted to 
 
22 DISCOURSE SECOND, 
 
 God in behalf of him in whom all their affections at such a 
 moment centred, — had they witnessed the strong sense 
 which they had of their entire dependence upon God, and 
 the readiness with which they listened to every representa- 
 tion at that moment presented to them on the subject of Di- 
 vine things, and the confessions which they made of their 
 ingratitude for all the blessings which he had so long be- 
 stowed, and which they had so long abused, — who would 
 have thought, I say, that the very thing which should dispel 
 all these hopeful appearances of a return to God, was simply 
 that God should grant them the desire of their hearts, — and 
 that he in whose safety they felt so profound an interest 
 should, in answer to their prayers, be restored ? And yet 
 the very blessing most fitted to conciliate their hearts to 
 God, may have proved the very occasion of shutting out 
 God from them all ! With the restoration to their society 
 and endearments of one in whom they were so much inte- 
 rested, they may have returned to all their worldliness and 
 all their former indifference about spiritual things, — and 
 they who were all attention and earnestness to hear, and to 
 be instructed and comforted by the declarations of the word 
 of God, may have met the man who came to put them in 
 remembrance of the vows which they had made, and the 
 mercy which they had experienced, with a coldness which 
 told but too truly that the interest which they had once felt 
 in the message which he brought had passed away, and 
 that they had now no wish to be reminded of the obligations 
 under which the Divine goodness had laid them to live not 
 unto themselves but unto God, 
 
 I am persuaded that such a case as this is one of no rare 
 occurrence, and that the kind of religion which it exemplifies 
 is that which is generally found in the world, and which 
 really must be found so long as men only fear and tremble 
 at God. Whatever profession they may make of regard 
 for God and for his will, the only occasions, perhaps, on 
 which they have seriously realized the Divine presence, or 
 felt that they needed any thing at the hand of God, have 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 23 
 
 been those on which, to use the language of our text, " God 
 slew them ;" and the only occasions on which they ever 
 manifested any disposition to inquire after God, or to return 
 to him, were those on which they were exposed to some 
 pressing and instant danger, such as to make them alarmed 
 for their own safety or the safety of those in whom they 
 were naturally interested. What may have been the im- 
 pressions then made, the inquiry then excited, and the 
 penitence then professed, — they can tell better than we can 
 express ; but this has been the too frequent and painful re- 
 sult, that, with the removal of the calamity which awakened 
 it, their earnestness has died away, — they have returned to 
 their former insensibility, only to be roused from it by some 
 new occasion of Divine judgment; and, instead of being 
 conducted onwards, as we might have anticipated, to a ready 
 and unreserved dedication of themselves to God, it has been 
 with them as with the Israelites, " When he slew them, 
 then," and only then, " they sought him, and returned and 
 inquired early after God. 11 
 
 II. In stating, as we proposed to do, in the second place, 
 the view thus presented of human nature with reference to 
 God, I can hardly suppose that those who have most fear- 
 fully exemplified it will seek to defend it ; for every man 
 must be aware that this is not the state of things which 
 should be found in our connexion with a Being on whom we 
 continually depend, — that there is in the Divine character, 
 and in the blessings which we daily receive at the hand of 
 God, that which should call forth a very different return. 
 And we judge that there are very few who can look back on 
 scenes similar to those which we have described, and think 
 of the sad contrariety which there hath been in their con- 
 duct to all which they then felt they required to be, and 
 then resolved to be, without being conscious of their ingra- 
 titude and disobedience. The fact is, however, that men do, 
 for all this, shelter their guilt under names and forms of 
 speech which serve very much, in their view, to detract 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 from its heinousness ; they are satisfied with admitting that 
 they are both very thoughtless and very ungrateful, — that 
 things are not as they ought to be, and that the kindness of 
 God ought to have ensured a different return; yet they 
 never pursue the subject so far as to see, in its true light, 
 what all this proves as to their own characters, and as to the 
 feelings which they are habitually cherishing towards God. 
 However criminal may be the charge of thoughtlessness or 
 forgetfulness, in so far as God is concerned, we apprehend 
 that were the same treatment to be given to a fellow-crea- 
 ture, it would be held to argue something of a far more 
 hateful nature, and that they should at once affix to it a 
 character far more deserving of reprobation. If a son could 
 be found so lost to all right feeling as never to evince any 
 regard for his father, except on those occasions when the 
 just indignation of that father was roused against him, and 
 he was threatened with the loss of all that his paternal good- 
 ness had conferred, — if he could, without scruple and with- 
 out remorse, live forgetful of all his obligations, and perse- 
 vere in those courses which he knew to be in opposition to 
 his father's will, — if the only thing that awakened him 
 from his regardlessness, or moved him to show any sense of 
 dependence on his father's kindness, was when he saw that 
 that kindness which he had so long enjoyed and so long 
 abused was about to be withdrawn, — if the relentings which 
 he then expressed for his conduct only continued so long as 
 he felt that there was any danger of his incurring the ruin 
 which he had provoked, — and if, so soon as he had hopes of 
 having pacified his father's anger, and induced him to relax 
 from the threatened severity, his old indifference and disre- 
 gard of every paternal feeling should return, I think that 
 we should account this to argue something much worse than 
 forgetfulness, — that we should at once hold it as proving the 
 utter absence of any right filial disposition, and as evincing 
 a mind under the dominion of the most entire selfishness, in 
 that very relation where selfishness was of all other things 
 the most hateful and the most deserving of abhorrence. 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 25 
 
 Again, should a benefactor experience, at the hand of 
 the man whom he had befriended, no expressions of grati- 
 tude so long as his benefits were continued, but, on the 
 contrary, see every thing in his conduct to tell that he felt 
 no obligation, and deemed himself to have a right to the 
 blessings which he had of his free goodness conferred, — if 
 even to preserve in the mind of him who was the object of 
 his kindness any feeling of his dependence he required at 
 times to withdraw it, or threatened him with its with- 
 drawment, — if it was then, and only then, that he could 
 bring him to any sense of his ingratitude, or awaken any 
 expressions of sorrow for his abuse of the favours he had re- 
 ceived, — and if, so soon as he gave him new assurance that 
 he would not deal with him according to his deservings, it 
 was seen that all his compunctions and all his sorrow passed 
 away, we should have little difficulty in determining what 
 was the character of those supplications which he had pre- 
 sented, and of that sorrow and repentance which he had 
 professed to feel ; we could not but see that they were 
 drawn from him as much by concern for his own interest, as 
 by any concern which he felt for all the ingratitude of which 
 he had been guilty, and that the sense of his unworthiness 
 had never been very painful or very troublesome, had he 
 not been brought into a situation which made him feel, that 
 without some such expression of guilt and undeservedness, 
 he could not hope to move the mind of his benefactor still 
 to pity and to spare him. And when such is the judgment 
 which we naturally and at once pass upon a case like this, 
 it were only cloaking the guilt in which every man, more or 
 less, shares, were we to say of our own ingratitude for the 
 Divine mercies, that it was merely the result of thoughtless- 
 ness, — or were we not to acknowledge that, in the case of 
 multitudes, their religion may be described in the brief but 
 expressive language of the Psalmist, — and that the God, 
 whose character and whose ways towards them were fitted to 
 conciliate their affections, and render him the object of a 
 ready and grateful homage, had no other hold of them than 
 
26 DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 by means of their fears, — and that they knew of no other chan- 
 nel through which his character and his presence might be 
 recognised, than the selfish anxiety which they felt for their 
 own safety, and their own natural and instinctive dread of 
 the dangers from which he alone could grant them deliverance. 
 I really do not think that, on the ordinary principles of hu- 
 man nature, or according to the judgments which we every day 
 pronounce, any other conclusion than this could be formed ; 
 and a single experiment might, I fear in too many cases, 
 prove the soundness and correctness of this j udgment. For 
 were all those motives withdrawn which may induce a mere- 
 ly worldly mind to make a profession of reverence for God, 
 which it has never truly felt, — were those calamities removed 
 from the sphere of human life which compel something more 
 than a merely nominal recognition of the Divine existence, — 
 were there to be no afflictions, — no trials, — no death, — none 
 of those occasions when we cannot but think of God, — were 
 we subject to none of those changes and vicissitudes which 
 visit our families, and were we to be favoured with the most 
 enduring and unmingled prosperity, and upheld in the ful- 
 ness of every blessing which the natural heart could desire, 
 — were God, after having thus swept at once and for ever 
 away from the face of human things all that could awaken 
 any feeling of dread and apprehension, and to proclaim from 
 heaven that, however men might live, and however they 
 might disregard him, he would never punish them for their 
 sins, and that they should continue to exist for ever in a 
 state of unchanging security ; — were he to do this, such a 
 thing would be hailed by multitudes as the state which was 
 above every other object desirable. And although even 
 then their obligations to honour him would not be less than 
 ever they were, I fear that all this would only be regarded 
 as a dispensation from obedience, and that men would be 
 found to repay their benefactor for placing them in a condi- 
 tion so enviable, — and which was no less of his bestowing, 
 because he had promised for ever to uphold them in it, — 
 only by an eternal forgetfulness of his grace, and even by 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 27 
 
 striving to blot out every thing from the face of the world, 
 which remained to give testimony to the existence or the 
 providence of God. 
 
 I am persuaded that this is no exaggerated statement of 
 what would, in these circumstances, take place ; and it is jus- 
 tified by that which we see every day taking place in the world 
 around us. The atheistical sentiment which at first led men 
 to propose to make unto themselves gods, however false, 
 shows us that naturally the Divine existence has with them 
 no other foundation than in their fears ; that, in the mind 
 of man, naturally, fear is the only principle which leads him 
 to recognise or do God homage ; that, in so far as any ho- 
 mage is given, it is compelled by his dread of God ; that 
 were this principle withdrawn, though God would not surely 
 be less worthy of his regard, no such homage would be paid 
 to him ; and thus that great Being, whose character is fitted 
 to be the object of exalted and refined contemplation to all 
 his creatures, — whose works and whose ways were designed 
 to awaken in every heart feelings of the most delighted and 
 adoring complacency, — and whose unwearied compassion and 
 grace are fitted to command a gratitude such as it becomes a 
 creature to pay, and such as it would not be unworthy even 
 of the great Creator of all to receive, — is practically treated 
 by multitudes as though there were nothing about him to 
 beget any feeling in their hearts beyond the conviction, that 
 he possessed an infinite power at which they could not but 
 tremble, and an unchanging rectitude, which at times they 
 would be fain to propitiate, because conscious that they had 
 often and grievously provoked it. 
 
 I shall not be held as including under this description 
 those whose hearts have been touched with the power of Di- 
 vine grace, manifested in the Gospel. However they may 
 have found it to be true in their former experience, and may 
 yet find it true, that the tendency of their hearts and natures 
 is to carry them away from God; and however they may 
 need affliction, as the means of bringing them back to him ; 
 the views which they have been led to entertain of God, and 
 
28 DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 the feelings with which they now regard him, constitute one 
 very great and striking point of difference between them and 
 such as are yet in their natural ignorance and unconcern 
 about God. 
 
 I should as little desire, however, that any of the obser- 
 vations now made should interpose a barrier, as through mis- 
 apprehension they may perhaps do, in the way of a sinner's 
 return to God ; or that any one who is convinced that all 
 his professed regard for God has been merely the result of a 
 gross and hateful selfishness, should, on that account, con- 
 sider it as impossible to serve God on any other principle, 
 and thus give up the idea of serving God at all, and be left 
 in utter hopelessness of doing any thing that was accept- 
 able to him. Though it is right that we should be made to 
 feel, if this has been the source and substance of all our re- 
 ligion, that there is something in it essentially wrong in prin- 
 ciple, and that it can never therefore be well pleasing to God, 
 — that it is dishonourable to the Divine Majesty, and can- 
 not therefore be received as the homage which he has a right 
 to claim, and cannot but claim from us all ; yet one design 
 of God in sending those afflictions which lead us to return 
 and inquire after him is, by attacking our fears, to lead us 
 onward to better and juster apprehensions of his character 
 and will. Such dispensations of his providence have been 
 often the means appointed for leading men to the great 
 source of a new and better obedience ; and many of those 
 who, for all the forgetfulness of God which adheres to them, 
 and which none will be more ready to confess and deplore 
 than they, do still feel that they are animated and encou- 
 raged to serve God from something more than concern for 
 their own safety, and may be able to tell that the circum- 
 stances in which this originated were the very same with 
 those which the Psalmist describes, — " God slew them, and 
 then they sought him."" However lost these convictions of 
 sin, and wretchedness, and misery, which every man is made, 
 more or less, to feel, may be upon the mass of the world, 
 there are not a few on whom, by a Divine blessing, the effects 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 29 
 
 have not ended when the cause which produced them had 
 ceased to operate. The affliction may have left an impres- 
 sion which survived when it passed away ; and such exam- 
 ples remain as encouragements to assure every man who would 
 seek God, whatever may have been the motive by which he 
 was actuated, and however imperfect the feeling that first 
 brought him to God, and however far he should be from 
 resting satisfied with it, as if there were need of nothing purer 
 or better, — that still he is, while following his convictions 
 and turning from his sins, in the way of duty, which is at 
 all times the way of safety ; and that were he to delay in- 
 quiring after God, or seeking to his footstool in penitence 
 and in prayer, till such time as he could offer unto God a 
 service that was worthy of him, he would never come to seek 
 after God at all. To use an illustration, which the beauti- 
 ful parable of the Saviour will readily furnish, — the father 
 did not ask his prodigal son what had led him to bethink 
 himself of the home from which he had wandered, for he 
 knew that it was nothing else than the merest selfishness, — 
 the feeling of his own bitter wretchedness and misery, ag- 
 gravated as this was by the reflection that he had provoked 
 and deserved it. He did not meet him on his return by re- 
 proaches for his ingratitude, nor tell him that since he had 
 forgotten him in the day of revelry and enjoyment, he could 
 not expect to be remembered of him in the day of want and 
 poverty. And, in like manner, God will not ask any of you 
 who, through the mere feeling of your own danger and ex- 
 tremity, are led to think of him and to turn to him, what 
 brought you first to this course, or reject you because it 
 really was that you could not do better, and were forced to 
 own his presence and his power (for it is, I fear, the case 
 with all of us, that a stern necessity, in one shape or other, 
 leads us first to God), — he will not ask this of you, be as- 
 sured, provided you do only turn and come to him now in 
 sincerity and in truth. 
 
 To ensure this, however, — to ensure something so deep, 
 and permanent, and abiding, as that it shall not pass away 
 
30 DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 with the mere sense of wretchedness and guilt in which it 
 may at first originate, it is necessary for all of us that we 
 should see God in another character than that in which we 
 naturally regard him. It is only in so far as the dispensa- 
 tions of his afflicting providence, — those warnings by which 
 he knocks at the door of our hearts, — lead us to hear the ad- 
 monitions and invitations of his grace, that any change will 
 be wrought on our hearts ; and though you may begin with 
 an earnestness as strong as was your indifference before to 
 seek after God, — though there may be all the appearance 
 and all the reality of seriousness in the prayers which you 
 present to him for assistance and deliverance, — though you 
 may vow,, and vow as you think in all sincerity, that you 
 will never forget God as you have done, and that you will 
 evince your gratitude by living to his service, — it needs not 
 the gift of prophecy, — it needs nothing more than an ac- 
 quaintance with your nature or my own to tell, that, unless 
 his grace touch your hearts, and unless you are encouraged 
 through the knowledge and belief of the Gospel, to regard 
 him, not merely as a sovereign who must be feared, but as 
 a gracious and compassionate father, who is to be loved, — 
 all your impressions of Divine things will be as passing and 
 as perishable, because as selfish, as those of the persons of 
 whom it is said, " When he slew them, then they sought 
 him ; and they returned, and inquired early after God. 11 
 
 It is impossible that the religion of the world can be other- 
 wise than we find it, so long as the world regards God in the 
 light of a hard taskmaster ; — so long as there is nothing seen 
 in God which awakens any other feeling than dread and ap- 
 prehension, men will only think of him when they cannot 
 forbear it, and they will cease to think of him so soon as the 
 danger or extremity which presses upon them is removed. 
 Their life, like that of the Israelites, will be composed of 
 alternate compunctious visitings on account of sin, and re- 
 turns to a course of forgetfulness of God, when the load is 
 lightened, under the pressure of which they cried to him for 
 deliverance. And if you would have all this done away with, 
 
DISCOURSE SECOND. 
 
 31 
 
 there is no other resource than an acquaintance with him, 
 as, in Jesus Christ, a God who is waiting and willing to be 
 gracious. The afflictions and the trials of life were all in- 
 tended to bring those who are yet in their sins to the know- 
 ledge and the belief of the Gospel. If they fail of this, they 
 will only bring out more plainly and palpably the corrupt 
 selfishness of our nature ; if they are blessed for leading to 
 this, however a mere concern for our own safety may have 
 begun our inquiries after God, there they will not end ; and 
 when you are brought to see that the God whom you dread, 
 and from whom you turn away, is waiting to meet you with 
 a free forgiveness and a full salvation,— that he is seeking, 
 by the richest mercy, to win his way to your confiding re- 
 gard, — that his warnings and addresses to you on the dan- 
 ger of sin were all intended to reclaim you from a course not 
 more adverse to his glory than to your well-being,— and that, 
 to secure this, he sent his own Son in our nature to take away 
 s in 5 there is a truth presented which will dissolve the en- 
 mity of your hearts, and bring you near to him, not with the 
 dread of slaves, but with the spirit of children. You will 
 then be led to feel your happiness identified with a course 
 of willing and affectionate obedience ; and under the impulse 
 of gratitude and affection, you will be led to live, not unto 
 yourselves, but unto him who loved you, and gave himself 
 for you. 
 
DISCOURSE THIRD.* 
 
 Isaiah, xl. 6, 7, 8. — " The voice said, Cry. And he said, What 
 shall I cry ? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the 
 flower of the field : The grass withereth, the flower fadeth ; because 
 the Spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it : surely the people is grass. The 
 grass withereth, the flower fadeth : but the word of our God shall stand 
 for ever. 
 
 These words present two things in striking contrast, — the 
 nature of man and the word of God ; the one, which is lik- 
 ened to the most perishable thing around you, — the grass 
 which in the morning groweth up, and in the evening is cut 
 down and withereth ; the other, enduring and unchangeable 
 as the everlasting nature of Him from whom it proceedeth. 
 
 It would seem as if the former of these truths scarcely 
 needed so very solemn an announcement ; and as if much 
 less than the voice of a Prophet had sufficed to assure men 
 that they were but as grass. It is one of those very obvious 
 facts which no experience has contradicted, — which has grown 
 so common as to have become proverbial, — and of which, be- 
 sides the general impression of its truth that we must have ga- 
 thered from the observation of the world around us, every 
 one of us has had our own particular and individual lesson. 
 
 When the Prophet inquired of God, What shall I cry ? we 
 
 * Preached in St George's Church, 9th February 1832, being the 
 Presbyterial Fast on account of the prevalence of Cholera in the city, 
 which was also the anniversary of Dr Thomson's death. 
 
DISCOURSE THIRD. 33 
 
 may be disposed, in the expectation, perhaps, that he would 
 announce to the world something of which it had never heard 
 before, to wonder that he should have been required to pub- 
 lish so common and so ordinary a sentiment as the perish- 
 able nature of all human glory, — that " all flesh was grass, 
 and the glory of them as the flower of the grass." Were 
 we, however, to assign any reason why it should have been 
 thought necessary to publish such a truth, I apprehend that 
 independently of the contrast which it is intended to exhibit, 
 a reason might be found in the very circumstance on account 
 of which it may to some appear wonderful that it should 
 have been thus published at all ; and that reason may be 
 found in its very commonness and familiarity. It was not 
 because it was a truth which men did not know, but because 
 they knew it so well, and were so familiar with it, — it was 
 because it passed current amongst them as one of those things 
 which no man might contest, which it required no learning 
 to unravel, no process of reasoning to reach or to establish, — 
 it was because no man could ordinarily even so much as hear 
 it spoken of by his fellow, without intimating that he needed 
 not him to teach it, and that he could not make it clearer 
 and surer to him than it was before ; it was for this reason 
 that the voice might well cry. It was because this truth 
 shared the natural fate of all truths which are familiar, — in 
 being a subject on which men seldom reflected, and which 
 passed through their minds without awakening any of those 
 deep impressions with which we should naturally expect it 
 to be associated, — it was because, being thus common, there 
 was a degree of difficulty in fixing the mind upon this, which 
 we do not experience to the same extent with other truths 
 which are less evident to ordinary observation, though they 
 may be far from so nearly concerning us, — it was because it 
 was so habitually admitted, that no man could hope that 
 there was either curiosity to be gratified, or novelty to be in- 
 dulged, from all that you could tell him of it, — because he in- 
 stantly passed from it as from a subject which, though not 
 in itself distasteful perhaps, may become so, even to weariness, 
 
 c 
 
34 DISCOURSE THIBD. 
 
 from the frequency with which it has been urged, — it was thus 
 that if there was any important practical lesson to be deduced 
 from it, or any thing in the solemn announcement of the truth 
 by a Divine messenger, which might serve to arrest the at- 
 tention, and gain for it even a momentary place in the seri- 
 ous regard of those to whom it was addressed, that we may 
 see why it might not be unnecessary or uncalled for, that 
 God should have bidden his Prophet proclaim, though it had 
 been as a single and detached sentiment, and unconnected 
 with any other, that " All flesh is grass, and all the glory 
 of man as the flower of the grass." 
 
 And I am here led naturally to advert to a distinction be- 
 tween natural and moral truth, which may not indeed hold 
 in every point, but is, nevertheless, sufficiently broad to af- 
 ford room for a separation between them. In the natural 
 world, and in the investigation of natural things, that truth 
 may not always be the most useful, which is the most obvi- 
 ous. It may frequently require the highest effort of the most 
 gifted mind to reach it, — the discovery may have been the 
 result of long and patient investigation, — and the thing itself 
 have been so remote from common apprehension, and so 
 hidden from ordinary observation, that nothing less than this 
 investigation was sufficient to detect it. You find, accord- 
 ingly, that many of those truths which have been most suc- 
 cessfully applied to the business of the present life, and which 
 have been most useful in promoting the comfort and well- 
 being of man, are truths which have been elicited only by 
 the light of science, and by the well-directed efforts of a pa- 
 tient and persevering sagacity. Whereas, in the moral 
 world, and in the case of moral truth, that truth which is the 
 most obvious, is always the most useful. The truth which 
 may suffice to guide man to the knowledge of what is right 
 in human conduct, or which may furnish man with the most 
 important motives for pursuing it, is as plain, and lies as 
 open, to the view of a peasant, as it does to the view of a 
 philosopher. And it is in those things which are every where 
 apparent, which lie on the very surface, and which no man 
 
DISCOURSE THIRD. 35 
 
 can fail to discover, however he may fail to improve them ; 
 it is in these that you are to find the elements of all moral 
 wisdom, — the substantial truths which are to direct you in 
 the path of duty and of happiness. If there be a single 
 truth in the Word of God, or a single moral fact in human 
 history, which is obscure or difficult of detection, you may 
 be sure that this truth, though by no means to be underva- 
 lued, has but a slight and indirect bearing on human con- 
 duct. Had it been more important for us to know it, it had 
 assuredly been more clearly revealed, or more easily appre- 
 hended ; in proportion to its strangeness and its singulari- 
 ty, you may almost predict its comparative inutility. And 
 instead, therefore, of undervaluing any truth which is given 
 forth by God, simply because it is a common truth, and a 
 truth which we already know, and which every man must 
 know, and setting it aside, therefore, as that from which no 
 important lesson was to be deduced, — I say, that simply be- 
 cause it is a common and ordinary truth, you should rather 
 be disposed to regard it as containing the seeds of true wis- 
 dom, by receiving and admitting which into your hearts, you 
 may be made wise unto salvation. 
 
 The application of this principle to the message which the 
 Prophet was commissioned to proclaim, is so evident, that it 
 can hardly require to be pointed out to you. As I have 
 already remarked, it contains one of those truths which every 
 man knows, and which no man would ever think of disput- 
 ing, which has been familiar to us from our childhood, and 
 which we have had abundant opportunities of verifying by 
 our own observation. Who does not know that life is un- 
 certain, and must soon pass away ? — that death is in the 
 world, and that it is appointed unto all men once to die ? 
 — that underneath the glory of the whole world, the worm is 
 already at work which is to consume its beauty, and lay its 
 honour in the dust ? — and that, were we to continue amid the 
 wreck of all around us, and no succession of living beings to be 
 kept up, we should soon live alone in a desolate and unpeo- 
 pled wilderness ? Who has not read, or who has not witness- 
 
36 DISCOURSE THIRD. 
 
 ed striking exhibitions of the vanity of all human expecta- 
 tions, and of the sudden and overwhelming disappointment 
 of all human hopes ? of parents bereaved of their children, 
 and children bereaved of their parents ? of men being brought 
 down in a moment, in the fulness of health and of enjoyment, 
 to the chambers of the grave ? and of others, in the very 
 midst of all that this world could give to add to their glory and 
 their triumph, being severed at once and for ever from it 
 all ? Who is there living in a world like this, that does not 
 know and is not familiar with these things ? And yet, in- 
 stead of undervaluing it, because it is a common and a well- 
 known fact, and conceiving that you have therefore no mo- 
 ral or spiritual lesson to learn from it, you are bound, from 
 this very circumstance, and because it meets you every 
 where, and because, go where you will, you find it meeting 
 you, — you are bound to consider, from its being thus in- 
 scribed on the face of human things, that it is fitted to teach 
 you a truth of which you need ever to be reminded, and 
 which is just as important as its inculcation is frequent 
 throughout every page of God's Word, and every path of 
 his providence. 
 
 This view of the subject, derived from the very circum- 
 stances which would lead many to undervalue it, is amply 
 borne out by the consideration of the truth which the Pro- 
 phet was commissioned to proclaim ; and, however common 
 it may be, were it only aright fixed in your minds, and 
 wrought into your very nature, — were you only brought 
 to act under its influence, and to have respect to it in all 
 your ways, — there is no truth which could be in itself more 
 effectual for guiding you to the right estimate of the world 
 and its enjoyments, or for assisting and preparing your minds 
 to receive the lessons of a higher and diviner wisdom. I 
 can scarcely conceive the single thought, that we ourselves, 
 and all that constitutes the source of our happiness and en- 
 dearments, are fast passing away from the face of the earth, 
 like the most quickly fading thing around us, to be realized 
 by any,— that in a few years all that is living and breathing, 
 
DISCOURSE THIRD. 37 
 
 and full of animation and enjoyment, shall be silent as the 
 grave and mingled with the clods of the valley, — that every 
 thing which now interests, and engages, and delights us, 
 shall become to us as though it had never been, — I can 
 scarcely conceive this thought to be realized without its 
 leading to something, not merely good as a matter of feeling, 
 but good in what regards our best interests, — without in- 
 ducing a soberness of mind favourable to the reception and 
 inculcation of spiritual wisdom, and without fitting us in 
 some degree to feel the suitableness and the necessity of 
 some such confidence as the Gospel brings near. 
 
 Did we only allow our minds to dwell upon this most 
 common truth, I think it were impossible that men could be 
 so entirely engrossed by the things of a present world as we 
 find them, — that they could be buried in its earthliness, or 
 immersed in its pleasures, or busily engaged in the pur- 
 suit of its riches or its honours as they are, or that they 
 could live so habitually forgetful that they have any thing 
 to care for, or any thing to be concerned about, beyond 
 what they must eat, or what they must drink, or where- 
 withal they must be clothed. That truth, simple and easily 
 admitted as it may be, could not be habitually contemplated 
 without breaking in upon the fatality of this world's gratifi- 
 cations ; it would dispel the delusion which makes the world 
 in which we live every thing, and the world that lies beyond 
 it nothing ; you could not in that case, even though you 
 would, live so devoted to time and to vanity, — you could not 
 count so firmly as you seem to do on the perpetuity of its 
 connexions, — you could not live so forgetful of your spiritual 
 and eternal interests, — you could not so easily and so perse- 
 veringly forget God and your dependence upon him, — you 
 could not be content to remain in that ignorance of his 
 character and his providence in which many live, and in 
 which many die, — you could not rest so contented as some 
 of you may be doing, without having any sure ground of 
 hope whether you are the objects of his favour or not, — you 
 would be constrained to think of Him, — your very help- 
 
•38 DISCOURSE THIRD. 
 
 lessness would make you think of Him, — the feeling that 
 you were withering before the breath of the Almighty would 
 force from you a cry to Him, the very hiding of whose face 
 troubled you, — and just because he had constituted you 
 reasonable and provident beings, who could not be indif- 
 ferent to the future, unless you could contrive to forget it, 
 would you, by this first principle of your nature, be necessi- 
 tated to look out for information about that world whither 
 you are travelling, and become indifferent to a world which 
 you saw could never be your resting-place. 
 
 These are lessons which the habitual recognition of such a 
 truth as this would teach you ; and if they are of the highest 
 importance for us to learn, as we are men who are to be judged 
 by the deeds done in the body, — if they are the first rudiments 
 of all moral and spiritual wisdom, — they are to be learned, 
 not from the deductions of philosophy, or reached by any ap- 
 plication of profound reasoning, or confined to the few who 
 have time and perseverance for abstract inquiry, — the mate- 
 rials of them are strown on the face of the world around 
 you, — they are to be found in the wreck of human hope and 
 human happiness, — in the ravages which death is making 
 in your families and neighbourhoods, — in every funeral pro- 
 cession that moves along your streets, — in every change 
 which seasons and years are bringing round, — in short, in 
 that silent but deep and solemn response which the whole 
 world and every part of it is giving to the Prophet's cry, — 
 " All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the 
 flower of the field." 
 
 It is good on every subject on which we would seek to 
 influence the minds of human beings, that there should be 
 certain truths which are on all hands admitted, and which 
 are in themselves incontrovertible. These form the basis of 
 all reasoning, and let us be driven from other points as we 
 may, or let any resistance be given to the truths which we 
 would seek to build on them, these still remain as a resource 
 to which we betake ourselves, and from which we renew the 
 assault. Precisely such a truth for the work of the Christian 
 
DISCOURSE THIKD. 39 
 
 minister, is that which the Prophet proclaimed. It is of 
 that nature which no scepticism has ever sought to impugn, 
 — it is an incontrovertible fact in human history and human 
 experience, — it carries with it all the force of a first prin- 
 ciple, — no man ever yet thought that it required demonstra- 
 tion, and the conclusions that we would seek to draw from it 
 are so plain and palpable that no man who admits the first 
 principles of Divine truth, or who is possessed of the small- 
 est measure of a reasonable nature, can mistake or resist 
 them. They may be reduced to a question of the plainest 
 arithmetic, — they may be brought within the compass of 
 numbers, — the balance may be shown to lie as clearly on 
 the side whither we would carry your determinations, as 
 time is exceeded by eternity, — as a finite by an infinite 
 number, — it needs no reasoning to understand the inference 
 any more than it does the truth on which it rests, — the man 
 of the plainest understanding apprehends it as easily and as 
 readily as the man of the most profound intellect, — and he 
 who has realized most distinctly, and has his mind imbued 
 most deeply with the vanity and the short-livedness of all 
 human glory, will be best prepared to appreciate the per- 
 petuity of the Divine, — will be the best prepared by the 
 consideration that all flesh is grass, and the glory of man as 
 the flower of grass, — to estimate the value and importance of 
 the word of the Lord which abideth for ever. 
 
 Many reasonably apply in this light the contrast which 
 the Apostle Peter presents when, in his first Epistle, he 
 quotes, as it would appear, this very passage from Isaiah, 
 although the particular object of the contrast, as stated by 
 him, seems to have been to ensure the faith of those to whom 
 he wrote in the promises of God concerning the great salva- 
 tion which was to be revealed, and to silence the distrust which 
 they might have been led to entertain of events so wonder- 
 ful and so far beyond any thing that they had ever known, 
 — from the very great difference that subsisted between the 
 nature of which they were partakers and that of the Most 
 High, — between a nature which was perishable, and whose 
 
40 
 
 DISCOURSE THIRD. 
 
 glory was as the grass, and a nature, every attribute and de- 
 claration of which partook of its essential unchangeableness. 
 The Apostle has told us that the word of the Lord, which 
 endureth for ever, is the word which by the Gospel is 
 preached unto us. The declaration of our text, as it comes 
 thus explained to us, therefore, is a declaration of the un- 
 changeableness of that foundation on which a Christian is 
 required to build all his hopes ; and instead of presenting a 
 contrast between the weakness of our nature and the ever- 
 lastingness of the Divine, which could only serve to make 
 us fall prostrate in the dust before Him, our text will be 
 found to present a truth the most supporting and strength- 
 ening, because the most adapted to all our wants and neces- 
 sities, and because revealing to us how there may be con- 
 nected to our frail and perishing nature something of the 
 unchangeableness of the Divine. 
 
 If there be one feeling more than another which the view 
 of the passing nature of every thing around us is fitted to 
 make on our minds, it is that feeling of the emptiness and 
 unsatisfying nature of all earthly good, to which no man is 
 entirely a stranger, — the feeling of its utter incapacity to 
 meet the wants of an immortal being. Let it have all the 
 other qualifications which it may to ensure our happiness, 
 we must feel that it wants one essential element so long as 
 it is not lasting, — that the happiness on the security of 
 which you cannot count for a single moment, is no happi- 
 ness at all, — and however there may be men that can over- 
 look all this, and never enjoy the world the less for all the 
 changes that are going on around them, and which they 
 themselves are so soon to undergo, they cannot do so with- 
 out surrendering themselves to that callousness of heart 
 which is not more truly the characteristic of utter ungodli- 
 ness, than of a state devoid of every thing that exalts and 
 dignifies human nature. There is felt the need of a resting- 
 place, — of a foundation more solid and durable than any 
 thing which this world presents, — of something that par- 
 takes not of the shifting nature of al! human things, — some- 
 
DISCOURSE THIRD. 41 
 
 thing, in short, which is possessed of the same qualities 
 with that of which the Prophet here said that it standeth and 
 abideth for ever. 
 
 Now the Prophet says that this character belongs to the 
 word of the Lord, which, whilst it mingles with human 
 things, and is let down into the world, remains untouched 
 and unaffected by all its changes. Not unlike Him who, in 
 a higher sense, is God's Eternal Word, and who came in 
 our nature, without impairing in any degree by its assump- 
 tion the essentially Divine and immutable qualities of His 
 own, — does His word come down to man and dwell with 
 man upon this earth, whilst it retains all the perpetuity and 
 unchangeableness of Heaven. And if that word does pre- 
 sent any thing fitted to comfort and to sustain our hearts 
 amidst the changes that are every where around us, — if it 
 tells us of everlasting counsels of peace to sinful man, — if it 
 reveals to us a city which hath foundations, whose builder 
 and maker is God, — if it brings life and immortality to 
 light, — if it lays a sure pathway to their possession and en- 
 joyment across that fearful gulf which sin hath placed be- 
 tween us and God, — do you not feel that it supplies the 
 very thing which human necessities require, and this just 
 because it is the word of God which liveth and abideth for 
 ever ? 
 
 I need not say to those of you who are acquainted with 
 the Gospel that these are its discoveries ; and I might, at this 
 point, without diverging very far from the object which the 
 Prophet had in view, endeavour to explain and open up its 
 nature generally, as it is adapted to all the wants of a sinful 
 and afflicted world, — a world which is withering away before 
 the curse of the Almighty. I might explain it as a mes- 
 sage of mercy and grace to your souls, — as extending to 
 every variety of human suffering, — as sent to heal the 
 broken-hearted, — to proclaim deliverance to the captive, 
 and the opening of the prison to them that are bound, — as 
 addressed to every sinner, in every degree and depth of 
 natural and spiritual wretchedness, — and as meeting him 
 
42 DISCOURSE THIRD. 
 
 with that very blessing which his necessities require, — free 
 for him to receive and appropriate without the burden of 
 one qualifying condition. But that which will not fail to 
 commend most of all to you the word which by the Gospel 
 is thus preached unto you, — especially when you think of it 
 in contrast with the passing and perishable nature of every 
 thing in the world beside, — will, I am persuaded, be the 
 immutability of its nature. Let every thing change as it 
 may, it never changeth ; when the flood and the tempest 
 descend, it floats on the face of the waters like some ark of 
 refuge to which every man may flee, and he who believes 
 and receives it into his heart as the word which God hath 
 sent him, becomes possessed of a principle which constitutes 
 him, in some degree, a partaker of its own incorruptible 
 nature. 
 
 It is when viewed in this light that the declaration of our 
 text is the most interesting. It is no doubt very difficult 
 for us to form any distinct conception of an attribute of the 
 Divine nature, or a quality of the Divine word, so very re- 
 mote from any thing which attaches to our nature or to our 
 counsels, as that of perpetuity or unchangeableness. It may 
 assist our minds, however, to conceive of it, when we reflect 
 that the very event which proves the mutability of our na- 
 ture, proclaims the unchangeableness of the Divine ; and 
 it is because the word of the Lord abideth, that man is 
 as grass, and the glory of man as the flower of the grass. 
 The truth which every where forces itself upon us, that men 
 are dying and perishing creatures, remains true in conse- 
 quence of the word of the Lord. Corruptibility and decay 
 are no essential properties of a nature like ours, — for men 
 once existed without being subject to corruption, — " It is 
 appointed unto all men once to die;" " death hath come upon 
 all men, because all have sinned.'' 1 In the universality with 
 which this sentence is executed, we see a proof how God's 
 word abideth. But God hath spoken another word, not less 
 sure and not less steadfast, even the word which by the Gos- 
 pel is preached to you. He hath told dying men how they 
 
DISCOURSE T1I1KD. 43 
 
 may never die, — how this mortal may put on immortality, 
 and this corruptible incorruption, — how a nature that is now 
 moved and changed by every breath of the Almighty, may 
 become, by the inspiration of his spirit, a nature that shall 
 never pass away. The word which he has given us declares, 
 that he who believeth in Jesus Christ shall never die, — that 
 he is born of the incorruptible seed which liveth and abid- 
 eth for ever ; and when Ave are called to feel how true he is 
 in the one case, let us be persuaded to rest on him as equal- 
 ly faithful in the other. The transitory nature of all human 
 things, instead of serving, as it does I fear with many, merely 
 to call forth a few commonplace observations, or a few sen- 
 timental feelings, will then become to vis, as it is fitted and 
 designed to be, a preacher of the Gospel ; and every time 
 that we are called to feel that all flesh is grass, and all the 
 goodliness thereof as the flower of the field, we shall be only 
 bound the closer to that word of the Lord which liveth and 
 abideth for ever. 
 
 I do not know that there can be much necessity for ap- 
 plying a subject, which needs only to be realized in order to 
 lead you to its right application. If it be indeed true, that, 
 whilst all flesh is grass, the word of God abideth for ever, — 
 that word, by the abiding of which in your hearts you may 
 be in some degree partakers of its own incorruption, there 
 is no inference plainer than that you should, as you value 
 your own peace and happiness, make it the ground of your 
 dependence and confidence. The matter in question is, 
 as I have already said, no abstract consideration ; — you can- 
 not so much as open your eyes on the world, without seeing 
 that it is fast passing away from you, — and you cannot think 
 of yourselves without knowing that you must soon pass away 
 from it ; and, therefore, as you are dying men, — men who 
 must stand at the judgment-seat of Christ, — men who, what- 
 ever you may think now, will then find yourselves, if you 
 are not in Him, of all creatures the most miserable, — delay 
 not, I beseech you, to make his Word your confidence and 
 
 5 
 
44) DISCOURSE THIRD. 
 
 dependence, — to have it abiding and dwelling in your hearts, 
 — for " if any man abide not in him, he is cast forth as a 
 branch, and is withered, and men gather them and cast them 
 into the fire, and they are burned. 11 
 
 If these considerations might be expected to influence your 
 minds at one time more than another, it is surely at the pre- 
 sent, when that judgment which hath realized more than ever 
 the Prophet's description, — that surely the people is grass, 
 — is still hanging over us, — that judgment before which men 
 have passed away with a rapidity and a suddenness of which 
 we have no like example, — that judgment which hath given 
 to life a stronger uncertainty, and to all that lies beyond life 
 a greater nearness and solemnity. What better improve- 
 ment, then, can we make of this dispensation, than that we 
 should be led by it to that word which abideth for ever, — 
 to him and to his grace who hath in mercy opened up a way 
 of peace and safety in the midst of all ; and who, whilst he 
 is declaring by these judgments the truth of that curse which 
 he hath uttered against sin, is leading you to see thereby 
 that he will be equally faithful in saving them from its final 
 curse and its final misery who come to him through the blood 
 of Jesus ? 
 
 There is another event which has been this day, I doubt 
 not, brought to the remembrance of many of you, and which 
 is fitted, by the blessing of God, to lead you to the very same 
 improvement. I am sure that not a few of my hearers will 
 anticipate me when I mention, that, on this very day last 
 year, you were, by an awfully sudden dispensation of Divine 
 Providence, deprived of the services of your late faithful 
 Pastor ; and we, at least, I am sure, ought to feel especially 
 grateful to the Giver of all good, in being allowed to meet 
 together this day in this house, though it were for nothing 
 else than to have our minds refreshed again, by the lesson 
 which his sudden removal, in the midst of his labours, and 
 in the midst of his usefulness, reads to us all. 
 
 There was not one of you who did not feel at that time, 
 even though you had never felt it before, that all flesh was 
 
DISCOURSE THIRD. 45 
 
 grass, and the glory of man as the flower of grass, — there 
 was not one of you who was not made to see that you held 
 by a very thread all that was dearest and best beloved by 
 you ; he who addressed to you many a solemn and awaken- 
 ing lesson by his life and by his ministry, read you a more 
 affecting lesson than them all by that event which severed 
 him at once from your fellowship and endearments, — he be- 
 ing dead, yet speaketh ; and when that voice which issued, 
 and still issues, from his tomb, comes re-enforced and strength- 
 ened by the voice of other like providences around us, — all of 
 them alike intended to lead you to that word which abideth 
 for ever, — that, by receiving it into your hearts, and keep- 
 ing it in your hearts, you may live for ever, — let us give 
 instant heed to its declarations, — let us betake ourselves im- 
 mediately, if we have not yet done so, to that blood which 
 cleanseth from all sin, — to that spirit which is able to sanc- 
 tify us wholly. And then shall we be provided with a re- 
 fuge which shall stand us in stead when all others shall fail, 
 — with a hope which hath its foundation in the Divine un- 
 changeableness, and which neither the trials of life nor the 
 approach of death shall ever sweep away. 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 Luke, ii. 14. — Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good 
 will toward men. 
 
 There are few names fitted to call up a greater number of 
 pleasing and delightful images than that of peace ; and it 
 can hardly be mentioned, without suggesting to every mind 
 many a scene of happiness and endearment. 
 
 We find ourselves, perhaps, on the very mention of peace, 
 transported beyond the occupations of the present hour, to 
 some long-past period of our infancy, surrounded by the 
 friends and companions of our early years, and once more 
 interested in those easy and unpretending enjoyments which 
 present, — as we are ready to believe, — such a contrast to the 
 cares and anxieties of our after existence. Or, we find our- 
 selves placed in the bosom of some happy family, where con- 
 tentment and quiet satisfaction reign, — where parental ten- 
 derness and filial reverence vie with each other in promoting 
 the happiness of the whole ; in which there is the balance of 
 well-regulated affections, and the play of easy, generous, and 
 kindly feeling, and the circling of all those charities which 
 soften and grace human existence, and such a harmony of 
 will and of object, as seems to bespeak that each one of the 
 party was animated by the same spirit, and that one soul in- 
 spired them all. 
 
 Or the mind takes in a larger field, perhaps, and then it 
 fancies itself looking abroad on some land, rich in beauty 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 47 
 
 and fertility, over which is spread a repose as perfect and 
 unbroken as you may conceive to be possible in a living and 
 a peopled world ; which presents every where the traces of 
 abundance and comfort in the circumstances of its inhabit- 
 ants, and with whose dwellings we readily associate the idea 
 of simplicity and contentment, — a land, in short, such as we 
 may conceive that to have been, which was the garden of the 
 Lord, before God turned its fruitful fields into barrenness, 
 for the sins of those that dwelt therein, — over which no de- 
 vout mind could expatiate without feeling as though the earth 
 rejoiced, because the Lord reigned ; and which could hard- 
 ly fail to suggest to any mind at all familiar with the Bible, 
 that exquisitely simple and tender description, " Every man 
 sitting under his vine, and under his fig-tree, and none to 
 make them afraid.' 1 
 
 Such are the images which the very mention of peace na- 
 turally brings before us. Were a Christian, however, to 
 name that which included and excelled all these, he would 
 probably find himself returning to that time in human his- 
 tory, when God saw every thing that he had made, and be- 
 hold it was very good ; when on every part of the world were 
 inscribed the traces of the Divine beneficence, and when 
 every thing bespoke it to be a world in the full enjoyment 
 of the Divine favour and love. On the face of such a world 
 there had been all that may even yet be found to gratify our 
 minds in the scenes of beauty and loveliness around us, — 
 every thing to please the eye and to fill the heart, which may 
 be yet found lingering, as it were, amidst the desolation 
 which sin has wrought. But this had been its high and 
 peculiar charm, that, in the light of God's countenance, 
 every creature had its very life and enjoyment, — that the 
 visible and the sensible peace which reigned on the earth 
 was only the reflection of that more delightful and profound 
 peace Avhich dwelt in the human souls that were abroad upon 
 it ; that, void of suspicion or of fear, they walked in all the 
 tranquillity of innocence, and with all the security imparted 
 by the conviction of an ever-present, an ever-watchful, and 
 
48 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 Divine guardianship ; and that, in every thing which con- 
 stituted the happiness and the enjoyment of their spiritual 
 nature, they lived, and moved, and had their being in God. 
 At such a time as this, when the morning stars sang toge- 
 ther, and all the sons of God shouted for joy, — the presence 
 of a scene, which led so directly to the contemplation of that 
 goodness in which all had originated, might well have in- 
 spired the praises of those blessed spirits that rejoice in the 
 manifestation of the Divine beneficence, and well might they 
 have been found, with so fair a spectacle of his love before 
 them, exclaiming, " Glory to God in the highest ; on earth 
 peace, good will toward men." 
 
 It was, however, as you know, with other scenes opening 
 to their view, that the song of the heavenly host in our 
 text originated ; and scenes of a nature fitted to impress us 
 more deeply with the value of that peace which they then 
 proclaimed. 
 
 Peace is, properly speaking, rest from war ; and the view 
 of those miseries which war entails upon families and upon 
 nations, communicates a new interest, and almost a kind of 
 sacredness, to the very name of peace. It were impossible 
 to look abroad on any land, blessed with the bounties of Di- 
 vine Providence, and reposing in tranquillity and abundance, 
 without the feeling that we looked on a scene most refresh- 
 ing and gladdening to every mind that delighted in the con- 
 templation of human happiness. But could we see it when 
 this peace had been violated, — when the quiet occupations 
 of the land had been interrupted, its dwellings laid in ashes, 
 and its inhabitants armed against one another, or pressed 
 down by the might of some resistless adversary, — if the very 
 scene on which we looked had been once the field of con- 
 tending armies, and if every where around were strewed the 
 traces of a merciless and unsparing devastation, — if we could 
 not move a step without witnessing the wreck of human 
 hopes, the blight of human industry, and all the unmiti- 
 gated desolation which war brings along with it, — if we saw, 
 as we passed on, how the sanctity of every human affection 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 49 
 
 had been profaned, the tenderest of human ties outraged, 
 and all that distrust, suspicion, and hatred awakened, 
 which had armed every man's hand against his neighbour's, 
 and his neighbour's against his, — were such a scene as this 
 presented, — with what new, and, till that moment, perhaps, 
 unfelt power, should we discover the value of peace, in the 
 ruin and misery spread over a territory no longer blessed by 
 its smile, — and how beautiful upon the mountains would 
 then be the feet of him who brought good tidings, and who 
 published peace ! 
 
 It was in such a scene as all this presented to view, that 
 the language of our text originated ; and however little many 
 of us apprehend the truth, such a scene may be every where 
 witnessed in the world in which we dwell. The language of 
 the Bible and the sentiment of our own hearts bear witness, 
 that there has been a contest between God and his creatures, 
 of which the effects are every where discernible ; and could 
 we only spiritually realize what is hidden, — we fear, from not 
 a few, through its very familiarity, — we should not want proofs 
 that the traces of war are universally to be found ; and of 
 war too, as ruinous for us as might have been anticipated, 
 in a case where the feebleness of the creature stood opposed 
 to the might and the majesty of the Creator. 
 
 It is not sought to be denied, that the world, as it now is, 
 presents numberless scenes fitted to convey the image of 
 peace ; and we could hardly imagine any one so insensible 
 to the proofs of beneficence every where spread around him, 
 as never to have carried away from it some impressions of 
 the character of him who called it into existence. But tell 
 us of the loveliest and most blissful scene which this world 
 ever, presented, — carry us to the land, if such a land there 
 be, which war has never visited, and where human passions 
 have never been let loose for purposes of mutual destruction, 
 — let it be blessed with all the comforts which human laws 
 and the refinements of civilized life can confer, — and yet, 
 as surely as sin has been there, is it a land suffering under 
 the curse and the misery of sin ! And in the cry of human 
 
 D 
 
50 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 wretchedness which every where ascends from it, — in the 
 spectacle of suffering humanity which every where assails 
 us, — in the untold griefs which are pressing down the bosoms 
 of multitudes, — and, above all, in that scourge before which 
 its successive generations are passing away, — as surely as 
 though some pestilence had swept over them, may be dis- 
 cerned the ruin, and the ruthlessness, and the unmitigated 
 severity of war. 
 
 Or carry us, if you please, into the bosom of the happiest 
 human family that is to be found in the world, — let there be 
 in it every thing that can impart tenderness and grace to the 
 nearest of earthly connexions, — let there be all that affec- 
 tionate interest in each other's welfare, and all that inter- 
 change of love and endearment which the most refined sen- 
 timentalist has ever conceived of; and yet it is, for all this, 
 a family rent from the great family of the universe ! Let 
 affection and tenderness circulate as they may among its 
 different members, there is naturally no circling of affection 
 between them and a Father in heaven ! Their hearts are 
 naturally alienated and estranged from him whom they ought 
 most of all to revere ; and when you find that, as if by some 
 strange and unnatural compact, they have excluded God 
 from all the happiness which they share, and from all that 
 love which is emanating freely from every bosom upon its 
 fellows, — when He alone, most surely the head of that fa- 
 mily, and the author and giver of all its blessings, is the ob- 
 ject of none of those affections which they cherish towards 
 one another ; and when the name that ought to lighten 
 every countenance, and to fill every heart with gladness, is 
 heard with indifference or with dread, — perhaps even with 
 aversion, — may you not discern that, underneath the peace 
 and tranquillity of its surface, there is lurking the distrust, 
 and the suspicion, and the enmity of war ! 
 
 Or carry us, if you will, into the recesses of the finest 
 human soul that inhabits the world ; and yet, if that soul is 
 a stranger to the peace of the Gospel, it, too, has experi- 
 enced and is still suffering under the miseries of war ! I 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 51 
 
 shall not suppose it to be the seat of all, or any of those pas- 
 sions which may convert a human bosom into a very hell. 
 I shall allow it to be graced with every human accomplish- 
 ment, and blessed with every human sensibility. It may 
 be, if you please, a wise and understanding, an amiable and 
 affectionate soul ; and yet, if God dwells not there, as its 
 chiefest good, and the supreme object of affection, it is still 
 a soul without an object to meet and to satisfy its wishes, 
 and a soul that is and must be a stranger to all true, and 
 lasting, and satisfying peace. Whatever enjoyment it may 
 possess, it can only possess it in forgetfulness of Him whose 
 presence is necessary to constitute its real happiness. The 
 fancied serenity which it may attain, can only continue so 
 long as the claims of his justice and his holiness are not felt ; 
 and even the conscience must be seared and deadened, so 
 as never more to break in upon its accustomed pleasures, or 
 chase, as it may sometimes do, all its peace away. The 
 profound lethargy in which it may be sunk to the consider- 
 ation of its chiefest good and its highest interest, so far from 
 proving that the miseries of war have never been there, only 
 reminds us of a country which war has so completely deso- 
 lated, that no living thing survives to tell the story of its 
 sufferings ; and of which the unbroken, unpeopled, and 
 deathlike stillness is more dismal even than if we had seen 
 the struggle and the agony of which this has only been the 
 fearful consummation ! 
 
 I am aware that many of the facts to which this descrip- 
 tion applies have been otherwise interpreted ; and they may, 
 to a certain extent, be susceptible of a different interpreta- 
 tion. Attempts have been made to reconcile, upon natural 
 principles, the misery that exists in the world with the Di- 
 vine benevolence, and even to prove how it might be con- 
 sistent with a greater measure of happiness on the whole. 
 But the arguments that have been adduced for this purpose 
 are generally only farther proofs of our ignorance, and not 
 such as are sufficient to convince or satisfy our understand- 
 ings. They are proposed without much consideration of the 
 
■)2 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 amount of misery that exists in the world ; and, above all, 
 they make little or no account of that secret, but not alto- 
 gether hidden, distress and dissatisfaction which really con- 
 stitute the greater part of it. . At any rate, let men specu- 
 late as they may on these subjects, the Word of God has 
 told us, that it is the result of our enmity to God, and the con- 
 sequence of our departure from him. In proof of the reality 
 of that contest which we have sought to wage with God, it 
 refers you to the curse which sin has entailed on us all, — it 
 directs you to the suffering and the wretchedness which 
 every man sees, and which every man is made, more or less, 
 to feel, in evidence that there is a scourge desolating the 
 world, yet more fearful than all those ravages of war that 
 ever swept over it. And if, with this experience of Divine 
 wrath, and that, too, but the forerunner of a misery yet 
 more awful, God did publish peace to the world, and reveal 
 a plan by which the calamity might be averted, and sin and 
 wretchedness banished from the world, — if, when there was 
 no eye but his that could pity, and no arm but his that 
 could bring us deliverance, his eye pitied, and his arm 
 wrought salvation, — might there not be in the sound of 
 peace after this long night of desolating warfare, something 
 more cheering and more gladdening, than if it had never 
 been violated, — and might not those blessed spirits that re- 
 joice in every manifestation of God's compassionate grace, 
 have sung as they announced it, with deeper and more af- 
 fecting melody than when they hailed the birth of a sinless 
 world, " Glory to God in the highest ; for on earth there is 
 peace and good will toward men.'" 1 
 
 Such might have been the sentiment inspired simply by 
 the consideration, that God had given peace to the world, 
 and that a scheme was now to be accomplished for arresting 
 the miseries of war ; and though it is impossible to conceive 
 the existence of such a state of things without reference to 
 our guilt as having provoked it, it may be proper now to 
 consider, for a little, some of those circumstances in the his- 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 53 
 
 tory of human transgression which give additional energy 
 and impressiveness to the language of our text. 
 
 In ordinary cases, and as usually seen in our world, the 
 origin of war is so obscure and doubtful, as to render it a 
 matter of some difficulty to determine on whom its miseries 
 are justly chargeable. On both sides there may have been 
 aggressions which have provoked it, and which share the 
 guilt equally between them ; and each party has, at any rate, 
 some plausible reason to allege why the guilt should not at- 
 tach to him. In such circumstances, the generosity of the 
 party which bestows peace cannot be supposed very strong, 
 and the ingratitude not very striking in the other, — nor may 
 there be much to confer honour on the character of the in- 
 dividual or the nation that, in these circumstances, makes 
 the first advances to peace. 
 
 Besides all this, war cannot long be maintained between 
 any two of our earthly families, without its becoming neces- 
 sary for both that its progress should be arrested. Whatever 
 brings ruin to the one, in some degree affects the prosperity 
 of the other. There is a waste and an expenditure of means 
 which tell nearly as much upon the conqueror as upon the 
 conquered ; and peace may be really as needful for the coun- 
 try which has acquired the right of proposing it, as it is for 
 the country to which it is proposed. If there are cases of 
 which this cannot be affirmed, peace is generally granted on 
 the solicitation of those who are suffering most deeply from 
 its consequences. Conceiving that they are at the mercy of 
 another, they appeal to the pity and compassion of the con- 
 queror ; and the thing is of rare occurrence amongst indivi- 
 duals, and of far rarer occurrence among nations, when, in 
 the very height of conquest, without the burden of one dis- 
 honourable surrender, and without one solicitation on the 
 part of the conquered, peace is offered, not to say pressed 
 on their acceptance. 
 
 It will be obvious, at first sight, that none of these cir- 
 cumstances is found to lessen the value of that peace which 
 is given by God to man. It can never be a matter of doubt 
 
54 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 with any reader of the Bible, on whom is chargeable the 
 guilt of violating that harmony which subsisted in the be- 
 ginning between heaven and earth ; and in the feelings of 
 every heart, even without the Bible to interpret them, — in 
 that consciousness of sin and undeservedness which every 
 one feels so often as he thinks of God, — there remains some- 
 thing to tell, that the aggression has been on our part, and 
 that, even in the face of all that might have forbidden it, the 
 guilt is ours of rising up against the majesty and disowning 
 the sovereignty of God. Of the nature and aggravation of 
 this conduct, we have indeed only the faintest and most im- 
 perfect conception; but to the truth that such a contest 
 there is, every human soul gives testimony. With all the 
 softest epithets that may be applied to human guilt, one 
 thing is evident, that the authority of God has been dis- 
 placed by another authority, and that every man is ready to 
 constitute himself and his own will in the place of God. And 
 though the commencement of this may have been at an age 
 far distant from our own, and though we may be ready to 
 flatter ourselves that it cannot therefore be chargeable on us, 
 the fact of which every one may be assured, that he has 
 given, and does habitually give, consent to this rebellion 
 against God, and does, in opposition to the light of his own 
 conscience, persevere in it, most surely evinces, that if he 
 has not been the first to rise up against God, he has, at any 
 rate, joined with those that resist the might and authority 
 of the Creator ; and there is, besides, in every man's history 
 a standing proof that, so far from seeking that this most un- 
 natural state might be removed, he would rather that it 
 should be perpetuated. 
 
 I speak not now the truth of a distant age, when I say, 
 that the first approach to reconciliation was made by God. 
 I speak something which must commend itself to all of you 
 as a present truth ; for, of this you must be aware, that, so 
 far from having naturally, as sinners, the smallest desire to 
 be at peace with him, you had, but for the invitations and 
 the warnings that he addressed to you, remained for ever 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 55 
 
 at a distance ; and that, so far from feeling any relent- 
 ing for your abuse of his goodness, you never did feel the 
 strength of your alienation, till you were made, in some de- 
 gree, to feel that God was soliciting you to hear, in order 
 that your soul might live. You may remember how averse 
 you were to him, even when he besought you to be at peace ; 
 that instead of being alive to the mercy or the grace in- 
 volved in such tenders of salvation, it was nothing but a 
 hard necessity perhaps, which brought you to seek God in 
 that way in which he had declared that he was to be found ; 
 that this very necessity brought forth your averseness to his 
 character in terms of more decided enmity than before ; that 
 there was exemplified in your history as individuals, what is 
 exemplified in the history of every sinner, and is true of all 
 the world, that, unless God had moved towards you, you had 
 never moved nearer to, but rather estranged yourselves the 
 farther, from him ; and that his grace was manifested towards 
 us in the very depth of our ungodliness, without even the 
 relenting of a single heart to him, whose name had been dis- 
 honoured, and whose fatherly grace we had altogether cast 
 away. 
 
 You will observe that it was this Divine grace which the 
 angelic host celebrated in the praises which they sung, — 
 that it was good will toward men, — not the movement of a 
 world in penitence to God, but the movement of God to the 
 world, in a compassion and tenderness which they had never 
 besought, — and that the particular event which called forth 
 at this moment their adoration was, not the ascending cry of 
 human beings suffering under the miseries of war, that 
 God would put an end to the conflict, but the descent of the 
 Son of God into a world that had rebelled against his autho- 
 rity, not as the messenger of our condemnation, but the 
 ambassador of peace. 
 
 And if the message of reconciliation which he brought 
 had announced peace on any terms, however painful and 
 humiliating, you may easily see what ground there was for 
 celebrating the condescension and the grace that were in- 
 
56 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 volved in it. The Word of God, however, does not speak 
 more plainly to the fact, that there is a way of favour and 
 forgiveness opened, than that this way is free and open to 
 every man, be his transgressions what they may ; and that, 
 without a single condition to qualify its free and liberal be- 
 stowal, every- man is invited to return to the Lord, in the 
 confidence that he waiteth to be gracious to him, notwith- 
 standing all his iniquities. The peace which the heavenly 
 host announced was not peace to a peculiar few, it was 
 " peace on earth and good will toward men ;" it embraced 
 within its ample proclamation the whole family of man. It 
 was proclaimed in such terms as that every man who heard 
 it, and so soon as he heard it, might know that it was a mes- 
 sage from Heaven to him, conveying tidings the most inte- 
 resting, and such as should have been, of all others, the most 
 welcome ; and that, instead of being required, and vainly 
 required, to propitiate that God whom he had offended, or 
 to remain in hopeless misery, for ever exiled from his favour 
 and love, God had himself interposed to put an end to the 
 contest which he was maintaining, and to the misery and 
 suffering which it had so fearfully brought along with it. 
 And, contemplating the mystery of grace now to be unfolded, 
 — the pledge and assurance now to be given, that Heaven 
 and earth were again to be united in the birth of that Sa- 
 viour by whom, conjoining in his person the nature of both, 
 God was to reconcile men unto himself, — we may well con- 
 ceive, that beyond the riches of his goodness to them- 
 selves, there might have been, in the estimation of the an- 
 gelic host, a profound sense of the depth of his compassion 
 to a sinful though suffering world ; and that peace never 
 sounded so welcome, and was never felt so greatly to magnify 
 the grace of the Creator, as when, instead of being sent 
 forth the messengers of his wrath, they were sent forth the 
 messengers of his compassion, proclaiming, " Glory to God 
 in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.*' 1 
 
 The sentiment of the text is yet more srongly impressed 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 5*J 
 
 on our minds when we reflect on the way by which this 
 peace is purchased and secured to us. As usually seen in 
 our world, the restoration of peace may be, comparatively 
 speaking, a matter of easy accomplishment. The accom- 
 modation of a few contending interests is all that is requisite 
 to settle it ; and if there be cases where national honour as 
 well as national interests are concerned, and for which pro- 
 vision may require to be made, such cases are of rare oc- 
 currence, and often more nominal than real, — it may re- 
 quire, in general, but a single act of will on the part of the 
 conqueror, and peace is restored, — the whole may be begun 
 and completed without the necessity of a, single sacrifice ; 
 and if there be only the generosity to bestow it, that gene- 
 rosity may not be fettered by any higher consideration in 
 its free and liberal bestowal. But the question may become 
 altogether a more complicated one, if peace is to be made 
 with those who had risen up against their rightful sovereign, 
 — if they for whom it is destined were rebels against his just 
 authority and law, and if, in opposition to every principle 
 of duty and obligation, they had persevered in this rebellion, 
 — in this case, other interests come to be considered than 
 simply the interests of those who may have provoked the 
 miseries of war, — the dignity of the law must be upheld, 
 even whilst it bends in its severity to admit the restoration 
 of the guilty, and it must still be seen and felt throughout 
 the land, that it can neither be violated nor infringed with 
 impunity. 
 
 Such a case may not unfrequently be exemplified when 
 the interest involved is merely that of a human government ; 
 and I know nothing which could justify us in supposing 
 that if God governs his creatures by certain fixed principles, 
 these are less determinate in their character than those 
 which obtain amongst men; or that the consequences of 
 suiting them to every case of transgression would be less 
 fatal to the harmony of his administration. If discerning 
 the character of God, even as it may be read in the world* 
 you must see, that let him be as patient and as merciful a s 
 
58 DISCOUltSE FOURTH. 
 
 he may, his is not that easy tenderness which shrinks from 
 the infliction of suffering, — that there are other traces of 
 him manifest on the face of human things than simply the 
 traces of his beneficence, — that there is a law which has its 
 course, let men be exposed as they may to its direful conse- 
 quences, — and that there could have been no anticipation in 
 the mind of any serious observer, if God was to give peace 
 to the world at all, that it would be given in any other way 
 than that which left entire the justice and the rectitude of 
 his character, or in any other way than what proved that 
 though he might be reconciled to the sinner, yet he never 
 was, and he never could be, reconciled to sin. 
 
 That all this is true, however, is not left to any judgment 
 or inference of ours. God has himself interfered to decide 
 the question at issue ; and of all the lights in which the pro- 
 clamation of peace may be regarded as inspiring the lan- 
 guage of our text, and as calling upon us to glorify God, — 
 this is the noblest, that God did make righteousness and 
 peace to meet together ; and that, coming forth in the gra- 
 ciousness of his nature, to reveal a way of forgiveness which 
 might embrace the guiltiest of us all, he did yet manifest his 
 justice in a way at which the most hardened might tremble, 
 as discovering a purity and a hatred of sin in the Godhead, 
 of which we could never have conceived by all that God had 
 said or done before. 
 
 That this was involved in that peace of which our text con- 
 tains the announcement, is to us no matter of speculation. It 
 is a truth with which we have long been familiar. But if it 
 had never been communicated till this day or this hour, — 
 were we here met for the first time to listen to the unfolding 
 of that plan by which God did magnify his law, and make it 
 honourable, — or could we only enter, almost in any mea- 
 sure, into its extent and magnitude, with what feelings 
 should we listen to tidings more strange than ever greeted 
 human ears ? The interest of such a moment would painful- 
 ly contrast with the indifference which too often meets its 
 announcement ; and, O ! how many arc there, who, were 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. 59 
 
 that indifference overcome which hides from them the grand 
 principles of Gospel-truth, would be amazed at the listless- 
 ness with which they have treated its brightest discoveries, 
 and astonished to find that ere that cloud which hung over 
 our guilty world could be dissipated, or a single tender of 
 that peace be made which they have so often and so thought- 
 lessly cast away from them, — that cloud, charged with the 
 wrath which our iniquities had provoked, must be discharged 
 on the head of God's own Son ! 
 
 It was this view of the subject chiefly which drew forth 
 the praises of the angelic host. Sent to announce the birth 
 of the Saviour, such an event excited in their minds an ad- 
 miration at the riches of Divine grace which they had never 
 experienced before. Beholding the first step taken towards 
 the accomplishment of human salvation, in the humiliation 
 of one who thought it no robbery to be equal with God, 
 they felt as if labouring under a theme, to the expression of 
 which even they were unequal. And as they thought of 
 that mysterious babe who lay cradled in the manger of Beth- 
 lehem, like some outcast thing that the world had rejected, 
 and who was yet the Eternal Word, uniting in his person 
 the nature of earth and the nature of heaven, their feel- 
 ings, as they announced that by means of this mysteri- 
 ous union heaven and earth were to be reconciled, could 
 be no other than those of profoundest adoration at the 
 depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and the knowledge 
 of God. 
 
 Could they at this moment have followed him through the 
 scene of his earthly sojourning ; could they have passed 
 with him through life, and looked upon him in death ; could 
 they have witnessed him in poverty and in suffering, — in 
 his moments of agony and in his day of darkness ; could 
 they have heard the strong cryings of his spirit, or looked 
 through the dark perspective to his last hour, and onwards 
 to the time when, as a conqueror, he was again to ascend to 
 the mansions of light and peace ; had there been any thing 
 in all this, think you, to lessen their amazement? And 
 
CO DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 should there be a sinner now present who doubts whether 
 there had ever been wrath in heaven or war on earth, we 
 would lead him directly to the cross of Christ, as that which 
 is in itself the noblest spectacle of Divine love, and, at the 
 same time, the most apt and expressive image of the fearful- 
 ness of the contest in which every sinner who is not in Christ 
 is yet engaged. If there is truth in the representation of 
 the Bible, God did send forth his own Son, not as a con- 
 queror, or simply as the ambassador of peace, but to subject 
 him to the miseries of warfare ; — he treated him as an ene- 
 my, and, as if our enmity had been concentrated in his per- 
 son, he poured out upon him the wrath of his indignation. 
 And contemplating, again, the peace which the angels pro- 
 claimed as the fruit of his sufferings, and as issuing from the 
 blood of his cross, — as the reconciliation cemented and rati- 
 fied through his death, and assured to us by his resurrec- 
 tion, — we cannot wonder that there was in this mystery of 
 holiness and grace, something of which, for all that they had 
 known of God, they could never have conceived before ; and 
 the voice of their praises might well ascend in glory to God 
 in the highest. 
 
 I might farther have enlarged upon the song of these 
 blessed spirits, as proclaiming peace upon earth, — peace to 
 the whole family of man, — as connected with blessings still 
 nobler than the removal of the enmity which subsisted be- 
 tween God and them, — even access to all the blessings of 
 the family of God ; and as introductory to a state of peace, 
 to which this world, even to its latest hour, will, we fear, 
 make only a very slender approximation. It may be suffi- 
 cient, however, at present, to regard it in the single light in 
 which it has now been presented, — as opening up a way for 
 the restoration of the guilty, — conveying an assurance to the 
 very chief of sinners, that the access is free for his return to 
 God, and that God is waiting to be gracious for his Son's 
 sake. And little as we may feel alive to the honour and 
 glory of God as angels did, — little as we can appreciate 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTH. Gl 
 
 the magnitude of this salvation compared with them, — there 
 is still one way in which it is fitted to interest us, which an- 
 gels of light and purity could but feebly experience. By 
 them it was simply regarded as a manifestation of the Divine 
 character, and as the assurance of pardon for a guilt which 
 they had never contracted ; for no sound of war had ever 
 broken in upon the peace of that abode from which they had 
 winged their flight to the confines of ovir world. But it 
 comes to us, who are by nature enemies and afar off, as the 
 way of our peace and reconciliation with God. And if you 
 have, in any measure, realized the fearfulness of that enmi- 
 ty, you must feel, that, beyond every thing in importance 
 and interest to you, is the truth that God has been propi- 
 tiated for your rebellion, and now waiteth to be gracious. 
 
 Let me ask you, therefore, how far you have regarded it 
 in this light? whether, persuaded of the reality of that 
 peace, you have indeed embraced it as the way of your 
 peace ? and whether, believing that God is no longer your 
 enemy, you have ceased to be the enemies of God, and have 
 returned in heart and in spirit to him from whom you had 
 revolted ? 
 
 Till this be the case, the proclamation of peace has been 
 made to you in vain ; and I wish it, therefore, to be dis- 
 tinctly considered, that the alternative proposed every time 
 that it comes round to you, is, whether you will return to 
 the Divine favour and to the obedience of his children, or 
 continue in a state of implacable enmity, with your hearts 
 given to those things which are by nature not God's. I 
 wish you would feel this to be the alternative ; and if you 
 are indeed led to flee for refuge to the hope that is set before 
 you, — if, persuaded of the Divine compassion, you rest upon 
 its free and gracious invitations, — and if, subdued by a sense 
 of that love wherewith God loved sinners, you feel your en- 
 mity dying away before it, — if confidence, and gratitude, 
 and love, have taken the place of suspicion, and dislike, and 
 aversion, — O ! then there will be shed abroad upon the lit- 
 tle territory of your souls a calm and a sunshine which they 
 
62 DISCOURSE FOURTH. 
 
 never knew before, — and then, with feelings different in some 
 degree from those of angels, but with which those blessed 
 spirits that rejoice for ever in the light of God's countenance 
 can well sympathize, you will also begin the song of thanks- 
 giving and praise, saying, " Glory to God in the highest, 
 and on earth peace, good will toward men."" 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 9 Cokinthians, iii. 18.— We all, with open face beholding as in a 
 glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from 
 glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. 
 
 There are few circumstances in our moral nature with 
 which we are better acquainted, than the influence which 
 any thing comes to possess, when it has been frequently pre- 
 sent to our minds, and been made the object of repeated and 
 familiar contemplation ; and the tendency which it thus ac- 
 quires to mould our character into a conformity with its 
 own. However far it may once have been from possessing 
 any such power ; however small the congeniality which it 
 may once have had with our minds, or with the objects which 
 formerly engaged us ; and however unfitted it might appear 
 to be for working any change upon our characters and con- 
 duct, it cannot find frequent entrance into our minds and 
 interest our affections, without, in some degree, leaving its 
 image behind, and stamping upon us its own likeness. 
 Though it might be impossible for you to say precisely in 
 what way this took place, or how it came to exert the power 
 which it may thus possess over you, — though there might be 
 something in the whole process so insensible as to elude 
 your perception, yet the fact itself would soon become so 
 manifest, as to leave you in no doubt that such an influence 
 actually did exist, — that every time the object was pre- 
 sented anew went to strengthen the effect, and all this with- 
 
C4 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 out any farther effort on your part than what might merely 
 be necessary to keep it before you, and to make it the sub- 
 ject of thought and of reflection. 
 
 I shall not require to adduce many illustrations of a truth 
 which every one must recognise, whenever he apprehends it, 
 as being in accordance with all that he has himself felt and 
 known. In looking back on our past lives, we are conscious 
 of certain changes which have taken place upon our minds, 
 not less striking than those which have taken place upon 
 our bodies. We feel that they have been in a state of con- 
 tinual transition, as we passed from one period of life to an- 
 other ; and without supposing this change to have been so 
 violent or extraordinary as to have excited the attention of 
 others, we may nevertheless be conscious, that it has been so 
 great as that we require at times to forget what we now are, 
 in order to enter into the feelings and employments of our 
 former selves. We are conscious also, that these changes 
 have been very much wrought upon us by objects foreign to 
 the mind itself; that the character we have acquired has 
 been formed by the presence of things which, though we 
 might not be altogether able to exclude them, yet affected 
 us chiefly, according as they were beheld and felt, and 
 wrought into us by our own thought and reflection, — that 
 there are none of all the objects with which we were most 
 familiarly conversant, the society in which we mingled, or 
 the friends with whom we associated, or the examples that 
 were presented to our imitation, which had not a distinct 
 place in constituting us what we now are ; and that could 
 we trace every thing to its proper source, none of these 
 would be found to have been destitute of a certain power 
 over us. Without saying that we have possessed no con- 
 trol over the formation of our own character, since, in all 
 these cases, it was our own will and choice that gave them 
 the power which they exerted, we should yet find that our 
 character in its progress to maturity has been very much 
 like a river, which, in tracing it upwards, we find to have 
 been swelled by a thousand tributaries, and to have carried 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. (55 
 
 off from every soil which it has washed, and from every 
 shore alongst which it has swept, something to affect the 
 colour and the properties of its waters. 
 
 I have made these remarks, in order to point out to you, 
 that when the Apostle says of believers, that, " beholding as 
 in a glass the glory of the Lord, they are changed into the 
 same image from glory to glory,'''' he speaks of a thing which 
 is equally well known and familiar as that which we have 
 now described ; and that there is nothing more mysterious 
 in the influence which he assigns to the glory of God, — that 
 is, God's glorious character, as it is delineated in his Word, 
 — than there is in the influence which is every day exerted 
 over us by a thousand objects foreign to the Divine nature 
 and character. Whatever mystery may attach to the way 
 by which the mind of a Christian is at first opened to per- 
 ceive a truth, to the presence and existence of which so many 
 in the world are insensible ; and whatever mystery there may 
 be in the way by which that great object obtains also a 
 place in his heart, — though there may be required for this 
 nothing less than the interference of a Divine agency to open 
 the one, and nothing less than the interference of a Divine 
 power to impress and change the other ; yet the mode in 
 which a spiritual knowledge and perception of the Divine 
 character acts upon the moral character and constitution of 
 a man proceeds, and its influence is maintained, on the very 
 same principle as in any other case, where an object, kept 
 constantly before the mind, leaves there an image of itself. 
 The believer ever keeping before him the great object of his 
 faith, his assimilation to it is rendered more perfect by 
 every renewed contemplation ; and, continuing thus to behold 
 the glory of the Lord, he is changed into the same image 
 from glory to glory. 
 
 The glory of God, — the object to which the Apostle as- 
 signs such an efficacy in transforming the character of the 
 believer is nothing else, as we have said, than the character 
 of God, as it has been revealed in his Word; the united efful- 
 gence of the Divine attributes, as therein manifested. It is 
 
 E 
 
06 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 the combination of infinite holiness and justice, mercy and 
 truth, as seen throughout the whole of the Word of God, and 
 more especially as they have been enshrined in the great 
 work of man's redemption, or manifested in the person of 
 Jesus Christ, our Lord. In his person and in his work, 
 mercy and truth have met together, righteousness and 
 peace have embraced each other : in these there is a glory 
 which, though hidden from the eye of sense, is yet revealed 
 to the eye of faith ; in them is embraced every thing that is 
 purest and best ; every thing that is fitted to win the love 
 and admiration of a moral and spiritual nature ; and the de- 
 claration of our text, when stript of its figurative dress, sim- 
 ply means, that this great object, presented to one whose 
 mind discerns its reality, and whose heart is disposed to re- 
 gard it, will exert such a power over him, as that the result 
 will unquestionably be, that by that slow but sure process, 
 through which every object gradually assimilates us to itself, 
 we shall be changed into the same image from glory to glory, 
 even as by the Spirit of the Lord. 
 
 Of all the objects that may be presented to engage the 
 attention and affect the minds of human beings, it may be 
 readily admitted, that there is none to which they are so in- 
 sensible as the Divine character and glory ; .and of all the ob- 
 jects which may be every day influencing their minds and 
 transforming their characters, the very lowest place, if any 
 place at all, may be assigned to that, to which, in the hand 
 of the Spirit of God, the Apostle attributes such an efficacy. 
 Of many it may be said, that God is not in all, or in any of, 
 their thoughts, — that the great truths of his existence and 
 perfections are truths seldom or never realized by them, — 
 that however they may admit in words that God is possessed 
 of all the perfections which his Word every where attributes 
 to him, they do not discern these as the real perfections of a 
 Divine nature ; and, above all, that they do not behold them 
 in such a light as to win them to love or to imitate them, — 
 that, in their case, the glory of God works no change upon 
 their character and hearts whatsoever, — and that in no de- 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. (i'J 
 
 gree are they assimilated to his perfections by all that they 
 know and hear of God. 
 
 That an object which must derive all its power over us 
 from being believed and admitted, should never leave its 
 image upon our minds in their natural state, is only, indeed, 
 what you might apprehend and expect ; nor does this in the 
 smallest degree detract from the truth which our text de- 
 clares. It may be, and still is true, that this great object, 
 when believed and discerned, is as much fitted to impress 
 our minds, and mould us after its own image, as are any of 
 those other truths with which our minds are familiar ; and 
 where that truth is discerned as clearly as the Word of God 
 has revealed it, — where it comes forth from the darkness in 
 which it is naturally hidden to all of us, — where those attri- 
 butes of his nature which are but feebly apprehended and 
 still more feebly realized are discerned as combining to- 
 gether in the work of redemption, and, above all, as unit- 
 ing together in a work so interesting and important to us as 
 the work of our own salvation, — it cannot pass before the 
 mind that understands and believes it, without affecting and 
 impressing it, — it must necessarily awaken its gratitude, and 
 admiration, and love, and all those feelings by which we are 
 led most easily to the imitation of the object in which these 
 qualities inhere ; and that object cannot be beheld and con- 
 templated without forming in us, insensibly it may be, but 
 surely, its own likeness, and changing us in some degree 
 into its own image. Though the first feelings which the 
 contemplation of that glory awakens in our minds may be 
 personal, and such as respect our own peace and safety ; 
 though it appears at first sight most interesting and attrac- 
 tive as a manifestation of the Divine perfections for our sal- 
 vation ; and though it cannot be expected that we are at 
 once to find room for any other view of it, the transition is 
 easy from this to the contemplation of that glory as it is in 
 itself, as well as in reference to our salvation. The mind 
 naturally passes from itself to Him whose character and 
 grace have been so conspicuously manifested, and if not 
 
G8 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 even the least of those objects that are around us can fa- 
 miliarly pass before our view, without a portion of them, 
 as it were, adhering to us, the mind cannot freely and fully 
 gaze upon that object which is above every other fitted 
 to elevate, to purify, and to refine the heart, without bearing 
 away with it something to evince the holiness and the hea- 
 venliness of the things with which it has been conversant. 
 
 The Apostle has likened the effect of contemplating the 
 glory of God, as it is presented in the Word, to the effect of 
 turning our face upon a mirror, from which any bright and 
 shining object is reflected. It is obvious that so soon as you 
 do this, the brightness of the object will be cast upon you ; 
 that you will partake in some degree of its luminousness ; 
 that you will shine in some degree with its lustre ; — and 
 that, so long as you maintain your position, the effect will 
 continue to be the same. So is it, in fact, in a way equally 
 sure, though it may not be always equally perceptible, that 
 the character of God, as presented in his Word, affects our 
 characters and our hearts. Though it may be utterly power- 
 less, so long as it is undiscerned, or so long as you are not 
 beholding it as reflected from the glass of the Word, you 
 cannot turn your face towards it and look upon it as it shines 
 there, without its image being flung upon you, — the purity, 
 the holiness, and grace of a Divine nature are wrought 
 insensibly into your own heart, — the qualities which be- 
 longed to the object which you contemplated gradually be- 
 come the qualities of your own nature ; and, keeping your- 
 self in the same position, the same result will continue to 
 flow from it. Though, if you should cease to make it the 
 object of contemplation, it would cease to exert for the 
 time any effect upon you, yet the very instant that it again 
 becomes such an object, it will assert its power, and the 
 mind being filled with whatever is holiest and best, there 
 will come a virtue and an energy out of it, to purify and re- 
 fine your nature, and to exalt you to the love and imitation 
 of those perfections, in the love and imitation of which con- 
 sist the glory, the dignity, and the felicity of your nature. 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. G9 
 
 It is not promised or affirmed, that the effect thus attri- 
 buted to the glory of God, as seen in the pages of the Di- 
 vine Word, will be sudden or instantaneous ; or that it will 
 be always or easily perceptible to those who are the objects 
 of it. In speaking of the influence which any object exerts 
 over us in transforming us into its own nature, and stamp- 
 ing on us its own image, we have been speaking of a thing 
 which, though it may be sure, is yet gradual in its opera- 
 tion, and which is advanced by slow and imperceptible de- 
 grees. The language of our text obviously supposes the 
 same thing, when it says that believers are " changed into 
 the same image from glory to glory ;" and the influence of 
 Divine truth on the heart is likened by the Saviour him- 
 self, to that which is of slow growth. " The kingdom of 
 God," says he, " is as if a man should cast seed into the 
 ground, and should sleep and rise night and day, and the 
 seed should spring and grow up, he knoweth not how, — first 
 the blade, — then the ear, — after that the full corn in the ear. -1 
 So is it with the formation of the Divine image on the soul 
 of the believer. At first, it may be at best but faint, and 
 obscure, and hardly discernible ; nor may it be always easy 
 to detect its presence or its lineaments. The glory of Godj 
 as revealed in his Word, may be faintly seen and faintly 
 reflected ; it may be only, perhaps, after many contentions 
 with other and inferior objects, that it secures for itself a 
 place amongst those which are every day influencing and 
 affecting our character. To use the similitude of the Savi- 
 our, the seed may be long cast in the ground before the ten- 
 der blade appears, — though, from the first moment that it 
 was deposited there, it became the subject of an operation 
 which is to issue in the fruits of harvest, — and even after 
 the blade appears, the process by which it advances to ma- 
 turity is so gradual, that you could not hope, by the most 
 minute observation, to detect its growth, or to mark it shoot- 
 ing forth into the ear, and assuming the tint and colour of 
 harvest. Thus it is with the influence of Divine truth upon 
 the soul of a believer ; and thus, though at any single or 
 
70 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 individual moment, imperceptibly does the contemplation of 
 the Divine character affect and determine his own. The 
 process may be gradual, but the result is sure, — the soul 
 continues to grow, and the blade to shoot forth, — every drop 
 of rain fertilizes the ground that nourishes it, — every beam 
 of sunshine goes to ripen it, — every breath of heaven has its 
 influence in bringing it forward to maturity. A man may 
 not know how, yet still the seed grows and advances onwards, 
 till he putteth in the sickle, because the harvest is nigh ; 
 and though you may be incapable of assigning to every ele- 
 ment its proper influence, and of determining the advance 
 made at every separate instant, and by every distinct con- 
 templation, still does the believing study of the Divine cha- 
 racter accomplish the end which we have ascribed to it. 
 Each time it is presented and beheld, it leaves some im- 
 pression of itself behind, or deepens that which had been 
 made before. Each time it is more correctly beheld, it 
 stamps its image more perfectly upon the soul ; nor can 
 it be seen, as a believing mind discerns it, without pro- 
 ducing such a result. The holiness, the purity, and grace 
 that are therein combined, mingling with the stream of the 
 believer's thoughts and affections, are insensibly transfused 
 into his own soul, — in proportion to the frequency with 
 which they are realized and dwelt upon, will be the rapidity 
 with which the assimilation is effected. And he, whose 
 mind was once the subject of every influence rather than 
 an influence coming upon him from God, and who, familiar 
 only with objects of sense and sin, was every day maturing 
 and strengthening a character the most opposite to the Di- 
 vine Being, — brought and kept by the Holy Spirit within 
 the range of this new and hallowed influence, becomes con- 
 formed to the image of God, grows in the love and practice 
 of those things which constitute the Divine likeness, — his 
 whole spiritual life comes to consist in daily seeing more of 
 God, and in being constantly carried on in a nearer resem- 
 blance to him ; and thus is he made a partaker of the Di- 
 vine nature, and escapes the corruption that is in the world. 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. 71 
 
 I would have this view impressed upon the mind of every 
 Christian, not so much as a matter of interesting specula- 
 tion, as a truth, the recollection of which is essential to his 
 peace and his progress. If there is a desire, peculiar to a 
 believer, which ought at all times to distinguish him, it 
 surely is, that he may be conformed to the image of the Son 
 of God, — if there is any thing after which his endeavours 
 should be unceasing, it surely is, that the image of God may 
 be matured in his soul, — and if there is any thing that is, 
 or ought to be, matter of serious grief to him, it will be, that 
 he has hitherto made so little progress towards this great at- 
 tainment, and that there is so little about him by which 
 others may take knowledge, that he has been with Jesus, and 
 learned of him. 
 
 But whilst this is true, there is often with many an igno- 
 rance or a misconception of the way by which the result that 
 they desire is to be attained. Although the Christian knows 
 that for all his growth in holiness, as well as for all his spi- 
 ritual understanding, he must be dependent on the Spirit of 
 God, he is not always practically aware, that the Spirit of 
 God operates in a way that is agreeable to the principles of 
 his nature ; and he may be often found, therefore, entertain- 
 ing hopes of spiritual aid, and expecting to receive sanctify- 
 ing power in a way which God has not promised. He may 
 be looking for the fruits of holiness in his heart and life, 
 whilst he is not preserving in his mind that great object 
 which alone can sanctify him, — he may be expecting the 
 image of God to be formed in his soul, whilst he is not ha- 
 bitually fixing the eye of his mind upon the glory of God in 
 the face of Jesus Christ, — and not a few of those distressful 
 fears, so hurtful to his peace and prosperity, may arise from 
 his ignorance of that great law of his being, which is equally 
 in accordance with the testimony of the Bible and of all ex- 
 perience, that the power which is to renew and sanctify him 
 lies in something out of his own mind altogether, by the 
 contemplation of which he is to be changed into the same 
 image from glory to glory. 
 
72 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 If the principle which we have now stated be correct, the 
 expectation or the attempt to become conformed to the Di- 
 vine image independent of it, were as vain as if a man should 
 expect any bright object to be reflected upon him from a glass, 
 whilst his face was not turned in the direction of it. To se- 
 cure this end, the first and indispensable step is, that we look 
 upon it ; and to secure the reflection of the Divine image 
 from the glass of the Word on the soul, the first and indis- 
 pensable step is, that we turn the eye of our mind towards this 
 object, and keep it steadily fixed upon it. Let this only 
 become the object of familiar and believing contempla- 
 tion, and the image cannot fail to be realized. Let us only 
 study to give it the chief place, among others that solicit our 
 regard, and its likeness will stand with a corresponding pro- 
 minence impressed upon our minds. Let us only exert the 
 power which we possess over our own thoughts, to direct 
 them habitually towards this object, and all the feelings of 
 love, and gratitude, and praise, will come along with it. Our 
 minds will be brought within the operation of a principle 
 which acts with all the certainty and invariableness of a law 
 of nature, although the resemblance may not be formed so 
 rapidly or so correctly as we could desire ; and growing, we 
 know not how, and by steps which we cannot discern, it will, 
 nevertheless, advance steadily onwards to perfection. 
 
 Though the Divine character, seen and contemplated by 
 faith, is thus the great source of holiness and purity in the 
 Christian, and must continue to be contemplated and studied, 
 as he would grow in conformity to it, during the whole period 
 of his continuance in the world ; yet the influence which is 
 attributed to it is not confined to the present state of things. 
 It is as applicable to the eternal world as it is to that in 
 which we are now placed ; it constitutes, in fact, the great 
 object by which saints will be advanced in glory, as well as 
 trained up in meetness for it ; and it will still be true, at 
 every point in the progress of an immortal spirit to its high 
 destination, that the glory of God, seen, not through a glass 
 darkly, but face to face, is the source of its glory, and the 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. ^3 
 
 great spring of all its moral and spiritual excellence. Though 
 the image of God in the soul is so far perfected at death, as 
 that the believer is at once and for ever delivered from that 
 sin which so often clouds his perception of the Divine charac- 
 ter, and turns his mind aside from the contemplation of it ; 
 yet that image can never be completely perfected, so long as 
 it is capable of receiving any increase or addition. When an 
 immortal being, with a capacity of knowing, and serving, and 
 imitating God which is susceptible of infinite enlargement, 
 enters upon a world, of which, if we know any thing at all, 
 we know that it is a world that brings him nearer to God ; 
 and when he is ushered into a scene, of which, dim and ob- 
 scure as our conceptions may be, we are assured that it 
 is bright with manifestations of Divine glory, — when he 
 walks abroad in the new heavens and the new earth wherein 
 dwelleth righteousness, with a nature refined and purified, 
 but still in all its essential properties the same ; and when 
 there meets him on every hand the glory of God that doth 
 lighten it, and the Lamb who is the light thereof, — when the 
 same objects that, seen through a glass darkly, transformed 
 him into their own likeness, are again presented in new and 
 fuller lustre, the effect of contemplating them will still be the 
 same, in changing him into the same image, from one degree 
 of glory to another. It is said, emphatically, of the life to 
 come, that " we know not what we shall be, but this we 
 know, that we shall see God as he is," — that there will be 
 given to those objects which we have contemplated by faith 
 all the brightness of sense, — that the mystery of God will 
 then be accomplished, — that there will be a new light poured 
 on the character and ways of God, — and that the believer will 
 then stand on an eminence, from which he may contemplate 
 with greater advantage that object, from the contemplation 
 of which, even in this world, he bears an image conformed 
 to the character of the Son of God. And who knows, in that 
 world which no eye hath ever seen, what new and untold 
 glories await us ? — what fresh discoveries may be presented 
 to our sight, or even to our faith ? And in those new and 
 
74 DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 untried scenes of being through which we have to pass, what 
 new manifestations of the glory and of the excellency of God 
 may yet burst upon us ? — and how much, in the depths of 
 a nature infinite in all its perfections, is there yet to be dis- 
 closed to the view of his creatures ? Who knows what those 
 blessed and happy beings that have ever dwelt in the light 
 of God's countenance, and have far outstripped us in the 
 knowledge of God, discern of him from their heights of celes- 
 tial observation ? — who knows what we may discern when 
 we come to occupy the place which they now occupy, and 
 which they will then have quitted for one far in advance of 
 ours ? — or who knows, or who even can conceive, as this po- 
 sition comes to be exchanged for another, and another, and 
 another, through a series of infinite ages, each one enabling 
 us to see further into the infinite glories of the Godhead, 
 what brighter revelations of holiness, and purity, and grace, 
 may stand disclosed to us ? This, at any rate, we are war- 
 ranted to conceive, that there may be no limits to these, and 
 therefore no limits to our advancement in the image of God, 
 — that the time will never come, even in eternal ages, when 
 the spirits of the just made perfect shall make no nearer ap- 
 proach to the Divine perfections, because the time can never 
 come, even in eternity, when these perfections are incapable 
 of being further disclosed to them ; and that the same glory 
 which, opening upon a human soul in this world of sin and 
 suffering, imparts to it a new and heavenly character, and a 
 new and purer blessedness, continuing to open upon it at 
 every successive stage of the path which it is pursuing, may 
 continue to be the source of its advancement in all those qua- 
 lities which constitute the glory and the felicity of an immor- 
 tal nature. It is thus, I conceive, that the Divine character 
 may be, not only in this world, but in that world where one 
 being differs from another, even as one star differeth from 
 another in glory, the object, by beholding which the believer 
 is to be changed into the same image, from glory to glory. 
 It will only become so, however, if that glory is here dis- 
 closed to us, and we are changed into its image ; and there is 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTH. J5 
 
 no consideration more powerfully fitted than this to impress 
 upon the minds of believers the importance of having that 
 glory revealed, and of turning their minds habitually upon it. 
 There is another view of the subject, however, which may 
 impress more readily the minds of those who are living care- 
 less of God, and careless of having his image stamped upon 
 their souls. The same great object which, when presented 
 to the mind of a glorified saint, will continue to win his heart 
 to the love and imitation of God, presented in a different 
 light to an outcast spirit, may be the source of increasing 
 aversion to God, and of increasing distance and estrangement 
 from his perfections ! That which is to constitute the feli- 
 city of the one, may only contribute to the misery of the 
 other ! Whatever may be the difference that death makes 
 upon the condition of any two human souls, the one of which, 
 by the contemplation of the Divine glory, has been growing 
 in the image of God, and the other, by disregarding God, 
 has been left exposed to all those evil influences by which 
 the soul grows in opposition to him, — one thing is common 
 to them, that death brings both nearer to God, and brings 
 them into a condition in which they cannot, even though 
 they would, exclude the thought of his presence and his 
 power. To the one he will appear arrayed in all the riches 
 of his grace and divine compassion, to receive him to the 
 everlasting habitations ; to the other he will appear in all the 
 terrors of his justice, bidding him away to the wailing and 
 the weeping of outer darkness. By the one he will be seen 
 in all that glory which has won his soul to love, and to imi- 
 tate his perfections, and which will still continue to attract 
 and carry him on in advancing conformity to God ; to the 
 other, his grace now for ever withdrawn, he will appear only 
 in such a light as to awaken his enmity and opposition to his 
 character and will. Like the pillar which guided the Israel- 
 ites in the wilderness, whilst it was a terror and an amaze- 
 ment to their enemies, the presence of God will give light to 
 the one along the whole path of his eternal progress, whilst 
 it will only cast a more fearful gloom into the terrible prison- 
 
7G DISCOURSE FIFTH. 
 
 house of the other. And thus, whilst within the blessed and 
 privileged circle of those who have sought to know God and 
 to serve him, his presence will fill every heart with joy, and 
 bring every soul nearer to himself, and nearer to his own 
 blessedness ; beyond that circle, his presence, not less real, 
 and not less felt, will only awaken a profounder misery, and 
 strengthen the character of its ungodliness ! Both of these 
 souls may be acted upon by the same object, and both may 
 be obeying the same great law of their being, though the one 
 may be advancing nearer to God, and the other be only the 
 more estranged from him. But, with all this in common, 
 the effect will be opposite, from the opposite lights in which 
 the character of God is contemplated ; and whilst the one is 
 elevated by the contemplation amidst the choirs and the com- 
 pany of heaven, it will be only giving forth an influence 
 which is to sink the other still deeper down amidst the prin- 
 cipalities and the powers of hell ! 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 John, iii. 14, 15. — "And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the 
 wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up ; that whosoever 
 believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life." 
 
 These words direct us to an event in the history of the 
 Jewish people, which it is necessary shortly to bring to your 
 remembrance, before employing it to illustrate the way in 
 which we are to become partakers of the eternal life that is 
 in Christ. 
 
 During their march through the wilderness, the Israelites, 
 as was often the case, murmured against God and against 
 Moses, and, wearied and worn out by the length of the way, 
 expressed their dissatisfaction in reproaches, most unbecom- 
 ing their situation, and most unworthy the tender care of 
 which they had been the objects : " The people spake against 
 God and against Moses, saying, Wherefore have ye brought 
 us up out of Egypt to die in this wilderness, for there is no 
 bread, neither any water, and our soul loatheth this light 
 bread F" 
 
 Provoked by these murmurings, and resolved to punish 
 the disobedient, God sent fiery serpents among the people, 
 which bit the people, and much people of Israel died ; and, 
 finding the vanity of contending with God, and professing to 
 feel the iniquity of their conduct, they came to Moses, say- 
 ing, " We have sinned, for we have spoken against the 
 Lord, and against thee. Pray unto the Lord that he take 
 
78 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 away the serpents from us." And Moses prayed for the 
 people. The answer to this prayer, which was graciously 
 accepted, was given, however, in a way that the Israelites 
 could never have anticipated. Instead of at once removing 
 their sufferings, God was pleased to employ means, as un- 
 likely in themselves as they were found, through his bless- 
 ing, effectual, for their cure ; and resolved to make one and 
 all feel that the removal, as well as the infliction of the cala- 
 mity, was from him, and to leave not the smallest room for 
 boasting that their own might or their own wisdom had done 
 it, — resolved at the same time to make the restoration of 
 every individual dependent on his obedience to the Divine 
 appointment, he required Moses to make a fiery serpent of 
 brass, and set it upon a pole in the view of all the camp, 
 assuring him that whosoever looked upon it should recover. 
 And when, in obedience to this injunction, Moses had made 
 a serpent of brass, and set it in the view of all the camp, 
 " it came to pass," says the historian, " that if a serpent had 
 bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass he 
 lived." 
 
 Such is the incident in Old Testament history which forms 
 the subject of the Saviour's allusion. 
 
 It is not our intention at this time to enter into all the ends 
 which such an appointment might have been designed to 
 serve. It might, we doubt not, from the very first have 
 been intended to direct the minds of men forward to a higher 
 deliverance ; and in this view it might have conspired, along 
 with the many other types strewn throughout the Old Tes- 
 tament, to guide the faith and animate the hope of believers, 
 when they walk by the word of prophecy, as by a light shin- 
 ing in a dark place. Of this, however, there can be no 
 doubt, from the language of the Saviour, that the way of 
 safety prescribed to the Israelites may well be employed to 
 illustrate the way of peace and safety provided for us by the 
 Gospel ; and it is clearly implied that there is such a paral- 
 lelism or resemblance between them, when he declares that, 
 " As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 79 
 
 must the Son of man be lifted up." It is obvious that such 
 a parallel supposes something in our situation which may not 
 unfitly be represented by that of the Israelites, as they lay 
 exposed to the misery of a Divine infliction. It is not the 
 object of our Lord to bring such a state directly before us, — 
 that object being rather to point out the similarity between 
 the mode of our deliverance and that by which the Israelites 
 were healed ; but still this implies the existence of a state 
 equally miserable ; and the Saviour has indeed expressed it 
 all, when he declares that the Son of Man was lifted up, that 
 whosoever believeth on him might not perish, — obviously 
 implying that, but for this Divine interposition, all of us must 
 have perished. And though the full import of such a sen- 
 tence is not brought visibly and sensibly before us, and 
 though multitudes may be blind to every indication which 
 exists that it is taking effect upon themselves, or upon others ; 
 no believer in the Word of God can need to be told, that 
 there is in this single expression something so fearful, that 
 its fearfulness would be very feebly and inadequately ex- 
 pressed by the state of things at the moment when disease 
 and death were spreading their ravages most widely through 
 the camp of Israel. 
 
 It is the declaration, not of one part of Scripture, but of 
 every part, — the truth which lies at the foundation of all its 
 discoveries, and without which nothing of all that it reveals 
 could possess the smallest application to our circumstances, 
 — that the guilt which attaches to us as sinners has pro- 
 voked the utterance of a wo as righteous as it is awful, — 
 that we lie exposed to a curse, the nature and malignity of 
 which all the misery and suffering that exist in the world 
 afford only a very inadequate conception, — and that, unless 
 removed from us by an application like that in which lay the 
 safety of the Israelites, we are yet involved in a condition, of 
 which we cannot say less, and can hardly say more, than that 
 the wrath of God abideth on us. 
 
 Such is the sentence declared in every page of the Bible, 
 and implied in the whole of those communications which it 
 
 8 
 
80 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 makes to the children of men. In this respect, we meet on 
 common ground with the Israelites, and our condition is 
 equally miserable and perishing as theirs. Moved by a like 
 pity and compassion, however, God has in our case, as in 
 theirs, interfered for our deliverance. " He so loved the 
 world/' we are told, " that he gave his only begotten Son, 
 that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life.'" And it is because of the similarity in the 
 way by which these two Divine appointments became effec- 
 tual for the healing of those whom the serpent has equally 
 bitten, that we have it stated in the language of the text, 
 that " as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even 
 so must the Son of man be lifted up." 
 
 In following out this subject, we remark, in the Jirst place, 
 that in order to our obtaining salvation or eternal life, — a 
 term which includes under it all the blessings of the Gospel, 
 — the first thing necessary is, the conviction that salvation 
 is out of ourselves, and in Christ. 
 
 We mean by these expressions to affirm, that the first step 
 in order to the safety of any sinner is, not that he must be- 
 lieve that he is saved, or that he is in possession of any one 
 blessing, the conveyance of which is suspended on his faith, 
 — we mean, that you must know where the blessing is to be 
 found, — not merely that you are altogether destitute of it, 
 but that it is in Christ. The former of these is to be pro- 
 duced by reflecting on your own character, or on the testi- 
 mony of God regarding it, that you have no life in your- 
 selves ; the latter, by reflecting on the character of the Son 
 of God, or on the testimony that God has borne to him in 
 the Word, — that there is life in him. Without being in pos- 
 session of the former, — I mean the conviction that salvation 
 is not in yourselves, — it is obvious that you could never look 
 to Christ for salvation ; and without being in possession of 
 the latter, — I mean the conviction that it is in Christ, — it 
 were as foolish to suppose that you could ever expect to re- 
 ceive it of him. We presume that it needs only to be under 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 81 
 
 stood in order to commend itself to every one as true ; and 
 it is one of those things most clearly and distinctly testified 
 by the history which our Lord employs, in order to illustrate 
 the way by which we are to become the partakers of his life. 
 
 It is hardly conceivable, indeed, situated as the Israelites 
 were, that any such idea could have been entertained by them 
 as that they were able to work their own cure. They found 
 themselves suffering under an infliction as dangerous as it 
 was inevitable ; the sight of the dying and the dead around 
 left them no reason to expect that, when bitten by the ser- 
 pents, their fate would be different ; and, in the indescri- 
 bable confusion of such a moment, and with such an exhi- 
 bition of misery on every side, there would be little disposition 
 to wait for any remedy from human skill. If no Divine in- 
 terposition had taken place, they had probably at once sur- 
 rendered themselves to despair ; nor were they, in this condi- 
 tion, very likely to oppose the deliverance presented and pro- 
 vided, through that natural disposition to self-dependence, 
 which at another season would have led them to trust to their 
 own devices, instead of betaking themselves to God. 
 
 But you may easily perceive, had this been in any mea- 
 sure their feeling, how much the means which God had ap- 
 pointed for their cure were calculated to withstand it ; that, 
 instead of leaving any thing to be done in order that they 
 might save themselves, it supposed the case desperate, and 
 took it at once out of their hands ; that the first intimation 
 which they had of being healed was by a Divine appointment 
 that led them away from themselves altogether, and which 
 was to be submitted to simply as of God ; and the smallest 
 inclination to trust to themselves for relief from the calamity 
 with which they were visited, had as effectually interposed to 
 prevent their recovery, as if they had at once abandoned 
 themselves to the misery of their condition, and obstinately 
 and perseveringly refused to be made whole. 
 
 This was the first step to the healing of the wounded and 
 dying Israelite. The same Divine intimations, however, 
 
 F 
 
82 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 which bespoke his own helplessness, told him also where the 
 remedy was to be found ; and you can easily conceive how, 
 as his thoughts were averted from himself, and from any hu- 
 man devices, they would be fixed upon the serpent placed 
 in the view of the camp, convinced that all his hope of a 
 cure, and the only remedy for his sufferings, were deposited 
 and treasured up in it. Though unable, indeed, to tell why 
 God should have appointed this to be the mode of his deli- 
 verance, he must have believed and been fully satisfied, that, 
 if he was to be saved by looking to it, God would communi- 
 cate to it a virtue which it possessed not of itself; that there 
 was in it the very thing which covdd give him, and every 
 dying creature around him, instant and immediate relief; 
 and before ever he made a single move towards it, or turned 
 his eye in the direction where it stood, he must have been 
 firm in the conviction that there was something like a heal- 
 ing balm ready to flow out of it, which could communicate 
 life to his dying frame, and send the vigour of healthful 
 existence through every member that was pining under the 
 misery of disease. 
 
 Such must have been the first views and feelings of every 
 Israelite who was healed by the brazen serpent ; and I need 
 hardly say that, by the method which God hath appointed 
 for our salvation, something equally specific and determinate 
 is required at the hand of every one who would receive the 
 blessings of everlasting life. By the expression which our 
 Lord applies to our condition as sinners, denominating it a 
 dying or perishing condition, he obviously supposes that 
 there is in us nothing but death ; that it would be as impos- 
 sible to extract life out of it as it would be to extract one 
 thing out of another whose qualities are entirely opposite ; 
 and the very first announcement which the Gospel makes to 
 you, or to any sinner, that the Son of God is lifted up, in 
 order that, believing in him, you may have life, obviously 
 denies you the liberty of believing that there is life in your- 
 selves ; it declares that you are dead, and that, if you are 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 83 
 
 fancying that you can live through any device of your own, 
 or refusing to look beyond yourselves for its attainment, you 
 must of necessity perish. 
 
 The same Divine commission, however, as clearly and 
 decidedly tells you where this life is to be found. The uni- 
 form testimony of Scripture is, that in Christ there is life, — 
 that, if God hath given unto us eternal life, this life is in 
 his Son, — that it is a blessing deposited and treasured up, 
 as it were, in the Son of God, which he hath purchased by 
 his death, and which he is willing to impart to all who will 
 receive it. And if you must do something equivalent to 
 that which was required of the Israelites, when they were com- 
 manded to look to the brazen serpent for their cure, you must 
 know that, as surely as the blessing which you seek is not in 
 yourselves, so surely is it in Christ. We are very desirous that 
 these two things, — that in yourselves is nothing but death, 
 and that in the Son of God is the life of which you are in 
 search, — should be closely and distinctly seen ; because, till 
 this be done, nothing is or can be done towards your salva- 
 tion. They are two distinct things, be it remembered, — as 
 distinct as your life and mine, as distinct as your soul and 
 mine, — and they must be preserved distinct, if you would en- 
 ter into life ; and however easy a matter this was in the case 
 of a wounded and dying Israelite, the smallest reflection 
 on whose condition told him that it was hopeless, and pre- 
 pared him to acquiesce in any appointment which God might 
 be pleased to institute for his safety, it is a matter of far 
 greater difficulty to bring this home convincingly to your 
 minds, as the truth of your spiritual condition. It was no 
 insult to the pride of a dying man to tell him that he was 
 dying ; but it is felt as insulting to the pride of many a 
 dying sinner, to tell him that he is perishing. There is a 
 self-love in the heart of every man which resists the entrance 
 of a truth that removes at once every ground of boasting, — 
 and, independently of those who would not be fond of con- 
 fessing that their condition is such as the Bible reveals, even 
 amongst such as are ready to own that they can do nothing 
 
81 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 to procure for themselves everlasting life, there may be often 
 discovered something which gives ground for apprehension, 
 either that they do not perceive the aggravation of the dis- 
 ease, or that they know not whither they are to betake them- 
 selves, simply and unequivocally, for the remedy. There is 
 a perpetual mixing up of themselves with the Saviour, — a 
 disposition, it may be, to travel from themselves to him ; 
 but not from their entire emptiness to his all-sufficiency and 
 fulness, — a disposition to look to him for life with greater con- 
 fidence, because of something in themselves which gives 
 ground for believing that they are not altogether lost, and 
 to regard his work as making up for those deficiencies by 
 which his honour and their own peace are injured and im- 
 paired, if their salvation is not thereby undone. It is 
 therefore necessary, most necessary, to press upon you the 
 declarations of Scripture, that, whilst in yourselves there is 
 nothing but death, there is life, wholly and exclusively, for 
 you in Christ. 
 
 Now, observe, we are not asking you to believe that Christ 
 has saved you, or pardoned you, or bestowed on you any 
 blessing at all. That is not the matter in hand, — but sim- 
 ply that salvation is in him, and nowhere else ; and that it 
 is a thing as much distinct from yourselves as the life of 
 Christ is from your own life. And if you connect these two 
 propositions together, and account salvation to be a blessing, 
 and therefore covet its possession, — there will be, in the sin- 
 gleness and simplicity with which you turn away from every 
 other remedy to the Saviour, and in the earnestness with 
 which your mind is fixed on him, the very same disposition 
 with which the mind of an Israelite turned away from his 
 own dying condition to the serpent lifted up in the view of 
 the camp, convinced that in it lay his only safety. Even 
 though there were no hope connected with such a condition 
 (which, however, from the very nature of the Gospel, can- 
 not be), still, if that condition is mine, I feel that I cannot 
 but abide in it. To this Saviour I must be found direct- 
 ing my anxieties, because I know that the blessing which I 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 85 
 
 need is only to be found in him. To him every travailing 
 of my soul for life must therefore conduct me, even as surely 
 as the weary traveller is prompted to seek the living foun- 
 tain, at which alone his thirst can be quenched, and his 
 strength invigorated. Though unable to see his readiness 
 to grant me my desire, or even though repelled from his 
 presence (which no sinner ever was, or ever could be), — 
 thus driven again upon the hopelessness of my own spirit, 
 the renewed experience of my own helplessness would only 
 send me back to him, because I feel the more that I am 
 perishing, and that Christ alone can give me life. 
 
 The first thing necessary to be known, then, in order to 
 our salvation, is, Where the blessing which we need is to be 
 found ? and the second, to which we are now to direct your 
 attention, is, How the blessing is to become yours ? The an- 
 swer to the former of these questions, employing the illus- 
 tration with which our Lord furnishes us, was, that salvation 
 and eternal life were out of yourselves and in Christ ; and 
 the inquiry which now remains, and which will be found, we 
 trust, not less satisfactorily illustrated by the case of the Is- 
 raelite, is, how this blessing, which is in Christ, is to flow 
 out of Christ unto you. The answer to this, as we have it 
 in the text, is, that believing in Christ we shall not perish, 
 but have everlasting life. 
 
 In making this a distinct and separate subject of inquiry, 
 we do not suppose that it is always such to every believer. 
 He may be seldom or never guided fully and clearly to the 
 conviction that there is life in Christ, without, at the same 
 time, perceiving how it is to be attained, — the Word of 
 God never presenting the one of these, without at the same 
 time presenting the other. The one, therefore, may have 
 succeeded the other so rapidly, and been acted upon so imme- 
 diately, that you might scarcely be conscious of the succes- 
 sion, as the dying Israelite needed only to hear of the brazen 
 serpent lifted up for his healing, and, instantly looking, he 
 was healed ; and whilst it may cost us some pains to an- 
 
86 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 ravel the way by which you have reached your confidence 
 in Christ, the whole may have been transacted in your case 
 in a single moment, and the intimation that there was life 
 in Christ for sinners, for every sinner who did not put it 
 away from him, have been instantly followed up by that act 
 which made that blessing your own. For all this, however, 
 and though we are not wishing to divide what, as the testi- 
 mony of the Gospel is addressed to sinners, cannot perhaps 
 be separated, — you will easily perceive that these are two 
 different things, as different as, in the case of the wounded 
 Israelite, was the conviction that the serpent of brass was 
 lifted up for the healing of those whom the fiery serpents had 
 bitten, and that act by which he looked and was healed. 
 The one was the result of the other, — and in his case, at any 
 rate, the necessary result ; but they were still distinct, and 
 though we have already ascertained that this eternal life is 
 out of yourselves and in Christ, it may be yet necessary to 
 state how this life is to flow out from Christ to you. 
 
 The answer to this question, as found in Scripture, is 
 given in many terms, substantially the same in meaning, 
 and is most frequently conveyed by the language of our text, 
 that we must believe in Christ for salvation, or, as it un- 
 questionably means, if we adapt it to the mode of cure pre- 
 scribed to the Israelites, that we must look to Christ for sal- 
 vation. But though, to an answer like this, there could at- 
 tach, in the view of an Israelite, not the smallest ambiguity ; 
 though he could not hesitate for a moment what was in this 
 case to be done, in order that he might be recovered ; though 
 it was to him the simplest and most intelligible thing in the 
 world, when it was said, rt Look, and be healed, 11 I can 
 easily conceive, that, were we to tell you, in like manner, 
 that you need only look to the Saviour in order to be 
 saved from perishing, there would be not a little difficulty, 
 even with some who really felt salvation through him to be 
 the mostdcsirable of all blessings, — that you would not know 
 what to do, or where to begin, — that, under a language, the 
 very plainest as applied to natural objects, there would be 
 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 87 
 
 found to reside a most incomprehensible mystery, as applied 
 to spiritual objects ; and the very figure which had been 
 employed to guide you to the truth, might thus be the very 
 thing to darken and confound you. 
 
 It may serve, however, to clear away the difficulty, if we 
 attend a little further to the illustration of our text ; and, 
 in doing so, we feel that we have to deal with a point, the 
 knowledge of which is as essential to the sinner's holiness as 
 it is to the sinner's peace. 
 
 You will remember, then, in what state we left the Israelite, 
 when the first intimation had been given him of a Divine 
 appointment, in which there was virtue enough, through the 
 blessing of God, to heal the fatal malady under which he 
 laboured. We left him, not only in the full persuasion of 
 the hopelessness of all human remedies, but persuaded that 
 there was a remedy, and only one, by which he could be 
 relieved ; and with a mind resting upon one object, and 
 only one, in the virtue of which lay all his confidence of 
 a cure, though as yet without the experience of that cure. 
 The same message, however, which brought him the tidings 
 which lifted him above despair, conveyed the intelligence, 
 not less welcome, that the appointment was designed for 
 him, and for every man in a like miserable and helpless con- 
 dition, — that, without respect to the character of one above 
 another, and with a feeling which embraced all, however 
 wasted by suffering, or on the point of perishing, its merci- 
 ful provision waited his acceptance, — that every man, unless 
 he refused to be healed, would participate in its efficacy, — 
 and that, by an application so simple as turning his eye 
 toward the serpent placed aloft above the camp, he should 
 infallibly be healed. You may easily conceive that the effect 
 of this upon the man who comprehended and believed the 
 message, would be to raise his expectation of a cure from 
 hope to certainty, — every hinderance had been removed, ex- 
 cept there had remained any, which it is impossible to sup- 
 pose, in his own unwillingness to be healed, — and now you 
 might have seen the eye that was before sunk and overcast, 
 
88 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 begin to brighten up, — and the limbs, that had formerly re 
 fused to do their office, slowly dragged along to a situation 
 from which he might catch a look of the desired object ; — 
 and every where you might have seen hundreds of dyinj 
 wretches bestirring themselves as if for their life, and sum. 
 mooing all their strength to make a last effort, because they 
 felt life to be precious. And you might have seen little 
 children, too, as well as old men, hastening on together (for 
 the unpitying serpent had spared none) ; and many a one 
 that had laid himself down to die, would lift up his head, 
 persuaded that he needed not now to perish, — till, through- 
 out the camp, which had presented the spectacle of a battle- 
 field, rather than that of an army resting peacefully in their 
 tents, the wail that rose from the wounded and dying would 
 be lost in the thanksgivings and the praise that ascended as 
 each dying man looked and felt the inspiration of a new 
 and healthful existence, — felt that virtue had come out of 
 that serpent, and healed him. Surely not one of them all 
 could have perished, without being the cause of his own un- 
 doing ! And why, then, brethren, why need you or I perish, 
 if Christ be lifted up to take away sin, and if we need only 
 look to him and be healed ! 
 
 It was in a way thus simple, that the wounded and dying 
 Israelites were cured. We do not enter into the reasons of 
 such an appointment, though it appears very obvious, that 
 whilst God designed to try their obedience, by requiring 
 them to look to the serpent before they could experience a 
 cure, he intended, at the same time, that there should be 
 nothing to allow the smallest room for the imagination, that 
 they owed their safety to any other than to him. No one 
 could, in this case, boast that his looking to the serpent had 
 healed him, — a thing more likely in itself to have aggra- 
 vated his disease, than to have removed it, — he must have 
 felt that the power and grace of God had effected it, and 
 nothing else. And it is in a way equally simple, though 
 equally humbling to our pride, that any of us arc to be 
 saved. If you have realized the situation of the Israelite 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 89 
 
 as we went along, you must have discovered, in every step 
 of it, the description of the mode of your spiritual deliver- 
 ance ; and, without almost drawing the parallel, I might 
 now leave with yourselves the determination of the ques- 
 tion, how the life that is in Christ may flow freely out to 
 you. 
 
 If persuaded of these two things, the importance of which 
 we have endeavoured to press upon you, — that this life is 
 out of yourselves, and in Christ, — that these two things are 
 as distinct as your life and mine, — you know already the 
 condition in which the Israelites were, when convinced that 
 God had laid up, as it were, in the serpent, the only balm 
 which could prove sufficient for his cure; and your mind 
 must be convinced as firmly as was his, with reference to a 
 different object, that in him who has been lifted up on the 
 cross to take away sin, lies your only hope of safety. 
 
 This is not, however, to you, any more than to him, the 
 full extent of the good tidings which you are required to em- 
 brace. The same Word which informs you that there is a 
 Saviour, or that there is life in this Saviour, tells you with 
 equal clearness, that this blessing God waiteth to bestow on 
 all who will receive it at his hands. The declaration made 
 in the one case is as free and as unqualified as in the other, 
 — the " whosoever looketh on the serpent shall live,"" is not 
 one whit larger or more gracious than the " whosoever be- 
 lieveth,'" or the " whosoever looketh, shall not perish," in the 
 other. In either case the language plainly amounts to this, 
 that every hinderance on the part of God has been removed 
 which might have prevented this life flowing out upon you ; 
 that God has given you the blessing which, beyond every 
 other, you require, as much as he might be said to have 
 given to the Israelites a remedy for the mortal disease with 
 which they were visited, when the serpent was lifted up 
 above the camp. The act by which, after this was made 
 known, the Israelite looked and was healed, was merely an 
 act expressive of his confidence in the efficacy of the Divine 
 appointment, — and, when you are bidden, in like manner, 
 
90 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 look to Christ and be saved, nothing more is meant than 
 that you should give the same confidence to Christ as the 
 way of your peace and reconciliation with the Father, in or- 
 der to obtain what is in your case an equally necessary de- 
 liverance. He looked, and God testified his faithfulness by 
 instantly vouchsafing a cure ; and the same reliance on the 
 efficacy of the great propitiation, — the same devout acquies- 
 cence in the cross of Christ as that by which God is re- 
 conciling all things to himself, — the same acceptance of 
 God's testimony concerning him, — will not, and cannot fail, 
 in all that concerns your spiritual welfare, to draw down a 
 like experience of the same faithfulness. He is set forth for 
 this very purpose, that you may look to him and be saved. 
 Though he is not, and cannot be sensibly beheld, he may 
 be made by each of you the object of believing contem- 
 plation. The eye of your mind may still be directed to 
 Jesus as the author and finisher of your faith, — and it is 
 when you turn to him in the confidence that there is life in 
 him for your souls, — when you fix your regards on him in 
 the confidence that he will give out of his own fulness as 
 your necessities require, — that these necessities shall be met 
 and supplied, and that you shall be as truly put in posses- 
 sion of the healing virtue that flows from his cross, as was 
 the Israelite, when virtue came forth from the serpent of 
 brass and healed him. 
 
 I trust that none of these observations will have the effect 
 of distressing any of those anxious and sincere inquirers 
 after truth, who, though seeking rest, may be yet in many 
 respects far from having obtained it. They have been made, 
 I am sure, from a very different motive ; and though we 
 must hold it to be the right state of a Christian mind when 
 it rests on the Saviour, and finds its rest in him, I know no- 
 thing in the Bible which warrants us to say, that the man 
 does not look to Christ for salvation, unless he is fully con- 
 scious of looking to him, and is persuaded, from actual 
 feeling or experience, that he has life through him. Though 
 the truth, that salvation is not of ourselves, but of Christ, 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 91 
 
 is one which will approve itself to every mind that knows 
 any thing of the Gospel at all ; and equally so the truth, 
 that, in looking to Christ, we are made the partakers of his 
 life, yet the full meaning of this may not be distinctly ap- 
 prehended, and there may still be often darkness, and dis- 
 tress, and disquietude, instead of light, and peace, and grate- 
 ful joy. For all this, however, men may not be strangers to 
 the very act of faith of which we speak, — there may be 
 a real substantial intercourse between Christ and their souls, 
 in the exercise of humble looking on the one hand, and in 
 real communications of spiritual life on the other ; and we 
 should feel it to be as cruel and unjust to pronounce them 
 to be devoid of all saving faith, as it was to deprive the 
 poor man of his little ewe-lamb, which grew up with him 
 and with his children, and which did eat of his own meat, 
 and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was 
 unto him as his daughter. The thing of all others, the 
 most desirable for them is, that those seasons of light, and 
 liberty, and enlargement, which throw a gleam of sun- 
 shine across their path, should become more constant through 
 the distinct and vivid apprehension of a Saviour lifted up, 
 having life in himself, and ready to dispense that life to all 
 who will look to him. 
 
 If an Israelite, when told to look to the serpent and he 
 should live, had asked, what was meant by looking to it, or 
 what he should do in order to open his eyes ? I fear that we 
 should have found difficulty in answering the question, 
 otherwise than by repeating the same injunction, in terms 
 more urgent than before. And when you ask us, in like 
 manner, what is meant by looking to Christ, I fear that I 
 can do little else than reiterate the injunction, whilst I di 
 rect you at the same time to him who enlighteneth the eyes 
 of the understanding. Look to him, — receive him, — rest 
 upon him, — and you shall be saved. Than these, I hardly 
 know words more simple, or more intelligible in language, 
 and had we not some preconceived opinions of our own upon 
 the subject, — were we not ready to render mysterious what 
 
92 DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 the Word of God has conveyed in the plainest terms, — and 
 was there not a natural blindness in our minds to apprehend 
 spiritual things, I can hardly conceive why there should be 
 greater difficulty in understanding the injunction, " Look 
 unto me and be ye saved," than there was, " Look unto the 
 serpent of brass and ye shall live." The one conveys the 
 sentiment as clearly as the other ; and he who, knowing and 
 believing that over this world of sin and suffering a Sa- 
 viour has been lifted up, in whom there is power and grace 
 sufficient to relieve all his sufferings, and to pardon all his 
 sins, turns his mind towards him, and fixes his very soul 
 upon him as the only and the satisfying remedy, — who, per- 
 suaded that the blessings which are treasured up in him are 
 free as the air we breathe, or the light of heaven in which 
 we rejoice, raises his eye to him with confidence, and rests 
 on the prevalence of his eternal mediatorship for his com- 
 plete salvation ; and who, never perplexing himself about 
 the inquiry, with which, indeed, he has no concern, how, or 
 in what way, he must look to him, looks to him and sees in 
 him his safety and his deliverance, — he is doing all that God 
 requires, in order that he may be put in possession of salva- 
 tion through his cross, — and, resting and abiding in this 
 faith, he shall not perish, but have everlasting life. 
 
 And is it possible, addressing myself, as I now do, to those, 
 each of whom the serpent has bitten, and each of whom the 
 sight of a Saviour lifted up can alone save, is it possible that I 
 shall address this language in vain? Can I place before 
 you, and almost bring sensibly into view, that life which you 
 need, as surely as you have no life in yourselves, without 
 one hand being extended to receive it, or one heart opened 
 to embrace it ? Is it possible, that when nothing more is 
 required than to direct the eye to the Saviour, you will close 
 it, lest you should be converted and healed ? — and that you 
 will leave this house, through which now soundeth the voice 
 that was heard over the camp of Israel, " Look and you shall 
 live," without one heart being turned to an unseen Saviour, 
 or any believing intercourse being begun between him and 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 93 
 
 your souls ? O, how different was it in the case of the 
 dying Israelites ! for the serpent had no sooner bitten any, 
 than he looked to the serpent of brass that he might be 
 healed, — and the man who was languishing under disease 
 and suffering hasted to look, lest he should perish ere he 
 could behold it, — and not a dying creature throughout the 
 host, but hastened to some spot from which he might see it 
 and live. And is there any thing less real in your dan- 
 ger, or less effectual in the ransom provided for you, that 
 with the curse of sin resting upon you, and the misery of sin 
 following you, you should yet reject the proffered deliver- 
 ance, or resist the beseeching which is made to you, " Look 
 unto me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth ?" 
 
 While I cannot suppose that any of you have experienced 
 this life, who have never looked to the Saviour that ye 
 might receive it, yet, addressing myself, as I now do, to be- 
 lievers, I am sure that you can, in some degree, testify to 
 its reality. Though some of the blessings embraced under 
 the expressions, everlasting life, — the removal of the curse, 
 and the pardon of sin, — be invisible things, and though the 
 life which the Saviour promises is as yet hid with Christ 
 in God, yet I am persuaded that you can tell, how, with all 
 your deadness and coldness to spiritual things, you have 
 been conscious of something like a new and better existence, 
 — a life as foreign to your own natures as life is to death, 
 and which has been derived from the contemplation of that 
 very object in which there is life. And in the changed cur- 
 rent of a soul, now delivered from the slavery of sin, and 
 from the bondage of many a corruption, — and which finds 
 its chief happiness in God, and in obedience to his will, and 
 in all the holier feelings which are exercised about heavenly 
 things, you know, in so far as you can be expected to know, 
 that he who believeth in the Son hath life. 
 
 I need not tell you, however, though experiencing the mode 
 of your cure to be in these respects similar to that of the Is- 
 raelites, that there is one point in which it is materially dif- 
 ferent. He looked to the serpent of brass, and was instantly 
 
94) DISCOURSE SIXTH. 
 
 and completely healed. After having once beheld it, it 
 was not necessary for him, as if his cure had been imper- 
 fect, to look again — nor did he retain for a single moment 
 any taint of the baneful influence which had poisoned 
 every member of his bodily frame, — whilst you must feel, 
 on the other hand, even after having looked to the Sa- 
 viour, that your cure is imperfect. You may sometimes, 
 indeed, through the power of sin, the prevalence of tempta- 
 tion, and the insensibility of your mind to spiritual things, 
 be led to doubt whether you have known any thing like a cure 
 at all. At any rate, there is enough every day to remind 
 you that the malady is deeply seated in your natures, — that 
 it is, indeed, the sin that dwelleth in you, — and you may be 
 brought at times, from its power, to be dispirited and de- 
 sponding, as if there were no remedy provided, and no Saviour 
 brought near. Fear not, however, brethren, — for these, and all 
 your spiritual distresses, there is still the same remedy. The 
 serpent is still lifted up over the camp of Israel, — the Sa- 
 viour is still lifted up that you may look to him, and, look- 
 ing, be healed. Continuing to keep yourselves in the atti- 
 tude of believing suppliants, you shall continue to receive as 
 you ask, and to find as you seek, and as you need it of him. 
 It is by looking to Jesus that your spiritual cure is be- 
 gun, and it is by the exercise of the same faith that your 
 spiritual cure is to be perfected. Out of Him every bless- 
 ing you require is to flow ; and if you have found either 
 peace, or joy, or holy desire, conveyed to you from this 
 source, be assured that every blessing included in the gift 
 of life, when you come trusting to him, will be as freely im- 
 parted. Fail not, therefore, O fail not to remember, be- 
 loved brethren, as when you first heard it and first believed 
 it, that the life which you need is in Christ, and not in 
 yourselves ; that whilst there is nothing but death in you, 
 in him there is every thing that can quicken your hearts. 
 Let your souls, as one has it, " be continually travelling be- 
 tween your own emptiness and Christ's fulness;"" — let each 
 experience of weakness, and sin, and suffering, send you to 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTH. 95 
 
 him with a more earnest and persevering cry for deliverance— 
 and thus continuing to wait upon him, and to look to him 
 for your final cure, you shall know more fully, that, " as the 
 Father hath life in himself, even so hath he given to the Son 
 to have life in himself,"— and that " he that hath the Son 
 hath life," and shall have it more abundantly. 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 Psalm lxxvii. 19. — Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great 
 waters, and thy footsteps are not known. 
 
 Psalm lxxxix. 14. — Justice and judgment are the habitation of thy 
 throne: mercy and truth shall go before thy face. 
 
 We join these two scriptures together, because we dare say 
 they are frequently united in the minds of Christians, — their 
 experience of the truth of the one frequently serving to exer- 
 cise their faith in the other. The former, as well as the 
 latter, is visually regarded as a declaration respecting the 
 providence of God ; and there can be no difficulty in per- 
 ceiving the application of its bold and figurative language to 
 many an event which that providence presents to us. In one 
 sense, the words of our text might be considered as strikingly 
 characteristic of the whole scheme of that government, which, 
 whilst conducted by God, is still conducted in a manner im- 
 perceptible by our bodily senses ; in which, with numberless 
 marks of wisdom and contrivance, we never, as it were, ap- 
 proach nearer to the presence of the Great Designer ; and 
 in which all our researches into the causes operating around 
 us only conduct us from one instrument to another, God 
 still hiding himself from us in light that is inaccessible. 
 
 It is, however, in a meaning somewhat different from this, 
 that the first of these verses is generally regarded and em- 
 ployed. Even supposing us to go forth to the consideration 
 
DISCOURSE SEVEXTII. 97 
 
 of God's works with that complete knowledge of his charac- 
 ter, and perfect assurance of his continued working in every 
 human event, which his Word conveys ; persuaded that no- 
 thing could ever happen beyond the plan of his government, 
 and that every thing was under the guidance of infinite wis- 
 dom and rectitude, — there would yet be much to convince 
 us of our own ignorance and inability to comprehend the 
 mystery of his working, and to make us feel that his way was 
 in the sea, and his path in the great waters, and that his 
 footsteps are not known. It is as an expression of the incon- 
 ceivableness of the Divine government) and of the difficulty 
 of reconciling many parts of it even with the acknowledged 
 character of God, that we are now, therefore, to consider the 
 language of our text. 
 
 In looking upon the world as the creation of infinite holi- 
 ness and infinite goodness, one of the first things which 
 strikes us as partaking of this character of inscrutableness is, 
 — that mystery which has perplexed alike all ages and all 
 nations, and still remains incapable of solution by any, — the 
 permission of eviK Of its existence none of you can be ig- 
 norant ; for where has not sin entered, and death by sin ? 
 Every man is speedily convinced that he is born into a world 
 of sin and of suffering ; every thing that he sees in the world 
 assures him, also, that no more than himself are others ex- 
 empted from their visitation ; that it is the condition of hu- 
 man nature ; that evil is still preponderating, and sin every 
 where ruling, scarcely checked by any opposition or resist- 
 ance which it may encounter. That it is overruled for the 
 accomplishment of many wise ends ; that a work is in pro- 
 gress for its complete removal ; that even now suffering 
 works patience, and is the cause of many a noble virtue ; 
 that the permission of evil is interwoven with a state of trial ; 
 and that it is by the varied painfulness of such a scene that 
 sons and daughters are trained up for glory, — are, no doubt, 
 truths agreeable to our experience, as well as in harmony with 
 all that we know or have learned of God. But weigh this 
 against the countless sorrows which sin has introduced, with- 
 
98 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 out bringing one consolation to its unhappy victims, — weigh 
 the bliss of the few who shall be redeemed against the mi- 
 sery of the many who shall be left under its power, — and who 
 will say that, on the principles of human wisdom, he can 
 explain the mystery ? The existence and the permission of 
 such sin and misery under the government of him whose 
 power was adequate to prevent, or who might never have 
 permitted them, is one of those deep things, of which, I 
 know not how far it can be said, that angels have a desire to 
 look into it. And much more, then, may the very thought 
 bring us in deepest prostration to the Divine footstool, ac- 
 knowledging that " God^s way is in the sea, and his path in 
 the great waters, and his footsteps are not known." 
 
 The difficulty would be in some degree removed, did we 
 find, on turning to the scheme of redemption, that it was 
 intended universally to remedy, or did actually so remedy, 
 this state of things. But though the ways of God have been 
 thereby vindicated in a manner of which we could not have 
 conceived, and a light has been thrown on the character and 
 government of God, — light indeed, compared with the dark- 
 ness that sat on them before, — there is still much, in what- 
 ever way we view this work, to afford new room for the sen- 
 timent of our text. Why it was four thousand years after 
 the introduction of sin before the Saviour appeared ? — why 
 during this long period evil was permitted to reign, except 
 in a single family, without remedy ? — why God left men to 
 walk in the ways of their own hearts, and gave them up, 
 without any interference of his power to prevent their impe- 
 nitence ? — why, since its introduction, the Gospel has been 
 confined to so very small a part of the earth, and almost to a 
 very fraction of its people ? — why many a dark place of the 
 earth has never yet been visited by it, though it be fitted 
 for all men ? — These are questions to which we can give no 
 answer ; and we feel that there is in the causes in which 
 they originate the exercise of a sovereignty of which God 
 has given us no account, and of which we can give none. 
 Again, why, even in those places where the Gospel has been 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 99 
 
 published, it has in so few instances produced those blessed 
 results which it is intended to accomplish ? — why so many- 
 placed under its light and privileges have been consigned to 
 almost hopeless ignorance ? — why others have rejected all 
 the means employed for their spiritual renovation ? — why 
 one has been taken and another left ? — and why so little has 
 been done by all its ordinances for rolling back the tide of 
 sin, and misery, and desolation, which has overspread the 
 world ? — Here, again, are questions equally beyond our com- 
 prehension. The unequal distribution of the Gospel is not, 
 indeed, more mysterious than the unequal distribution of the 
 choicest blessings of Providence. But why was there this 
 mystery in either ? — why was not the Gospel equally com- 
 municated to all ? — why are not men compelled to come in ? 
 — why does not the Divine Spirit that is moving on the face 
 of the spiritual world at once arrange its discordant elements, 
 as when he first brooded over chaos ? — or why, of those who 
 hear the Gospel, it shall be to so many of them the savour 
 of death unto death, and to so few the savour of life unto 
 life ? — These are inquiries which we cannot answer, and 
 which we never may ! And the very proposal of them im- 
 parts such views of the unsearchableness of him who giveth 
 not an account of any of his matters, as brings us to ac- 
 knowledge, that " his way is in the sea, and his path in the 
 great waters, and his footsteps are not known.' 1 
 
 Such circumstances in the economy under which we live 
 are, no doubt, well fitted to draw forth the sentiment in the 
 text ; and yet, after dwelling on these, we may not have 
 reached those things which most frequently give rise to the 
 sentiment in Christian minds. There are multitudes to whom 
 subjects like these have scarcely been matter of consideration 
 at all, but who have yet felt the truth which our text con- 
 veys. That which is the character of the dispensation as a 
 whole, is also the character of its several individual parts ; 
 and the more ordinary, but not on that account more easily 
 comprehended, events which are taking place around us, in 
 the bosom of human families, and in the field of God's af- 
 
100 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 flictive dealings, afford many examples of a providence, which 
 it is equally difficult for us to reconcile with the benevolence 
 and rectitude of an infinitely good and righteous sovereign. 
 We do not now advert to the fact, that one event happeneth 
 alike to all, to the righteous and to the wicked, because we 
 know that it shall finally be well with the righteous ; but 
 how many an event is every day occurring, as adverse to the 
 present happiness as we should deem it to the future interests 
 of those who are concerned in it ! — how many dark seasons 
 of trial, how many mysterious visitations of suffering, how 
 many disappointments of our dearest hopes, — hopes which 
 God himself seemed to wish us to cherish, — are every day 
 experienced ! The Christian parent is removed from his 
 family at the very time when they most needed his Christian 
 instructions and Christian experience, and at the very time 
 when these might have been expected, through the Divine 
 blessing, to fix their character and principles, so as to fit 
 them for the duties and trials of the world. The private 
 Christian, whose life was a speaking example of the power 
 of Divine truth, and whose benevolence was as active as 
 it was enlarged, may be called from the path of usefulness 
 in the maturity of his years, and in the midst of his bene- 
 volent pursuits. The pastor, scarcely entered on the field 
 of ministerial labour, — the missionary only begun the mis- 
 sionary enterprise, — whose various talents, long and pain- 
 ful in the acquisition, seemed to promise so much for the 
 advancement of their master's service, may be successively 
 withdrawn in the freshness of their youth, or in the maturity 
 of their days. Or they may be only removed to other sta- 
 tions of usefulness, for which their previous qualifications, 
 and discipline, and habits, were intended to prepare them ; 
 but, for any hope that may be thus held out to us, we can- 
 not help experiencing the painfulness of a conflict with all the 
 better feelings of our nature on their removal ; and when we 
 think of the disappointment that has been thus given to our 
 fondest expectations and desires for the best of all interests, 
 we are necessarily thrown back on the incomprehensible na- 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 101 
 
 ture of him, whose " way is in the sea, and his path in the 
 great waters, and whose footsteps are not known." 
 
 Such events as these meet us on every hand, and furnish 
 abundant cause for the sentiment of our text ; and they are 
 of such a nature, and so frequent and general in their occur- 
 rence, as to make us feel, that, with all the light which the Word 
 of God throws on it, God's providence is a great deep. The 
 wisdom, the goodness, the rectitude, and the holiness of 
 the Divine administration, must still be to you, my dear 
 brethren, in a great measure, a matter of faith. We see a 
 part of the scheme, but yet how small a part of it ! Amidst 
 all the troubled scenes of human things, we must still be as- 
 sured, that God is on the side of rectitude, of holiness, and 
 of truth ; — that sin and misery will go together, — that, with 
 all its pleasures and apparent immunity, there is a worm 
 that never dies in the guilty mind, and a peace and en- 
 joyment to be found in God and in holiness, — a reward for 
 the righteous, which would, of itself, evince that God judg- 
 eth and ruleth in the earth. Yet, for all this, there are a 
 thousand events every day occurring, for the accordance of 
 which, with all the righteousness and truth of his character, 
 avc must rest simply on what he has told us ; — and so often 
 as discomposed or afflicted, by the solemn mystery of his do- 
 ings, we must betake ourselves, simply and implicitly, to the 
 declaration, which we have united with the one already so 
 often quoted, that " righteousness and judgment are the 
 habitations of God's throne, mercy and truth go before his 
 facer 
 
 The Bible teaches us that all our difficulties are the re- 
 sult of ignorance, — that if we could take in the whole scheme, 
 all would be plain, — that there is no mystery in it to an om- 
 niscient mind, — that it bears the stamp of all his holy and 
 gracious attributes. And one of the best ways, perhaps, of 
 evincing how this may be, and of bringing us to feel how it 
 is our ignorance that bewilders us, were to show what would 
 be the consequence, if something of that light, which God 
 has actually communicated, were removed, and how this 
 
102 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 would at once obscure what, to us as we now are, may be 
 almost plain. 
 
 Take, for example, one of those truths, of which the 
 Word of God assures us, that he hath appointed a day in 
 the which he will judge the world in righteousness by Jesus 
 Christ, — and there is not one of you who can be uncon- 
 scious of the light which this truth diffuses over much that 
 is dark and mysterious in the world around you. Now sup- 
 pose, for a moment, that you were ignorant of this truth, — 
 that it had remained one of the hidden things of God, — that 
 he had seen fit to conceal it from you, or left you to the ob- 
 scure intimations of your own mind on the subject; and 
 what would be the appearance which the world would pre- 
 sent ? The wicked often triumphant, and the good often 
 suffering, — the wicked full of temporal blessing, the good 
 languishing in poverty, or subjected to disease and afflic- 
 tion, — the wicked rich and clothed in purple, and faring 
 sumptuously every day, — and Lazarus, covered with sores, 
 laid at the rich man's gate, and refused even the crumbs 
 which fell from his table. Should we not, in this case, feel, 
 were the realities of an eternal world unknown to us, as did 
 the Psalmist, when he exclaims, — " I was envious at the fool- 
 ish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked ; for there are no 
 bands in their death, their strength is firm ; they are not in 
 trouble as other men, neither are they plagued like other men. 
 Behold, these are the ungodly which prosper in the world; they 
 increase in riches ; verily, I have already cleansed my heart 
 in vain, and washed my hands in innocency." And would not 
 this be a case to afford abundant reason for the declaration, 
 " Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and 
 thy footsteps are not known.'" But just let in the light which 
 the knowledge of a day of judgment affords, the mystery dis- 
 appears ; and, like the Psalmist, when he went into the sanc- 
 tuary of God, then we would understand their end. The 
 wicked triumphs, but his triumph is short, — the righteous suf- 
 fers, but his sorrow is soon turned into joy. The greater the 
 prosperity of the wicked, — abused as it has been to strengthen 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 103 
 
 him in wickedness, — the heavier his condemnation ; — the 
 greater the sufferings of the righteous for righteousness 1 
 sake, the more exceeding his weight of glory. The rich man 
 dies, and is buried, and in hell he lifts up his eyes, being in 
 torment ; — the poor man also dies, and angels carry him to 
 the bosom of Abraham. 
 
 This may serve as an illustration of the truth, that all the 
 mystery of the Divine dispensations is merely the result of 
 our ignorance ; and that a single circumstance unknown, — 
 a single link of the chain hidden, — may render it impossible 
 for us to pursue it. In like manner, you may take as another 
 illustration, the life and sufferings of our blessed Saviour. 
 Suppose, for a moment, that the purpose for which he lived 
 and died had been concealed or unknown, — that you had 
 been acquainted with them only as they might have been 
 recorded in profane history, — and that the mighty work 
 which he came to do, and which could only be perfected 
 through suffering, had been one of those things which God 
 had kept in his own power. If this had been the case, could 
 any thing have been a greater mystery, or have furnished 
 more abundant room for the exclamation, that " God's way 
 was in the sea, and his paths in the great waters, and that 
 his footsteps were not known !" A holy and righteous Be- 
 ing, — for such even his enemies confessed him to be, — sub- 
 jected to every form of reproach and suffering, — the object 
 of unfeeling and unrelenting persecution to those whom he 
 laboured to benefit, — destitute of every human sympathy, 
 and left apparently in the hands of his enemies, — how could 
 we, on this point, have vindicated the goodness and rectitude 
 of the Divine procedure ? Even the best of human beings 
 may need to be purified through suffering ; but this was not 
 required for him who did no sin. If their iniquities might 
 merit that God should at times hide his face from them, 
 why was that face hidden from him in the hour of his se- 
 verest agony ? and if they might have provoked and re- 
 ceived chastisement of the bitterest nature, how could this 
 be said of him, who had never provoked and never offended ? 
 
101 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 These might have been our thoughts, had we been ignorant 
 of the design of the Saviour's appearing ; and our feelings 
 of the mystery of the dispensation might have been the 
 very same with those which are often elicited by difficulties 
 in the scheme of Providence, for the unfolding of which we 
 possess no such information. But here again, admit the 
 light which the Word of God communicates respecting the 
 purpose of Christ's manifestation, and the object of his suf- 
 ferings and death, — that he came in delighted obedience to 
 the Father's will, to give himself a ransom for many, — that 
 he was thereby opening up a way, consistently with the Di- 
 vine justice, for the extension of mercy and forgiveness to a 
 world of sinners ; — take the very simplest view of that sal- 
 vation which he has perfected, and which is now published 
 through his name, — and the difficulty which our ignorance 
 had, but for this, occasioned, is at an end. That which we 
 might have deemed the severest reflection on the Divine 
 justice and the Divine goodness, becomes the brightest ma- 
 nifestation of both ; and you confess Christ, and him cruci- 
 fied, to be the power of God, and the wisdom of God. 
 
 Another illustration of the same point, — namely, that the 
 difficulties we find in God's administration are merely the 
 result of our own ignorance, — may be taken from the ordi- 
 nary dealings of his providence in the world ; and, perhaps, 
 no example could be more striking, than that which is pre- 
 sented to us in the history of Jacob and of Joseph. Sup- 
 pose that the Word of God had only made us acquainted 
 with the earlier period of Joseph's history, when he was torn 
 from his father, sold into a distant land, or condemned to a 
 hopeless imprisonment ; and that you had been ignorant of 
 any of the mighty objects which were thereby designed to 
 be accomplished, — few situations could have seemed more 
 deserving of commiseration than that of the aged patriarch. 
 Joseph was the best beloved of his children, — the son of a 
 mother whom he had fondly loved, and whose memory he 
 delighted to cherish in her offspring, — his cruel and mysteri- 
 ous fate, — devoured, as he believed, by the beasts of the wil- 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 105 
 
 derness, and left to perish •without remedy ; — every circum- 
 stance was calculated to make the deepest impression on his 
 mind, and the effect must have been to convey the idea of 
 a dispensation of the most mysterious nature, — that " God's 
 way was in the sea, and his path in the great waters, and his 
 footsteps were not known." But, then, on this point again, 
 admit the light -which the sacred history has given us, — 
 the steps through which God led this child of a beloved 
 father, — the purposes which he designed thereby to accom- 
 plish, — the weaning of that father's heart from a too fond 
 attachment, — the preservation of a whole nation, and even 
 his father's house, from famine, — independently of the spi- 
 ritual objects with which the descent of the Israelites into 
 Egypt stood connected, — and God's way is no longer in the 
 sea, — we find a light shed over what had otherwise been a 
 dark dispensation, and behold and admire the doing of him, 
 who is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working. 
 
 These examples may afford a sufficient illustration of the 
 trufh, how easily all the mystery connected with the Di- 
 vine dispensations, — whether in providence or in grace, in 
 the wide field of the world, or in the narrower scene of fa- 
 mily or personal afflictions, — may be, as the Word of God 
 declares it to be, the result of our ignorance ; and that, 
 whatever difficulty we may feel in reconciling many of them 
 with the acknowledged principles of his administration, there 
 is no difficulty to an infinite mind, — to him who knoweth 
 the end from the beginning. The smallest part of what 
 God has communicated, if hidden or concealed from us, 
 would constitute a thousand things mysterious and perplex- 
 ing, which are now plain ; and why may we not conclude, 
 therefore, without even the positive declaration of our text, 
 that righteousness and judgment are still the habitation of 
 God's throne, — that mercy and truth go before his face ? Had 
 the day of righteous retribution been hidden from you, and 
 the purpose of Christ's coming been unknown, — had the issue 
 of Jacob's sufferings and Joseph's captivity been concealed, 
 — each one of these had been full of mystery ; and yet the 
 
106 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 wisdom, the justice, and the goodness of God, had been 
 equally the same, whether we had been possessed of the 
 knowledge which we now have or not. And what we affirm, 
 in accordance with the general tenor of Scripture, is, that 
 we are looking on much of the system of Divine Providence 
 and grace without this light, — as if we looked on the world 
 without a knowledge of the final retribution, — as if we looked 
 on the Saviour on the cross, without a knowledge of the 
 holy sacrifice which he offered, — as if we looked on the sor- 
 rowing patriarch, without any acquaintance with the way by 
 which his sorrows were brightened into joy ; — the mani- 
 festation of the same holy and gracious character is actually 
 spread over the whole scheme, which has been here and 
 there faintly and partially disclosed, — only you cannot per- 
 ceive it. It reaches alike to the greatest and the minutest 
 events around you ; so that, whilst God's way may be often 
 in the sea, and his path in the dark waters, justice and judg- 
 ment are still the habitation of his throne. 
 
 I can scarcely suppose the train of observations into 
 which we have been led to be new or strange to any of you 
 who have lived any time in the world, and have attended to 
 the dispensations of Divine Providence in your own pecu- 
 liar lot. There are very few who have not, at least, found 
 the former of the Psalmist's declarations often expressive of 
 God's dealings with themselves, and who, instead of allowing 
 their minds to dwell on the general darkness of the Divine 
 dispensations, have not found that darkness come so near 
 them, as to give it a tenfold power of impressing their minds. 
 When blessed with worldly prosperity, enjoying those things 
 in which the mind is disposed to repose and to seek enjoyment, 
 there might be little or nothing to elicit the sentiment which 
 it contains ; and except when forced by some very striking 
 providences around you, the mysteries of the Divine dispen- 
 sations may seldom have been present to your thoughts. 
 But if visited by the afflicting visitations of his provi- 
 dence, — if deprived of worldly comforts, and disappointed 
 of worldly hopes, — if the hand of God lay heavy on you 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 107 
 
 through repeated bereavements, and earthly props and sup- 
 ports were removed, till you were forced to say with the Pa- 
 triarch, "All these things are against me," — if they were sud- 
 den and overwhelming, and as we say, unaccountable, — if 
 they seemed as prejudicial to your spiritual, as they were to 
 your temporal interests, — you might feel on not a few occa- 
 sions that God's way to you was in the sea, and his path in 
 the great waters, and his footsteps not known. 
 
 Such occurrences, however, have been seldom found in 
 the history of Christians, without their discerning, at least, 
 something like a key to the mystery. For a time, they may 
 have seemed to wear the same dark character which they at 
 first assumed ; but, as the course of events was unfolded, 
 you may have found them connected with others of the 
 deepest importance to your spiritual well-being, — they may 
 have been the means of bringing you into situations fraught 
 with the most important consequences, or of inducing those 
 habits of reflection, of self-examination, and communing 
 with your own hearts, winch were the beginnings of spiritual 
 life within you. Or they may have led you more simply and 
 unreservedly away from seeking happiness in things that 
 cannot profit, to that happiness which is to be found in the 
 promises and supports of Divine grace. Out of that dark 
 dispensation that had well nigh sunk and overwhelmed you, 
 there may have emerged all the brightness of noon-day ; — 
 and the many testimonies which have been left, in every age, 
 to the benefit of afflictions, and the many occasions on which 
 the people of God have had cause to discern in them the 
 manifestations of Divine faithfulness, are sufficient to tell, 
 how nearly the two Scriptures on which our observations 
 have been founded, are connected together, that whilst 
 " God's way is in the sea, and his path in the great waters," 
 yet " justice and judgment are the habitation of his throne." 
 Such is the nature of that economy under which we arc 
 placed, — full of mysteries which none of us can unravel, 
 yet, at the same time, in not a few points, disclosed to us, 
 God having graciously revealed so much as to give abun- 
 
108 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 dant cause for trusting his wisdom, his holiness, and his 
 goodness, in that which yet lies concealed ; and though this 
 state may be, in not a few things, painful to us, it may be 
 still more profitable and more useful for us, than if we were 
 furnished with clearer discoveries of the ways of God. 
 
 It does, in the first place, impress upon us that truth, of 
 all others the most useful to be known and felt, the truth 
 of the Divine sovereignty, — a truth which, though disliked 
 by many, because they would have every thing in the cha- 
 racter of God made plain to them, is yet most sanctifying 
 in its nature, and, indeed, the very first lesson which the 
 creature requires to learn. That he giveth not an account 
 of his matters, — that he acteth, and will act as a sovereign, 
 without revealing his purpose, — that his will is our law, 
 without its being necessary for him, at every moment, to 
 give reasons for our obedience, — that we are in the hand of 
 the potter, and that he doth with us whatever seemeth right 
 to his omniscience, — these are truths which we are slow to 
 receive, because they abase us in the very dust before him ; 
 and yet it is just for this very reason that they need to be 
 learned. Such a spirit the believer will feel to be that 
 which alone befits him in the presence of the Divine ma- 
 jesty ; and which commands from his inmost soul, that pro- 
 found homage which it befits the creature to give, and the 
 Creator to receive. To awaken and cherish such a senti- 
 ment in his mind, the scene of things around us is peculiarly 
 fitted. Whilst there is enough disclosed to secure the con- 
 fidence of the Christian, there is at the same time enough, 
 and more than enough, to humble him : — the depth of Di- 
 vine Providence, and of Divine grace, presents a gulf into 
 which he cannot look without the most devout and solemn 
 adoration. The overwhelming conviction of his own utter 
 ignorance, ruinous as it may be to his pride, leads him to 
 cleave to God with all the feeling of intense helplessness ; 
 and every conviction which he gathers from an increased ac- 
 quaintance with the works and ways of God, only excites 
 more profoundly in his soul the sentiment of the Apostle, 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 109 
 
 " O the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and know- 
 ledge of God !" 
 
 But whilst this may be one lesson to be learned from the 
 mysteriousness of the Divine government, it is easy to see 
 how it is fitted, in like manner, to exercise the faith of the 
 Christian, and thus to strengthen a principle full of the most 
 important results to his moral and spiritual improvement. 
 Were the whole of the Divine government plain to us, or 
 even the path of providence, in so far as each of us is con- 
 cerned, it is obvious that trust in God would scarcely be 
 tried or matured at all. If every thing were agreeable to 
 our own views of things, we should not know whether his 
 will or our own were influencing us, and dependence on him 
 would be little more than a mere nominal virtue. There 
 were, at any rate, in this, no room for that cleaving to him 
 in Christ as our all, — that humble submitting of ourselves 
 to his appointments, — that affectionate preference of his will 
 to our own, in which, as things are now constituted, consists 
 so much, not merely of the duty, but of the happiness and 
 real enjoyment of the Christian. And there were no place 
 for that devout waiting upon him for light and guidance, — 
 the earnest beseeching, and the patient hope, which are 
 blessed for working out in us the peaceable fruits of right- 
 eousness. As things are now constituted, however, trust in 
 God, — that disposition so essential to the happiness of all 
 his creatures, and above all essential to the recovery of a 
 fallen and guilty creature, — is required to be in constant 
 employment. Every mystery in the Divine government, — 
 every experience of affliction, — every season of despondency 
 and perplexity which the dark and troubled tide of human 
 things brings upon our naturally fearful hearts, — brings us 
 also to God, as the only being in whom our help is to be 
 found. If we are in any measure acquainted with his power 
 and grace, we find that we cannot walk without him, else we 
 walk in darkness ; his presence and his strength are felt to 
 be essential to any thing like peace and enjoyment ; and 
 hence originates the believing in hope against hope, — the 
 
110 DISCOURSE SEVENTH. 
 
 triumph of grace over all the feelings and sympathies of na- 
 ture ; and the believer, in fighting the fight of faith, that he 
 may inherit everlasting life, gains already, in some degree, 
 the reward of his faith and obedience, in an increase of that 
 very confidence which is so essential at all times to his spi- 
 ritual well-being. It is not for me, perhaps, to say that God 
 might not have accomplished the same end by a system of 
 things different from that under which we are now placed. 
 He might have invested the sons and daughters of glory at 
 once with the bloom of perfect moral beauty ; and, without 
 training them through all the painfulness of many a dark 
 dispensation for the habitation of his presence, they might 
 have been in a moment blessed with entire conformity to his 
 character and will. Though this might have been the case, 
 however, we can still see the peculiar fitnessof things as they 
 now are for the attainment of his object. We can still re- 
 verence the wisdom and grace of him who leads us in a way 
 we knew not ; and though, by another appointment, there 
 might have been much painfulness saved us, the present 
 system may yet be finally more productive of real blessed- 
 ness. 
 
 Even in the present world, the opening up of the Divine 
 providence, as he advances in his journey, constitutes one of 
 the most delightful employments in which a Christian can 
 engage ; and when our connexion with present things has 
 been dissolved, and the mystery of the Divine appointments, 
 which, in so far as we are concerned individually, is not al- 
 ways designed to remain mysterious, shall have been un- 
 folded, will it not present a source of inexhaustible wonder 
 to look back on all the way by which God has led us ? The 
 history of a human soul, conceived in sin, and cradled in 
 misery ; redeemed by grace, and brought into the condition 
 of an heir of glory ; doomed during the period of nonage to 
 live in trouble and in poverty, and trained through suffering 
 for the blessedness of the Divine presence, will present a his- 
 tory, with the intense interest of which nothing that we know 
 or can tell of can compare. And the blessedness of such a 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTH. Ill 
 
 soul, at every given moment of its never-ending progress, 
 must be enhanced by the remembrance of the struggle and 
 the fight through which it has passed to its eternal dwelling- 
 place, — from amidst the sin and the suffering, the darkness 
 and the misery of its former habitation, to that place where 
 sorrow and sighing have for ever passed away. 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 John, iv. 42. — Now we believe, not because of tby saying : for we 
 have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the 
 Saviour of the world. 
 
 In the commencement of this chapter, we read that our 
 Lord, desirous to escape from the malicious designs of the 
 Pharisees, who had heard of the popularity and success of 
 his ministry, left Judea, and departed again into Galilee. 
 In repairing from the one to the other, it was necessary for 
 him to pass through Samaria, the country that lay be- 
 tween ; — and he came, we are told, to a city of Samaria, 
 called Sychar, — and, being wearied with his journey, sat 
 down by a well, whilst the disciples went into the city to 
 buy meat. At this time, and while they were absent, there 
 came a woman of the city to draw water ; and to her, not 
 more from the wish to have his thirst quenched, we may 
 readily suppose, than from a design of introducing the sub- 
 ject in which he was at all times most deeply interested, 
 he preferred the very natural request, " Give me to drink." 
 The answer which she returned showed full well the strength 
 of her prejudices, and her astonishment that such a request 
 should have been made by one belonging to a nation who 
 were the enemies of her people, — " How is it that thou, being 
 a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Sama- 
 ria ?" Our Lord, however, did not, for all this, give up the 
 attempt, and having taken advantage of the circumstances 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 113 
 
 of their meeting to declare, that he could give her that living 
 water, of which whosoever tasted should thirst no more, suc- 
 ceeded, at any rate, in awakening her curiosity, and in fixing 
 her mind on himself, not more from the supposed value, 
 than from the very extraordinary nature, of the promises 
 which he made. 
 
 Having thus gained her attention, and in some degree 
 overcome those scruples which had nearly proved fatal to 
 all intercourse, he next revealed a cricumstance in her past 
 life, which made her feel that she was in the presence of 
 one, before whom all its iniquity was manifest ; and which, 
 coming from a stranger, who, till that day and that hour, 
 had been as ignorant of her as she was unacquainted 
 with him, instantly led to the conclusion, which neither the 
 meanness of his appearance, nor the strength of her Sama- 
 ritan prejudices, could withstand, — that the person whom 
 she had thus casually encountered, must be no less than a 
 prophet, favoured with some extraordinary means of knowing 
 her character, such as this high office might be supposed to 
 confer. To this impression she did not fail to give utterance : 
 " Sir," said she, " I perceive that thou art a prophet !" 
 
 But, as if aware that in admitting this, she had made a 
 concession almost fatal to the credit of her own worship, and 
 in which the superiority of Jerusalem and its temple was ob- 
 viously involved ; and desirous, perhaps, to escape from any 
 farther scrutiny, she suggested that her fathers had wor- 
 shipped in the mountain that was near, whilst, as a Jew, he 
 must believe that Jerusalem was the place where men ought 
 to worship. One less aware than our Lord of the power of 
 early association, or less disposed to condescend to human 
 weakness, might, at this moment, have been tempted to en- 
 ter into all those differences which had alienated the Sama- 
 ritans from their Jewish neighbours ; and the discussion of 
 which had only tended to excite feelings not at all friendly 
 to the conviction which he sought. But with a true know- 
 ledge of the human heart, and without compromising the 
 truth, that salvation was of the Jews, our Lord returned 
 
 H 
 
114 DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 an answer, which, whilst it did not humour, did not, at the 
 same time, unnecessarily offend, her prejudices ; and which 
 showed the comparatively insignificant claims of any out- 
 ward forms of worship, as contrasted with the claims of that 
 worship in spirit and in truth, which was now to be, more 
 prominently than it had yet been, the distinction of every 
 one who should be accepted of the Father. Whether satis- 
 fied or not by this answer, she was, at any rate, led to ex- 
 press her hope, — the hope which the Samaritans entertained 
 equally with the Jewish people, — of a Messiah, by whose 
 coming every such question as that which she proposed 
 should be finally resolved. And when assured that he who 
 now stood before her, and of whose prophetic character she 
 had received so striking a proof, was no other than this 
 great deliverer, she appears at once to have admitted his 
 claim on the simple yet sufficient proof which she had al- 
 ready received, of his Divine commission, and to have owned 
 him as the Saviour, in the confidence that he who had 
 poured such a light upon every darker passage of her his- 
 tory, could also enlighten that darkness in which, as to the 
 right nature of all acceptable worship, she found herself in- 
 volved. 
 
 Thus convinced that Jesus was the Christ, — with the 
 very natural desire to communicate the truth to others, 
 which will always distinguish those who have found the Sa- 
 viour, — and without regarding, or even recollecting the 
 errand on which she had come thither, — she left her water- 
 pots, and returned to the city, to tell the tidings of the mys- 
 terious stranger, who, by a few moments'' conversation, had 
 wrought a change upon her, of which she could not yet esti- 
 mate the magnitude ; and, with true simplicity and real ear- 
 nestness, addressed herself to those with whom her report 
 was most likely to be credited, — " Come, see a man, which 
 told me all things that ever I did." 
 
 Struck, we may suppose, not more by the report which 
 she brought, than by the interest manifested on such a sub- 
 ject, by one whose previous life could have shown no ap- 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 115 
 
 pearance of concern for Divine things ; and, with minds in 
 some degree prepared for the reception of the truth, as hers 
 had been, by the hope of a Saviour to come, her declaration 
 met with a ready attention amongst the Samaritans. And 
 having no reason to suspect her testimony, especially when 
 she besought them to inquire for themselves into its truth ; 
 and satisfied that he who had discovered the secrets of her 
 heart and life, must be all that he claimed to be, — many be- 
 lieved for the saying of the woman, which testified, — " He 
 told me all that ever I did." 
 
 Under this conviction many repaired to Jesus ; and with 
 the very natural desire of obtaining every means of informa- 
 tion in their power, and of neglecting no opportunity of being 
 established in a truth so important as the appearance of the 
 Messiah, proceeded to verify, by their own observation, the 
 testimony which they had received. And fully satisfied 
 from all that they saw and heard, during the two days in 
 which the Saviour tarried with them, that the report was not 
 exaggerated, and that our Lord was indeed all that he as- 
 sumed to be, they gave implicit confidence to the character 
 and work which he came to perform, and rendered that ho- 
 nour and submission to his declarations which they were 
 well entitled to receive. 
 
 We have not the means of ascertaining what was the ad- 
 ditional evidence which they obtained, and by which they 
 were established so firmly in the faith of the Saviour. We 
 are not informed that he wrought any miracles for their con- 
 viction, or even that he did to every one what he did to her 
 who first guided them in the way to him, — tell them all 
 things that ever they did. There can be no doubt, however, 
 that in the course of two days, they might have seen many 
 things about our Lord calculated to impress them with 
 high and exalted views of his character ; and that in the 
 truths which he revealed, and the light which he threw upon 
 their own Scriptures, they might have had the opportunity 
 of discovering many things which argued him to be, indeed, 
 sent of God, — many things even more striking than that 
 
116 DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 which had at first aroused their attention ; and that, inde- 
 pendently of the truth of the report on which they had come 
 to him, they would now have the conviction of their own expe- 
 rience ; — their faith would become more enlarged in its na- 
 ture, and be settled on a new and surer basis than that on 
 which it had before rested. Such their own declaration as- 
 sures us was the case. Instead of depending on the testi- 
 mony of another, it now rested on what they themselves 
 had seen and heard. So confident were they of the truth, 
 that, setting aside the authority on which they had been 
 at first induced to come to the Saviour, they could now 
 afford to part with it altogether, and yet their confidence 
 be, in no degree, impaired. And without disparaging, 
 in any measure, the witness to whom they owed their 
 first knowledge of the truth, that Jesus had come amongst 
 them, they could still say, — " Now, we believe, not be- 
 cause of thy saying, for we have heard him ourselves, 
 and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the 
 world." 
 
 I can hardly suppose an attentive reader of the Scriptures 
 not to have been often struck by the interesting narrative 
 which we have now briefly related, and by the memo- 
 rable testimony with which it concludes. And the way 
 in which these Samaritans were brought to the knowledge of 
 the Saviour, is so like that in which he is introduced to us, — 
 the change which they underwent resembles, in so many 
 points, that which takes place when we are brought to ex- 
 perience the power of Divine truth on our hearts, — the lan- 
 guage is so like that which a believer would employ when 
 speaking of his faith, compared with a time, when that faith, 
 if such it could be called, rested simply on the authority and 
 influence of others, — that we may be permitted in this view 
 for a little to pursue it, not doubting that the application is 
 one familiar to the minds of many, and that the declaration 
 of the Samaritans may be as true in their case, as in that of 
 those who first employed it. 
 
 You will at once perceive, in order to bring out the pa- 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 117 
 
 rallel to which we have adverted, that any one to whom the 
 Gospel is addressed is placed in precisely the same situation 
 with these Samaritans, when they were first assured of the 
 fact that the Messiah had appeared. The report which is 
 brought to all who have ever heard the glad tidings of everlast- 
 ing life is, that the Saviour has come ; and the whole of those 
 means which are put in operation for the furtherance of the 
 kingdom of God amongst men, are intended and fitted to 
 promote the great object of awakening their attention to a 
 truth, which it is of the first importance for every human 
 being to know and believe. Amidst lesser differences that 
 may distinguish the situation of different individuals, this is 
 common to them all with that referred to in our text, that 
 the truth is brought near to us through the medium of hu- 
 man testimony, — that it is something not addressed imme- 
 diately to our senses, but handed down by those who have 
 seen and heard. And when we trace upwards the authority 
 on which it rests, we come to those who saw, and therefore 
 believed, those mighty works by which Jesus Christ was at- 
 tested to be the Son of God with power. Whether it seeks 
 access to our minds by the witness of prophets and apostles, 
 or is assured to us by living men, themselves believers in the 
 hopes and promises of the Gospel, it comes in the very same 
 manner, and addresses us with the same urgency, that the 
 tidings of the Saviour's appearing did these Samaritans, when 
 they were called upon by the woman, to come and see a man 
 who told her all things that ever she did. 
 
 In the circumstances in which most of us have been placed, 
 too, — reared in the midst of a Christian land, and in the bo- 
 som of families professedly Christian, — it cannot be supposed 
 that any of us are ignorant of as much of the Gospel as was 
 made known to them ; and with the access which they who 
 taught us what be the first principles of the oracles of God 
 possessed, to every avenue of approach to our hearts, as well 
 as to our understandings, — with the very natural wish which 
 they felt, that we should attach the same value to the Chris- 
 tian faith that they themselves did, — and with the unhesitat- 
 
118 DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 ing confidence which we were prepared, for the best of alt 
 reasons, to repose in their testimony, — it cannot be supposed, 
 that many have felt inclined to dispute the truth that might 
 have been instilled into them in their early years, or have 
 been disposed to treat the Gospel as a cunningly- devised 
 fable. So far back as we can trace our recollection of Divine 
 things, no subject may have commanded a deeper reverence, 
 and we may have felt an awe on our minds whenever it was 
 adverted to, which evinced that the seriousness with which 
 those around us spoke of it had reached ourselves. And 
 having all these impressions strengthened in our connexion 
 with the ministry of the Word, and taught, by the respect 
 which was given in the world around us to the Gospel, to 
 respect it ourselves ; preserved from the taint of irreligious 
 principles or irreligious example, or so fortified against them 
 by our early feelings and prepossessions in favour of religion, 
 that they may have lighted harmless upon us, or tempted us 
 in vain, there may have been nothing to insinuate even a 
 doubt of the truth of the report brought to our ears, — and few 
 things from which we would revolt more strongly, than from 
 the idea of slighting or undervaluing the faith as it is in 
 Jesus. It may come to us with so many tender associations 
 and touching recollections, — it may be that on which we 
 have been taught to set such a value, and the importance of 
 which has been so often dwelt upon, that nothing, as wc 
 think, could induce us to part with it ; and we may have 
 been led so uniformly to connect every thing that is fear- 
 ful with hostility to the Gospel, that we could not contem- 
 plate the renouncement of its claims without horror, — so that 
 it may be said of most, if not of all of us, that we have be- 
 lieved, if on no better foundation, at least on some founda- 
 tion like that of the Samaritans, who believed for the saying 
 of the woman which said, " Come, see a man who told me all 
 things that ever I did." This is very much the system, it 
 will be readily admitted, under which we have all been made 
 acquainted with the truth, that Jesus is the Christ, the Sa- 
 viour of the world. And let it not be supposed, even for a 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 119 
 
 moment, that in leading you to something more distinct and 
 specific as the faith of the Gospel, we have the smallest dispo- 
 sition to reflect on the method in which an early reverence for 
 Divine truth is inculcated. However there may be men that 
 can smile at all this, as a system unfriendly to the promotion 
 of truth, and calculated to entail superstition and delusion 
 on the world ; there is, in the way by which Divine things 
 are impressed upon us, nothing more unreasonable than that 
 which obtains on a thousand other subjects, to which this is 
 never objected. And, in seeking to enlist on the side of 
 the Gospel all those tender feelings which have been im- 
 planted in our nature, for the wisest of purposes, there is 
 nothing more than what a proper concern for that which is 
 believed to be the truth ought to dictate, and nothing more 
 than the infirmity of our nature, and, above all, regard to 
 the will of God, require. They on whom the charge of 
 others, and especially the young, is devolved, have need to 
 be on their guard against ideas which are not more absurd 
 than irreligious ; for, so long as the circumstances of human 
 nature require it, and so long as God enjoins it, and accom- 
 panies it with his blessing, it were worse than idle to specu- 
 late about the propriety of commending the Gospel of Christ 
 to them, with all the credit and influence which we possess, 
 even though they may yet be incapable of looking beyond 
 our own testimony, for the truth of the report which we 
 bring to them of the Saviour. 
 
 In this view, then, it may be said of all of us, that we are 
 placed in the same circumstances with these Samaritans, 
 when, without having yet seen or possessed any acquaintance 
 with the Saviour, they received the report which was brought 
 concerning him. It may also be said of us, however, equally 
 with them, that the report which is brought requires and de- 
 mands that we should inquire and see for ourselves. The 
 object of all the commendation which the Gospel has received 
 to our understandings and our hearts is, that we may be 
 thereby induced personally to seek after an acquaintance 
 with the Saviour. The Samaritans could not have complied 
 
120 DISCOURSE EIGHTH, 
 
 with the invitation they received, unless they had themselves 
 gone forth to find the Messiah ; and we cannot, in like man- 
 ner, comply with the message which is brought us in the 
 Gospel, whatever outward reverence we may give it, unless 
 we seek to know the Saviour in his Word, as he reveals him- 
 self to all who humbly seek him. They were rewarded for 
 their simple, teachable, and inquiring spirit, in being led to 
 a faith in his character and work, as far superior to any thing 
 that they had known before, as the faith which rests on the 
 evidence of our senses is superior to that which rests on a 
 single and unsupported authority. And whenever, in like 
 manner, any have been led personally and for themselves to 
 seek after the way of peace, they will find a reward hardly less 
 desirable than theirs, and which will enable them equally to 
 say of all the authority on which their faith might have pre- 
 viously rested, " Now we believe, not because of thy saying, 
 for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed 
 the Christ, the Saviour of the world." 
 
 We are concerned to impress this point upon you, be- 
 cause it is to be feared that there are many in every Chris- 
 tian land, placed in the circumstances to which we have al- 
 ready adverted ; who, beyond the influence which their edu- 
 cation, or the society in which they mingle, or their connexion 
 with those who profess the Gospel, has over them, possess no 
 ground of attachment to the Gospel itself, — who believe it, 
 simply because they have been taught to do so, but who see 
 nothing in it which they value or regard, — and who, for all 
 the claims which it has on their attention, have never made 
 its truths the subject of distinct consideration, or felt any 
 anxiety to share the blessings which it comes to bestow. 
 Though they may have had their feelings at times excited, 
 and their hearts warmed, by the exhibition of Gospel truth, 
 or their minds moved and affected by the mighty revelations 
 which the Gospel discloses, — though they may be able to 
 speak of its truths with some interest, and be as far as pos- 
 sible from having any inclination to disbelieve the greatest 
 or the least of them, they may never, with all this, have felt 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 121 
 
 any interest in it, as the way of peace and salvation for their 
 own souls. The interest which they have experienced has 
 rather been something caught from the warmth of others, 
 than because they saw it in such a light as to affect them- 
 selves. Were all the credit which it derives from the au- 
 thority of others withdrawn, — were they removed from the 
 society which may serve to make them in some degree ob- 
 servant of it, — and were they brought into situations as un- 
 friendly, as their present circumstances may be favourable, to 
 the respect and reverence which they render it, they might 
 become as regardless of the Gospel as they are now attached 
 to it ; and it is therefore most necessary to have it ever im- 
 pressed upon our minds that this is not the faith of the Gospel, 
 — that there must be in it something personal, or it does not 
 exist at all, — that I can no more rest on the mere authority of 
 another in this matter, than his faith can be received instead 
 of mine, — and that if, in the great day of account which is 
 approaching, and when I must stand at the judgment-seat 
 of Christ, to give my account of every deed done in the 
 body, whether good or evil, and, above all, to render an ac- 
 count of the manner in which I have improved the Gospel, 
 his soul cannot occupy the place of mine, or his improvement 
 of the Gospel be reckoned as mine, — so I must now possess a 
 ground of attachment to the Gospel, and a bond of union to 
 the Saviour, such as shall enable me to say, of all the au- 
 thority and the influence by which both may have been com- 
 mended to me, " I believe not because of you ; for I have 
 heard him myself, and know that this is indeed the Christ.''' 
 It was obviously in this way that the Samaritans acted, 
 when, instead of resting upon the testimony of one of their 
 number, they went forth themselves to seek after the Savi- 
 our; and when, without discrediting her testimony, they 
 yet sought to have it confirmed, by knowing the Saviour 
 themselves. And the distinct and unequivocal confession 
 which they made of their faith in him, as the Christ, the 
 Saviour of the world, shows how correctly they had appre- 
 ciated his character, — and that the truth of which they were 
 
122 DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 now so well assured, was not the mere general truth that he 
 was a prophet, or even the Messiah, but a great Spiritual 
 Deliverer, whose work and office accorded with all their 
 wants and necessities as sinful men. 
 
 We have said, however, that such will be, in a great mea- 
 sure, the experience of those who employ, in like manner, 
 the testimony by which the Gospel comes recommended, as 
 the means of becoming acquainted with the Saviour him- 
 self. I am persuaded that this language has been often em- 
 ployed by Christians in every age, to express what they had 
 themselves felt and experienced. And here I shall not be 
 supposed to speak of such a confirmation of the truth as 
 may be derived from an examination of the evidences of the 
 Gospel, or such as may arise from the consideration of its 
 high moral purity and excellence, — important and interest- 
 ing as both of them may be, — but of something more acces- 
 sible to ordinary feeling, — of the confirmation which the ex- 
 perience of its power, and of the efficacy of its consolations, 
 is fitted to produce, — of such a testimony as may be derived 
 from its unfolding to us all the corruptions of our heart, and, 
 at the same time, providing a remedy sufficient to heal them 
 all ; — of such a testimony, in short, as can only arise from per- 
 sonal application to him as the Saviour, and a steady reliance 
 on his power and grace. To this we may have been led from 
 mere authority. The influence of others on us, — the force 
 of their example, or the earnestness of their entreaties, — 
 may have won us to believe ; to receive, and come to Christ 
 our Saviour. But if led in any way to rest upon him as 
 all our salvation, and enlightened to perceive the value of 
 his grace, the result will be the same ; and whatever may 
 have been the ground of our former attachment to the Gos- 
 pel, or whatever the helps that assisted us onwards in com- 
 ing to a saving acquaintance with it, they will almost disap- 
 appear, and be unfelt, as was the testimony of the woman 
 by the Samaritans, when it was displaced by the evidence of 
 her own experience. 
 
 To evince the nature of the testimony to which we advert, 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH, 123 
 
 let us only suppose, for a moment, that the evidence by 
 which the character of Christ was assured to the minds of 
 the Samaritans, had been, that he had made every one of them 
 feel his Divine power, as truly as he did her on whose evi- 
 dence they had at first come to him, — that he had recorded 
 to them, as clearly as he did to her, the actions of their past 
 lives, — and made them know as distinctly, that they were in 
 the presence of one before whom the whole lay naked and 
 open. If this had been the case, — and we know not but it 
 was, — we can easily perceive how well they might then have 
 set aside her testimony ; and after having received the same 
 proof of his Messiahship which had ensured her faith, and 
 which led them also to believe, might have thought no more 
 of it, or felt no need of it ; and that, possessing the same 
 advantages which she had herself possessed, it might be no 
 longer of any consequence to them whether she had believed 
 or not. Or let us suppose farther, that the fact which had 
 arrested their attention, and brought them to the Saviour, 
 had been, not merely that he had read the heart and life of one 
 of their number, but that she had thereby become the sub- 
 ject of new affections and desires, been altogether changed 
 in the whole tenor of her life, and that the change, which 
 was so manifest and so wonderful in her case, had passed 
 upon each of them successively in their intercourse with the 
 Saviour. It is to something of this nature that we advert, 
 when we speak of the resemblance which there is in the ex- 
 perience of these Samaritans to that of all true Christians. 
 The Saviour, by his Word and Spirit, opens up to them the 
 inmost workings of their hearts, whilst, at the same time, 
 he presents in the Gospel that provision of mercy and grace 
 which is fitted to meet and to rectify them all. The peace 
 and the confidence which it presents, is not more fitted to 
 banish the fear of guilt, than it is to quicken the desire af- 
 ter holiness ; and ignorant as believers may be of many 
 things, one thing they may know, that, whereas they were 
 blind, now they see. They will find themselves awakened 
 to the presence of objects to which they were insensible be- 
 
]24 DISCOURSE EICHTH. 
 
 fore, but of which they cannot now doubt the reality ; they 
 will find themselves the subjects of affections and desires to 
 which they were formerly strangers, and to which the Gospel 
 alone could have begotten them, — of desires which, while 
 they make them feel their own nothingness, are, at the same 
 time, sanctifying in their nature, and heavenly in their ob- 
 ject. And the whole of the new tastes, habits, and enjoy- 
 ments, which the Gospel is fitted both to beget and to satis- 
 fy, will convince them how truly he in whom they have be- 
 lieved is the Christ, the Saviour. 
 
 Of the difference that obtains between their acquaintance 
 with the Saviour, and that which Christians might possess 
 before, it is not too much to say, that it is as great as the dif- 
 ference between the situation of the Samaritans, when their 
 faith rested on the report of another, and when they found 
 the truth of the report substantiated by personal intercourse 
 with Jesus. And the correspondence is not less exact, be- 
 cause the latter being possessed, they may lay aside their 
 former ground of attachment to the Gospel, without, at 
 least, finding their confidence sensibly diminished ; just as 
 the scaffolding may be removed without doing injury to the 
 building which it had assisted to rear. With an independ- 
 ence of thought and sentiment, not less decided than the 
 language which our text conveys, they may be able to say, 
 that whatever it might once have been to them, yet now they 
 do not, and cannot, need its support. They will not, on 
 this account, deem less valuable any thing which might have 
 assisted them onwards to the knowledge of the truth, nor 
 be disposed to disregard any of those means which were em- 
 ployed to beget in their minds an interest in the Gospel. 
 They will find it to be a cause of gratitude and thankfulness 
 to God, that they were placed in circumstances favourable 
 to any impressions of Divine things ; that they were never 
 so far left to the influence of their own evil heart, as to be 
 tempted to reject or disbelieve the Bible ; and that, until a 
 new and better ground of confidence in its truth was im- 
 parted, there was still some attachment or other which kept 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 125 
 
 them within the range of its sanctifying impressions. But 
 these will be no longer, as they were before, the chief, and 
 far less, the only grounds of their faith in the Saviour ; they 
 will find themselves knit to him as the life of their souls, and 
 the stay of their hearts, — as the source of their happiness, 
 and the spring of their best consolations. And in the en- 
 largement of mind which his Gospel communicates, in the 
 hopes which it imparts, and in the new and better disposi- 
 tions which these have made to spring up within them, they 
 will know for themselves that he is the Christ, the Saviour of 
 the world. 
 
 Till something like this is known, there can be no real 
 faith in the message of the Gospel ; and any other sort of 
 faith which men may have in it, is ever ready to be disturbed 
 and disquieted, occasions every day occurring to evince its 
 unfitness to contend with the real circumstances in which 
 they are placed. Every new inlet of knowledge is apt to 
 unsettle it ; having its foundation very much in the autho- 
 rity of others, instead of resting on any foundation of its 
 own, it is ready to be moved by all those circumstances 
 which may occur to shake our confidence in the character 
 and conduct of those to whom we naturally look for counsel 
 and guidance. But when we can say, in the language of 
 our text, " We have heard him ourselves, and know that he 
 is the Christ," none of these things will move us. Though 
 the testimony of those through whom we first received it 
 should fail, as the testimony of the Samaritan woman had 
 done, if she had confessed her report of the Saviour to have 
 been fabricated, we should still have a ground of attach- 
 ment that would survive in the experience of our own hearts ; 
 and the man that has known this can look round upon the 
 difficulties and discouragements that perplex others, and 
 which lead them to make shipwreck of faith and of a good 
 conscience, — on all those offences at the truth, at which 
 many stumble, and cast away their confidence, — and find all 
 only binding more firmly to him his own. And with the 
 mind of the Apostle, when in trying and troublous times, 
 
126 DISCOURSE EIGHTH. 
 
 and when many had been seduced from the truth, and 
 others had been shaken, he can fall back upon his strong- 
 hold in the time of trial, and say, " Nevertheless, the foun- 
 dation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord 
 knoweth them that are his. 1 ' 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH.* 
 
 1 Corinthians, v. 7. — Christ our passover is sacrificed for us. 
 
 The mention of the Passover, or of Christ as our passover, 
 will naturally bring to our recollection that occasion in the his- 
 tory of God's ancient people with which the name originated, 
 and from which it has been transferred by the Apostle to 
 an event yet more important ; and compared with which, 
 the other was only the shadow of good things to come. 
 Designing shortly and expressively to convey to us the vir- 
 tue and efficacy of Christ's sacrifice, he tells us, that " Christ 
 our passover is sacrificed for us." 
 
 We are thus almost necessarily referred, for the illustration 
 of his meaning, to those transactions which were obviously in 
 his view at the moment when he thus associated that event, 
 which stands pre-eminent in Old Testament history, with the 
 great event which crowns the glory of the New Testament 
 dispensation. You will know that we refer you to the time 
 when God brought his people out of Egypt. After a series of 
 miracles, wrought in the sight of their enemies, intended to 
 prove that he was the God of Israel, and to achieve their deli- 
 verance from the house of bondage, but which were successively 
 resisted by the obstinacy and pride of Pharaoh, we are inform- 
 ed, that God resolved on giving a demonstration of his power, 
 
 * Preached before the Communion, 
 
128 DlSCOUItSE NINTH. 
 
 so terrible, that not even the haughty monarch should be able 
 to resist it, and one which should be so widely spread, and so 
 widely felt, that not a dwelling in Egypt should remain un- 
 affected or unreached by it. He declared his purpose to go 
 out at midnight into the midst of the land, and slay the first- 
 born of every family, from the first-born of Pharaoh to the 
 first-born of the meanest of his subjects ; and by thus in- 
 flicting on every family the bitterest of all suffering, to make 
 them feel the vanity of resisting God, and the necessity, un- 
 less they Avould provoke a heavier judgment, of giving in- 
 stant compliance with his demand, to let the people go. 
 
 In the prospect of such a visitation, God was not un- 
 mindful of the Israelites, scattered up and down, as they 
 were, in the midst of the Egyptians. Intending to mani- 
 fest his power against their enemies, the shield of his protec- 
 tion was to be flung over them. The same hand which was 
 to be extended in judgment upon their oppressors, was to 
 be stretched out to shelter and to save them ; and their 
 families were to be preserved from the visitation that im- 
 pended over the families of the Egyptians, in such a way as 
 to leave no doubt on any mind that He had wrought their 
 deliverance. 
 
 They were commanded, every household apart, to slay or 
 sacrifice a lamb, hence denominated the lamb of the Pass- 
 over, or simply the Passover, and to sprinkle its blood upon 
 the posts of their doors, that it might be to them for a token 
 upon the houses where they were ; and wherever the Divine 
 command was thus obeyed, the destroying angel was to pass 
 over them, that the plague should not come upon them to 
 destroy them, when he smote the land of Egypt. " And 
 it came to pass, that at midnight the Lord smote all the first- 
 born in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of Pharaoh 
 that sat on his throne, unto the first-born of the captive that 
 was in the dungeon, and all the first-born of cattle ; whilst 
 against any of the children of Israel not a dog moved his 
 tongue against man or beast, that they might know how the 
 Lord put a difference between the Egyptians and Israel."" 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 129 
 
 It can hardly be doubted, I think, that the whole of this 
 transaction was intended to direct the minds of the Israelites 
 forward to that event with which it is connected in the text ; 
 and, however many might never have been thereby guided 
 beyond the event itself, I can hardly suppose that its typi- 
 cal meaning was unknown to those who looked for redemp- 
 tion in Israel. God had placed them under a dispensation 
 which they were given to understand, generally, was only 
 introductory to another and more perfect discovery of his 
 will. He had taught them to expect an interference of his 
 mighty power in their behalf, more glorious than any thing 
 which they had yet beheld ; and that they were reserved as 
 the witnesses of his grace, and the depositories of his coun- 
 sel, for the accomplishment of a purpose, in which, not only 
 they, but all the families of the earth, were to be blessed. 
 He had strewn the whole pathway of their history with in- 
 cidents which were clearly typical of something to be fulfilled 
 in his future kingdom, and had kept the feeling alive by 
 the whole system of their religious observances ; and in these 
 circumstances, and placed under such a dispensation, I can 
 scarcely persuade myself, but that holy men of old, whose 
 minds were waiting in the faith of a spiritual redemption, 
 did, in all ages, regard the Passover as the earnest of better 
 things to come, and hailed its commemoration, not merely 
 with feelings of gratitude for the deliverance which God had 
 then wrought out for his people, but with feelings of joy and 
 expectation, inspired by the hope of a yet higher deliver- 
 ance. At any rate, there can be no doubt with us, that 
 such was its ultimate design and intention. The many ap- 
 plications which we have of it to the person and work of the 
 Saviour, as " the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of 
 the world," and " the Lamb slain from the foundation of 
 the world, 11 assure us, that it was intended to lead to him, 
 and to centre in him. And it was something more than an 
 allusion, therefore, or a mere accommodation, — it was an 
 appropriation of the deliverance which God had wrought out 
 for his people, to an object which it was all along designed 
 
 i 
 
130 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 to typify and illustrate, when the Apostle declared that 
 " Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us." 
 
 According to the declarations of Scripture, the danger to 
 which the families of Israel were exposed, on that night 
 when God was to pass through the land of Egypt in judg- 
 ment, is only a feeble representation of the danger to 
 which all men are exposed as transgressors of the Divine 
 law. The purpose which God then intimated, of visiting 
 the sinners who had slighted and despised the manifestations 
 of his presence with his righteous indignation, is that which 
 God has declared in every page of his Word, he will one 
 day execute, in a yet more awful manner, upon every im- 
 penitent worker of iniquity. And the doom under which 
 the first-born, whether Israelites or Egyptians, must be con- 
 sidered as lying, is really that under which, not the first-born 
 only, but all men, in a yet more awful sense, lie, — the sen- 
 tence of death. And not even the situation of Egypt as it lay 
 that night, exposed to a misery from which there was no re- 
 fuge, and to be crushed before a power which it was hope- 
 less to resist, and to be sunk in an overwhelming overthrow 
 before it could tell the hand that dealt the blow, — not even 
 this situation could express the terribleness of that in which 
 all men are placed, exposed to the wrath of God, which may 
 come suddenly, and which, when it comes, comes without 
 remedy, and leaves no room for hope. The Word of God 
 assures us, that by nature we are the children of wrath, — 
 that judgment has come upon all men to condemnation, — 
 that the wages of sin is death, — and that cursed is every one 
 that continueth not in all things written in the book of the 
 law to do them. 
 
 With these declarations of our guilt and danger as sin- 
 ners, however, God has equally declared his desire to pass 
 over the families of the children of men, as he did the fami- 
 lies of Israel, on that night of fearful visitation to the Egyp- 
 tians. Actuated by the same tender pity for human neces- 
 sities, which then showed itself in the consideration which 
 he gave to the situation of his people, he has declared him- 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 131 
 
 self not willing that any should perish, but that all should be 
 saved from the avenger of blood ; and not satisfied with any 
 general expression, he has appointed a way by which we 
 may escape the danger, and repose in safety from the threat- 
 ened evil. Along the whole line of his denunciations against 
 sin, and his declarations of the hatred and abhorrence with 
 which he regards it, you find running, side by side, intima- 
 tions of a gracious will and purpose towards the sinner. 
 Wherever you read of the hand of the destroyer lifted up 
 to smite, there is, as it were, the stretching forth of another 
 hand, to stay, to shelter, and to save ; and the discoveries of 
 coming judgment are as nearly connected with discoveries of 
 a promised refuge, as when God, in announcing to Moses, 
 for the first time, the judgments impending over Egypt, de- 
 clared also the way by which his people would be in safety 
 from the coming indignation. The combination of these 
 two things constitutes, in fact, the substance of the Divine 
 communications on the subject of man's spiritual condition. 
 They are written, not merely in words, but graven on the 
 incidents of the Bible history ; it is because our deliverance 
 is to come to us through the same way, and is to become 
 ours by very much the same application as that by which 
 the safety of the Jewish people was ensured, that the Apostle 
 declares, that " Christ our passover is sacrificed for us. 11 
 In the Christian Passover, God has provided in the blood 
 of Christ a sacrifice sufficient for the deliverance of all from 
 everlasting destruction. 
 
 You will remember, that, when God declared to Moses 
 his purpose to save the Israelites from the calamity which 
 was in one night to plunge the land of Egypt into mourn- 
 ing, and lamentation, and bitter wo, it was not intimated, 
 as his purpose, to preserve them independently of any means 
 appointed by him, and to be employed by them, for the ac- 
 complishment of this end. In this, as in many like deliver- 
 ances vouchsafed to his people, he was pleased to make their 
 safety to depend on their faith and obedience. He was 
 pleased to require that every family should provide a lamb 
 
132 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 whose blood was to be shed, and offered to him in sacrifice. 
 The blood of this lamb was to be poured forth and sprinkled 
 on the door-posts, and it was only through their obedience 
 to this injunction, that the Divine purpose, in so far as they 
 were concerned, was to be accomplished. There can be little 
 doubt with any one, I think, what was the design of God 
 in making such an appointment. Independently of the trial 
 which it afforded of their dependence on his faithfulness, it 
 was doubtless intended to keep alive on their minds the 
 truth, that without shedding of blood there was no remis- 
 sion, — that even they, though his own peculiar people, were 
 in a state of sin, and lay exposed to his judgments equally 
 with those on whom they were to be inflicted, — that the lives 
 of their first-born were his, and only to be preserved by the 
 substitution of another life in the room of theirs, and as the 
 price of their ransom ; and the solemnity with which they 
 were required, in commemoration of this event, and through- 
 out all ages, to redeem their first-born, was obviously in- 
 tended to preserve the same impression on their minds. 
 There can be no doubt, at any rate, that, as their deliver- 
 ance was to come to them, it was represented as coming by 
 blood ; that intending to save them, God made their safety 
 to be ensured through the substitution of a victim ; and that 
 it was in consideration of a sacrifice offered by them, and 
 accepted of God, that they were to be preserved. The ap- 
 pointment of this sacrifice was the declaration of God's gra- 
 cious mind towards them ; and when, in obedience to the 
 Divine command, the required sacrifice was offered, and the 
 blood which God himself had declared adequate to their ran- 
 som was shed, every hinderance to their attainment of the 
 promised deliverance was removed ; and they required only 
 to present to God the token of their obedience in order that 
 this deliverance might be their own. 
 
 You are not to suppose, when, in allusion to this mode 
 of deliverance, the Apostle says, " Christ our passovcr is 
 sacrificed for us, 11 that the comparison which he intends to 
 institute, will hold, or was designed to hold, in every point. 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 133 
 
 For any tiling we know, there was nothing, — I mean no 
 necessity in his moral nature, — to have prevented God from 
 saving the Israelites by the blood of any other animal than 
 that of a lamb, or even without the shedding of blood at all. 
 And for any thing that we can see, he might have provided 
 for their safety in a thousand other ways, equally available, 
 — excepting in so far as it was designed to keep alive on 
 their minds the truth of their own guilty condition, and that 
 their lives, and the lives of their families, were at God's sove- 
 reign disposal. The appointment of a sacrifice was merely 
 an arbitrary one, — that is to say, a thing for which we can 
 give no other reason than that God appointed it. But you 
 are not to suppose for a moment, that there was no more 
 necessity than this, which was really no necessity at all, for 
 the intervention of a greater sacrifice, before guilt could be 
 atoned, or the sentence pronounced against iniquity passed 
 from and repealed. On the contrary, we know, and are as- 
 sured, that, in order to the exemption of any of our race 
 from a yet more awful destruction, there was a necessity in 
 the very nature of the Godhead, that an atonement should 
 be provided, that a vindication of the Divine holiness and 
 the Divine rectitude should be rendered, before one sinner 
 could be admitted into the Divine presence, or one sin be 
 forgiven. 
 
 And on the night when God made to meet on the Saviour 
 the iniquity of us all, — when he poured on his blessed head 
 the vials of his wrath, and when he was led as a lamb to the 
 slaughter, there was a manifestation of his hatred against 
 iniquity, yet more fearful than on that night, when, in 
 punishment of their contempt, he laid low the pride of Egypt 
 by one desolating overthrow, and made every family through 
 her territory the scene of bitter anguish and wo. For all 
 this, however, it still remains true, that designing to mani- 
 fest his grace, in passing from execution of that sentence 
 under which all men He as transgressors, the deliverance 
 opened up to them was to be by the blood of a sacrifice, — 
 that it was by the substitution of a life for their life that liis 
 
134 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 hand was to be stayed against the workers of iniquity, and 
 that a price was to be paid, in order that the redemption, 
 even of one, might be secured. 
 
 Instead of leaving it to us, however, either to provide or 
 to offer the victim, necessary as the ransom, — God himself 
 has provided and offered that victim in the person of his 
 only-begotten and well-beloved Son. The precious blood of 
 Christ, as of a lamb without spot and without blemish, has 
 been shed once for all, that all might apply to it, and, apply- 
 ing, be in safety. And if there was a virtue in the blood of 
 a lamb, so that by the Divine appointment, when that blood 
 was shed, God was pacified towards the children of his people, 
 how much more virtue and efficiency, may we rest assured, are 
 there in the blood of Christ, who, through the Eternal Spirit, 
 offered himself without spot to God, to turn aside the fierce- 
 ness of the Divine wrath ; and, if we only make application 
 to it, to stay the hand of the destroyer ! 
 
 It was for this reason that the lamb in the Jewish festival 
 was called the lamb of the Passover, or simply the Passover ; 
 and it is because the offering of the Lamb of God, to take 
 away the sins of the world, has done for all men what the 
 offering of the lamb did for every single family in Israel in 
 which its blood was shed, — because that hinderance which 
 existed in the holiness of the Godhead and in the purity of 
 the Divine law to the passing over the sentence denounced 
 against transgressors has been removed, — and because it 
 needs now no more than a simple act of faith on our part, 
 in order that we may be in safety through its provision of 
 mercy, that the Apostle, borrowing the terms which had been 
 of old applied to the mode of deliverance which God provided 
 for his people, declares that " Christ our passover was 
 sacrificed for us. 1 '' 
 
 It is to this point, we beg you to observe, that our illus- 
 tration is to be confined, — that in both cases a ransom was 
 required, and that blood was to be shed, in order to their 
 safety. Between the nature and preciousness of the blood 
 shed, and the dignity and quality of the victim, there was a 
 
D1SC0URSK NINTH. 135 
 
 difference as great as between the nature and value of the 
 deliverance to be effected by the offering of the paschal lamb 
 and by the offering of the Lamb of God ; and redemption 
 from all the fearfulness of the second death did not so far ex- 
 ceed redemption from the mere visitation of the natural death 
 as did the preciousness of the blood of Christ, that spotless 
 Lamb of God, exceed the preciousness of that blood shed for 
 Israel's deliverance. In this, however, both agree, that they 
 were the appointed and effectual ways through which deliver- 
 ance was to come to the Israelites and to us ; and would you 
 see how important is the declaration which the Apostle 
 makes, and how necessary it is for our peace and for our 
 safety, you have only to realize and to bring near to your- 
 selves the condition in which the Israelites were placed when 
 they first heard of the judgments which were impending, and 
 listened at the same time to the way of peace and safety 
 which the tender mercy of God had opened up to them. 
 
 Could I tell you with the certainty of a Divine commis- 
 sion, that God was this night to pass through the midst of 
 your families, to overwhelm you with such a visitation as he 
 sent on Egypt, — that at the dead of night his power was to 
 be felt in every dwelling, laying your first-born in the dust, 
 and saddening every household into the solemnity of a fu- 
 neral, — could I tell you that, with a secrecy which defied all 
 precautions, in a way to which you could offer no resistance, 
 and with a power before which you would be forced to feel 
 your own nothingness, he was to rob you of your dearest 
 treasure, heedless of all the tender ties and dear domestic 
 sympathies which were then to be torn asunder, — could I tell 
 you this with a Divine authority, and were you to receive it 
 as Divine, I should have a communication to make, to which, 
 I am persuaded, not one member of a family now present 
 could be indifferent, whether he himself were marked out as 
 the destined victim or not, and one which would awaken a 
 sense of instant and pressing danger too importunate to be 
 resisted ! And could I tell you at the same time, that by an 
 appointment, assured on the same authority, the life of your 
 
136 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 children would be spared to you, — that there was a way 
 opened for their deliverance, — that, whilst you could give 
 nothing sufficiently precious to effect it, God himself had 
 provided a lamb for the ransom, — that its blood had been 
 actually shed, and needed only to be applied for their safety, 
 — I am persuaded that I should have a communication to 
 make which would interest every better feeling of your na- 
 ture, and awaken a desire to participate in its blessings, pro- 
 portioned to the danger from which it gave you the hope of 
 a sure deliverance ! And yet this were fitted to convey a 
 very imperfect idea of the truth which our text declares. 
 The danger under which it supposes you to lie is one far 
 more widely spread, and more fearful in its nature ; the de- 
 liverance which it announces is one far more precious than 
 even the redemption of your first-born. The reality of the 
 coming wo, and the value of the provided refuge, may be 
 seen in the preciousness of the blood required, in order to 
 avert the one and to ensure the other ; and we may read at 
 once the reality of our misery, and the reality of our safety, 
 in the declaration, that '< Christ our passover is sacrificed 
 for us. r> 
 
 Christ is called our passover, inasmuch as it is by an ap- 
 plication of the blood of Christ, equivalent to that which the 
 Israelites were required to make of the blood of the paschal 
 lamb, that the iniquities of any sinner are to be passed over 
 and forgiven. You will remember, on again recurring to 
 the history so often adverted to, that it was not simply by 
 the blood of the lamb that the first-born Israelites were to 
 be saved from the calamity which was to light with unsparing 
 and unpitying vengeance on the first-born of Egypt ; they 
 were required, after killing it, to take of the blood, and to 
 strike it on the two side-posts, and on the upper door-posts 
 of the house ; and it was only after this was done that they 
 were promised, or could obtain, the safety in which God de- 
 signed to place them and their families from the misery 
 which was that night to come on the families around them. 
 « And the blood/ 1 said God, " shall be to you for a token 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 137 
 
 upon the houses where ye are, and when I see the blood, I 
 will pass over you, and the plague shall not be upon you to 
 destroy you, when I smite the land of Egypt." 
 
 You will thus perceive that the lamb might have been 
 provided and the blood shed, which was adequate to the ran- 
 som of their first-born, and yet they would for all this have 
 perished, had they neglected that part of the Divine ordi- 
 nance which required them to sprinkle the blood upon their 
 houses, — that their safety lay, not in the mere fact of the 
 lamb being provided or offered as a substitute for their first- 
 born, but in the blood of the lamb being recognised by God 
 upon their habitations. It was this thing, equally indis- 
 pensable as that there should have been blood shed at all, 
 by which their safety was ultimately secured ; and until this 
 was done, in the very way that God required it, they were 
 really, for all the grace which God designed them, as help- 
 less and unprotected as those for whom no such deliverance 
 had been appointed. 
 
 We beg that this may be remarked, because it affords a 
 very simple and intelligible illustration of a point in the 
 Christian economy, about which many are ready to entertain 
 confused and erroneous opinions. There are not a few who, 
 regarding merely the wide and comprehensive terms in which 
 the Word of God declares the extent, and fulness, and effi- 
 ciency of the death of Christ, are indulging in the idea of 
 safety, when they have no right ground for entertaining it, 
 — who are ever employing the freeness and sufficiency of his 
 salvation as a means of searing their consciences, and harden- 
 ing their hearts in a course of forgetfulness of God, — and by 
 whom the truth, that the blood of Christ cleanseth from all 
 sin, is ever applied as the palliative, when they are pressed 
 by the fears of guilt, or as the means of building them up in 
 the indulgence of a- false hope. Against such ideas the lan- 
 guage of the text is well fitted to guard us, and there may be 
 few illustrations better fitted to show the exact situation in 
 which men are placed by the death of Christ, than that de- 
 rived from the nature of the Passover. In saying that 
 
138 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 " Christ our passovcr is sacrificed for us, 1 " 1 the Apostle 
 meant, that the death of Christ has placed us, and every 
 man, in the same situation as were the families of Israel 
 when the blood of the lamb was shed. God is propitiated 
 for iniquity, and every thing is done that can ever be done, 
 or that will ever be required, in the way of satisfaction or 
 atonement. But are we on this account to conceive that, by 
 this act on the part of God, we are forgiven, or placed beyond 
 the reach of the destroyer ? — or are we to conceive, because 
 a ransom has been offered, adequate to the blotting out of 
 all transgressions, that our safety is secured ? The case of 
 the Israelites will easily furnish you with the answer. All 
 this was done in their case ; and yet they might notwith- 
 standing, and unless the blood of that lamb had been sprink- 
 led on their door-posts, have been involved in the same 
 calamity which overtook the Egyptians. Without this, the 
 blood shed had never availed for the deliverance of their 
 first-born from the stroke of the destroying angel ; and as 
 little will it avail us to hear of the value of Christ's sacrifice, 
 the efficiency of Christ's redeeming blood, and the fulness 
 and sufficiency of his substitution, unless we follow this up 
 by an act equivalent to that by which a believing Israelite, 
 on the simple word and bidding of God, sprinkled the blood 
 of the lamb on his dwelling, and rest in the security of the 
 Divine faithfulness that he was then in safety from that un- 
 utterable wo, which in one night, and in one hour, was to 
 send consternation and anguish into every dwelling in Egypt. 
 But it is not merely for exposing false or mistaken views 
 of the nature of Christ's salvation that the illustration of our 
 text may be employed. It was intended and fitted to teach 
 us how the blood of Christ may be made effectual for our 
 deliverance. And there is something so exceedingly simple 
 in the way by which the families of Israel were preserved, 
 by sprinkling of the blood on the door-posts of their houses, 
 that it can hardly fail, I think, to be felt as placing within 
 the reach of every one who has been led to feel his own ne- 
 cessities as a sinner the blessings of salvation ; if it be true, 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 139 
 
 that in his case it is by an application equally simple that 
 this blessing is to become his own. 
 
 I fear, however, were I merely to tell you that the blood 
 of Christ must be sprinkled on your hearts, as the blood 
 of the lamb was required to be on the dwellings of the Israel- 
 ites, — that you need only to do this, and you are in safety, 
 — and that God will at last pass over all to whom the Sa- 
 viour's blood has been thus applied, — that I should not con- 
 vey any clear idea on the subject to those of you who possessed 
 it not before ; and it is necessary, therefore, to know pre- 
 cisely what meaning that act conveyed by which an Israelite 
 did these things, and what is the act analogous, or like to 
 it, by which the blood of the Passover becomes effectual for 
 shielding a sinner from that misery which will one day be the 
 portion of all who are not in Christ. 
 
 Now you will easily perceive, that this act on the part of 
 the Israelite was one declarative of his confidence in the effi- 
 cacy of the blood that had been shed for his first-born. He 
 did thereby declare, that he had given, as God required, a 
 life for the ransom of his child, — he carried that blood forth 
 to meet God, and to present it, in order to stay the hand of 
 the destroyer, — and he did simply and expressively plead 
 with God this blood in arrest of the destruction to which 
 both he and his family had, but for its gracious appoint- 
 ment, been exposed. Such was the real meaning of the 
 sprinkling of blood ; and there was something in it not less 
 significant or less eloquent, because the whole passed in dumb 
 show, without any thing to break in upon the solemn still- 
 ness of that fearful night. And mark well what was the con- 
 sequence. Whilst there was not a dwelling in Egypt which 
 was not on that night visited with the destruction of their 
 first-born, and not a family remained in which there was not 
 one dead, — wherever the symbol of a believer's habitation was 
 discovered, the angel of God passed over it, — the arm that 
 was lifted up to smite was instantly extended to shelter and 
 to save, — the same Almighty power that had otherwise been 
 arrayed against it, stood forth for its defence and protection, 
 
140 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 — and the families of Israel were each of them embraced in 
 a security, as if there had been no pestilence walking in dark- 
 ness throughout the land. 
 
 In declaring that " Christ our passover is sacrificed for 
 us,' 1 the Apostle, as I have already said, tells us that blood 
 has been shed adequate to the deliverance of all, and free to 
 be applied to by all. And he substantially tells us, also, that 
 wherever there is the same confidence in the efficacy of a 
 Saviour's blood, and in the fulness of a Saviour's ransom,- — 
 wherever these are pleaded with the same simplicity as was 
 intended to be exhibited in the act by which an Israelite was 
 saved, — God will, in like manner, pass from the sentence 
 which he has denounced against the sinner, and manifest the 
 same reverence for that faithfulness, on which, equally with 
 the believing Israelite, the sinner then takes his firm stand. 
 
 In going to God, carrying with you the blood of the one 
 sacrifice, and in the faith of its efficacy, — in laying it down, 
 as it were, at the Divine footstool, in arrest of the awful sen- 
 tence under which you lie as transgressors, — and in present- 
 ing it to meet and avert the punishment to which you are 
 righteously subjected, you do the very same thing as was 
 done by the Israelites, when they sprinkled the blood upon 
 the door-posts of their houses. You go forth to meet God, 
 presenting and pleading the sufficiency of the Saviour's ran- 
 som, — you fill your mouth with the very arguments which 
 he has emboldened you to employ, and which he never once 
 denied or refused, — and the safety of a sinner, whilst waiting 
 in the attitude of confidence in God through the death of his 
 Son, and having his heart and his conscience sprinkled with 
 the blood of his spotless sacrifice, is not even exceeded by 
 the security in which the dwellings of Israel were placed, 
 when sprinkled with the blood of the lamb, every one of 
 which was fenced by the Divine faithfulness from the coming 
 judgments, and became the scene of reposing confidence and 
 peaceful gratitude ; whilst nothing but the cry of lamenta- 
 tion and anguish was to be heard in the dwellings around 
 them. God then becomes the sinner's confidence, as he was 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 141 
 
 the confidence of Israel, — his trust is then equally with theirs 
 in that faithful Word, in which he hath privileged him to 
 hope, — and though no outward mark is set upon him, and 
 no visible separation distinguishes him, he is as much, in the 
 eye of God, separated from others, as if God had visibly 
 fenced him by the direct exercise of his omniscience, and 
 placed him beyond the reach of those threatenings which he 
 has denounced against transgressors. 
 
 It was to engage your minds to the consideration of this 
 truth, — not merely to tell you that the blood of a Lamb has 
 been offered, adequate to the blotting out of all transgres- 
 sions, — but to tell you how, by thus simply coming forth to 
 meet God, with no confidence in yourselves, but carrying 
 this blood with you as your confidence, you should be in 
 safety, that the Apostle declared " Christ our passover is 
 sacrificed for us."" And I know not any argument more 
 effectual for urging you to make it your refuge, than that 
 which may be found by returning once more to that eventful 
 night, from the scenes of which we have necessarily been led 
 to draw so many of our illustrations. 
 
 I have already pointed out to you the solemn interest that 
 would be awakened in the breast of every Israelite, as he 
 heard of the redemption by the blood of the lamb for his 
 first-born, and how every parental feeling would be awakened 
 that this blood might be made effectual for his child's deli- 
 verance ; and you can easily conceive how, as he listened to 
 the discovery of the way by which his dearest treasure might 
 be spared to him, the resolution would be instantly taken, 
 and almost instantly executed, to kill and sprinkle the blood 
 of that lamb, whose life was to be accepted for the life of his 
 child. And never would his anxious fears rest for a single 
 moment, — never would he cease to feel that the destroying 
 angel might be upon him, and tear from him his first-born, 
 until that blood was sprinkled on his door-posts, and he 
 could rest in the security of the Divine faithfulness, that he 
 and his family were then in safety from the threatened de- 
 struction. 
 
142 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 Now when I can assure you, on the same Divine testi- 
 mony, that you yourselves are exposed to perils more fearful 
 than those which threatened the families of Israel, — that if 
 you hasten not to sprinkle your guilty souls with the blood 
 of God's spotless Lamb, the avenger of blood may be upon 
 you, to cut you off without remedy, and to leave you with- 
 out hope, — and that by an application, which may be made 
 in less time than that in which an Israelite could strike the 
 blood of the lamb on his door-posts, — an application so 
 simple as that of instantly placing your confidence in God 
 through Christ, and presenting to him the blood of the sa- 
 crifice, — can I find any thing more effectual for shutting you 
 up, as it were, unto Christ, than this simple statement of 
 your danger on the one hand, and of the freeness and fulness 
 of the remedy provided on the other ? Or can I present a 
 security more ample than that which may at this moment be 
 yours, even the faithfulness of him who has magnified his 
 Word above all his other name, and who never can, and 
 never will, disown the confidence on which he has encouraged 
 you and every sinner to repose ? 
 
 There was not much apparent difference between the si- 
 tuation of the Egyptians and that of the Israelites on the 
 approach of that night when God was to pass through the 
 land in judgment. The dwellings of the one looked as well 
 guarded and as well fenced from the entry of calamity as the 
 dwellings of the other ; and, sunk in the profound repose and 
 in the deep forgetfulness of a midnight hour, the families of 
 Egypt might have seemed even more peaceful, and their 
 condition more enviable, than the families of Israel, with that 
 look of painful expectation, and at times, I doubt not, of 
 watchful and unbelieving anxiety, which, even with all their 
 trust in God, they might have betrayed. The confidence of 
 the one, however, was the confidence of a blind security, 
 which the approach of danger soon dissipated, — the confi- 
 dence of the other was a well-founded confidence in God, 
 the strength of which was only known when the hour of trial 
 came. The peace of the one was that restless and troubled 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 143 
 
 peace which precedes and announces the fury of the tempest 
 that is to sweep it away, — the peace of the other was the 
 peace of those who saw the gathering storm, and had found 
 in the Divine faithfulness a shelter from its coming desola- 
 tion. The tranquillity of the one was the tranquillity of na- 
 ture, from which they could not awake without also awaking 
 to the bitterest sense of misery and wretchedness, — the tran- 
 quillity of the other was that of faith keeping its watchful 
 eye upon the sanctuary, and contemplating at once the dan- 
 ger and the deliverance. 
 
 Whilst, therefore, there was that night a cry throughout 
 all the land of Egypt, such as there was none like it, nor 
 shall be, and nothing was to be heard save the wailing of 
 parental affection for the first-born whom the angel of death 
 had smitten, and nothing was to be seen but the consterna- 
 tion of men who knew not but the next hour would bring 
 with it a heavier doom, — there was peace, and holy joy, and 
 devout gratitude in every dwelling of Israel. And when 
 the night of a yet more terrible judgment comes, as come it 
 will, whether men regard it or not, — when sinners shall be 
 made to feel the baselessness of every false confidence, and 
 every refuge of lies shall be swept away, and they shall call 
 upon the rocks and upon the mountains to fall on them, and 
 to cover them from the wrath of the Lamb, — Christ shall in 
 like manner distinguish those who are sealed with the seal of 
 his own faithfulness, and shutting them up for a little, until 
 the indignation be overpast, as he did the Israelites that 
 night in their dwellings, until he had avenged him in the 
 blood of his enemies, shall he bring them forth, to walk 
 abroad in the new heavens and the new earth, which his 
 blood has purchased, and to inherit the kingdom which he 
 has prepared for all who love him. 
 
144 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 THE FENCING OF THE COMMUNION-TABLE. 
 
 We read in the Old Testament history, brethren, that in 
 commemoration of the great event to which we have had oc- 
 casion to direct your attention, — the passing over the first- 
 born of Israel, when God smote the first-born of Egypt, he 
 appointed a solemn festival to be observed by the children of 
 Israel in all ages, in order to preserve alive the memory of 
 the Divine interposition on their behalf. " This day,"" said 
 God, " shall be unto you for a memorial ; and ye shall keep 
 it a feast to the Lord throughout your generations. Ye shall 
 keep it a feast by an ordinance for ever. 1 '' 
 
 In like manner, and in commemoration of a yet more glo- 
 rious Passover, — in commemoration of that blood shed for 
 the redemption of his people from their spiritual enemies, — 
 God has appointed a festival to be observed by them in all 
 ages ; and, before proceeding to celebrate this feast, in obe- 
 dience to the Divine command, you will read with us the 
 warrant which we have for dispensing it, as you will find it 
 written, 1 Corinthians, xi. 23 — 30. 
 
 Such are the nature and design of the Christian Passover. 
 On recurring to that festival, with which, following the lan- 
 guage of the Apostle, it may be compared, — I mean the Jew- 
 ish Passover, — you will recollect that the stranger and the 
 uncircumcised were forbidden to partake thereof, and that it 
 was not till they had acknowledged their desire to belong to 
 the body of the Israelites, and received the outward seal of 
 the Divine covenant, that they were permitted to unite in 
 celebrating a festival, which, from its very nature, was ap- 
 propriated to the chosen people of Israel. And we are thus 
 reminded, on the very face of the Jewish institution, of that 
 separation, — not less truly intended, and not less solemnly to 
 be observed, though partaking of the spiritual character of 
 the economy to which it belongs, — which God requires in 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 145 
 
 the celebration of the Christian Passover, " lest coming un- 
 worthily, we eat and drink judgment to ourselves." 
 
 In directing your attention for a few moments, therefore, 
 to this point, permit me to do so by reference to the profes- 
 sion which every Israelite really made in observing the me- 
 morial of the preservation of his people, and to lead you to 
 ascertain how far you are really prepared to make the same 
 profession, with reference to a higher object, in the comme- 
 moration of the Christian Passover. In eating of the paschal 
 lamb, the most solemn of the ordinances of his nation, I 
 need not say, that every Israelite professed his belief in the 
 great events which it was intended to commemorate, and 
 which occupied so prominent a place in the history of his 
 nation. The degraded state in which his people were in 
 Egypt, — the danger which threatened them on that night 
 when the Egyptians were smitten and they delivered, — the 
 reality of the Divine interference in their behalf in crushing 
 their enemies, and the subsequent redemption which was vir- 
 tually accomplished, when the destroying angel passed over 
 them, and smote the power that oppressed them ; — all these 
 things must have been believed, and must have been present 
 to his mind, at the time when an Israelite partook of the 
 Passover ; and he did therefore, by this one act, avow his 
 faith in the great outline of God's dealings with the children 
 of his people, in every thing that related to their redemption 
 from the land of bondage. 
 
 In doing this, however, — in thus solemnly commemo- 
 rating so distant events, — every Israelite did at the same 
 time profess to feel that they were events in which he was 
 interested, not merely as occasions in which God manifested 
 his power and his goodness, or in connexion with which the 
 history of his own nation might be affecting to him ; but as 
 events in which he had a real personal interest, and which were 
 still fitted to awaken his gratitude and thankfulness, notwith- 
 standing the distance of time and difference of place in their 
 original accomplishment. He professed to regard them as 
 the events to which he really owed his redemption and deli- 
 
14G DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 verance from a like bondage, — to them he virtually traced 
 all the blessings of which he was then in possession in the 
 land of Canaan, — he acknowledged that it was of God that 
 he held, or could hold, them, from this circumstance alone, 
 that God had wrought out his redemption. And the act, 
 therefore, by which he partook of the paschal offering was an 
 acknowledgment of his dependence on the Divine goodness 
 for the comforts he enjoyed, and an act expressive of his 
 obligation to God for all the peculiar mercies which his grace 
 had bestowed on him. 
 
 It is no less obvious, however, and is, indeed, almost 
 an inference from what has been now stated, that in cele- 
 brating the Passover, every Israelite did virtually trans- 
 act and covenant with God over the blood of the lamb then 
 offered, taking God to be his God, and owning the obliga- 
 tion under which he was laid to obey all his commandments. 
 I can scarcely suppose an Israelite to have entertained gra- 
 titude to God for the peculiar mercies of redemption, with- 
 out this sentiment following in its train. Of all the bless- 
 ings which God had bestowed at the time when he wrought 
 deliverance for his people, — the greatest, and that, indeed, 
 which enhanced every other, was, that he then announced 
 himself to be their God, — that he claimed them to be his 
 own, because he had redeemed them, and challenged for 
 himself all those peculiar and gracious feelings, which such 
 a condescension on his part entitled him to claim. In pro- 
 fessing, therefore, as every Israelite did, by participating in 
 this ordinance, his gratitude for his peculiar privileges, he un- 
 questionably professed his gratitude for this, the chiefest 
 mark of the Divine regard. He expressed his peculiar thank- 
 fulness to God, for having assumed so gracious an appella- 
 tion as the God of his people ; and he virtually admitted, as 
 distinctly as it was made, the claim which God had on his 
 grateful obedience, as the God who had redeemed him. 
 Such, in the very simplest view of it, was the profession 
 which every Israelite made, so often as he celebrated the 
 Passover. I do not say that every Israelite really felt this 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 147 
 
 to be implied in it, or received it with these truths distinctly 
 before him. Nevertheless, all this was involved, whether he 
 considered it or not ; and the question to which I would now, 
 in a few words, direct your attention is, how far you are 
 prepared to make the same acknowledgment with reference 
 to those great objects presented to your faith, and well fitted 
 to excite your gratitude, and challenge your obedience, in the 
 Christian Passover. 
 
 I shall not suppose, that amongst those who seek admit- 
 tance to the table of the Lord, there are any who either 
 disbelieve or deny the great facts which are there comme- 
 morated, the sufferings and death of the Son of God, as an 
 atonement for sin. I should be unwilling to conceive it 
 possible, that almost any consideration could induce such 
 a mockery of holy things, as would be implied in thus par- 
 ticipating of the communion of the body and blood of Christ. 
 I would remind "you on this point, however, that these 
 truths can never be received or held by you, as the Bible re- 
 quires, unless you have been convinced of your own condi- 
 tion as sinners, — that it is vain for you to speak of believ- 
 ing in Christ for salvation, if you never felt that you 
 were lost, or if you never knew what it was to feel that you 
 were in bondage to sin. Till this is done, you have, and 
 must have, something in yourselves, which will prevent the 
 full conception, — and far more, the cordial acceptance of 
 gospel truths ; and I beseech those, if such there be, who 
 are destitute of any serious consideration of their own guilt 
 and misery as sinners, and who yet propose to commemorate, 
 and that with no small appearance of fervour, the great fact 
 that God gave his own son to the death, that guilt might be 
 taken away and sin removed, — to consider that such a service 
 must be as hateful to God, as it is unmeaning on their part, 
 — a thing, to say the very least of it, which God never will 
 accept at their hands, because it possesses, and can possess, 
 nothing that entitles it to be called a reasonable service. 
 
 I would, however, in fencing our communion-table, more 
 especially inquire, how far the great truth, which it brings 
 
Ikl DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 so affectingly before us, has impressed your minds, and 
 warmed your hearts ? — how far it has come home to you as 
 an event in which you are as much interested as if it had 
 passed but yesterday ? — and how far you can approach its 
 commemoration with the feeling of those, who, under the 
 impression of a lively gratitude, look to the great Passover 
 as an occasion, the blessings of which were as much in- 
 tended for them, and have as much application to them, as 
 if it had been the special provision made for their family, 
 instead of a provision in which all are free to share. 
 
 You will remember, that this was a peculiar feature in 
 the profession which an Israelite made by eating the Pass- 
 over; without which, indeed, it could never have claimed, or 
 received, the reverence which it obtained throughout every 
 generation of God's ancient people. And believe me, breth- 
 ren, there can be no real commemoration of Christ's death, 
 unless we have this bond of connexion with the great pur- 
 poses of his death. It is not by hearing of the shed blood, 
 and the open way, and the free and full salvation, or giving 
 to them a bare and formal acquiescence, that you are ever 
 to be profited ; unless there be also a special application 
 of that blood to your own consciences to make you clean ; 
 and our inquiry at you is, not how far these things may be 
 known and received by you, but how far, under a sense of 
 sin, and danger, and helplessness, you are betaking yourselves 
 to the Saviour, and, if I may use the expression, shutting 
 yourselves up in him, as all your salvation ? — how far you 
 are now thinking of him, and hearing of him, even as an Is- 
 raelite would hear of the lamb provided for the ransom of 
 his first-born ? Has there been any thing of that going out 
 of anxiety and desire after him which there would be in the 
 mind of the Jewish parent, till the lamb was slain, and the 
 blood sprinkled on the door-posts ? Have you felt any 
 thing of the gratitude which he would feel, as he saw with 
 joy the deliverance which God had specially provided for 
 him, from the coming desolations ? And, is it with this mind, 
 and in this spirit, that you are come to commemorate that 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 149 
 
 Divine grace, to which you look for blessings more pre- 
 cious far than life, even deliverance from that eternal death, 
 under the power and condemnation of which sin has brought 
 you? 
 
 I have only to ask you further, whether, in this view, 
 and with these feelings, you are prepared to take God as 
 your God, and whether you have it as your great desire, to 
 do his will ? You will remember, that this was a point, not 
 less prominent than any of those now stated, in the com- 
 memoration of the Passover by a believing Israelite. The 
 Passover, with him, was the first step taken by God towards 
 the redemption of his people, in order that they might be 
 his people, and he might be their God. That deliverance 
 was wrought for this end amongst others, that God might in- 
 stitute a new claim on their homage and obedience. And 
 the Christian Passover, — itself only a step towards the en- 
 tire redemption of his spiritual people from the bondage of 
 sin, — was sacrificed for this great object, that God might 
 institute a new claim on the hearts of all who believe in it. 
 Are you now prepared, therefore, to acknowledge the claim 
 which God thus makes, in consideration of the precious 
 blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without 
 spot, once shed for you, by an affectionate reception of him 
 as your God, and a simple and unreserved dedication of 
 yourselves to his authority and will ? And without making 
 any exception of your dearest sins, or your tenderest affec- 
 tions, do you now desire that God may have the predomi- 
 nance over all ? and trusting to his grace to perfect the reso- 
 lution, do you now resolve to give yourselves up, not only 
 to be washed and justified, but sanctified in the name of the 
 Lord Jesus, and by the spirit of your God ? 
 
 It is in this way, and with this mind, that you are invited 
 to come to the Lord's Table ; and wherever this is the mind 
 of intending communicants, we now cheerfully invite them 
 to come, with the assurance, that to such his flesh shall be 
 meat indeed, and his blood drink indeed. 
 
150 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 THE ADDRESS AFTER THE COMMUNION. 
 
 Before closing the peculiar services of a Communion Sab- 
 bath, you will permit me to address to you a few words on 
 the obligations under which you are now laid to God ; and 
 the peculiar influence which you should carry with you from 
 the services of this day to the business and employments of 
 the world. It is well for our direction on this point, that 
 God himself, by an ordinance, to be observed throughout all 
 ages in Israel, with reference to the time when he passed over 
 the first-born, has left on record what is the peculiar feeling 
 which he requires us to cherish in consideration of his grace. 
 
 When the Lord brought the children of Israel into the 
 land of Canaan, all the first-born, whether of man or of 
 beast, were to be the Lord's. The firstlings of their flocks 
 or herds they were to offer in sacrifice, the first-born of 
 their children they were to redeem, and they were given 
 distinctly to know the ground of this, in the answer which 
 they were required to make to the inquiries of their chil- 
 dren, — " When thy son asketh thee in time to come, say- 
 ing, What is this? — then shalt thou say unto him, By strength 
 of hand the Lord brought us out of the land of Egypt, from 
 the house of bondage ; and it came to pass, when Pharaoh 
 would hardly let us go, that the Lord slew all the first-born of 
 Egypt, both the first-born of man, and the first-born of 
 beasts ; therefore, I sacrifice to the Lord all that openeth the 
 womb being males, but all the first-born of my children I 
 redeem." 
 
 In thus challenging to himself in all ages this peculiar 
 right to the first-born of Israel, in requiring that they should 
 be either offered to him or redeemed by the substitution of 
 another victim, and in giving, as the reason of this appoint- 
 ment, that he had saved the first-born of their fathers from 
 the destruction which came upon Egypt, there can be no 
 doubt, that God did claim them as peculiarly his ; that in 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 151 
 
 addition to the title which he had in common to the life of 
 all, he had a stronger title to their life, because he had re- 
 deemed them ; and in continuing this as an ordinance for 
 ever, he did obviously desire to keep alive on the minds of 
 every successive generation, that he never had forgotten, or 
 would forget, the obligations under which his grace had laid 
 them, by working out for them so great a deliverance. 
 Every head of an Israelitish family, in offering to God a ran- 
 som for his first-born, distinctly confessed that his child was 
 not his, but God's ; that he could only have that right to it 
 which God permitted him to have with regard to his other 
 children, by the substitution which had been made of an- 
 other life in its room, and that it was a holy and dedicated 
 thing, with which he had no right to intermeddle. And to 
 refuse thus sanctifying it to the Lord, was a distinct denial, 
 either that God had wrought redemption for the families of 
 his people at all, or a refusal to own the obligations under 
 which that redemption had laid him, and the children of his 
 people, for ever. 
 
 It must be very obvious to you, that the design of God 
 in this ordinance was to teach every successive generation 
 how greatly they ought to value the riches of his grace to 
 them and to their families ; and the application of this to 
 the situation of those of you who have now participated in 
 the memorials of a yet greater redemption is almost too ob- 
 vious to require a distinct illustration. If, in consideration 
 of having saved the first-born of his people from the stroke 
 of the destroyer, God thought fit to appoint an ordinance to 
 commemorate it to all ages ; and if, not restricting his right 
 to one generation, he sees fit to stretch it over every suc- 
 ceeding generation, and to claim all the first-born as his ; then 
 what must be the claim which he has upon those whom he 
 has yet more signally delivered ? And what must be the 
 feeling of obligation to the riches of his grace, which he re- 
 quires them to keep alive on their hearts ? If these were not 
 their own but God's, how much more must they be his,, 
 
 8 
 
152 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 whom he has rescued from the punishment, and promises to 
 deliver from the power of sin ? and how much more deeply 
 may they be expected to feel, and to cherish a sense of the 
 obligations which they owe to him, for whom God himself 
 has provided and offered so precious a ransom, in the per- 
 son of his only-begotten and well-beloved Son ? It is thus 
 that the ordinance instituted of God in Israel may be em- 
 ployed to show us, how, and in what way, God wishes us to 
 account of the obligation under which the riches of his re- 
 deeming grace has laid those who believe. 
 
 And, brethren, this is an acknowledgment which God 
 does expect and require, and will, I am persuaded, receive 
 at the hand of every one who has been made alive to the 
 riches of his grace. If you do feel that you are not your 
 own, but God's, — that he has acquired in you, by purchase, 
 a right of property, even stronger, if possible, than that de- 
 rived from having created you, and that you have not been 
 redeemed with corruptible things, such as silver and gold, 
 but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without 
 blemish and without spot, — you will feel it, at the same time, 
 to be the most reasonable of all claims, when he requires 
 you to glorify him in your bodies and spirits, which are his. 
 
 To know it as a truth, that in the day of a calamity impend- 
 ing over us, more fearful than that which impended over the 
 families of Egypt, and when neither the blood of lambs nor of 
 bulls could take away sin, he spared not his own Son, but de- 
 livered him up to the death for us all ; to know that to the 
 blessings of his salvation we are all welcome, and have had 
 these blessings actually made over to us, and sealed in the 
 solemn services of this day, may well be expected to awaken 
 a sense of gratitude and obligation which could not be re- 
 pressed, and which would surely manifest itself in every way 
 that could do him honour. And when the path which God 
 opens up for the expression of a grateful heart, is one not 
 more tending to his glory than to your own peace and well- 
 being ; when, in the keeping of the least of his command- 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 153 
 
 ments, there is great reward ; I know nothing which could 
 be added to induce you to live, not unto yourselves, but 
 unto him who loved you, and gave himself for you. 
 
 It was not only, however, by such an ordinance as that to 
 which I have now adverted, that God kept alive the peculiar 
 feeling which his grace was intended to excite in the mind 
 of an Israelite. Whilst the mere act by which God passed 
 over their families had an especial reference to the first-born, 
 it was only, as I have had occasion to say, the first step to- 
 ward the redemption of the whole nation. The power of 
 their enemies was then broken, and their freedom was vir- 
 tually accomplished ; and all, therefore, in after ages, were 
 required to cherish those peculiar feelings which his redeem- 
 ing grace was fitted to awaken in every heart. Accordingly 
 you find that this point is always brought prominently for- 
 ward by God in the various commands which he issued, and 
 the various requirements which he gave them to observe, — 
 that it was not merely by the authority and right which he 
 possessed over them, as over all his creatures, but by a new 
 and superadded authority, originating in the new relation- 
 ship in which he stood to them, that he peculiarly claimed 
 their obedience. And an Israelite, in reading the word which 
 God had given him, was never, therefore, allowed to forget 
 the peculiar obligations under which he was bound to live to 
 the honour of the Divine name. 
 
 I am persuaded that on this point I do not need to give 
 you examples ; but you will easily recollect without them, 
 that it is this consideration, — the consideration of having re- 
 deemed them, — which prefaced the solemn deliverance of the 
 law from Mount Sinai, — which constitutes the great bond in 
 inculcating even the minutest relative duty, — which is ever 
 applied to excite the people of Israel to thankfulness, or to 
 make them patient under tribulations, — which is employed 
 to bring them to a sense of guilt, or to lead them back to 
 him from whom they had revolted. And if you were to take 
 these motives from the Old Testament, you would strip it of 
 
154 DISCOURSE NINTH. 
 
 the great and inspiring considerations which it every where 
 contains to diligence and faithfulness in the Divine service. 
 God did obviously design by all this, that the redemption 
 which he had accomplished for his people, and the peculiar 
 privileges which he had bestowed, were to mingle with the 
 whole strain of their existence, — that it was not only on the 
 commemoration of the Passover that they were to be felt and 
 acknowledged, but amidst all the diversified employments in 
 which they would be engaged, and the various situations in 
 which they would be placed. And if this was his design and 
 object, — if he deemed this obligation to be so strong and so 
 sacred as thus habitually to present it, and to desire that 
 they would thus habitually feel it, — can we suppose that our 
 obligations are less, to cherish the remembrance of his grace 
 to our souls, or that we should not feel it at all times thus 
 exciting us to live to the Divine service and glory in Christ 
 Jesus ? 
 
 I have only to add a single word to those who have been 
 merely the spectators of this day's solemnity, — to those who 
 by reason of tender years have not yet participated in this 
 ordinance, or who from some other motive have never yet sat 
 down at a communion-table. And I do so at this time, be- 
 cause there was on this very point a special command given 
 by God to his ancient people. When their children should 
 ask in after ages, on the return of the Passover, What mean- 
 cth this ? the Israelites were commanded to say, " It is the 
 sacrifice of the Lord's Passover, who passed over the houses 
 of the children of Israel in Egypt, when he smote the Egyp- 
 tians and delivered our houses." The command was obvi- 
 ously intended to awaken their minds to the importance of 
 Divine things ; and it is a command which every Christian 
 parent who has been this day at the Lord's Table will not 
 fail, I trust, to remember this night in his family-circle. 
 And when you ask, as some of you may do, with reference 
 to the services in which your parents, and friends, and neigh- 
 bours have been engaged, What meaneth this ? we feel con- 
 
DISCOURSE NINTH. 155 
 
 strained to answer you in like manner, — It is the sacrifice, 
 or the memorial of the sacrifice, of the Lord's Passover, who 
 smote our spiritual enemies, and delivered us by the blood 
 of his Son from that death to which we were subjected on 
 account of our transgressions. 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 1 John, ii. 1. — These things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And 
 if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the 
 righteous. 
 
 It is not difficult to perceive, from the structure of this 
 sentence, what was the design of the Apostle in address- 
 ing it to his converts. He had obviously been setting before 
 them certain topics, intended and fitted to guard them against 
 sin ; the natural impression of which, if duly considered, was 
 to advance them in that holy character which it was his 
 great aim to further and to perfect, and to excite them to a 
 greater abhorrence of every thing that would injure or im- 
 pair it. Whilst aware, seemingly, that believers would, 
 through forgetfulness or neglect of this, and by the power of 
 temptation, be led into sin, and that they needed something 
 more than simply to be guarded against its commission, he 
 opens up the way for their restoration to peace and purity, 
 in the advocacy and intercession of Christ. Such we con- 
 ceive to be the design of the Apostle, from the language he 
 employs ; and we may become satisfied of this, from a little 
 attention to the subjects presented in the context. 
 
 In the fifth verse of the previous chapter, beyond which 
 the points adverted to in the text do not extend, you find 
 him declaring the perfect holiness and purity of the Divine 
 nature, expressing this under the very striking and signifi- 
 cant emblem, that " God is light, and in him is no darkness 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 157 
 
 at all ;" and declaring, at the same time, that so much did 
 this constitute his essential character, that it was impossible 
 for any who were living in sin, or " walking in darkness, 11 as 
 he terms it, to maintain communion or fellowship with God. 
 Along with this, you find him declaring the blessedness of 
 those who walked in the light, — that is, the habitual bent of 
 whose lives was to holiness, — that whilst others were lying, 
 and not acting sincerely, — not " doing the truth, 11 if they 
 made any pretences to its possession, — they had truly their 
 fellowship with one another, that is obviously, with the Fa- 
 ther through the Son ; that they were admitted to the full 
 and free participation of all the blessings of the Gospel, and 
 that the blood of Christ cleansed them from all sin. The 
 mention of salvation through the blood of Christ leads the 
 Apostle, in the eighth and ninth verses, and in a way not unu- 
 sual in the simple and sententious style of writing which he 
 adopted, to state the necessity of this atonement, and at the 
 same time its freeness to all who come to God acknowledging 
 their iniquities. " If we say we have no sins, we deceive our- 
 selves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he 
 is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us 
 from all unrighteousness." And when, at the close of an 
 address of this nature, and bringing before their minds these 
 truths, he turns to his converts, — to those whom he believed, 
 as is evident from every part of the epistle, were walking in 
 the light, and says, " These things write I unto you, that 
 ye sin not, 11 there can be little doubt that his design was to 
 move them, by the view of the privileges which they enjoyed, 
 to beware of the very appearance of evil ; and that the con- 
 sideration of these furnished peculiar reasons why they should 
 not in any way offend God. Aware, at the same time, that 
 in spite of all the motives that might be brought to bear 
 upon them, or rather through the neglect of these, sin would 
 assail, and often overcome, — that through the power of temp- 
 tation, and the principles of a corrupt heart, they might be 
 at times led far away from the purity that became them, — 
 and that transgressions of a deeper dye than those defects in 
 
158 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 daily observance, which attend the humblest and the closest 
 walk with God, might stain their conduct, and destroy their 
 peace, he declares that there was a remedy provided in the 
 Gospel for meeting this influence to which they were daily 
 exposed ; and that if any man, — obviously meaning thereby 
 any believer, — any of those whom he denominates his little 
 children, — sinned, " there was an advocate with the Father, 
 Jesus Christ the righteous." 
 
 We are anxious to impress this view of the subject, be- 
 cause on reading the verse it might appear, at first sight, 
 that the Apostle was laying a restriction on sin with the one 
 hand, whilst he was removing it with the other, — that in one 
 part of the sentence he was warning his converts against sin, 
 and in the other part nullifying the effect of his warning by 
 supposing that they might sin. And, judging from the 
 proneness to iniquity which is naturally in vis all, the truth 
 which our text brings prominently forward might be con- 
 strued into something like an indulgence given to its com- 
 mission : at any rate, it is felt as if there was a mixture of 
 severity and indulgence in the Apostle^s address, and as if, 
 from the persuasion that he had required something too strict 
 before, he was in the latter clause of the sentence relaxing 
 from his severity. Such is almost necessarily the idea formed, 
 so long as it is supposed that the Apostle was merely deter- 
 ring his converts from sin, through the view of the dangers 
 involved in its commission. If it was the case, however, that 
 the considerations which he presented to guard them against 
 sin partook not at all of this character, — if he was stirring 
 them up, by the view of the privileges which they enjoyed, 
 to be holy in all manner of conversation, — and if whether he 
 had said, " If we walk in the light, we have fellowship one 
 with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from 
 all sin," or " If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just 
 to forgive us our sins, 1 '' he was still presenting the grace 
 which they had received, as the most powerful inducement 
 to guard against iniquity, there is no such opposition in- 
 volved as we have referred to. He did believe, and, none 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 159 
 
 of us will presume to say without reason, that the grace be- 
 stowed vipon believers afforded the most powerful motives for 
 purifying the heart, as well as the only means of pacifying 
 the conscience. He reminded them of this grace, therefore, 
 in order that they might not offend ; and when he presented 
 to their minds an extended view of the same grace, as pro- 
 viding, not merely for the blotting out of their first trans- 
 gressions, but providing for the forgiveness of their daily sins, 
 an advocate with the Father, who was the propitiation for 
 their sins, and through whose blood they might at all times 
 have access, it was not likely that this would operate as a 
 permission to live in the practice of iniquity. The evidence 
 which his language affords that they had experienced the in- 
 fluence of the one, is an assurance that they would feel this 
 declaration of the other equally effectual'; and that it would 
 only the more constrain them to be holy in all manner of 
 conversation, and to be blameless and without offence unto 
 the day of Christ. 
 
 The design of the Apostle, then, in addressing the lan- 
 guage of our text to believers, was to present, and affection- 
 ately to press upon them, the mercy and grace which they 
 had already received, as the motive likely to be with them, of 
 all others, the most effectual for the cultivation of habitual 
 holiness ; and yet, should they sin, to make known a grace 
 which was adequate to their recovery, — to uphold and 
 strengthen in that course of purity on which they had en- 
 tered all who were steadfast, and at the same time to bring 
 within the range of some holy influence those who had turned 
 aside from it, — to confirm all who were walking in the way 
 of holiness, and to raise up and to restore all who had fallen 
 by their iniquity. And though the means which he em- 
 ployed for the purpose, by presenting the grace of God on 
 the one hand, and the advocacy of Christ on the other, may 
 not appear to some the most effectual for the accomplishment 
 of his ends, yet I am persuaded that there is no believer who 
 will not feel that in most cases he adopted that very way 
 
1G0 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 which is suited to his necessities, and comes home the most 
 readily to his heart. 
 
 I am aware that there are many who conceive that the 
 tendency of the doctrine of salvation through grace is to lead 
 men to continue in sin, because grace abounds ; and that the 
 proclamation of a free forgiveness, and full salvation to all 
 who receive and rest upon the offered Saviour, must make 
 men careless of the interests of practical godliness. Of all 
 the topics to which they would resort for encouraging men to 
 holy obedience, perhaps the very last would be the assurance 
 of God's readiness to blot out their iniquities, and to receive 
 them to his favour and regard ; and they might conceive it 
 a hopeless thing to affect the minds of those who had been 
 thus accepted and received into the Divine favour, by any 
 such considerations, or even by any considerations at all. 
 And yet, so far was the Apostle from participating in these 
 sentiments, that he presented this very grace, in all its free- 
 ness, to guard his converts against the commission of ini- 
 quity. Writing to them that they might not sin, he sought 
 no other motives, and, we are entitled to say, knew none 
 more powerful, than those to be derived from the privileges 
 to which they had been introduced, in order that they might 
 be encouraged to abound in all the fruits of holiness. The 
 very truths which many, in their imagined wisdom, might 
 conceive detrimental to the interests of godliness, he felt to 
 be its very safeguards, and the only source from which all 
 real purity was to flow. If these could be impressed upon 
 their hearts, and made to live and dwell in their remem- 
 brance, he knew that they would not, and could not, wilfully 
 sin. And he has thus left on record his testimony, — and a 
 testimony it is which it were daring and presumptuous in any 
 of us for a moment to question, — that the doctrine of salva- 
 tion through the blood of Christ is in every point a doctrine 
 according to godliness. I am persuaded that the language of 
 the Apostle will in this respect be found true to the senti- 
 ments and feelings of every believer, — that as it was the 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 161 
 
 grace of God, through his own Son, which first brought him 
 to yield any thing like a willing obedience, so it is this alone 
 which can continue to preserve it ; and that however neces- 
 sary it may be at times to stimulate his conscience or awaken 
 his fears, in order that he may be led to cleave closer to the 
 treasure of the Gospel, he never feels so powerfully the evil 
 of sin on the one hand, or the excellence and desirableness of 
 holiness on the other, as when realizing the grace on which 
 he rests all his hopes, and feels alive to the blessed privileges 
 into which this grace has introduced him. 
 
 That God should have published a declaration so truly 
 gracious as that he would, for his Son's sake, be faithful 
 and just to forgive the sins of every one who truly con- 
 fesses and forsakes them ; that, committing himself to this 
 grace, the sinner should have been permitted to taste the 
 blessed hope of forgiveness ; that, to open up the way for 
 its bestowal upon him, and upon every sinner, God should 
 have given his own Son for the sacrifice ; and that, in vir- 
 tue of this sacrifice for sin, he should be reinstated in the 
 Divine favour, emboldened to look up to God with humble 
 and childlike confidence, and even admitted to the nearest 
 and most endearing communion with him, so as truly to 
 have his fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus 
 Christ, — this is a view of his situation, and privileges, and 
 hopes, which, I am persuaded, no believer ever can take, 
 without feeling, at the same time, how sanctifying it is in 
 its nature; how truly its effect is to work by love, and to purify 
 the heart ; and how far beyond all the terrors and threa.ten- 
 ings of the law is its influence, in delivering him from the 
 power of sin, and in strengthening him that he may abound 
 in all holy obedience. If you have known these things, you 
 cannot need to be told, that, let other considerations deter 
 you as they may from sin, it is the consideration of this 
 grace which can alone take away the desire of it, — that with 
 these truths present to your remembrance, you would feel 
 that the thought of sin were doing violence to all the dis- 
 positions which they awakened in your hearts, — that the ef- 
 
162 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 feet of all the peace, and joy, and good hope, which they com- 
 municated, was as purifying as it was elevating and enno- 
 bling in its nature, — and that, admitted to the fellowship of 
 the Father through the Son, you were brought within the 
 range of a new society, under the power of a new and hea- 
 venly influence, after having known and experienced which, 
 you could not contentedly live any longer in darkness. Such 
 is the experience of every believer ; and you have thus, in 
 your own feelings, a proof which I need not enforce, of the 
 truth and propriety with which the Apostle, after having 
 adverted to the freeness and richness of Divine grace in 
 the Gospel, might say to his converts, " My little children, 
 these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any 
 man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ 
 the righteous." 
 
 Whilst every believer, however, will thus readily bear 
 witness to the power of those motives for the cultivation of 
 holiness, he will bear witness as readily, I am persuaded, to 
 the necessity of the provision that is made for his recovery 
 from sin. When the Apostle said, " If any man sin," or, 
 should any man sin, " we have an advocate with the Father, 
 Jesus Christ the righteous,'" he is not to be understood as 
 expressing any doubt respecting the liability of the believer 
 to commit iniquity, — he was merely pointing out the remedy 
 whenever the evil did occur. He knew well, that, in spite 
 of all the motives which every view of his condition and pri- 
 vileges furnished, or rather through forgetfulness of these, 
 sin would assail, and too often overcome ; and what Christian 
 is there, who has not to confess that this has been too often 
 the case with him ? — Who does not feel, that, though he 
 cannot live contentedly in sin as he did before, yet he has 
 sinned, — and sinned, perhaps, in a way of which he could 
 hardly have believed himself capable, — and that he requires, 
 every day, as much as if he had never before applied to it, 
 the efficacy of that blood which has been shed to take away 
 sin ? — For, I shall just suppose, that no such provision as 
 an advocate with the Father, even Jesus Christ the right- 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 1G3 
 
 eous, were found in the dispensation of the Gospel ; — that, 
 after having been once washed in that fountain opened for 
 sin and for uncleanness, the believer were required to stand 
 or fall by his own obedience, — that, restored to the Divine fa- 
 vour and to fellowship with God, the continuance of these pri- 
 vileges was made to depend upon his walking in the light, — 
 and that he was left to the inspiration of the motives .to 
 which we have already adverted, without having any hope 
 or assurance administered, that, should these fail to uphold 
 him, any remedy was prepared. Is there one of you that 
 could contemplate such a state of things without dismay ? 
 Who would not feel that this were, to you, an utter exclu- 
 sion from all hope ? — that it left you in a state as wretched 
 and helpless, by any efforts of your own, as if no Saviour 
 had been provided, and no Son born, — as void of any 
 ability or willingness to serve him, as if he had never pui'ged 
 your consciences from dead works, — and that, were all the 
 burden of the sin which you have contracted since the time 
 in which you first believed the Gospel, and to which you are 
 daily adding, left on your consciences, without any blood anew 
 to purify, or any advocate by whom you might draw near to 
 God, you were really as void of any confidence towards 
 him, or of one thing which could give you boldness in draw- 
 ing near to the Divine presence, as if God had been main- 
 taining all the distance at which you once felt him to be, — 
 had never sent forth his Son to take away sin, nor his Spi- 
 rit into your hearts, whereby you might say, Abba, Father ? 
 
 A still more distinct consideration of the circumstances of 
 believers, however, may serve to bring forth more clearly 
 the importance and suitableness of this provision. And these 
 circumstances are such, I am persuaded, as will lead every 
 one who has felt the influence of Divine grace most power- 
 fully operating to guard him against sin, to feel it to be 
 equally necessary, and for the very same ends, that he should 
 know of that advocate with the Father, who is the daily pro- 
 pitiation for our sins. 
 
 When any one is introduced for the first time to the 
 
1G1 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 knowledge of salvation through the blood of Christ, and to 
 all those gracious privileges which are therewith connected, 
 and to which we have already adverted, from the language 
 of the Apostle, it is easy to conceive that he should not im- 
 mediately, or at once, come to know the power of sin, and 
 readily or easily yield, even in matters of comparatively 
 inferior moment, to its seductions. Brought from a state 
 of darkness into God's marvellous light, — led to know the 
 peace and the joy that arise from believing, — permitted to 
 look up to God with the blessed hope of his favour, — walk- 
 ing in the light of his countenance, and prompted by every 
 gracious motive to devote himself to the Divine service, you 
 will readily perceive that there may be enough in the scene 
 to which he has been introduced, — in the new objects that 
 surround him, and in the blessedness of which he feels con- 
 scious, fully to occupy and engage his heart; that there would 
 be no desire and no room for any other, and, least of all, for a 
 disposition to admit any thing by which the honour of God 
 might be violated, or by which he might prove himself un- 
 worthy of his grace. In this situation, the very thought of 
 sin would be felt to be in contradiction to all the better feel- 
 ings of his new nature, — the very idea of indulging in that 
 thing which had all but undone him, would be as terrible in 
 itself, as it would appear ungrateful to God, — and there 
 would be a tenderness and even scrupulosity of conscience, 
 and a sense of weakness and ignorance, of themselves no 
 small safeguard against surrounding iniquity. Such is the 
 situation in which many have been, and in which they might 
 be supposed powerfully to feel such language as that of the 
 Apostle, when he stirs up his converts by the view of that 
 grace which they had received, to abstain from all appear- 
 ance of evil. It is, I fear, however, too consistent with the 
 experience of Christians, when we say, that this scene, bright 
 as it is, may have been overcast, — that this joy, though it 
 may not have been altogether lost, may have been damped 
 and impaired, — that the tenderness of conscience may have 
 been, in many things, worn away, — and that sin may have 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 165 
 
 again shown itself, though with diminished power, in the 
 hearts, and perhaps in the life, of one that might have 
 seemed at once, and for ever, delivered from its seduc- 
 tions. 
 
 It would not be easy to enumerate the various ways in 
 which this may have taken place ; and they may be as va- 
 rious as are the circumstances of individual Christians. 
 But this we may say, as being common to all, that it has 
 arisen from dependence on their own strength, and forget- 
 fulness of their dependence on the power of God, — from 
 neglecting, or failing to improve, the grace which he had 
 imparted, and from ignorance or unbelief respecting the 
 power and strength of remaining corruption. From any or 
 all of these causes it may have arisen ; and though the re- 
 turn of a believer to iniquity is not likely to be sudden, — 
 though his tenderness of conscience would be alarmed at 
 any thing like the approach of presumptuous sin, — and 
 though, in most cases, his degeneracy may have taken place 
 by slow and insensible degrees, yet it has not been on this 
 account less dangerous or less fatal. After persuading him- 
 self for a while, that the change was no other than might 
 be anticipated, he has soon been made to feel, that he had 
 declined from the purity and from the holiness that became 
 him ; and that, by ceasing to watch against sin, or to look 
 to that strength which is perfected in weakness, he had been 
 left to experience the strength and power of temptation. 
 In describing such a case, I am making no merely imaginary 
 representation ; it is one which has been realized in the me- 
 lancholy history of thousands, and of which few believers are 
 altogether without some experience. And the effect of such 
 a declension from all the warmth and steadiness of their first 
 affections, may have been not less hurtful to their peace 
 than injurious to the whole spirit and character of their obe- 
 dience. It is obvious that the effect of sin indulged, would 
 be to harden the conscience and to remove the confidence 
 wherewith the believer drew near to God ; — that, when his 
 own heart condemned him, he could not, in the very nature 
 of things, or even from the very nature of the Gospel, ex- 
 
166 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 periencc the comfort which he once did from the view of the 
 atonement ; and he would thus be in danger of relapsing 
 into his former dread and apprehension of God. But it is 
 equally true, and almost equally obvious, that he could not 
 be in this situation, without finding himself cut off from the 
 springs of his new and better obedience ; that, ceasing to 
 feel the grace of God to be his hope, he would cease to feel 
 all the inspiration and activity in duty which that hope com- 
 municated ; and that, even though sincerely desiring to re- 
 turn to the path of obedience, he would find himself labour- 
 ing under a weight of the very same nature, — the weight of 
 the guilt and burden of sin, — with that which besets the 
 awakened inquirer when he first meditates a return to God. 
 In this situation, the only remedy would be that which, 
 by purifying the conscience and giving peace to the heart, 
 would restore to him the confidence of which he then felt 
 destitute ; which, by leading him near to God, would com- 
 municate anew the blessed hope of forgiveness and accept- 
 ance ; which would bring him again within the range of that 
 sanctifying influence which he experienced on the first re- 
 ception of the Gospel, when he felt the mercy and the grace 
 of God enlarging his heart, to run in the way of all God's 
 commandments. And such is, in fact, the very remedy to 
 which the Apostle directs us, in assuring his converts, that 
 should any man sin, there was an advocate with the Father, 
 even Jesus Christ the righteous. He assured them of that 
 truth, — comfortable in every situation of the Christian life, 
 but most of all comfortable to those who have fallen by ini- 
 quity, — that, in a state in which we are made powerfully to 
 feel our own helplessness, there was one able and willing to 
 undertake our cause ; that he who had died for sin, still 
 lived to apply his blood for the blotting out of all transgres- 
 sion ; that, amidst all the aggravation that might attend our 
 ingratitude for his best blessings, there was no iniquity so 
 aggravated, but that this blood would wash it away ; and 
 that coming to God anew, with the same entire self-abase- 
 ment, and the same entire confidence in the riches of his 
 grace through Christ, he would receive us graciously, and 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 167 
 
 love us freely. This was the remedy to which the Apostle 
 directs us ; and it was not more designed, therefore, for giv- 
 ing peace to the believer's heart, than for promoting the be- 
 liever's sanctification, — and while he presented to his con- 
 verts the riches of Divine grace in the Gospel, that they 
 might not sin, he assured them, at the same time, that 
 should any man sin, there was an advocate with the Father. 
 In the remarks now made, we have, as you will observe, 
 attempted no formal explanation of the office which the 
 Apostle attributes to the Saviour, that of an advocate with 
 the Father ; our aim having simply been to present, in the 
 single view in which he presents it, the truth declared in 
 the text, as opening up to believers, under their daily sins 
 or more aggravated transgressions, the way to renewed con- 
 fidence and renewed purity. 
 
 A constitution of things so very gracious as that to which 
 we have adverted, however, and which has required us to 
 bring before you, in a short space, the whole of that merci- 
 ful provision for your deliverance from the guilt and power 
 of sin, can hardly have been touched upon, even briefly as 
 we have done it, without awakening in the heart of every 
 believer a deeper sense of his obligations to the Divine 
 mercy ; and without, I am persuaded, in so far as you have 
 felt and realized it, promoting the end of the Apostle, 
 " These things write I to you, that ye sin not. 11 However 
 it may be with others who know not this grace, and with 
 whom its every discovery seems only to operate as an en- 
 couragement to continue in sin, it is the happiness of every 
 believer to know that its effect is the very opposite. Though 
 the very truth which we have had occasion to state most pro- 
 minently, — the continued advocacy of Christ for his people, 
 — may be, and I am sure is often employed by those who 
 have never honestly besought his intercession, to keep them 
 easy in sin, instead of bringing them to him, that they might 
 be delivered from it, it is, at the same time, I am con- 
 vinced, that truth which, when apprehended by the be- 
 liever, instead of leading him presumptuously to offend 
 
168 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 God, would check the very thought of such a thing, and 
 prompt him never again to grieve that Saviour, in the refuge 
 of whose grace there is a provision made so ample, and so 
 adequate to all his various wants. 
 
 If the observations already suggested by the language of 
 the Apostle should impress one sentiment more than another 
 upon your minds, it is this, that the use to be made of the 
 Saviour's work, and the application to the blood of atone- 
 ment, are not confined to the first entrance on the Christian 
 life, but must be continued along the whole line of the be- 
 liever's progress, — that it is not the knowledge that there is 
 such an advocate with the Father, but the daily employing 
 of him as such, by coming to the Divine footstool through 
 him for mercy to pardon, and for grace to help, which con- 
 stitutes the right improvement of this gracious economy. 
 And though it may be the case, that the great cause of sin 
 in believers arises from their failing to improve those gracious 
 privileges in which all may share, and which the Apostle pre- 
 sents, that you may not sin, we cannot help feeling that this 
 sin is, in many respects, aggravated, and the darkness and 
 misery which sin will always bring along with it, often fear- 
 fully prolonged, by ignorance or error about a truth, which 
 it is of the first importance for us, compassed about as we 
 are with manifold sinful infirmities, to know, and at all times 
 to realize. Did you only employ and improve this truth as 
 it becomes you, — did you feel the importance of preserving 
 your consciences at all times purified by the blood of the 
 atonement, — and did you, by a fair and honest confession of 
 sin whenever it appeared, make instant application to that 
 blood which can alone cleanse it, — how many sins were there 
 in the heart and lives of believers which would never obtain 
 any permanent ascendency over them ; but which, when the 
 remedy is not sought, become at last so powerful, that they 
 are unwilling to confess them, because unwilling to forego 
 and to forsake them ? — How would the feeling that we 
 needed to go into so holy a presence, and by a way so holy, 
 — even through the blood of Christ, for the forgiveness of 
 
DISCOURSE TENTH. 169 
 
 every, even of the least, sin, — communicate a solemn sense 
 of our nearness to God, which would powerfully guard us 
 against temptation ? — And how might we come away, every 
 time we entered it, more fitted, through a sense of our own 
 weakness, as well as of God"^ great mercy, to offend him no 
 more ? Instead of this, I am persuaded, that sin, even when 
 it is discovered, does not always bring believers to the foun- 
 tain opened for sin ; that there is a disposition often to 
 strive against it in their own strength, without renewed ap- 
 plication to the blood of atonement ; and that the wish is, 
 to make up matters, if I may use the expression, with their 
 own consciences, ere they will come to God, that sin may be 
 forgiven. It is very true, indeed, — and this is often the source 
 of the unwillingness, — that none of you can come into the 
 Divine presence, in the hope of experiencing mercy, with- 
 out, at the same time, having the desire to be delivered from 
 the sin which requires the exercise of mercy, — that you could 
 not fully and frankly confess all the aggravations attending 
 your iniquities, and cast yourselves upon the riches of Di- 
 vine grace for forgiveness, unless yovi did, at the same time, 
 sincerely pray, that you might be cleansed from all unright- 
 eousness. And, at any rate, it is of the nature of the Gos- 
 pel, that no sinner has access to its mercy at first, or access 
 to its mercy at any time, without being made willing to re- 
 ceive the full salvation which it brings near. But even 
 when there may be no such obstruction, there is often a 
 wish to have the conscience purified, and the heart purified, 
 in some other way than that which the Apostle enjoins, — a 
 wish that when you do again enter the Divine presence, it 
 may not be in the spirit of one who must be every day a 
 debtor to the riches of Divine grace. The believer is thus 
 led to seek peace away from the only means which can at 
 first procure, or at any time restore it ; and the burden of 
 guilt is thus accumulated on the conscience, which no efforts 
 of your own will ever dissipate ; and which, even until re- 
 moved, will only widen the separation between God and your 
 own souls. 
 
170 DISCOURSE TENTH. 
 
 It is in this way, and through some error of this nature, 
 that many who have known the peace and the joy of believing, 
 have become nearly as destitute of them as if they had never 
 believed the Gospel at all, — that they have been involved in 
 perplexities and doubts, the effect of which has been to im- 
 pair their spiritual strength, and to leave them yet more sig- 
 nally to the power of their spiritual enemies, — and that they 
 have sought remedies, which, instead of lessening, only 
 aggravated the disease. 
 
 For all these cases, however, there is one simple and 
 effectual cure. The blood which at first cleansed from all 
 sin continues to flow, — that blood can alone purge the con- 
 science from dead works, to serve the living God. And be- 
 taking yourselves to it again, with the same humble sense of 
 your need of it, the same humble confession of unworthi- 
 ness, and the same entire willingness to give yourselves up 
 to be washed, and justified, and sanctified, you will taste its 
 renewed efficacy ; and having peace restored to your con- 
 sciences, and experiencing anew the blessed hopes of for- 
 giveness, you will be prepared to run, with renewed strength 
 and with enlarged hearts, in the way of all God's holy com- 
 mandments. 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 Proverbs, iii. 6. — In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall 
 direct thy paths. 
 
 Were we shortly and effectively to express the nature and 
 extent of the duty implied in acknowledging- God in all our 
 ways, we should do so by reference to the place which every 
 dutiful child would be disposed to give to the guidance and 
 direction of an attached and revered parent, in determining 
 his plans for life ; and the submission which he would natu- 
 rally pay to his authority and counsel. It could not be sup- 
 posed that a son, possessed of the feelings to which we have 
 alluded, would overlook or neglect, in any matter of import- 
 ance, the claims of his father ; — he would irresistibly, and, 
 independently of any advantage which he might derive from 
 the accession of his wisdom and experience, feel that the 
 name which he bore gave his father a right to be consulted, 
 — that the obligations under which his parental kindness had 
 laid him, as well as the interest which he felt and had ex- 
 pressed in his well-being, required him to reverence his au- 
 thority and will, — and that to pursue his own way, without 
 care or concern about his pleasure, or the course that might 
 be agreeable to him, would not merely manifest an over- 
 weening conceit of his own wisdom, but a contempt for all 
 those right filial dispositions which are among the strongest 
 that cling to a fallen nature. 
 
172 DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 Moved by such considerations, you can easily see that he 
 would be desirous to communicate with his father on the va- 
 rious steps which he required to take ; that whilst employing 
 his own wisdom, and exercising his own prudence, there 
 would still be room left for parental counsel and determina- 
 tion ; that the conviction of his own inexperience would be 
 ever bringing him to one whose experience was larger, and 
 whose interest in his happiness was unquestionable ; and 
 that, even long after he had left the paternal roof, and ceased 
 to be immediately dependent upon the providence and care of 
 his father, the reverence which he had for his will would be 
 manifested in a thousand marks of respectful and dutiful at- 
 tention, whenever that will was signified or expressed. 
 
 Though possessed of such feelings, it is easy, however, to 
 suppose that he might be every day placed in situations, and 
 required to decide upon matters, as to which there would be 
 no necessity for betaking himself immediately to his parent, 
 in order to know what he required. He could scarcely be 
 long conversant with him, in the relation in which he stood, 
 without becoming familiar with his general sentiments on 
 many subjects of common interest to both ; there might be 
 many points on which his will had been already specially 
 declared, and on which there could be no doubt what he 
 would have him to do ; he might have furnished him with 
 certain directions to regulate his conduct, so plain, that there 
 was no need of directly referring to him in every individual 
 case ; and the best acknowledgment which he would there- 
 fore make to his father's good pleasure, would be by simply 
 and implicitly following it. 
 
 But it is easy to suppose, at the same time, that cases 
 would often occur which had not thus been embraced ; that 
 some would present themselves which, though in many points 
 similar, were yet so different, as almost to constitute them 
 cases for which no provision had been made ; that he might 
 often find himself bereft of his usual guidance, and in cir- 
 cumstances where his own experience could not direct him. 
 Cases would be every day occurring in the varied and com- 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 173 
 
 plicated business of life, which would afford ample room for 
 the manifestation of that spirit, in which the acknowledg- 
 ment due to a father's authority and will more properly lies. 
 If possessed, as we have supposed, of right filial dispositions, 
 he would naturally come on these occasions to ask his father's 
 advice and counsel. Distrusting his own wisdom, doubting 
 his own judgment, and persuaded above all of the deference 
 which was due to his parent, he would naturally betake him- 
 self to the aid of his experience, — he would be solicitous to 
 know what course he would have him to pursue, and seek to 
 be guided by the expression of his father's counsel and wis- 
 dom, from the conviction that this was alike the path of duty 
 and of safety. 
 
 I. The illustration now given may perhaps convey, better 
 than any more formal statement, the nature and extent of the 
 duty adverted to in the text. 
 
 When Solomon requires us to " acknowledge God in 
 all our ways, and he shall direct our paths," — meaning by 
 this such an acknowledgment of God (though, I need not 
 say, far more devout and reverential than any thing in 
 human life to which we can liken it), as a child would 
 pay to the authority and will of his parent, by referring 
 to his counsel and guidance, — you will readily perceive 
 that there are many of our ways, many of the situations 
 in which we may be placed, and many of the questions 
 that we may be called upon to decide, about which there 
 can be no necessity for a direct expression of our desire to 
 know what is the will of God concerning us, because, as in 
 the case formerly supposed, he has furnished us with certain 
 plain and intelligible directions on the great subjects of our 
 duty to him and to one another. In addition to the light of 
 our own conscience, he has given us the light of his Word, 
 — he has strewed this, not merely with innumerable declara- 
 tions of his will, but with many examples of the character 
 and conduct which he approves ; and to suppose that in every 
 individual case we should require to carry the matter to him, 
 
1^4 DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 as if he had given no deliverance on the subject, or as if he 
 had, or could have, another will than that which he has ex- 
 pressed, were certainly the very reverse of a disposition to 
 pay him the honour due to the God with whom we have to 
 do. In these circumstances, the acknowledgment which he 
 requires, and the path for us to pursue, is simply to follow that 
 which he had prescribed, without allowing our minds to con- 
 ceive that there could be any other. The very idea of taking 
 any opposite course would imply that we were regarding ini- 
 quity in our hearts, in which case the Lord would not hear 
 vis ; and it augurs, I fear, not merely an error in judgment, 
 but a wrong state of heart, when, under pretence of waiting 
 for the Divine determination, men will ask it in cases which 
 God has already clearly decided in his Word, and in which 
 there ought to be no room for doubt or hesitancy in any 
 mind which is alive to the great principles of moral obliga- 
 tion, and supreme regard to the Divine will. 
 
 From these considerations, therefore, we judge that, in so 
 far as the acknowledgment of God includes in it the expres- 
 sion of our desire for Divine guidance and direction, the ex- 
 pression " all our ways' 1 '' must be limited to those about 
 which the mind of God has not been clearly signified or ex- 
 pressed to us, — those cases which involve no direct moral 
 duty ; or in which, if there is duty concerned, it is yet so 
 doubtful, as to leave us in some perplexity as to the precise 
 path which we should choose, — in which one duty may have 
 to interfere with another, — in which the results of our con- 
 duct may be so complicated, and so much beyond the bounds 
 of any human sagacity, that we know not, and cannot fore- 
 see, what may be connected with the determination which 
 we form, and on which we are to act, — those cases, in short, 
 which are every day occurring in the course of Divine pro- 
 vidence, and which are as various as the circumstances of 
 every individual, in which no one can sufficiently direct us, 
 and the issue of which can be certainly predicted by none. 
 The acknowledgment which in these circumstances is re- 
 quired of us, and with which the promise of Divine guidance 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 17^ 
 
 and direction stands intimately and essentially connected, is, 
 that carrying the matter to God, under a deep sense of the 
 ignorance and blindness that attach to us, and making known 
 to him our perplexity, we should, with simple and honest 
 hearts, commit it to him ; and, in the confidence of his wis- 
 dom and goodness, solicit that light which is necessary for 
 our guidance, and that ordering of events and circumstances 
 which may serve to promote his glory, in connexion with our 
 own happiness and well-being. 
 
 You will easily perceive that the spirit to which we have 
 now adverted is that enjoined in the text, from the connexion 
 of the words with the context. It is said in the verse imme- 
 diately preceding, " Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; 
 and lean not unto thine own understanding ;" and when it is 
 added, " Acknowledge him in all thy ways, and he shall di- 
 rect thy paths," there can be little doubt that the acknow- 
 ledgment required was only the expression of that trust in 
 God which was previously required ; that it was the op- 
 posite of that leaning to our own understanding, which is 
 so expressly condemned ; and that it might be well likened, 
 therefore, to that spirit of deference to a father's authority 
 and experience, which may be found to mark the conduct of 
 a dutiful son, when, under a sense of his own ignorance, and 
 actuated by the wish to secure a better guidance and direc- 
 tion, he comes soliciting to know what course he should pur- 
 sue that would be agreeable to the will of his parent. 
 
 It will not need to be pointed out to you how proper 
 such a spirit is, in our circumstances, and in the relation in 
 which we stand to God ; and, above all, how becoming it is 
 in those who feel the privilege of looking up to God in Christ 
 Jesus as a Father. And if every well-constituted mind will 
 readily acknowledge that, in ascribing the submission which 
 a son would pay to the wishes and to the counsel of an 
 earthly father, we have described nothing beyond what the 
 relationship might justify us in expecting, I can hardly think 
 it doubtful that every such mind, alive to the truth of its 
 own dependence upon God, will even more readily approve 
 
l^G DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 it in any matter that bears reference to him. To suppose 
 it otherwise for a single moment, would involve a denial of 
 the Divine supremacy, and a contempt for the Divine coun- 
 sels. It would argue a state of moral feeling so depraved, 
 that whilst we could see the duty and feel the obligation in 
 the human connexion, we could see no place for it in the 
 Divine. And little as the spirit of our text may be the spi- 
 rit of the world, — practically as many may disavow and dis- 
 regard it, — and unrevered as it may be, in its observance, 
 even by those who profess to set the fear of God before 
 them, I should hope that the number may be very limited 
 of those who would be held to affirm that, in requiring such 
 an acknowledgment of him in all our ways, God required 
 any thing beyond what he had the fullest right to ask, or 
 which did not flow from the very simplest consideration of 
 his character, on the one hand, — or of our continued de- 
 pendence upon him, on the other. 
 
 The injunction of our text cannot be regarded by many 
 in this view, without their being brought to feel in what 
 light it places their conduct with reference to God's autho- 
 rity and will. There are multitudes, I fear, who may be 
 said to be utterly without the appearance of acknowledging 
 God in all their ways, — who cannot, perhaps, point to a 
 single event in their life, in which they did deliberately ask 
 his blessing or guidance ; and who, though they may have 
 found, as every one will find, many occasions in which they 
 felt their need of direction, have, in these cases, betaken 
 themselves to any other counsellor rather than to God. Be- 
 yond, perhaps, the customary and formal acts of private or 
 public devotion, it would be difficult to find any thing in 
 their history which implied a belief of the reality of the Di- 
 vine existence ; and still more difficult to find any thing 
 that implied a belief of the continued presence and agency 
 of God. And thus a creature that lives by the Divine 
 bounty, and is continually dependent on the Divine care, — 
 who, were God only to hide his face, would be troubled ; 
 and should he take away his breath, would die and return 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 177 
 
 to the dust, — who is brought by his providence into many a 
 situation which would necessitate him, one should think, to 
 feel his own helplessness and need of God, — and met, too, it 
 may be, by many an example of Divine interference in his 
 behalf, that might recall him to a sense of his own guilty and 
 alienated condition, — may be found regardless of any thing 
 that God can do for him, and living in a condition which 
 implies an unwarrantable confidence in the wisdom of his 
 own counsels, and a presumptuous contempt for the counsel 
 that cometh from God. 
 
 The true spirit of our text, however, may be nearly as 
 distant from that manifested by those whose recognition of 
 God is more decided than in the case now described, and 
 even as very different at times from the spirit of Christians 
 themselves. They will acknowledge this, when they view 
 it as essentially involving a distrust of our own understand- 
 ing, and a simple and childlike committal of ourselves to 
 God ; as nothing else than the entire relinquishment of our 
 own wisdom and our own strength for his, — an act expres- 
 sive of our desire to have no will but God's, and to yield 
 ourselves to his guidance and counsel. And this will fur- 
 ther appear, when we consider, at the same time, how ready 
 our hearts are to deceive us ; how, even whilst we believe 
 ourselves to have the desire of giving up every thing to 
 God, we are still retaining, it may be unknown even to our- 
 selves, something which he has not authorized, — how ready 
 we are to be swayed by our own feelings and inclinations, 
 so that, instead of coming to ask counsel of God, we are 
 merely coming to ask for something which may confirm us 
 in a resolution which we have already formed, independently 
 of his guidance at all, — and how ready we are in these and 
 in many other ways, under the name, and with the appear- 
 ance, of honouring God, by professed submission to his will, 
 to give our own will the preference to his. I cannot believe 
 that any one acquainted with these things (and who that 
 knows his own heart can be altogether ignorant of them ?) 
 will be at a loss to conceive how very different may be much 
 
 M 
 
178 DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 of that acknowledgment which is professedly paid, from that 
 which God requires ; — and how needful it is, in order to 
 ensure the blessing which he promises, that we should 
 exercise an habitual watchfulness over our own hearts 
 and our own inclinations, and seek to maintain in them an 
 habitual submission to his righteous will. The truth is, 
 God must be acknowledged in all our ways, or he is not, 
 and will not hold himself acknowledged at all. So long as 
 there is one thing which we will not give up to him, or one 
 thing which we cannot commit to him, we are indulging a 
 spirit of rebellion against his righteous authority, — we are 
 virtually saying, that, be it as it may with other things, this 
 is a point on which we place our wisdom or our own will 
 above his ; and it is not without reason, therefore, that it is 
 required of us, to acknowledge him in all our ways, if we 
 would obtain the promise that he will direct our paths. 
 
 II. It will not be necessary to explain at any length the 
 promise contained in the text, and of w'hich every one has, 
 at the very first sight perhaps, a sufficiently intelligible con- 
 ception. The words, literally interpreted, express that God 
 will make straight our paths ; and this at once conveys to 
 every one the idea, either that God will make our way clear 
 to us, and guide us in the path of duty and safety, or that, 
 whether clear or not to us, his guidance shall be so extended 
 and imparted to us, as to preserve and keep us in the right 
 way. At any rate, there is such a promise of the control- 
 ling and governing power of God, whilst maintaining this 
 spirit, as may serve to give rest and peace to our minds un- 
 der the burden of all our natural and spiritual anxieties, — 
 satisfied that, if left with him, all will be found at last, not 
 merely as he has appointed, but as we ourselves, could we 
 know the whole, would have wished and desired it. 
 
 But it may be necessary for us to specify somewhat more 
 distinctly the nature of that direction which is promised, 
 and which we are authorized to expect. It is natural, I 
 fear, for many minds to indulge on this point extravagant 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 179 
 
 opinions, flattering to their own pride, or their own self-in- 
 dulgence. The idea is not uncommon, that we are to look for 
 such a direction, as may convey the impression that we are 
 acting under the influence of inspiration, and by the autho- 
 rity of God ; or such as may discharge us from the use of 
 those means which are proper and necessary for our guid- 
 ance and safety, — such a direction as may make us dispense 
 with the exercising our own judgment and discernment, 
 or with taking heed to our own ways ; and the belief of 
 which may lead the man who is under its influence to put 
 away from him every admonition that a salutary caution 
 would dictate, under the persuasion that he is not amenable 
 to the laws of any human jurisprudence. 
 
 We know nothing, however, in the language of the Bible, 
 or in the ordinary tenor of God's working, which authorizes 
 us to expect any such direction. The guidance which he 
 promises is such a guidance as is necessary for a reasonable 
 and understanding, yet, in many respects, blind and ignorant 
 being, in his way through the perplexities, and dangers, and 
 temptations of a present world. It is such a guidance as 
 may suffice, in the use of natural means, and with the exer- 
 cise of his reasonable nature, to lead and keep him in the 
 way of righteousness and peace ; and such a guidance as 
 God can easily exert, not merely by the direct enlightening 
 of the understanding, or by directly working upon the heart, 
 but which he can bring about through the various openings 
 of his providence, and the various admonitions of his grace. 
 After having acknowledged God in any thing, given it up 
 to his disposal, and besought his blessing, the understanding 
 is still to be exerted, and the judgment informed ; we are 
 still to look around us and before us, not as if our discern- 
 ment was every thing, but in the faith that he will assist 
 and enlighten it. We are still to wait upon him in the 
 reading of his Word, and in attendance on his ordinances 
 for counsel ; in short, we are to be on the watch, so that 
 every inlet of light and knowledge to the mind may be open, 
 through which the direction may come. And believe us, 
 it is not honouring God to suppose that he has only one way 
 
180 DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 of working, which requires extraordinary means to be adopted 
 in every specific case, in order that the guidance of any in- 
 dividual may be effected, and the way of any sinner who 
 commits himself to his guidance be brought to pass. The 
 perfection of his government consists in this, that whilst 
 every one of us is viewed witli reference to the whole, the 
 case of every one of us is as distinctly regarded, and the pro- 
 mises of God to every one who has made them his own, as 
 distinctly made good to him, as if he constituted in himself 
 the single object of the Divine care ; and without breaking 
 in upon the harmony of his working, which is often appealed 
 to in evidence of his faithfulness, he can and does apportion 
 to every one his measure of guidance and direction, as he ap- 
 portions to every one his measure of food and raiment. Surely 
 this direction, though it comes through the intervention of a 
 hundred second causes down from God, and by the interfer- 
 ence of a hundred agents, is not the less to be acknowledged 
 as of God, by him who owns that God is all in all ! How 
 ready are we to lose sight of the resources of infinite wisdom 
 and infinite power, — to measure God by our own littleness, 
 — and derogate from the perfection of his works ! How apt 
 to forget, that he can make a bird of the air to carry, or a 
 whisper breathed at midnight to convey, what may be ne- 
 cessary for the guidance or the safety of those who put 
 their trust in him ; and that it is in surprising us by the 
 depth and the variety of his operation, that we are to ac- 
 quire our most exalted conceptions of him who is wonderful 
 in counsel, and excellent in working ! 
 
 There is nothing, therefore, in the nature of the direction 
 promised which authorizes any expectation that we are to be 
 dispensed from the use of those means which are ordinarily 
 indispensable for our safety, but only that we arc to be 
 guided in the use and employment of them ; and the mode 
 in which the Divine power is to be communicated to us, and 
 our path made plain, may be safely left with God, so long 
 as we are assured, — which is all that is necessary for our 
 peace and confidence, — that, committing our way to God, he 
 will bring it to pass. It is enough for us to know that there 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 181 
 
 is a real power to be exercised, and a real guidance to be 
 vouchsafed, — it is enough for us to know, that, maintaining 
 the attitude of simple-hearted reliance, God will maintain 
 the attitude of his faithfulness. The thousand questions 
 which may perplex an unstable and changeable mind, need 
 not perplex him who is assured that God will provide, and 
 he may safely cast his burden on the Lord, when he knows 
 that in doing so the Lord will sustain him. 
 
 It will not require much, I think, to impress on any of 
 your minds the value of a promise, of which every one must 
 in some degree have felt the need, whether he has or has not 
 made it his own by acknowledging God in all his ways. 
 There is something in it so adapted to the circumstances in 
 which we are placed, and to the whole character of the scene 
 around us, that it may require little else than a simple allu- 
 sion to that which every one endowed with any powers of 
 reflection must have felt and experienced, in order to com- 
 mend it to your hearts. If you have at all attended to your 
 past lives, you must have found many cases, I am sure, in 
 which the events that most of all affected your well-being 
 have been brought about by means of the smallest and ap- 
 parently most trifling kind, — that your own wills and your 
 own plans have been perpetually crossed by a power often 
 hardly discernible, — and that if one of the least of the 
 means had been wanting, the whole character of your life 
 might have been changed. You must have known how little 
 your own wisdom or your own foresight have directed you, 
 — how little your circumstances or your character have been 
 determined after a model of your own devising, — and how it 
 has been literally the case, that you have been led by a way 
 that you knew not. Let any of you only look narrowly into 
 your past lives, and you will find that this has been the case ; 
 nor have you any reason to think that it will be different in 
 the time to come. The thousand little things which we usu- 
 ally call chance, but which may be, and are, links in the 
 chain of an unerring providence, will again be affecting us, 
 — we shall probably be again placed in circumstanees over 
 
182 DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 which we shall have as little control as heretofore, — and the 
 events that are to befall us will probably be as different from 
 all our anticipations as those which have already befallen us. 
 In such a situation, which is more or less the situation of 
 human life, how utterly dreary and comfortless were the 
 prospect to a reflecting mind, if all this were brought about 
 by a blind and uncontrollable fate ! And almost as dreary 
 and comfortless were the prospect to one who looked beyond 
 the enjoyments of the present hour, though he was assured 
 that all was under the direction of an infinite, and all-seeing, 
 and all-directing mind, provided there was nothing about God 
 on which he could fasten a single hope, and nothing in his 
 revealed character and will which could invite a blind, and 
 sinful, and tempted human being, to look up for his guid- 
 ance, or to repose with confidence in his grace. In this case 
 it might not be less true than ever, that the mighty move- 
 ments which he saw taking place around him, and before the 
 power that directed which he felt himself sink into insignifi- 
 cance, were as much directed against him as they were for 
 him, — it would yield him but little comfort, nay, it would 
 only add strength to his fears, to know that there was an 
 infinitely great being who ruled over all, if he knew not, also, 
 that, among the objects which his wisdom contemplated, one 
 of these was his salvation, — and he would be compelled to 
 own, that if he was not living altogether without God, he was 
 still living without hope in the world. 
 
 But how different is the scene, if we have made the pro- 
 mise our own, that he is directing our paths ! The various 
 events that are affecting us are then no more under the go- 
 vernment of chance, but the ministers of a wisdom, one of 
 whose ends is our guidance and safety. The apparently 
 aimless incidents of life are all controlled by a goodness on 
 which we are privileged to repose ; and even those things 
 which often wear the darkest and most forbidding aspect, 
 have each their appointed work to accomplish for our spi- 
 ritual improvement. Let there be as much or as little of 
 this apparent as may be, this, the believer is assured, will be 
 
 3 
 
DISCOURSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 183 
 
 finally discernible ; as he advances in his path, one dispen- 
 sation will throw light upon another, and one step be found 
 leading to another, which shall interpret and explain it. 
 And, although there may be no sensible comfort, and no 
 clear light beaming upon the path of God's providence, he 
 has still that faithfulness for a security which never faileth, 
 one of whose declarations it is, that, acknowledging him in 
 all his ways, God shall direct and guide his paths. 
 
 These observations may suffice to point out the nature of 
 the duty required in the text, and the value of the promise 
 with which it stands connected. Amidst many other quali- 
 fications that commend to us the declaration which it con- 
 tains, one is, its breadth and comprehensiveness of applica- 
 tion. It is a declaration which may be brought to bear upon 
 the most advanced believer ; for, which of you all does not 
 need to be put in remembrance of the duty of acknowledg- 
 ing God ? and who may not be profited by the inquiry, how 
 far you are in simplicity acknowledging him in all your 
 ways ? It is a declaration, likewise, that may be brought to 
 bear upon the mind of a sinner, who is yet living at a dis- 
 tance from God ; for, who is there that owns a God, that may 
 not be made sensible of the duty and obligation of acknow- 
 ledging him ? It enforces a duty, the thorough performance 
 of which may be among the hardest lessons which a Chris- 
 tian has to learn ; and it no less enforces a duty which may be 
 begun in some degree this day and this hour, by every one 
 who feels the value of salvation, and the need of a Divine 
 guidance and direction. In short, it takes up the man as he 
 is, and possesses an application to every conscience in the 
 sight of God. No one can say, that here is something 
 which I do not need, or something to which I can, even 
 with all my willingness, make no approximation. Though 
 in the very lowest state of spiritual advancement, I might 
 almost say, if only awakened in the smallest degree from the 
 sleep of spiritual death, — though, as yet, unacquainted with 
 the nature of salvation through the blood of the cross, — 
 though unable to discover the fulness of a freely-proclaimed 
 Saviour, — between whom and your souls, remember, we are 
 
184 DISCOUllSE ELEVENTH. 
 
 placing no barrier, no, not for a moment, when we bid you 
 acknowledge God, — you can yet see, and yet do something, 
 toward the duty of committing your way to God. You can do 
 something toward the spreading a regard to God's will over a 
 life in which, hitherto, there may have been little recognition 
 of his existence, — you can begin this night to pray to Him, if 
 you hitherto neglected it, or only formally performed it, — you 
 need not let another morning pass, if this has passed, with- 
 out expressing your need of his guidance and direction for 
 the day, — you can begin by resolving, in dependence on his 
 aid, that you will go to nothing without asking his blessing, 
 and to nothing on which you cannot ask it, — you may be- 
 gin, in short, by seeking to do God's will, and seeking to do 
 that will is intimately connected with coming to the under- 
 standing of the doctrine which is of God. There are some 
 things which you can do, if you are only willing to do them ; 
 and none of them are of a nature that exceed the convic- 
 tion of duty and obligation which you at present possess. 
 Though they may be very humbly and very imperfectly per- 
 formed, yet, in so far as their performance bears any evi- 
 dence to the existence of a disposition to honour God, and to 
 confess the obligations which you owe to him, they will en- 
 sure you the promise of a guidance that shall send you on- 
 ward to the way of peace and enlargement. The first step in 
 the history of many a sinner who has come to taste the con- 
 straining efficacy of the love of Christ, and to manifest the 
 graces of a new obedience, is to be traced to that day and 
 that hour, when he first took the resolution to stand by the 
 dictates of a conscience, which, though in many points un- 
 enlightened, was yet given by God for his direction, and 
 began to reverence the voice which it had so often and una- 
 vailingly lifted up within him. Only let something be done, 
 and let a beginning be made, — defer not till to-morrow, for 
 to-morrow will bring more than the temptations which assail 
 you to-day. Remember that now is the accepted time, and 
 now is the day of salvation. To-day, whilst it is called to- 
 day, harden not your hearts, lest any of you be hardened 
 through the dcceitfulness of sin. 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 Luke, iv. 18, 19. — The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he 
 hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor ; he hath sent me 
 to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and 
 recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, 
 to preach the acceptable year of the Lord. 
 
 These words are a quotation from the Old Testament 
 Scriptures ; and on reading them, as they are found in the 
 prophecy of Isaiah, it can hardly be questioned that they 
 were spoken of the Messiah. Our Lord himself has re- 
 moved all doubt respecting their application, in the verses 
 succeeding our text, — for, " when he closed the book, and 
 gave it to the minister, and sat down, the eyes of all them 
 that were in the synagogue were fastened on him." And 
 the Evangelist adds, that " he began to say unto them, This 
 day is this Scripture fulfilled in your ears." 
 
 It was clearly of him, then, that the Prophet had spoken. 
 The high designation, or solemn inauguration to the pro- 
 phetical office, which he announces, was something which 
 the Saviour claimed at this moment to possess ; and the in- 
 timation given us in this and the preceding chapter on 
 the subject, can hardly leave us doubtful what was the dig- 
 nity, in virtue of which he now came forth, declaring, that 
 the " Spirit of the Lord was upon him," and that he had 
 been " anointed to preach the Gospel to the poor." 
 
 In the twenty-first and twenty-second verses of the third 
 
186 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 chapter, the Evangelist tells us, that " Jesus being baptized 
 and praying, the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape, 
 like a dove, upon him, and a voice came from Heaven, which 
 said, Thou art my beloved Son, in thee I am well pleased." 
 With the obvious design of informing us, that this descent of 
 the Spirit was something more than a striking attestation to 
 the truth of the Saviour's mission, — that it was no less than 
 a manifest proof of the indwelling of the Spirit in him, to 
 whom " God gave not the Spirit by measure," he tells us 
 further, in the first verse of this chapter, that " Jesus, be- 
 ing full of the Holy Ghost, returned from Jordan, and was 
 led of the Spirit into the wilderness." To convey the same 
 truth, he acquaints us, in the fourteenth verse, that, on his 
 temptation being ended, " Jesus returned in the power of 
 the Spirit into Galilee." And when he rose up, therefore, 
 in the synagogue of Nazareth, declaring of himself, in the 
 language of prophecy, " The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, 
 because he hath anointed me,"" there can be no room for 
 doubt, that the reference was to the solemn and imposing 
 scene which had taken place at his baptism, and that this 
 was the time when he had been anointed with the Holy 
 Ghost and with power. 
 
 In this anointing, or solemnly instating, Christ into his 
 prophetical office, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, imme- 
 diately before the commencement of his public ministry, the 
 design of God clearly was, to teach us that such a commu- 
 nication of Divine influence was then made to the holy hu- 
 man nature of Jesus, as served to endow him with all that 
 wisdom, and knowledge, and power, necessary for the right 
 discharge of his high calling, — that this influence was con- 
 veyed to him with a fulness and richness, to which there 
 had been no parallel in the case of any other prophet ; and 
 in thus separating and setting him apart in the presence of 
 those amongst whom his ministry was to be exercised, by 
 something so imposing and overawing, as a manifestation 
 of the Divine presence, and a voice from the Most Excel- 
 lent Glory, there is as little room for doubt, that the design 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 187 
 
 was to convey an idea of the dignity of his person and mis- 
 sion, far beyond that of any one whom God had ever be- 
 fore commissioned to reveal his will. And we can well see, 
 therefore, why, in opening his message, almost for the first 
 time, in the synagogue of Nazareth, our Lord should have 
 done so in language which recognised his authority, and was 
 calculated to give weight to his address, as one whom 
 the Father had thus solemnly sanctified and sent into the 
 world. 
 
 It was with obvious propriety, then, and for the purpose 
 of awakening the minds of those whom he addressed to the 
 dignity of his character, that our Lord said of himself, in 
 the language of prophecy, " The Spirit of the Lord is 
 upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the Gospel 
 to the poor. 1 '' The object of that prophecy clearly was, to 
 acquaint us with the purpose for which he had been thus 
 anointed ; and it would be difficult to conceive, crowded 
 into so small a compass, a greater number of pleasurable 
 images, than those which meet us in the verses which an- 
 nounce his manifestation. 
 
 To preach the Gospel as good tidings to the poor, — to 
 heal the broken-hearted, — to proclaim deliverance to the 
 captive, and the recovery of sight to the blind, — to set at 
 liberty them that are bruised, — and to proclaim the accept- 
 able year of the Lord, that is, the year of Jubilee, when the 
 bondsman was to go free, and the poor and the destitute 
 again to return to the inheritance of their fathers ; — these 
 are images the most delightful, — they seem clearly intended 
 to teach us, that the Messiah came for the bestowal of 
 blessings, dear to us all as the air which we breathe, or the 
 light of heaven in which we rejoice. Whatever may be the 
 precise meaning attached to them, we cannot doubt that he 
 came in furtherance of a purpose, well adapted to the neces- 
 sities of a world so full of misery as is the world in which 
 we dwell, and reaching to every variety of that misery. And 
 we know not the man who had ever estimated human wants 
 aright, and far less who had ever made a single effort to re- 
 
188 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 lieve them, that might not well exult in the assurance, that 
 one had come forth from God with these high claims upon 
 our regard, invested with power to communicate blessings 
 obviously the most precious in their own nature, and inti- 
 mately connected with every thing that is dear or precious 
 to human beings. 
 
 In looking to the history and preaching of our Lord for 
 the explanation of the language which he employs, you will 
 have no difficulty in perceiving, that many of those works 
 which he was anointed to perform, were, in the strictest and 
 most literal sense, wrought by him. He did, in this view, 
 preach the Gospel to those who were actually poor in worldly 
 circumstances. The sympathy which he manifested for hu- 
 man suffering, and the effectual relief which his power ad- 
 ministered, evinced how truly he came to bind up the bro- 
 ken-hearted ; and he did, on many occasions, give sight to 
 the blind, opening the dim and benighted eye to the glories 
 of the material world. On surveying the life which he led 
 in this world, we could not characterize it more justly than 
 by saying, that it was a life of uniform devotedness to the 
 interests of suffering humanity ; and in whatever sense the 
 expressions of our text are to be understood, whether of tem- 
 poral or of spiritual evils, there was, in the power and in the 
 grace of Christ, that which was fitted to be the remedy for 
 them all. There is reason to believe, however, that the lan- 
 guage was intended to apply only to our spiritual condition. 
 Though he did, truly and literally, preach good tidings to 
 the poor, heal the broken-hearted, and open the eyes of the 
 blind, we do not find that he ever did, at any time, claim or 
 exercise the power of rescuing those who were in captivity, — 
 that is, really confined in prison, — or that he did ever really 
 proclaim the year of Jubilee, by restoring this last and almost 
 forgotten institution of the Jewish law. Such language as 
 this could only be applied to him in a figurative or spiritual 
 acceptation ; and as it is the uniform rule in interpreting 
 the prophetical style, or indeed any style possessed of the 
 same bold and striking character, that, if one member of the 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 189 
 
 sentence be literal, all must be explained literally ; or if one 
 be figurative, all must be understood figuratively, — that 
 these cannot be mixed and confounded, without tending to 
 weaken and confound human speech, — we are necessarily 
 led to infer, on this very simple and intelligible ground, that 
 the prophecy which the Saviour applied to himself was de- 
 signed to be understood in a spiritual acceptation, and with 
 reference to the spiritual purpose and end of his appearing. 
 If he had ever rescued the captive from bondage, in the 
 same sense as he gave sight to the blind, or if he had ever 
 proclaimed the year of Jubilee in the same way as he preached 
 good tidings to the poor and the destitute, there might 
 have been room for doubt how far we were entitled to go in 
 search of any other meaning ; but when we find that he 
 never did any thing at all to which these terms could be 
 literally applied, and that they could only be true of him spi- 
 ritually, the necessary inference is, that every thing attri- 
 buted to the Messiah throughout the prophecy bears the 
 same spiritual meaning ; that the errand on which he is re- 
 presented as sent, was a spiritual errand ; and that the 
 terms, " the poor," and " the broken-hearted," and " the 
 blind," were as much expressive of spiritual characters and 
 spiritual conditions, as those which are expressive of cap- 
 tivity, or bondage, or release. 
 
 By comparing the Saviour's language with his life, then, 
 and the work which he declares himself anointed to perform 
 with what he actually did perform during the days of his 
 flesh, you may perceive in what way we are led to the con- 
 clusion, that the language of our text respects his spiritual 
 character. By the poor, we are to understand the meek, as 
 the word is indeed translated in the Old Testament, — those 
 who are elsewhere named, " the poor in spirit." The 
 " broken-hearted" are those who are broken and contrite be- 
 cause of iniquity, of whom he has himself pronounced, 
 " Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted." 
 The " captives" are those subject to the bondage of sin. 
 The " blind" are those, the eyes of whose understanding 
 
190 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 must be enlightened. And the " bruised" are those who 
 are subjected to that spiritual oppression from which he 
 comes to set them free. To each of these, the purpose of 
 the Messiah's coming is declared to be fraught with every 
 thing that is most suited to their spiritual wants, and which, 
 if only alive to their real condition, every one of them would 
 chiefly desire. And though, perhaps, by this view of the 
 subject, much of its charm may to many have passed away, 
 — though the Saviour is not in this case announced, at least 
 directly, as a deliverer from the merely temporal evils under 
 which men are every where suffering, — and though the li- 
 berty for which we pant most earnestly, be not the liberty 
 which he promises, or of which he comes to put us in pos- 
 session, — yet, if it be true that every varying form of wretch- 
 edness which meets us, is in reality the bitter fruit of ini- 
 quity ; and if sin be, after all, the heaviest of evils, and the 
 most oppressive of bondages, I know not why, beyond all 
 the blessings of wealth, — or all the comforts of healthful ex- 
 istence, — or all the sweets of earthly freedom, — or all the 
 joyousness of emancipation from the most miserable and 
 degrading earthly bondage, — I know not why, beyond all 
 these in interest and importance, may not be the assurance, 
 that one, anointed of God, and to whom God gave not the 
 Spirit by measure, has come, endowed with power to remove 
 every vestige of spiritual suffering, — " to preach deliverance 
 to the captive, and to set at liberty them that are bruised." 
 Having thus endeavoured to vindicate the spiritual mean- 
 ing of the prophecy, we are naturally led to two points, — 
 First, What is the message ? Second, To whom is it ad- 
 dressed ? 
 
 I. The message. In the explanation already given, wc 
 have shown it to be a spiritual message, because it is addressed 
 to certain of those spiritual states or conditions in which men 
 are placed ; and we are entitled to infer, that there must be 
 in it a peculiar fitness to the particular conditions for which 
 it is designed. Whatever it may be, it is obviously some- 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 191 
 
 thing of which you may say, that it is good tidings to the 
 poor in spirit, — that it speaks comfort to those who are 
 mourning on account of sin, — that it is to the captive as 
 deliverance, and as sight to the blind, — and that whatever 
 may be the condition of any man spiritually, — whatever 
 form his spiritual disease may assume, or in whatever terms 
 you might describe it, — there must be something in the 
 message which has to these conditions a direct application, 
 and for which it conveys the great remedy. 
 
 It will hardly need to be proved, that the only message 
 which the Messiah ever communicated, or which was, indeed, 
 ever communicated to the world, at all answerable to this 
 varied qualification, is the message of the Gospel, — a message, 
 as you all know, spiritual in its object, and designed to remedy 
 the disorders of our spiritual nature, — suited by him who 
 knew what was in man to meet all the spiritual wants to 
 which sinful beings are subjected, — and possessing (with all 
 its simplicity) that power of adapting itself to the various 
 forms of spiritual suffering that obtain in this world which 
 involves not the least proof of its Divine original. You will 
 easily recollect, without the necessity of a more direct refer- 
 ence, numberless passages in the ministry of the Saviour, in 
 which the announcement of this message is declared to have 
 been the great end of our Lord's prophetical office ; and in 
 which the full discovery of that salvation, which had been 
 promised ages before his appearing, is represented as consti- 
 tuting the great distinction of his prophetic character. And 
 there is hardly an expression employed in the prophecy of our 
 text to designate the work given the anointed of the Father 
 to do, to which you may not find something similar in his 
 after preaching. When he came to explain and open up 
 more fully the object of his mission to the world, " Come 
 unto me," said he, " all ye that labour and are heavy laden, 
 and I will give you rest," — " I am come a light into the 
 world," — " If the Son make you free, you shall be free in- 
 deed." In others, and in many like Scriptures, you will re- 
 cognise the very same images which are presented in the 
 
192 DISCOUHSE TWELFTH. 
 
 verses now before us ; and it could hardly be doubted, from 
 the frequency with which our Lord employs them, and the 
 force which he appears to attach to them, that they were 
 peculiarly expressive of that salvation which he was anointed 
 of the Father to proclaim. 
 
 That this was no unreal description of the Gospel, — that 
 it is as much entitled to this character as any thing can pos- 
 sibly be, — that if you admit the representation given of men's 
 spiritual condition, that they are blind, or captive, or op- 
 pressed, or broken-hearted, the Gospel may be truly termed 
 eyes to the blind, and liberty to the captive, and comfort to 
 the mourner, — it might be easy to show, from a full inves- 
 tigation of our spiritual diseases, and of the nature of the 
 Gospel, as the divinely-provided remedy. But without at- 
 tempting now to make any such investigation, this I will 
 say, that describe the necessities of a sinner by any terms 
 that you please, and give me them in all their extent and 
 variety, — give me them in any form they may assume, and 
 conceal nothing of the malignity, and depth, and inveteracy 
 of the disease under which he is perishing in utter thought- 
 lessness, or sinking in the bitterness of his heart, — yet I will 
 venture to say of the Gospel message, — and it may be told 
 in so very few words, that an infant memory need not be 
 burdened by it, and conveyed in terms so simple, that an in- 
 fant mind may be made to comprehend it, — that it is that 
 very thing which the man to whom it is addressed, if believ- 
 ing it and receiving it, would be the first to characterize as 
 a light to enlighten his darkness, or as the sound of deliver- 
 ance breaking in upon the hopelessness of a solitary capti- 
 vity. Discovering the way by which God is just, and yet 
 the justifier of the ungodly, it communicates the very truth 
 which they who are oppressed with guilt, and mourning be- 
 cause of iniquity, feel to be indispensable to their peace and 
 happiness. Coming to achieve a great spiritual deliverance, 
 in the rescue of human beings from the guilt and power of 
 sin, and their restoration to the favour and image of God, its 
 proclamation may be truly termed the proclaiming of liberty 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 193 
 
 to the captive, and the opening of the prison-doors to them 
 that are bound. It reaches to every variety of spiritual mi- 
 sery, — it meets the full extent of it all, — it embraces the 
 man, however low, and lost, and fallen, within a provision of 
 mercy so ample, as may well suffice him, and so free, that 
 if he will only heartily receive it, and yield himself up to it, 
 he need never fear to be a castaway. And it cannot be 
 doubted, therefore, with what propriety the Saviour, in an- 
 nouncing such a salvation to the sinners around him, might 
 say, in terms which were alone in any measure befitting the 
 misery of their condition, and the blessings which he had to 
 bestow, " The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he 
 hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor ; he hath 
 sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to 
 the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at 
 liberty them that are bruised ; to preach the acceptable year 
 of the Lord." 
 
 There is one view of this salvation, however, so clearly 
 presented in the language of the text, — I mean its freeness 
 to all those whose spiritual condition is here presented, — 
 that it may be necessary to press it upon you as the truth 
 peculiarly taught, especially as it presents a view of the Gos- 
 pel which the sinner is in much danger of overlooking or 
 neglecting. We shall soon have occasion to explain who are 
 the persons to whom salvation, — that is, deliverance from the 
 guilt and power of sin, — is addressed, and that, under the 
 different expressions of our text, all men are included. But 
 what we beg you to remark is, that, as set forth in these ex- 
 pressive images, the deliverance is declared to be not more 
 suitable in its nature to every variety of spiritual destitution, 
 than it is to the destitute, considered simply as destitute, — 
 that it is addressed to them, and comes to them with a direct 
 application, at the very moment when it is addressed, what- 
 ever their spiritual state may be, — that, without waiting till 
 they have wrought any change upon themselves, by which 
 they may be entitled to its grace, or become the proper ob- 
 jects of its salvation, it announces to every one of them, as 
 
 N 
 
194 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 he is, an effectual remedy for all his spiritual wants. In 
 short, it is of such a nature as that it may be compared to a 
 ladder let down from heaven, the lowest step of which reaches 
 so very near the earth, that any sinner, even the very lowest 
 and most helpless of all, may plant his foot upon the first 
 step of it, and thereby ascend to heaven. 
 
 You may easily understand our meaning, by observing 
 the mode of the Saviour's address. He did not say that he 
 came to preach something which was fitted to be good tidings 
 to the poor, and which had a certain suitableness to his po- 
 verty of spirit, but that he came to preach good tidings. 
 This was the character of his message ; so that any humble 
 soul believing it, could not fail to say, " These are the best 
 tidings that I ever heard.'" Nor did it merely speak to the 
 captive of deliverance, — it proclaimed deliverance from his 
 miserable bondage, — a deliverance to which there was obvi- 
 ously no hinderance except in his unwillingness to be rescued. 
 Nor did it merely speak of liberty to the oppressed or the 
 bruised, — a liberty which it might be, after all, beyond their 
 power to regain, — it was to set them free ; or, as we have it 
 in the language of the Old Testament, " to proclaim the 
 opening of the prison to them that were bound." It was to 
 tell all, in a word, whom it addressed, whatever their spiritual 
 state might be, that the remedy was provided, — that all 
 things were ready, — that there was no barrier to their parti- 
 cipation of its blessings instantly and immediately, saving in 
 their own unwillingness to return in heart to that God whose 
 grace it disclosed to them, — that whenever the message 
 reached them, and was welcomed by them, they might wipe 
 away their tears, and be comforted, and rejoice in it, as the 
 captive when he hears for the first time, through the narrow 
 grating of his prison-house, the sound of deliverance and of 
 freedom. 
 
 Such, we say, is very obviously the view of the Gospel 
 here presented, and such a character the Gospel possesses, 
 because it presents to every sinner who will give himself up 
 to be justified and sanctified in Christ, a ground of confidence 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 195 
 
 in that Saviour's righteousness, whereby he may draw near 
 with humble boldness, and by which all his spiritual misery 
 will be finally and for ever done away. The poor might put 
 aWay the good tidings, and say, They are not for me !— 
 the mourner might reject consolation ! — the blind might ob- 
 stinately persist in closing his eyes ! — the captive might ob- 
 stinately refuse to go forth ! and in such a case no change 
 would take place upon their condition ; they would remain 
 as miserable, and only more guilty than before. Neverthe- 
 less, the assurance conveyed to all remained the same, whe- 
 ther they chose or whether they refused to believe and obey. 
 And whenever, therefore, the message of salvation reaches a 
 sinner, it is to him like the sounding of the trumpet of jubi- 
 lee, when liberty was proclaimed throughout the land of 
 Israel ; and he is invited with the same freeness, and with 
 the same assurance of safety, to return to his original portion 
 in the friendship and favour of God, as when the voice of the 
 trumpet was heard echoing from mountain to mountain, and 
 repeating from valley to valley, the assurance that the year 
 of release had come, and that every man might now return 
 in peace to the inheritance of his fathers. 
 
 This was the message which the great Prophet of his 
 Church was anointed to proclaim. It was the Gospel, — the 
 grand remedy for the spiritual diseases of our nature, and 
 the remedy so free and full, that every one whose condition 
 it described and embraced might immediately apply to it and 
 be healed. Before we can bring such a view of the subject 
 to bear upon your minds, however, it is necessary to advert 
 particularly to those to whom it is addressed, and to whose 
 situation it comes in its special application. We inquire then, 
 
 II. To whom is the message of salvation addressed ? 
 
 As described in the text, they are the poor, the broken- 
 hearted, the captive, the blind, the bruised, or those in bonds, 
 as it is in the original prophecy of Isaiah. And we have had 
 occasion to remark, in the general explanation given of the 
 text, that these are descriptive of certain spiritual conditions. 
 
19G DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 The poor are the poor in spirit, — the broken-hearted, those 
 who are mourning on account of iniquity, — the captive are 
 those who are subject to the bondage of sin, — the blind, 
 those, the eyes of whose understanding need to be enlight- 
 ened, — and the bruised are they who are subjected to spiri- 
 tual oppression. 
 
 Such is the description given of the persons to whom sal- 
 vation is addressed, and to whom it presents that very thing 
 which, most of all, is essential to their peace and well-being. 
 And a little consideration may show that, with all their va- 
 riety, they are divisible into two classes, in many respects 
 different, but whose case is equally embraced in the commis- 
 sion given to the Messiah. Whilst all are alike involved in 
 a state of spiritual destitution, you may observe that to more 
 than one class such language is applied as argues them alive 
 to their miserably sinful condition, whilst of the rest no such 
 thing is affirmed. Under the former class are included the 
 poor in spirit and the broken-hearted, who are obviously 
 conscious of some want, which the Gospel is fitted to relieve. 
 Under the latter class are included the blind, the captive, 
 the bruised, or those in bonds, of whom nothing more is af- 
 firmed than simply their miserable condition. Every one 
 may perceive the difference between these two classes. The 
 one is expressive, not of sin and misery only, but of misery 
 united with a certain moral character, certain views of sin, 
 and a certain state of heart ; the other is expressive of guilt 
 and misery simply, without any alleviating feature in their 
 spiritual condition, and without any thing necessarily imply- 
 ing that they are truly alive to its misery, or truly desirous 
 of deliverance. They may, or they may not ; for though, 
 in the literal sense, it were impossible to suppose a man 
 blind, or in prison, without being desirous of sight or of en- 
 largement, it needs not to be told that spiritually a man may 
 be destitute of both these comforts, without any wish to have 
 them restored, and that the depth of his wretchedness con- 
 sists often in being void of one aspiration after any thing 
 purer or better. Such are the two classes under which may 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 197 
 
 be included all to whom the message of free, unfettered, and 
 unqualified deliverance, from the guilt and the power of sin 
 is addressed ; and these two classes clearly embrace all men, 
 whether the peculiar feature of their spiritual condition has 
 been depicted in the language of prophecy or not. For, 
 though you should scrutinize the case of every sinner, — of 
 any one suffering under sin, — of any one who has ever been, 
 or who will ever be so suffering, — it is clear that, in this re- 
 spect, you could find no greater variety than these two, 
 and that every one would belong, either to those who were 
 not only under sin, but alive to its evil, — or to those who 
 were simply under sin, without any thing to show that they 
 were sensible of its guiltiness, or conscious of any desires 
 after deliverance from its punishment or its power. 
 
 There is no necessity for pressing upon you the truth, 
 that the former class, such as the poor in spirit, or the bro- 
 ken-hearted, the lowly and the contrite, are the peculiar ob- 
 jects of the Gospel salvation, — those for whom it is design- 
 ed, and who are warranted, upon its declaration, to appro- 
 priate the tenders of Divine grace, as freely offered as they 
 are fitted to cheer and gladden their hearts. There is a 
 very general feeling of the value of such dispositions, and 
 something like an idea that these constitute a kind of claim 
 to salvation. But it is often, also, supposed, that to these, 
 or such as these, the invitations of Divine grace are restrict- 
 ed, — that, until sinners have left their original condition, 
 and become truly penitent ; or, at any rate, till they are con- 
 scious to themselves, of a certain amount of desire after its 
 blessings, they are not at liberty to consider the salvation of 
 the Gospel as addressed to them. 
 
 And as this is introducing a qualification of the grace of 
 the Gospel which God has never sanctioned, — which is dis- 
 honourable to its nature, and hurtful to the comfort and 
 establishment of souls, we beg you to remark, that whilst 
 the great Prophet of his people declares that he was 
 anointed to preach good tidings to the meek, and to heal the 
 broken-hearted, it was equallv stated as the purpose of his 
 
198 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 designation, that he should preach deliverance to the cap- 
 tives, and the recovering of sight to the blind, — and the 
 opening of the prison-doors to them that were bound, — to 
 those, in short, of whom nothing is said that necessarily 
 implies that they were alive to the guilt, or even to the 
 misery of their condition, and far less that it had ever been 
 to them the cause of honest and sincere contrition. 
 
 The error to which we have now adverted, and which we 
 judge the language of the text, figurative as it is, well fitted 
 to expose, that of imagining that you are not authorized to 
 come to God in Christ, in dependence on the peace-speaking 
 blood of Christ, — to ask, that you may receive, mercy to 
 pardon, and grace to help, — till such time as you are con- 
 scious to yourselves of penitence and contrition, or of some 
 strong and earnest desires after the blessings of the Gospel, 
 has arisen in some, I doubt not, from the dread of its free- 
 ness, — a dread as dishonouring to the Gospel, as it is mis- 
 taken and erroneous. A very frequent cause of this error, 
 however (strange as it may seem), has been the mode in 
 which the Gospel is generally presented in the Word of 
 God. And, because it is there found most frequently di- 
 rected to those who are possessed of certain desires which 
 it is obviously fitted to gratify, — presented under the image 
 of bread to the hungry, or water to the thirsty, — other pass- 
 ages are overlooked which announce it without any such 
 qualification, and as a message addressed with equal sin- 
 cerity and unreservedness to all ; and so wide in its invitation, 
 " that whosoever will, may take of the water of life freely.' 11 
 
 In this mode of address, however, there is nothing more 
 than might be expected ; and nothing but what we should 
 ourselves employ, in communicating a message similar in its 
 nature to that of the Gospel. Were this required of us, we 
 should naturally address ourselves first, — and address our- 
 selves most frequently, to those who were conscious of some 
 want which we could supply. We should naturally hope, that, 
 by them, it would be most generally appreciated and most 
 cordially welcomed, though we could hardly expect it to 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 199 
 
 meet with any cordial reception from others. And, in like 
 manner, when announcing to sinful men a free and full sal- 
 vation through the death of Christ, God has generally ad- 
 dressed himself to those who are athirst, or hungry, or 
 weary, or poor in spirit, or broken-hearted, — to those pos- 
 sessed of some want which the Gospel was most clearly 
 fitted to satisfy ; though it is as freely and fully tendered to 
 all, — to the captive, and the blind, and the bond-slave, who 
 may never have been made truly sensible of their spiritual 
 necessities, and who may be surrendered to the blindness of 
 their own hearts, and the perverseness of their own ways. 
 
 It may seem, perhaps, that there is no necessity for in- 
 sisting upon a point so very obvious, and which may be 
 deemed, at first sight, of no practical importance ; for it is 
 most evident that, let the salvation of the Gospel be as free 
 and as sufficient as it may, men will never value its provi- 
 sion of mercy till such time as they are brought to feel their 
 need of it ; or ever welcome deliverance from sin, till they 
 have been made alive to the misery of abiding under it. For 
 all this, however, it is no speculative point to uphold it in 
 all its freeness. It is in every case of the utmost practical 
 importance to make a sinner feel, that whatever be his con- 
 dition, the Gospel comes down to him, and that it leaves 
 him none of those excuses with which he is very ready to 
 satisfy himself for delaying to return to God, the very in- 
 stant it addresses him. And it is of still greater importance 
 for the comfort and establishment of those who are seeking 
 salvation, to know that there can be nothing more free and 
 unfettered than that salvation which they are most of all 
 disposed, in some way or other, to qualify or restrict. 
 
 It is from some error on this very point, that there are, in 
 every Christian congregation, so many disconsolate souls, 
 who are seeking rest and finding none ; and who, though pos- 
 sessing that sense of their own necessities which fits the 
 Gospel to be a message of peace and joy to their hearts, are 
 yet strangers to the consolations which it so richly promises 
 for every human condition, and, above all, for those who are 
 
200 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 weary and heavy laden, because of iniquity. Anxious and 
 fearful about their eternal interests, though possessing, per- 
 haps, the very qualification, were any qualification neces- 
 sary, for resting upon the provision of mercy, they are, 
 through this very anxiety, prevented from seeing this to be 
 their condition ; and are tormented by the dread that they 
 want the indispensable qualification for peace and safety 
 through the Gospel, — and that, until this is obtained, they 
 cannot venture to appropriate, or to rest upon one gracious 
 tender, which the Word of God makes to sinners. These 
 fears are as unbecoming their spiritual privileges, as they are 
 hurtful to their spiritual progress. Though acknowledging 
 the Gospel to be fully adequate to the supply of a sinner's 
 wants, and discovering in it the very thing which is fitted to 
 supply their own, they are, through mistaken views of its 
 freeness, separated from the comfort which it is fitted to im- 
 part ; and the sound of peace, and liberty, and deliverance, 
 may be echoing around them, whilst they never taste its in- 
 fluence, or are blessed with peace and the consciousness of 
 freedom. If such persons, however, are not poor in spirit, 
 or broken-hearted, they cannot deny that they are captives. 
 They may, through fear of Divine indignation, be experi- 
 encing not a little of the misery of a captive condition, and 
 all the depression of mind with which it is accompanied. 
 And is not the Gospel a message of deliverance to the cap- 
 tive as well as of good tidings to the poor, or of comfort to 
 the mourner ? Is it not an intimation, that the prison-doors 
 are opened, and unless you prefer breathing the air of a dun- 
 geon, to breathing the air of liberty, that you may go forth ? 
 And why then should you hesitate, as to whether you are em- 
 braced within its provision of mercy ; and, though not on the 
 ground of being truly sorrowful on account of sin, or truly 
 penitent, yet, as a captive simply conscious of your own mi- 
 serable condition, why not believe that its deliverance is in- 
 tended for you ? — and, that you may hail its intimations with 
 the unmingled exultation and gratitude, with which the wretch 
 who has pined in solitude, and been left to the loneliness of 
 
DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 201 
 
 his own spirit, an outcast from all that gladdens and re- 
 freshes human hearts, hails the intimation that he need be 
 no longer a captive, and welcomes the messenger, who as- 
 sures him, that the way is open to liberty and enlargement. 
 This message which the great Prophet of his Church 
 and people was anointed to proclaim, — the announcement of 
 blessings which he lived to publish and died to procure, — his 
 ministers, in every age, are commissioned to make known. 
 And, from the observations we have made on its nature, 
 and the objects which it embraces, — we feel that we are in 
 possession of something which has an application to the 
 state and character of each one of you. Whatever may be 
 the temptations or sorrows with which you are visited, of one 
 thing we are sure, that you have all experienced, in some 
 degree, the misery of sin, — that, whether conscious of the 
 peculiar nature of your malady or not, you are suffering un- 
 der its power, and that you are by nature and practice, as 
 sinners, in a condition so very miserable, and exposed to 
 such danger, as not even the situation of the prisoner in 
 daily dread of death can adequately express. Whatever 
 be the aspect of your spiritual condition ; whether you be 
 the poor, or the broken-hearted, or simply the captive, or 
 the blind, or the bond-slave, sure I am, that you are either 
 amongst those who are alive to their spiritual destitution, or 
 amongst those who are not. And, finding both alike in- 
 cluded in the commission which Christ has given us, I now 
 look round upon you all, whatever may be your rank, or 
 character, or acquirements, and say to each one, " I have a 
 message from God unto you."" — " The Spirit of the Lord 
 God is upon me, 1 " 1 saith the Saviour, " because he hath 
 anointed me to preach good tidings,'" — and wherever there is 
 one to whose spiritual condition the message applies (and 
 to what condition does it not apply ?) I do now tender him, 
 in the free remission of sin, through the Saviour's blood, and 
 the full sanctifkation of his nature, through the efficacy of 
 the Saviour's Spirit, a remedy for all his misery, and deli- 
 verance from all his sins. 
 
202 DISCOURSE TWELFTH. 
 
 Ye poor in spirit ! why will ye not listen to the good tid- 
 ings which the Saviour addresses to you ? Ye broken- 
 hearted for sin ! why will you not allow him who sympa- 
 thizes with all your griefs, tenderly to bind up your wounds ? 
 Blinded, O, miserably blinded sinner ! why will you close 
 your eyes against the light of this heavenly truth ? Cap- 
 tive of sin ! deluded, and deceived, and in bondage to Satan, 
 why will you not hear the voice of the Son of God, and 
 come forth ? The sound that is now breaking over you 
 is the note of jubilee; — already the inhabitants of the rocks 
 are singing, and they are shouting from the tops of the 
 mountains, — and every one who takes up that note of tri- 
 umph as it passes by, is heard repeating that the " Day- 
 spring from on high hath visited us, to give light to them 
 that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, and to 
 guide our feet into the way of peace \" — and that " the 
 Lord hath comforted his people, and redeemed Jerusalem." 
 
DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 Luke, xxii. 19, 20. — And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake 
 it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body, which is given for 
 you : this do in remembrance of me. Likewise also the cup after sup- 
 per, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed 
 for you. 
 
 In the preceding verses we find our Lord engaged in the 
 observance of the Jewish Passover ; yet indicating, by the 
 expressions to which he gave utterance, that his mind was 
 looking beyond it to that more glorious Passover, the time 
 for offering which was now so near. As he sat down to ce- 
 lebrate the feast, in language prompted not more by the 
 feeling that this was to be his last Passover on earth, than 
 that it was to be the last time in which this feast should be 
 celebrated before it was lost in the coming of those mighty 
 events which it typified, he declared the desire which he had 
 felt for its approach ; prepared his disciples to expect its 
 speedy fulfilment in the kingdom of God ; and led their 
 minds to rest on those solemn transactions which had at this 
 moment obviously engrossed and swallowed up his own. 
 And, after having thus prepared them for what was to follow, 
 — occupying, as it were, at this moment, the point of transi- 
 tion from the shadows of a former dispensation to the glories 
 of a more perfect and brighter era, before which these sha- 
 dows were to flee away, — the blessed Saviour, taking of the 
 bread and the wine used in the paschal solemnity, conse- 
 
204 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 crated them to become the memorials of a more glorious 
 Passover, to be observed by his Church and people in all 
 ages, in remembrance of his grace, and as the pledge and 
 seal of his faithfulness. 
 
 I need not say to any of you, that in these very striking 
 and memorable words, we have recorded the institution of 
 what is commonly called the Lord's Supper, from its being 
 appointed whilst he was eating the paschal supper with his 
 disciples, — and of what is perhaps as frequently termed the 
 Communion, from the bond of union which it was designed 
 to form among all Christians, and the fellowship which it 
 represents them to possess in the Saviour, and in the bless- 
 ings of his redemption. Its nature and its objects are here 
 set forth with the greatest simplicity and clearness ; and no 
 Christian can consider the verses we have read, heightened 
 as the interest of the whole is by the circumstances in which 
 our Lord was at this moment placed, — on the very eve of 
 his crucifixion, and just before going forth to the scene of 
 his agony, — without feeling that no ordinance, whether from 
 its own intrinsic importance, or from the circumstances in 
 which it was instituted, ever had, or could have, a more com- 
 manding claim on his devout reverence and regard. 
 
 To have seen the Redeemer engaged in this transaction 
 with his disciples, without having at the same time heard 
 the words by which he explained it, there might have been 
 little to indicate its deep and impressive interest, saving, 
 perhaps, in the solemn stillness of an hour, when every heart 
 responded to the discoveries of his grace. As " he took the 
 bread, and blessed it, and gave it to his disciples," there was 
 nothing more than what, we may be assured, was the uni- 
 form custom of him who delighted at all times to acknow- 
 ledge the bounty of his Father in heaven. And as the 
 bread and wine, thus sanctified by prayer, passed from hand 
 to hand among the assembled guests, there might have been 
 little to distinguish it from an ordinary entertainment, or, at 
 any rate, from any ordinary celebration of the Passover. In 
 this simple institution, however, every thing was full of 
 
DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 205 
 
 meaning, beyond what it had been possible for any of us, 
 without the aid of the Saviour's language, to have conceived. 
 In these elements of bread and wine we are taught to disco- 
 ver the symbols of a presence, at all times pregnant with the 
 deepest and most commanding interest. Every part of the 
 transaction has its counterpart in the invisible things which 
 faith substantiates. The elements are only helps to aid and 
 to elevate our minds in apprehending spiritual and invisible 
 mysteries ; and, after having rested on these so long as to 
 discern what it is which they bring, or seek to bring, sensibly 
 before us, we instantly pass onwards from them to lose our- 
 selves in the contemplation of objects, fitted at all times to 
 command the deepest reverence and admiration from the soul 
 of every believer. 
 
 In directing your attention,, as we are now shortly to do, 
 to a view here presented of the Lord's Supper, there are two 
 errors, almost equally to be guarded against, if we would un- 
 derstand its true nature and design. The former is that of 
 those who have been led to give to the language which 
 Christ employed on this occasion a meaning entirely lite- 
 ral, and such as was never intended ; and the latter the 
 error of those who, viewing the language as altogether figu- 
 rative, regard this ordinance simply as a bare memorial of 
 the fact of Christ's death, without attaching any thing at all 
 mysterious to the expressions which he employed. In ex- 
 plaining the words, " Take, eat ; this is my body, which is 
 broken for you ;" — " this do in remembrance of me ;" you 
 may be aware that there are a very great number of professing 
 Christians, and some of them belonging even to the Pro- 
 testant churches, who conceive that our Lord strictly meant, 
 — what his language might, at first sight, seem to declare, 
 — that the bread which he broke became, by his blessing, 
 actually his real body, and the wine, in like manner, became 
 his real blood, — that, in giving these to his disciples, he did 
 really and literally make them partakers of his body and blood, 
 — or, at any rate, that his body and blood were so hid under 
 these elements, and in some mysterious way so mingled with 
 
206 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 them, that they were actually eaten. An inlet has thus been 
 given to a thousand superstitious practices, as contrary to 
 the evidence of our senses, as they are to the language of the 
 Bible ; and the true nature and design of the Lord's Supper 
 have been thereby really as much lost sight of and disregarded, 
 as if no respect had been shown to the institution at all. From 
 the wish to avoid these errors, if possible to strip the ordi- 
 nance of all mystery, and to make it so simple, that there 
 should be no room for misapprehension, it has been as fre- 
 quently supposed, on the other hand, that the Lord's Supper 
 was nothing more than a commemoration of the death of 
 Christ, — a feast in honour of the Saviour, — intended simply 
 to keep alive on the minds of believers their obligations to 
 his grace, and fitted to do so by the very significant symbols 
 then to be employed, — that it had in it nothing of the nature 
 of a covenant transaction, by which certain blessings are 
 made over to us by God, and certain engagements entered 
 into on our part, — and that the whole of the benefits to be 
 expected or derived from it rested in the opportunity thus 
 afforded of meditating on the death of Christ, and on his 
 grace to sinners, aided, as we might expect our meditations 
 then to be, by the symbols presented to our senses. And 
 thus the view of the ordinance, which is the most interesting 
 and valuable to the Christian, by which it brings before him 
 most expressively the gracious discoveries of salvation through 
 the blood of the cross, and by which he is taught to regard 
 it as the seal of a better covenant, founded on better pro- 
 mises, and which gives to it all its power to comfort and to 
 strengthen his heart, is altogether lost or obscured. 
 
 It will be sufficient to guard you against the former of 
 these errors, — which, however, is not the one from which we 
 are most in danger, — to remark, that when our Saviour said, 
 " Take, eat, this is my body," or when he said, " This cup 
 is the new testament in my blood," or, " This is my blood 
 of the new testament, which is shed for many," he merely 
 employed that form of expression which would convey to the 
 minds of his hearers the idea, that the bread and wine were 
 
DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 2(>7 
 
 only the symbols of his body and blood. It has often been 
 pointed out on this subject, that the language which Christ 
 spoke, — the language then current in Judea, — had no word 
 exactly to express what we mean by the term represent, or 
 signify, — that this want was usually supplied by the simple 
 affirmation was or is, — and that, in making vise of it at 
 this time, our Lord only followed the mode of speech with 
 which his disciples were familiar. Such expressions as the 
 following will be recognised as very frequent in Scripture : 
 — " The seven kine are seven years," — that is, represent 
 seven years ; " The field is the world," — that is, represents 
 the world ; " They drank of that rock which followed them,, 
 and that rock was Christ," — or, represented Christ ; " The 
 seven stars are the angels of the seven churches," — or, re- 
 present the seven churches. In like manner, when Christ, 
 addressing himself to the disciples as he divided the bread, 
 and passed the cup amongst them, said, " Take, eat ; this is 
 my body, — this is my blood of the new testament, drink ye 
 all of it," his language did not necessarily convey any other 
 meaning than that the bread and the wine represented, or 
 signified, or were the symbols, of his body and blood. 
 
 Again, when this language is considered as implying no- 
 thing more than that Christ gave them the bread and wine 
 to be the memorials of his body and blood, and that, by re- 
 ceiving them, they were to be reminded of their obligations 
 to his grace, — when every thing that is mysterious or spiri- 
 tual in the ordinance is removed, and nothing more held to 
 be involved in it than a bare commemoration of that event, 
 which is at all times the most interesting to the mind of a 
 believer, we cannot but feel that there is an attempt made to 
 bring down the nature of this great Christian ordinance far 
 below the standard of the Divine Word ; and that, in the 
 desire to render it simple, and intelligible, and void of all 
 mystery, we are in danger of losing, or letting out of view 
 altogether, those peculiar characters which belong to it, and 
 which are fitted to convey the most solemn and affecting re- 
 presentations of the grace therein not only exhibited, but 
 
208 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 also sealed to the mind of a believer. When the Apostle 
 says, " The bread which we break, is it not the communion 
 of the body of Christ ? the cup of blessing which we bless, 
 is it not the communion of the blood of Christ ?" it is surely 
 implied that this ordinance is not only a commemoration, 
 but also a communion of the death of Christ. 
 
 If language has a meaning, our Lord did declare that 
 they who worthily partook of it were thereby made par- 
 takers of him and all his blessings. And, in like manner, 
 when he said, " Take, eat ; this is my body, this is my blood 
 of the new covenant, drink ye all of it ;"" though every one 
 to whom he addressed himself might easily understand that 
 the elements of bread and wine remained unchanged, it was, 
 at the same time, the design of the Saviour, by the strong 
 language which he employed, to teach them, that, under 
 these significant emblems, was represented the conveyance 
 of himself and of his redemption to their souls ; and that, 
 in receiving them in faith, they were made, in a manner far 
 beyond that which any actual participation of his real body 
 and blood could have made them, partakers of the body and 
 blood of the Son of God. 
 
 Whilst no countenance is given, therefore, by the lan- 
 guage of our text, to the opinion which, indeed, needs no 
 other contradiction, than what it receives from the common 
 sense and feeling of every man, that Christ spoke of his real 
 body and blood in the elements of bread and wine, — it 
 would be as wide a departure from the spirit of the Saviour's 
 declaration, to rest satisfied with the notion, that nothing 
 more was meant by the transaction, than the participation 
 of a feast in honour of Christ. When he said, " Take, eat ; 
 this is my body, this is my blood, drink ye all of it," he did 
 not declare that the bread and wine were his real body and 
 blood, if for no other reason, yet for this, that his body had 
 not then been broken, nor his blood shed for them. But 
 there was a meaning in these expressions, not even explained 
 by the fact that they were the symbols of his body. There 
 was a reason for employing them, which rendered them, even 
 
DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 209 
 
 apart from the poverty of language, the fittest which he 
 could have employed, for conveying the precise truth to their 
 minds. So close was the connexion between the elements 
 and the spiritual things which they represented, that, in re- 
 ceiving the one, they were by faith made partakers of the 
 other, — and this was the great end and design of the ordi- 
 nance which he now instituted. 
 
 In considering still farther the meaning of the words of 
 our text, they will be found to receive very considerable 
 illustration from a conversation of our blessed Lord re- 
 lated in the Gospel of John, — a conversation which, though 
 originating in a very different subject from that of the sacra- 
 mental institution, we can hardly suppose to have been 
 spoken, without his having this ordinance in view, so clearly 
 does it seem to point to it. The doctrine which that scrip- 
 ture declares in words, the sacrament of the Supper may be 
 supposed to represent figuratively, or by symbols ; and the 
 former may therefore be held as furnishing us with the com- 
 mentary of an infallible teacher on the latter. You will at 
 once perceive that I refer to the very remarkable passage in 
 which Christ speaks of himself as the " living bread that 
 came down from heaven, to give life to the world." He 
 there declares that " Except ye eat the flesh and drink the 
 blood of the Son of man," — that is, receive him by faith, as 
 he explains it, — " ye have no life in you," — that to those 
 who did so receive him, " his flesh was meat indeed, and his 
 blood drink indeed," — that is, the doctrine of Christ would 
 prove the life and support of their souls. He declares fur- 
 ther, that he " who eateth his flesh and drinketh his blood 
 dwelleth in Christ, and Christ in him ;" declaring the won- 
 derful and mysterious union which subsisted between him 
 and his believing people. In these expressions, Christ is 
 set forth under the very same image, by which he is symbo- 
 lically represented in the sacrament of the Supper, as bread 
 to be received and to be eaten, the participation of which is 
 essential to the existence or the continuance of spiritual life ; 
 and by partaking of which, we become one with him, and he 
 
210 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 dwelleth in us. And when he addressed himself, in the 
 words of our text, to those in whose hearing the expressions 
 now quoted had been employed, and which might very rea- 
 dily have recurred at this moment to their remembrance, 
 — when taking the bread and the wine, he said, " This is 
 my body broken for you, — this is my blood of the New Tes- 
 tament, shed for the remission of the sins of many," — when 
 he required them, not merely to receive these elements at 
 his hands, but also to eat and to drink of them, — they might 
 have understood, we think, without any further explanation, 
 that our Lord was only employing a different way of eluci- 
 dating and enforcing the same truths which he had before 
 taught. They might understand him as setting forth, un- 
 der expressive symbols, the freeness with which he was given 
 on the one hand, and the freeness with which they were to 
 receive him on the other, — the necessity of eating the flesh 
 and drinking the blood of the Son of man, — that is, of be- 
 lieving on him if they would live by him ; and as assuring 
 them, in so far as this could be done by sensible things, that 
 all who thus received him became the partakers of his body 
 and blood, or were united to him, and derived life and nou- 
 rishment from him, as the branch does from the root. It 
 is not too much to say, that all this might have been under- 
 stood by the disciples, from the previous discourses of Christ ; 
 and thus an act, so very simple as that of giving and receiv- 
 ing bread and wine, was qualified to bring before them, at a 
 single glance, the most impressive and affecting truths of 
 the Word of God, which represented the riches and free- 
 ness of Divine grace on the one hand, and expressed the 
 faith by which they were to become the partakers of these 
 blessings on the other. 
 
 It has been often said of the Lord's Supper, considered 
 merely in this light, and without regarding others yet more 
 impressive, that it constitutes the clearest and most effective 
 preaching of the Gospel, — setting forth, by very significant 
 symbols, and by very expressive signs, the great mysteries 
 of the kingdom of God ; and embracing, in a single point of 
 
DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 211 
 
 view, the substance of those truths concerning the Gospel- 
 salvation, which are spread over the discourses of the Savi- 
 our. In this light, it may be compared, at least in so far 
 as the general design is concerned, with the many ordinances 
 found throughout the Old Testament, — such as the insti- 
 tution of sacrifices, for example ; by which God did both 
 enforce and illustrate the declarations of his Word, — by 
 which he taught his people through signs, what he had pre- 
 viously taught them through the medium of written lan- 
 guage, — and sought to convey the truth clearly to their un- 
 derstandings, and to render it impressive and affecting to 
 their hearts. 
 
 To the power and efficacy of this mode of address, the 
 history of almost every nation testifies ; and no other proof 
 can be needed of its accommodation to the actual state and 
 condition of human nature, than the frequent use which 
 God has made of it throughout his Word ; and in his com- 
 munications with the Church in all ages. The sacraments 
 thus stand forth as illustrations of the Saviour's doctrine, 
 whilst that doctrine is in its turn illustrated and explained 
 by them. The one serves to throw light on the other ; and 
 thus, whilst Christ declared himself to be the " living bread 
 that came down from heaven, that we might eat thereof and 
 never die," because he that ate the flesh and drank the 
 blood of the Saviour, " had that Saviour dwelling in him," — 
 he both illustrated and enforced this truth by a transaction, 
 in which, by giving, and receiving, and partaking of, bread 
 and wine, he represented his body and blood as broken and 
 shed for the life of the world, and made effectual for impart- 
 ing this life to all who in faith receive them. 
 
 In this view, the Lord's Supper obviously partakes of the 
 nature of those transactions by which God was graciously 
 pleased, under a former dispensation, to covenant with his 
 people ; by which he confirmed, — solemnly confirmed and 
 ratified, the promises which he had graciously made them ; 
 and sealed them as promises that should be made sure to all 
 who observed his covenant. Accordingly it serves, in some 
 
212 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 degree, the same object as the bow in the clouds, given to 
 Noah as the surety of the covenant which God had made 
 with him, — as the blood, by the sprinkling of which God 
 sealed his covenant with the Israelites, — as the ordinance of 
 circumcision, appointed to be observed in the families of 
 Israel, the pledge that God would be a God to them, and to 
 their children after them. Like them, it is the seal of a 
 covenant, though of a better covenant, founded on better 
 promises ; is intended to comfort and support every believing 
 mind, by the assurance of a grace adequate to all his neces- 
 sities ; stands forth with as much freshness as though it had 
 been given but yesterday ; and is fitted to apply as much to 
 the circumstances of every individual believer, as though it 
 had been intended for his single benefit and improvement. 
 
 We are peculiarly directed to this view of the subject, 
 from the language which our Lord employs — when he says, 
 " This cup is the New Testament, in my blood, 1 '' or, as we 
 have it in another Gospel, " This is my blood of the New 
 Testament,' 11 or new covenant, " shed for many, for the re- 
 mission of sins. 11 This language obviously possesses the 
 same meaning with that already quoted, as employed by 
 Moses, when sprinkling the Israelites with the blood of the 
 sacrifice. He said, " This is the blood of the covenant 
 which God hath made with you, 1 '' — meaning, the blood by 
 which the covenant was ratified, — and Christ Jesus being 
 now to introduce another covenant, denominated new, in 
 contradistinction to every former dispensation of Divine 
 grace ; — a covenant, in which the will of God to sinful man 
 was to be fully and completely disclosed, and which he was 
 to bring in and establish, by his approaching sufferings and 
 death as a sacrifice for sin, — did now give, in this blessed 
 ordinance, a standing attestation of its truth and faithful- 
 ness to all ages, — in the return of which, believers might 
 continue to read that God was not unmindful of his pro- 
 mises ; and laying hold on which, they might find them- 
 selves enabled to trust more implicitly in the frcencss and 
 riches of his o-race. 
 
DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 213 
 
 Regarded in this light, you will easily perceive how well 
 fitted the simple rite which Christ instituted was, for the 
 purpose for which he designed it, and how expressive as a 
 seal of the blessings of the new covenant. In employing 
 bread and wine, Christ did employ those symbols which 
 might best express his body and blood, through the efficacy 
 of which the covenant was to be established. These sym- 
 bols were not merely exhibited, they were given to his disci- 
 ples in a way expressive of the freeness with which he 
 made over to them all the blessings of his salvation. They 
 were to be eaten by them, to represent the intimate union 
 that subsists between Christ and his people, — and to inti- 
 mate that they were to be the members of his body, of 
 his flesh, and of his bones. No ordinance could better, or 
 more significantly, convey those spiritual things which it 
 was its design to unveil. And when these were embraced 
 by their faith, or when they are in this ordinance embraced 
 by your faith, — when alive to the meaning of every point in 
 this solemn transaction, you do feel that God is therein 
 making over to you Christ and all his fulness, and do ac- 
 tually embrace him for your peace and sanctification, when 
 you discern at the same time the nearness and intimacy 
 of the union therein signified, — when you regard those 
 things as the pledge and earnest of the unseen spiritual 
 blessings which they signify, it is impossible but you must 
 feel how unspeakably gracious is the assurance which they 
 convey ; how well fitted this sacrament is, by the full exhi- 
 bition which it makes of redeeming grace, to comfort the 
 mind under the burden of sin, to bind you to walk before 
 God in newness of life ; and that in testifying by the accept- 
 ance of the seal your acceptance of the blessings sealed, 
 you virtually surrender yourselves to be the Lord's. 
 
 If such was the nature and object of the institution, we 
 cannot wonder why our Lord should, even at such an hour, 
 and with the scene of his coming agony before him, find a 
 place for its observance. And every one that has any feel- 
 ing of his grace, or of his own unworthiness, must feel, I 
 
214 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 think, the depth of that tenderness which was implied in his 
 appointing such an ordinance, at the very time when he was 
 about to enter on the scene of his deepest trial, and when 
 the dark forecastings of that terrible hour must have been, 
 we should have thought, already upon him. 
 
 In improving such a subject as this, one of the most na- 
 tural feelings present to our minds, will be the little im- 
 provement that any of us have made of such an ordinance, 
 and how little our minds have truly realized and entered into 
 the mind of the Saviour when he appointed it to continue 
 in his Church throughout all ages. Regarding it as bring- 
 ing before us the most astonishing discoveries of his grace, 
 — as fraught with so many things fitted to interest and en- 
 gage our hearts, — as intended to be nothing less than a par- 
 taking of the body and blood of the Lord ; — as an ordinance 
 by which the Saviour and his blessings are virtually and ex- 
 pressively made over to all who, in faith, receive him ; and 
 in which we do transact with God through Christ, receiving 
 the seals of his covenant, and sealing ourselves to be his, — we 
 cannot but feel, I am persuaded, how feeble have been all our 
 apprehensions of this great mystery, and how little it has 
 awakened dispositions in our minds corresponding to the won- 
 derful and gracious characters in which it is set forth to us. 
 I fear that among the multitudes who do regularly sit 
 down to celebrate such a solemnity, there may be not a few 
 who have never entered into these views of the ordinance at 
 all, — who have been satisfied with regarding it as an expres- 
 sion of their attachment to the Gospel, or a mark of their 
 respect for the faith in which they have been educated, if 
 not as a kind of purification from the sins which they have 
 contracted ; — who have never discovered in it a mystery of 
 deeper sacredness than any mere commemoration of the 
 death of Christ, or inquired how far their faith did embrace 
 it as a sign and seal of the benefits of redemption to them- 
 selves, — or how far they are prepared to lay hold of it as 
 sealing those blessings to their souls. With them, the whole 
 benefit which they have expected to receive from the solem- 
 
DISCOURSE THIHTKENTH. 215 
 
 nity, has consisted in the admission of a few pious thoughts 
 on such an occasion, not very frequent or familiar to their 
 minds, — in some vows and resolutions there formed against 
 sin, soon lost and forgotten in the midst of the world, — in 
 the strengthening of a certain false peace derived from the 
 regularity with which they observed a Divine ordinance, — 
 and, perhaps, in things yet more adverse to the design of 
 the institution. The feeding upon an unseen Saviour by 
 faith in their hearts, — the willing dedication of themselves 
 to his service, commended by the manifestation of his grace, 
 — the grateful reposing of a soul upon the word of his faith- 
 fulness, — and the holy admiration excited in a believing mind 
 by so gracious a view of redeeming mercy as is there given, 
 have been things of which, though participating in this or- 
 dinance, they have been utterly ignorant, — and, though 
 brought into near and immediate contact with every thing 
 that is most sacred, and fitted to be most sanctifying in its 
 influence, they may have been as devoid of such an influ- 
 ence as though the ordinance of God had never been de- 
 signed to convey it. O, how far have these been from real- 
 izing the mind of the Saviour, as he said, " This is my body 
 which is broken for you — This is my blood of the New 
 Testament, shed for many for the remission of sin J 11 How 
 awful the guilt contracted by those who thus profane the 
 body and the blood of the Son of God ! and how much do 
 they require, should another opportunity be granted them 
 of observing this ordinance, to " keep the feast, not with 
 the old leaven, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity 
 and truth P 1 
 
 Amidst all the contempt that may be thus shown to the 
 Redeemer, however, by these profane intruders into holy 
 things, and all the dishonour that may be done to his cause, 
 by those who will participate in such an ordinance, whilst 
 their conduct may testify that they are none of his, let 
 believers be only the more stirred up to value and improve 
 the privilege, — let them, whenever the opportunity is af- 
 forded of " showing forth the Lord's death till he come," — 
 
216 DISCOURSE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 come to it in the exercise of a living faith, and a true repent- 
 ance, — let them stir themselves up to lay hold of his cove- 
 nant of peace, that it may be thus ratified and sealed to their 
 souls. And thus, " this holy mystery,"" as one has it, 
 " shall be as nails to fasten us to his very cross, that, by 
 them we may draw out the efficacy of his blood. We shall 
 then be dipt in the wounds of our Redeemer, — our hunger 
 be satisfied, and our thirst for ever quenched, — and this bread, 
 which hath in it more than the substance which our eyes be- 
 hold, — and this cup, hallowed with solemn benediction, shall 
 avail to the endless life and welfare, both of soul and body, 
 in that it serveth as well for a medicine to heal our infirmi- 
 ties, and purge our sins, as for a sacrifice of thanksgiving ; 
 with touching, it sanctifieth, — it enlighteneth with belief, — 
 it truly conformeth us unto the image of Jesus Christ. 
 What these elements are in themselves, it skilleth not ; it is 
 enough, that, to me which take them, they are the body 
 and blood of Christ : his promise in witness hereof sufficeth ; 
 his word he knoweth which way to accomplish ; why should 
 any cogitation possess the mind of a faithful communicant 
 but this ? O, my God, thou art true ; O, my soul, thou art 
 happy !"* 
 
 * Hooker, chap. v. sect. 67. 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH.* 
 
 Luke, xxiv. 50, 51, 52, 53. — And he led them out as far as to Betha- 
 ny ; and he lifted up his hands, and blessed thern. And it came to pass, 
 while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into 
 heaven. And they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with 
 great joy ; and were continually in the temple, praising and blessing- 
 God. Amen. 
 
 These words describe the closing scene of our Lord's in- 
 tercourse with his disciples ; and they close, at the same 
 time, the Gospel history, as given us by one Evangelist, with 
 the illustration of whose narrative of the Saviour's life we 
 have for a considerable time been employed. 
 
 In the preceding part of the chapter we find him relating 
 the various appearances of our Lord to his disciples subse- 
 quently to his resurrection, — the various methods which he 
 took for convincing them that he was in very deed that 
 Jesus whom they had seen openly and publicly crucified, — 
 the condescension which he manifested on this subject to 
 satisfy their weakness, and to meet their unbelief, — and the 
 full evidence which he gave, in every way fitted to affect 
 the minds of reasonable beings, of the truth, that he had in- 
 deed risen again. 
 
 We find the Evangelist likewise relating the endeavours 
 which our Lord made to convince them that the events 
 which had so lately befallen him, and which had for a time 
 
 " Concluding Lecture at Stockbridge Chapel. 
 
218 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 almost destroyed their faith and confidence, had taken place 
 agreeably to his own declarations, and in fulfilment of all 
 that had been predicted in the law of Moses, and in the 
 Prophets, and in the Psalms, concerning him, — that they 
 were part of a Divine ordinance, by which it behoved him 
 to suffer, and to rise the third day, before repentance and 
 remission of sins could be preached in his name among all 
 nations, — and that, though in themselves, at first sight, ap- 
 parently in contradiction to the testimony which had been 
 of old given to the Messiah, they were, when rightly under- 
 stood, the most convincing evidence that he was indeed the 
 Christ. We find him relating, farther, that, in addition to 
 the means which the Saviour employed, in order to make 
 this truth plain and evident, he did, at the same time, and 
 in a way peculiar to himself as a Divine Being, open their 
 understandings to understand, and their hearts, we may be 
 assured, to embrace the Scriptures, — that having set forth 
 in order the whole of that Word which bore testimony to 
 him, he did then, by an act of his Divine power, remove the 
 cloud which had so long hindered the truth from finding ac- 
 cess to their minds, and made them to discern between the 
 Divine declarations and the most obscure passages of his 
 history, such a harmony, as left them no occasion to doubt 
 that the one had taken place in fulfilment of the other ; and 
 no room for any other feeling than that of amazement at their 
 own blindness and ignorance, and admiration of the ways of 
 Him who is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working. 
 Having accomplished this work, — and that it was accom- 
 plished, the feelings with which the disciples returned from 
 Bethany afford ample proof, — the purpose for which he had 
 for a season lingered in the world might be considered as 
 at an end. He had finished the work which his Father had 
 given him to do ; he had wrought out by his death an eter- 
 nal redemption ; and by his resurrection from the dead, had 
 evinced that this redemption had been accepted of the Fa- 
 ther. He had left, in his apostles and disciples, men who 
 were fitted to be witnesses to the truth of his character, and 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 219 
 
 the reality of the mighty works on which that truth rested ; 
 and he had so far instructed them in the nature of his doc- 
 trine and kingdom, that they were prepared to wait for, and 
 to receive, the further developement of those things which 
 were to be given, when the spirit should be poured out from 
 on high. Nothing now remained, therefore, but that he 
 should take leave of those for whom, and for whose welfare, 
 he had so unweariedly laboured ; and who now remained to 
 be, under God, the seed of that Church which was one day 
 to extend over the whole earth. 
 
 The manner in which he did so, however, as strikingly 
 indicates the spirit by which he was actuated as any single 
 event of his history. It adds another to the many proofs which 
 he gave of his condescension to their weakness, and the ten- 
 der love which he bore towards his disciples ; and there may 
 be few scenes around which a believing mind will feel more 
 disposed to linger, or which it will seek more frequently to 
 realize, than that presented, when a beloved master, with 
 claims upon the affections of his disciples, infinitely greater 
 than those which any human being can ever have upon the 
 affections of another, commended them for the last time on 
 earth to his Father and to their Father, to his God and to 
 their God. You can easily conceive for what reason the 
 Saviour, about to leave in this world those in whose happi- 
 ness and well-being he was so deeply interested, would be 
 disposed to render the event impressive and affecting to their 
 minds, — how he would wish that there should be something 
 about it to which they might recur, not merely for the pur- 
 pose of recalling the image of one so dear to them, but for 
 strengthening their faith, and confirming their hearts in the 
 truth of his character and work ; and that the last impres- 
 sion made upon their minds, equally with that which all the 
 rest of his history was fitted and intended to leave, might 
 be this, that he came from God and went to God. Per- 
 suaded as they might be of the truth of his character, it was 
 still possible that this persuasion might be strengthened; 
 though he had come from the invisible world upon them at 
 
220 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 this moment, they would still be the more assured of it, if 
 they should see him ascend thither again ; and though they 
 had received evidence enough to satisfy every mind, and 
 which had satisfied theirs, of his power and glory ; though 
 the strongest proof of his exaltation to the right hand of 
 the Father was yet to be given, when he sent down gifts 
 upon men, — it might serve, in the mean time, to banish 
 any doubts that remained, furnish them with a new fact to 
 attest to others the truth of his exaltation, and lift them 
 above the painfulness of this separation, were they permit- 
 ted to see the reality of his ascension, and with the bodily 
 eye, at least, to follow him to the borders of that invisible 
 world which now opened to receive him, and the highest 
 honours of which now awaited him. 
 
 It appears to have been for this purpose, as well as for 
 the sake of furnishing an image of the glory in which he 
 shall come again, that our Lord, instead of merely bidding 
 farewell to his disciples, and blessing them, and then vanish- 
 ing, as he had done before, out of their sight, gave to the 
 event of his ascension full publicity, — that he went about it 
 in that way which indicated his wish that the remembrance 
 of it might never fade from their minds, — and that the last 
 scene of his life presented so striking a contrast with the 
 humble circumstances in which he was ushered into the 
 world, — and the mean and lowly form which he had conti- 
 nued to wear whilst he was in it. 
 
 For this purpose, we are told, he led them out as far as 
 Bethany, restricting their number on this occasion to the 
 eleven disciples, and those who were with him, — having no 
 wish that any should be spectators beyond those who were 
 the proper witnesses of his truth to the world ; and confining 
 this, as he did, indeed, all his appearances subsequently to 
 his resurrection, to those who had already received and ad- 
 mitted the miracles which he had formerly wrought. It was 
 on this spot, and near the Mount of Olives, where he had so 
 often withdrawn for privacy and retirement, — where he had 
 passed, in the night of his agony, through one of the scenes 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 221 
 
 of his deepest humiliation, and which was well fitted, there- 
 fore, to be the scene of his coming exaltation, — in a territory, 
 every footstep of which would be associated in the minds of 
 the disciples with some affecting incident or other of his his- 
 tory, and which was now to be consecrated for ever, as the 
 scene where they were to have their last look of their Mas- 
 ter, — it was here that the wonderful and mysterious visitant, 
 who had come into this world from the world which no eye 
 has ever seen, and whose glory men had beheld, even 
 through the veil of lowliness which hid it, as the glory of the 
 only begotten of the Father, full of grace, — it was here that 
 he was again to ascend to the Father, that he might lead cap- 
 tivity captive, and give gifts unto men. 
 
 The other Evangelists, in describing the event which then 
 took place, and which one of them, Matthew, must have wit- 
 nessed, relate vai'ious topics on which our Lord then dis- 
 coursed with his disciples, such as you might suppose to 
 have been inspired by the circumstances in which they were 
 placed, as most likely to engage the mind of the Saviour, 
 and best adapted to the situation of the disciples. It was 
 here, we are told, that he gave them a commission to go and 
 teach all nations, — it was here he renewed his promise of 
 those miraculous signs which were to attend their ministry, 
 and which were to be the seal of their apostleship to the 
 world, — and it was here that he gave them that assurance of 
 his continued presence with them, even to the end of the 
 world, which to the Church, in all ages and circumstances, 
 continues the ground of their encouragement and hope. And, 
 having compressed into this last charge every thing most 
 needful for their direction and consolation, nothing more re- 
 mained than that he should give his farewell benediction to 
 those who had been on his part the objects of an unchanging 
 solicitude, and for whom he had poured out so many and 
 fervent prayers at the Divine footstool during the days of 
 his flesh. 
 
 Of the mind of the Saviour at this moment, and of the 
 fulness of that blessing which he supplicated to rest upon 
 
222 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 them, we may have some conception, from one recorded ex- 
 ample of his intercession in their behalf, — an intercession 
 presented in the view of being separated from them, and 
 which may be supposed, therefore, to embody the feelings 
 and desires which such an event was fitted to inspire. I need 
 not say that I advert to the prayer recorded in the Gospel of 
 John, which closes what are commonly called our Lord's 
 consolatory discourses to his disciples. And, if that may be 
 allowed to present in a more extended form what was here 
 compressed into the brief space that was allowed for it, we 
 may be able in some degree to conceive from it of the mean- 
 ing and import of the blessing which he now sought to abide 
 with them. He had there prayed for them as those who 
 were in the world, — that the Father would keep, through 
 his own name, those whom he had given him, — that they 
 might be one, — that they might not be taken out of the 
 world, but kept from the evil, — that they might be sanctified 
 through the truth, even through that Word which is truth, 
 — and that they might be with him where he was, to behold 
 the glory which the Father had given him. In short, he 
 prayed for those whom he had kept in the Father's name, 
 and from whom he was now to be separated, that the guar- 
 dianship which he had exercised over them might be more 
 than compensated by the care and grace of that Father, whose 
 they were, and who had given them to be redeemed. And, now 
 that the hour was passing on, which had then been compa- 
 ratively distant, we may be assured that it was with desires 
 not less large or fervent, — with a mind not less solicitous for 
 their best interests, nor less alive to the dangers and trials 
 that awaited them, — with an intercession not less powerful, 
 and which, now that all power was given to him in heaven 
 and on earth, would not be less availing, — that he com- 
 mended them, for the last time on earth, to the keeping of 
 their heavenly Father, and poured forth that fulness of bless- 
 ing, which none but a nature like his could either conceive 
 or impart. 
 
 We may be assured that it was no faint or measured bless- 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 223 
 
 ing which he pronounced, as he lifted up his hand and 
 blessed them, — that it extended to all that their necessities 
 would require, and to all which Divine fulness could impart 
 to meet and to supply them, — that it reached all, and more 
 than all, that they themselves might have considered indis- 
 pensable for their well-being in time and through eternity. 
 And coming, as it did, from him, who has power to com- 
 mand that blessing, which we can only supplicate and wait 
 on God to receive, either for ourselves or for others, it was 
 to them the assurance that it should abundantly rest upon 
 them, and that it should be with them fully and unchange- 
 ably, according to his word. 
 
 The Evangelist tells us, that it was while thus employed, 
 — meet employment, you will say, for him who had come 
 into this world, bringing with him the richest blessings, and 
 who did not quit it without leaviiig a blessing behind ! — it 
 was while thus employed, and while almost unwilling, as it 
 were, to separate from those for whom his heart was at this 
 moment so full, that he was parted from them, and carried 
 up into heaven. The same Evangelist, however, elsewhere 
 informs us, — what we might perhaps be warranted to infer, 
 from the language of our text, though it is not expressly 
 declared by it, — that this ascent was visible, — that they were 
 permitted to watch his gradual elevation, until a cloud re- 
 ceived him out of their sight, — that so impressive and im- 
 posing was the spectacle, that they continued gazing up to 
 heaven, even after the bright vision had passed away, and 
 were only recalled to their real situation by two men, — two 
 angels, — who stood by them in white apparel, — who in- 
 quired why they gazed thus intently up into heaven. As 
 much as this is, indeed, implied in the fact stated in the 
 text, that they worshipped him, or paid him Divine honours ; 
 such an act of worship being the peculiar and appropriate 
 expression of their feelings on such a manifestation of his 
 Divine power and majesty. And it was thus, in circum- 
 stances calculated to give weight to all the declarations 
 
224 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 which he had made of the glory which he had with the Fa- 
 ther before the world was, and of that glory which now 
 awaited him at the right hand of the Father, — in circum- 
 stances that brought almost sensibly before them the truth of 
 his exaltation, and which were well fitted to inspire the faith, 
 and animate the hope of his disciples, that he quitted that 
 world of which he had been for a season the inhabitant, — to 
 which he had been introduced by ministering angels, pro- 
 claiming peace on earth and good-will to men, — to whose 
 interests his life had been one scene of continued devoted- 
 ness, and which he had not in presence forsaken, till he had 
 accomplished for it a work by which it would be redeemed 
 from the bondage of corruption ; and its children, once afar 
 off from God, and strangers to the covenant of promise, 
 would be brought near and reconciled. 
 
 It would be impossible for us, even in imagination, to fol- 
 low the Saviour to those realms of light whither he now 
 ascended as a Conqueror, or to conceive the honour, with 
 which he would be met, who, during the scene of his deep 
 humiliation, had been the object of so intense an interest to 
 the heavenly host, and who had travailed for the perfect- 
 ing a scheme of grace so amazing to the inhabitants of hea- 
 ven, that even they desired to look into it, — to conceive with 
 what profound submission he would be received, who was 
 now to sit for ever, far above all principality and power, and 
 every name that is named, not only in this world, but in the 
 world to come, — and with what harmonious feelings he would 
 be greeted to the honours of his kingdom, in whom, and in 
 whose work, the Father had ever felt so intense and de- 
 lighted a complacency. 
 
 It will better become us, instead of attempting to pursue 
 a subject so far exceeding all our apprehensions, — to attend 
 for a little to the condition of the disciples now bereaved of 
 the presence and instructions of a beloved master, and to the 
 feelings which they experienced and manifested, as they re- 
 turned from witnessing a scene, calculated, for a time at 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 225 
 
 least, to make them lose every consideration of themselves in 
 the view of that glory to which they had all but seen the 
 Saviour exalted. 
 
 We have already had occasion to advert to the state of 
 their minds at the moment when the ascension of their Master 
 took place ; and it was no other, indeed, than we should have 
 ourselves experienced, had we been the spectators of such a 
 scene. To have beheld one with whom we were discoursing, 
 and whilst in the very act of blessing us, gradually elevated 
 into heaven, — one with whom we had been so long familiar 
 as the disciples had been with Jesus, and who had so often 
 told them that he should leave them and go to the Father, — 
 to have witnessed an exertion of Divine power so incontest- 
 ible, and so glorious, and so far exceeding any anticipations 
 which we might have formed, — had constrained any of us all 
 into the posture which they assumed, and had made us feel 
 and own the power of one who was no less than Divine. And 
 to have seen all this take place in the case of one who had ma- 
 nifested the love and condescension in our well-being which 
 the Redeemer had done in theirs, and with whom we were in 
 any like way connected, had unquestionably absorbed every 
 feeling that might have regarded ourselves, and concentrated 
 our whole souls on him who was thus entering in triumph 
 the invisible world ; and it might have been with some diffi- 
 culty, therefore, that we had been recalled to the reality of 
 our situation, and brought back to earth again from those 
 spiritual regions which, for a moment, we might have con- 
 ceived that we were entering along with him. 
 
 When we are told, accordingly, that, on seeing the ascent 
 of Jesus into heaven, the disciples worshipped him ;— when 
 we read in the Acts of the Apostles, that they continued to 
 gaze up into heaven, even after he had passed into a region 
 which it was beyond their vision to penetrate, — that, when a 
 cloud received him out of their sight, they still stood, if, by 
 possibility, they might catch another glimpse of his person, 
 or receive another token of his love ; and that they were so 
 insensible to every other object, that it was only the ad- 
 
 p 
 
226 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 dress of the angels, — " Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye 
 gazing up into heaven ? — This same Jesus, who is taken up 
 from you into heaven, shall so come, in like manner, as ye 
 have seen him go into heaven," — which recalled them to the 
 feeling of their situation, — we see only the impression which 
 we might have expected to be wrought by such a scene, 
 even on minds differently affected in many respects to the 
 Saviour from those of the disciples. And, even when we 
 read of the feelings with which they returned to Jerusalem, 
 and of their entire superiority to the circumstances of be- 
 reavement in which they were placed, as if they had no 
 more to do with this world, and were as far elevated above 
 it as their divinely-exalted Master, — we only see an effect 
 which has been exhibited by some in the most trying and 
 painful situations, when sorrow has been brightened by a 
 prospect in some degree resembling this, and when God has 
 consecrated the most painful of all separations from earthly 
 friends and relatives into an occasion of gratitude and praise 
 for his mercy to their souls. 
 
 It was not to be expected that the impressions of such an 
 event would, or could be easily lost ; — that the disciples 
 could again return to this world as unaffected as if they had 
 never witnessed it, or that they could avoid dwelling upon 
 a scene, every circumstance of which was so full of the deep- 
 est and most solemn interest. We do not wonder, there- 
 fore, to find them for some little time, rapt in spirit, like 
 men who discerned an object to which others were insen- 
 sible. The impression made on their minds, however, and 
 the feelings which they manifested, were obviously far deeper 
 than those which may, in some degree, be evinced by such as 
 are ignorant of their peculiar character. It is said, not 
 merely that they returned to Jerusalem with great joy, but 
 that they were continually in the Temple, blessing and prais- 
 ing God ; that this was, at least, their regular and familiar 
 occupation. And it affords a striking example of the power 
 of faith in supporting the mind, even in the most painful 
 circumstances, that they who had sustained at this moment 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 22/ 
 
 a loss beyond what we can easily reckon, should have been 
 so lifted above it, as to find no room for the indulgence or 
 expression of any other feelings than those of gratitude and 
 praise. 
 
 The connexion which had subsisted between the disciples 
 and our Lord was of a nature to which there never was a 
 parallel in this world. He had been to them what no earthly 
 friend can ever be to any of us, and their intercourse had been 
 so wonderful, so gracious, and so long continued, as to have 
 served to draw out their hearts in numberless ways towards 
 him. Whilst all his tenderness must have been heightened 
 in their view by the rank and character which he bore, — 
 whilst they must have felt all his actions awakening in them 
 a reverence which they could never cease to entertain, — he 
 had at the same time manifested such an interest in their 
 welfare, such a condescension to their infirmities, and such a 
 patience in dealing with their perversity, as must have drawn 
 out their affections toward him, even though he had not been 
 the Son of God. They had seen so Divine a wisdom in all 
 the admonitions and instructions which he had given them, 
 as must have led them to hang on him for counsel and guid- 
 ance. During the years in which he had been with them, 
 he had admitted them at all times to his presence and to his 
 teaching ; he had not merely received them, but treated 
 them as friends ; he had opened their minds and their un- 
 derstandings, as they were able to bear it, to his character 
 and will ; he had revealed truths so important as to have 
 changed to them the whole aspect of the Divine dispensa- 
 tions ; and in all that concerns the character, and excites the 
 hope, and satisfies the hearts, of human beings, they found 
 themselves as different, through the intercourse which they 
 had maintained with Christ, as if he had communicated to 
 them a new existence. It is impossible, therefore, that they 
 could have been conscious of these things without feeling 
 their hearts knit to one to whom they were indebted for all ; 
 or that they could, in ordinary circumstances, have contem- 
 plated a separation from Jesus, without feelings of the most 
 
228 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 painful nature. In fact, so often as our Lord had adverted 
 to this subject, and so often as they allowed their minds fully 
 to embrace the truth which he stated, they were well nigh 
 overwhelmed by it. When he told them for the first time 
 of his sufferings and death, they were, we are informed, ex- 
 ceeding sorry, as much for their own sakes, I doubt not, as 
 for his. When he told them more plainly, that he was to go 
 to the Father, sorrow filled their hearts ; even the assurance 
 that it was expedient for them that he should go away, — for 
 if he went not away, the Comforter could not come to them, 
 — does not appear to have satisfied them, and they still felt 
 a longing desire to detain him. And yet, when the hour of 
 trial and separation came, — when they saw their Master 
 mount up into heaven, — when they were assured by the an- 
 gels who stood by, that he would not return till his second 
 and glorious re-appearance, — and when all this took place at 
 the very time at which the separation must have been judged 
 most painful, — after his resurrection, and when they had 
 seen him only at occasional intervals, — so far were they from 
 grieving for his departure, or yielding themselves up to an 
 unavailing sorrow, that they returned to Jerusalem with great 
 joy, and were continually in the temple blessing and praising 
 God, — just as if they had been already called to share his 
 triumph, and for ever exempted from the sorrows, the trials, 
 and the difficulties, of the coming of which he had so often 
 and so solemnly warned them. 
 
 There is no one, I think, who must not have been struck 
 with the expressions, at such a time, of such feelings by the 
 disciples, especially when he contrasts them with the very 
 different feelings which the mere anticipation of the event 
 that had befallen them had so often called forth. And there 
 is no one, at the same time, who may not see how this dif- 
 ference must have arisen from the enlarged views which they 
 had now received of the character and work of the Saviour, 
 and from the firmer faith and confidence with which they 
 rested in the truth of all that he had revealed to them. Fully 
 persuaded now of his Divinity, — assured that he was the Son 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 229 
 
 of God with power, by his resurrection from the dead, — con- 
 vinced, by evidence almost sensible, that he had come from 
 God and went to God, and that he was exalted to be the 
 head over all things to his people, — satisfied of his power, 
 and grace, and faithfulness, and that, go where he might, 
 and reign where he might, he could never cease to feel inte- 
 rested in the work which he had committed to them, and 
 that he would, according to his own promise, be with them 
 always, even to the end of the world, — there was something 
 in these truths calculated to remove the painfullness of their 
 separation from him, and to make them feel, what was indeed 
 most true, that, though removed in bodily presence, he had 
 neither left nor forsaken them. And persuaded as they were, 
 at the same time, that he had only gone away to receive a 
 kingdom, and to return, — that he had withdrawn for a little, 
 because regard to their interests required him to go, — but that 
 he would come again, and take them to himself, to be with 
 him where he was, to behold his glory, — and that, meanwhile, 
 he would send the Holy Spirit to be their guide and com- 
 forter, — there was something in these prospects so ennobling 
 and exalting as to lift them above the depression which they 
 had otherwise felt. The remembrance of the scenes through 
 which they had passed with him, instead of seeming merely to 
 remind them of pleasures which were for ever removed, when 
 seen in the new light which he had cast over all their con- 
 nexion, tended only to exalt their gratitude and their praise. 
 And, like men to whom not a single desire had been left un- 
 satisfied, and whose fondest wishes had been more than ex- 
 ceeded in the grace of which they had been the objects, they 
 could only find utterance to their feelings in those ascrip- 
 tions of praise and blessing, which they failed not to present 
 continually in the house devoted to his name. 
 
 I might at this point enlarge on the example which is here 
 given us of the nature and power of faith, in circumstances 
 calculated to awaken the most desponding feelings ; and I 
 might point out to you that, with all the peculiarity of the 
 situation in which the Apostles were placed, the same truths, 
 
230 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 in all that is essential, are brought near to you, to be received 
 and rested on for your peace and consolation ; and that they 
 are equally fitted to be to you, and will be found by you, 
 should you make them your confidence, all that they were 
 to the disciples ; communicating support amidst the trials of 
 life ; fortifying you against the temptations that may assail 
 you ; animating you, as they did them, for its dvities ; and, in 
 the midst of weakness, making you strong. And that the 
 feelings which possessed them at this moment were not the 
 effect of any strong yet passing impression, I might show you 
 from their after history ; and how, as their situation has been 
 described by one who, though not of their number at the time, 
 was afterwards numbered with them, " They were troubled 
 on every side, but not distressed ; persecuted, but not for- 
 saken ; cast down, but not destroyed ; alway bearing about 
 in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also 
 of Jesus might be made manifest in their mortal body." 
 
 There is an application, however, of which this part of the 
 history is equally susceptible, bearing more nearly upon our 
 circumstances at this time, and to which I shall confine your 
 attention. I consider the feelings of the disciples at this 
 moment as the result, under God, not of the scene which 
 they had immediately witnessed, — the ascension of their 
 Master, — or of the converse which he had immediately held 
 with them, so much as the result of their attendance on the 
 whole course of the Saviour's ministry ; as the result of all 
 those varied instructions and admonitions which they had 
 received from him in the course of a long and intimate con- 
 nexion ; and as evincing that they had now reached, in some 
 degree, that point to which all his previous teaching had been 
 designed to lead them, and which every part had had its own 
 share in producing. And though the situation and privi- 
 leges of the disciples have been in many respects superior to 
 ours, I may yet consider the opportunities which we have 
 enjoyed of hearing the words of Christ, as holy men have 
 recorded them, and of having had the various scenes of his 
 ministry brought in this way, and almost uninterruptedly, to 
 
DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 231 
 
 our remembrance, as in some degree approximating our si- 
 tuation to theirs. And, now that our illustrations of this 
 Evangelist are drawing to a close, it is right and proper that 
 we should ask ourselves how far, by the Divine blessing, the 
 result has been the same as in the case of the disciples, and 
 how far we are in possession of that faith in the Saviour, 
 which fits us to rejoice and bless God along with them ? 
 
 In this attendance on the ministry of Christ, — for such it 
 may be called, in so far as it has brought before us the words 
 of Christ, — and in which I trust that I have ever sought to 
 feel myself a disciple as much as any of you, — privileged, 
 no doubt, by my situation to wait continually on this very 
 thing, but still needing, as much as any of you, to learn of 
 Christ, — we have been permitted to follow him together 
 through the most impressive scenes of his history. We have 
 heard him speak as never man spake, — we have all but seen 
 those miracles which declared him to be the Son of God, — 
 we have listened to the testimonies which he gave to his 
 character, and power, and grace, — we have been addressed 
 and urged from his own mouth to repent and believe the 
 Gospel, — we have passed with him through the scene of his 
 agony and humiliation, and, without any great interruption, 
 from his entrance on the work of the ministry up to the time 
 of his ascension, — we have followed him through his various 
 wanderings, and been privileged, almost as much as the 
 disciples, to enter the scene of his deepest privacy and de- 
 votion. 
 
 What we should all be disposed to ask ourselves, there- 
 fore, is, Whether, in our waiting upon him, which may be 
 considered in this way as drawing to a close, as the disciples 
 closed their personal intercourse with Christ on his ascen- 
 sion, — we have any thing that survives, as they had, when 
 their Master was removed from them ? Whether that Savi- 
 our, who ever liveth in his Word, has been transplanted 
 from that Word to live in our hearts ? And whether, as 
 the result of all that we have read and heard of his person 
 and grace, we find him indeed to be the joy and the strength 
 
232 DISCOURSE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 of our hearts, to whom we have committed, in the confi- 
 dence that he will keep it, the most precious of all deposits, 
 against the great day. 
 
 If this has not been in any measure the case, — if our 
 hearts have remained cold and unaffected, — if we have fol- 
 lowed our blessed Lord through his life, and witnessed him in 
 death, without any thing beyond a passing impression, — O ! 
 how different are our minds from those of the disciples, as 
 they returned to Jerusalem with great joy, blessing and 
 praising God ! How grievous and sinful must be that indif- 
 ference which has never once been broken by those very 
 scenes that so truly changed their characters and touched 
 their hearts ! And how fearful the condemnation, if that 
 very Saviour, who has come near to us, and permitted us 
 thus to wait upon him, for the purpose of communicating to 
 our souls the richest and most precious of all consolations, 
 has ascended from us, and been suffered to leave us, with- 
 out having once arrested us in the search of earthly good, 
 fixed our affections, or turned our footsteps to the mansions 
 of his heavenly kingdom ! 
 
 If, on the other hand, we have found him to be to us 
 what he was to the disciples ; if, in surveying the scenes of 
 his life together, we have found our hearts burn within us ; 
 if we have received through him the pearl of unspeakable 
 price, — that treasure, the which when a man findeth, he 
 goeth and selleth all that he hath, that he may buy it ; then 
 I need not say, that your feelings will be, in some degree, 
 similar to those of the disciples ; that you are in posses- 
 sion of something which can reconcile us to all earthly pri- 
 vations and separations, assured that he abideth faithful ; 
 and which, if retained and cherished in our hearts, will 
 preserve us steadfast and immovable, — always abounding 
 in the work of the Lord, and looking for the blessed hope 
 and the glorious appearance of the great God, and our Sa- 
 viour, Jesus Christ. 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH.* 
 
 Hebrews, vii. 24. — But this man, because he continueth ever, hath 
 an unchangeable priesthood. 
 
 Of the institutions of the Jewish law, that of the priesthood 
 was one of the most prominent ; and one of those which 
 most readily occurs to us, as visibly distinguishing it from 
 the clearer and more perfect dispensations that followed. 
 
 To minister in the work and service of the sanctuary, 
 God was pleased to select one tribe out of the twelve into 
 which the nation was divided. From amongst that tribe 
 again he chose a single family, in which the office of the 
 priesthood was to be hereditary, — the family of Aaron ; and 
 to this family, peculiarly and exclusively, throughout their 
 generations, belonged the high honour of approaching God, 
 in the service of the Tabernacle ; of presenting the offerings 
 of his people, that they might receive the Divine accept- 
 ance ; and of acting as the medium of communication be- 
 tween a holy God and his creatures, — ever offending, and 
 ever requiring therefore to be purified from sin. 
 
 You will readily perceive the glory and the dignity of an 
 institution which derived its authority and its rights imme- 
 diately from God himself; which was fenced by him from 
 all profane intrusion, by the most solemn and awful sanc- 
 
 * Concluding Sermon at Stockbridge Chapel. 
 

 234 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 tions ; with which was combined the exclusive possession 
 and exercise of those privileges that may be supposed the 
 peculiar marks of the Divine favour and regard ; and which 
 gave to a single family in Israel a name as much exalted 
 above their brethren in outward sanctity, as they again were 
 exalted above the nations around them. The priesthood 
 was chosen out of a people who, compared with those on 
 whom God had bestowed no such tokens of his loving-kind- 
 ness and tender mercy, are called a holy nation, and a na- 
 tion of priests ; whose land was secured to them as a Di- 
 vine inheritance ; who were under the peculiar care and pro- 
 tection of Divine power ; permitted a nearness of access 
 into the Divine presence which was denied to ordinary wor- 
 shippers ; honoured to bear the offerings and the supplica- 
 tions of God's people to the mercy-seat, and to transact, 
 in their name, with God, in all those solemn matters on 
 which sinful creatures need ever to approach the Divine 
 footstool. 
 
 The Jewish priesthood must have seemed stamped by 
 God with something of the mystery of his own nature ; and 
 singled out to see and behold such things of the power and 
 glory of God as others were only to hear reported from 
 those who were privileged to enter within the veil, there 
 would be a peculiar sanctity attached to them, qualified to 
 secure the reverence of every Israelite. To them were 
 alone unveiled those glories which were hidden, under the 
 penalty of death, from every profaner eye ; they could 
 alone look on that cloud, the symbol of the Divine presence, 
 shadowing the mercy-seat ; they could alone hear those 
 words which God uttered from between the cherubims ; 
 and, though never for a moment permitted to forget how 
 unworthy they were to enter so holy a presence, their 
 hands alone might shed and sprinkle that blood which, 
 when offered in the faith of a nobler sacrifice, was to make 
 an atonement for sin. 
 
 Such was the glory of the priesthood under the law, and when 
 the way into the holiest of all had not yet been made manifest. 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 235 
 
 Independently, however, of all other circumstances which be- 
 tokened the innate weakness of that priesthood, and its insuf- 
 ficiency to meet the wants of sinners, and all those marks of 
 imperfection that adhered to it in common with every other 
 part of the economy to which it belonged, — for " the law made 
 nothing perfect," we are told, " but the bringing in of a 
 better hope, whereby we draw near to God," — it wanted one 
 thing essential to our highest conceptions of dignity and 
 greatness, and that was permanence. Contemplating it in 
 all that glory which it unquestionably possessed, it was still 
 a glory that was soon to pass away ; it was soon to give'place 
 to another priesthood, before which it was no more to be re- 
 membered, and from which, indeed, it borrowed the highest 
 dignity which it possessed ; and, in common with the other 
 institutions of a dispensation which was only the shadow of 
 good things to come, whilst the body was of Christ, it had 
 served its original design and purpose, when the contempla- 
 tion of the believing Israelite was fixed, not upon itself, but, 
 through it, upon that nobler priesthood to which it was in- 
 troductory. The light by which it shone was, after all, only 
 reflected ; it was like the feeble light of dawn, which owes 
 its existence to that luminary in whose fuller blaze it is soon 
 to be lost ; it served, at best, to guide the foot of an inquirer 
 after God, like a light shining in a dark place, till the 
 day had dawned, and the day-star had arisen. And then, 
 when the fulness of time had come, and blood was shed ade- 
 quate to the blotting out of all sin, and the way into the ho- 
 liest was made manifest by the death of Jesus, He was re- 
 vealed as the one advocate and mediator with the Father ; 
 the sacrifice ceased to be offered, the fire was extinguished, 
 and the altar crumbled into dust ; and, before his eternal and 
 unchangeable priesthood, the priesthood of Aaron passed 
 away like a useless and forgotten thing, having now no 
 glory, by reason of the glory that excelleth. 
 
 It is this circumstance, that the one was permanent and 
 the other temporary, — the one the end, whilst the other was 
 only the means introductory to the end, — which constitutes 
 
236 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 one striking point of difference between the priesthood of 
 Christ and the priesthood of Aaron ; and which you arc pre- 
 pared to expect, so soon as you know, that the one presented 
 those offerings which could never of themselves take away 
 sin, whilst the other, by one offering, perfected for ever them 
 that are sanctified ; that the one ministered on earth, whilst 
 the other ministered in heaven. 
 
 Independently, however, of the inherent weakness of the 
 Jewish priesthood, considered as a priesthood which was soon 
 to pass away, it is obvious that, so long as human beings 
 ministered at the altar, it must have partaken of that change- 
 able nature, from which no human institution, and no insti- 
 tution even with which men are connected, can ever be ex- 
 empted. Though called upon to discharge an office which 
 brought them every day most intimately into the presence of 
 him who is ever the same, they still retained the frailties and 
 infirmities of our fallen nature. They were not exempted 
 from sin, of their liability to which they were, indeed, ever 
 reminded, in being required to make an atonement for their 
 own sins, before they made atonement for the sins of the 
 people ; they were as little exempted from the sentence pro- 
 nounced against sin ; they met, as others, that wo in which 
 the first transgression hath involved the successive genera- 
 tions of the children of men ; and, separated as they might 
 be from others in the honours of a high priestly station, they 
 were, nevertheless, one with them in being the heirs of mor- 
 tality and corruption. Death, that levels and confounds all 
 human distinctions, spared as little the priest as the people. 
 The power that had fenced his office from all profane intru- 
 sion, had not fenced his person from the intrusion of this 
 terrible visitant. Whilst one generation of worshippers 
 after another presented themselves at the Tabernacle or the 
 Temple, one generation after another saw other men standing 
 to minister in the sanctuary, and other hands than those 
 which had at first lighted it, fanning the holy fire on the 
 altar. Whilst the same appearances were maintained, the 
 same sacrifices offered, and the same solemnities observed 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 237 
 
 in drawing near to the Divine presence, and men possessed 
 of the same priestly character trod the sacred courts, and 
 every thing gave token of permanence and stability, the 
 men who used aforetime to minister before the Lord had 
 given way to others, in their turn to be succeeded by men 
 equally subject to the lot of mortality. Priest succeeding 
 priest served his generation, and by the will of God fell 
 on sleep, and saw corruption ; and, as if God had been 
 to give in their persons the most affecting demonstration of 
 the vanity, even of the best and most honourable of all hu- 
 man greatness, the very men who were permitted more 
 intimate access to God than others, who acted as the me- 
 dium between the sensible world which we inhabit, and the 
 spiritual and eternal world which no eye hath ever seen, and 
 who were invested with a high and unapproachable sanctity, 
 faded away like others before the breath of the Almighty, 
 and left their name and their glory to be inherited by their 
 children. 
 
 Such was, and such, according to the ordinance of God, 
 behoved to be the condition of the Jewish priesthood, so long 
 as men ministered in the sanctuary. They were many priests, 
 as the Apostle says, because they were not suffered to con- 
 tinue, by reason of death. We therefore find that in de- 
 nominating, in opposition to theirs, the priesthood of Christ 
 unchangeable, or which passes not from one to another, — 
 which remains ever vested in the same hands, — the Apostle 
 founds this fact upon Christ's possessing a perpetuity of ex- 
 istence, denied to the men under the law ; and this change 
 upon the constitution of our great high-priest under the 
 Gospel we are prepared to expect, so soon as we know how 
 he was named and appointed to the office which he now dis- 
 charges for his church and people. 
 
 He came, descended of no priestly family, and making no 
 claim to respect from his connexion with the house of 
 Aaron. Like that mysterious person, whose priesthood was 
 typical of his own, and who, because he derived his office 
 from none, and left it to none, as did the priests under the 
 
 9 
 
238 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Jaw, is said to have been " without father, without mother, 
 and without descent, having neither beginning of days nor 
 end of years," the Son of man was ushered into the world 
 a priest of a new character, — the first and the last of his 
 priestly line, — " made not after the law of a carnal command- 
 ment, but after the power of an endless life," — exempted 
 from the sinfulness, he was also exempted from the sentence 
 which hath gone forth against all men, because all have sin- 
 ned,— death, that claimed a right over every descendant of 
 Adam, had no authority over him, who, though of the race 
 of Adam, was yet in his humanity the Son of God. And, 
 though he submitted for a season to its dominion, it was not 
 able to hold him ; he had power to lay down his life, and he 
 had power to take it up again ; and there was no reason in 
 his case, as the Apostle in this chapter has not failed to 
 state, why, having been once constituted to appear in the 
 presence of God for us, his priesthood should ever cease, or 
 ever be demitted into other hands. Having, therefore, of- 
 fered himself on earth a sacrifice to God, the efficiency of 
 which ever abideth, he passed into the holy place, — even 
 into heaven itself, having wrought out eternal redemption, 
 — there to present that one offering whereby he hath for 
 ever perfected them that are sanctified ; and infinitely re- 
 moved from the casualty of human things, there to exercise 
 the functions of a priesthood, eternal and unchangeable as 
 the nature of Him of whom it is said that he ever liveth. 
 
 You will easily perceive that it is to this point that the 
 language of the Apostle in the text peculiarly restricts our 
 attention. There are many other points in which the glory 
 of the Saviour's priesthood might be exhibited by contrast 
 with the glory of the priesthood under the law ; in his so- 
 lemn inauguration into the office by the oath of God himself; 
 in the virtue and efficiency of that sacrifice which he of- 
 fered, compared with the blood which could never take away 
 sin ; and in the glory and dignity of that sanctuary at which 
 he ministers, — not in the holy place, made with hands, which 
 is the figure of the true, but in heaven itself, where he hath 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 239 
 
 appeared in the presence of God for us. In those and 
 other points which might be named, the superior dignity of 
 the Saviour's priesthood is apparent. But not less worthy 
 of our grateful consideration, as that which unites all toge- 
 ther, and gives stability to all, is the truth that this priest- 
 hood is unchangeable, — that, whilst the men who ministered 
 in the sanctuary on earth served their brief day, and then 
 passed away, and were gathered to their fathers, his mini- 
 strations possessed the permanence of his own eternity ; and 
 that so long as a priest shall be needed to meet the daily 
 sins and shortcomings of his people, he remains in every at- 
 tribute that can render the ministrations of such an high- 
 priest in our behalf either precious or desirable, — Jesus 
 Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. 
 
 In considering the declaration which the Apostle has 
 made, it is obvious that its importance is to be estimated by 
 the relation which it bears to other parts of the Christian 
 system, which are intimately connected with the peace and the 
 hopes of sinful beings ; and that it serves, not so much to bring 
 before us any new quality of the Saviour's priesthood, as to 
 commend a truth concerning it, which exalts and enlarges 
 our views of all that we have known before. When I say of 
 any thing, that it is unchangeable, the amount of the infor- 
 mation which I communicate about it, simply is, that it will 
 continue to be what it now is. When the Apostle says, 
 that Christ's priesthood is unchangeable, he merely declares, 
 that in his priestly office he will continue to be what he has 
 been and now is, — he merely gives to all his functions the 
 stamp of permanence. To know its value, therefore, we re- 
 quire to know what the nature and importance of these func- 
 tions are ; and every one who has felt his own necessities as 
 a sinner, and the need of a mediator, by whom he may draw 
 near to God, may be able to see why such a priesthood as 
 this should be required to meet his wants, and may be able 
 to discern abundant reason for gratitude in the truth, that 
 this man, even Christ, because he continueth ever, should 
 possess a priesthood which shall never pass away from him. 
 
240 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 The priesthood of Christ, indeed, is a doctrine in itself so 
 momentous, that on it may be said to rest the whole struc- 
 ture of the Gospel. It was in virtue of this office that the 
 Son of God offered that sacrifice, — the offering of which con- 
 stitutes the only ground on which any sinner can have con- 
 fidence toward God, or can expect forgiveness at the hand 
 of God. It was as a priest before God, and by presenting 
 himself to God as an offering of a sweet-smelling savour, 
 that he manifested the harmony of the Divine attributes in 
 the scheme of redemption, — that perfect consistency of infi- 
 nite holiness and purity in the exercise of the freest mercy, 
 which can alone communicate peace to a conscience enlight- 
 ened as to the evil and demerit of all sin ; and it is the 
 truth that we have such a mediator and advocate with the 
 Father, even Jesus Christ the righteous, that can alone em- 
 bolden any, — the holiest of us all, ever needing forgiveness, 
 and ever unworthy to approach unto God, — to do so in the 
 faith, that notwithstanding all our sins he waiteth to be gra- 
 cious. 
 
 In presenting the requests which we may require to pre- 
 fer one to another, we may find many topics by which to 
 urge and support our plea. We may have something like a 
 claim upon the person with whom it rests to grant it ; we 
 have, at any rate, the feeling that, little as we may have 
 benefited, we have not injured him ; and the identity of his 
 situation with ours forms of itself some encouragement in 
 urging it. But, when passing from men like ourselves to 
 him who is in himself so far above us, and whom we have, 
 by our iniquities, removed to such an infinite distance 
 from us, — from those on whom we have a claim, to him 
 on whom we can never have any, — and from those whom 
 we may never have offended, or who may have, at any 
 rate, sinful infirmities of their own, to make them tender in 
 dealing with another's sins, to that God, in whose sight even 
 the very heavens are not clean, and whose justice we have 
 provoked in numberless ways by our iniquities, — O, it is not 
 these, — it is not these things, if we know God aright, or know 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 241 
 
 ourselves aright, it is not the decencies of our own charac- 
 ter, or the place that we may hold among our fellows, or the 
 esteem that the world may have of us, or the esteem which at 
 another time we may be ready to have of ourselves, that can 
 communicate any confidence in approaching God, — but the 
 truth, that God has opened a way consistently with his own 
 perfections through the blood of a spotless sacrifice. Every 
 thing, therefore, that touches or affects the stability of that 
 way of access to God, touches a point as virtually important 
 as the stability and the permanence of that hope, without 
 which I must either be truly miserable, or fearfully blinded 
 to the danger that threatens me. It is to this truth that the 
 Apostle bears witness, so often as he speaks of the priest- 
 hood of Christ. He tells us that Jesus Christ has been 
 constituted of God the very mediator whom we require, — 
 that whilst possessing all that identity of nature and feeling 
 with ourselves which fits him to have compassion on the ig- 
 norant, and on those that are out of the way, he possessed, 
 at the same time, what no priest on earth ever possessed, a 
 power of interceding with God, which will never be refused, 
 because resting on the basis of his divinely-accepted and all- 
 sufficient sacrifice ; and that, uniting in himself a Divine and 
 human nature, he stands forth, not less fitted from the con- 
 stitution of his person, than from the work which he has 
 accomplished, to mediate between God and man. And no- 
 thing more could be required to render him the very person 
 whom our spiritual necessities require, than to be assured that 
 this office which he now discharges he will continue to dis- 
 charge for us, — that he, who has proved himself, of all others, 
 most deeply interested in our welfare, should carry on to the 
 end the work which he has begun, — and that, amidst the 
 changes which are continually affecting all human things, 
 but which reach not the sanctuary at which he ministers, his 
 office and character as priest over the household of God shall 
 never pass away. 
 
 In this view, the unchangeableness of Christ's priesthood, 
 though communicating, as I have already said, no new 
 
2J-2 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 truth concerning its nature or its functions, contains the 
 assurance of the stability and permanence of that gracious 
 economy over which he presides. It is virtually an assur- 
 ance that, by constituting him unchangeable, the way to 
 God by his death cannot and will not be changed, — that 
 the efficacy of that sacrifice which he offered, and still pre- 
 sents to God, continues, and will for ever continue the 
 same, — that his intercession in behalf of all who come to 
 God by him, remains, and will for ever remain, equally pre- 
 valent, — and that, in every quality which fits him to dis- 
 charge for us the most needful and gracious of all offices, 
 he is, and will ever be, the same merciful and faithful high- 
 priest. 
 
 On the glory and dignity of an office, not the least ho- 
 nourable of those which the Saviour discharges for sinful 
 men, and which bears particular reference to their condition 
 as sinners, I shall not at this time enlarge. Of this, how- 
 ever, you must be sensible, that it exceeds, in this very 
 view, all the glory that we see around us, — that the mere 
 fact of its being unchangeable, marks it with a character 
 which belongs to no earthly priesthood, and to no earthly 
 dignity, — and that, if it be that very character of heaven 
 which would perhaps strike our minds most forcibly were 
 we cai'ried thither, that every thing there is unchangeable, 
 and all moving on as God has placed it, without the disor- 
 der and the confusion incident to human things, — so the 
 very character of him who has there appeared in the pre- 
 sence of God for us, which would also strike us most forci- 
 bly, would be this, that he ever liveth to make intercession, 
 and that his ministrations possess the stability and perpe- 
 tuity of his own Divine nature. Nor is this more glorious 
 to himself than needful and indispensable to us. It places, 
 and it is the only truth that can place, the hope of a sinner 
 on a foundation that will never be moved. It connects the 
 dearest of all interests with something that is in itself un- 
 changeable ; and it gives, for the security of him who has 
 cast anchor within the veil, those two immutable things in 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 243 
 
 which it is impossible for God to lie. Never, then, can 
 you come too humbly confident into the Divine presence ; 
 never can you feel too secure of the freeness of the access ; 
 and never can you rest too implicitly in the value and the 
 efficacy of the provided ransom, if it be true, as our text de- 
 clares, that he who is himself the way by whom we are to 
 approach, never changeth ; and if, in virtue of the sacrifice 
 which he offered, and of the life which he has received, he 
 possesses and exercises the functions of an unchangeable 
 priesthood. 
 
 We have already seen, in the observations to which the lan- 
 guage of the Apostle in the context has led us, how such a 
 priesthood contrasts with that under the law. It contrasts no 
 less strikingly, however, with the visible administration of 
 things under the Gospel ; and there may be few subjects to the 
 contemplation of which we need to raise our minds more fre- 
 quently, or which is fitted to be more edifying, than to the 
 consideration, that, amidst all the changes which may be 
 every day occurring, all that is most precious and indispen- 
 sable for our spiritual interests, is placed beyond the reach 
 of those casualties from which no human thing is exempted. 
 It is difficult for us, living in a world such as that we dwell 
 in, to form a distinct conception of the title which the 
 Apostle applies to the Saviour's priesthood ; and there may 
 be few ideas with which our minds are less familiar by ex- 
 perience than that of unchangeableness. The aspect of the 
 world in which we dwell bears indications that it is subject 
 to corruption and decay, — the human beings around us, 
 like the priests of old, are not suffered to continue, by reason 
 of death, — the scenes on which we look, — the society in 
 which we move, — and the connexions which we form, are 
 ever changing and ever requiring to be renewed ; and if 
 there be a single object which we have in imagination in- 
 vested with permanence, it is more than probable that this 
 is the very object of which we shall be made first to feel the 
 instability. In this situation I know not any thing about 
 the Saviour which should endear him more to us, or lead us 
 
244 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 to cleave more closely to him, than that he is unchangeable ; 
 or any thing that should excite a deeper thankfulness in our 
 minds than this, that let every other thing pass as it may, 
 he can never, for a single moment, be affected by the va- 
 nity of earthly things; and that every interest that is com- 
 mitted to him, and every hope that is built upon him, pos- 
 sesses the permanence and the stability of his own un- 
 changeable priesthood. 
 
 I would be understood, however, as pressing the value 
 and importance of these truths, especially in the view of 
 those changes which may affect the administration of the 
 Gospel, though they cannot affect the Gospel itself; and as 
 calculated to relieve our minds from that feeling of uncer- 
 tainty and instability which such changes are ready to occa- 
 sion. Though it is not now the case that any order of men 
 are constituted priests before God, — though the truth that 
 Christ's priesthood is unchangeable removes the necessity for 
 any such appointment, — and though our office, as ministers 
 of the Gospel, is in many respects different from theirs who 
 presented the offerings of God's people, and acted as inter- 
 cessors with God in their behalf; yet, for extending the 
 knowledge of his salvation amongst men, — for bearing tes- 
 timony to his truth in the world, — and for the edifying of 
 the Church, which is his body, there has been, in every 
 age of the Church, men peculiarly constituted, — men who 
 are called to address you in the name and by the authority 
 of God, and to whose ministrations he has promised and 
 has given his peculiar sanction and blessing. Placed in 
 such a situation, and appointed to address men on subjects 
 that respect their eternal interests, — having every day to 
 bring before the minds of their hearers the most impressive 
 truths, and to support them by the most affecting of all con- 
 siderations, — leading, on so many occasions, their devotions 
 at the Divine footstool, — and applying the various points of 
 the Gospel to the ever-varying necessities of those amongst 
 whom they minister, — it would say little, either for the 
 faithfulness with which they have discharged their duty, or 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 245 
 
 for the impression which you have had of its true nature 
 and bearing upon yourselves, were there to be no feeling of 
 a strong and very interesting connexion. And when any 
 of those occasions occur in providence, therefore, which re- 
 move a minister from the scene of his labours altogether, 
 or from one scene of labour to another, there may be few 
 that have appreciated the interest and importance of such a 
 connexion, who may not be ready to feel, as if something 
 had been removed which they felt of no small importance to 
 their spiritual well-being. If such changes as these did or 
 could make any change upon the way of access into the Di- 
 vine presence, — if it was only through the ministrations of 
 men of like passions with yourselves that you could approach 
 God, or be accepted of him, — or if the changes that take 
 place in the sanctuary below, were accompanied by any 
 change in the sanctuary above, such occasions as these 
 would render utterly unstable and uncertain all our hopes ; 
 and we should feel as if there were nothing permanent or 
 abiding in that very point where it concerned us most of all 
 to be placed beyond the reach of such casualties. But it is 
 no undervaluing of our office ; it manifests no indifference 
 for those intentions which it is designed to serve, and is 
 only forming a right estimate of its place, to say, that there 
 are things beyond its power to influence or to change. And 
 what, after all, is the extent or the operation of those fluc- 
 tuations that may take place in the administration of the 
 Gospel, if he who presides over all, and who governs in 
 them all, himself possesses and exercises the functions of an 
 unchangeable priesthood ? 
 
 Whatever effect they may have on our relationship with 
 one another, or with the visible Church of God, they can 
 have no effect on his character, or on that relation in which 
 he stands to his people. They are like those changes that 
 took place upon the Jewish priesthood, and which merely 
 served by contrast to heighten the glory of Christ. The 
 change is confined to the outer court of the sanctuary, and 
 never reaches that most holy place, at which our great high- 
 
246" DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 priest standeth daily to minister in behalf of all who put their 
 trust in him ; and, though neither uninterested in the great- 
 est or the least of them, — though of far deeper concern to 
 him than they can be to any of us all, — though, as bearing 
 upon the well-being of the humblest of his people, they can- 
 not be disregarded by him, they do not even for a moment 
 disturb that economy, every movement of which is regulated 
 by him, or lay an arrest for a moment upon that grace which 
 he stands ready to dispense and impart to all who come to 
 God by him. 
 
 You will readily anticipate the application which these 
 observations have to the situation in which we are now 
 placed ; and you will do me the justice, I am persuaded, to 
 believe, that in so far as they are intended to support and 
 strengthen our minds at this moment, they are as much sug- 
 gested by the consideration of my own feelings as of yours. 
 It is hardly possible to conceive, connected as we have been 
 for years together, and experiencing, as I have uniformly 
 done, so much Christian kindness from all of you, and hav- 
 ing been admitted on so many occasions to share your sor- 
 rows and your joys, that I could find myself addressing you 
 for the last time as your minister, without something more 
 than merely natural feelings on the occasion, — without having 
 some anxieties which could only find rest in some such great 
 spiritual truth as our text reveals. When I speak, therefore, 
 of the consolation involved in the truth, that amidst all the 
 shifting and change which there may be in those to whom 
 the dispensation of the Gospel is committed, he who presides 
 over this wonderful economy is still the same, yesterday, to- 
 day, and for ever ; and of the comparative insignificance that 
 attaches to the one, whilst the other remains without any 
 variableness or shadow of turning, — I speak of something 
 which supports me, whilst it humbles me, by making me feel 
 how little loss, after all, can be sustained by those with whom 
 I shall now cease to be connected, when he who has pro- 
 mised to be with his Church and people always, even to the 
 end, possesses an unchangeable priesthood. 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 247 
 
 I may, however, I trust, without attaching any undue im- 
 portance to my own labours amongst you, be permitted to 
 think, that these considerations are as suitable to the feelings 
 of some now present as they are to my own. I should be 
 doing many of you as much injustice as I would do myself, 
 after the candid construction which you have put upon my 
 motives in thus withdrawing from you, were I to suppose 
 you destitute of all regret at the separation ; and, whilst none 
 of you can feel, as I do at this moment, the sinful infirmity 
 that has attended all the ministrations of which you have 
 been the objects, I shall hope that there are not a few, who 
 having found through them conveyed that blessing which 
 God has promised to his own Word, in so far as it is deli- 
 vered, might have wished that our connexion had been more 
 permanent. 
 
 Could I only hope that there were more who had so felt, 
 and were, therefore, capable of regarding at this moment the 
 view of the glory of the Saviour which the Apostle opens, — 
 who had, by means of our preaching, been directed to him 
 as the great high-priest of our profession ; who had found 
 pardon and peace in the belief of his all- sufficiency and grace ; 
 and who had thus been brought to look beyond all human 
 instruments to him who is the fountain of every Divine in- 
 fluence, and with whom is the residue of the Spirit, — I should 
 find that there was something in the truth peculiarly quali- 
 fied to meet the feelings of this hour. As it is, I can only 
 commend those of you who have been thus directed, to him 
 who abideth the same, and whose power and grace can never 
 suffer any withdrawment, through all the fluctuations that 
 may come round upon us. As observed by us, and narrow- 
 ing our view to this scene of things, such a separation as the 
 present must have in it many things of an afflictive nature. 
 It may be expected to excite a few natural feelings and sym- 
 pathies, — it dissolves a bond which united, in some degree, 
 a neighbourhood together, — it severs a tie exclusively spi- 
 ritual, and bearing upon the most important of all interests 
 — and breaks a connexion which may have been found pro 
 
248 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 fitable on both sides for eternity. But though these are 
 things, none of which I would be supposed to undervalue, — 
 though more important far than all human things put toge- 
 ther, O, how little are they, when we reflect that the truth 
 still remains which we preached, though we may preach it 
 no more to you, — that, amid all the changes that may be in 
 the sanctuary below, there is, and can be, none in the sanc- 
 tuary above, — and that he, who is the one mediator of his 
 people, and the head over all things to his Church, possesses 
 the unchangeableness of a Divine nature ! 
 
 If, amidst the regret which may be felt at this separation, 
 our hearts should be directed with greater simplicity to 
 Christ's all- sufficiency and grace, — if we could only be 
 brought, in the contemplation of his fulness, to lose sight of 
 the instrumentality, the great aim of which consisted in 
 never allowing your minds to rest on itself, but in guid- 
 ing you to him from whose spirit it can alone derive its effi- 
 cacy, — and if the experience which we have of the short- 
 livedness of our most intimate connexions, would only bind 
 us more closely to him who abideth ever, I am persuaded 
 we should have no cause to regret, on either hand, the pain- 
 fulness of such a separation, — and the closing scene of our 
 ministry would teach more effectually than all the rest, that 
 which it has, I trust, been the object of all to inculcate, — 
 that which the Apostle denominates the end of all ministe- 
 rial conversation, — Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, 
 and for ever. If these truths could be supposed to derive 
 any commendation, besides that to which their own import- 
 ance entitles them, from the connexion which has subsisted 
 between us, — I know not the man who, occupying the place 
 which I now do, would not be disposed to give it them. 
 And if there has been any thing about us or our preaching, 
 or ministrations amongst you, that has opened for us any ac- 
 cess to your hearts more than others may have, never did we 
 feel more disposed to improve it into an exhortation to be 
 followers of us in so far as in our life, or in our ministry, we 
 have followed Christ. 
 
DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 In the course of a few years, — too short to have allowed 
 us the opportunity of being acquainted with many of you, 
 we have had, at least, the opportunity of addressing not a 
 few, specially and individually, on the things that concerned 
 their peace. We have come into contact with many young 
 minds on that most interesting occasion, when they first de- 
 voted themselves publicly to the Saviour at his table; we 
 have accompanied others of you through seasons of deep, and 
 painful, and it may be, long-continued affliction ; and if you 
 admit our connexion in this way to give me any claim to 
 address you, as one who has manifested some concern for 
 your best interests, independently of the claim which we have 
 always had on your attention, as speaking in the name, and 
 by the authority of Christ, I know not how I could better 
 improve it than by beseeching you, if you are yet living in- 
 different to the grace and the glory of a risen Saviour, — 
 this day to receive him as your Lord and your God ; or if 
 you have already received and embraced him as all your sal- 
 vation, to walk in him, rooted and built up in him, that you 
 may connect your weakness with his strength, and may find 
 a refuge in every hour of need, and in every season of 
 change, in the assurance of his Divine unchangeableness. 
 
 It had been more gratifying to me than I can tell, if, 
 in the prospect of demitting the pastoral oversight of this 
 congregation, I could have had the satisfaction of knowing 
 that you were immediately to be provided with a pastor ac- 
 cording to God's own heart, — one qualified to feed you with 
 knowledge and understanding ; and I cannot help feeling 
 that I am leaving those in whom I can never cease to be in- 
 terested, as sheep not having a shepherd. I am persuaded, 
 however, that by your prayers, and through the grace of 
 Christ, such a pastor will speedily be provided you. For 
 him, and for you, I shall never cease to bow my knees unto 
 the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the 
 whole family in heaven and in earth is named. And, in the 
 new sphere of duty and of labour, to which we are speedily 
 to repair, and which is not so distant as to forbid the pros- 
 
250 DISCOURSE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 pect of maintaining our intercourse with you, no tidings 
 shall be more grateful, than the assurance that ye stand fast, 
 being of one mind and one spirit, striving together for the 
 faith of the Gospel. Now " may the God of peace that 
 brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great 
 shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting 
 covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do his 
 will, working in you that which is well pleasing in his sight, 
 through Jesus Christ ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. 
 Amen." 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, v. 1. — For we know, that, if our earthly house of 
 this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not 
 made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 
 
 One of the most popular and striking objections to the doc- 
 trine of a life to come has been derived, in all ages, from the 
 effects which death produces on the bodily frame, and the 
 dissolution which follows it. In spite of all that reason can 
 suggest to allay our fears or inspire our hopes, it is impos- 
 sible for any man, unaided by the light of revelation, to see 
 the gradual decay both of body and of mind which often pre- 
 cedes death, — to perceive one faculty after another giving 
 way as it approaches, — to mark the struggle of expiring na- 
 ture, and the awful and unbroken silence that follows, with- 
 out feeling, that, had it been designed of God to put an end 
 to all those expectations of another existence, which are more 
 or less natural to all men, no event could be more fitted to 
 do so than that which consigns a human being to the house 
 appointed for all living ; and that it were almost vain to 
 oppose to these sensible proofs that attended the dissolution 
 of the body any of those abstract reasonings which might 
 lead us to hope, that though the body had returned to the 
 dust out of which it was made, yet the spirit had returned 
 unto God who gave it. 
 
 It may be for this reason among others, and to suit with a 
 
252 DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 feeling natural to every mind, that the Word of God, in speak- 
 ing of the life to come, so much more frequently insists upon 
 the resurrection of the body, than simply on the immortality 
 of the soul ; and that its object is not so much to furnish us 
 with proofs that there shall be a life hereafter, as to assure 
 us, that in this life both body and soul shall participate. On 
 neither of these subjects, indeed, has it left us without suffi- 
 cient information. We are not permitted to continue in 
 doubt that the soul can exist apart from the body, — that it 
 still survives the effects of dissolution, and remains un- 
 scathed, though the tabernacle in which it dwelt may be 
 taken down. But the subject on which the Bible delights 
 to dwell, and to which its proofs are most frequently directed, 
 is the truth of the resurrection ; it takes up the question of 
 our immortality on the very point where nature leaves us 
 altogether in darkness ; it bids us regard the very event 
 which seems ready to extinguish all our hopes as but a step 
 in the purpose of God towards their accomplishment, and the 
 dissolution of the earthly tabernacle as only the forerunner 
 to " a building of God, an house not made with hands, eter- 
 nal in the heavens." 
 
 I need not say that we have a striking example of this in 
 our text, and the first truth which it may be considered as 
 declaring is, that there shall be a blessed resurrection to life. 
 
 When the Apostle says, " We know that if our earthly 
 house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building 
 of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the hea- 
 vens,'' 1 it is obvious, from the remarks already made, that his 
 knowledge must have been derived, not from reason, but from 
 a Divine testimony. The dissolution of the earthly taberna- 
 cle is one of those truths, indeed, which are presented to our 
 senses, and of which we may have every day sensible proof; 
 we see it taking effect upon our fellow- men around us, and 
 we feel it in the gradual decay and disease to which our own 
 frame is subjected ; but beyond this our knowledge extends 
 not. That the body, after its dissolution into its primitive 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 253 
 
 elements, shall ever rise again ; that it shall rise a far more 
 glorious body than it was ; that when the earthly house is 
 taken clown, there shall be provided for the spirit a heavenly 
 and eternal dwelling-place ; that what is sown in dishonour 
 shall be raised in glory ; and that the dissolution of the 
 frail and perishable tenement in which the spirit is confined, 
 is only the forerunner to its being provided with a habitation 
 meeter far for the immortal spirit to inhabit, — these are truths 
 of which our reason or experience gives no indication ; and 
 when the Apostle spoke of knowing this glorious truth, not 
 doubtfully, but as a truth of which he was fully assured, we 
 cannot question that he referred to a source that was alone 
 competent to furnish satisfactory information on a subject, 
 not merely so far above nature, but, I had almost said, so 
 plainly opposed to it. He knew it, and those in whose name 
 he speaks knew it, as they knew any of those truths which 
 were the objects of faith, not of sense, — they were persuaded 
 of it through the medium of a Divine revelation. It came 
 to them accredited by the very same testimony, and authen- 
 ticated by the very same miracles, which had ensured their 
 confidence in the Christian system, — it was a part of that 
 truth which the Son of God had published, and had in- 
 structed them to publish, — and, far removed as it might 
 be from the apprehensions of men, opposed as it would 
 seem to sense, and destitute of any confirmation from expe- 
 rience, it still rested on an authority which they could not 
 dispute, and which led them to speak of it, not as a bare 
 possibility, or as a thing which they had reason to expect, but 
 as a truth for which they had the most undoubted evidence. 
 " We know" says the Apostle, " that we have a building 
 of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the hea- 
 vens." 
 
 If the Apostle had been to refer to one evidence of the 
 truth of the Gospel more than another, in proof of the doc- 
 trine in question, we cannot doubt, from the relation in 
 which it stands to it, and the use which he elsewhere makes 
 of it, that he had instanced the resurrection of our blessed 
 
254f DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH 
 
 Lord ; and they who have attended to the importance of 
 that fact, and to its connexion with the general truth of the 
 resurrection, will be able at once to perceive in what way it 
 adds to all our convictions of its certainty. Jesus Christ had 
 died, and revived, and risen again, that he might be the 
 Lord of the dead and of the living, — he had manifested in 
 his own person that the empire of death was not perpetual or 
 irreversible, — he had given ocular proof that a resurrection 
 was not impossible, — he had overcome death, and him that 
 had the power of death, — and in the fact of his own triumph 
 over it, he had given the most incontestible evidence to all 
 his followers of his power to redeem them from its dominion, 
 and to make their bodies like to his own glorious body. And, 
 standing on this high ground, he could say, with that confi- 
 dence which admits of no doubt, " We know that if our 
 earthly house were dissolved, we have a building of God, 
 eternal in the heavens." 
 
 It is substantially on the very same evidence that our as- 
 surance of a life of blessedness hereafter must be built ; and 
 it is worthy of our attention to remark the terms in which 
 the Apostle speaks of it. He speaks of the body which we 
 now possess as the earthly house of the tabernacle, — as a 
 mere tent, never intended as a permanent lodging-place for 
 the immortal spirit, — as a mere temporary residence, soon 
 to be taken down and dissolved, and incapable of affording 
 any longer the shelter which it may for a season furnish. 
 But he speaks of it in this way, only that he may, by con- 
 trast, give us more exalted conceptions of the dwelling-place 
 that shall one day be reared for it, — only that he may lift 
 our minds, by contemplating the frailty of the one, to con- 
 ceive of the excellency and permanency of the other. He 
 speaks of it as a building of God ; for, though the body 
 which we now possess, is, no less than this will be, the fram- 
 ing of the Divine architect, yet the entrance of sin, since it 
 first came forth from his hands, has marred its beauty, and 
 made it liable to corruption, — he speaks of it as not made 
 with hands, to denote its heavenly origin, and its freedom 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 255 
 
 from all earthly pollution. And above all, he speaks of it 
 as eternal, — not a mere temporary dwelling-place as that 
 which it succeeds, — not a body subject to suffering, and dis- 
 ease, and death, — not a body that is fast hastening to disso- 
 lution, and which must soon return to its primitive elements, 
 but as partaking of the permanency of those heavenly man- 
 sions which it is destined to inhabit, and worthy of the im- 
 mortal spirit which it is reared to enclose, — a body unlike 
 that frail tenement which we now carry about with us, but 
 destined to bear for ever the bloom and the freshness of im- 
 mortality. Hear what the same blessed Apostle, speaking 
 of it by like contrast, elsewhere says, — " It is sown in corrup- 
 tion, it is raised in incorruption ; it is sown in dishonour, it 
 is raised in glory ; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in 
 power ; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual 
 body." 
 
 You will easily perceive, that though the truth on which 
 the Apostle thus insists is properly the resurrection of the 
 body, yet it does necessarily involve in it the union of soul 
 and body in blessedness ; and great as the truth might be, 
 that there is a life after the present, and that the soul shall 
 never die ; and, though we might hail it as a mighty disco- 
 very, if assured of this on a Divine testimony, it is yet, for 
 every practical purpose, far more important for us to know, 
 that the life which we shall then live, will be a life so nearly 
 approaching to the present, as that we shall still possess the 
 same nature, and be capable of tasting the same sources of 
 happiness which we here possess and enjoy. As a matter of 
 abstract speculation, the one may appear to some minds as 
 interesting as the other, and some have, indeed, imagined 
 that deliverance from the body would be deliverance from an 
 union that clogged and fettered all the exertions of the spi- 
 ritual principles within us. But, in its accommodation to 
 the constitution of a human nature, who does not perceive 
 the difference between a blessedness of which we can con- 
 ceive so little as that of a separate spirit, and a blessedness 
 
25G DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 which, refined as it may be, is still the blessedness in which 
 we may now share ? Who does not perceive and feel, that 
 though the one may interest and engage us, it is only the 
 other which can ever truly become to us the object of desire, 
 or that will most easily draw out our affections towards it,— 
 as were those of the Apostle, when he wished that mortality 
 might be swallowed up of life. 
 
 Secondly, — I remark, that the declaration of our text ex- 
 presses the assurance of the Apostle Paul, and of those in 
 whose name he wrote, that they should participate in this 
 blessed resurrection to life. 
 
 You will readily observe, that this contains the essence, if 
 I may so speak, of our text, — that it is no mere assertion of 
 the general truth that the body shall rise again a more glo- 
 rious body, and so continue for ever united to the soul in 
 bliss, but a declaration of his own personal interest in this 
 great restoration. It is adduced, you may see, as a reason 
 why he accounted the various afflictions with which he was 
 visited as of small moment, why he fainted not amidst all the 
 evils that surrounded him, why he could say of the greatest 
 of them that they were light afflictions, — that, though they 
 might hasten the dissolution of the earthly tabernacle, he 
 yet knew that he had a building of God, eternal in the hea- 
 vens. The same thing is no less evident from surveying 
 the feelings which he expresses throughout the chapter. If 
 he, and they in whose name he speaks, had no assurance of 
 their personal interest in this great truth, the whole train of 
 feelings which he here expresses would be utterly without 
 foundation, — they would be feelings which there was nothing 
 either to call forth or to sustain. For, how could he ear- 
 nestly desire to be clothed upon with the house which is 
 from heaven, — how could he be willing to be absent from the 
 body and present with the Lord, and give utterance to those 
 expressions of hope and confidence which meet you every 
 where in this chapter, unless he knew and was persuaded 
 
 3 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 257 
 
 (in what way we shall yet inquire) that the dissolution of his 
 earthly tabernacle was only a step towards the rearing of a 
 house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ? 
 
 I shall not require to prove that this is a thing essentially 
 different from the simple belief that the body shall rise again, 
 and that there shall be a resurrection to life ; for, amongst 
 all those who may have no doubt of the truth of the doc- 
 trine, considered as a part of the Word of God, how few are 
 there who can join in the language which the Apostle em- 
 ploys, or who can look upon death, and the life that is to 
 succeed it, with the same feelings of confidence and desire ! 
 Though the Scriptures have abundantly assured us, both of 
 a life of blessedness hereafter, and in what way that life may 
 become our own, it by no means follows that the admission 
 of the one carries along with it the other. If there is a re- 
 surrection to life, it is no less certain that there is a resur- 
 rection to shame and everlasting contempt, — that there is 
 as much to excite our fears in the truth of our immorta- 
 lity as to animate our hopes, — and that the feeling with which 
 many may regard, and have good reason to regard, the life 
 to come, may be more nearly allied to dread and apprehen- 
 sion than confidence and desire. In the mind of the Apostle, 
 however, and as he regarded it, these two things were unit- 
 ed, — he felt, or seemed to feel, almost with the same secu- 
 rity as that there should be a life of blessedness at all, that 
 he should be the partaker of it. The truth came home to 
 his mind, with all the feeling of his own personal and inde- 
 structible interest in it ; and whenever he looked with this 
 faith at the things that were unseen and eternal, he felt the 
 evils and the trials of life passing away in the view of the 
 coming glory. Considered in this light, all the sentiments 
 to which he gives utterance, appear at once natural, — the 
 very sentiments which all of us, in his circumstances, would 
 utter. His eager desire for the time when mortality should 
 be swallowed up of life, — his wish to be absent from the 
 body, and present with the Lord, — his labouring to be ac- 
 cepted of Christ at his judgment-seat, — all these, very far 
 
258 DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 removed as they may be from ordinary feelings and appre- 
 hensions, were the natural, I had almost said, the necessary 
 fruits of his faith. It became then as natural for him to 
 have his affections and desires set on heavenly and eternal 
 things, as it is for those who have not his hope, to cling to 
 the objects of a present world ; and it ceased to be an impos- 
 sibility, — it ceased almost to require any act of heroic virtue, 
 to think little of the trials of life, when he knew the sure and 
 lasting blessedness that was in reserve for him. 
 
 I can scarcely suppose it necessary to commend to any 
 one, a state of mind which every human being who has re- 
 flected on his condition in this world must have felt to be 
 desirable. Death is one of those events which no man 
 can hope to escape by all his prudence and sagacity ; and 
 one of those events to the approach of which we can 
 hardly be insensible. It is so often pressed upon our con- 
 sideration, that it may at times require an effort to put the 
 thought of it away from us ; and he must manifest an indif- 
 ference and a regardlessness to his own interests, to which 
 nothing in human life besides affords any parallel, who has 
 never weighed the consequences which death may bring 
 along with it, or who has never thought of providing for 
 himself a refuge, when those things in which he now seeks 
 his happiness and enjoyment have failed. Let him be ha- 
 bitually insensible to the concerns of a spiritual world, there 
 will be moments when these will force themselves upon him, 
 — and moments even, when he could hardly account any 
 sacrifice too great for the possession of a hope like that 
 which inspired the breast of the Apostle. At any rate, 
 there is a time approaching when he shall find such a hope 
 as this to be the only thing that can sustain him ; when it 
 shall remain the only thing that can minister strength or 
 consolation ; and when he shall account all things but loss in 
 comparison with it. And how necessary is it, against this 
 time, that he should be provided with the confidence which 
 may stand him instead, when every thing besides has failed ! 
 The man who is fortified by such a confident persuasion of 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 259 
 
 future blessedness as that of the Apostle, may meet death, 
 and look forward to death, not only without apprehension, 
 but with joyful desire ; he may see the earthly tabernacle 
 taken down without a single wish that it should be longer 
 preserved ; he may hail with pleasure the loosening of every 
 joint, and the failure of every part of the frame, as another 
 step towards his enlargement ; he may watch every new 
 symptom of decaying nature with the feeling of one who 
 is persuaded that it is only hastening on the time when 
 he shall emerge into eternal day ; and painful as it may be 
 in itself, and at variance with all nature's feelings and na- 
 ture's desires, may he, through the strength of faith, so pre- 
 vail over nature, as to regard the process of dissolution 
 merely as a step through which mortality is to be swallowed 
 up of life. 
 
 It will naturally be asked, however, in what way the 
 Apostle, and those in whose name he writes, came to attain 
 such a persuasion of their interest in those blessings ? How 
 did he know, or they know (for he appears to have spoken 
 in the name of believers generally), that when the earthly 
 tabernacle was dissolved, such a building of God was pre- 
 pared for them ? Was it a singular privilege in which they, 
 and they only, were destined to share, and which now re- 
 mains to us an object which we can hardly hope to reach ; 
 or does it rest on a foundation on which we may also build 
 the same confident hope ? I need hardly say to any one ac- 
 quainted with the Word of God, or with the tenor of the 
 epistles of Paul, that this hope rested on the merits and in- 
 carnation of the Saviour ; and whatever pretension may have 
 been at times made to the possession of such a spirit, apart 
 from faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, it is only amongst those 
 who have made him the object of their trust and homage, 
 that it has ever been realized. Apart, indeed, from the 
 truth of the Redeemer's resurrection, what solid ground have 
 we to expect that there is such a state of blessedness at all ? 
 And what is there, amidst all the darkness of nature and 
 the fears of guilt, to lighten up the gloomy mansions of the 
 
260 DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 grave, if it be not in the truth of one who overcame death, 
 and who has opened the way to glory and immortality by 
 his peace-speaking blood. It was faith in the efficacy of his 
 death and in the power of his intercession ; it was by believ- 
 ing that he had purchased eternal life for all that would re- 
 ceive it as the free gift of God through him, and that, sur- 
 rendering themselves to his guidance, and depending on his 
 promises, were assured that they should never find his faith- 
 fulness to fail ; it was this that raised the Apostle and his 
 fellow-believers from the uncertainty and the fears of nature, 
 and put them in possession of so bright and blessed a hope ; 
 and never would they have thought of referring you to any 
 other ground of confidence, saving what the Lord, their Re- 
 deemer, had done for them, and what they trusted in his 
 power and grace yet to fulfil. 
 
 But though all their hope was finally to be traced to this, 
 — and the same ground of hope, be it ever remembered, is 
 presented to every sinner in the Word of God ; it was not 
 this alone that enabled the Apostle to adopt the language 
 of our text. There was a new assurance that had sprung 
 up from the former, and which came in to strengthen it. 
 There had been given them something like an earnest that 
 the purchased possession would be theirs ; they could refer 
 to certain things which they had themselves known, and felt, 
 and experienced ; and it served no doubt to increase their 
 confidence, and assure their hearts, when they found this 
 faith and this experience going hand in hand together. The 
 Apostle adverts to this Divine influence, when he says, 
 verse fifth, that " He that hath wrought us for the self-same 
 thing is God, who also hath given unto us the earnest of the 
 Spirit.'' 1 And what the earnest of the Spirit was, may be 
 sufficiently understood from the nature and work of the 
 Holy Spirit. It was, unquestionably, his purifying and 
 sanctifying influences, — that light, and purity, and holiness, 
 by which his presence and his working in their hearts were 
 made known to them, — that Divine power, in virtue of 
 which they were sealed to the day of redemption,— set apart, 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 261 
 
 as it were, and marked out as the heirs of future glory, be- 
 cause receiving an earnest of the blessedness that they were 
 hereafter to attain. And it was this that preserved the 
 mind of the Apostle in that state of equanimity, which ena- 
 bled him to say, " We are always confident, knowing that, 
 whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the 
 Lord." He found in himself, not merely that God had ena- 
 bled him to trust in his promised mercy unto eternal life, 
 but that he was, through the influence of the Spirit, pre- 
 paring him for its enjoyment. He found in the desires, 
 and feelings, and habits of a regenerated nature, that old 
 things were done away, and all things become new. He 
 was able to trace in the change that was wrought upon his 
 soul, the proof that it was already training up for another 
 and a nobler dwelling-place ; and he could therefore say, 
 with all the confidence which faith and experience could in- 
 spire, that he knew that, " though the earthly house of this 
 our tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, 
 an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 
 
 To those who are destitute of such a hope as that of the 
 Apostle, and who are careless as to its attainment, the ob- 
 servations now made may, by the Divine blessing, be useful 
 in directing you to a subject to which, if your minds are in- 
 different, it can only be because they are never directed to it 
 as a subject of affecting contemplation ; and, disposed as you 
 may be at times to undervalue the hopes and consolations of 
 the Gospel, I venture to say that there is no one who can 
 honestly despise such a sentiment as that of the Apostle, and 
 who must not, at the same time, find himself greatly inferior 
 to the man who can, with equal truth and consistency, give 
 utterance to it. Let a man look around him for interesting 
 subjects of consideration, such as are fitted to engage his 
 better nature, and fill his mind with the most profitable re- 
 flection, and are the most necessary to his peace and happi- 
 ness, and where will he find one so worthy of a reasonable 
 and immortal being, as the truth of his own eternal exist- 
 ence ? And how can you justify your neglect of a truth so 
 
262 DISCOURSK SIXTEENTH. 
 
 clearly revealed, and so abundantly confirmed ? — how can 
 you consent to remain indifferent to a truth so nearly con- 
 cerning you, so imperatively demanding your consideration, 
 except on principles which prove you insensible to all that 
 exalts and distinguishes your nature, and which show that 
 you would rather remain in brutish ignorance of futurity, 
 than awaken to the glorious prospects and hopes of an im- 
 mortal being ? 
 
 The observations now made have also an application to 
 those who, though they cannot, perhaps, be called either in- 
 different or unbelieving about eternal things, are yet content 
 to rest in certain very dim and indefinite views of them, 
 without ever attaining, or almost seeking to attain, the confi- 
 dence expressed in our text. I am willing to believe that there 
 may be many, and those, too, humble and sincere Christians, 
 who are anxiously seeking the attainment of such a confi- 
 dence, but who have not found it ; and who, either from im- 
 perfect views of the Gospel, or too jealous and suspicious a 
 spirit in themselves, are making little or no progress in reach- 
 ing it. But what shall we say of those who are living con- 
 tentedly in this condition, — who are seeing death and judg- 
 ment approach, without having any desire to be made meet 
 for the one or for the other, and who are risking on a mere 
 peradventure all that is important in eternal life ? We have 
 seen that God has not left us destitute of the means of 
 reaching such a confidence, any more than he did the first 
 believers, — that he gives us the same promises, and will give 
 us, if we ask him, the same earnest of the Spirit. And surely, 
 were eternal blessings prized as they should be, — were our 
 minds but exercised about them as they ought to be exer- 
 cised, — were there more prayer, and more earnest and humble 
 desire to walk with God, there would be more assurance, — 
 men would not, and could notj remain in such ignorance of 
 their title to so blessed an inheritance ; and it is only because 
 they are so immersed in worldliness, and so indifferent about 
 spiritual blessings, that there are so few who can be said to 
 make their calling and election sure. 
 
DISCOURSE SIXTEENTH. 263 
 
 In conclusion, let me remind those, of whom I trust there 
 are not a few now present, who have attained to the hope, 
 and can join in the language of the Apostle, of their obliga- 
 tions to the riches of Divine grace. I need not tell you how 
 such a hope is to be prized, and how carefully it is to be che- 
 rished, — that it is, indeed, as an anchor of the soul, sure and 
 steadfast ; and a hope, the value of which is every day increas- 
 ing, as the period approaches when it is to be realized. But 
 surely I may say, that if there are any of whom we may en- 
 tertain high expectations, it is of those whom God has so 
 signally favoured ; and if there be any truth, the faith of 
 which is fitted to refine and exalt our nature, it is surely that 
 which elevates us above the trials of the present life, and 
 which is so full of promise for the life that lies beyond it. 
 What superiority to the sins and vanities of the world ! — 
 what purity of mind and elevation of principle ! — what pa- 
 tience in the midst of affliction ! — what submission to the 
 various events of Divine providence ! — what disinterested 
 benevolence and active usefulness ought to characterize those, 
 who have this confidence of a treasure laid up in the heavens, 
 beyond the reach of this world's change to affect it ! And 
 could there be any deeper stain cast on our faith, or any 
 fouler contempt done to the Spirit of all grace, than if, by 
 your forgetfulness of this hope, or your neglect in improving 
 it, you should convey to others the impression, or lead them 
 from your conduct to infer, that you are as worldly, or as 
 selfish, or as sensual, as they who make no pretensions to 
 such a profession. " Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye 
 look for such things, be diligent, that ye may be found of 
 him in peace, without spot, and blameless." 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, v. 4. — We that are in this tabernacle do groan, 
 being burdened. 
 
 There are two things that are perpetually serving to quicken 
 the mind of the Christian, in his desires after the life to 
 come. In the first place, there is the intrinsic excellency and 
 desirableness of eternal life itself, as exhibited in the Word 
 of God ; and there is, in the second place, that continual 
 experience of trial and suffering in this world, which is, in 
 some degree or other, essential to its very nature. Even 
 though the life which we lived in the body were far more 
 enviable than it actually is, there is, in the representations of 
 blessedness hereafter, as proposed to our faith in the Scripture, 
 something so surpassingly grand and elevated, — something 
 so much calculated to awaken every principle of our intel- 
 lectual and moral being, — something so well fitted to meet 
 the desires of our new and better nature, — as it would be 
 impossible for any Christian distinctly to realize, and, at 
 the same time, be assured that this blessedness was in store 
 for him, without desiring it, and without feeling his soul 
 at times so kindled and ravished by the prospects which it 
 holds out to him, of admittance to a glory that it hath not 
 entered into the heart of man to conceive, that he could 
 hardly but wish to anticipate the time, when the earthly ta- 
 bernacle shall be dissolved. 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 265 
 
 It is, at the same time, obvious, that this view must be 
 much quickened and incited by the daily experience of hu- 
 man life, considered as a scene in which sin and suffering 
 are so deeply mingled. Whenever disposed to cease from 
 contemplating the high things of faith, there will always be 
 something occurring in the world, or something recurring to 
 himself, to make a man feel that this is not his rest, — some 
 event will be always taking place, to show him the empti- 
 ness and insufficiency of this world's happiness ; and some- 
 thing, therefore, to throw him with entire simplicity upon 
 those hopes of blessedness which the Scripture has given 
 him in the world that is to come, — something calculated to 
 endear and render them more precious to him, and therefore 
 fitted to make them more than ever the objects of desire. 
 
 You will be able to trace both these sentiments in the 
 mind of the Apostle. He had, in the opening of this chap- 
 ter, expressed his firm belief in the truth of a resurrection to 
 life, and his firm persuasion of an interest in its blessed pro- 
 mises and hopes. He had expressed, in short but emphatic 
 words, his views of its glory and excellency as a building 
 of God, — " an house not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens." And realizing this, you may naturally find him 
 expressing those desires after it, which the hope of such an 
 inheritance was fitted to call forth ; and anticipating its com- 
 ing, with the joy of one who felt the solidity and permanence 
 of the happiness which it promised. But mingled with this, 
 and giving strength to this, you find him also alluding to the 
 sorrows which he felt and experienced in this world, — to the 
 burden under which he laboured whilst dwelling in this 
 earthly tabernacle, which made him long more earnestly 
 for the promised deliverance, and which, though there had 
 been no hope beyond the world, he had continued to endure 
 as a thing from which to escape was vain, — yet which, with 
 the prospects on which he confidently rested, could not but 
 quicken his desires for the coming of the time, when morta- 
 lity should be swallowed up of life. 
 
 I have already, in a previous discourse, had occasion to 
 
266" DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 advert to some of those distinguishing features of the bless- 
 edness to be revealed, as brought before us by the Apostle, 
 which are fitted to make it the object of desire to a Chris- 
 tian, and shall not again return to the subject. But it may 
 be necessary for the full explanation of his meaning, to show 
 in what way these desires were stimulated by what he expe- 
 rienced, and what every Christian is called to experience in 
 the world ; and what was the nature of that painfulness 
 which led him to say, " We that are in this tabernacle do 
 groan, being burdened. 1, 
 
 I. In order to illustrate this, I shall not require to pre- 
 sent any other views of human life than such as are familiar 
 to those who may be destitute of the peculiar hopes of the 
 Apostle, — such as are common to all men, and are, more or 
 less, confirmed by the experience of every hour ; for who 
 does not know, or who has not felt, that this world is a world 
 of suffering? — who does not know, or who has not felt, 
 that, with all the blessings which are to be found in it, sor- 
 row and pain are mingled ? — and that the complicated cares 
 and trials which are found, more or less, in the lot of every 
 human being, constitute a burden, of which he would gladly 
 be rid, — and which he feels not to be the more tolerable, be- 
 cause he must submit to it, and continue to bear it, as part 
 of the inheritance to which he is born as the possessor of a 
 sinful nature, and the inhabitant of a world that is suffering 
 under the curse of sin. 
 
 Of these views of human life, no man perhaps is altoge- 
 ther destitute, even in circumstances where the world may 
 think he has least cause to entertain them. There is often 
 felt a sense of the vanity and insufficiency of its enjoyments, 
 even at the time when these are most fully tasted ; and he 
 must be destitute, not merely of all just reflection on his own 
 condition, but of all true sympathy for the condition of 
 others, who has never felt that oppression and sickness of 
 heart, which nothing in the compass of the world can fully 
 mitigate or relieve. 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 267 
 
 It is not to be supposed, that there is any thing in the 
 condition of Christians in this world to shelter them from 
 the experience of this bitterness, — or any thing in their pecu- 
 liar character to render them insensible to it. They are ex- 
 posed to the same afflictions as other men ; nor will those 
 views which they entertain of the presence and providence 
 of God, however they may reconcile them to these, change 
 their nature, or make them indifferent to deliverance ; and 
 there is, in the very character of a Christian, something, 
 which, if it does not allow him to dwell so much as others on 
 his own sufferings, renders him more alive to the sorrows and 
 sufferings of those around him. 
 
 The influence which the Gospel produces on his charac- 
 ter, disposes him, more than others, to weep with those that 
 weep, as well as to rejoice with those who rejoice ; he can- 
 not, with his Christian feelings in exercise, wrap himself up 
 in a cold and inaccessible selfishness ; he cannot put away 
 the claims which his fellow-men have upon his sympathy or 
 his aid, with the indifference that too often meets them in 
 the world ; he cannot look upon them as involved in the 
 same calamities with himself, the fruit of the same sinful 
 nature, without finding his Christian sympathies awakened 
 in their behalf. Others may, through a certain happy, or 
 shall I call it unhappy, lightness of nature ? — a certain fickle- 
 ness and levity of mind, which enables them to pass easily 
 from any painful object, — divert all thought of the suffer- 
 ing around them, and surrender themselves to every vain 
 amusement of the passing hour. But there is something 
 too serious and thoughtful in the character of a Christian to 
 stoop to such frivolity. His mind is too well disciplined to 
 seriousness, — too much accustomed to solemn views of life, 
 to enable him to hide from himself the suffering that abounds 
 in the world. And no wonder, therefore, if, in a world 
 where scenes so painful are ever occurring, — where men are 
 every day made to feel the disappointments of their dearest 
 hopes, — where they are left the prey of disease and suffer- 
 ing, — and where death is ever coming in to break up every 
 
268 discouiise seventeenth. 
 
 scene of tenderness and endearment ; and, above all, in a 
 world where sin reigns so fearfully, and is so pregnant with 
 the bitterest of all misery, — no wonder if the sorrows of 
 others, in addition to those which may be inseparable from 
 his own condition, should prompt many a wish in the mind 
 of a Christian, after another and better state of existence. 
 
 I do not know, indeed, any thing which could reconcile a 
 mind of ordinary Christian sensibility to this world at all, 
 were it not for the hope that the suffering which abounds in 
 it is fitted and intended to be the means of conveying some 
 greater good ; and, that men are here placed in a state of 
 discipline and improvement, by which sin and sorrow are 
 designed to work out their own cure. But for this, the view 
 of human life which is every where presented is so mani- 
 fest, that almost every thing would appear desirable that 
 would shut it out from our minds ; nor could any man well 
 bear the thought of being condemned for ever to remain in 
 it. Yet, though the knowledge of this truth, to which there 
 are so many interesting testimonies, may reconcile the Chris- 
 tian to the world, it cannot render him insensible to its suf- 
 ferings, or take away the desire of deliverance, — nor can it 
 hinder him from going out in earnest expectation after the 
 time, when he shall be placed for ever beyond the reach of 
 its painfulness. 
 
 The Apostle has, by a strong figure, represented this as 
 the common desire of the inanimate, as well as the living and 
 intelligent creation. " For we know that the whole creation 
 groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And 
 not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first fruits 
 of the Spirit, even we ourselves, groan within ourselves, wait- 
 ing for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of the body." 
 And, if such be the effect of the sorrows, and disappoint- 
 ments, and unsatisfying nature of the world, that they who 
 are destitute of Christian hopes, are often sick at heart of its 
 very pleasures, and wearied even to very loathing, what 
 must be the effect of it upon those who have the prospects 
 of the Gospel in reserve for them ? Must not the natural 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 experience of human life endear every view of a world, in 
 which all those painful and trying scenes shall have no 
 place ? and must not its peace and its blessedness, the perpe- 
 tuity of its connexions, and the unchangeableness of all its 
 pleasures, — and above all, the absence of sin, be felt to be 
 dearer and more desirable, when he looks forth upon them 
 from a world in which sin, and sorrow, and death, are so 
 fearfully and terribly mingled ? 
 
 II. I remark, that that which, in the text, is presented, 
 as quickening the desires of a Christian after eternal life, is 
 the burden of a sinful nature. 
 
 It is obvious that, in this burden, the Christian shares 
 equally with those around him ; and there is no man per- 
 haps, however careless or indifferent as to the consequences 
 of sin, who has not, in some degree, felt it to be a burden. 
 There is no man who has not found himself led away, by the 
 power of sin, into a course of conduct which his better judg- 
 ment abhorred ; who has not, under the influence of sinful 
 passion and desire, been led into much misery, and much 
 guilt ; and who has not, at times, breathed out some wishes, 
 — sincere enough, I doubt not, at the moment, though nei- 
 ther very importunate nor very lasting, — after deliverance 
 from that power which carried it so often over the better 
 feelings of his nature. This may be an experience very 
 common amongst those even, who are yet habitually the will- 
 ing servants of sin. In this case, however, though there 
 may be some feeling of its iniquity, and, at times, a faint oppo- 
 sition to it, it can hardly be said that it is felt as a burden ; 
 that there is a conflict maintained with it ; or, that there is 
 any of that peculiar experience, which gives to the life of a 
 Christian in this world its sorest bitterness. Such men are 
 destitute of that love of holiness, that unceasing desire after 
 its attainment, and that feeling of its necessity to their hap- 
 piness, which are more or less experienced by every Chris- 
 tian, — and they cannot know the painfulness, therefore, that 
 results from having their desires incessantly crossed and op- 
 
270 DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 posed, by the presence of a sinful nature, ever ready to 
 tempt them, and requiring all their watchfulness and prayer 
 that they may not be led astray. 
 
 It is to this peculiarity that we advert, when we speak of 
 the burden of a sinful nature, as that under which the Chris- 
 tian groans. He is conscious to himself of certain desires 
 after conformity to the Divine will, which are urging him to 
 the love and the practice of all holiness, — of aspirations 
 after a purity of character which he has not yet realized, but 
 with which he sees that his real happiness is identified ; and 
 he is led, therefore, to seek after purifying himself from all 
 filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the 
 fear of the Lord. To this he is constrained by all the obli- 
 gations which can, or ought to be, with him the most sa- 
 cred ; and for the attainment of this, he has the promise of 
 all Divine assistance in every time of need. But then he is, 
 at the same time, conscious of a law in his members that 
 warreth against the law of his mind, — of an enemy to his 
 peace, so near him, as to be the sin that dwelleth in him. 
 So entwined is this with his very existence and being, 
 that he can never hope to be perfectly delivered from it in 
 this world. " The flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the 
 spirit against the flesh ; and these are contrary, the one to 
 the other, so that he cannot do the things which he would ;" 
 and there thus results a painful, protracted, and unceasing 
 struggle between the power of sin and the power of that 
 new and better nature which is destined finally to prevail. 
 
 This constitutes what has been commonly and strikingly 
 called the Christian conflict, — a name often employed, — 
 and, it is to be feared, by those who are ignorant of the thing 
 which it is intended to signify, — in mockery and derision of 
 a sacred subject. But, for all this, it is no less truly and 
 expressively applied to designate a state of things familiar to 
 Christian experience ; involving in it many a painful endea- 
 vour, and presenting all the variety of success and discomfi- 
 ture that arc to be found in any conflict, where two princi- 
 ples, so opposite in their nature as light and darkness, 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 271 
 
 meet together; and which cannot be maintained without many 
 a painful struggle, and many a mortifying experience of the 
 strength and power of corruption. The Apostle Paul has 
 shown us that he was not ignorant of this, and has depicted 
 it in language, the accuracy and faithfulness of which have 
 been subscribed to by Christians in every age. " The good 
 that I would, I do not, but the evil that I would not, that 
 do I." — " I find then a law, that when I would do good, 
 evil is present with me." — " For I delight in the law of 
 God after the inward man; but I see another law in my 
 members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing 
 me into captivity to the law of sin, which is in my mem- 
 bers." And he has himself expressed the bitterness of such 
 a warfare, in terms which showed how truly he longed after 
 deliverance from it — " O, wretched man that I am, who 
 shall deliver me from the body of this death ?" 
 
 Such, in fact, is, and must be, the feeling of every Chris- 
 tian in regard to a state of things so contrary to the rest and 
 peace which every man courts ; and, above all, so contrary 
 to the desires which are dearest to him. To such a state he 
 can never be reconciled, any more than he could be recon- 
 ciled to a cruel and unwilling bondage, — any more than he 
 could be reconciled to a fellowship with which he had no 
 sympathy, and from which every better feeling continually 
 revolted. It is not in grace even to prevent him from look- 
 ing forward to the termination of this warfare, with the same 
 feeling with which a captive anticipates the termination of 
 his captivity, and with which the bondman anticipates the 
 hour that is to set him free. And when he is apprized, 
 therefore, that this conflict shall end, when mortality is swal- 
 lowed up of life, — that the body which he will then wear shall 
 be like to the Saviour's own glorious body, over which sin 
 shall have no longer any power, it is impossible but that the 
 state of blessedness thus held out to him should be more cor- 
 dially relished, from its very opposition to the state in which 
 he now lives ; and that the daily consideration of repressed 
 desires and mortified wishes should quicken his longings 
 
272 DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 after the time when every wish shall be satisfied, and every 
 desire after holiness fulfilled. 
 
 Let it not be thought, however, when we speak of the 
 burden of a sinful nature as prompting the Christian to de- 
 sire the blessedness to be revealed, that we speak of a desire 
 merely selfish, or such as concern for his own happiness 
 simply prompts. It is connected, I am persuaded, with a 
 much more elevated feeling, however this may mingle with 
 it. Of all the dark and painful experience which a Christian 
 has in his contest with sin in this world, the most painful 
 will be that of so often grieving God by his iniquities, and 
 that his endeavours to honour and to serve him should fall 
 so very far short of his obligations. And of all the trials which 
 he is required to meet in the warfare, the bitterest will be 
 the consciousness of so often suffering himself to be led from 
 that purity that becomes him, into forgetfulness of his high- 
 est obligations. 
 
 Of these sins, were they reckoned up in order, it may be 
 that others might make small account, or perhaps they would 
 not be disposed to regard them as sins at all ; but, connected 
 as he is with God, as his Father in heaven, — alive to the claim 
 which he has instituted upon him, as purchased by the blood 
 of his only begotten Son, — and aware of the breadth and 
 purity of his law, not even the least of them, whenever he 
 discerns it, can pass unnoticed. Nor will it mitigate his 
 painfulness, but only increase it, when he knows, that it will 
 always be thus with him, so long as he is connected with a 
 body of sin and death ; and that he will ever have to feel 
 and acknowledge that iniquities are ready to prevail against 
 him. 
 
 Accordingly, you will find in the history of holy men, as 
 set forth in the Word of God, that this constitutes a promi- 
 nent source of lamentation, — that it is one of those things, 
 on account of which they desire continually to be humbled ; 
 and, if there be a single thing which can reconcile a renewed 
 soul to death, and make even the grave welcome, it is surely 
 the hope that he shall then cease from sin as well as from 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 273 
 
 suffering, and no more grieve or do despite to the Spirit of 
 all grace. The desire of rest, and peace, and happiness, — 
 the longing that the warfare were ended, and the triumph 
 begun, may be selfish, but this is not selfish. It is prompted 
 by the very highest and most disinterested feeling of our 
 nature, — the desire to be conformed to a will in all things 
 holy, just, and good ; and the soul only does that ho- 
 mage which is due to Him to whom all praise belongeth, 
 when, with this expression of its insufficiency aright to serve 
 him, it waiteth and desireth the coming of that time when 
 we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. 
 
 It was, I conceive, the experience of these things which 
 gave to the earnest desires of the Apostle in the text not a 
 little of their peculiar fervour. Considered in itself, the 
 blessedness to be revealed might well have drawn forth his 
 longings after its attainment, and the enduring and elevated 
 character of its happiness, — the full and perfect glory of an 
 immortal nature, — might have led him to anticipate the time 
 when these should be fully realized. But, beset as he was 
 by the daily and more than ordinary trials of life, — having 
 to combat with fightings from without, and yet more sorely 
 to combat with corruption from within, — exposed to the 
 painfulness of struggling with a sinful nature, and grieved 
 ofttimes by the power with which it assailed him, — it was 
 impossible that such an experience should not give a keener 
 edge to his desires, and impart a stronger relish to every 
 hope which the Gospel communicated. 
 
 So will it be, in fact, with every Christian. And though 
 such desires will often be checked by regard to those whose 
 interests may be dearer to him than his own, and must al- 
 ways be entertained and expressed with submission to the 
 Divine will, — though he may often find himself, even when 
 his Christian feelings are in their purest exercise, like the 
 Apostle, " in a strait betwixt two,' 1 — yet the experience of 
 human life which he is called to meet, and the power of sin 
 which he will every day feel, must tend, under God, to ripen 
 in every Christian the same spirit ; and, with a feeling higher 
 
274 DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 and better than can be prompted by weariness of life, or a 
 merely selfish concern for his own happiness, — with a feeling 
 allied to every thing that is best and purest in his nature, 
 may he be willing rather to be absent from the body, and 
 present with the Lord. 
 
 The first feeling which the review of this subject is fitted 
 to awaken in the minds of my Christian brethren will, I am 
 sure, be that of gratitude to the God and Father of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, for having opened up to us, amidst the trials and 
 difficulties of a present world, such a prospect as the Gospel 
 presents. Were it otherwise indeed, — were human life the 
 scene of trial which we now find it to be, and had we no 
 light from the sanctuary above to lighten the gloom of the 
 path in which we may be ofttimes called to tread; — were there 
 nothing more inviting to which we could turn, in the midst 
 of its adversities and sorrows, than the stillness of the grave, 
 or the faint and feeble hope that nature may give beyond it, 
 how miserable must our condition be ! Or were it possible 
 to conceive in this situation that the Christian could be, con- 
 stituted as he now is, panting after a happiness which he was 
 never to reach, and with desires that were never to be grati- 
 fied, — with no more cheering prospect before him than rest 
 from his labours, — without any assurance of a reward for his 
 faithfulness, or of a perfect welcome into the joy of his Lord, 
 — how insupportable would be the load which he is now 
 called to bear, and how unavailing his wishes after deliver- 
 ance from this body of death ! Blessed be God, however, 
 it is not so with any of us who have believed on Christ Jesus 
 the Lord, and need not be so with any man, so long as the 
 Gospel is revealed. Blessed be his name, that of his abun- 
 dant mercy he hath begotten us again to a lively hope, by 
 the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, — that he 
 has enabled us to expect and wait for a happy issue out of 
 all our adversities, and a sure conquest over all our enemies, 
 even over the greatest and the last of them ; and that, con- 
 tinuing in the way of faith and holiness, an entrance shall be 
 at last administered unto us into his everlasting kingdom, — 
 
DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 275 
 
 to the possession of a blessedness, for which all the trials and 
 afflictions of life are only ripening us, and which they are 
 only preparing us more keenly to relish and enjoy. " Be 
 patient, therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. 
 Behold the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the 
 earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the 
 early and latter rain. Be ye also patient ; stablish your 
 hearts ; for the coming of the Lord draweth nigh. 1 "' 
 
 Our second application of the subject would be to those 
 who, though professing to entertain the same hopes as the 
 Apostle, are, nevertheless, ignorant of those peculiar desires 
 which gave such an elevation to his character in the prospect 
 of realizing them. I fear that there are many of this class, 
 — many who profess to entertain the hope of eternal life 
 through the Saviour, and yet on whose mind this hope has 
 made so feeble an impression, as scarcely ever to have ar- 
 rested them in their career of worldliness, and far less enabled 
 them to maintain this world in that state of subordination to 
 another, which the Gospel requ : res, — whose minds, except, 
 perhaps, in moments of deep affliction, see so little in heaven 
 to be desirable, that the thought of it seldom finds entrance 
 into them at all, — and who regard the prospect of heaven 
 rather as a kind of convenient resource, when every other 
 shall have failed them, than as that which should be to them 
 at this moment, and even when all things in the world are 
 going well with them, the object of their most delightful 
 contemplation. 
 
 To say the least of it, these are guilty of a very great in- 
 consistency ; and it would be found, I fear, of very many of 
 them, that they were really destitute of the hope which they 
 professed to have, and that there was nothing in it of the 
 specific character which belongs to the hope of a Christian. 
 But one thing is certain, that if heaven has ceased to be to 
 you, or has never been to you, the object of continued de- 
 sire, it is only because you have ceased to maintain, or never 
 possessed, the character of those who arc travelling on the 
 road to it, — and that if it exerts no influence over your aff'ec- 
 
276 DISCOURSE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 tions and views, it is only because holiness has ceased to be 
 desirable, or because you have become indifferent to its at- 
 tainment. There is, we have seen, a close and intimate con- 
 nexion between the right and healthful state of a Christian 
 mind, and the blessedness that is opened up to us in the 
 Word of God, — a suitableness of the latter to the wants and 
 wishes of the former, which must infallibly excite our desires 
 after its attainment ; and if that desire is not found at all in 
 you, one reason will be found to be, that you are not main- 
 taining the attitude or the warfare of a Christian, — that you 
 are not feeling the burden of sin, and are not, therefore, 
 contending against it, else you would have been led to long 
 and to wait for that time, when we shall be clothed upon 
 with our house which is from heaven ; and when absent 
 from the body, we shall be present with the Lord. 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 2 Corinthians, v. 7. — We walk by faith, not by sight. 
 
 These words appear to many to involve some very pro- 
 found and unintelligible mystery ; as to which they, there- 
 fore, think themselves excused from having any very clear 
 and definite ideas. The term faith, whenever it is employed 
 in the New Testament, appears to them to refer to some 
 operation of the mind, as indistinct and impalpable, as do 
 any of those unseen things about which faith is conversant. 
 It is conceived to be so very peculiar, that they can find 
 nothing in the ordinary sphere of human life with which to 
 compare it ; and having no very great desire to be acquainted 
 with its real nature, they become very readily satisfied that, 
 if they who employ it most frequently themselves, know 
 what meaning they attach to it, it is a meaning which is not 
 susceptible of being conveyed to the mind of another. 
 
 Yet for all the prejudice that exists on the subject, we 
 venture to affirm, that there is nothing more simple in itself, 
 and nothing with which your minds are more familiar, than 
 the nature and operation of faith. It is a thing which you 
 are every day exercising in carrying on the business of the 
 present life ; and without which, the world, as it now is, 
 could not be maintained. So that, when we say of Chris- 
 tians, that they walk by faith, not by sight, we are only 
 claiming that the things about which their faith is concerned, 
 exert the same influence over them, which the things about 
 
27^ DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 which the faith of the men of the world is concerned, exert 
 over their minds. 
 
 In illustration of this, I may refer you to that faith in 
 the constancy and order of Divine Providence, which every 
 one exercises, and has exercised from the first dawn of un- 
 derstanding. In observing the world around us, we see 
 an order and a regularity in its processes, and are prepared 
 to expect that such an order and regularity will continue to 
 be in the time to come. We see that, according to the ap- 
 pointment of Divine Providence, certain events are the signs 
 or intimations of certain others, — that certain operations of 
 the natural world lead to certain fixed results, — that certain 
 processes begun, lead to a certain termination ; and that 
 there is such a connexion between these, that the one, in the 
 ordinary course of things, leads to and prepares the way for 
 the other. We thus infer, that such things will continue 
 to be. Whenever we see the sign, we are prepared to ex- 
 pect the thing of which it is the forerunner ; we doubt not 
 that the first step of the series will prepare the way for all 
 the rest ; and we surrender ourselves to the belief, with a 
 confidence from which nothing is capable of moving us. 
 This constitutes what has been generally called our belief 
 in the constancy of nature, or, more properly speaking, our 
 belief in the constancy of Divine Providence ; and which, 
 whether it be originally implanted in us, or be the result of 
 experience, is one of the most beneficent parts of our consti- 
 tution, without which we could never profit by experience, 
 and we should be incapable of regulating ourselves in the 
 most important concerns of life. It is from this principle 
 that we have the undoubted belief that the great phenomena 
 of heaven and earth will continue to be as they have been, 
 — that the same sun will continue to rise and set on us, — 
 that the seasons will continue to revolve with their accus- 
 tomed regularity, — that seedtime and harvest, summer and 
 winter, shall not pass away, — that there will be the same 
 diffusion of light, and heat, and life, around us ; — in short, 
 that all those arrangements which are so rich in goodness to 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 279 
 
 us, without the permanence of which we could not be secure 
 for a single hour, and by which all our plans and purposes 
 in life are ordered, will continue to be as God at first or- 
 dained them. 
 
 I cannot suppose any of you ignorant of truths, the very 
 familiarity of which can alone have hindered them from 
 being made the subject of reflection ; but it may never have 
 occurred to some now present, that this persuasion of the 
 constancy and order of natural events around us, in what- 
 ever it originates, is faith ; and that, in regulating ourselves 
 according to it, we are walking by faith, not by sight ; and 
 yet nothing is more certain than this, on the slightest con- 
 sideration. For the persuasion that what has been will con- 
 tinue to be, what ground have we beyond our dependence 
 on the constancy of nature, or rather of the Great Author 
 of nature ? The events on which we rest so confidently 
 have not yet existed, and cannot therefore have become the 
 objects of sight ; they have yet to emerge out of the womb 
 of futurity, and are, therefore, in their very nature, unseen 
 things, which no man can see. That which gives them to 
 my mind, or to yours, the same power and influence as 
 though they already existed, so that we act as though they 
 already were, and conform ourselves to them with the cer- 
 tainty that they are yet to be, is nothing else than the same 
 principle which, with reference to other and higher objects, 
 an Apostle has termed, " the substance of things hoped for, 
 the evidence of things not seen. 11 And when we act by them, 
 as though they were present and sensible, and are regulated 
 by them as though they were the objects of sense, we walk 
 by faith, not by sight. 
 
 When, for instance, we arrange for to-morrow, with the 
 entire confidence that the sun which has set will rise again, 
 and that we shall, if life is spared, enjoy his light, and his 
 warm and invigorating influences to carry us through the 
 business or the employments of a new day, — it is obvious 
 t ...: the principle by which we are guided, and which is re- 
 gulating our conduct, is faith in the certainty of a thing yet 
 
280 
 
 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 unseen. When we enter upon any plans of life, or any 
 scheme of business, which it may require weeks, or months, 
 or years, to perfect ; and for the accomplishment of which 
 we may require, not merely the service of many living 
 beings like ourselves, but the continuance of all those laws by 
 which the world and the inhabitants of the world are go- 
 verned, and enter upon them with the full assurance that all 
 these shall continue to be as they have been, — it is equally 
 obvious, that things unseen, and which our faith alone can 
 assure to us, are really the things which are governing our 
 conduct and regulating our life. When the husbandman 
 prepares the ground for the reception of the precious seed, 
 deposits it in the bosom of the earth, and watches over its 
 growth and progress, in the confidence of the appointed 
 weeks of harvest ; there is here, if possible, a yet more strik- 
 ing example of the power of faith. None of these operations 
 terminate in themselves, but have all of them respect to a 
 final and ulterior object, — an object of which faith can only 
 assure him. It is the faith that the same laws will continue 
 to regulate the vegetable world, — that the same sun will con- 
 tinue to warm the ground, and the same showers to fertilize 
 it, — that there will be the same adaptation of these to the 
 nature of the soil, and the nature of the crop, — which be- 
 gins and carries on all his labours. Without this faith 
 there would be no seedtime, and therefore no harvest ; and 
 such an one is an example, more striking, perhaps, but not 
 more real, than any other, of a man walking by faith, not 
 by sight. 
 
 In these and a thousand other examples that might be 
 given, we have so many attestations to the power of faith. 
 It is of no consequence to our argument, that this is not 
 usually termed faith, and that the vast majority of those over 
 whose minds it is exerting its full influence have never re- 
 flected on the principle which is governing them ; it is enough 
 that things unseen, which are the proper objects of faith, are 
 every day and every hour exerting their influence over us ; 
 that we arc not merely persuaded of their certainty, but act- 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 28 1 
 
 ing as though they were, or, as the Apostle would term it, 
 walking by faith of them ; arid that without this faith the 
 business and the employments of life could not go on for a 
 single hour. Were all confidence of man in man to be broken 
 up, we can easily conceive how fatal this would be to the 
 comfort and happiness of the human family, — how it would 
 rend asunder every tie which binds men to one another, and 
 make every man stand apart from his fellow, with the feel- 
 ing of a solitary and individual interest. But this were only 
 a part of the evil, were our faith or our confidence in the 
 laws by which the world is upheld to be dissolved, — or ra- 
 ther (if men were not so ready to substitute the law for the 
 Lawgiver), I should say, were our faith in the constancy of 
 him who upholds the world to be dissolved, — not only would 
 every man stand apart from his fellow, but every man would 
 be under such continual apprehensions for his safety, as 
 would repress his exertions ; and, if the race did not perish 
 from the face of the earth, they would remain the miserable 
 slaves of their own gloomy forebodings, unable to institute 
 any hope on the future, or to count on the continuance of 
 any blessing beyond the moment of present enjoyment. So 
 necessary is it for our comfort, and even for our very exist- 
 ence, that we should be provided with faith. And therefore 
 it is that God has so constituted us, as to be capable of being 
 affected by unseen things, and of regulating ourselves accord- 
 ing to them ; and that the world, in all its various employ- 
 ments and concerns, affords so many striking examples of its 
 influence, — of men walking by faith, not by sight. 
 
 These observations may suffice to show, for all the appre- 
 hended mystery of the subject, how familiar we are with the 
 nature and operations of faith. And it appears of no small 
 consequence that a principle, to the possession and exercise 
 of which so much importance is uniformly attached in the 
 pages of the New Testament, should be one with which we 
 are every day, in one form or other, conversant, and which 
 we have had occasion to exert from the earliest dawn of 
 childhood. 
 
282 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 If the observations now made are correct, faith, at least in 
 general, and considered as that principle which substantiates 
 unseen things, is no mystery, nothing which is peculiar to 
 the Scripture, and of which we can find no examples apart 
 from those which it furnishes. It is that principle which per- 
 vades every part of human life, and enters into and regulates 
 all its concerns, and you may every where in the world find 
 the proofs of its power. When the Apostle, therefore, says 
 of himself, and of Christians generally, " we walk by faith, 
 not by sight," he is not introducing us to any new and strange 
 principle of our nature, but to the same principle, only ap- 
 plied to different objects, and objects equally fitted to influ- 
 ence and regulate our conduct. The same God who has 
 given us so many intimations of his will in the works of crea- 
 tion and providence around us, and who has hung out in the 
 heavens, and over the earth, so many signs of things as yet 
 unseen, that we may regulate our conduct accordingly for 
 the life that now is, has also given us in his Word assurance 
 as unquestionable, of certain other events, beyond the limits 
 of this world altogether, but which are nevertheless certainly 
 to be, and by which we may, in like manner, regulate our con- 
 duct for the life to come. Of the certainty of the one class of 
 events, — those which are yet to be in this world, — he has 
 given us a proof in the constancy of his natural providence, 
 and of the laws by which the world is governed ; of the cer- 
 tainty of the other, he has given us proof in the constancy 
 of his Word, which abideth for ever. In both cases, our 
 faith is required to rest on the same foundation, — the un- 
 changeableness of him who is without any variableness. And 
 whether we believe that the first openings of spring shall one 
 day terminate in the harvest, and so prepare the ground and 
 sow the seed in the confidence of its coming, or, looking for- 
 ward to a yet more glorious harvest, which he has promised 
 at the end of all things, look forward to it, and give ourselves 
 to the work of preparation for it, — in either case, we are re- 
 posing on the same faithfulness, and acting in obedience to 
 the same law of our nature, by which things that are not, 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 283 
 
 but which are certainly to be, become to us as though they 
 were. 
 
 To illustrate this point yet farther, let it be supposed that 
 the harvest which year after year crowns the labours of the 
 husbandman, and to his confidence in the coming of which 
 is to be traced all his diligence in preparing the soil and sow- 
 ing the seed in the bosom of the earth, were to meet and re- 
 ward his toil, not as we now find it, with each returning sea- 
 son, but were only to be reached after a certain lapse of years, 
 or at the close of life. I am aware of the improbability of 
 the supposition ; but let it be granted, for the sake of illus- 
 tration, that it were so, and that he were thus to receive his 
 recompense, not in certain yearly returns, but in one great 
 harvest, when the period of his trial had ended, and that he 
 was then, and only then, to enter upon the fruit of his la- 
 bours. Whatever change this might produce, it is obvious, 
 that if only persuaded of its certainty, and of the constancy 
 of those laws by which the natural world is governed, the 
 mere distance of the object need not enfeeble his exertions, 
 or lessen his diligence that it might be ensured ; and that he 
 might be found as much influenced by it, and walking as 
 surely by the faith of it, as now when no such lengthened 
 exercise of faith and patience is required of him. The truth 
 is, that multitudes in the world are governed by objects as 
 distant, and which they can only hope to reach toward the 
 close of life. The whole work and business of a lifetime 
 may be made subservient to their attainment ; and there is 
 nothing, therefore, impossible or improbable in such an ob- 
 ject, however distant, if only sure, calling forth the same di- 
 ligence and the same energy that it now does, when he is 
 assured of more speedily reaching it. Let it be supposed 
 further, that this object, instead of being one which he was 
 certain of attaining toward the close of life, were removed to 
 a point immediately beyond its termination, — that it could 
 only be his when his connexion with the present world was 
 dissolved, and that it would meet and reward him on his en- 
 trance on another state of existence, — a state of which he had 
 
284 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 the fullest evidence, — would this make any real change upon 
 the power of the object to affect his mind or influence his 
 conduct ? It might, in this case, require to be an object in 
 itself worthy of his ambition, and fitted to stimulate his ener- 
 gies, before it were capable of attracting him, and bringing 
 him within the sphere of its influence, from the distance to 
 which you had removed it ; and he would require to be well 
 persuaded of its certainty, before he could be expected to 
 live and labour in the faith of it. But if these conditions 
 were fulfilled, the mere change of its position, from a point 
 at the close of life to the point immediately beyond it, would 
 not make any real change upon its nature, or render it im- 
 possible for him any more than ever to walk by the faith of 
 it. Let it only rise up before him with that clearness and 
 power which faith can give to things unseen, and it might, 
 for all its distance, be influencing his mind in some degree, 
 as though it were present, exciting those affections of de- 
 sire, and hope, and love, which are suitable to its nature, 
 and kindling that ambition which might make him submit to 
 every sacrifice, and undergo every labour necessary to its at- 
 tainment. 
 
 If the propriety of this illustration is admitted, it may 
 give us some idea of the situation of the Christian, and show 
 us that there is nothing contrary to the nature of our minds 
 in supposing that he may walk by faith of those unseen 
 things which the Bible reveals, as well as the men of this 
 world walk by the faith of things in which they are inte- 
 rested. The only difference is, that whilst the objects which 
 move these lie all within the compass of this present life, the 
 objects which govern him lie altogether beyond it. The faith 
 that annihilates all distance of time and space, and makes the 
 things that are not become as though they were, may still be 
 as effectual in his case as in theirs. Only let them appear in 
 the clear light which faith can give to things unseen, — let 
 them be distinctly realized and fully admitted, — and not one 
 of them will be without its efficacy. And when he finds 
 himself walking by the faith of things which are unseen, and 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 285 
 
 which no man hath seen, or can see, he will find himself only 
 carried on and sustained by the same principle of his nature 
 which directs and governs him in the most ordinary affairs of 
 the present life ; and that the same faith which leads him to 
 live and labour for the attainment of its comforts, is prompt- 
 ing to the same diligence for the life that lies beyond it. 
 
 I shall not be supposed by these remarks, and by point- 
 ing out the similarity, or rather the sameness, of the princi- 
 ple by which we are to be governed, both for this world and 
 the world to come, to infer, that the one of these exercises 
 of faith is as natural to us as the other; or, that all who 
 exert the one will exert the other. The one of them is ex- 
 erted, in fact, by every human being who is endowed with 
 ordinary intelligence ; the other is peculiar to those whose 
 minds have been enlightened by the discoveries of the New 
 Testament. The one of these is either impressed on every 
 man by God, or is the necessary result of the constitution 
 which he has given us ; the other is the gift of God 
 through Jesus Christ, and is not of natural, but of Divine 
 operation. The truth is, that however simple and familiar 
 a thing it may be for a man to walk by faith in the con- 
 stancy of the laws by which the world is governed, it is not 
 so easy to walk by faith of those unseen and eternal things 
 that lie beyond it. With respect to these, great and important 
 as they may be, the men of this world are asleep, and treat 
 them as though they were not ; nor have they, in the case 
 of very many, made good that lodgement in their understand- 
 ings and convictions, as real and not imaginary objects, with- 
 out which they can have no influence. They are not to 
 them the objects of faith, and therefore they cannot walk by 
 faith in them ; they are at best but shadowy and impalpable 
 things, flitting at times before their minds, but never enter- 
 ing there, or taking up their abode in them ; they are, there- 
 fore, all but ineffectual, and the things that are present and 
 sensible always carry it over those that are unseen, and 
 which it requires a distinct effort of the mind to realize and 
 to contemplate. But let that veil which is upon their un- 
 
286 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 derstandings and their hearts, and which shrouds in deepest 
 obscurity the eternal world and all its interests, be with- 
 drawn, — let these rise up before them as things which are 
 certainly to be, and things to the reality and permanence of 
 which God has given, in his Word, attestation more solemn 
 and impressive than he has given to any of those laws of 
 the natural world, on the constancy of which they act so con- 
 fidently, — and they will begin from that very moment to walk 
 by faith of them. They who before were only moved by 
 sensible things, or, at most by things which lay within the 
 compass of a present world, will find themselves equally 
 moved by things unseen and spiritual ; and, as any great 
 and important object, though distant, may affect our minds, 
 to the exclusion of other and inferior objects, though pre- 
 sent and sensible, that eternal world which was then, for the 
 first time, opened upon them, will become the object of pre- 
 siding interest, to the exclusion of those things which, how- 
 ever engrossing before, will now appear unworthy for a mo- 
 ment to be compared with it. 
 
 The observations now made may serve to show the na- 
 ture and importance of faith as the mainspring of the Chris- 
 tian life ; and a very few observations will suffice to point 
 out their application to the circumstances of the Apostle, 
 and how he came to characterize the life which he lived, as 
 a walking by faith and not by sight. The words of the text 
 occur, you will perceive, in the middle of an expression of his 
 confidence in the reality and certainty of his own happy condi- 
 tion, when he should be delivered from the body, and ush- 
 ered into the eternal world ; and that, in his case, and in 
 the case of those who were like-minded, absence from the 
 body would only be the means of bringing about their intro- 
 duction to the presence of the Lord. Now, what could in- 
 form him or assure him of so blessed and desirable a result ? 
 It was not any thing that he saw which could impart it to 
 him. His senses and his powers of observation might carry 
 him to the borders of the spiritual world, but they could not 
 guide him one step beyond, nor penetrate, for an instant, 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 287 
 
 that unknown region which then opened to receive him. 
 Had he been to consult or to listen to the evidence of his 
 senses, their testimony had appeared at variance with his 
 hope, and utterly destructive of it. They could only pre- 
 sent to him the spectacle of the body hastening to dissolu- 
 tion, — the agonies of expiring nature, — the stillness, the un- 
 broken stillness of death, — and the rapid progress of corrup- 
 tion seizing upon all that was once full of life, and turning 
 its loveliness into loathing. Had he walked by sight, or 
 been influenced merely by the things which he saw, how 
 was he to extract from a scene such as this, any thing like 
 the hope of blessedness, and not rather to account that all 
 hope was extinguished with the extinction of life, and that, 
 with the dissolution of the body, his connexion, not merely 
 with this world, but with every other, was dissolved ? It was 
 here, however, when sense and sight could avail him no- 
 thing, that faith came to his aid, giving him assurance of a 
 world which had been revealed to it, and bidding him con- 
 template, in the dissolution of the earthly tabernacle, but a 
 step to the rearing of a more glorious body, as a seed of corn 
 is not quickened unless it die. It was here that faith told 
 of another life, which Christ had purchased for him, and of 
 mansions which he had gone before to prepare for him, 
 and of which he had already received the earnest and the 
 foretaste in the fruits of the Spirit. It was here that it 
 spoke of deliverance from sin and suffering, and of that Sa- 
 viour whom, not having seen, he had loved, and of an en- 
 trance into his immediate presence, and to all the blessed- 
 ness of an enduring communion with him. And, letting go 
 sense and sight altogether, he cleaved to faith, and faith as- 
 sumed the mastery ; and walking by faith, not by sight, he 
 was willing rather to be absent from the body and present 
 with the Lord, and laboured, that whether present or ab- 
 sent he might be accepted of Him. 
 
 And here I may remark, that this apparent opposition 
 between the things of sense and of faith, is not peculiar to 
 the example which the Apostle gives in his own case, but 
 
288 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 runs throughout ; and, it is for this reason, that in our text, 
 and in other parts of Scripture, they are presented in con- 
 trast to one another. So remote is the one class of objects 
 from the other, and so different the judgments which the 
 one would lead us to form from those which we are led to 
 form by the other, that if we would walk by the one, we 
 cannot walk by the other ; if we would hold by the one, we 
 must forego the other ; if we would walk by sight, I mean 
 be governed by things seen and temporal, we cannot walk 
 by faith of things unseen and eternal ; or, if we would pre- 
 serve the high path of faith, we must keep the world, and 
 the things of the world, in abeyance. If we walk by sight, 
 the present and the visible good will be preferred to the un- 
 seen and the distant good; if we walk by faith, the blessed- 
 ness that is to be revealed will make us account but little of 
 present things in comparison with it. If we walk by sight, 
 one event will appear to happen alike to all, — to the right- 
 eous and the wicked ; if we walk by faith, all the inequali- 
 ties of good and evil in the present world will disappear be- 
 fore the impartial retributions that await us. If we walk by 
 sight, the present world will necessarily engross all our 
 anxieties and our cares ; if we walk by faith, our anxiety and 
 our care will be, so to live and so to labour, as that we may 
 be accepted at Christ's judgment-seat. If we walk by sight, 
 the afflictions and trials of life will appear only as real and 
 unmitigated evils ; if we walk by faith, they will appear 
 blessings in disguise, intended to quicken our advancement 
 in conformity to God and to his holiness. 
 
 No endeavours of ours can make these two harmonize, 
 for the one of them is set over against the other, and the 
 influence of the one is to destroy that of the other. It is 
 not without reason, therefore, that it is so often required of 
 Christians to walk by faith, not by sight, and to dwell often 
 among the unseen things which faith substantiates, — that it is 
 so often given as their great distinction from those who know 
 not God, that they were the men who lived and died in 
 faith, — or that, when required to imitate the conduct of holy 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 289 
 
 men of old, we are called to be followers of those who through 
 faith and patience inherit the promises. 
 
 In concluding these remarks, I would remind those who, 
 in opposition to the Apostle, are walking by sight, not by 
 faith, that, though the things of faith are, in their very na- 
 ture, unseen, they are not on this account less certain, or 
 less worthy of their confidence, than those which are seen ; 
 and that they shall one day be certainly disclosed, whether 
 they believe them or not. You may at present perhaps 
 contrive to bid the thought of them away from you ; you 
 may refuse your attention to the evidences on which their 
 truth is built ; you may give little heed to those occasions 
 on which they are pressed on your consideration ; you may 
 refuse the prayer to which the hidden things of faith are re- 
 vealed ; you may even congratulate yourselves on the pos- 
 session of a certain prudential wisdom in rejecting all con- 
 cern about them, as though they were airy nothings, unfit 
 to engage men who have to deal with the sober and substan- 
 tial realities of a present world. Nevertheless, all this levity 
 and indifference will not prevent or delay the approach of 
 that time when they shall stand open and manifest. The 
 things that are now unseen, shall one day become seen, — 
 the world that is now shrouded in deepest mystery, shall one 
 day be disclosed ; and you shall not be able to hide it from 
 yourselves, — that the Word of God only warned you of 
 solemn verities, when it spoke of a coming resurrection and 
 a coming judgment. And what will be your situation, think 
 you, when ushered into a world, to the concerns of which 
 you have been professedly indifferent, and the very thought 
 of which you have sought to shut out from your minds, — 
 when brought into the immediate presence of that Saviour 
 whose voice, issuing from the depths of that awful sanctuary, 
 you have refused to hear, — and when called to reap the 
 harvest of a life in which you have sowed to the flesh, and 
 shall of the flesh only reap corruption ; whilst, had you sowed 
 to the spirit, you had of the spirit reaped life everlasting. 
 
 Finally, let the observations now made confirm believers 
 
 T 
 
290 DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 in the stability of those hopes which they are cherishing for 
 a life to come. I know well that these hopes rest on their 
 own evidence, and that this evidence does not require any 
 confirmation. Yet it may bring the thing more convincingly 
 before your minds, when you are made to see that every 
 thing around you is bearing testimony to it, — and that God 
 has given you, in the constancy of those natural laws by 
 which the world is governed, and in which he is continually 
 requiring your faith, an example of the constancy and un- 
 changeableness of his counsel in all that he has declared for 
 the life to come, and in which he is no less requiring your 
 faith. 
 
 He who presides over the natural economy presides also 
 over the spiritual ; and the faithfulness which he evinces in 
 the one, is an assurance that the same faithfulness will be 
 evinced in the other. He who is never found soliciting your 
 confidence in any thing here, without amply repaying it, 
 will be equally regardful of all in which he has encouraged 
 you to confide for hereafter. One may thus find every where 
 abundant confirmations of their hope. Nature may thus 
 truly become the handma d of faith ; and in her every-day 
 operations with which you are all familiar, — in the certainty 
 with which life and vegetation succeed death in the vegeta- 
 ble world, — may you discover the certainty of what is else- 
 where declared, that what is sown in corruption shall be 
 raised in incorruption, and what is sown in weakness shall 
 be raised in power. In the contemplation of these things, we 
 are led to exclaim, with the Psalmist, — " For ever, O Lord, 
 thy word is settled in heaven ; thy faithfulness is unto all 
 generations : Thou hast established the earth, and it abid- 
 eth : They continue this day according to thine ordinances ; 
 for all are thy servants." 
 
 If these things be so, Christians may well comfort them- 
 selves under all the difficulties and trials to which their faith 
 may expose them. You can submit to be regarded by those 
 who walk by sight, as destitute of all true wisdom, and all 
 proper regard for your present interests. You can submit 
 
DISCOURSE EIGHTEENTH. 291 
 
 to all the sacrifices that may be required of you, for the sake 
 of a good conscience, without repining. You can see men 
 enjoying all the comforts and pleasures of a present life, 
 whilst you may be deprived of them, without one feeling of 
 envy ; and seeking daily to lay up for yourselves a treasure 
 in the heavens which shall last when the world and the 
 things of the world have passed away, you can wait for it ; 
 though seeing now through a glass darkly, yet assured, 
 that you shall one day see face to face ; and that though 
 you now know only in part, you shall then know even as 
 you are known. 
 
LETTERS ON PRAYER. 
 
LETTERS ON PRAYER. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Nice. 
 
 When I had last the pleasure of meeting you, you 
 
 seemed to think thai I might usefully employ myself during 
 my winter residence at Nice, in putting together a few 
 thoughts on the subject of Prayer ; and as I felt too happy in 
 the prospect of any occupation which might be profitable to 
 my own congregation, whilst I was denied the opportunity of 
 ministering amongst them, I promised to give the subject 
 my serious consideration ; the fruits of which I now take the 
 liberty of laying before you. 
 
 If I remember right, you did not express any doubts on 
 the efficacy of prayer, nor did you consider that this was the 
 point in which the deficiency of many professing Christians 
 principally lay. You seemed to think that a directory for 
 prayer was more necessary, and might be more profitable, 
 than any discussion on its nature, or any attempt to recon- 
 cile the answer promised to it, with the ordinary course of 
 Divine Providence. And I do the more readily concur in 
 your opinion, as the line thus marked out will not require 
 
296 LETTER I. 
 
 me to enter upon any of those depths connected with the 
 subject of prayer, on which I could not hope to throw any 
 additional light ; and which have, in so far as we can pene- 
 trate them, been ably and successfully elucidated. I con- 
 sider, therefore, that the principal object which I am to keep 
 in view, is to give some directions to those who may feel the 
 duty and obligation of prayer, as to the way in which it may 
 be best performed, — the way in which most honourably to 
 God, and most profitably for themselves, they may set about 
 the performance of a duty, the obligations of which they al- 
 ready feel. The inquiry which I am supposed to meet is 
 abundantly natural, and the very inquiry which the disci- 
 ples made at our blessed Lord himself, when they said, 
 " Lord ! teach us to pray, as John also taught his disci- 
 ples. 1 ' 1 But, notwithstanding the answer which he returned 
 to their question, and the additional light which he after- 
 wards communicated, in those clear discoveries which he 
 gave them of himself, as the great medium of prayer, there 
 may be many who feel difficulties that they would wish re- 
 solved, and which they do not find the ordinary ministry of 
 the Gospel sufficiently minute and preceptive to remove. 
 If there are any, then, who entertain doubts regarding the 
 efficacy of prayer, the following observations are not in- 
 tended for them. If there are any, whose minds being sa- 
 tisfied on this subject, still feel perplexed as to the manner 
 of its performance, the remarks I am to make are submitted 
 to their consideration, in the hope that, through the Divine 
 blessing, they may be profitable for guiding them in the 
 discharge of a duty so intimately connected with their spi- 
 ritual well-being. 
 
 Permit me, however, before entering on the subject, to 
 remove one error concerning its true nature, into which some 
 may be ready to fall. When I would give some directions 
 as to the way in which prayer may be best performed, or 
 seek to remove some of the difficulties which are apt to per- 
 plex Christians in its performance, I do not presume to sup- 
 pose, even though I could suggest something far more pre- 
 
LETTER I. 297 
 
 cise and applicable to the wants of Christians than I can 
 hope to do, that I could thereby form a man, or even a se- 
 rious man, to the spirit and the habit of prayer. That re- 
 quires a higher than any human agency. Prayer, taken in 
 its simplest meaning, presupposes a sense of our need, which 
 I cannot give you, or any man. It supposes some know- 
 ledge of the Divine character, which it is the privilege of 
 God himself to reveal. It presupposes faith in the readiness 
 of God to hear us, which it is the gift of God to bestow. 
 No method of prayer, however exact or scriptural, could, 
 for a single moment, be admitted to supply this. However 
 beautiful or perfect in its kind, it were still a dead letter, 
 except the spirit of God gave it life; and he who would 
 pray acceptably, or even pray at all, has need of a higher 
 than any human teaching, — the teaching of Him who is not 
 merely the hearer of prayer, but who himself inspires the 
 feeling of which prayer is only the expression. But, though 
 the state of mind in which prayer originates cannot be 
 formed by any method of human invention, there may yet 
 be ways and means accessible to us, of confirming it ; there 
 may be something which habit will strengthen and improve ; 
 there may be a right direction given to the mind in its exer- 
 cise; there may be difficulties removed which prevent our 
 advancement ; and there may be encouragements presented, 
 which are fitted to assist this advancement. This may be 
 considered as the legitimate province of human teaching, as 
 it is the province to which I am now to apply myself ; and 
 I shall not account my labour to be in vain, if this end be 
 promoted in the hearts of any of God's children, assured as 
 I am, that, being led to take pleasure in its performance, 
 they will draw down upon themselves more largely the spirit 
 of prayer. — I am, &c. 
 
LETTER II. 
 
 SIMPLICITY IN PRAYER. 
 
 — I have often thought, that one thing which ob- 
 structs many Christians in the duty of prayer, is the want 
 of right views as to its simplicity. I am afraid that there 
 are not a few who seem to think it a work which requires 
 certain talents and acquirements, which they do not feel that 
 they possess ; that it needs a certain kind of learning which 
 every person cannot command ; that it is a gift which they 
 do not possess the means of attaining ; and, in consequence 
 of this, they surrender themselves to what may be the 
 easiest mode of prayer, without seeking how they may best 
 perform it. If this has not presented itself to your observa- 
 tion, it has frequently done so to mine ; and whenever this 
 has been the case, I have uniformly ascribed it to imperfect 
 views of the simplicity of prayer. In one sense it cannot be 
 doubted, that prayer is the greatest and loftiest exercise of 
 the human mind ; it presents the contrast of the finite with 
 the infinite ; it is the outgoing of the heart to him whose 
 presence filleth all things, the mystery of whose nature, and 
 the depth of whose ways no human intellect can fully appre- 
 hend. But it is still no less true, that prayer, whilst it is the 
 loftiest, is one of the simplest things with which our minds 
 can be familiar. It is the expression of our wants to Him 
 who is able and willing to relieve them ; it is the cry of our 
 helplessness to Him who is able to help us ; it is a son asking 
 
LETTER II. 299 
 
 bread of his father ; a little child in perplexity betaking it- 
 self to a parent's wisdom and guidance. No ideas can be 
 simpler than those which these expressions suggest, and he 
 who best apprehends them, and carries them about with him 
 in this duty, will best enter into the real nature of prayer. 
 
 I have often thought how well fitted the parables of our 
 Lord are for impressing this point upon our minds, and how 
 much they bring it out of the region of shadowy conjecture, 
 and present it as a thing so simple and definite, that it is 
 impossible for any one to misapprehend it. It was said of a 
 certain ancient philosopher, that by the simplicity of his sys- 
 tem, and its application to human life, he brought philosophy 
 from heaven to earth ; and, if I might venture to apply such 
 an expression to the present subject, it is far more true of 
 our Lord's teaching on the subject of prayer. As he has set 
 it forth to us, no one will suppose for a moment that it has 
 lost any of its greatness and majesty, as it might have done 
 if so treated by an inferior hand ; but then, without losing 
 its proper dignity, it wears the aspect of prayer, such as in- 
 fant minds can apprehend. It is spread over subjects with 
 which we are every day familiar ; it is represented as a thing 
 which men are every day exercising ; it is a thing in which 
 we are sure of speeding, as we are in those in which we count 
 most securely on success ; and, separating from the thing it- 
 self all that is extraneous, or that our minds can but inade- 
 quately conceive of, it is set before us in that most simple 
 and lucid of all sentences, " Ask, and it shall be given you ; 
 seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and it shall be opened unto 
 you." 
 
 If you know, then, what it is to ask, that you may receive, 
 — what it is to persevere in asking, or to seek that you may 
 find, — or what it is to ask importunately, to knock, that it 
 may be opened to you, you know what it is to pray. And, 
 knowing this, what is there, if you are conscious of your own 
 necessities, or believe in the answer which the Saviour has 
 promised, to hinder you from this instant setting about the 
 duty of prayer ? 
 
300 LETTER II. 
 
 Instead of this, however, I fear that there are not a few 
 well-meaning Christians who have still the idea of something 
 far more formal, and, therefore, more formidable, — of a cer- 
 tain structure of words and sentences which must be attained, 
 and without which they cannot be said to pray, — and of a 
 regularity and order of composition, in which, even though 
 they could attain it, the spirit of prayer is ready to evaporate 
 and be lost. I must confess that, regarded in this light, I 
 have never been able to reconcile myself to an expression, 
 not unfrequently applied to prayer. You may have heard 
 it said of such a prayer, that it is a beautiful prayer. The 
 expression strikes me as faulty, perhaps, because it seems to 
 indicate, that the person who utters it has been rather at- 
 tending to the words than joining in the prayer ; but it is 
 also faulty, I think, as it serves to cherish those wrong views 
 of the subject to which I have adverted, as if prayer were 
 good in proportion to the beauty of the expressions in which 
 it is set forth, or as if that prayer must be a good one 
 which is a beautiful one. It is very true that there is a ma- 
 jesty, as well as simplicity, inherent in all spiritual prayer ; 
 and wherever the great object of worship is steadily contem- 
 plated, there will of itself be generated a language in the 
 expression of our wants, or in our adoration of God, suitable 
 to such an occasion. Who has not admired the grandeur 
 as well as simplicity, for example, of the Old Testament 
 prayers, and above all of the Lord's Prayer ? But then this 
 quality, so far from being essential to all right devotion, was 
 in these cases of such a nature, that had it been made the 
 chief end, or even contemplated at all, it had ceased to exist. 
 And he who is familiar with the prayers of simple and un- 
 taught men, having no other helps to prayer than a devout 
 frame of spirit, and what an acquaintance with the language 
 of the Bible conveys, will know, that with them there is often 
 a felicity and power of expression, in which the richest and 
 most polished devotional compositions are often defective. I 
 would have this, therefore, steadily kept before the mind of 
 every one who would engage or advance in the duty of 
 
LETTER II. 301 
 
 prayer, — that it is not necessary for us, in order to pray, to 
 engage long, or formally, or learnedly, or methodically, in 
 the duty, — that it is neither more nor less than to ask, that 
 you may receive. How simple an injunction is this, when 
 spoken by a fellow-creature whom we know to be able, and 
 who assures us of his willingness to help us ! And what 
 should render it more complex or difficult of apprehension 
 or practice when applied to God ? There may be other 
 things which are accessories to prayer, and which it is highly 
 desirable that we should possess, especially if we are placed 
 in situations which require us to exercise this gift before 
 others. But this is all that is essential to prayer, — he that 
 asks, and asks in faith, prays, — he may hardly employ lan- 
 guage at all in giving vent to his desires, but still he prays, 
 — he may not have arranged his thoughts, he may speak 
 but what he feels and desires, and yet he prays ; and I ven- 
 ture to say, that the prayers of such a man will not only be 
 acceptable to God, whilst the most beautiful, exact, and even 
 scriptural prayers without this, would not, but that they will 
 generally be found to possess, even though he regards it not, 
 and simply because he regards it not, a noble simplicity, 
 such as he could not with all his efforts have attained. 
 
 I have said so much upon this subject, because I am per- 
 suaded that some such mistaken views of prayer as I have 
 now pointed out keep hold of the minds of many, and pre- 
 vent the free exercise of prayer ; and, what is more, because 
 there is danger in this way of overlooking what the essence 
 of prayer really is. There is such a disposition in our minds 
 to substitute other things for spiritual worship, that it is not 
 possible to strip prayer too much of all its accessories, and 
 present it steadily before the mind in its true character, as 
 asking of God, that we may receive, and that it requires to 
 be nothing more than this, in order to be the prayer which 
 God will answer. Who has not felt how ready he is to de- 
 viate from this simple exercise of prayer, even although he 
 may not have any false or imperfect views of its nature ? 
 And how much more ready would he be to depart from it, 
 
302 LETTEll II. 
 
 were he to have the apprehension that there was something 
 more than this necessary to constitute prayer ? 
 
 I do not intend, however, by these remarks, to forbid the 
 use of forms of prayer on certain occasions, or the taking ad- 
 vantage of the assistance which they may afford to any man 
 for the practice of devotion. But on this subject I shall 
 afterwards enter. In conclusion, I cannot help remarking 
 how ready men are, in every thing that relates to the wor- 
 ship of God, to lose sight of the simplicity of the Divine 
 Word, and, with the idea of improving upon the scrip- 
 tural pattern, almost to do away the very idea of drawing 
 near to God. Let any one who is familiar with the Roman 
 Catholic churches only recollect the pomp and ceremony in 
 which the worship of God is enveloped, and he will find 
 abundant cause for this reflection. Alas ! how different is 
 the faith there exhibited from the simple character of the 
 lowly Saviour ! — I am, &c. 
 
LETTER III. 
 
 1 HIS STRUCTURE OP PRAYER. 
 
 The remarks which I made on the simplicity of 
 
 prayer will not be supposed to imply, that there is no such 
 thing as method in prayer. Though prayer be, strictly 
 speaking, supplication, and nothing more, yet it has come, 
 by scriptural and common use, to signify the expression of 
 all those sentiments with which the mind of a dependent 
 and sinful creature may rightly and properly be filled, in 
 drawing near to God. Hence it assumes different names, 
 according to the nature of those feelings, — all of which, 
 however, are included under the general name of prayer. 
 For example, when the nature, perfections, and glory of 
 God, are the objects to which the mind is directed in prayer, 
 it is adoration. When the manifestation of Divine mercy 
 and goodness towards us as creatures, and above all, as 
 guilty creatures, is peculiarly regarded and celebrated in 
 prayer, it is termed thanksgiving. When our own sinful- 
 ness and unworthiness become the subjects about which our 
 thoughts are conversant in prayer, it is confession. And, 
 when we simply ask what we need, or what we desire, this is 
 termed supplication ; and this last again has been divided 
 into supplication and intercession, according as we ourselves, 
 or as others, are the objects of our petitions. 
 
 It were altogether needless to dwell on these several parts 
 
304 LETTER III. 
 
 of prayer, with which every man is sufficiently acquainted, 
 and which are familiarly employed by every man who ap- 
 proaches God, whether he has ever thought of affixing dis- 
 tinct names to them or not. They arise, in fact, out of the 
 simplest relations in which we stand, and are amongst the 
 first and simplest feelings with which our minds are conver- 
 sant, when brought seriously to think of God. The solemn 
 awe which naturally invests a serious mind in this situation, 
 prompts the expression of adoration, as it contemplates his 
 glory and grace ; the heart that feels the blessings which 
 God has bestowed, naturally responds in the language of 
 thanksgiving ; the pressure of guilt, and the consciousness of 
 unworthiness, as naturally again prompt the language of con- 
 fession ; whilst supplication is called forth by circumstances as 
 powerful and various as are our own necessities, or the ne- 
 cessities of others. In what order, or how far these several 
 parts of prayer should enter into our devotions, is one of 
 those points on which no answer can be given ; and it would 
 utterly detract from the simplicity of prayer, were we to at- 
 tempt to give an answer to the inquiry. And, if even in 
 compositions more exact in their nature than prayer can be 
 said to be, — as in an oration for example, we should be in 
 danger of allowing the spirit to evaporate, were we to com- 
 pose it according to the rules of an exact method, — how 
 much more must there be danger of this, in a thing so ten- 
 der and ready to be so evanescent as the spirit of prayer ! 
 It is not necessary that all of these should enter into every 
 prayer ; although without any design or forethought on our 
 part, they will be found, more or less I doubt not, in almost 
 every one, except on very special occasions. And the best 
 rule that can be given is, that wherever we feel our minds 
 at the time disposed to carry us, whether to the expression 
 of adoration, or thanksgiving, or confession, or supplication, 
 these we should follow, in the confidence that our prayer 
 will then be the best transcript of our own mind, and there- 
 fore partake most of the spirit of prayer. 
 
 There can be but one feeling on this subject, in so far as 
 
LETTER III. 305 
 
 regards private prayer ; and even when our prayers may be 
 intended to guide the devotions of others, as in the family- 
 circle for example, it is seldom that the state of our own 
 minds, unless too minutely depicted, is so isolated as not to 
 lead us to express the prayer which may be most suited to 
 the feelings and desires of those around us. At any rate, 
 the devotional feelings expressed by us will be best fitted to 
 awaken corresponding affections in the minds of others, till 
 all come to participate in the feelings of which we are our- 
 selves conscious. As to the manner, or language proper for 
 supplication, our blessed Lord has given us a short but ex- 
 pressive model, in the prayer which usually goes by his 
 name ; a prayer which, independently of the authority on 
 which it comes recommended to us, must be regarded by 
 every devout mind, as a pattern of simplicity and compre- 
 hensiveness ; and the whole language of Scripture is also so 
 suitable to devotion, that it has been adopted and conse- 
 crated as that in which we are to approach God. In adora- 
 tion, indeed, as our knowledge of the Divine character and 
 perfections can only be gathered from his own revelation, it 
 is hardly possible for us to deviate from the expressions of 
 the Sacred Scriptures ; but even in the other parts of prayer, 
 there is such a breadth and comprehensiveness in the Scrip- 
 tures, — they speak a language always so true to the actual 
 state of human feeling, — they set before us our fellow-men 
 in situations so various, and represent the desires and work- 
 ings of a spiritual mind with such variety and minuteness, 
 that it is hardly possible to conceive a situation to which 
 you will not find one in the Bible analogous, or a feeling of 
 which they do not furnish the correct and proper expression. 
 It is not to be expected, that those who are requiring direc- 
 tion in prayer should possess that intimate acquaintance 
 with the Word of God, which qualifies them to employ it 
 with this familiarity in their devotional exercises ; but even 
 they may from the very first endeavour to cultivate a habit, 
 which, whilst it gives new interest to the Scriptures, enables 
 them to discover the right use of many a precious promise 
 
 u 
 
306 
 
 LKTTKR III. 
 
 contained in them, by employing it as the language of prayer. 
 In reading the Scriptures, for example, let the portion which 
 is read be considered as furnishing the matter of prayer,—- 
 let the lessons which it teaches be turned into supplications 
 that we may be enabled to learn and obey them, — let us sup- 
 plicate that its warnings may be impressed on our hearts, — 
 let even some of the principal topics be written down, if wc 
 have time and opportunity for this purpose. This is surely 
 an exercise not above the capacity of ordinary Christians ; 
 and, whilst the Word of God will thus be treasured up in 
 our hearts, we shall daily treasure up also the materials for 
 prayer. I may add, that they who have not time or oppor- 
 tunity for transcribing passages from the Word of God, will 
 find the thing done to their hand in some one of the methods 
 of prayer which have been printed ; although it were well 
 that they should endeavour to shape their devotions by the 
 Scripture which they themselves read, and note those pass- 
 ages of the Divine Word which are peculiarly suited for 
 prayer, as one of the best means of acquiring familiarity and 
 variety in the language of devotion. In this way, in propor- 
 tion as we grow in the knowledge of Scripture, we shall grow 
 in meetness for the duty of prayer ; and, by turning its pro- 
 mises into supplications, we shall employ the very way by 
 which God has taught us to make these promises our own. 
 Our prayers, which may require some care and attention 
 when others are to unite with us, will possess the native ma- 
 jesty and simplicity of the Divine Word ; and we shall feel 
 ourselves elevated by the thought, that we are not only pre- 
 senting the same petitions, but presenting them almost in 
 the very words, which holy men have employed since the 
 beginning of time. The prayers of a man of God, whose 
 mind is thus imbued with Scripture, are felt to have an unc- 
 tion and a richness which no other prayers, however excel- 
 lent, can possess. Instead of merely stringing together and 
 repeating a number of scriptural passages, which may be done 
 without much feeling or much connexion, such a man, with- 
 out formally or fully quoting any, will yet show that he has 
 
LETTER III. 307 
 
 imbibed their spirit, made them his own, and has extracted 
 from them those Divine secrets, which are an acceptable of- 
 fering on the Divine altar. 
 
 If it is thought that some of these observations are unne- 
 cessarily minute, I would remind you, that they are written 
 for the benefit of those who are " rude in prayer," and in- 
 tended also to direct others, who may be desirous of improv- 
 ing in the habit of prayer, as to how that habit may be best 
 attained. Surely this is a point of some importance, if we 
 may thereby be assisted to engage in prayer with greater 
 ease, and with greater comfort. At the same time, I would 
 be far from encouraging the idea, that prayer is tied down to 
 these, or any forms of expression. The truth is, that in pro- 
 portion as we conceive of prayer as a thing which must be 
 possessed of certain qualifi cations of order or style to render 
 it acceptable, we are in danger of allowing the spirit of 
 prayer to escape ; our attention is withdrawn from the great 
 and essential character of prayer, " ask, and it shall be given 
 you ■" and, in our anxiety about the dress or mode of our 
 supplications, we lose sight of that thing, without which they 
 will be only as a sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. " Our 
 beautiful liturgy," — " our incomparable liturgy, 11 are ex- 
 pressions which we often hear from our brethren of the sister 
 Church ; but it may be questioned whether they are not 
 often pronounced by those who never entered spiritually into 
 the service, and with whom the admiration and relish which 
 they feel for the beautiful simplicity of its language have been 
 substituted for the spirit of devotion. 
 
 Let our minds be prepared by a few moments of medita- 
 tion for engaging in prayer, — let them be quickened by the 
 recollection of our necessities, and of the manifold grace and 
 mercy of God, — let us seek to feel alive to the truth and 
 reality of the promise which he has made to answer prayer, 
 — and, above all, let us seek to feel the necessity of the in- 
 fluence of that Divine Spirit, who has promised to help our 
 infirmities, and we shall not want words, and apt words even, 
 in which to make our wants known at the Divine footstool. 
 
308 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 They will flow naturally, because they will flow from the 
 heart, and they will be, — what the words of others when 
 adopted by us can seldom be, — the very transcript of what 
 we feel and desire. 
 
 After all, whatever difficulties about the manner or matter 
 of prayer may at first perplex a Christian, he will find that 
 the most serious hinderance to its right performance lies in 
 the too frequent want of that devotional spirit to which I 
 have so often alluded. To guard against this want, as pre- 
 venting the right exercise of spiritual worship, will be his 
 great concern, and will often prompt him to present that pe- 
 tition, in a higher sense even than the disciples presented it, 
 " Lord, teach us to pray."" — I am, &c. 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 FORMS OF PRAYER. 
 
 Some of the remarks in the previous letters may lead 
 you to ask, how far forms of prayer appear advisable ; and 
 the question, at any rate, is so often asked, that it may be 
 fairly considered as included in my proposed object of consi- 
 dering some of the difficulties connected with the subject of 
 prayer. 
 
 In entering upon this point, I may be permitted to say, 
 that my remarks have no reference to the use of forms in 
 public worship, which is a larger and more difficult question, 
 that lies not within my province, and on which, though I 
 had felt inclined to enter, I had been almost debarred by my 
 present circumstances, having been for some time, as you 
 know, worshipping according to those forms, 
 
 " Through which, in fix'd career, 
 As through a zodiac, moves the ritual year 
 Of England's Church." 
 
 My remarks will apply solely to forms of prayer for the 
 family or the closet ; and as we are both, I think, of opinion 
 that these have been employed more frequently amongst us 
 of late years than in the days of our fathers, it may deserve 
 to be considered how far this has been, or is likely to be, fa- 
 vourable to the spirit of devotion. 
 
310 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Considered with reference to private prayer, I confess 
 there appears to me hardly any room for doubt which of 
 them is entitled to the preference. It is, in the first place, 
 always more difficult to worship spiritually through a form 
 than without one. If we vary the form frequently, an effort 
 of recollection is necessary to recall it, and this interferes 
 with the absorption of the mind in the great object of wor- 
 ship. If, again, the same form, or nearly the same, be re- 
 tained, the mind becomes so familiar with it, that, without a 
 continual effort of self-recollection, we are in danger of run- 
 ning over it as a mere form, — of repeating it as children are 
 too often permitted to do their little prayers. And then 
 every form of prayer is necessarily deficient in minuteness 
 for private devotion. How is a writer of prayers in his closet 
 to find out expressions which will apply to my ever-varying 
 feelings and circumstances, and which will embody the 
 thoughts of my heart, as I ought to utter them to Him, be- 
 fore whom the secrets of all hearts are manifest ? The fact 
 is, that, to render his forms of prayer useful, they must be 
 such as are applicable to the state of men generally, — that 
 is, they must want that particularity which is fitted to render 
 them specially suitable for my devotions. These may be 
 considered as very small matters by some, but they will not 
 be so regarded by those who know what prayer is. The 
 truth will be found to be, that it is in proportion to the mi- 
 nuteness of our prayers that prayer will be profitable. How 
 can we be said to cast our burden on the Lord, if we do not 
 set forth before him our very case in all its circumstances ? 
 How can we entertain the comfortable promise given to those 
 who confess their sins, if we have not confessed our sins be- 
 fore him, with all those peculiar aggravations of which we 
 alone can be conscious ? Or how can we feel the comfort of 
 having made known our necessities to our Father in heaven, 
 if these have not been spread out with some fulness and dis- 
 tinctness before him ? In every case where a form of prayer 
 is employed, there will be many things, and these, perhaps, 
 the most necessary, for which our hearts find no proper ex- 
 
LETTER IV. 311 
 
 pression in these forms ; and, in so far as this is true, one 
 great design of prayer must be imperfectly attained. 
 
 I have made these remarks without thinking it necessary 
 to enter upon the question which has been sometimes mooted' 
 how far extempore prayer is agreeable to Scripture, because 
 I do not find that the pious members of churches employing 
 forms have any objections to join in extempore prayer ; and, 
 above all, because our Lord, in uttering the prayer which 
 bears his name, did no more than give us a model after 
 which we were to pray. Although I am aware that those 
 who have been long accustomed to employ them may feel 
 some difficulty in laying them aside, I must say that the use 
 of them appears to me exceedingly hurtful, and very likely 
 to lead to formality in devotion. What other effect can the 
 daily repetition of prayers, which do not embody the felt 
 wants and necessities of my soul, have upon my mind, but 
 to sink the tone and prevent the proper use of prayer in my 
 case ? Instead of feeling it to be the privilege of making 
 my requests in every thing known to God, must not this 
 have the effect at times of making me experience a painful 
 discrepancy between my prayers and my feelings, as I would 
 utter them to a fellow-creature ? And must not the ultimate 
 effect of this be, not merely to deprive me of the benefit of 
 those prayers which I might have presented, but to contract 
 my mind to the form which I employ, instead of leading me 
 to grow daily in the spirit and habit of prayer ? If there 
 may still be difficulties felt in laying these forms aside, I 
 would only say, have you considered the simplicity of prayer 
 as our Lord has represented it ? or yet more, have you 
 weighed the promise of the Holy Spirit to help our infirmi- 
 ties ? I humbly think that these remarks, with some modi- 
 fication, are applicable also to a family, which is nothing else 
 than a little community, having certain peculiar interests, 
 and feelings, and necessities in common, and upon the proper 
 expression of which in prayer much of its interest and im- 
 provement will depend. I am aware that in this case it is 
 not necessary or desirable to have all the minuteness that is 
 
312 LETTER IV. 
 
 required for private devotion, and that forms of prayer may 
 be had which come more nearly to the state of our families, 
 than to the state of our own selves ; but still every family 
 has its peculiar circumstances, — there are events often hap- 
 pening within the bosom of a family, which ought to have a 
 place in family-prayer, — there are circumstances every day 
 occurring around us, which may, much to our profit, be in 
 like way remembered, — and there are always changes taking 
 place in the situation of our friends, in which every member 
 of the family is interested, — and for the expression of these 
 no form of prayer can suffice, however excellent in other re- 
 spects it may be. 
 
 Besides this, however, there is another view in which fa- 
 mily-prayer is to be considered, — in the influence which it 
 exerts on the members of the family. In this case, I do think 
 the argument is entirely against the use of forms of prayer. 
 Which of these is likely to be more impressive on the minds 
 of children and servants, or to convince them more deeply 
 that the parent or the master, to whom they naturally look 
 up, is most anxiously alive to their spiritual interests,— when 
 a prayer is read by him, or when he gives utterance in his 
 own language to his own desires in their behalf? Either of 
 them will be useful ; but, to my view, the spectacle is likely 
 to be more impressive and edifying when the head of a fa- 
 mily, like a priest over his own household, presents his own 
 peculiar offering on the family-altar. A head of a family 
 may read prayers in his family, merely from regard to good 
 example, but he will not be at least so ready to pray without 
 a form from the same motive, nor will it be so readily sus- 
 pected by others that he does so ; and this is of itself no 
 small matter for securing the great ends of family-religion. 
 Besides, I do not conceive any thing better fitted for im- 
 pressing upon the minds of those with whom he is connected 
 the reality of prayer, than those peculiar supplications, called 
 forth by the peculiar circumstances of the family, which 
 forms, however excellent, cannot supply. When his chil- 
 dren and servants see that every thing which bears upon 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 313 
 
 their welfare is committed to God, — that he is regarding the 
 various events which befall them in a spiritual point of view, 
 —and that he is asking the blessing and guidance of God 
 upon all their circumstances as a family, it cannot fail, I 
 think, to strengthen the conviction, provided it is not con- 
 tradicted by his conduct, that he is himself sensible of the 
 supreme importance of the Divine blessing to himself and 
 his house ; and Divine truth must, therefore, come recom- 
 mended to them by all the force of a parent's or a master's 
 authority.— I am, Sec. 
 
LETTER V. 
 
 THE ANSWER OF PRAYER. 
 
 ——In considering, as I have been led to do, some of the 
 difficulties connected with prayer, I should feel that my task 
 were imperfectly accomplished, should I omit those connected 
 with the answer to prayer, — a subject on which many Chris- 
 tians entertain very vague and perplexed notions. There 
 can be no doubt, in the first place, that the Word of God 
 every where assigns to prayer a real efficacy, in procuring 
 for us the blessings which we need, or in turning aside the 
 evils which we fear, — and that where our prayers have been 
 thus answered, it is our duty to mark and observe it. The 
 man who is indifferent whether his prayers are answered or 
 not, or whether the event has been in accordance with his 
 prayers, virtually acknowledges, either that he has no faith 
 in their efficacy, or that he is indifferent about the things 
 for which he prays ; in which case, he can hardly be said to 
 have prayed at all. Nor will there be any thing which a 
 devout mind would wish to treasure up with greater fidelity, 
 as furnishing matter of thanksgiving and praise, than those 
 occasions in which God condescended to the voice of his 
 supplications, and sent relief from his holy hill. Nothing 
 is more remarkable than this state of mind in the holy men 
 whose devotions are set forth to us in the Word of God, 
 and many of the Psalms especially are the breathings of a 
 
LETTER V. 315 
 
 devout heart, not merely in the contemplation of the Divine 
 mercies, but of those mercies, as specially vouchsafed in an- 
 swer to prayer. As to the duty and advantage, therefore, 
 of observing and treasuring up the answer of prayer, there 
 cannot be the smallest doubt. 
 
 It is sometimes felt, however, as a difficulty by serious 
 minds, how far they are justified in considering every thing 
 that takes place in accordance with their prayers, as the an- 
 swer of prayer. They will have little hesitation in acknow- 
 ledging this, in situations where their hearts and affections 
 have been much interested, and where they have been led 
 frequently and fervently to a throne of grace ; and above 
 all, if the object for which they supplicated was one for 
 which they felt simply their dependence on God. But, in 
 the more ordinary affairs of life, and in cases which never 
 called forth such continued supplications, they may feel 
 doubtful how far it is right in them to believe that their 
 prayers have been answered, or to rest assured that the 
 blessings received have been given because they sought 
 them. The difficulty is doubtless increased, when they see 
 by the history of enthusiasts, how much this subject has 
 been the means of hardening them in error, — how many 
 things have been blasphemously given out as the answer to 
 prayer, which God had no share in furthering, — how often 
 they have mistaken the heated impressions of their own 
 minds for Divine intimations, — and how many things have 
 seemed to take place in accordance with their prayers, which 
 the Hearer of Prayer never ordered, and which have proved 
 only the means of strengthening hem in error. 
 
 In such a situation, a serious mind is naturally led to ask 
 how far he may, without subjecting himself to the charge of 
 enthusiasm, consider his prayers as answered, when the event 
 takes place in accordance with his prayers ; or whether there 
 are any marks by which he may be able to distinguish when he 
 is justified in believing that his prayers have been answered, 
 and when he may reasonably leave it doubtful, without en- 
 tertaining any definite opinion. The difficulty is one which, I 
 
316 LETTER V. 
 
 am aware, can only be perfectly cleared up by Him who can 
 alone assign to every agency in the universe under himself its 
 own separate place ; nor will it ever be perfectly known to us 
 in this world, what share our own supplications, or the suppli- 
 cations of others, have had, in obtaining for us either tem- 
 poral or spiritual blessings. The answer which is promised 
 to prayer, coming as it does through the ordinary providence 
 of God, without any miraculous interposition, may always 
 leave it doubtful, what is the precise efficacy which we are 
 to attribute to prayer, along with the many other means 
 which may have concurred in forwarding it ; and it may not 
 in any case be so distinct and positive, as to convince a man 
 who does not believe in the efficacy of prayer, that this had 
 never been attained, had not prayer gone forth for it. But, 
 for all this, if the Word of God requires us to ask and it 
 shall be given, — if it requires our full and firm conviction of 
 God^ willingness to hear and answer us, if we would speed 
 in our supplications, — if it requires us to ask in faith and it 
 shall be done unto us, methinks it can require only an ex- 
 ercise of the same faith to rest satisfied when the event for 
 which we have prayed comes, that it has come in answer to 
 those very prayers which we were required to believe would 
 be answered, before we could speed in them. To believe 
 that, praying for such blessings, I shall have them, and yet 
 when, having prayed for them, they do come, to doubt whe- 
 ther my prayers have had any share in procuring them, is, 
 I venture to say, a thing impossible, if I continue to attach 
 the same power to prayer as when I presented my supplica- 
 tions. The mind naturally, reasonably, and at once infers, 
 that this is the evidence that my confidence was not mis- 
 placed, and I cannot but feel myself strengthened in my 
 convictions of the truth of the efficacy of prayer. 
 
 It does not at all affect, and ought not to affect this conclu- 
 sion, that another may say, for any thing that you can tell, 
 the event might have been the same though you had never 
 prayed, — to many a man the same things have occurred who 
 never prayed, — and how can you be assured that prayer has 
 
LETTER V. 317 
 
 had a special place in procuring that for you, when it had no 
 place certainly in procuring it for him ? In this case, it is 
 true, I cannot repeat the experiment, even though that were 
 lawful for me, in order to convince him that a change in the 
 means would produce a different result, and that the omission 
 of prayer would have a material effect upon the whole train of 
 circumstances which followed. But I am nevertheless jus- 
 tified, on every scriptural principle, in affirming that it 
 would; unless I surrender altogether my belief in the effi- 
 cacy of prayer. The conviction that such desire in offering 
 up prayer as is properly implied in its very nature, must 
 have been of the Holy Spirit who teaches to pray, is warrant 
 enough that it was not awakened in me to be a vain and 
 useless thing ; and the very fact of a Divine agent being 
 concerned in arousing me to this desire and confidence, as- 
 sures me that my prayer was really a needful link in the 
 chain of causes and effects through which the blessing sup- 
 plicated has come down to me. If you ask then, am I 
 to regard this thing as specially vouchsafed in answer to 
 prayer ? I would answer it by another, — What confidence 
 have you that you really prayed for it, — that is, really asked 
 it of God, trusting in his readiness to give it you ? If you 
 are confident that you so besought it, — and besought it not 
 for a selfish or sinful end, but with a view to the Divine ho- 
 nour, what other proof could you ask or obtain in the na- 
 ture of things, than that, according to your faith, it should 
 be done unto you ? The question in this case is not, whe- 
 ther you may or may not account for the event without 
 prayer, but whether prayer and the promises made to it do 
 not render a satisfying reason for the event ? 
 
 When the nobleman of Capernaum, for example, who 
 came to Jesus, supplicating him in behalf of his dying child, 
 returned to his own house and found his son in some degree 
 restored ; and when he found, too, that the time of his reco- 
 very was coincident with the time in which Christ said to him, 
 " Thy son liveth, 11 he might still have found it possible to ac- 
 count for his recovery by natural means, — the fever which 
 
318 LETTER V. 
 
 preyed upon him might have been at its crisis when Jesus 
 spoke, and the connexion between his words and his son's 
 amended health might have been merely accidental. But was 
 it not a far juster and more reasonable conclusion, when he in- 
 ferred from this, that it was the power of Christ which had re- 
 stored him ? — " And himself believed, and all his house.'" In 
 like manner, though it may be easy for any man to conceive 
 that the blessing for which he prayed might have been 
 given without prayer, is it not in every way the simpler 
 and the truer, as it is the more devout conclusion to in- 
 fer, when we know what God has promised, that it is no- 
 thing less in our case than the answer of prayer ? In pro- 
 portion, then, to the consciousness which we have of hav- 
 ing really prayed, ought to be, — I had almost said, will 
 be, — our confidence when the event is in accordance with 
 our prayers, that this is the blessing promised ; and every 
 man who has so found it, has experienced a proof of the 
 Divine faithfulness, which ought to encourage him to pray 
 again, and to pray more fervently, and ever to watch unto 
 prayer. 
 
 The soundness of this conclusion can hardly, I should 
 think, be doubted by any, without casting a reflection on 
 the great truth, which, on the authority of Scripture, I 
 have all along taken for granted, — the efficacy of prayer ; 
 nor does it afford, so far as I know, any room for enthusiasts 
 to strengthen themselves in delusion. If men of enthusiastic 
 views and feelings have presumptuously regarded certain 
 very natural and ordinary things as Divine intimations, 
 which God never promised nor authorized them to expect, 
 is this to hinder any other man, who is walking by the rule 
 of the Divine Word, and asking for things agreeable to the 
 Divine will, from believing, when God, in the ordinary 
 tenor of his providence, orders the events according to his 
 prayers, that these prayers have been answered ? And if 
 men of the same character have prayed, and found the event 
 often take place, as they thought, in agreement with prayer, 
 or really so, when we know that these prayers had no share 
 
LETTER V. 319 
 
 in procuring what only served to confirm them in error, is 
 this to hinder the Christian, who is not regarding iniquity 
 in his heart, and who is seeking in simplicity to know and 
 do the will of God, from placing confidence in the efficacy 
 of prayer ? Doubtless, cases like these, and there are many 
 and striking ones in the history of the Church, should lead 
 every man to watch over his own heart, — to walk scripturally, 
 as he would walk surely, — and to put away all iniquity from 
 his heart, as he would wish that the Lord should hear him. 
 But they ought no more to cast doubt on the answer to 
 prayer, than they ought to cast a doubt upon the Divine 
 faithfulness, or upon the Word of God's revelation, — a book 
 which expressly warns us, that many who are unlearned and 
 unstable, wrest it to their own destruction. 
 
 I shall only add two observations to those I have already 
 made. I think it is Pascal who remarks, that, in matters 
 of faith, there is always as much light as to convince the 
 humble, and always as much darkness as to confound the 
 proud. So it is, in fact, with the answer to prayer. 
 There is as much evidence of its reality as will satisfy every 
 one who seeks to know God, and to approach him as the 
 hearer of prayer ; and there is in appearance, and at first 
 sight, as little reality, as to confirm in his aversion to it the 
 man who dislikes and derides prayer. The one finds, amidst 
 some dark and ofttimes discouraging experience, a connexion 
 between prayer on the one hand, and the ordering of events 
 on the other, — between his supplications for Divine assist- 
 ance and guidance, and the direction and strength daily 
 given him, as is sufficient of itself to encourage him to pray ; 
 the other finds as much occasion of doubt and perplexity, and 
 as much room for questioning its truth, as to give him confi- 
 dence in refusing to pray ; and according to their different 
 states of mind, is their improvement or misimprovement 
 of the privilege. Whilst the path of Divine Providence 
 is every day lightening up to the man who prays, it is every 
 day becoming darker and more obscure to the other. After 
 all, however, the great reason why Christians see so little of 
 
320 LETTER V. 
 
 the answer to prayer, is because they pray so little, accord- 
 ing to what God has required and invited us to do. If there 
 were in our supplications more of the spirit of faith and child- 
 like confidence, there would be more striking manifestations 
 of the power which God has annexed to it. I cannot do 
 more than touch upon a subject which your own mind will 
 readily pursue of itself ; but it is impossible for us to recol- 
 lect how much even of the little time that we have spent in 
 prayer has been unfruitful, — how many wandering thoughts, 
 — how much formality, — how little confidence, gratitude, 
 and submission, — without feeling that when our supplications 
 come to be weighed in the balance of the sanctuary, a fearful 
 deduction must be made from the apparent amount of them, 
 before we can find those which have really had power with 
 God, and prevailed. It is, I fear, the consciousness of our 
 having thus so little prayed in faith, that makes us often 
 hesitate as to whether our prayers have been answered or 
 not (as it ought rightly to do), as well as makes us so often 
 careless whether it has been as we desired. But let there 
 be only more asking in faith, and there will be more mani- 
 festation of the Divine faithfulness ; and we shall thus find 
 the tenor of the Divine Providence bearing more steadfast 
 witness to the reality of Divine grace. " Whoso is wise, 
 and will observe these things, even he shall understand the 
 loving-kindness of the Lord." — I am, &c. 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 PERSEVERANCE IN PRAYKR. 
 
 1 am persuaded, that not a few of the discourage- 
 ments connected with the answer to prayer arise from want 
 of right views of the importance which the Word of God at- 
 taches to perseverance in prayer. Though the Scripture 
 gives us the fullest assurance of God's willingness to hear 
 us, and that we are not to account of our importunity in 
 prayer as originating this disposition on the part of God, but 
 rather as constituting ground for our importunity, yet it is 
 equally obvious to the most cursory reader of the Word of 
 God, that it does not teach us to expect that our prayers 
 shall be at once answered, or that we shall never have any 
 time to wait for their accomplishment. On the contrary, its 
 many exhortations to continue in prayer, to watch thereunto, 
 to pray always, and never to faint, suppose that there may 
 be a long time, sufficient to try our faith and patience, before 
 the event be as we have desired. As a truth of the Word 
 of God, every one is acquainted with what I have now stated, 
 and recognises it as part of his creed ; but how often is it 
 forgotten by all of us in practice ? — how often, if the answer 
 is delayed, even though the event for which we prayed remains 
 undetermined, do we cease to pray for it, or pray for it more 
 feebly and more doubtingly than before, till at last, unless 
 it be one of those petitions which we formally retain in our 
 devotions, it ceases to be presented, and is suffered to drop 
 
322 LETTER VI. 
 
 out of them, as a thing for which it is now in vain to pray ? 
 Instead of persevering and watching with that confidence 
 which the promises of God are fitted to beget in our minds, 
 we rather act the part of spoiled children, who think that 
 every thing which they ask should be instantly granted them, 
 and who, when they find it denied, resent this by giving way 
 to childish passions ; or, in a spirit not very different, some 
 other object of attraction presents itself, and we lose sight of 
 that which a moment before had so deeply engaged us ! It 
 seems, therefore, peculiarly necessary for us to bear in mind 
 the importance of persevering in prayer. Though the Bible 
 assures us that no one believing supplication is lost, yet it 
 equally assures us that every separate supplication has its 
 separate efficacy. If I have prayed once for any thing, the 
 repetition of the prayer is not useless ; it is another and an 
 equally powerful mean employed for the accomplishment of 
 the end ; and so on of all the renewed petitions that may 
 follow. Nor do I see any thing more inconsistent in sup- 
 posing, that frequent and persevering supplication may in this 
 way accomplish what a solitary prayer might not, than in 
 supposing that God may grant to the united prayers of 
 many what He may yet withhold from the prayers of a single 
 individual. On a subject so mysterious as this, we must, un- 
 questionably, be guided by reference to the Word of God, 
 which so often enjoins us, by the great motive which it pre- 
 sents to all, to continue and persevere in it ; and wherefore 
 should it have bidden us pray always and not faint, unless 
 there were encouragement to believe that such a spirit was 
 the earnest of peculiar success ? I confess that I like this 
 view of the subject better than that which would limit the 
 importance of perseverance to the moral influence produced 
 on our minds by waiting upon God, though this is by no 
 means to be neglected. If, in the economy of Divine Pro- 
 vidence, there is an arrangement by which some things are 
 promised to two which are not promised to one, I see not 
 why there may not be provision made in the same economy 
 for a blessing on the successive prayers of an individual, 
 
LETTER VI. 323 
 
 which is not made for the same individual's solitary prayer. 
 And as our Lord said of certain devils, that they went not 
 out but by prayer and fasting, may it be the case with cer- 
 tain blessings, that they come not down, but in answer to per- 
 severing prayer. If you ask me how I reconcile this with the 
 willingness of God to give us spiritual blessings, I answer, 
 how do you reconcile the necessity of prayer at all with such 
 a disposition ? You will say, that it is a Divine appointment 
 that we must ask, if we would receive ; and I answer, in like 
 manner, that, for any thing you know, it may be equally a 
 Divine appointment regarding certain blessings necessary for 
 ourselves or for others, that we must persevere in asking 
 them, if we would have them. There is nothing in all this 
 to affect the validity of prayer, any more than its validity is 
 affected when our prayers are not answered in the way that 
 we desire. Every Christian knows that his prayer is not 
 lost, and that though it draw not down upon him the precise 
 blessing which he sought, it will draw down others yet more 
 important ; and so will it be with those prayers which we 
 have presented, though we failed to persevere in them. Yet 
 what is there in all this to hinder that, if they had been per- 
 severed in, they would have drawn down a peculiar blessing ? 
 And if God does so honour this disposition of confidence in 
 Him, as to promise to hear and answer our believing suppli- 
 cations, why may He not bestow peculiar and abundant ho- 
 nour upon the same disposition where, believing in hope 
 against hope, we continue instant and persevering in prayer ? 
 The truth which I have now stated may be drawn from 
 our Lord's parable of the friend going to ask of another three 
 loaves. The object of that parable is to impress us with the 
 conviction that we shall receive the blessings which we need, 
 if we only continue knocking ; and it is still more clearly 
 testified in the parable of the unjust judge, which is intended 
 to exhibit and embody the precept, that men ought always 
 to pray and not to faint. It is stated in many a scriptural 
 precept besides, such as that of the prophet, " Give God no 
 
324 LETTER VI. 
 
 rest, till he establish and make Jerusalem a praise in the 
 earth." 
 
 But whilst I would press this as the first of all reasons for 
 perseverance in prayer, and that we should not be discou- 
 raged or give way to unbelief, if our prayers are not imme- 
 diately answered, there are many other considerations which 
 may be profitably suggested for the same purpose, and on 
 which, I doubt not, you have often reflected. In the first 
 place, it is connected with important moral effects, in so far 
 as we ourselves are concerned. It is fitted to exercise our 
 faith and patience, — to keep us in the attitude of depend- 
 ence, — to make us feel the value of the blessing when it does 
 come, — and often, I doubt not, to prepare us for the right 
 improvement of it. The experience of every Christian will 
 supply examples of this kind, in which he has found the very 
 delay in answering his prayers more profitable than if the 
 blessing had been immediately bestowed. It should be re- 
 collected, also, that though God has promised to answer 
 prayer, the way and means by which He may do this are still 
 retained in His own power, and that, according to the usual 
 tenor of His providence, the event may be long delayed, 
 though the means for its accomplishment may be instantly 
 set in operation. The prayers of a Christian for increasing 
 sanctification are often answered by afflictive visitations of 
 Divine Providence, in the midst of which he cannot always 
 see the Divine purpose. No doubt, it were easy for God to 
 accomplish it otherwise, and at once to grant by His Spirit 
 the blessing sought ; but still, according to the usual train 
 of His providence, it is by tribulation that He worketh pa- 
 tience, and experience, and hope ; and an answer to these 
 prayers is preparing, from the very instant that the time of 
 trial and affliction begins. When the Christian, therefore, 
 comes to know that it has been good for him to be afflicted, 
 he knows at the same time that God has heard his prayer. 
 Besides, I have sometimes thought that, in looking for the 
 answer of prayer, it is right to consider that we are only the 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 units of a great and infinite system, which are closely united 
 together, and of which, whilst every separate interest is re- 
 garded, the interest of an individual is never regarded apart 
 from that of the whole. Who can tell, in a system so com- 
 plicated as this, though it be all plain to an Almighty 
 mind, how many separate individuals and separate inte- 
 rests every event of his providence may affect ? No man 
 is so isolated from his fellows, that the event which befalls 
 him shall not affect others also ; though there were no 
 reason for deferring it on his own account, there may be 
 reason for doing so on theirs ; and the point of time in 
 which all these separate interests may be best advanced, 
 will be that in which the answer to prayer will best be given. 
 Let me illustrate this by an example. Suppose that prayer 
 is made by a distressed mother for a beloved and suffering 
 child, it is obvious, in this case, that the interest of the mo- 
 ther is not the only one which may enter into the view of 
 the Hearer of Prayer. The affliction may be designed for 
 good to the child, and as the means of its spiritual renova- 
 tion. Let me suppose, further, that this second interest has 
 been served, and that affliction has been blessed for leading 
 that child to God, there may be yet other interests to be ad- 
 vanced by its continuance, — the spiritual good of other mem- 
 bers of the family. Nor until all these ends have been ac- 
 complished, may it be seen that God has heard and answered 
 the supplications of the mother, in the recovery of her child. 
 I give this as one very obvious example of what must be 
 continually taking place under such a system as that of Di- 
 vine Providence in the world ; and surely these, and many 
 other circumstances, afford abundant reason to guard us 
 against being discouraged, because our prayers are not im- 
 mediately or even soon answered. And has not the provi- 
 dence of God afforded proofs yet more extraordinary of his 
 faithfulness as the Hearer of Prayer ? Have we not reason 
 to believe, that the prayers which never called forth any re- 
 sponse during the life of those who presented them, have 
 yet been fruitful in blessings to others, after those who of- 
 fered them have been mingled with the clods of the valley ? 
 
326 LETTER VI. 
 
 Have not parents prayed for the spiritual good of their 
 family, which they never saw realized, and which God has, 
 nevertheless, accomplished, by bringing them in, in his good 
 time and way, within the fold of the Gheeat Shepherd ? Have 
 not ministers who have seemed to labour in vain, and to have 
 spent their strength for nought, been yet known to leave a 
 blessing behind, which others reaped, though they laboured 
 not for it ? And are not those many supplications, which 
 holy men of all ages have offered for the prosperity of the 
 Church on earth, not merely the means of strengthening 
 us to pray, but, in so far as we know, the means of its suc- 
 cessive advancement ? An unbelieving mind might ask, with 
 an air of triumph, how this could be reconciled with the pro- 
 mised answer to prayer ? But though the Christian might 
 not be able in such cases to satisfy him, he yet knows enough 
 to satisfy himself, — he yet knows, and is assured, that these, 
 though delayed, for reasons unknown to him, afford many of 
 them the most illustrious testimonies to the Divine faithful- 
 ness ; and he is encouraged by these, and by his own expe- 
 rience of the Divine goodness, to rest upon the Divine pro- 
 mise, that, at the great and final winding up of all things, it 
 shall be seen, that no believing supplication passed unheeded, 
 but that they all entered into the ears of the Lord God of 
 Sabaoth. With so much light to direct and guide our path, 
 we may well wait till that time, for a resolution of the diffi- 
 culties which yet attach to the answer of our prayers. " We 
 walk by faith," says the Apostle, " not by sight ;" and if 
 there were nothing to try our faith in prayer, as in every 
 thing else, we could not be said to walk by it. Let us, 
 therefore, " be sober, and watch unto prayer," — " praying 
 always with all prayer and supplication, and watching there- 
 unto with all perseverance," — not doubting that we shall see 
 the happy fruits of it here, and yet more in that blessed 
 world, where, though there may be no room for prayer, 
 there will be yet room for the offering of praise, to Him who 
 has heard the voice of our supplications, and sent relief 
 from his holy hill. — I am, &c. 
 
LETTER VII. 
 
 INTERCESSORY PRAYER. 
 
 You have often remarked, I doubt not, that beauti- 
 ful arrangement of Divine Providence in the natural world, 
 by which one man is made to minister to the necessities 
 of another; and by which every man is so linked to those 
 around him, that he is in a great measure dependent upon 
 them for his comfort and happiness. And you must have 
 remarked too, how much this system is fitted to unite men 
 together, and to call forth and exercise the best feelings and 
 affections of our nature. To such an arrangement we owe, 
 in a great measure, the happiness of the parental and filial 
 relations, the sweets of friendship, the pleasures of sym- 
 pathy and kindness ; and not less, on the other hand, the 
 exercise of gratitude, and that response of generous feeling 
 which so commonly awaits active interference in behalf of 
 others, whether pining in sickness or languishing in poverty. 
 Without diminishing our obligations to the Giver of all 
 good, the blessings which every devout mind will trace ul- 
 timately to Him, are enhanced by coming through the mi- 
 nistration of another ; and, without detracting from the gra- 
 titude which we owe to God, we feel that there is still room 
 for the exercise of another gratitude to him whom He has 
 
32{{ 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 made the means of conveying it. The circle of our happi- 
 ness and enjoyment is thus sensibly enlarged, and our best 
 affections called forth and improved. 
 
 
 THE END. 
 
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