'^1^. PRESENTED TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICHL SEMINARY BY JVIrs. Rlej^ander Ppoudfit. ■■: *■■ ^m ,^u/i-^^ZP SERMONS, CHIEFLV on PARTICULAR OCCASIONS. BY ARCHIBALD ALISON, LL. B. BRHBBNDARV OF 8ARUM, RECfOR OF RODINGTON, VICAR OF HIGH ERCAL, AHP BfiNIOR MIMSTBR OF TUB EPISCOPAL CHAFBL, COWGATE, XDINBl'KiiH. FROM TUB BDINBVRGH BDITION. boston: PBINTBD AND PUBLISHED BV WELLS AND LILLT. 1815. REVEREND ROBERT MOREHEAD, M, A, JUNIOR MINISTER, •to THE DIRECTORS, AND TO THE CONGREGATION OS THE EPISCOPAL CHAPEL, COWGATE, BDINBUROH, SERMONS ABE INSCRIBED, IN THSTIMONV OF THE MOST SINCERE GRATITUDE, AND THE MOST RESPECTFUL AFFECTION. ADVERTISEMENT. The following Sermons were written in the course of duty, without any view to publication ; and they are now published only in obedience to the desire of those who heard them. To them they have a value very different from that of literary merit ; the value which kindness ever gives to the objects upon which it has long been employed; the value, still more, which time bestows upon the feelings and the memories of former years. To the rest of the world, I feel, they have no re- commendations ; and had it been possible for me, therefore, to have limited the publication to the congregation to whom they were originally ad- dressed, I should never have presumed to intrude them upon the notice of the world. To those who are unacquainted with that Con- gregation, it is necessary for me to state, that it is of a peculiar kind ; that it is composed almost entirely of persons in the higher ranks, or in the 3 X ADVERTISExMENT. more respectable conditions of society ; and that one very interesting part of it is formed by the young, who, in the course of academical educa- tion, are preparing themselves for the important stations or the liberal professions of future life. The recollection of these circumstances may, I hope, sometimes account for the choice of sub- jects, and sometimes for the views and illustra- tions that are employed. Such as these sermons are, I now submit them to the world, with no other sentiment than that of the most unfeigned humility ; and 1 request it may be believed, that their appearance is not the result of voluntary presumption, but of th» simple obedience to grateful duty. Edinbursh, March 24, 1814 CONTENTS. SERMON I. On the Beginning of the Century. Psalm cii. 27. Thou art the same : and thy years shall not fail. - - 17 SERMON II. On Spring. Job xlii. 5. I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee. ----... oS SERMON III. On the Youth of Solomon. 1 Kings iii. 7, &c. And Solomon said : And now O Lord my God ! Thou hast made thy servant king instead of David my father ; and I am but a little child : 1 know not how to go out and to come in. Give, therefore, thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between good and bad, tor who is able to judge this so great a people ? And the speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked this thing. -.....,.4) XU CONTENTS. SERMON IV. On the General Fast, 1801. Proverbs xix. 21. ' There are many devices in man's heart ; nevertheless the coun- sel of the Lord, that shall stand. .... 5t SERMON V. On Seasons of Scarcity. Psalm xc. 3. Thou turnest man to destruction : Again Thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men. ----- 73 SERMON VI. On the Encouragement which the Gospel Affords to Active duty. St. Mabe viii. 9. And they that had eaten were about four thousand : and he sent them away. -------- 86 SERMON VII. On the General Fast, October 20, 1803. St. Luke xxi. 19. In your patience possess ye your souls. - - - - 98 SERMON VIII. On the Religious and Moral Ends of Knowledge. Proverbs iii. 13, &c. Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth understanding ! — She is more precious than rubies, and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her right hand ; and in her left hand riches and honour. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. - - W9 CONTENTS. Xill SERMON IX. Continuation of the same Subject, with regard to the Young in the Higher Conditions of Life. Proverbs iii. 13, &c. Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth understanding ! — She is more precious than ru- bies, and ail the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her right hand ; and in her left hand riches and honour. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. - 121 SERMON X. On Summer. Judges v. 31. Let them that love the Lord be as the sun, when he goeth forth in his might. _----.. 133 SERMON XI. On the Thanksgiving for the Victory at Trafalgar. St. Matthew xvii. 4. Then answered Peter, and said unto Jesus, Lord ! it is good for us to be here. ---.---149 SERMON XII. On Evil Communication. 1 Corinthians xv. 33. Be not deceived : evil communications corrupt good manners. 169 SERMON XIII. On the Fast, February 27, 1806. Psalm Ixxx. 19. O Lord God of Hosts ! shew the light of thy countenaoce, and we shall be whole. 172 xir CONTENTS. SERMON XIV. On Freedom of Thought. 1 St. Peter ii. 16. As free, and not using your liberty as a cloak of maliciousness, but as the servants of God. ----- 185 SERMON XV. On the General Fast, February 9, 1809. St. Matthew xvi. 3. Can ye not discern the signs of the times ? . - - 198 SERMON XVI. On Autumn. Genesis xxiv. 63. And Isaac went out to meditate in the field, at the even-tide. 212 SERMON XVII. On the Jubilee, appointed for the 50th Anniversary of the King's Accession, October 25, 1809. Genesis xliii. 27, 28. And Joseph asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father well ? The old man of whom ye spake, is he yet alive ? And they answered. Our father is yet alive. And they bowed down their heads, and made obeisance. - 224 SERMON XVIII. On the Consolations which the Gospel Affords under the Natural Evils of Life. St. John ix. 1. And as Jesus passed by, he spw a man which was blind from his birth ; — And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born blind ? — Jesus answered, neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents : but that the works of God should be made manifest in him. ------ 23$ CONTENTS. XV SERMON XIX. On the Fast, Februaiy, 1811. Romans xii. 21. Be not overcome of evil ; but overcome evil with good. - 251 SERMON XX. On Winter, as the Season of Social Amusement. Psalm Ixxxiv. 5, 6. Blessed are the men, who goin^ through the vale of misery, use it for a well ; and the pools are filled with water. - 26G SERMON XXT. On Winter, as the Season of Religious Thought. Psalm Ixxiv. 17. Thou hast made summer and winter- - . . - 277 SERMON XXII. On the General Thanksgiving, January 13, 1814. St. Matthew xvii. 4. Then answered Peter, and said unto Jesus, Lord ! it is good for us to be here : if thou wilt, let us make here three taber- uacles, one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias. 287 SERMON I. ON THE BEGINNING OF THE CENTURY. Psalm cii. 27. " Thou art the same : and thy years shall not fail." 1 HE commencement of a new year is an event which leads even the most thoughtless to some degree of reflection. There is something always solemn in the return of these stated memorials of time. They call upon us to some review of our conduct in the years that are past, and to some esti- mate of what we have gained or have lost in our commerce v/ith the world. They remind us of tha progress of time, and of our own progress to eter- nity. But, far more than all, they remind us of our dependence upon him, who is " the Ancient of '^Days;'' who, while we change, *^ is still the same," and " whose years alone shall never fail.'^ Life, while it thus is passing from us all, leaves us the sense of its importance. It was given us for the greatest and most magnificent purpose. It was given us by Him who alone is good, that we might advance in kno>vledge, in virtue, and in liap- piness ; that we might rise in the system of being to some unknown ends of moral and iutellectujil 3 18 ON THE BEGINNING perfection ; and that, at the last, under tlie light of the Sun of Righteousness, we might join '^" that in- " numerable multitude of all nations, and kindred, ^' and tongues, who stand before the Throne and " the Lamb for ever.'' On tlie return, then, of those seasons by whicli we number our days, it is wise in us to think how our years have hitherto been employed ; what it is that we have been doing in the time we iiave enjoy- ed ; and whether we have indeed been fulfilling the great ends for which we were brought into being. Meditations of this kind become u& all ; and, while they remind us of the magnificent purposes for which we were born, they fit us to enter upon a new year with comfort and resolution. I pray Grod that it may be with these solemn, but elevated sentiments, that all of us may now enter upon the new season, which is given us by " Him that liveth for ever." At this time, however, my brethren, we have entered upon a greater period. The same hour which closed the year, closed also a Century of years, and, what is to us more important, it closed the eighteenth century of the religion of Him ^' who *^has brought Life and Immortality to light by hisf *^ Gospel.'' There are innumerable reflections which will arise in every thoughtful mind upon so solemn and so unusual an occasion. The course of time has led us, as it were, to a higher eminence in the prospect of human nature. The past and the future seem more distinctly to lie before us, and OF THE CENTURY. 19 a solemn pause is aflbrded us, in wliicli wc can more truly estimate what life has brought, and what it is to bring. — The moment itself is profuse in instruction ; and I shall limit myself to suggest to you some of tliose simple and obvious reflections, which seem most naturally to arise from the circum- stances in which we now assemble. 1. The first and the most powerful of these re- flections is, that of our dependence upon "Him who ^^ inhabiteth eternity." We are arrived, in our generation, at the opening of the nineteenth age of the Religion of Christ, and we have presented this day, to the Tiirone of Heaven, tlie same petitions which have been oiFered by the faithful who have gone before us, in every age of that memorable time. They are all now mouldering in their graves ; but He that made them never dies. The same ear which listened to their petitions, now listens to ours. The same spirit which was in tlie midst of them, and the infant assemblies of the church, is in these mo- ments in the midst of us, and of every congregation that is met in his name : and the same arm, which, in every difficulty or danger, has made the Church of Christ triumphant to our day, is still uplifted to protect the progress of the " everlasting Gospel.'" There is something, my brethren, inexpressibly consoling to the weakness of humanity, in this re- flection : while W'e stand as it w^ere amid the ruin* of time, and see the races of men thus successively vising and falling before us, we see, at the sam« 26 ON THE BEGINNING time, the Eternal Mind that governs the whole de- sign. We see a system carrying on, in which all things " are working together for good" to the wise and to the virtuous ; and which is to close at last, '' in honour, in glory, and in immortality." Me- ditations of this kind are fitted to strengthen and elevate every heart. They are fitted to give a voice to time as it passes, and to make it speak to us jof the goodness *^ of Him who Uveth for ever and " ever." They are fitted still more to prostrate us, in the opening of a new age, before the Throne of Eternity ; to dispose us to cast all our cares upon that God who careth for us ; and to subject every thought and desire of our own to the will of Him, in whom alone are all the treasures of wisdom, ^^ and who" alone '^^ was, and is, and is to come." %. In descending from this first and greatest re- flection, we are led to consider, in the second place, the nature of that age, of which we have witnessed the close. Every thing tells us that there is some progress going on in Nature, — some advance of the human race, either to improve- ment or degradation ; and it is natural to us to inquire, whether the age which is gone is likely to transmit happiness or misery to posterity. In this respect also, my brethren, we have much reason for consolation. The century which haf now left us, has doubtless been one of the most distinguished in the annals of human nature. It succeeded ages of rudeness and barbarism, and has or THE CENTURY. 21 fully discharged its duties in the iraprovcmcnt of humanity. Nations who before lay in dari^ness and ignorance, have emerged into day, and taken their position upon the theatre of society. A new world lias risen with gigantick steps into maturity, and already begins to display the lights of know- ledge, and the wealth of industry. The boundaries of tliat world we inhabit have at length been ex- plored : and a path is opened for the introduction of the gospel to the remotest habitations of man. In the progress which will for ever distinguish the eighteenth century, our own country, my bre- thren, has taken an exalted share. In the course of a period, so long for the instability of man, we have enjoyed the greatest portion of national hap- piness and prosperity that has ever fallen to the lot of the societies of men. The crimes and agitations of a former age have expired : and the constitution of our land has settled into that wise balance of power and of liberty, which no speculation of phi- losophy could have foreseen, but which is now sub- stantiated, for the instruction of the future worki, by the evidence of a hundred years of unpreceden- ted welfare, and of expanding prosperity. Even in the present moments, my brethren, an event has taken place, which promises to give no mean addition to the prosperity and dignity of the empire. The union with our sister kingdom, so long wished for by the wise and benevolent, and so long oppo- sed by national, and, above all, by religious preju- \ 22 ON THE BEGINNING dices J at length, by the perseverance of the legisla- tive wisdom, dignifies the opening of the new century : and 1 trust in God, tliat the same sound of publick rejoicing which announced it to us, will announce to that long neglected, and perhaps op- pressed people, the commencement of a new era of wealth, of liberty, and of happiness. The age which is past has left us another sub- ject of national gratulation, — that, I mean, of the extension which it has given to human knowledge. In no age, certainly, has the spirit of science so fully been awakened, or so generally disseminated : and were we to compare the state of knowledge at the beginning and the end of the period we are considering, the step which the human mind has made in that time would appear almost incredible. On every side, indeetl, fhe boundaries of science have been enlarged ; our acquaintance with nature increased ; and the labours of philosophy with- drawn from visionary speculation, to those practi- cal ends by which humanity may be bettered or improved. Under this influence, the arts of social life have been cultivated with unprecedented suc- cess ; the foundations of national wealth and greatness have been investigated ; and that great doctrine first taught from the schools of science, which unites national prosperity with national justice, and which will one day reduce the conduct of nations to the strictest rules of Christian bene- volence. But, above all, the extension of know- OF THE CENTURY. 88 ledge has ministered to the happiness of men, by the support which it lias aflbrded to the cause of religion, — not only in the memorable labours of those who have either displayed the beauty, or demonstrated the truth of Christianity, — but also in the unparalleled discoveries with which, in the age that is past, the perseverance of science has been rewarded, with respect to the Works of the Almighty ; — discoveries, in comparison of which all former knowledge was trifling ; which, at every step, lead us to more exalted conceptions of tiie goodness as w ell as greatness of Him that made us, and w hicli have now engraved the name of God upon the altar of the universe with the hand of demonstration. 3. I trust I may add, in the third place, my brethren, that the age which has past has also im- proved in virtue. However much we may still have to regret the weakness or the vices of our na- ture, it were unjust and uncandid not to acknow- ledge, that, in comparison with the ages that pre- ceded it, the last age has added eminently to social happiness. Many of the barbarities of ancient manners have been softened; many of the prejudi- ces which divided men from each other have been dissolved. Learning and knowledge have found their way to every rank of mankind ; and, while they have given new dignity and happiness to the higher conditions of society, they have, at the same time, improved the conduct, while they have ele- 24 ON THE BEGINNING vated the minds of tlie people. But, above all, the virtue which peculiarly distinguishes the last agC;, is that of humanity, — the humanity that has sprung from the fountain of the Gospel : a human- ity not capricious and momentary, but princi- pled and enlightened ; which directs the labours of the legislator, as well as the meditations of the philosopher; which, in every moment of distress, associates the great and opulent in the service of the poor and the distressed ; and which, even in the midst of war and animosity, unites all the wise and benevolent of every Christian nation, in the common cause of alleviating the distresses, or im- proving the condition of the human race. Such, my brethren, is the view which we may justly take of the century that has passed. And, if it be pleasing to think that, under the influence of the Gospel of Christ, human nature has, in that period, made some advance towards knowledge and happiness, it is, at the same time, solemn to remember the duties that fall upon us. In the opening of a new age, we are the actors in this great system. Upon us it depends, whether the progress of mankind is to be accelerated or re- tarded. And there is no sentiment with which we can more nobly meet the season, as the pro- found conviction, that, upon our conduct, in our different situations or conditions, depends the cha- racter and happiness of the age that is to follow us. OF THE CENTURY. 25 4. There is anotlier reflection, my brethren, of a still more solemn kind, which must naturally have occurred to us all. Of the period of which we have seen the beginning, none of us can see the end. Long ere the century closes, all of us, young or old, rich or poor, will be numbered with the dead. "The silver cord will be loosed," and " the golden bowl broken," and " every "spirit" will have returned "to the God who " gave it." — It is a reflection, in truth, to which no ignorance nor barbarity hath rendered the human mind insensible. Even amid all the licentious worship of antiquity, it was upon these occasions the plaintive call of the herald, " Come to those '^ solemnities, which no living eye hath seen, and ^^ which no eye will see again." Amid this dark and tremendous prospect, is there no voice which whispers to you, my Ire- thren, how good "for you it is to be here :" or that prostrates you in these moments before the throne of Nature, in " thankfulness to Him" who hath given " you the victory," through Jesus Christ your Lord ? " And I was in the spirit, (says the ^^ evangelist) upon the Lord's day, and I heard ^' behind me a great voice, as that of a trumpet, " saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the First and " the Last. And I turned to the voice that spake ^' with me, and I saw one like unto the Son of " Man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, ^' and girt about with a golden girdle. His head 20 ON THE BEGINNING '^ and his hairs were white like snow, and his eyes '^ were as a flame of fire, and his voice as the '^ sound of many waters. And when I saw Him, '' I fell at his feet as dead; and He laid his right ^' hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not, I am *^ the First and the Last, I am He that liveth, and *^^ was dead — And behold I am alive for evermore, *^ and have the keys of Hell and of Death." These, my brethren, are the sublime anticipa- tions of the true Christian — these the hopes which He, " who liveth for ever and ever," hath given to the weakness of mortality. It is to that greater world, (which, ere this century shall close, all of us must know) that the eye of piety is permanently directed. It is there that the great system of Al- mighty Wisdom shall finally be displayed ; when all doubts shall cease, and all anxieties be dispel- led; when this corruptible shall put on incorrup-, tion, ahdthis mortal shall put on immortality; and when all the tears which life hath raised, shall be wiped away for ever. It is to this great termination that time is advan- cing ; every thing that we see around us, teaches us that life is an imperfect scene, of which the mighty conclusion is yet to come : and every year, as it passes, takes to a better world some of those whom we have loved or honoured. In the last receptacle of mortality, tlie rich and the poor " make their " bed together ;" and there we alike deposit the youthful head, whose opening virtues are to bios- OP THE CENTURY. 27 som ill a nobler clime ; and the " hoary hairs," which descend at last to the grave, '' full of years ** and of honour." This last scene, my brethren, we have lately witnessed. Tlie same hours which closed the cen- tury, closed also the life of one,* who, for half its period, has been the greatest ornament of the church of this land, and who has left to every church a model of piety and virtue which no age can de- stroy. Over this recent and ever memorable grave, the tears of humanity will fall ; but it is not fit they should be the tears of unmanly sorrow : it is fit, on the contrary, while we stand around it, that our hearts should kindle at those ashes which yet are scarcely cold : that wliile we see the ^^ death of the *' righteous,'' we sliould pray that '* our life"' and our " end may be like his ;" and that we should think what is the power of that religion, over which the ^* grave hath no victory," and to '^ which death ^' hath no sting." Happy, indeed, beyond the usual lot of mortality, was that long and venerable life, of which, alas ! we have witnessed the close : and, to Him " whom he had made good in his ^' sight," the Almighty dispensed, even here, no common measure " of knowledge, and wisdom, ^^ and joy." — Happy, in being called into existence * The Reverend Dr. Hugh Blair. — This great and amiable man dieJ a few days before this Sermon was preached ; and, after the lapse of so many years, I confess that I have still a melancholy satisfaction in being able to pay this humble tribute to a memory which I have not ceased to love and to venerate. 28 ON THE BEGINNING OF THE CENTURY. in the most splendid age of his country^ in being the friend and contemporary of all those who have enlightened or adorned it, and in sharing with them in the applause and admiration of mankind : — Happy in an old age, in whieli '^ his eyes waxed '^ not dim," nor his " natural strength decayed,'* and in a death, which, after no long suifcring, re- moved him from the service of the " sanctuary be- ^^ low,'' to that of the sanctuary above : — but hap- pier far than all, in having devoted the great pow- ers with which he was entrusted, to the sole ends of religion and virtue ; in being the minister of sal- vation to ages yet unborn ; and in having established a name, before which all the future generations of man will rise up and call it blessed ! It is with this illustrious example before us, that we enter upon a new age ; upon that age, my bre- thren, in which we are all to live and all to die. — May He, who liveth for ever and ever, be our Pro- tector and Friend ! May He dwell in all our hearts, and strengthen all our resolutions, and listen to all our prayers. And whatever be the scenes that lie before us, may we so advance, under his guidance, upon the road of mortal life, that in the " last day, ^^ when the Saviour of the world shall come again '^ in his glorious majesty to judge botli the quick ^' and the dead, we may all rise to the life immortal, *^ through Him who reigneth with the Father, and ^' the Holy Spirit, noW;, henceforth, and for ever !'' SERMON II. ON SPRING. Job xLii. 5. " I hare heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee." These are tlie words with which Job conchides the interesting account of his sufferings and his doubts. After a speculative and fruitless conver- sation with his friends, to discover the cause of those afflictions with which the providence of God had visited him, he is represented as at last raising his eyes from himself and his own concerns, to- wards the Government of Nature : And the Al- mighty is brought forward as speaking to him from amid the whirlwind of liis power, and pointing out to him, amid his despondence, some of tlie most striking instances in which His greatness and wis- dom are manifested in the world that surrounds him. Then Job answered, in the sublime and memorable words of the text, "I have heard of *^ Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine '' eye seeth Thee." The words, my brethren, are still applicable to us. Even now, the greatest and most important 30 ON SPRING. part of our religious knowledge, our knowledge of the nature and attributes of " Him that made ^^ us," is acquired solely " by the hearing of the '' ear." The early instruction of the parent ; the occasional hours of reading and meditation ; and the publick exhortations of the pulpit, — constitute all that the generality of men know upon the most momentous subject of human information. There are few who have been taught in infancy to raise their minds to the contemplation of His works ; who love to kindle their adoration at the altar of nature, or to lose themselves in astonishment amid the immensity of the universe ; and who thus " see- ^^ ing Him with their eyes," learn to associate the truths of religion with all the most valued emo- tions of their hearts. It is the natural consequence of these partial views of the Deity, to narrow our conceptions of his being ; to cliill the native sensi- bility of our minds to devotion ; and to render religion rather the gloomy companion of the church and the closet, than the animating friend of our ordinary hours. Reflections of this kind, my brethren, seem very naturally to arise to us from the season we expe- rience, and the scenes we at present behold. In the beautiful language of the wise man, '^ the win- '^ ter is now over and gone ; the flowers appear " on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is *' come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our " land." — In these moments, we are the witnesses ON SPRING. 31 of the most beautiful and most astonishing specta- cle that nature ever presents to our view. The earth, by an annual miracle, rises again, as from her grave, into life and beauty. A new creation peoples the wintry desert ; and the voice of joy and gladness is heard among those scenes which but of late lay in silence and desolation. The sun comes forth, ''' like a bridegroom from his cham- " her," to diffuse light and life over every thing lie beholds ; and the breath of Heaven seems to brood with maternal love over that infant creation it has so lately awakened into being. In such hours, there is a natural impulse which leads us to medi- tation and praise. We love to go out amid the scenery of nature, to mark its progressive beauty, and to partake in the new joy of every thing that lives ; — and we almost involuntarily lift our eyes to that Heaven from whence cometh the hope of man, "which openeth its hand, and filleth all " things with plenteousness." Even upon the most uncultivated minds, these seasons have their influ- ence ; and wherever, over the face of the earth, the spring is now returning, even amid nations uncheered by the light of the Grospel, the poor inhabitant is yet every where preparing some rude solemnity, to express the renewal of his joy, and the return of his praise. In obedience to this pleasing instinct of religion, I shall endeavour, at present, to lay before you some of the reflections which seem most fitted for this season, and which 32 ON SPRING. may be most useful for the ends of piety and virtue. I. — 1. The first reflection which the return of spring presents to us, is with regard to the un- changeableness of the power of the Almighty. We learn from reason, and from scripture, that " God " is unchangeable, as He is eternal : that to his " years there is no end ; that he was, and is, and " is to come.'^ All this is the " hearing of the ear." In the present hours " our eyes may see it." It is but a little time, when the earth around us, lik6^^ the cliaos from wliich it sprung, was without form and void, and when darkness dwelt over the face of the deep. It is now, as in the astonishing hour of creation, lighted up into life and order. The great word of existence has again gone forth ; — every breeze that blows appears to call some new species of being from the dark womb of na- ture ; — and every returning sun seems to glory, with increasing splendour, over that progressive beauty which his rays have awakened. While we are witnessing this scene of wonder, can we forget, my brethren, that it is but tlie yearly work- manship of God ! In the many thousand years that have passed since the beginning of time, the same season has annually been renewed ; and the eyes of our fathers, and the old time before them, have regularly witnessed those displays of Omnipotence in which we now rejoice. They all are gone, — they and the generations which were before them, ON SPRING. 33 are now withdrawn from the light of the sun into the silence of the grave. But tlie great Parent of Nature is the same. To Him, and to his power, ^^ there is no variableness, nor shadow of turning :" He now visits the earth, and blesses it with the same profusion as in its infant years ; and when we too, and our children, are gathered to our fathers ; when the age in which we live shall be lost in the obscurity of forgotten time, — even then, the sea- sons of spring and harvest will return, and the voice of praise Avill be heard among the dwellings of man. 2, The second reflection which the return of spring teaches us, is with regard to the unchang- ing goodness of the Almighty. This also, my brethren, is a truth which we learn by " the hear- ^^ ing of the ear ;" but which nowhere can be learnt with such efficacy and power, as in those hours when ^* our eyes may see it." If there is an in- stinct which leads us now into the scenery of na- ture, it is not only to amuse us with a transitory pleasure, but to teach us just and exalted concep- tions of " Him that made us." In no hours of existence are the traces of his love so powerfully marked upon nature, as in the present. It is, in a peculiar manner, the season of happiness. The vegetable world is bursting into life, and waving it hues, and spreading its fragrance around the habitations of men. " The desert" even, and " the " solitary place is glad, and the wilderness springs 34 ON SPRING. " and blossoms as the rose." Tlie animal world is marked by still deeper characters of happiness. Myriads of seen, and far greater myriads of unseen beings are now rising, from every element, into life, and enjoying their new-born existence, and hailing, with inarticulate voice, the Power that gave them birth. The late desert of existence is now filling with animation, and every element around us is pregnant with life, and prodigal of joy. Is there a time, my brethren, in which we can better learn the goodness of the universal God ? Is it not wise in us to go abroad into nature, and to associate His name with every thing that, at this season, delights the eye, and gratifies the heart ? And is there any image under which it if so useful for us to figure '^ him that inhabiteth '^eternity," as under that of the Father of his Creation ; as having called every thing into exis- tence for " his pleasure ;" in communicating hap- piness ; and as, in these moments, listening, with placid ear, to every articulate voice that speaks gratitude, and to every inarticulate voice that tes- tifies joy. II. Such, my brethren, are some of the reflec- tions which most naturally arise at this time, with regard to the great Mind and Parent of existence. They are such as every age, however untaught, has felt ; which the wise of every country have cherished ; and by which, even amidst ignorance, they have been fully consoled. There are some ON SPRING. 86 other reflections, wliicli, at this season, seem very naturally to arise to us as Christians ; and there is a beautiful analogy, which I could earnestly wish to impress upon your minds, between the coming of the Gospel, and the arrival of the sea- son of spring. In no respect, perhaps, is our con- duct of religious education more imperfect, than in every thing that relates to the system of Chris- tianity ; and there is no light in which it can be represented to the young, so useful as that which Unites it with every thing that is most exalted and most beautiful in nature. 1. The appearance of spring is then, in the first place, an emblem of the Gospel of our Lord, as it reminds us of the darkness and gloom by which it was preceded. When we look on the state of the world before the coming of Christ, there is no image that can more justly or more forcibly pic- ture it to our minds than that of the winter of hu- manity. It was a season of moral cold and dark- ness, — when every expanding principle of piety and virtue was checked by ignorance and doubt — and when men wandered amid the severities which surrounded them, uneheered by any eflFiilgence from Heaven. It was a season also, we may re- member, peopled with the phantoms of supersti- tion, in which every power of darkness seemed to roam and bear sway, and of which the gloom was only enlightened by the dark flames of a sangui- nary altar. Such was the winter of our nature, until the Sou of God came to bring us light. 36 ON SPRING. S. The appearance of spring isj therefore, in the second place, an emblem of the Gospel of our Lord, as it reminds us of that light which his coming hath shed on all the concerns of men. It is in this magnificent and beautiful view, that the Gospel is always predicted by the prophets, and represented by the followers of Jesus. It is the " Day-spring from on high," which has come to visit us. It is " the morning spread upon the "mountains."' It is the Sun of Trutli, which shone upon those " that sat in darkness, and in " the shadow of" more than mortal " death ;" and when we look, accordingly, on the state of the world since the coming of our Lord, nothing can more accurately resemble the influence and the be- neficence of spring. Wherever His religion has spread, a new verdure (as it were) has been given to the soul of man. Whatever blesses, or what- ever adorns humanity, has followed the progress of his doctrines ; laws have been improved, gov- ernments enlightened, manners refined, and the mild and gentle virtues of humanity and peace, have sprung into new life and fragrance. " Even "the desert," (in the beautiful words of the pro- phet,) " and the solitary place have been glad," and in many a " wilderness" of life — in many a "solitary place" of wo, where the eye of man comes not, the light of Heaven has been revealed, and many a flower of Faith and Hope have blown, unknown to all but the " Sun of Righteousness" which cherished them. ON SPRING. Sf How well, iny brethren, would it be for us all, if, under those great and prescribed images, we represented to ourselves the Gospel of our Lord ! — if, leaving for a while the narrow and selfish views of the closet, we went forth into the scenes which remind us of the present God, and saw in every instance of his beneficence, an emblem of the ^^ glad tidings" of his Son. Nature herself would then become the friend of piety. The truths of natural, and the truths of revealed reli- gion, would be blended together in our hearts ; and every returning spring would bring us with it new motives of love to the God who made, and to the Saviour who redeemed us. In what I have now said, my brethren, I have presented to you only the religious reflections which the season is fitted to excite. There are some other impressions of a moral kind, which it is also calculated to give us, and which it would be wise in us to associate with the present appear- ances of nature. The first of these is the love of innocence. It is the youth of the year we are witnessing. The trees are putting forth their tender green ; and the fields are covered with tlieir young inhabitants. How well is this spectacle fitted to awaken every thoughtful mind to meditation ! It reminds us of our own infancy, when the mind was pure, and the heart was happy. It reminds us of that origi- nal innocence in which man was created, and for 38 ON SPRING. the loss of which no attainments of mortality can make any compensation. It reminds us of that greater spring ^' which awaits the righteous : when ^^ the pure in heart shall see Grod ; when the Lord ^' shall feed them like a shepherd, and lead them ^^ to fountains of living water, and when God shall ^'^ wipe all tears from their eyes." The second impression which the season of spring is fitted to make upon us, is the love of na- ture and of humanity. Tlie ordinary scenes of life have a tendency to limit our benevolence, and to confine our interest in nature to the few that sur- round us. The spring yearly returns, as it were, to dissolve this insensibility, and to expand our affections to a greater circle. We are then the witnesses of the benevolence of God, — the Father of Nature seems to come from the dark clouds that surround his throne, to bestow life and happi- ness over the universe of nature. " Hope riseth ^^ in the heart of man;" and every animated being pours forth its song of joy. Is it possible we can contemplate this scene, without feeling our own benevolence exalted? without being reminded anew of the ties which relate us to all the family of God ; and without blending with the love of Him '^ who alone is good," the love also of every thing that He hath made ? The last impression which this season is fitted to make upon us, is that of the love of industry. It is the time when the great labour of nature is ON SPRING. 39 carrying on; when the breath of the Almighty is operating upon the earth and upon tlie deep, " and '^ making all tilings work together for good." How simple, but how solemn is the call which this scene makes upon man ! We also, my brethren, are parts of the system of God : to is all, some share is delegated in the administration of the uni- verse, — some power of contributing to the happi- ness of the world which he hath made. How hap- py for us would it be, if we suffered Nature to teach us those unreproaching lessons; if every spring, as it returned, awakened us to new zeal in the service of God, and kindled the noblest ar- dour of religion, that of being fellow- workers with him in the good of humanity ! I have thus presented to you, my brethren, some of the reflections which seem most naturally to arise at this season, and pointed out some of the uses to which they may be applied. If they are not the direct exliortations of religion, they are not perhaps less important. To contemplate na- ture with the eye of piety, — to associate the image of God with every thing that is great or beautiful in his works, — to see every different scene around us, as only varying testimonies of his love, — and to feel those analogies which unite the system of Nature with that of Revelation, — are acquisitions which every wise man would wish to make, and which no man can make, without becoming liappi- er and better. 40 ON SPRING. May this, my brethren, be the case with us all I May the mighty scene which we are now permit- ted to see, exalt our minds to legitimate concep- tions of ^' that God who inhabiteth eternity, and " yet humbleth himself to behold the things that "^ are upon f arth." And, while Heaven is pouring forth its bounty, and Nature rejoicing around us, may we lift our hands in humble adoration to the Parent of Existence, and feel, with the grateful transport of Job ! '^ I have heard of Thee by the " hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth " THEE.'' SERMON III. ON THE YOUTH OF SOLOMON. 1 Kings hi. 7, Sic. *' Aiid Solomon said : And now O Lord my God ! Thou hast made thy servant king instead of David my father ; and I am but a little child : I know not how to go out and to come in. *' Give, therefore, thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that 1 may discern between good and bad, for who is able to judge this so great a people ? " And the speech pleased the Lord, that SolomoD had asked this thing." These words are part of that celebrated prayer in which Solomon is represented as addressing liimself to "God on his accession to tlie throne of Israel. The form of the book in which it is rela- ted, permits it only to be considered as a fact in the history of his reign, and necessarily leaves the sentiments and disposition which led to this beau- tiful address, to the imagination of the reader to supply. But in the apocryphal book of his wis- dom, it is related at much greater length ; and represents the feelings and character of the author, with a simplicity which is singularly affecting, and with an eloquence which cannot be too much ad- 6 42 OJV THE YOtTH mired. It opens with a very beaiitifal descriptiou of the character and eifects of wisdom, and of the early admiration which it had excited in his mirid. "Now, when I considered these things," says he, "by myself, and pondered it in mine heart, how ^^ that to be joined to wisdom is immortality, and ^^ great pleasure in her friendship, and glory by " communing with her, I went about seeking how " I might take her unto me. Nevertheless, when I '' perceived that I could not enjoy her, except God ^^ gave her me, I went unto the Lord and besought ^^ Him, and with my whole heart I said, " O ! God of ray Fathers, and Lord of Mercy, <^ who hath made all things by thy word, and or- ^' dained man through thy wisdom, that he should ^^ have dominion over the creatures which Thou " hast made, and govern the world according to ^' equity, and execute judgment with an upright '^ heart, give me that wisdom which sitteth by thy ^^ throne, and put me not out from among thy chil- " dren ; and send lior out of thy holy Heavens, and " from the throne of thy Majesty, that she may '^ dwell with me, and that I may know what is plea- ^f sing unto Thee. So shall my works be accepta- ii ble, — so shall I govern thy people righteously, " and be meet for my father's throne.'^ There is not, perhaps, in the history of mankind, a more beautiful picture than that which is here represented : — A young man in the bloom of life, when every thing was gay and alluring around him, — in the moment of ascending to a throne. OF SOLOMON. 43 when pleasure and ambition were before bim, and eastern servility, witb its wonted adulation, told bim, that all thin2;s were in his hand, — betaking himself thus humbly to his God, and implorini^ of Him that wisdom wliicli mi2;ht enable him to re- sist the temptations witii which his situation sur- rounded him, and to fulfil the duties to which he was called. Had it been in the latter periods of his reie;n, when satiated with pleasure, and dis- appr.'uted in ambition, — when fatis;ued with the cares and pageantry of a throne, he looked abroad for better comforts, — had it been at such a time that Solomon had directed his soul to Heaven, much of the merit of his piety would have been lost. It would have t!ieu appeared only as the last refu£;e of a discontented mind, which interest, not disposition, had led to devotion ; and which sou2;ht only for repose in piety, when it had been disappointed in every thin^ else. But at such a season, to be guided by such sentiments, — in such an hour to betake himself to God, — bespeaks a mind so humble and yet so pure ; a disposition so ardently and yet so rightly inclined; and a soul so well fitted for every kind of excellence, that no language of praise seems too great for its desert. It i« not, however, from the peculiar situation of Solomon, that the beauty of this memorable instance of devotion arises. The charm of it chiefly consists in its suitableness to the season of 44 ON THE YOUTH youth ; in its coiTespondence to the character and dispositions which distinguish that important a§e ; and which no length of acquaintance with the world prevents us from wishing to find in the young. In all situations, indeed, of human life, piety- is the duty and the interest of mankind : but in youth, it has something singularly graceful and becoming ; something which ever disposes us to think w ell of the mind in which it is found ; and which, better than all the other attainments of life, appears to promise honour and happiness in future days. It is suited, in the first place, we think, to the opening of human life, — to that interesting season, when nature in all its beauty first opens on the view, and when the wisdom and goodness of the Almighty fall on the heart, unmingled and unim- paired. It is suited, in the next place, to the nature of youthful imagination j to that love of excellence and perfection which nothing mortal ever can realize, and which can find only in the truths of religion, the objects of which it is in search. It is suited still more, perhaps, to the tenderness of young aifections ; to that sensibility which every instance of goodness can move ; and to that warm and generous temper which meets every where with the objects of its gratitude or love. But, most of all, it is" suited, in our opinion, to the innocence of the youthful mind, to that sacred and sinless purity which can lift its unpol- OF SOLOMON. "^'5 luted hands to Heaven ; which guilt hath not yet torn from conlidenee and hope in God; and which can look heyond tlie world to that society of kin- dred spirits, " of whom is the kingdom of Hea- ven." The progress of lii^^, we know, may bring other acquisitions ; it may strengthen religion by experience, and add knowledge to faith : But the piety which springs only from the heart,— the devotion which nature, and not reasoning inspires, —the pure homage which flows unbidden from the tongue, and which asks no other motive for its payment than the pleasures which it bestows, — these are the possessions of youth, and of youth alone. The feelings of piety, however, are not only natural and becoming in youth ; tliey are still more valuable, as tending to the formation of future character ; as aflbrding the best and noblest school in which the mind may be trained to whatever is great or good in human nature. 1 shall, at present, endeavour to illustrate some of the important con- sequences which, in this respect, follow from youthful piety. That tlie convictions of religion form the great . foundation of moral conduct,— that piety, in itself, is fitted to exalt the human mind to its greatest degree of virtuous perfection, — are truths which every one acknowledges, and which the experience of nrankind suTiciently proves.— But the misfortune is, that, in general, religion ii acquired too late in 46 ON THE YOUTH life, to produce all the effects on the mind which it is fitted to have, and when, instead of forming the character, it is itself formed by it. The habits of worldly pursuit have, ere tliis period occurs, contracted the mind to narrow vicAvs, ancT'SOrdid occupations. The ambition, which once grasped at excellence, and which thou2;ht no honours were impossible to be obtained in the conflict of human life, has. ere this, expired under the daily pressure of trivial cares, and the daily demand of unimpor- tant exertions. The testimony of conscience has, long before now, armed the Deity with terrour, and extinguished all the fascinating views which immor- tality affords, in the gloom with which it now is covered. At such a period of life, religion is em- braced, rather because it is necessary, than because it is pleasing. It is an occasional, rather than a permanent affection, — which comes rather to console the hours of distress, when every other comfort leaves us, than to influence the general thoughts, and animate the general conduct. To most men, accordingly, the best effects of religion are altogether unknown. It mingles not in their daily pursuits, nor softens their usual duty. It is banished from their thoughts in the days of hap- piness and tranquillity, and is sought after only when misfortunes press, or diseases alarm. It possesses, therefore, only a negative effect on their conduct or character. It intimidates them, perhaps, from great violations of duty, — but it OF SOLOMON. 47 stimulates tliera to no positive virtue. It tciTitics tlieiu by tlie prospect of punislimeiits, — but it ex- cites tliem to no ambition of doing well. It is a slavish and a timid service, and not ** the glorious ^^ liberty of the sons of God." The piety which is formed in youth has a dif- ferent character, and leads to very difl'erent effects. It springs in the first and purest state of the human mind, when the soul comes fresh from the hands of its Creator, and when no habits of life have contracted the reach of its powers. It comes in that happy season, when life is new, and hope un- broken ; when nature seems every where to rejoice around, and when the love of God rises unbidden in the soul. It comes not, then, to terrify or to alarm, but to afford every high and pleasing pro- spect in which the heart can indulge, — to with- draw the veil which covers the splendours of the eternal mind, — to open that futurity which awak- ens all their desires to behold, and, in the sublime occupations of which they feel already, as by some secret inspiration, the home and destiny of their souls. At such a period, religion is not a service of necessity, but of joy. It is not an occasional, but a permanent subject of meditation, — a subject which can fill their solitary hours with rapture ; which involuntarily occurs to them in every sea- son, when their hearts are disposed to feel ; and to which they willingly return from all the disap- pointments or follies of life, and resume again their uublemished joys. 48 ON THE YOUTH If there be a moment in hnman life, in which the foundation of virtuous character can be laid, it is at this period. If there be a discipline which can call forth every nobler faculty of the soul, it is such early exercises of piety. They establish a tone and character of thought, which is allied to every virtuous purpose. They present those views of man, and of the ends of his being, which awaken the best powers of the soul. They afford those prospects of the Providence of God, which can best give support and confidence to virtue. 1. The first advantage of youthful piety is, that it tends to establish that tone and character of thought which is allied to every virtuous purpose. There is no man perhaps, who, in some fortunate moments of thought, has not felt his mind raised above its usual state, by religious considerations. There are hours in every man's life, when religion seems to approach him in all her radiance ; when its truths break upon his mind with a force which cannot be resisted ; and when, in the contempla- tion of them, he feels his bosom swell with emo- tions of unusual delight. In such moments, every man feels the dignity and the purity of his mind increased ; the illusions and the temptations of the world appear beneath his regard ; his heart opens to nobler and purer affections, and his bosom regains for a while its native innocence. In the greater part of mankind, however, these moments are transient : life calls them back again OP SOLOMON. 49 to their usual couccrns — tlie liabits of usual tliou5;lit retuni, — and tliey relapse again into all the folly and weakness of ordinary conduct. It is the tendency of early piety, on the contrary, to fix this character of tiu)up;lit, and of emotion, — to render that temper of mind permanent, which in most men is only temporary and transient. By the great objects to which it directs the minds of the young ; by its precedence to every other sys- tem of opinions which might oppose its influence ; by its power to arrest and retain their attention, it tends gradually to establish in the soul a corres- pondent dignity in every other exercise. While yet the world is unknown, and the calm morning of life is undisturbed by passions, it awakens de- sires of a nobler kind than the usual pursuits of life can gratify, and forms in secret those habits of elevated thought, which are, of all others, the most valuable acquisitions of youthful years ; and which, whether in the pursuits of action or of speculation, fit it for future attainments in truth and virtue, beyond the reach of ordinary men. 2. It is a second advantage of early piety, that it presents those views of man, and of the ends of his being, which call forth the best powers of our nature. We naturally accommodate our acquisi- tions to the opinions we entertain of the scene in which they are to be employed, and to the expec- tations that are formed with regard to us. 7 50 ON THE YOLFTM It is lience that the different situations of human life produce so great diversities of character and of improvement. The poor man, whose life is to pass in obscurity, and on whose humble fortunes the regard and observation of the world is never to fall, is seldom solicitous to distinguish himself by any other acquisitions than those wliich are suited to the humility of his station, and which the exigencies of his situation demand of him. The great and the opulent, on the contrary, who are born to be the objects of observation and at- tention, feel themselves called upon to suit their ambition to the opinions of mankind ; and, if they have the common spirit of men, usually endeavour to accommodate themselves to these expectations. It is in this manner that the piety of early life has an influence in forming the future character. It represents man in colours which afford the most dignified aspect of his nature. It represents him as " formed in the image of God," as but a little lower " than the angels," and as crowned with glory and honour. It represents life, not as the short and fleeting space of temporary being, but as the preparation only for immortal existence ; as a theatre, on which he is called to act in the sight of his Saviour and his God, and of which the rewards exceed even the power of his imagi- nation to conceive. It represents all this, too, in the season when no lower passions have taken the dominion of his heart, and when his powers are OF SOLOMON. 51 all susceptible of beiiis; moulded by the ends which are placed before him. In such views of man, all the best qualities of his nature arise in- voluntarily in the soul ; — the Benevolence which burns to diifuse happiness, and to he, a fellow worker with Crod in the designs of his providence — the Fortitude, which no obstacles can retard, and no dangers can appal in the road of immor- tality — the Constancy, which, reposing in the promises of Heaven, presses forward in the path of strenuous and persevering virtue. Such views also have the tendency to fortify the mind against all those narrow and unjust conceptions of life, which are the source of the greatest part of tiie follies and w^eakness of mankind. They level all those vain distinctions among men, which, in one class of society, are productive of oppression and of pride, and in the other of baseness and servility. They silence that feeble and complain- ing spirit which is so often mistaken for sensibility and superiour feeling, and whicli, from whatever cause it springs, gradually poisons the source of hu- man happiness, and undermines the foundation of every real virtue. They dispel those dark and un- generous views of man, and of his capacity for hap- piness and virtue, which are in general only the excuses for our own indolence or selfishness, and which, wherever they have prevailed, have so often withheld the arm that was made to bless, and si- lenced the voice that was destined to enlighten 52 ON THE YOUTH them. ^^ Whatsoever thhigs are just, whatsoever " things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely antl '^ of good report," — these are the objects at which the spirit of early piety forms the mind to aim, — wherever, by the production of happiness. Virtue is to be acquired, or, by the performance of duty, Praise is to be won. 8. It is the last advantage of early piety, that it affords those views of the providence of God, which can best give support and confidence to conduct. There is a natural belief in mankind of the connexion between prosperity and virtue ; and there is an instinctive hope, that the laws of the divine administration have prepared happiness for the righteous. If it is from life, however, that we judge, a variety of appearances occur at first to perplex our understandings. Here, as of old, '^ the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the ^* strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor riches to ^^ men of understanding, nor favour to men of skill, ^^ but time and chance happen unto them all.'' — No permanent law seems to regulate the course of hu- man affairs, and no just hand appears to distribute the balance of good and evil. A broken and im- perfect system only appears, in which all things happen alike to all, and fortune disposes at plea- sure of the blessings and miseries of humanity. To such vulgar views of Nature and Providence^ the commerce of life, and the habits of attention to temporal pursuits, too naturally lead : and hence OF SOLOMON. 53 it is, that we so often find the pious and the wise themselves, to whom religion ought to have taught better things, complaining under the unequal dis- tribution, and nourishing in tlieir hearts those secret murmurs against Providence, which unnerve every virtuous purpose of the soul, aud cover reli- gion itself in gloom and melancholy. It is the piety of youthful days which can aflbrd the best preservative against these dark and unjust concep- tions. Before the experience of life has made any impression on their mintls, — before they descend into the '' wilderness" through whicii they are to travel, it shows them from afar the " promised ^' land.'' It carries their view to the whole course of their being, and, while no narrow objects have yet absorbed their desires, shews them its termi- nation in another scene, in which the balance of good and evil will be adjusted by the unerring hand of God. Under such views of nature, the system of Divine Providence appears in all its majesty and beauty. Beginning here, in the feeble and imperfect state of man, it spreads itself out into forms of ascending being, in which the heart expands, while it contemplates them ; aud closes at last in scenes which are obscured only from the excess of their splendour. With such conceptions of their nature, life meets the young in its real colours ; — not as the idle abode of effeminate pleasure, but as the school in which their souls are formed to great attainments ; — not as the soft 54 ON THE YOUTH shade in which every manly and honourable quali- ty is to dissolve, but as the field in which glory, and honour, and immortality are to be won. Whatever may be the aspect which it may assume, — whatever the scenes in which they are called to act, or to suifer, — the promises of God still brighten in their view ; and their souls, deriving strength from trial, and confidence from experi- ence, settle at last in that humble but holy spirit of resignation, which, when rightly understood, comprehends the sum of religion ; which, reposing itself in undoubting faith in the wisdom of God, accepts, not only witli content, but with cheerful- ness, of every dispensation of his Providence ; which seeks no other end than to fulfil its part iu His government ; and which, knowing its own weakness and his perfection, yields up all its de- sires into His hand, and asks only to know Hi« laws, and to do his will. Such are the natural effects of youthful piety upon the formation of human character; yet there is one advantage of it to be mentioned still greater than all ; I mean, the hope which it affords of the favour of God, and of the assistance of his Holy Spirit. ^* Now the prayer of Solomon pleased the Lord " that he had asked this thing. And G od said " unto him, Because thou hast asked this thing, •'^and hast not asked for thyself long life, neither " hast asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked th« OF S0L03I0N. 55 *niie of thine enemies, hut hast asked for thyself " understanding to discern judgment: Eehold, I '^have done according unto tliy words. — Lo I <*have given thee a wise and understanding heart : "so that there was none like thee hefore thee, " neither after thee shall any arise like unto thee. — " And I have also given tliee that which thou *^ hast not asked, both riches and honour, so that "there shall not be any among the kings like unto " thee all thy days.'' In every part of scripture, in tlie same manner, it is remarkable with what singular tenderness the season of youth is always mentioned, and what hopes are afl'orded to the devotion of tlie young. It was at that age that God appeared unto Moses when he fed his flock in the desert, and called him to the command of his own people. — It was at that age he visited tiie infant Samuel, while he ministered in the temple of the Lord, " in days when the word of the Lord " was precious, and when there was no open *' vision.'* — It was at that age that his spirit fell upon David, while he was yet the youngest of his father's sons, and when among the mountains of Beihlehem he fed his father's sheep. — It Avas at that age, also, " that they brought young children *' unto Christ that he should touch them : And his *' disciples rebuked those that brought them : But "when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, " and said to them. Suffer the little children to *^ come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such <^ is the kingdom of Heaven.'^ 56 ox THE YOUTH If t)ic«:(\ thou, are the effects aiul piYnnises of Touthful piety, ivjoice. O yoiins: "lan I in thy youth, — rejoice iu those clays whicli aiT never to return, when reliirion comes to thee in all its charms, and when tlie Gt>d of Xature reveals himself to thy soul, like the mild radiance of the morniui; sun, when he rises amid the blcssin£;s of a 2;rateful world. If already devotion hath taui^ht thee her secret pleasures : — if. when Nature meets thee in all its mas:nificence or l>eauty. thy heart hiim- Meth itself in adoration before the hand which made it. and rejoiceth in the contemplation of tl.e wisdom by which it is maintained : — if. whcu revelation unveils her mercies, and the Sou of God comes forth to i;ive peace and hope to fiUleu man. thine eye follows with astonishment the glories of his path, and pours at last over his cross those pious tears which it is a delis;ht to shed: — if thy soul accompanieth him in his tri- um]ih over the srave. and entcreth on the wings of faith into that Heaven ^» where he sat down at " the right hand of the Majesty on High," and seeth the ^'society of angels and of the spirits of just '^ men made perfect,*- and listeneth to the ^* ever ^* lasting: song which is sung before the throue :" — If such are the meditations in w hich thy youthful hours are passed, renouuce not, for all that life can offer thee in exchange, these solitary joys. The world which is before thee. — the world which thine imagiuaiion paints in such brightuess, — has OK HOL/JMO.V i7 no pleasures to bestow which can compare with these. And all that itn boasted wisdom can pro- duce, has notliini; so acceptable in the sight of Heaven, as this pure oflerini; of thy infant soul. In these days ^' the Lord himself is thy shep- "herd, and thou dost not want. Amid tlie green ^' pastures, and by the still waters" of youth, he now makes "thy soul to repose." But the years draw nigh, when life shall call thee to its trials ; the evil days are on the wing, w hen '^ thou shalt " say thou hast no pleasure in them;" and, as thy steps advance, " the valley of the shadow of death " opens," through w hich thou must pass at last. It is then thou shalt know what it is to '• remera- " ber thy Creator in the days of thy youth." la these days of trial or of awe, " his spirit shall be "with you," and thou shalt fear no ill; and, amid every evil which surrounds you, " he shall "' restore thy soul. — His goodness and mercy "shall follow thee all the days of thy life;" and when at last " the silver cord is loosed, thy spirit " shall return to the God w ho gave it, and thou " shalt dwell in the house of the Lord for ever." SERMON IV. ON THE GENERAL FAST, ISOl.-^ Proverbs xix. 21. " There are many devices in man's heart ; nevertheless the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand." The calamities of the social world have assem- bled us in the House of God, to humble ourselves before his eternal throne ; to call our past ways to remembrance ; and to implore his protection in the year that is to come, upon our councils and our arms. Since the people of this country last met upon a similar occasion, the hopes of patriot- ism, and the wishes of humanity, have alike been vain. The giant power which has arisen in the midst of the civilized world to mock the calcula- tions of human wisdom, has, within that short pe- riod, matured its strength, and expanded its do- minion. Wherever his arms have turned, empires have shrunk before them ; and many thousands of * Preached after the peace of Luneville had terminated the war on the Con- tinent, and when the Frencli armies were assembling professedly for the invasioH of England. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. 59 the human race, who, in tlie year that is past, met this day in youtli and joy, have since poured tlieir blood to cement the fabrick of his despotick throne. In the openini; of a new season, when all tlie calamities of war are to be renewed, — when the avenging angel pauses only for a time, tiiat he may collect new force, and renovated vigour, — and when the hearts of men wait in a dead calm *^ for those " things that are coming upon the earth," there is an instinct, superiour to wisdom, which leads us to follow the multitude into the House of God, and to seek that support from the Hand of Heaven, which we have so long failed to find from that of man. It is in general a very narrow and a very selfish view of the Divine government of the world which we take, when we consider it only as the inhabi- tants of any particular country. In such an aspect, we almost involuntarily consider it as relating only to ourselves. The rest of mankind, with all their rights and all their interests, are thrown into shade ; and we consider our own nation, and our own interests, as the sole centre from which all our duties and all our wishes are to arise. We consider, still more, perhaps, the existence of our country as limited by our own ; and, forgetting the age and stability of nations, we exult in momen- tary victory, or tremble at momentary defeat, with the same feeble levity with which we usually re- gard the transient scenes of private life. e» ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. It is to correct this fatal weakness, and to create a firmer and a more elevated tone of mind, that days like these are wisely appointed. When, upon occasions like the present, we enter this house, it is supposed that we leave the world behind us ; — that we raise ourselves from common to reli- gious contemplation ; — that, from the darkness around us, we come to consult the oracles of God ; — and that we prepare our minds to obey the will of Him who is the beginning of existence and the end, and who alone, in the universe of nature, *^ was, and is, and is to come." If such, my brethren, be the high sentiment with which you meet this day, I know not that, in the whole compass of human life, there is a day of greater sublimity or elevation. While the world is resounding with the noise of war and of sorrow, it is inexpressibly affecting to be privileged to en- ter into the sanctuary of God ; — to feel that, amid all this disorder, there is yet a ^^ counsel which ^^ shall stand," and that, from the guilt of man, there is an appeal which the human heart is autliorized to make to the justice of God. In such medita- tions, we are raised from the confusions of Earth, to the order of Heaven ; — we lose the remembrance of our own days and our own prejudices ; — we turn our eyes back to the ages that are past, and the times that have been long before us ; — and, while we seat ourselves, in imagination, among the ruins of former nations, and indulge a melan- ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. 61 choly pleasure in contemplating their history and their decay, we see the finger of religion pointing to the solemn inscription which is written on all their tombs : " There arc many devices in man's " heart ; but the counsel of the Lord, that shall ^' stand." It is to this elevated point of observa- tion that I would wish, in the present hour, to raise your meditations ; — to lead you back to the tragick history of the human race ; — to observe thence, what is the difference between the " de- *^ vices of man," and the " counsels of God ;" and thus to awaken some of the sentiments which be- come the citizens of this country, in the situation of danger in which it now stands. 1. I am to entreat you then, in the first place, to observe, that however deeply the annals of every preceding age of the world have been marked with violence, and stained with blood, there has yet ever been some unknown limit which the Almiglity hath imposed to the " rage of war, and to the madness of the people.'" Had human wisdom alone gov- erned the world, — had no greater system been established for the progress of mankind than what human foresight could impose ; — had no unseen hand controlled the violence of national passions, or directed them to ends which they did not fore- see, — the race of man must long ago have been extirpated from the earth, and the animosities of barbarous nations closed only in mutual destruc- tion. In the midst, however, of this dark retro- 62 ON THE GENERAL t'AST, 180L spect, while we see the stream of war and of con- flict descending to us from the beginning of history, we see at the same time, (as if by some enchant- ment,) the race of man silently growing in number, and increasing in power, and spreading itself over all the surface of the habitable earth. Nations sink into oblivion, or are overwhelmed by mightier arras. The seats of empires are changed, and the traveller scarcely finds the place where their pow- er and their magnificence were known. But Man, in the meanwhile, survives the desolation ; — his generations multiply over that surface which is yet wet with the blood of his forefathers ; — an unseen Providence watches over the infancy of his social being ; — and the same Almighty Power, which restrains the tide of the ocean, hath also in every age said to the tide of war, " Hitherto shalt thou ^' go, and no farther ; and here shall thy proud ^^ waves be staid." 3. The second observation which is fitted to impress us upon the review of the history of the world, is, that whatever may have been the revo- lutions of nations, they have uniformly tended to the progress and improvement of the human race. It is not thus, indeed, in general, that we either judge or are taught to judge of them. We read the history of particular nations ; but we seldom extend our conceptions to the nobler history of Man. — We read with rapture the history of those mighty empires, which,^ in their hour, have sub- ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. 63 dued, or have enlightened the world, and for which, perhaps, the prejudices of our education have given us an unnatural respect. We follow their progress with a kind of national exultation, and we weep at last over their fall, as if, with them, all the honours of humanity liad perished. It is only when we enter the " councils of " God,'' that we descry a nobler prospect. It is then we see, that, in " the eye of Him that inhab- ** iteth eternity, all nations are only as the dust in *' the balance:" — that, in the progressive system of His Providence, they have all appeared in their successive order, for the improvement of the ages that were to follow them ; — that in tlieir prosperi- ty, or their decay, they have alike given the les- sons by which mankind are to be made wiser and better; — that there is a final period to which all their errours are conducting them ; and that then the mighty prophecy of Revelation will be ful- filled, when, under its unseen, but unceasing in- fluence, *^ one like the Son of Man shall reign : ^^ and when a dominion shall be created in righ- *^ teousness, that shall not be destroyed." The historians of nations, indeed, rise not to these speculations. They limit themselves to the history of single countries. In the interest which they labour to create for them, they, in some mea- sure, diminish our interest for humanity in gene- ral ; and, whatever be their genius or their com- prehension, they are not called upon to registev 64 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. the events of the great system of Nature, or to trace, through every temporary obstacle, the steady march of the Human Mind. It is Reli- gion only, — it is the page of Revelation, which can alone give to us, amid all the devices of men and of nations, the mighty key of human destiny ; — v^'hich can raise us from the narrow contemplation of individual interests, to the majestiek study of the progress of the world ; — which can shew us, that, from the beginning of time, all events have been contributing to the gradual illumination of the general race of man; — and which, while it carries our eyes backward to the sanguinary scenes of antiquity, can point out to us, at the same time, that they were all ministering to final good ; — that from their errours has sprung our wis- dom ; — from their poverty our riches ; — from their ignorance our knowledge ; — and that even the progress of conquest (however infamous in its motives, or unhallowed in its means,) has yet, under the Providence of the Eternal Father, been made subservient to the extension of knowledge, the improvement of laws, the melioration of man- ners, and, above all, to the final diffusion of reli- gious light over every people of mankind. 3. I leave, however, this magnificent subject, to observe, in the last place, that the history of the world proves to us, that the government of God is the government of Justice ; that the laws of mo- rality apply to nations^ as well as to individuals ; OIV THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. 65 and that the prosperity or fall of empires has ever been the consequence of their national virliie or their national guilt. When we look back upon ?the history of anti- quity, the prospect is like that of the waves of the ocean ; and nations are seen arising for their mo- ment above the ordinary level, to fall back again into the mass from which they arose. If we search for the causes of their fall, we shall find them in their views and their policy. All of them, in their day, have had their own devices, — some of them to enslave the people whom they governed, — some to extend their power by the atrocities of con- quest, — others to monopolize the commerce of the world, and to become rich by the oppression of all around them. These mighty devices are now past. The sleep of many hundred years has bu- ried their pride and their guilt in oblivion ;— and when we trace the principles upon which they acted, we rejoice, even now, at their fall, and feel the justice of that law, by which " the counsel of " God alone" is destined to " stand." We live in times, my brethren, when these truths are not " the hearing of the ear," but when " we see them with our eyes." We live in times, " when the judgments of the Lord are in the earth," —when nations are falling around us, and when scarcely a year passes without being marked by the dethronement of monarchs. Do we look for the causes of these awful events ? We shall find them in their national sins ; in the corruption of 9 ^6 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. their private manners ; in the injustice or oppres- sion of their internal governments ; or in tiie ambi- tion or avarice of their national policy. The pe- riod of the " devices of man's heart" has ar- rived, and the counsel of the Lord arises to stand. The foot of guilt has long trod upon the earth, and legions of armed men are sprung up to aveng& and to purify it. These also, v^^ith all their pride, and all their atrocity, will pass. The storm which is now ra- ging over a suffering world, will renovate, but not destroy. The empires which perish, will perish, only to be renewed in nobler forms, and under more auspicious rule. The power itself, which the Almighty hath made the instrument of his jus- tice, will last but for the time that is appointed ; and, when the devices of ambition have passed, like the storms of winter, over a suffering worlds " the counsel of the Lord will stand," and awa- ken a nobler spring. While these are the mighty truths in which the voice of history joins with that of religion, there is yet a very common mistake which prevents us from applying them to ourselves. We are all apt to conceive ourselves as of less consequence, and less responsibility in the government of our coun- try than we really are, and to imagine that truths like these are of importance only to the statesman and the legislator, but of little importance to the private citizen. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. ^( In every country, however, even the most de- spotick, much ever depends upon the will of tlie people ; and no projects of government can hope for success, which do not fall in with the wishes and the passions of the nation. But, in this coun- try, my brethren, in a country so long trained to freedom and independence ; — in which the repre- sentation of the people forms a constituent part of the legislature itself ; — in which the long posses- sion of liberty and industry hath disseminated wealth and influence among every class of men : and in which the powers of Government depend in a great degree upon its credit with the publick ; — in this country, the voice of the people forms the firmest support of its government ; their pas- sions determine the conduct of those who govern them ; and it is their wisdom or folly which, in a great measure, marks the character of the national era. Of this people, we are a part — to this voice, whatever it may be, we contribute — and in the wisdom, or in the guilt of that war in which we are engaged, we also must have our individual share. It is ever wise in us to look upon our duties in this solemn light ; in the light, not of expedience, but of conscience ; and, in the reli- gious pause which this day aftbrds, I have laid this view of the subject upon you, that you may consider whether it is " the devices of man" you are pursuing, or the " counsel of God,'* 68 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. If then^ in the first place, the war we pursue, be one which is neither founded in justice, nor necessity ; if it be a war undertaken to overturn the independence, or abridge the prosperity of any other people ; if it be to add to our wealth by the spoils of the world, or to seek our glory by the tears of innocent, or the blood of unoifending nations ; if these be our secret objects in the war, let us not think, nor hope, nor pray for success. Victory may follow victory ; achievement may succeed achievement ; the pulse of national van- ity may beat high ; but " the counsel of the Al- ^^ mighty" is against our devices. The secret vice which silently pursues its end, is undermining the fabrick of all our prosperity, and the destroying angel, who comes from the throne of God to " jus- ^^ tify his ways to man," rejoices in the triumphs which his hand is so soon to wither ; and in that attitude of presumptuous elevation, which must so soon be humbled in the dust. But, my brethren, on the other hand, if it be a war of a different description that our hearts tell us we are pursuing ; if it be a war, necessary in its nature, and just in its end ; if it be to maintain the rights, the freedom, and the independence of our country ; if it be to protect that constitution, which is the fountain of all our best enjoyments here, and that religion which is the source of all our hopes hereafter ; if it be to continue to our children that' freedom to which they were born^, ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. 69 and that faith in which they were baptized ; if these be our sole objects in the war in whicli we are engaged, then, in the name of the living God, let us fear not. Defeat may for a time succeed defeat ; misfortune may follow misfortune, and the hearts of the weak and the timid may turn cold ; — but the counsels of God are with us. Every known, and every unknown power of nature are leagued in our favour. Even under circumstances of deep- er alarm than we have yet experienced, hope is never to be lost. It is not easy to conquer an united people ; — it is not easy to wrest from a fre'e laud the liberty to which it was born ; — it is not easy to tear from a great nation tlie honours which they have worn in the sight of mankind for 80 many hundred years, and the glories, Avhich, in every age, their fathers have transmitted to them. For a long season, my brethren, this country has enjoyed a prosperity unexampled in the his- tory of time. The annals of the world, however, tell us, from the history of many nations, that such prosperity has often been the forerunner of their fall ; and, trusting to such analogies, the ene- my endeavours to persuade the rest of mankind, that such also is soon to be our fate. The time, therefore, is come, when we are to know whether prosperity has also corrupted us, — whether wealth has brought with it its usual avengers, — and whether the selfishness of commerce, and the fee- rO ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. bleness of luxury, have also made our hands weak, and our hearts cold. If it be so, — if we are be- come careless or indifferent of the honours of our country ; — if we can place interest in opposition to duty ; — if we can think of our own private profits, when the existence of our country is at stake ; — if we can coolly calculate the price which is to pay us for freedom, for honour, and for inde- pendence ; — let us not deceive ourselves. — What- ever our fathers may have been, we are no longer a nation, — " we are weighed in the balance" of God, '^ and are found wanting.'^ " The kingdom is '^ taken from us," and will be given to a nobler people. I hope, however, my brethren, for better things. I hope that, amid all our wealth and all our lux- ury, the spirit of our country is yet undecayed. I trust, that, conducting ourselves *^by the coun- ^^ sels of God," we may laugh to scorn " the de- ^^ vices of man." And I do trust so, from those animating scenes which every where meet our eyes. I trust in it, from that ardour with which the great and the opulent, in every part of our country, have sprung from the lap of affluence into arms, when its liberty and its independence are threatened, I trust in it, from that unexampled charity which has covered years of national suf- fering with glory, — which has grown with every distress as it arose, and which seems to have no limit but that of the miseries it can relieve. I ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1801. 7t trust ia it, from the profusion with which the British heart poured forth the treasures of its wealth, whenever the standard of liberty was un- furled, or the blessings which itself enjoyed seemed to be opening upon other men. I trust in it, still more, from that silent but heroick magnanimity with which the great body of our people, con- scious of their blessings, have, in late years, borne the visitations of God ; and which, wliile it tells us the affection with which they cling to their country, affords us the deepest and sublimest earnest, that they will not bear the visitations of Man. The war, however, with all its hopes, and all its fears, icill cease. When the ends of the Al- mighty are accomplished, nature will reassume her reign of peace ; ^' the devices of Man will ^< fail,'^ and " the counsel of God alone will ^* stand.'^ Yet a few years, and all that trouble, and all that bless humanity, will rest in their graves. The great designs of the Almighty will proceed, and victor and vanquished will alike appear before the Eternal Throne. In that awful and searching hour, it will be of little consequence to us, in what scenes of suffer- ing or enjoyment life has been passed. All that will be of consequence is, — whether its duties have been discharged, — whether we have acted the part of brave, and pious, and virtuous citizens, — or that of weak. an solemn reflections which religion inspires. Your dwellings are at present in the sunshine of Heaven, and the richest blessings of present time ^6 ENCOURAGEMENT TO ACTIVE DUTY are given you to bestow. Think, then, how hi§h are the obligations whicli your prosjierity creates ! — that you are the stewards of the Universal Pa- rent ; and that to you the wretched look up for relief, the injured for protection, the industrious for reward, the virtuous for praise, and the world for example. When you pass the threshold of your gates, ask your own hearts, whether, of those to whom so much is gratuitously given, much will not also be required ? — and if thankfulness spring up in your hearts, on the review of your blessings, mingle with it the humble prayer, that you may be enabled to use them as becomes those who are permitted to know the will of the God who gave them. And ye, my afflicted brethren ! ye who are to return to the various scenes of the house of mourn- ing, — to meet the struggles of poverty or misfor- tune, — to watch, with throbbing hearts, the bed of sickness, or to bend, in speechless sorrow, over the bed of death, — return, I beseech you, with all the consolations of this doctrine in your souls. Sad as are the homes to which you are going, remember who it is that " sends you away.^' Remember that your afflictions <^rise not from ^^ the dust," but descend from the Throne of your Father ; that they are ordained for the trial of that faith which may end in joy, and that patience which may lead to glory ; that above the shades of present time, there reigneth the Father of AFFORDED BY THE GOSPEL. 97 Eternal Light ; and that the noblest virtues whicli blossom in eternity, are those which have sprung beneath the tears of adversity. Keraeniber still more, that He who now sitteth on the right hand of God, was only ^^ made perfect by suffering ;" that He has led the way before you from earth to Heaven ; and tliat, in calling you to be partakers of his suffering. He calls you also to be partakers of his glory. 1 add, my brethren ! only one farther reflection. We read in the text, ^^ That they who had eaten, " were about four thousand.'' In the hour in which I speak, the number of those that have this day approached the same Lord, and heard the same accents of salvation, are countless millions of the family of God. While we thus see that faith advancing on earth, which is to be finally triumphant in Heaven, let us prostrate ourselves in thankfulness for those means of grace which are given to all, and for those purposes of salva- tion which may yet unite all into one fold, and under one shepherd. Let us pray for them, and for ourselves, that the real spirit of our faith may dwell among us ; that all of every churcli who retire this day from the house of God, may retire with the consciousness of his peace upon their souls ; and that, whatever be the home to which they return, they may feel it as the "dwelling of God,'' and •nter into it as into the " gate of Heaven." 13 SERMON Vn. ON THE GENERAL FAST, OCTOBER 20, 1803. St. Luke xxi. 19. •' In your patience possess ye your souls." It was in these words that our Saviour consol- ed his disciples, while he predicted to them the final ruin and desolation of Jerusalem. The peo- ple of Judea, confident in tlie letter, while they were ignorant of the spirit of their religion, had long before ceased to listen to his admonitions, and it was only to the chosen few who felt his truth, and who understood his gospel, that he unveiled the mighty scenes which that desolation was to precede. Amid ^^ the wars, and the rumours of '^ wars," that were to follow, he led them to see the ^^ salvation of the world'' approach. The destruc- tion of Jerusalem was to be the dissolution of that pale which kept the Gentiles from the knowledge of the true God; and he enjoined them, amid all the dread calamities which were to come, to " pos- * Preached when the expectation of invasion was universal, and when the \'6lunteer corps were every where forming in the national defence. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. 99 *^ sess their souls'' in patient expectation of that miglity (lay, when his name and his religion were to begin their triumphal reign. Of the many rtflections which this subject natu- rally excites, there is one only, my brethren, which I shall at present submit to your consideration ; it is, the difference between the patience which Iiuman wisdom teaches, and that which religion inspires. Wiien the moralist speaks to us of hardship or danger ; when he animates us to meet those scenes of calamity wliich we may be doomed to undergo, he tells us of the dignity of our nature, — the mag- nanimity of self-denial, — and the heroism of patient suffering. He makes the world the spectator of our conduct ; and summons us, by every conside- ration of honour or of fame, to act our part like men, and to deserve the sympathy of those who surround us, by the firmness and magnanimity which we display. The patience which the Gospel inspires is of a different, but of a sublimer kind. It speaks not to us of ourselves, — it speaks of that great system to which we belong, and of the ends to which we con- tribute in that system. — It tells us, that every suf- fering to which man is born, has its final purpose cither in individual or in publick good ; — that to nations, as to individuals, the seasons of adversity are the seasons of their highest virtue ; — that, ia every situation, the discharge of the duties which that situation brings are the simple means by whick 100 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. the mighty designs of nature are to be carried on ; — and that, above all the weakness or suffeiing of men, there presides one Almiglity Mind, in whose extended government "all things are working to- ^^ gether for final good," and who can make even ^^ the wratji of men to praise him." There are no considerations which seem more proper for the solemnity in which we are at present engaged. We are met together, with all the rest of our land, to humble ourselves before the God of nations ; to call to mind what are the duties de- manded of us, in this hour of general alarm ; and to form those resolutions for the coming danger, which become us as citizens, as Christians, and as men. It is, my brethren, in no common hour of peril that we are now assembled. A contest more aw- ful than either we or our fathers have seen, is rapidly approaching ; and that sun which witnesses our meeting, has never, in his long career, beheld a time so pregnant with hope or despair to our country. It is no common war in which we are engaged, and no common enemy we are to oppose. It is a war, in which are put to the hazard of the sword, every blessing of our faith, every honour of our name, and every glory of our country. It is an enemy we are now summoned to oppose, — ^wliose positions are kingdoms, and whose march is revo- lution ; before whom the sovereigns of Europe have bowed their diminished heads ; and who seeks ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. 101 now, on our northern shores, to extinguish the last spark of order, of freedom, and of justice, among mankind. Tliere is a folly in exaggerating the dangers to which we are exposed : — there is an equal folly in diminishing or under-rating them. It is the business of wisdom to see them as they are, and to animate our liearts to meet and to encounter them. In the season which seems approaching, there is not one of us that will not be called to the exercise of pa- tience, — to the exertion of that principled magna- nimity which nature applauds, and which the Gos- pel enjoins. It is in tlie solemn and sacred pause of this day, that we ought all to prepare ourselves for the scenes which are to follow ; and, ere the eventful conflict begins, to supplicate from Heaven that strength which may enable us to endure it. I speak not now, indeed, to the young, and to the brave.* — They have taken their lofty resolu- tion ; and, in this hour, in the same array in which they are to present themselves to the enemy, are now presenting themselves before their God. At the first tread of danger, they have risen in "legions *' of armed men ;" and from every rank of our country, they have started forwards in its defence, with a gallantry which realizes to us tlie visions of ancient patriotism, and which, I trust will, in the * The volunteers of the Congregation were now regimented, and on this day attended the National Churchss, by order of GoYerDment, 102 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. end, more than realize to us the visions of ancient valour. Yet though they, my brethren, are to undertake the hardships and the dangers of war, there are other hardships for wliich we must prepare our- selves ; and there is not a soul to whom I speak, whom the time does not summon to patience and to self-denial. The great and the affluent, they whom ancient possessions have dignified, or per- sonal industry hath enriched, are now called to justify the distinction they have enjoyed ; — to suspend their usual pleasures and their usual pursuits ; — to sacrifice to the adversity of their country, the wealth which its prosperity has given them ; — and to prepare themselves, in the spirit and in the armour of their ancestors, for the final conflict that is to decide its glory or its fall. The poor are called to submit, with the patience of their faith, to increasing pri- vations ; to exert that noblest magnanimity, which can not only act but suffer in the cause of duty ; and, if the last struggle should come, to bear in their minds the lofty remembrance of what, in many an age, tlieir fathers have done, and how, in many a field, their fathers have died. The aged, alas ! the fathers and the mothers of our people, are called to severer duties. They are called to surrender their children to their country ; — to suspend the workings even of paren- tal nature ; — to silence the anxiety which years' ON THE GENERAL FAST, 18(K{. 101; have nourished ; — anil to lend to the general wel- fare, every thing wliicli lias constituted their own. Even that sex, whose first honour is in the tender- ness of their nature, are now called to forget or to disavow it. They are called to hide every tear, and stifle every apprehension ; — to assume that sedate and matron firmness which becomes the wives and daughters of freemen ; and by their voice (ever so powerful to tlie brave) to invigorate the spirit of national defence, and anticipate the hour of national glory. Such, my brethren, are the hardships to which they are exposed, who are yet at the greatest dis- tance from the actual scene of war ; and such the sacrifices which this eventful season demands of all of us, from the throne to the cottage. Yet, ere the awful hour of conflict begins, — while the winds of winter are ushering in that mightier storm which is to convulse or remedy mankind, — let us, in this day of meditation, look to the end of these things. Let us weigii well what may be those designs of Providence, of which we are now called to be the agents and instruments ; let us consider what it is that our patience of evil is now to defend or pre- serve ; and what are the motives which summon us, in the midst of peril and alarm, to have the " firm possession of our souls." 1. We are summoned, in the first place, to the defence of our country, to preserve the land whieli has given us birth, and which contains every thing 104 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. for which we live. Whatever may be the evils or suiferings of war, they have yet this fortunate effect, — that they rekindle that love of our country, which the safety of prosperity, and the habits of private pursuit, are so apt to relax or to impair. But, my brethren, if this appeal has its influence even over the savage and the slave, — in no hour in the history of social life, — in no nation wliich has ever risen among mankind, — did that name ever summon before man, so many dread obligations as it now does before us, in this hour, and in this country. We have to defend a land, unhabituated to shame, and hitherto unknown to conquest ; — we have to defend the honours of ancient days, and the splendour of present greatness ; — we have to de- fend the opulence which the industry of our fathers has garined, and the freedom which their blood has purchased ; — we have to defend that constitu- tion which has poured the prosperities of nature over a barren land, and given to our northern isle a splendour unknown to the regions of the sun. W e have to defend that faith in which our infancy was baptized, and in which we pray our dying hours may close ; which was the " strength of our " fathers, and of the old time before them," and which has conducted the wise and the virtuous who have preceded us, to glories beyond the limits of mortality. S. We are summoned, in the next place, my brethren, even to a no])ler duty ; and, in the mighty 0\ THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. 105 tlesigns of Providence, the same valour whicli is called to defend our land, is the great means by which we can relieve the sufferini^s of the world around us. Amid tliat wreck which we have wit- nessed of social welfare — amid the dethronement of kings, and the subjugation of kingdoms, — amid the trembling neutrality of some, and the silent servility of others, — this countiy alone hath re- mained independent and undismayed, — and it is upon the valour of our arms, that Europe now 1,'cposes its last hope of returning liberty, and re- stored honour. Among the nations which surround us, whom either the force of the enemy has sub- -dued, or their power intimidated, there is not one virtuous bosom that docs not throb for our success^ — the prayers of millions will follow our banners into the field, and the arm of the soldier will be blessed by innumerable voices, which can never reach his ear. If we fail, — if the ancient prowess and intrepidity of our people is gone, — there is then a long close to all the hopes and all the ho- nours of humanity ; over the fairest portion of the civilized earth, the tide of military despotism will joll, and bury, in its sanguinary flood, alike the monuments of former greatness, and the promises of future glory. But, — if we prevail ; if the liearts of our people are exalted to the sublimity of the contest ; the mighty spell which has enthralled the world will be broken, — the spirit of nature and of liberty will rekindle ; — and the same blow which Hi 106 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. prostrates the enemy of our land, will burst the fetters of nations, and set free the energies of an injured world. The historian of future times, when he meditates on the affairs of men, will select for his fairest theme the record of our country ; and he will say, Such is the glory of nations, when it is founded on virtue ; when they scorn the vulgar " devices of " the human heart,'' and follow only the ^* counsel " of the Lord ;" when they act from the high am- bition of being the ministers of that ^' Ancient of *^ Days," whose "judgment is set" in nature, and before whom the "books of the Universe are open."" 8. There is yet, my brethren, in such hours, a greater consideration. If there be something in- expressibly animating in seeing our country as the instrument of Heaven in the restoration of happiness to mankind ; if to us be given th© sublime charge, of at once defending our own land, and guiding the destinies of human nature, — there is something also equally solemn in the re- membrance of the duties which so high a commis- sion involves. And there is an instinct which must teach us all, that of our conduct in these trying hours we are finally to render an account. It is this exalted prospect which ought ever to be present to us, in the seasons of difficulty and alarm. It is now, in the midst of wars, and the desolation of nations, that we ought to fortify our hearts at the shrine of religion. It is now that ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1803. iu. we arc to vveigli the duties which are demanded of us by Heaven and earth ; and to consider whether, in that last day, we are to appear as cowards to our country and our faith, and as pur- chasing an inglorious safety, by the sacrifice of every duty, and every honour of man, — or as the friends of order, of liberty, and of religion, and allied to those glorious spirits who have been the servants of God, and the benefactors of mankind. Over the conflict which is to ensue, let it never be forgotten, that greater eyes than those of man will be present ; and let every man that draws the sword of defence remember, that he is not only defending the liberties of his country, but the laws of his God. Let, then, the young and the brave of our peo- ple go forth, with hearts inaccessible to fear, and imdoubting of their cause. Let them look back into time, and see the shades of their ancestors tising before them, and exhorting them to the com- bat. Let them look around them and see a sub- jugated world the witnesses of their contest, and the partners in their success. Let them look for- ward into futurity, and see posterity prostrated before them, and all the honours and happiness of man dependent upon the firmness of their hearts, and the vigour of their arms. Yes ! let them go forth, and pour around our isle a living barrier to injustice and ambition ; and, when that tide of anarchy wh'ch has overfiowed the world rolls its 108 ON THE GmERAL FAST, 18Q2. last waves to our shores, let them shew to tiic fo& as impenetrable a front, as the rocks of our landi to the storms of the ocean. And Thou, O God of Nations, and Lord of every host, ^Mvithout whom nothing is strong, and <^ nothing is holy,'' if it is with such views that thy people of this laud now assemble before Thee ; — if they are, indeed, armed in defence of Thy eternal laws, and in the cause of the everlasting gospel; — if Thou hast called them to be the in- struments of thy Providence for the future welfare of mankind, let thy spirit go forth with them,, which of old went forth with the hrave and the virtuous of thine own people. Awaken in their hearts tbat love of Thee, and of thy laws, and pour into their souls that contempt of danger and of death, which befit those whom thy Omniscient will has summoned to scenes of difficulty and alarm ; and, while thy Providence has so long watched over this favoured land, and while it now remains as the beacon to lead mankind again to happiness and truth, — grant that thy people may feel the extent of their duties ! and know, that, while they are defending the independence of their own country, they are defending the sacred cause of order, of virtue, and of religion, throughout the world. SERMON VIII. ON THE RELIGIOUS AND MOTAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE.* Proverbb iii. 13, «$i'c. " Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that gcttefh iindnrstanding ! — She is more precious than rubies, and ail the things thou canst desire arc not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her right l)and ; and in her left hand riches and hon- our. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." In these beautiful words Solomon describes the eifects of wisdom upon the honour and happiness of human life. — However warm or magnificent the praise which lie bestows, it is not the extrava- gance of youthful enthusiasm. It is the sober decision of age and experience : the opinion of one wlio had known every pleasure which life could offer him ; and who, in his grey hairs, tells the successor to his throne, that ^^ wisdom is more " precious" than all the splendours which sur- round it, and " that all the things he could desire, *^ are not to be compared unto her.*' * Preached at the conameDcerrent of tUo Academical Session In Edjnburjii. MO ON THE RELIGIOUS AND I have chosen these words, my brethren, for «ur present consideration, because there appears something in the time not unsuitable to their ap- plication. The season has now returned, when the annual business of education again begins ; when, for some months to come, the young of our congregation are to be employed in the acquisition of knowledge ; and when tliis city itself exhibits one of its most honourable distinctions, — that of contributing to the instruction and improvement of youth. To the young themselves, it is the com- mencement of the most important and eventful period of their lives ; and to us, my elder brethren, it is a scene which we can scarcely regard, with- out many feelings of interest and tenderness. It reminds us of that beautiful expression of anti- quity, " that the young among the people are lik& "the spring amid the seasons.'^ It leads even the most insensible of us, to form some kind wish that the fruits of their harvest may correspond to the opening of their spring ; and it leads us, too, very naturally, to the remembrance of our own youth ; and, while we think what are the duties of the present young, to consider what we our- selves have been doing since that important era has passed to us. At this time, therefore, I trust I shall be forgiven, if I dedicate this discourse to the young of our congregation ; — if I avail myself of the opportunity of the season, to encourage them in the pursuits which they have begun; — and if I MORAL ENDS OP KNOWLEDCfe. Ill conclude, by pointing out to them the great ends to which all knowledge and wisdom ought finally to be applied. I. In every period of life, the acquisition of knowledge is one of the most pleasing employ- ments of the human mind. But in youth there are circumstances which make it productive of higher enjoyment. It is then that every thing has the charm of novelty ; that curiosity and fancy are awake; and that the heart swells with Ihc anticipations of future eminence and utility. Even in those lower branches of instruction which we call mere accomplishments, there is something always pleasing to the young in their acquisition. They seem to become every well-educated person, — they adorn, if they do not dignify humanity ; and, what is far more, while they give an elegant employment to the hours of leisure and relaxation, they afford a means of contributing to the purity and innocence of domestick life. But in the ac- quisition of knowledge of a higher kind, — in the hours when the young gradually begin the study of the laws of nature, and of the faculties of the human mind, or of the magnificent revelations of the Gospel, — there is a pleasure of a sublimer na- ture. The cloud which, in their infant years, seemed to cover nature from their view, begins gradually to resolve. Tiie world in which they are placed, opens with all its wonders upon their eye; their powers of attention and observation 112 ON THE RELIGIOUS AND seem to expand with tlie scene before them ; and, while they see, for the first time, the immensity of the universe of God, and mark tlie majestick sim- plicity of those laws by which its operations are conducted, they feel as if they were awakened to a higher species of being, and admitted into nearer intercourse with the Author of Nature. It is this period, of all others, accordingly, that most deter- mines our hopes or fears of the future fate of the young. To feel no joy in such pursuits ; — to lis- ten carelessly to the voice which brings such mag- nificent instruction ;^to see the veil raised which conceals the counsels of the Deity, and to shew no emotion at the discovery, are symptoms of a weak and torpid spirit, — of a mind unworthy of the advantages it possesses, and which is fitted only for the humility of sensual and ignoble plea- sure. Of those, on the contrary, who distinguish themselves by the love of knowledge, — who follow with ardour the career that is opened to thein, we are apt to form the most honourable presages. It is the character natural to youth, and which, therefore, promises well of their maturity. We foresee for them, at least, a life of pure and virtu- ous enjoyment, and we are willing to anticipate no coiiunon share of future usefulness and splendour. In the second place, the pursuits of knowledge lead not only to happiness but to honour. *• Length of days," in the words of the text, *^ is ^' in her right hand, and in her left are riches and MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 113 *' lionoiir." It is lionoiiiaMe to excel even in the most trilling species of knowledge, in those which can amuse only the passing hour. It is more hon- ourable to excel in those different branches of science which are connected with the liberal pro- fessions of life, and which tend so much to the dignity and well-being of humanity. It is the means of raising the most obscure to esteem and attention ; it opens to the just ambition of youth, some of the most distinguished and respected, situ- ations in society ; and it places them there, with the consoling reflection, that it is to their own in- dustry and. labour, in the providence of God, that they are alone indebted for them. But, to excel in the higher attainments of knowledge, — to be distinguished in those greater pursuits which have commanded the attention, and exhausted the abili- ties of the wise in every former age, — is perhaps, of all the distinctions of human understanding, the most honourable and grateful. When we look back upon the great men who have gone before us in every path of glory, we feel our eye turn from the career of war and of ambition, and involuntarily rest upon those who have displayed the great truths of religion, who have investigated the laws of so- cial welfare, or extended the sphere of human knowledge. These are honours, we feel, which have been gained without a crime, and which can be enjoyed without remorse. They are honours also which can never die, — which can shed luslre 15 114 Oi\ THE RELIGIOUS AND even upon the humblest head, — and to wliieh the young of every succeedhig age will look up, as their brightest incentives to the pursuit of virtuous fame. II. But whatever may be the attractions of wisdom, or the rewards which the Almighty hath given to its pursuit, it is still farther to be remem- bered, that it is at best only a means to an end ; that knowledge of every kind supposes some use to which it is to be applied ; and that, in the sim- ple language of the gospel, it is a talent, (though a talent of the noblest kind,) for which the possessor is finally to account. I would to God, my bre- thren, that the history of science had rendered this observation unnecessary. Yet, you all know, that there are shades which darken the history of human improvement : that there have been, and even now, alas ! are, men who have employed genius and knowledge to the most fatal purposes ; who have employed them to corrupt the morals of private life ; to undermine the foundations of social order ; and, with a still more gigantick malignity, have turned the powers which Heaven gave them asainst itself, and endeavoured to wrest from the family of God, that belief in his providence, and that hope in his mercy, which are necessary ingre- dients in our being, and which alone can animate the exertions, or console the woe of humanity. Far, God ! from us, and from the young of our people, be these fatal delusions ! Yet it is wise in MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 115 you, my young friends, to confirm tlicse natural feelings by principle, and, in preparing yourselves to employ your knowledge, to consider the great ends, which, in this employment, both God and man demand of you. 1. The first end to which all wisdom or know- ledge ought to be employed, is to illustrate the ivisdom or goodness of the Father of Nature. Every science that is cultivated by men leads naturally to religious thought, from the study of the plant that grows beneath our feet, to that of the Host of Heaven above us, who perform their stated revolutions in majestick silence amid the expanse of infinity. When, in the youth of Moses, ^* the Lord appeared to him in Horeb," a voice was heard, saying, " draw nigh hither, and put off *^ thy shoes from oif thy feet, for the place where ^^ thou standest is holy ground." It is with such a reverential awe that every great or elevated mind will approach to the study of nature, and with such feelings of adoration and gratitude, that he will receive the illumination that gradually opens upon his soul. It is not the lifeless mass of matter, he will then feel, that he is examining, — it is the mighty machine of Eternal Wisdom : the workmanship of him, ^' in whom every thing '^ lives, and moves, and has its being."' Under an aspect of this kind, it is impossible to pursue knowledge without mingling with it the most ele- vated sentiments of devotion ; — it is impossible to 116 ON THE RELIGIOUS AND perceive the laws of nature without perceiving, at the same time, the presence and the Providence of the Lawgiver : — and thus it is that, in every age, the evidences of religion have advanced with the progress of true philosophy ; and that science, in erecting a monument to herself, has, at the same time, erected an altar to the Deity. The knowledge of nature, however, you know, my young brethren, is not exhausted. There are many great discoveries yet awaiting the labours of science ; and with them, there are also awaiting to humanity many additional proofs of the wisdom and benevolence " of Him that made us." To the hope of these great discoveries, few, indeed, can pretend : — yet let it ever be remembered, that he who can trace any one new fact, or can exem- plify any one new instance of divine wisdom or benevolence in the system of nature, has not lived in vain ; that he has added to the sum of human knowledge ; and, what is far more, that he has added to the evidence of those greater truths, upon which the happiness of time and eternity depends. 2. The second great end to which all know- ledge ought to be employed, is to the welfare of humanity. Every science is the foundation of some art, beneficial to men ; and while the study of it leads us to see the beneficence of the laws of nature, it calls upon us also to follow the great end of the Father of Nature in their employment MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. ^^^ and application. I need not say, my brethren, what a field is tluis opened to the benevolence of knowledge : I need not tell you, that in every department of learning there is good to be done to mankind : I need not remind you, that the age in which we live has given us the noblest exam- ples of this kind, and that science now finds its highest glory in improving the condition, or in allaying the miseries of humanity. But there is one thing of which it is proper ever to remind you, because the modesty of knowledge often leads us to forget it, — and that is, that the power of scien- tifick benevolence is far greater tlian that of ail others, to the welfare of society. The benevolence of the great, or the opulent, however eminent it may be, perishes with themselves. The benevo- lence even of sovereigns is limited to the narrow boundary of human life ; and not unfrequently is succeeded by different and discordant counsels. But the benevolence of knowledge is of a kind as extensive as the race of man, and as permanent as the existence of society. He, in whatever situa- tion he may be, who, in the study of science, has discovered a new means of alleviating pain, or of remedying disease ; who has described a wiser method of preventing poverty, or of shielding mis- fortune ; who has suggested additional means of increasing or improving the beneficent produc- tions of nature, has left a memorial of himself, which can never be forgotten ; which will commu- 118 ON THE RELIGIOUS AND nicate happiness to ages yet unborn ; and which, in the eniphatiek language of scripture, renders him a "fellow- worker" with God himself, in the im- provement of his Creation. 3. The third great end of all knowledge is the improvement and exaltation of our own minds. It was the voice of the apostle, " What manner of " men ought ye to be, to whom the truths of the ^^ Gospel have come ?" It is the voice of nature also, " What manner of men ought ye to be, to ^^ whom the treasures of wisdom are opened ?'' Of all the^ spectacles, indeed, which life can offer us, there is none more painful, or unnatural, than that of the union of vice with knowledge. It counteracts the great designs of God in the dis- tribution of wisdom ; and it assimilates men, not to the usual characters of human frailty, but to those dark and malignant spirits who fell from Heaven, and who excel in knowledge, only that they may employ it in malevolence. To the wise and virtuous man, on the contrary, — to him whose moral attainments have kept pace with his intel- lectual, and who has employed the great talent with which he is entrusted to the glory of God, and to the good of humanity, — are presented the sublimest prospects that mortality can know. " In my father's house," says our Saviour, " are ^^ many mansions ;" — mansions, we may dare to interpret, fitted to the different powers that life has acquired, and to the uses to which they have been MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 119 jipplied. Of that great scene, indeed, Avhieh awaits all, whether ignorant or wise, it becomes us to think with reverential awe. Yet we know, "that it will then be well with tlie good, though " it will not be well with the wicked ;" and we are led, by an instinctive anticipation, to suppose that they who here have excelled in wisdom and benevolence, will be rewarded with higher objects, upon which they may be employed, and admitted into uearer prospects of the government of Eternal Wisdom. "In his light they shall see light." ^' They shall see Him, not as through a glass, dark- ^' ly ; but as he is. They shall know, even as " they themselves are known." Such, my young brethren, are the great ends to which all wisdom p.n.l knowledge ought to be em- ployed ; and such, also, the rewards, both in time and eternity, Vvlsich the Author of Wisdom hath bestowed upon the faithful of his people. It is upon this dignified and animating scene that you are now entering : — it is to these rewards that by patience and industry you may advance. I can add nothing to the magnificence of these prospects : yet there is one additional reflection which I would wish, at this time, to recall to your remembrance. In the scene of early life which you have left, you have all, probably, left some companions of your youthful years, who cannot follow you here : some to whom, with all their talents, poverty for- bids the hope of further instruction, and who must 120 ON THE RELIGIOUS ENDS, &c. be doomed to pass their lives in ignorance and obscurity. Is there here, then, no call upon you to justify the fortunate superiority which you pos- sess? And, if the Providence of the Almighty hath so early distinguished you, is there no claim which He, too, has upon your labour and your in- dustry? In looking back upon this early scene, there are, perhaps, other more interesting images that will return to your remembrance. There are friends you will see, who now anxiously wait your course ; — there are relations w^ho are eager to an- ticipate your honour and success ; — there are parents, perhaps, who await your hands to crown their grey hairs with a crown of joy. I will not go farther. May these, and every other remembrance befitting the generosity of youth, be present with you in every hour, to animate and invigorate the resolutions of your minds ! — May the blessing of Him who called the young unto Him, and blessed them, descend upon all your heads. And may you now so weigh the importance of the great journey upon which you are entering, that it may terminate "in honour, and glory, and immor- "tality!" SERMON IX. eONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT, WITH REGARD TO THE YOUNG IN THE HIGHER CONDITIONS OF LIFE. Pbovebbs iii. 13, &c. " Happy i« the inau thai fuuleth wisdom, and the man that gettetfi understanding ! — She is more precious than ru1)ies, and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her riglit hand ; and in her lelt hand riches and hon- our. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." In the preceding discourse, 1 addressed my- self to the young who are engaged iji the labours of education, and who are preparing themselves to enter upon the various liberal professions of society. To them life, at present, indeed, " is <^ full of labour ;" — but of a labour to whicli the providence of God hath allotted high rewards : — the hopes of honour, — the promise of usefulness, — and the lofty distinction of contributing, in their day, to the glory of God, and the good of human kind. To such objects of legitimate ambition, the generous bosom of youth is always open ; and there is, perhaps, no duty of the parent or the in- 16 122 ON THE RELIGIOUS AND strueter more important, than to present perpetually to their eyes, the splendid rewards which Heaven has in store, to repay the labours of their early days. There is one description of the young, however, to whom observations of this kind may not seem so immediately to apply ; — the young, I mean, who are born to rank or opulence, and who appear not to be called upon, by any necessity of their con- dition, for labour. To them, life seems to open with very different prospects than to the generality of men. No imperious duty summons them to toil, — no stern necessity compels them to provide for the wants of the passing day. It is to a scene rather of inactivity and joy that they appear to be called, where gayety invites them to enjoyment un- der a thousand forms ; and where, without labour- ing themselves, they may command the labours of the rest of the world around them. It is to the young of this description of our congregation that I now wish particularly to address myself. The same season which is opening to the rest of the young around them a new course of activity and labour, is opening to them a scene of pleasure, and, per- haps, of thoughtless dissipation. — Let me then entreat them for a moment to pause, on their en- trance into life ; — to consider what is the real aspect of their advantages or condition ; and to weigh the ends for which life itself was given, and for which every noble mind would wish to live. MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 123 I. I may observe then, in the first place, that this exemption from labour and exertion, which the higher classes of society are thought to enjoy, is much more apparent than real ; and that in truth it extends itself only to the lowest wants of human nature. They are exempted, indeed, from the care of " gaining their bread by the sweat of their " brow," from the labouring day, and the scanty sleep, by which alone the poor man can provide for the wants of his family. But they are called to other labours of no less imperious a kind ; and which, from this circumstance itself, possess a higher obligation upon every generous mind, that they arc more honourable and more exalted. 1. They are called, in the first place, to the cul- tivation of the mind, — to the acquisition of know- ledge, and the improvement of the understanding. In the unbroken leisure of their youth, — in the fa- cilities of studies and education, — in the society of whatever is respectable or distinguished among men, — they enjoy advantages which fall to the lot of few of the human race ; and the expectation of the world unites itself with the prayer of the parent, that they may enter upon active life, worthy of the discipline which has been employed to form them. 2. They are called, in the second place, to the noblest and most extensive duties which society demands. They are called to lead the arms of their country in war ; — to dispense its justice, and to preserve its tranquillity in the seasons of peace. !24 ON THE RELIGI0U8 AND They are called, as possessors of property, to the most interesting office which the citizen can fill, — to improve the liounty of nature, and add to the prosperity of their nation ; — to be the friends and the fathers of all that dwell in their land, — to be the patrons of rural industry, — the rewarders of humble merit,— and, even in the most desert cor- ners of tiieir country, to diffuse happiness and knowledge among the habitations of men. They are called, still farther, in many cases, to a great- er duty ; to enter into the senate of their country, — to share in the deliberations by which its mis- fortunes may be remedied, — its prosperity extend- ed, — its honours maintained : — to extend the firm hand, which, amidst popular commotion, can hold the balance of power and of liberty, — and to exert the intrepid mind, which can disregard all the clamours of party, while it is labouring for the good of the whole. 3. They are called, in the last place, to be the arbiters of social life, and the models of national manners. It is to this description of society, as we all know, that the rest naturally look up ; from them they borrow their fashions, their habits, and not unfrequently their principles ; and it is their conduct of this easy but important dominion, that determines, in a great measure, the character and the morality of their age. They are boru the legislators of publick manners ; and it is their example, (and let me add, in a peculiar manner, MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 12 j the example of the female great,,) which is to im- press its character upon tlie manners of the world around them, and to render them either pious or profligate, virtuous or vicious, dignified or base. II. Such, then, are the duties wliich arc de- manded of the great and the opulent, — tlie im- portant uses which, by the Providence of God, they serve in the societies of men ; and such, accordingly, my young friends, are the solemn duties to which, in the course of time, you are to be called. It is tlie great business of youth, to prepare for the course which it is to follow ; to acquire the knowledge, and to attain the habits which the scenes of future life may require ; and. above all, by anticipating the duties which God and Man are to demand, to establish that charac- ter and temper of mind which may suit the situa- tion it is destined to fill, and render life honoura- ble, and useful, and happy. Suffer me then, my young friends, upon this principle, to suggest to you some of those considerations which become the peculiar prospects wliich open upon you, and which befit those generous hours of youth which you now enjoy. 1. There is something, in the first place, very striking to every virtuous or elevated mind, in the importance of the station to which it is called, and the magnitude of the duties which are demanded of it. The great body of mankind are doomed to pass theh' days in still obscurity, uncheered by 126 ON THE RELIGIOUS AND the observation of the world, and unapplauded even for the greatest virtues of which their situa- tion can admit. On their humble path, no eye of curiosity is turned, — no sympathizing interest at- tends ; — and all the exertions of patience, of mag- nanimity, and of self-denial, which their condition incessantly demands, must pass without any other approbation than that of their own hearts, and that of him ^^ wlio is greater than their hearts, and who ^^ knoweth all things." It is not thus with those that are born to rank and opulence. They enter upon the theatre of life with every opinion and every prejudice in their favour. — Their first steps are marked by the sympathy of innumerable spectators ; and their earliest dawn of talents or of virtue, is hailed by the applause and expectation of their country. The virbies, too, which life demands of them, are not those which shrink from the eye of day, and which are rewarded only by the testimony of conscience. It is not the austere, the passive, or the solitary virtues which they are called upon to exhibit ; it is the prominent, the popular, and the commanding ; — the intrepidity of the warriour, the uprightness of the magistrate, the independence of the statesman ; — in private life,the wide beneficence which belongs to landed -property, or the innume- rable generosities which await commercial wealth 5 and, even in the bosom of domestick life, that system of pure but dignified manners, which eiino- MORAL ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 1*i7 bles while it improves tlie society of men, and which every where diffuses over rank and greatness their most enviable charm. Such, my young friends, are the qualities of mind which the pro- vidence of God may one day call you to display ; — qualities, surely, which accord with the noblest ambition of youth ; which it is now your proudest virtue to anticipate ; and for the neglect of which, in these invaluable years of education, there is nothing under Heaven which can make any com- pensation. You are called, like all the rest of your brethren, to labour. In the great scene of human life, you have the most important part to perform. But, in proportion to the importance of that part, are the motives and the rewards which the Providence of tlie Almighty hath assigned you. Whatever can warm the generous, or animate the noble mind, is displayed to your ambition ; — the acquisition of personal fame, the maintenance of family honour ; — the extension of national great- ness, and the improvement of national manners ; — and, what is still more, the power of embodying your names in the annals of your country, and descending to posterity with the admiration of the wise, and the blessings of the virtuous. These are the motives by which the Almighty summons you to labour; and cold, surely, must be that heart which beats not at a prospect so animating to all the moral or intellectual exertious of man. 128 Ox'Vf THE RELIGIOUS AND S. From these general considerations, let trie request you, in the second place, to look to the actual scene of life, and to the characters which it presents to your view. The history of your country records to you the memory of many illus- trious great, — of many who have added virtue to rank, and .genius to distinction ; and the arduous days in which you live, have, 1 thank God, well supported whatever was great or dignified in na- tional character. 8uch are the models which it becomes you to study,— the distinguished charac- ters which rise as it were from the mass of man- kind, to court you to follow them ; — and if, in regarding them, your bosoms swell with admira- tion ; — if you form the secret wish, in your day, to resemble them ; — if hope whisper its anticipa- tions of success, — suffer not, for any pleasures which life can offer you, these invaluable emotions to pass from your minds. Remember, that such also is the part which you may perform ; — that such are the honours you may win, — and that, even when life is passed, and all the momentary distinctions of mortality are at an end, the same grateful tear which you now pour upon the grave of illustrious virtue, may in return fall upon yours. Alas ! my brethren, there is another prospect 5 and if there be examples in your condition which are fitted to animate, there are others which are fitted to chill and to alarm. You have read in the MORAL KINDS OF KNOWI>EDGE. 1'20 Rwnals of every country, llic history of vicious greatness and profligate Avealth. You have heard^ HI former days, of the arrogance of privileged or- ders, — of the injustice of hereditary power, — of iliat corruption of manners into which they may fall, wlio are exalted ahove the censure and the indignation of the world. You have seen, even ia this country, rank degraded, and power abused, — riches dissipated amid every ignoble pleasure, — influence devoted only to the dissemination of base «r vicious manners, — and all tlie fairest gifts of Heaven, converted, as by the spell of an enchant- er, into the elements of more than mortal death. On such examples, it becomes you well to pause. There was a time, when the lost beings you now behold were innocent and pure, — ^when life open- ed to them with all the prospects of usefulness and honour, — and when the promises of youth afforded no presage of the baseness of their matu- rity, or the ignominy of their age ; and it is for you well to consider, whether theirs be the career that you Avould wish to run, or theirs the death you would wish to die. 3. There is yet one other consideration, my young brethren, w hich I would wish to represent to you, and which it is of the deepest consequence you should, in the present hours, impress upon your minds. The time we live in is itself elo- quent. The ages are past, in which power can constitute right, or w ealth embellish corruption, — 17 530 ON THE RELIGIOUS AND in which authority can take the place of virtue^ or the honours of distinction be maintained amid the profligacies of individual character. Whatever is tlie importance of the distinction of ranks to the general welfare of society ; — whatever, in this great and envied country, is its importance to the pi'eservation of our unrivalled constitution ; — . whatever, in private life, is its influence upon the purity and dignity of national manners, — all these now depend upon the conduct of those who pos- sess them. The progress of national prosperity, — the searching inquiries of science, — above all, the diflusion of the spirit of the gospel, have broken the spell which formerly rendered the great invulnerable ; and the eye of the patriot is now raised with silent anxiety to the contempla- tion of the conduct of the higher conditions of so- ciety, to know whether he is to prophesy peace or anarchy to his country. To this mighty scene of trial and of duty you are now approaching. Let me then entreat you to look at the fall of another country, — to that migh- ty ruin which now covers the first of European monarchies, and which has buried every thing, that, but a few years ago, was noble or eleva- ted, in one promiscuous grave. Alas ! while you look upon this sepulchre of human greatness, is there not a voice which arises from the tomb, and which seems to tell you also to beware ; — which tells you, that if the great have their rights, MORAL KINDS OF KNOWLEDGE. I'M they have also their duties ; — that, in the present circumstances of tiic world, the inheritance of wealth, and the pride of ancestry, can only be supported by personal dignity, — and that the fabrick of society itself can only be maintained by the progressive improvement of every rank in knowledge and in virtue. It is the melancholy truth of history, that the corruption of every peo- ple has begun with the great ; and, if ever that dread day shall come, when this constitution, so long the subject of our pride to men, and our gratitude to God, shall also perish, it will be when the higher orders are more corrupt than the lower ; — when, in the security of vanity, or in the baseness of vicious pleasure, they shall at once have undermined the respect of the vulgar, the confidence of the wise, and the hope of the virtu- ous. Such then, my young brethren, is that arduous but animating state on which you are about to en- ter. It is, in truth, uo state of luxury and ease, — no privileged scene of exemption from that la- bour, which is at once the lot and the prerogative of man. You are called by the providence of God to the first rank in the society of men ; — you are called by the same Providence to the first duties ; and the voice of nature coincides with the voice of the Gospel, in the solemn assurance, ^^ that of those to whom much h given, much also '^ will he required." J)o you then wish, with the 132 ON THE RELIGIOUS, &c, natural generosity of youth, to fulfil in after years the duties to which you are called ? Now is the time for this sacred preparation. It is now, in the spring of your days, that you may aequke the knowledge, and establish the habits which are to characterize your lives ; and that you may elevate the temper of your minds to the important destiny to which the Father of Nature has called you. The world, with all its honours and all its temp- tations, is before you ; — the paths of virtue and of vice are equally open to receive you ; — and it is the decision of your present hours, which must de- termine your character in time, and your fate in eternity. I pray God, tliat you may decide like Christians and like men ;— that you may take, in early life, ^^ that good part wliich will never be taken from ''■ you ;'' — and tl)at neither the illusions of rank, nor the seductions of wealth, may lead you to forget what you owe to yourselves, to your country, and to your God, SERMON X. ON SUMMER. Judges v. 31. " Let them that iove the Lord be as the sun, when he goeth forth in his might." There are principles of our constitution which lead us from the observation of tlie material world, to the contemplation of the mind that formed it, and which, from the spectacle of beauty, conduct us to Him " who has made every thing beautiful '^ in his time." There are uses too of no mean importance to happiness, to virtue, and to^ety, which meditations of this kind are fitted to serve; and tliere is no way in which the young can bet- ter learn the sentiments of devotion, or the old preserve them, than in cultivating those habits of thought and of observation which convert Nature into the Temple of God, and render all its dift'er- ent scenes expressive of the various attiibiites of the Almighty Mind. 134 ON SUMMER. Every age, in this view, has felt the analogy which subsists between the seasons of the year, and the character and duties of men. There is, in the revolutions of time, a kind of warning voice which summons us to thought and reflection ; and every season, as it arises, speaks to us of the anal- ogous character which we ought to maintain. From the first openings of the spring, to the last desolation of winter, tlie days of the year are em- blematick of the state and of tlie duties of man ; and, whatever may be the period of our journey, we can scarcely look up into the Heavens, and mark the path of the sun, without feeling some- thing either to animate us upon our course, or to reprove us for our delay. It is now the pride and glory of the year. The ^^ winter is over and gone," — the spring lias again unlocked all tlie annual promises of nature, — the earth around us is every where covered with plen- teousness and beauty, — and the sun is pursuing like d*^iant his '^ course through the Heavens," and dispensing light and life over the world be- neath him. Are there no reflections, my brethren, which such a spectacle inspires ? Are there no classes or conditions of men, of whose character and €luties this season is descriptive ? And are there no moral lessons which they, who love the Lord, may gather from that " sun which now goeth ^^ forth in his might ?" ON SUMMER. 13j 1. Is it not, in the first place, erablcmatick to us of the maturity of human life, and of the virtues which that season ought to display ? To those of that age, the spring, with all its weakness, and all its dangers, is past; — an unseen arm hath con- ducted them through the dawn of their infant journey, and led them on to that mighty stage, where the honours of time and of eternity are to be won. Wliatever may be the station or condition in which they are placed, there is yet to all some simple and evident duty which they are called to perform, — some course which they are summoned to run ; and, what is far more, however narrow may be its bounds, or obscure its situation, there is some sphere to which their influence extends, and in which, like the summer sun, they may dif- fuse joy and happiness around them. In such seasons, let nature be their instructer ; and, while they bless the useful light which pours gladness among the dwellings of men, let them remember that tlicy also were made to bless and to improve. Let tliem remember, that to them have now arisen tlie Icngtliened and the enlightened days of life, when every thing calls them to labour ; that the breath of Heaven has ripened all their powers of mind and body into perfection ; that there are eyes in Heaven and Earth, which look upon the course they are pursuing ; and that the honours of time, and the hopes of immortality, alike depend upon the UHC which they make of the summer of their 136 ON SUMMER. days. Alas ! too, let tlieni remember, that the seasons ^f man have their varieties, like the seasons of nature ; and, while they look aronnd them and see the noon of life (as sometimes they must sec it) darkened by vice, or obscured by folly, let it warn them of the dangers to which they also are exposed, and prostrate them in prayer before the Throne of God, that they may run their course like the sun. in his brightness. 3. A second class of men^ of whose cliaracter and duties the present season is descriptive, is that of those, whom the favour of nature, or the fortu- nate circumstances of education, have raised to knowledge, to wisdom, and to genius. There is no resemblance more familiar to our minds, than that which subsists between knowledge and light ; and there is none which more significantly points out the great duties wliich are demanded of those whom Providence has so highly distinguished. They are, in the language of the Gospel, the *niglits of the world,'*' — in the language of the text, " the sun wlien he goeth forth in his might," — the legislators of moral principle and speculative opinion ; and, while others labour at tlie oar, amid the tempestuous sea of life, it is theirs to sit at the helm, and guide the vessel of society (.hrough t!ie perils of the ocean. To extend tlic boundaries of human knowledge, and enlarge the spliere of Jia-- man power ; to give relief to pain, and consolation to wo ; to fix the foundations of present prospe- ON SUMMER. 137 lity, and awaken the am])ition of immortal hope ; to unveil the splendonrs of the Almighty mind ; and to unite the world in the sublime sentiments of the love of Him, and the love of every thing that he hath made ; these are the mighty ends for which knowledge and genius were given, and to which all true wisdom ever strenuously aspires. Let then even the wise be instructed by the pass- ing time. Let them consider the sun, which now ^^ gocth forth in his might," as the true emblem of their duty. Let them remember that they also may give light and joy to the moral world of men ; and let them never forget, that in this they most resemble him, when they break through the clouds of ignorance and crrour ; — when, with the genial rays of truth, they disperse the mists of doubt and of fear which had been gathering over the souls of men ; — and when they bring forward to their view the magnificence of nature, and the benevo- lence of the Eternal Mind which governs it. 3. There is yet another, and a more numerous class of men, of whose usefulness the present sea- son is embleniatick ; that of the great and the afflu- ent: of those Avho enjoy the exalted conditions of society, and possess the awakening powers of wealth and influence. It is to this class of our congregation that the present season calls me in particular to address myself. The annual season of pleasure and of business is now drawing to its close, and many of those who hear me arc prepar- es 135 OX SUMMER. ing to return to the seats of tlieir ancestors, or to those possessions, not less honourable, which their own industry ami labour have acquired. Every scene of life has its appropriate duties ; and 1 trust I shall therefore be forgiven^ if I at- tempt at present to draw your attention to this subject : — To the consideration of the duties and the dispositions which become those who possess this important share in the property of their country. If it be unfortunate for us, that we often un- dervalue the blessings we enjoy, it is equally unfortunate that we sometimes undervalue the use- V fulness we possess. There is a modesty in good- ness, which sometimes leads men to estimate their importance in society too low. There is a care- lessness, too^ which the possession of power is apt to produce, and wliich renders them uncon- scious of the exertions which are demanded of them. It is wise in men, therefore, sometimes to remove themselves, as it were, from their own situation in life ; — to look upon their condition in the light in which the rest of the world con- sider it; and tluis to return to it with new impres- sions of the duties which it demands, and of the opportunities of virtue which it affords them. If, in this view, my brethren, you survey the great scene of human society, you will sec that the condition in it the most l!onoural)le, the most important, and the most fruitful of usefulness, is ON" SUM.MEH. lo9 that of tiie proprietor of land, Ollioi' men must struirrle with the world, heToro the v can raise themselves into distinction and inlluencc. lie, on tiie contrary, is born a ruler of ti»c peoi)k', and the same laws which convey to Itim the title to his lands, convey to him the welfare or the wretehedness of the men who inhal)it tlsem. His opinions, in many Avays, become the model of tlieirs ; — his exajuple is able, cither to strengthen or to shake tlicir most important principles of morality ; — and his power can make itself felt, even within tlic walls of the lowest cottage, either in disseminating joy, or dili'using sorrow. From the agitations of tiie great world, the ob- scurity of the poor renders them happily free ; and, amid tiie calm occupations of sequestered industry, even the influence of legislation is but "distantly felt. But the influence of their landlord is felt in every day and in every occupation of their lives ; and he alone, of all the various mem- bers of society, has the power of realizing the beautiful description of the Patriarch of old : *'AVhen I went out of the gate, the young men *'saw me, and hid themselves; and the aged '■•arose, and stood up. When the ear heard me, •^then it blessed me, and when the eye saw me, •^ it gave witness unto me. 1 delivered the poor ^^and the fatherless, and bim that had none to •^iielp liim. The blessing of him that was ready '140 OX SUMMER. " to perisli came upon me, and I caused the *^ widow's heart to sing for joy/' Such is the light in which it is ever wise in you, whom Providence has called to this impor- tant condition of society, to consider the station you fill ; and such views it is my present purpose to pursue, by suggesting to you some of the most remarkable sources of usefulness the same Provi- dence has given you to employ. 1. The first of these is in the encouragement of learning, and in facilitating the means of instruc- tion. It is a character of our religion, my bre- thren, not less distinguished than that of its being accompanied by miraculous assistance, that " the "Gospel was preached unto the poor;'' and it has been the effect of it to raise the minds of tiie lower ranks of mankind to a degree of virtue and elevation, which no former ages of the world had known. In this mighty design of Providence, you are at present the agents. In all the differ- ent ages of Christianity you review, — in every country you at present survey, — you will find, that the character and the virtue of the people is ever in proportion to tlie facility of their instruction ; and that it is this single cause which has raised them from savages into men, — from slaves into citizens, — and from all the grossness of sensual existence, into tlie dignified enjoyments of cultivated being. If there be something pleasing in the considera- tion of this power of usefulness which you enjoy^ ON SU3niER. 141 there is something also very solemn in tlic imagi- nation of its neglect. You blame the parent who refuses the means of instruction to his child ; you blame the legislator who provides noi the elements of education for his people ; and is there no blame in the sight of God and man which falls upon him, who withdraws from those whom Providence has given to his care the foundation of all their improvement, — who withholds from the darkened vale of life the radiance which alone can cheer it, — and who refuses to the children of toil and suffering, the chief compensation whicli Heaven has made them for all their wants and all their labours. Is there no blame, too, that would fall upon the great of this country, in particular, if they were to relax in that attention which their ancestors had paid to the education of the people ; if they were to suffer those institutions to decay, which have nursed the talents that have given to our land a splendour which nature had denied it, — and for whicli the people have proudly paid, in every art where genius could be shewn, and. in every field where glory could be won. There is, indeed, a doctrine of anotiier kind, — a doctrine which would teach us that the tranquil- Vity of society is only to be maintained by the ig- norance of the people, — which, for the sake of tliQ lew, would coMGign all the rest of mankind to barbarity and gloom — and which would purchase the grons repose Qf rank and afliucnce by the ^'^ ON SUMMER. sacrifice of all the qualities of immortal men. To such a doctrine I need not reply. It is replied to l)y the indignation of every heart tliat is akin to humanity. It is replied to, in deeper tones, by the history of the world, and by those terrifick scenes which our sister island has lately present- ed to our view. It is in the annals of her late sanguinary story, that you will see what are the fruits of ignorance and barbarity — with what facii- i(y the demagogue and the hypocrite may act upon the minds of an untutored people, — and to what lengths of savage cruelty they can go, when they burst the only fetters that restrain thera. It is there, my brethren, you will learn, that, by the eternal decree of Heaven, the perfection of society is united with the perfection of the individual ^ that to improve the lower ranks of men, is to give stability to the higher ; and that the peace of a nation can never be so securely trusted, as in the hands of those, who share in its prosperity, and who are capable of knowing both their rights and their duties. 2. The second means of usefulness which yoit enjoy, is in the power of encouraging industry and improvement. In this respect, there are ad- vantages which to you are peculiar. Amid the population of great cities, the man of benevolence feels his powers altogether inadequate to his de- sires. The objects of his assistance escape from him, amid the mass of society, and he often sighs ON SU.ATMER. l^''^ to think, that he has been cncouiM2;ln5 vice, while he only meant to assist viittie. To such dillkul- ties you are not exposed; — the fieltl of your Ijc- iievolencc lies all before you ; — t!ic characters^ the Avants^ or the interests of your people*, are :ill famil- iar to yon : — and, what is still more, the dem;inds upon your virtue can never exceed your power of exerting; it, because the same circumstances which limit or extend your property, limit also or extend the demands which justice or benevolence can make upon you. How numerous are the opportunities which such a situation affords to a noble mind for the exercise of active virtue ! Seated in the midst of an obedi- ent and humble people, how many are the bless- ings which even common kindness may diffuse. If it be the young who are wandering into errour or folly, it is y^Jiir advice which best can restrain, and most ellVctually warn them. If it be talents and genius which are struggling in obscurity, it is your hand which can raise them up, and lead them into the road of honour and independence. If it be misfortune which bows down the poor man's head, and makes him lof)k to futurily with tears, it is your pity and forI)earance which can give him more than wealth, and rekindle anew the spirit of industry, and the ii(»pe of fjetter days. If it be the grey hairs of ilie dec«yed labourer -wiiich bend beftji-e you, it is you avIio can give ihera shelter, and, in some little corner of your land; let them fall to th.c grave in peace. 144 ON SUMMER. How well, too, is this situation suited to the exercise of female humanity ! and, in the scenes far from the turbulent pleasures of fiishionable life, how well may female virtue exert its noblest pow- ers ! To be the patterns and the protectors of tlieir sex,- — to cherisli the purity of domestick virtue, — to guide the mother's hand in the rearing of her children, and teach to them the important lessons of religious education and domestick economy, — to awaken, by kind praise, the ambition of the young, and to sooth, with lenient hand, the sorrows of the old, — these are tlie opportunities which such situ- ations afford to female benevolence ; the means by whicii they may exalt the character, and ex- tend the virtue^ of their sex ; and shed upon the lowly cottage of tlic peasant, blessings whicli can compensate for all its wants, and all its poverty. Nor think, my brethren, that, in this detail of beneficence, there is little use, or that these simple virtues perish with the day that gives them birth. It is they, in fact, which have given its character to our land, — and which, knitting by insensible means the affections of the people to their masters, liave maintained, in many an hour of danger, the rights and the liberties of all, and spread the riches of cultivation which distinguish our country. And even now the traveller, as he passes, can mark, both on tlie face of nature and on the face t)f man, wliether it is by wisdom or folly, — by be* nevolc'.icc or by cruelty, that the district he sur- ON SUMMER. 145 veys is governed ; — and, while he sighs at the sterility which folly causes, and the misery which oppression has produced, he leaves his blessing on those fields which tiie wisdom of the landlord has made fertile, and on those men whom his benefi- cence has made happy. 3. The third means of usefulness you enjoy, is in the power of promoting religion and piety. I am speaking to Christians, to those who know the value of religion, and who have felt how little every other possession is able to give peace to the heart of man. Let me then remind you, that it is still more necessary to the lower ranks of society, — that it is religion which forms their only sci- ence, — that it is from it their deepest sense of duty springs, — and that, in the hopes which it brings, they find the sole but mighty compensation for all the toils they undergo, and all the inequalities they experience. Of this master- spring of human happiness and human virtue, you have in a great measure the command, and it is your example which must determine whether you are to preside over a pious or an abandoned people. It is said, indeed, that in this respect there is a relaxation in the manners of the age, and that the opulent and great have become remiss in their dis- charge of the publick duties of religion. I hope at least that it is not so. I trust that there is nei- ther so little wisdom, nor so little piety in those who ought to be the models of both ; for no con- id 146 ON SUMMER. duet that could be followed, could be more unwise, or more cruel. It were unwise, surely, to unsettle all the foun- dations of duty in the minds of the people, — to remove those mighty obligations which alone can permanently reconcile them to a condition of infe- riority and toil, — and to lead them to imagine that the inequalities they witness were not the design of that Providence which they revere, but the ef- fects only of human power and human injustice. It were cruel far more, to insinuate among them^ eHher by language or conduct, a single doubt with respect to the foundations of their religion, — to wrest from them, even by carelessness or levity, any of those consolations on w hich the head of poverty and age may rest, — or to dim, to their be- lieving eye, those hopes and expectations which irradiate that humble grave where " the weary '^ long " to be at rest." Alas ! my brethren, it were cruel also to your- selves. Life, with all its power, and all its riches, must have an end ; and there is an hour coming, when all will be forgot but the use that has been made of them. In that hour, you would dread to think, that your example had been the cause even of present sorrow to your people, — that your se- verity had embittered the happiness of those whom you might have blessed, or your vices contamina- ted the purity of their ancient manners. Alas ! i» it not still more awful to think, that your exampl© ^ ON SUMMER. 14r may penetrate into eternity ; — that your levity may have raised doubts which ended in unbelief; that your carelessness may have taught the simple to throw off tlie yoke of religion ; — and that, in the final ruin of those souls which the providence of God had consigned to your care, you yourselves may have been the fatal instruments. Such then are the virtues which may be exerted, and the means of usefulness which may be em- ployed by those whom Providence has placed in this favoured condition of society. Go, then, my brethren, — return from the fatigues of business, and the tumult of unreal pleasure, to the calm joy and the dignified occupations of rural life ! Return, but like tlie sun "wlien he goeth forth in his " might,'' to give beauty to the scenes of nature, and happiness to the dwellings of men. It is your noblest character to be considered as the fathers of your people. Go then, and to the young impart the means of instruction, — and spread the light of knowledge amid the obscurities of life, and maintain the proud distinction which learning has given to your country. Go, and awaken in manhood the spirit of industry, and give to the hand of labour the hope of independence, and ex- ert that noblest charity which is not satisfied with relieving poverty, but which prevents it. Go, still more, and be the '^ leaders of your people in the ^< way of rigliteousness ;" and while you employ the benevolence of men in guiding them in peace 148 ON SUMMER- througli tilings temporal, employ the greater be- nevolence of Christians, in guiding them in hope to things eternal. Nor ask for a reward of your labours. To be thus employed is itself happiness. It is to be fel- low-workers with the Father of Nature, in the prosperity of his people. It is to give men to society, — citizens to your country, — and children to your God. nr-'^' SERMON XL ON THE THANKSGIVING FOR THE VICTORY AT TRA- FALGAR. St. Matthew xvii. 4. " Then answered Peter, and said unto Jesus, Lord ! it is good for us to be here." When our Saviour carried liis disciples up into the mount, and was transfisjured before tliem, we read, in this chapter, that St. Peter, overpowered with the vision of :j;lory which he was permitted to see, exclaimed, in holy rapture, ** Lord, it is *^ j;ood for us to be here !" It is good for us to be raised above the lower world, and to vvitness this manifestation of the majesty of Him by whom thou art sent ; that we may return again into the world with deeper conviction of thy divinity, and that thou art the beloved Son, whose voice it is our duty to hear ! With such feelings of devout gratitude, I trust, we are now assembled in the House of God, and have joined in those accents of praise which on this day rise from every corner of our laad, W« 1.50 ON THE THANKSGIVING FOR are assembled to commemorate one of those signal deliverances wliich reach to the foundation and stability of our empire. — We have seen the pro- tracted anxiety of years, dispersed, as it were, by the breath of Heaven; and, accustomed as we are to the possession of national glory, we have seen it awaken, as if with accumulated lustre, and shed over the year which is about to close, a splendour unknown to any former age. In such moments there is a command, superiour even to that of the sovereign or the legislature, which summons us into the temple of God, and leads us to join that multitude who, in receiving common blessings, are ardent to express their com- mon praise. It is an instinct descriptive of our nature, and productive of sentiments that become us ; it unites the concerns of earth with the laws of Heaven ; it raises us from ordinary thought, to the conceptions of him in whose hand all " the ^^ nations of the earth are as the dust in the bal- " anee ;" — and, amid the miseries of nations, it leads us to the anticipation of that final state, when there shall be '^ war and tears no more." If, indeed, it were only to swell the note of publick exultation, that assemblies of this kind were summoned, — if it were to cherish national vanity by the sanguinary record of achievement, or to inflame national malignity by an inhuman tri- umph over the chains of the captive, or the ashes of the falleu; — I know not that human impiety THE VICTORY AT TRAFALGAR. 151 «onl(l afford so dark a scene of profanation. In such assemblies no Christian spirit would breathe, and on such hearts no grace of Heaven could de- scend. It is for nobler ends, that, on days like these, the wise and the good follow the multitude into the House of God. It is to sanctify, with all the solemnity of religious impression, their love of their country. It is to recal to mind the blessings which the Providence of Heaven hath shed over their land. It is to weigh the obligations which these blessings create, and thus to prepare their minds for the discharge of those duties which their country may in future demand of them, whether in peace or in war. There is a love of our country which is inherent in human nature, which is felt by the savage as well as the citizen, and which no artifice of sophis- try can eradicate from the bosom of man. But, in the thoughts of a wise man, there are other circum- stances to be weighed ; he will be disposed to jus- tify to himself these original anticipations of nature, and to consider well whether the character or the conduct of his nation sanctions that instinctive love which nature has taught him. In such an inquiry there will probably be three principal subjects of his examination, — Whether the land to whieh he belongs be distinguished by the purity of its reli- gious faith ? Whether it has accomplished the great ends of social union ? And whether it has been instnimental to the happiness and welfare of 152 ON THE THANKSGIVING FOR mankind ? These three inquiries fulfil the widest investigation into the conduct and character of na- tions ; and it is with a sense of thankfulness, which language would in vain attempt to express, that I am able, even from this place, to say, *' That it is "good for us to be here." 1. Our first subject of thankfulness to Heaven is, that we are the inhabitants of a land, over which the genuine light of the gospel has been long dif- fused. Of the importance of religion to the immor- tal concerns of man, it is the permanent duty of this place to speak. In the present moment, it is of another consideration 1 wish to remind you, — of the importance of the purity of religious faith to the temporal happiness of man, and of the rank in which it stands in the enumeration of national blessings. On this great subject, I have no occa- sion to descend to reasoning. We stand upon an eminence from which we can descry the past and the present, and from which every aspect of man- kind tells us, " that it is good for us to be here.'^ If we look to the past, we may discover, in their va- rious forms, those images of terrour which peopled the darkness in which men dwelt, until they were " visited by the Day-spring from on high." If we look to the present, we may see the nations around us still involved in gloom, and struggling with the chains which ignorance or artifice have imposed upon the minds of men ; — we may see the influence of a benevolent religion, wrested to the purposes of THE VICTORY AT TRAFALGAR, 15» teraporal or spiritual ambition ; — we may sec the book of life sealed from those to whom it was given, — the best charities of human life poisoned in the source from which they spring, — and tiie noblest powers of understanding degraded by the teri'ours of a dark and artful superstition. It is here, if any where in the history of man, that reli- gion has best displayed its powers to bless huma- nity ; — it is in this land, where, uniting its mighty anticipations with the dictates of natural conscience, it has carried its influence into the common busi- ness and bosoms of men, and lent to morality the aid of its prevailing sanction. But, most of all, it is here ^^ that the gospel has been preached unto ^^ the poor ;'' that, to the majestick multitude of the people, it has diifused its equal laws, and equal blessings ; and that the infant tongue is taught those magnificent doctrines, which give, at once, dignity to life, and hope to immortality. 3. The second subject of our thankfulness to Heaven, is, that we are the subjects of a govern- ment which has, in no common degree, accom- plished the ends of social union. Upon this sub- ject, it were in vain for me to address you. — There is, in every bosom, not only a consciousness but a pride in its truth ; and in this view, also, when we look in other lands upon the convulsions of anar- chy, or the deep lethargy of despotick power, we feel, that " it is good for us to be here." We are the citizens of a country, which has accomplisiied 154 ON THE THANKSGIVING FOR beyond what the annals of man have hitherto ex- hibited, the union of publick power and private liberty ; — which has blended the might of politi- cal combination with the energy of individual ex- ertion, — and which has awakened all the powers that contribute to national prosperity, by the free- dom which it gives to their exercise. We are the members of a constitution which is founded upon the rights of the subject; which has marked with a firm hand the boundaries of legitimate power, and of just allegiance ; and which contains in itself that principle of ameliora- tion, by which it can accommodate itself to the widest exigencies of national progress. Nor is this all, nor are these blessings the distributions only of climate or of chance. We are the descend- ants of men, who have purchased them to us with their blood ; — we are the heirs of those, who, in many a long age of glory, have combated oppres- sion in the senate, and withstood it in the field ; — and whose wisdom and valour have left to the northern soil which gave them birth, distinctions of a nobler kind, tlian ever were bequeathed by eastern opulence, or by classick fame, 3. It is our last subject of thankfulness to Heaven, that we are the inhabitants of a country, which perhaps, beyond all others, has been in- strumental to the progressive welfare of the human race. In the sublime designs of Providence for t!ie progress of mankind, the various nations of THE VICTORY AT TRAFALGAR. l.^J the earth have been ministering in their day to this raagnitic.ent end ; and while they seemed only to he consulting their own interests, have, un- known to themselves, been collectini:, for posterity the maxims of publick good, and the laws of gen- eral prosperity. It is upon this subject, also, with no common sentiments of exultation, that the in- habitants of this land can look back to the ages that are passed, and consider vvhat their forefathers have done in every line of action or of intellectual glory. Whatever art can accomplish in the im- provement of nature, or science discover in the investigation of its laws ; — Avhatever of national prosperity freedom can attain amid the tranquil- lities of peace, or of national glory bravery can earn amid the hardships of war — these are the monuments of this country's fame, and the marks which she leaves of her existence to tlie future ages of men. Even in the hour in w hich I speak, while clouds and darkness are upon the future, she yet assumes the authority of greatness, and stands in the majestick attitude of the protectress of nations. While some have bowed even their imperial heads beneath the feet of usurpation, and others shrunk into the baseness and cowardice of neutrality, — she alone has stood forward in the defence of the independence of mankind, firm in her strength, and confident in her justice : And, if the liberty of the world be yet to be regained, it is her hand which is to describe the circle 166 ON THE THANKSGIVING FOR within which lawless power is to he confined, and her voice which is to say to the unhallowed torrent of victory, " hitherto shalt thou come, and no far- " ther, and here shall thy proud waves be staid." Such, my brethren, are the national blessings which it is the business of days like these to com- memorate, and such the remembrances with which the wise and the good will join the multi- tude of their people, and prostrate themselves be- fore the Throne of God. Yet, while their hearts burn, and while their thoughts are sanctified by the solemnities of worship, there is a question which will involuntarily arise. What are the obliga- tions which these blessings create ? And what are the duties which we are called upon to perform ? To these questions there is no difficult answer. To an ancient people, the past is the instructer of the future. — To a people who inherit glory, the line of their duty is prescribed. When we look forward into the darkness of coming time, the shades of our ancestors arise, and point out to us the path in which we should tread ; and a voice seems to issue from their tombs, which tells us, that our duties consist in wisdom to maintain the bles- sings they have left us, and in bravery to defend them. 1. To the first of these I feel that it is not now my duty to call you. There was indeed a time (and the hearts of many still throb at the remembrance,) when exhortations of this kind seemed not to be THE VICTORY AT TRAFALGAR. 157 unnecessary. There was a time, vvlicn, in the passion for innovation, the experience of ages seemed to have been forgot, and when, amid the warm visions of political enthusiasm, all the sober ties which bind society together seemed likely to be dissolved. That time has passed. The meteor which arose to illuminate the world, has been ex- tinguished in blood. The dark tragedy of anoth- er country has been performed ; and, while it has left a lesson to appal the ^* rulers of mankind,'' it has been also prodigal of instruction to restrain the " madness of the people." The scenes of its tremendous progress the steady eye of this coun- try has followed with observation ; and now, con- centrating its wisdom and its strength, it has tak- en, I doubt not, its last resolve, to suffer no un- hallowed hand to touch that ark of our constitution, which contains at once the gospel of our faith, and the charter of our freedom. 2. It is still less necessary, my brethren, that I should seek to animate you to the second of those duties you owe your country, which consists in the bravery to defend it. Yet there is a cloud which sometimes arises to the eye of a thoughtful man, to darken this interesting prospect. There is something in the opulence of nations, which has hitherto been found hostile to national virtue ; and, amid the long sunshine of prosperity, there is a malignant spirit of selfish interest apt to arise, which withers the proudest promises of national 158 ON THE THANKSGIVING f OR greatness. It is now to be seen, whether this ma- lignant spirit has also corrupted us. — It is to be seen, whether, like the nations that have preceded us, our heart also is cold, and our arm feeble ; and whether we also can be contented to resign the long glories which our fathers have left us, and to sink into the mass of tributary nations. — No, my brethren, I cannot fear it. 1 cannot fear it, from the magnanimity with which the great and the opulent of our country have resigned all the enjoyments of their rank, to marshal themselves- foremost in the field of contest. I cannot fear it, from the ardour with which, every where, tlie young of our people have rushed to arms, and swelled the ranks of national independence. But least of all can I fear it, from the calm intrepidity with which the poor man has ranged himself be- neath the banners of his country, — with which he has identified his fate with it, — and sworn to the God of his Fathers, never to surrender to the chains of a tyrant the free-born hands of his chil- dren. — Gome the conflict when it may, I trust (in words never to be forgotten,) that every man WILL DO HIS duty; and, if once more the fleets of an invading enemy are to cover the ocean, I trust that, once more also, they will be scattered upon the deep, and perish in the waves they have in- sulted. 3. There is yet another duty, my brethren, to which, upon this day, we are called. While the THE VICTORY AT TRAFALGAR. 159 voice of thanksgiving resounds through our laud, there is a note of sorrow wiiich mingles with it, — and wliile the people speak only of glory, there are mourners, who speak of the graves of those by whom it has been won. Of that iLLUSTRious^iA]^ whose memory is now present to every heart, and whose loss has dimmed the eye of publick exultation, I have not the confi- dence either to attempt the praise or to deplore the fall. I remember that there is a silence more im- pressive than words ; and still more, that there is a veil drawn by the hand of Heaven, between " the spirit that enters into the joy of his Lord," and those feeble accents of mortal praise that fol- low its ascension. Called into being to decide the fate of nations, and to bear the vengeance of Heaven upon the oppressors of mankind, he has fulfilled his mighty destiny ; and he has left a name before which the generations of men will I^ow, when the monuments which a grateful coun. try now meditates to his fame, shall have moul- dered in their ruins. There are other memories, my brethren, that demand your gratitude ; — there are parents whom your defence has bereaved of their children ; — there are widows, whose tears bedew the wreath of glory which the arms of their husbands have earned ; — there are orphans, whose innocent eyes are lifted to their country, and who seek in vain their fathers who have bled for it. 160 ON THE THANKSGIVING, &c. I cannot insult the memory of the heroick dead, by asking your charity for those who were dear to them. I will say, that it is the debt of justice and of generosity : — I will say, that there is no noble heart that will not be proujj* to contribute to the welfare of those who wiavjf lo^'t every thing but honour : — I will say, that the noblest monument you can raise to their ashes, is, to shew tliat your generosity can equal their valour. We are now about to part, and to return into the world to our several occupations. Yet, ere we separate, while one affection unites us, and while our hearts beat one sentiment of praise, let us pray for our country : — Let us pray, that, over the countless multitudes which are this day assem- bled before the Throne of God,» the same spirit may descend which once animated his chosen people ; — that the valour of the memorable day which we now commemorate, may be perpetuated to our last generation ; — and that, whateveii^ma;^' be the coming dangers which may assail our coun- try, there never may be wanting the heart to loYe^ and the arm to defend it. SERMON XII. ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. 1 Corinthians xt. 33. " Be not deceived : evil communications corrupt good manners." There is no prospect more painful to a thought- ful mind, than that of the first commencement of vice or folly in the human character. It is pleas- ing to us to look upon the openings of human nature ; amid the years of infancy, to see the grad- ual expansion of the youthful mind in benevolence and knowledge ; and to anticipate that future state of maturity, when all these promises shall be ac- complished, and the character terminate in virtue and in usefulness. How painful, on the contrary, is it, (even to the unconnected spectators,) to see all these hopes disappointed, — to see the spring of life untimely blasted by some malignant power which withers all the blossoms of virtue, and closes all the expectations we had formed of their opening being ! Even of the feeblest characters we still lament to see the degradation. If we had 162 ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. formed no hopes of their fame, we at least enter- tained hopes of their goodness ; — if they had not been distinguished, we think, they might yet have been innocent. In the obscurity of private virtue, they miglit have ^^ led the life of the righteous,'^ full of peace and hope, and ^' their latter end'' might at last " have been like his." On this subject, I shall at present submit to you some reflections. It is a subject at all times im- portant to the young, and even to us, my brethren, of more advanced years, there are considerations that render it interesting, and shew us how impor- tant is the share which we have in forming the character and the happiness of those that are to succeed us. There is something also in the time, not unsuited to your reflections. We have all been engaged in the most important solemnity of our religion ; and many of the young among us have visited the table of their Lord, and taken up- on themselves the vows of the gospel, and entered inta that communion, which I trust is to be to them all the gate of Heaven. At such a time, it is wise in us all to " call our ways to remem- *^ brance," — in the young to remember the journey upon which they are going, — in the elder to re- member the example they are aifording. 1. In almost every case the young begin well. They come out of the hand of nature pure and uncorrupted ; disposed to kindness, to generosity, and to gratitude ; ardent in the acquisition of ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. 163 knowledge, and anxious to deserve the love and the esteem of those who are about them. Such is the character of humanity in its earlier years, until the aj^e of pleasure and of passion arrives. At that eventful age, a new set of opinions and emotions begin to arise in their minds ; — the wish for distinction expands ; — desires of pleasure awaken : — temptations surround them on every side, while experience has not yet acquired the power of resistance, — and thus the road opens upon them which leads to folly or to vice. For all this, however, the wisdom of Him who made them hath bountifully prepared, by the timidity and modesty which he hath added to the charac- ter of youth. While they are thus tempted to enjoyment, they are, at the same time, beyond any other period of life, fearful of doing wrong ; they are fearful of entering upon scenes where their consciousness of ignorance tells them they are as yet unfit to appear ; they are fearful of losing the esteem and love of their early friends ; and still more, if they have been virtuously brought up, they are fearful of losing the favour of God, and his protection upon their future years. By these wise and simple means, the Almighty hath pro- vided for the weakness of the young ; and, even in the hours of ignorance, liath given them a guardian in their own breasts, superiour to all the wisdom of man, to save them from the dangers of passion and inexperience. 164 ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. If, accordingly, the young were left only to nature and themselves, it is reasonable to think that they might pass this important period of life "without danger ; and that whatever might be the strength of their passions, diffidence and con- science would be sufficient to command them. But unhappily for them, and unhappily for the world, it is at this time, that " evil communications" begia to assail them ; that they are deceived by the pro- mises of vice and folly ; and that all tlie purity of early life is sometimes sacrificed, even at their entry upon this important world. It is not my purpose at present, my brethren, to state the progressive steps of this melancholy history ; — to show how the love of pleasure un- dermines the energy and dignity of the human mind ;— how the society and companionship of evil gradually breaks down all the tine delicacy and timidity of youth ; — and how habits of evil gradually assume a power superiour to con- science, and wind around the soul those chains of guilt which no common incident can afterwards dissolve. A voice more powerful than that of this place, the voice of experience, speaks to the young of truths like these ; — it tells them of many examples of those who began life with every favourable prospect, and who have closed it in early years, under every circumstance of misery and disgrace ; — it tells them, that all this, the most disastrous fspectacle upon which their eyes ON EVfL COMMUNICATION. 165 can open, has been the fruit of " evil coramunica- *^tion;" and it warns them "to keep their own *' hearts with all diligence, for out of them must '* also be the issues of their future lives." If such instances can awaken them to thought and meditation, there are some reflections which it is wise in them, at this time, to cherish. It is wise in them, in the first place, to remember the impor- tance of that feeling of delicacy and fearfulness of doing wrong, which is the most amiable cliaiacter- istick of their age. Let not the ridicule or rudeness of the world prevail upon them to abandon this first friend of their youth. It is not the language of men, — it is none other than the voice of God, — the voice of Him who made them for happiness and immortality ; and who, in these early hours, speaks to them by a secret instinct, to warn them of all that is fatal or disgraceful to tlieir nature ; and, would they attend to it, would they make it the simple standard by which to determine the^r con- duct, the most eventful years of life would pass in security and innocence, and maturity open upon them with every promise of virtue and honour. S. It is wise in them, in the second place, to reflect for what it is that they were born, and in what consists the real happiness of mortal life. Youth, as well as age, has its seasons of medita- tion, and it is ever with a thoughtful and anxious eye that they look down upon the great scene upon which they are about to enter. That scene has Wfi ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. two principal incidents to shew them, — that of those whom evil communication has seduced to ruin and disgrace ; and that of those whom perseverance in good manners has led to honour, to distinction, and to happiness. In viewing this scene, let them never forget, that to one or other of these charac- ters they must belong ; — that time and nature are pressing them on to act upon that stage which they now only behold ; — and that every thing that is dear to them, every thing for which they would wish to live, depends upon the wise part which they now take, and which, if firmly taken, by the grace of God, will never be taken from them. 3. It is wise in them, in the last place, to look beyond the world, and to consider the final destiny of their being. Every thing tells them, that they "were not born for a transitory nature, and that gospel in which they were baptized, has assured them, that " life and immortality are brought to "light," by Him who died for them. Let them learn, then, the importance of that existence which is given them, and the magnitude of those hopes and expectations to which they are called. Do they dread, (with the natural generosity of youth,) to come short of these expectations, to forfeit all these hopes, and in the awful hour of final judg- ment to be excluded from the kingdom of God ? Let them then remember, that it is evil conversation which is the deadliest enemy of their peace, the enemy against whom it is most their business to ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. 167 prepare ; that it is this whicli lias so often withered all the promises of youth, which opened as fair as their own ; and which has covered the remainder of life and eternity in gloom and wo. Such, my brethren, are sonic of the reflections, which, upon this subject, become the young. There are others which become us — which become those who have advanced farther in life, and whose characters have assumed some degree of consist- ence and form. The young, as we see, are often corrupted ; but T fear it is not, in general, by the young that they are corrupted, — by those of their own age, and their own inexperience. The truth is, that to produce this mighty effect upon human nature, to break flown all the barriers of modesty anrl timidity, to silence the dictates of conscience, and dissolve all the habits of earlier purity, requires a much more powerful influence than the young are willing to yield to their fellows. It is the example of those of a more advanced age, the influence of those who enjoy rank, and wealth, and talents, which are only adequate to the production of this fatal effect. And to us, my elder brethren, it is a reflection of no common interest, — that our folly and imprudence may thus poison the minds of the pure, and introduce guilt and wo into the innocent family of God. 1. There is, in the first place, an ^^ evil commu- '' nication" to the young, which proceeds from the abuse of rank and affluence. These are the liigh 168 ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. and the valued situations of life, to which all others naturally look up, — and it is their manners which necessarily give the tone and fashion to their age. Of what value therefore is it to every age, when these manners *^ are found in the way of righteous- " ness ;" when power is exerted in the support of piety and virtue, — and wealth employed in designs of puhlick and private usefulness. Of what fatal consequence, on the contrary, is it to every gene- ration, when the reverse is the case, — when rank and fashion are only the leaders of folly, and when riches are employed in vice and sordid dissipation ; — and, what is even worse, when the manners of the higher ranks of mankind are assimilated to all that is base or degrading in the lower. How many, alas ! of the young are the victims of these abuses of prosperity ! how many, whom the fasci- nation of this rank has led unawares into extrava- gance and folly ; — who, deceived by exaggerated hopes, or seduced by fantastick manners, have forgot their condition, deserted their most impor- tant duties, and permitted the most valuable years of life to pass away in idleness and prodigality ! How many, I fear, who, from the same cause, have gone farther on in misery ; who, acquiring habits of dissipation altogether unsuited to their means, now till up the melancholy catalogue of adventurers of every base description ; and who look back, with unavailing sorrow, upon the fatal hour which first led them from the sobriety of early life, into ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. 169 the society of those who possess prosperity ouly to abuse it. 2. There is, in the second place, an evil com- munication to the young, which arises from the abuse of learning and talents. Of all the employ- ments of human wisdom, the noblest certainly, and the most genuine is, that of the instruction oi the ignorance, and the support of the innocence of youth. Yet the world shews us, that there are men who have deserted this sublimcst duty, — who please themselves in si)reading doubt and unbe- lief, — and, under the magical name of prejudice, who delight to employ their powers in withdrawing all the most sacred principles of religion and mo- rality. I stop not at present to tell, my brethren, from what weak vanity this inhuman conduct pro- ceeds. I stop not to point out to you the tremen- dous effects which such doctrines have had, and ever must have upon the minds of the young. I ■would only recal to your remembrance, that, in this evil, we of elder years are concerned ; that for their first and deepest sentiments of religion and virtue, the young must ever look up to us ; tiiat it is not our serious, but our careless conversation, which shews them the secret of our minds : that the levity of humour or of wit, is more fatal to their hearts than all the reasonings of infideiity ; — and that, if we could leave them the wealth of worlds, we never could repay them, if we leave in their 2$ 170 ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. tender minds one seed or moral doubt^ or one principle of religious skepticism. 3. Tliere is, in the last place, an evil communi- cation to the young, from the society of the aged in vice itself. The cases 1 have hitherto mentioned, are tliose in w^hich the young are rather corrupted indirectly than directly; and vv^here the guilty are themelves in some degree unconscious of the evil they are doing. There are, however, we know, cases of another kind ; there are men, who live to seduce the innocent, — to betray the unwary, — to initiate the thoughtless into the ways of guilt, — and who can look with apathy upon that present and final ruin of the human soul, which they are prepar- ing. I speak no', my brethren, to such men. They meet us not here, — would to God there were no- where else they met the young ! Yet, I must say to all, that to this last stage of human baseness and infamy every vice conducts, — that it is the natural malignity of sin to look for new asso- ciates, — and that he who yields himself to any known vice, is not only in the way to the ruin of bis own soul, but is in the way also to become at last the agent of the enemy of mankind, in the ruin of the innocent souls who trust, and are betrayed by him. It is thus, my brethren, that "evil communica- ^^tion corrupts good manners." It is thus also, often, that this is done by those who are uncon- scious of the evil they produce. It is a reason to ON EVIL COMMUNICATION. 171 all of US, as I said, to call our ways to remem- brance, — to the young to consider the great and eventful journey upon which they are going, — to those who are more advanced in life, to consider the example they are atTording. May God grant that these reflections may dwell with us all ! that they who are entering into life may remember, that to the innocent is promised the kingdom of Heaven ; and that they who are advanced in it, may remember the mighty rewards which await those " who lead others into the way << of righteousness.'' SERMON XIII. ON THE FAST, FEBRUARY 27, 1806. Psalm Ixxx. 19» " OLord God of Hosts ! shew the light of thy countenance, and we shall be whole." These words of the King of Israel contain a very striking representation of that piety, which^ amid all his errours, was yet the prevailing prin- ciple of his character. In some one of those sea- sons of national danger, of which his re gn was full, " when his people were fed with the bread ^* of tears, — when they were made a strife unto '^ their neiglibours, and their enemies laughed ^^ them to scorn,'' we see him in silence ascending into the sanctuary of God, and hear him soliciting the aid of Him " who silteth upon the cherubims.'' Am"d the darkness which surrounded him, he im- plores, not with the usual presumption of earthly prayer, that the God of Nature should visibly de- scend to their relief, but with the sublimer invo- cation that his religion taught, that '' He would " shew the light of his countenance ;" — that he ON THE FAST, 1808. 173 would sJiew them what was the course they ought to pursue ; — that he would display to them the path which thtir own wisdom could not discern ; and then, with the confidence of faith, he foretells, that the prosperity of his people would return, — that the dangers in which they were involved would be dispelled, — and that they at last "• would " be whole/' The sentiment which is here expressed by the Psalmist, is One in which every man and every age has part.cipated. Amid the lesser evils of life, we are apt to trust to our own wisdom, and the wisdom of man is indeed mercifully propor- tioned to many of the common evils which assail him. But there are evils of another kind. There are seasons of darkness and calamity to which experience bears no relation ; when various pas- sions Strug le for the mastery in the divided bosoms of the people ; and when the feeble eye of human wisdom sees not the ends which it is fitting to pursue. In such moments, there is an instinc- tive impulse which leads us to prostrate ourselves before the Throne of Him " who inhabiteth eter- " nity.'' Under a conviction, (which lies at the bottom of the human heart, but which adversity alone calls forth,) under the conviction, that there is n order in nature, and that there is a mightier Wisdom than that of man, which presides over the events of humanity, we seek to know his will; — we supplicate him to teach us what we oughi 17*4 ON THE FAST, 1806. to do ; and, amid the depth of our calamities, and amid the " dark waters'' that surround us, to point out the way and the path that are his. It is in such moments that the necessity of religion to hu- man happiness is most fully felt, and its power most fully experienced. The beautiful expression of the Psalmist is then realized ; — the light of the divine countenance then rises upon us ; — a senti- ment more dear than that of our own wisdom, — the grateful sentiment of duty — begins to animate us. In submitting ourselves to his laws, we feel the presence of the Eternal Lawgiver ; and, con- fident in the light we have acquired, we return to the dangers and the calamities that surround us, animated with the belief of a wiser government, and resolute to perform the Omniscient will. There has never been a period, my brethren, in the history of this country, when thoughts and re- solutions of this solemn kind were so imperiously called for, as by its present circumstances and sit- uation. The darkness that for so many years has been seen at a distance, begins to thicken around us ; — the maxims of ordinary experience, and the measures of ordinary statesmen have fail- ed ; — and no human wisdom dares now to pene- trate into the abyss which lies before us, or to foretell the issue of that mighty convulsion which we are doomed to behold. If we look around us, we see almost the theatre of Nature changed ; — em- pires and kingdoms coeval with our own, disap- ON THE FAST, 1806. 1^5 pear almost annually from our view ; — the alliances of blood ; — the relations of interest ; — the ties of religion ; — all the charities of social life that cen- turies of improvement had nourished and confirmed, dissolve before our eyes, as if at the spell of en- chantment : And over all the finest portions of the earth, where patriotism had erected its bulwarks, and learning its fanes, and piety her temples, we see the sanguinary tide of conquest prevail, and bury in its bosom the loftiest monuments of na- tions. If, in this awful prospect, it is to our own coun- ivy we look, there are circumstances of mortality to appal the most sanguine patriotism. While, but a few days ago, we commemorated the glory of our arms, we lamented, at the same time, the fall of that illustrious man by whom they were directed. Since that time, (short as the interval has been,) we have seen the mighty spirit * that, by a kind of hereditary right, governed the coun- sels of a free people, gathered to his fathers ; and, on a distant shore, that pure and upright mind expire,! which was carrying peace and tranquilli- ty to the millions of our Eastern dominions. New men and new counsels occupy the eyes and the expectations of the people ; and while the unpre- judiced mind follows them with its prayers, it is yet doomed to restrain any romantick hope, when it remembers how little former greatness has done, and how much former wisdom has been vain. *Mr. Pitt; + Marquis Cornwallif. i76 ON THE FAST, 1806. It is under such circumstances of alarm that this eventful season opens ; and it is to prepare our I minds for the approaching dangers, that the com- mand of our Sovereign now assembles us in the [ house of God. It is a time, indeed, for deep and solemn thought : but I trust there is not one among us to whose heart it can give fear. There is something animating to every noble mind in the approach of great dangers ; and we are met together, with all our fellow citizens, upon this clay, not to bewail ourselves in useless lamenta- tion, but to exalt our minds to meet every coming danger, and to implore that wisdom and resolution from on High, which may fit us for the scenes we are destined to encounter. 1. It is our wisdom, in the first place, to pre- pare ourselves, by considering well the magnitude and extent of our danger. There is a weakness incident to men, and still more to nations, in the periods of splendour and prosperity, to underrate the calamities which may befal them, and to de- ride every voice that speaks to them of alarm. I trust, indeed, that no such weakness prevails among us ; yet I know not that the danger is seen in all its magnitude ; and every aspect of human affairs, whether of past or present times, seems to call us to vigilance and preparation. If we look to the 'times that are past, it is the ruins only of mankind that meet our eye. Nations as proud, as prosperous as ours, have fallen amid all their ON THE FAST, 1806. 177 greatness ; ami a voice seems to issue from their tombs, to tell us, that it was not the hand of nature, the earthquake, the pestilence, or the storm, which had wrought their desolation, but the w^eakness, the crimes, and the cowardice of man. If we look to the present times, tliey dis- play to us nothing but the power and the ferocity of that enemy, whose steps approach our shores. Over the once varied scenes of Europe, the torpid level of despotism now stagnates ; and the tide which has overwhelmed the rest of the world is rolling onward its accumulated waves towards us. The question is not now, (as in the petty con- troversies of usual warfare,) of provinces or of allies, — of infant colonies, or remote dependen- cies. It is. Whether our country itself is to exist or to perish ? — Whether this mighty empire is at once to be dissolved, and to be erased from the catalogue of nations ? 2. If such be our danger, it is our wisdom, in the second place, to consider well w hat are the means by which it can be withstood. We live not under a dispensation in which the Almighty will visibly bare his arm, as in the protection of liis ancient and ^* chosen people,'^ — but we live in a world of order and of justice; and there is a beneficent law of Providence, which every where proportions the resources of the human mind to the diificulties with which it is to contend, and which, with the trials which it brings, brings also S3 17H on the fast, 1800. the means by which they may be overcome. Other nations have experienced the conflicts with which we are now assailed ; — other conquerors have appeared in the history of former ages, and have been baffled by the spirit of freemen ; — and the noblest record which history displays of national glory, is that of those who, under every disadvan- tage, have discomfited the hosts of tyranny, and thought nothing lost when they preserved their honour and their freedom. If we look farther into the subject, — if we look to the human causes of their success, — we shall find that they have every where resolved themselves into these, union, bravery, and publick spirit. The history of the past world, dark as it may appear, and loaded as it is with the vices of men, contains not a single instance, perhaps, in which those nations were overcome, who were at once free, and brave, and united ; and the history of the present world, amid all its darkness, tells us in every hour, that it is not alone the might of the conqueror which has prevailed, but the baseness, the selfishness, and the divisions of the conquered. It is with a sen- timent of thankfulness, and yet of dread, that I say, that amid all the dangers which surround us, the means of safety are yet in our own hands : and that the same Providence which has called us to the trial, has afforded us also the power of overcoming it. We have wealth, if we have the patriotism to employ it ; — we have numbers, if ON THE FAST, 1806. iTd onr hearts are united ; — we have arms, if we have bravery to wield thera. Tlie benefieeuec of Hea- ven has bestowed upon us all the means by which either our freedom or our honour can be maintain- ed. Tlie world are to be the spectators of the conflict ; and, in the solemn pause that precedes the day of struggle, it is the business of every man to prepare that armour of the soul, which may fit him for the hardships he is to endure. 8. There is yet, however, my brethren, another and a mightier preparation, and there is an advan- tage superiour to every other, with which we can enter upon the scene of conflict, — the advantage that our cause is just, — that it is the cause alike of our freedom, and our faith, — and that the present and the eternal interests of our people are involved in its defence. In such a cause, we need no dark oracle to direct us. Although the voice of human wisdom were silent, the voice of the Almighty speaks to us sufficiently, when it speaks to us in conscience. Deep as may be the clouds that overshadow the future, the finger of religion points securely to the path of safety, when it points to the path of duty. It is here, therefore, my brethren, that, in these dark hours, we ought to be found. It is around the altar of God that we should, in these moments, assemble with all the people of our land ; and while his will is manifested by the duties he has §iven us to perform, that we should devote our« iSe ON THE FAST, 1806. selves to the cause in wliicli we are engaged, and invoke, w^ith uplifted hands, the '' spirit from on " liigh," to animate us in their disih rge. It is a cause in which no doubt hangs upon the soldier's he? rt, or weakens the soldier's arm. It is no warfare of national pride, or commer- cial avarice, or military ambition, that now calls him into the field. It is the simple and the sanc- tified defence of his country ; — it is the defence, in our own land, of whatever antiquity has ren- dered dear, or experience valuable, or religion sacred ; — it is, in a greater view, the defence of the moral constitution of human nature ; the de- fence of truth and justice and order throughout the world. Other nations in the history of man, have been called to the defence of their own free- dom ; to us is now committed the sublimer duty of vindicating the freedom of social man, and re- establishing the prosperity of the civilized world. It is a cause, in another view, in which the blessings of the wise, and the prayers of the good, follow us from the remotest habitati »ns of man. If to act in the presence of many spectators be a motive, even to the feeblest mind, to act nobly, — how lofty are the achievements, which, in these eventful hours, are demanded of this country ? The eyes of the whole European continent are fix- ed upon it, as upon the champion of their common ( ause. There is not a country where the heart of the inhabitant does not throb with hope or with fear, at the sound of our name ; — there is not an ON THE FAST, 1806. 181 altar in the whole baptized world, from which the prayer of the pious does not silently arise for the success of our arms. It is a cause, in a greater view, in which the unchangeable laws of the Almighty are with us. The world has seen other conquerors and other despots. It has wept before the march of tempo- rary ambition, and bled beneath the sword of tran- sitory conquest. But nature has rcassumed her rights ; and while conquerors have sunk into an execrated grave, and tyrants have perished in the zenith of their power, the race of men have raised again their dejected heads, and peace, and order, and freedom have spread themselves througliout the world. Such, my brethren, will also be the termination of the tragedy of our day, and such is the confidence which they ought ever to maintain, upon whom " the Almighty hath lifted up the light '^ of his countenance." We are witnessing, indeed, the most tremendous spectacle which the theatre of nature has ever exhibited, of the pride and am- bition of man. For years, our attention has been fixed upon that great and guilty country, which has been fertile in nothing but revolution, and from which, amid the clouds that cover it, we have seen at last that dark and shapeless form arise, which, like the vision that appalled the King of Babylon, '^ hath its legs of iron, and its arms of brass.'' We have seen it extend its terrifick si arlow over every surrounding people, and the sinews of man ON THE FAST, 1806. to wither at its approach. We see it now collect- ing all its might, and thinking to change times, and laws, and speaking great words against the Mcjst High. Yet, wliile our eye strains to measure its dimensions, and our ear shrinks at the threatening of its voice, let us survey it with the searching eye of the prophet, and we shall see, that its feet are oTbase and perishable clay. Amid all the terrours of its brightness, it has no foundation in the moral stability of justice. It is irradiated by no beam from Heaven, — it is blessed by no prayer *of man, — it is worshipped with no gratitude of the patriot heart. It may remain for the time, or the times that are appointed it. But the awful hour is on the wing, when the universe will resound with its fall; and that sun which measures out, as with re- luctance, the length of its impious reign, will one day pour his undecaying beams amid its ruins, and bring forth, from the earth which it has oversha- dowed, the promises of a greater spring. There are limits in the moral as well as in the material system to the dominion of evil ; there are limits to the guilt and injustice of nations, as well as of individuals. There is a time when cunning ceases to delude, and hypocrisy to deceive ; — when power ceases to overawe, and oppression will no longer be borne. Even now that period seems to be approaching. It is impossible that man can become retrograde in his progress ; — it is impossi- ble that the hands of the oppressed can longer ON THE FAST, 1806. 1«3 beckon the approach of a power which comes to load them only with heavier chains ; — it is impos- sible that the nations of Europe, cradled in civili- zation, and baptized into the liberty of the children of God, can long continue to bend their free-born heads before the feet of foreign domination, or that they can suffer tlie stream of knowledge which so long has animated their soil, to terminate at last in the deep stagUtation of military despotism. Even the country itself which has given it birth, cannot long submit to its rule ; — it bleeds in the liour that it triumphs : — it is goaded to exertions which it loaths ; — its laurels arc wet with the tears of those who are bereaved of their children. The virtuous man shudders when he beholds the crimes and the guilt of his count^^ ; and the heart of the pious man faileth him, when he looks forward to the "things that are coming" upon those banners which are raised against the rights of man, and which are unblessed by the voice of Heaven. It was the high sentiment of ancient patriotism, ^' never to despair of the commonwealth." It is the nobler sentiment of Christian piety, never to despair of the fortunes of the human race. Privi- leged to enter into the Temple of the God of Hosts, to the Christian eye it is given to behold the ^' light " of His countenance ;" and dark and dangerous as may be the wilderness through which it ig doomed to pass, before it are still steadily dis» played the glories of the " promised laud.'' 184 ON THE FAST, 1806. If these be the high sentiments, my brethren, with which we have met this day ; — if the same Providence which has nnited us in devotion, has united al^o our hearts and our resolutions, — if one feeling of duty has animated every soul, and one prayer for assistance has breathed from every bo- som, then ^' let not our hearts be troubled." — Our faith, our freedom, our country, " will yet be ^^ whole.'^ " The might of God will arise" in our hearts, and by our arras " will his enemies be scat- *' tered." " The earth will again bring forth her ^^ increase, and God, even our own God, will give ^* us his blessing. God will bless us : and all the '^ ends of the world will fear Him." SERMON XrV, ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT, 1 St. Peter ii. 16, ''As free, and not using your liberty as a cloak of maliciousness, but as the servants of God." It lias often been observed in the history of learning, that one of the most fertile sources of errour consists in the ambiguity of words. The observation is unfortunately equally applicable to the history of morality ; and they who have at- tended to the causes by which the understanding is misled from the imperfections of language, will not be surprised at the deeper errours into which similar causes may mislead the heart. For the general principles of human conduct, we have general appellations. But for the excess or the defect of these principles, we have no distinct or specifick names ; and we are all willing to shelter ourselves under the ambiguity of a word, when conscience tells us that we are guilty with regard to what it really means. It is thus that avarice calls itself prudence, and profusion, generosity ; — 186 ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. that presumption assumes the name of ambition^ and party spirit that of patriotism ; — and that, ac- cording to the various dispositions of our ciiaiacter, some of the worst and most malignant vices of our nature are sheltered, in our apprehension, under the most sounding appellations of virtue. Of tliis kind, there is not perhaps one in the wide circle of human weakness which has been productive of more fatal effects than the name of Freedom of Thought. It is a term, which in it- self expresses much greatness and exaltation of mind ; but it is one also which covers ambiguities that have been fatal to thousands, and under which have been concealed many of the darkest and most malignant dispositions that have ever debased the character of man. If we consider it, in its first aspect, it is the great and majestick principle of all human improvement, — the source from which has sprung much of all that dignifies or adorns the society of men. It is this which, in private life, has ministered in every age to the pi'ogress of society, — which has created its opulence, and ex- tended its comforts, and given to all the arts of life their origin and progression. It is this, in the history of science, which has dispelled the dark- ness of ignorance and of prejudice, which has gradually extended, with the progress of time, the limits of human knowledge, and raised, by de- grees, the eye of man to the throne ^* of Him that ^^inhabiteth eternity." It is this, in the same ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 187 manner, in publick life, which has given to soci- ety itself its progress, which, disdaining the nar- row institutions of antiquity, has sought for more perfect models of legislation, and which has la- boured to establish the prosperity of nations, upon the unchanging principles of justice and of nature. Such have been the consequences of the free- dom and independence of thought, when we con- sider it in its first aspect. There is, however, another view of the subject; and we are constrained to acknowledge, that, from the same principle have arisen some of the most fatal evils with which humanity has ever been dis- turbed or afflicted. It is hence, in every age, that the most sacred principles of religion and of virtue have been shaken or undermined ; and that the most majestick truths which the human under- standing can attain, have been ranked with the prejudices of infancy : — it is hence that the histo- ry of science has been degraded, in almost every age, by the dreams and imaginations of men ; and that the philosopher, instead of regarding nature as the workmansliip of the Most High, has dared to approach to its investigation, only to inscribe his feeble name upon the altar where he ought to have worshipped : — It is hence, in the publick aifairs of men, that those bold and unprincipled speculations have arisen, which have paused nei- ther at the majesty of the throne, nor the sanctity of the altar 5 and which, under the name of liberty, 188 ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. have cloaked the basest maliciousness of which the human heart is capable, — that of liazarding the peace and happiness of millions for the sake of its own poor and evanescent fame. Such have been the effects of Freedom of Thought, when we consider it under its second aspect. What then is the distinction between principles to which the same name applies ? When shall we ascertain that the one ceases to be virtuous, and that the other begins to become criminal ? And still more, in what manner can we decide in our own cases, whether, in the employment of the native liberty of thought, we are acting like vir- tuous or like guilty men ? These are questions of no mean importance. There is not one of us to whom they do not apply, either in relation to the regulation of our own thoughts, or in relation to the influence that our conversation may have on those around us. They are of still more im- portance to a peculiar class of those who hear me, — I mean, to the young ; to those who have entered upon the magnificent career of learning; to whom education is unfolding all the powers of intellectual wisdom ; and who are preparing themselves, in various ways, for the highest em- ployment which life can offer, that of being the teachers and instructers of mankind. To them these questions are immeasurably important. They suit their age, their circumstances, and the ardent generosity of their youth ; and I trus(^ ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 189 therefore, they will not withhold from me their attention, while I state, in a few words, the sim- ple answer of conscience and of nature to this inquiry. That energy,then, and independence of thought, which the Apostle descrihes under the name of liberty, may be considered in two views ; and in one or other of these views is necessarily employ- ed by every man who exercises it. It is either employed as a means, or as an end ; — it is either employed as a means for the purposes for which the Author of Nature bestowed it, or as an end which man creates for himself, and independent of the purpose for which it was bestowed. It is in this simple distinction, I apprehend, that we shall find the answer to all our inquiries. 1. The great purpose for which the powers and the liberty of thought were bestowed, was for the discovery of Truth ; for the discovery of those speculative truths which conduct us to the love of God, and of those practical truths which enable us to be the ministers of good to man ; and liberty and independence of thought Iiave been the means of conducting the progress of the generations of men, and of raising every succeed- ing age above the knowledge and the usefulness of that which preceded it. When, therefore, freedom of thought is employed as a means to these its destined ends ; when it is devoted to the simple investigation of truth, — and looks to 190 ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. nothing for reward, but to the discovery of trutTi, • — it is then, in every case, a noble and a virtuous principle, and he who feels it is acting from some of the most respectable motives of his nature. He is acting, in the first place, in conformity to the laws of his constitution, and has the secret voice of conscience applauding him amid every difficulty of his progress. He is acting, in the second place, with the dignity that belongs to tlie character of man ; and, while the world around him are swayed either by the prejudices of antiquity, or by the idler prejudices of novelty, he stands as the arbiter of the contest, and as superiour to all the prejudices which influence lower minds. He is acting still farther, in the lofty language of the apostle, <^ as the servant of ^^ God," employing the mighty talents of thought and reflection to their genuine ends ; and thus fitting himself to be the minister of wisdom and of happiness, not only to his own generation, but to all the future generations of men. 3. When freedom of thought is employed, in the second manner, when it is employed as an end in itself, it is a principle which arises from very different causes, and is productive of very differ- ent effects. There is naturally much admiration due to that strength and independence of mind which can detect errour, or which can discover truth ; — and there is every where, accordingly, much genuine admiration paid to it. It is in this ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 191 admiration that the danger and the snare consists. Because freedom of thtui^ht has been the great instrument of the discovery of truth, it is hastily (but not unnaturally) concluded, that all this is due to the freedom of thought itself; and the admi- ration which the world gives is attributed, not to the effects which are produced, but to the talents or the energy which produces them. It is hence, in every age, that the young, the vain, and the sel- fish, are misled, or mislead themselves ; — that the young are misled by their admiration of talents, ivithout considering the ends to which they are directed ; — that the vain imagine they can give themselves reputation by novelty of opinion, with- out considering whither these opinions lead ; — and that the selfish, looking to nothing but their own momentary fame, prostitute with willingness the noblest acquisitions of their nature, and disre- gard alike the admonitions of God, and the most sacred interests of human kind. What the con- sequences have been of these base and malignant passions, in every age of the world, and in every department of human knowledge, it would be un- necessary for me to repeat to those who hear me. It is they, as you well know, far more than the imperfections of understanding, which have re- tarded the progress of truth in every direction, and multiplied those vain and presumptuous specula- tions, which it is now the business of true philoso- phy to unlearn and to despise. It is they, still 192 ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. more, wliicli have most fatally mingled themselves with the business of our moral being ; which have started doubts which they wished not to resolve, and created difficulties, which, on all other sub- jects, they would have despised ; which have sought to withdraw the Sun of Righteousness from the firmament to which every eye in nature is turned ; and which, under the cloak of liberty, with a maliciousness of which one would have thought tlie human heart incapable, have delibe- rately perverted all the powers of understanding, which were given for the discovery of Truth, to the creation of doubt, and the dissemination of infidelity. Such is then, my young friends, the plain an- swer to this important inquiry ; and such the standard by which you can yourselves determine whether you are to be the servants of God, or the servants of the maliciousness of man. If, in these happy but eventful hours of education, you feel the genuine love of truth ; — if, with the powers which are given you, you feel at the same time the mighty purpose for which they were given ; — if, in generous ardour for the extension of know- ledge and of happiness, you forget yourselves and the little vanity of your hour ; — if, in short, you feel that opinions are valuable in your estimation, not because they are /ree, but because they are truBf then go on, in the sight of God and of man, to the true honours of your moral and intellectual ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 19ii "being. It is in this discipline you can acquire I'oi- yourselves permanent fame ; — it is thus you can prepare yourselves to be the benefactors of man- kind ; — it is thus that you can become the servants of God, and be the ministers of his benevolence to a lower world. But if it be otherwise, my young friends, if van- ity and presumption have already seized upon your minds, fitted for better things ; if, in the em- ployment of the powers of thought, you look only to your own distinction, and care not for the ends for which they were given ; if the name of genius has more influence upon your minds than the name of truth ; if, in short, in your own bosoms you feel, that opinions are become valuable to you, not because they are triie, but because they are/ree, pause, I beseech you, before you advance farther. You are hazarding every thing that is most dear to the mind of man ; — you are hazard- ing your fame, your usefulness, and your salva- tion ; — and you are sacrificing, for the vanity of an hour, every thing for which every generous and noble mind lives, and would wish to live. I cannot speak to your age, my brethren, with all the language .which this place would justify; I will speak to you only on the principle of your education ; and 1 will request you, in the first place, to look back, from that eminence upon which you stand, to the past ages, which you can now survey with the calmness of philosophy. li*4 ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. Look back, then, to those names or to those works which the stream of ancient time has brought to you ; to those names which first have warmed your hearts to glory ; which are made sacred to you by the first impressions they gave you of the greatness of your nature, and of which these early impressions are confirmed by the voice of every age that has succeeded them ; — look back, 1 be- seecli you, to such names ; and ask yourselves what was their character? you will find that it rests in this alone, that they were the follow- ers of tiTith, — that they devoted all their pow- ers to that mighty pursuit, of which conscience prescribed the end, — and that neither the neglect nor the applause of their age could seduce them from the lofty path which was presented to them. They are gone, and the grave has covered them for many hundred years ; — but they live in th* memory of mankind ; they breathe, even to pre- sent times, the instructions of virtue, and the sen- timents of piety ; and, with an immortality em- blematick of their own, they will remain to every future age, the friends and the benefactors of the world. Look back, I beseech you, on the other hand, to a different history ; to the history of those whose names degrade the era of their existence, whose genius has been devoted only to the corrup- tion of private morals, or the destruction of pub- lick virtue, and whose works remain, amid the ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 195 Stream of time, as the monuments of human infa. my; — and ask yourselves what also was their character ? what was the imperious motive which could thus dissolve all the obligations of con- science, and all the foundations of honourable fame ? you will find that it rests in simple vanity ; in the wish to be distinguished by the freedom, when they could not be distinguished by the truth of their opinions ; and in the dark despe- ration of sacrificing every thing for which the virtuous live, for the sake of a base and momen- tary fame. They too are gone, and the grave has sheltered them from the scorn and indignation of man. But their works remain, to diffuse poison through every future race, to entail the vice and guilt by which their authors can no longer profit, upon every succeeding generation ; and to mark to mankind, to what a length and continuity of guilt the liberty of thought can go, when it ceases to be the servant of God, and becomes the slave of its own malicious vanity. From this prospect of the past, turn your eyes, my young friends, to the prospect of the future. There is a voice at that altar, and there is a voice in the altar of your own hearts, which speaks to you of immortality. Listen then, 1 beseech you, to its prophetick declarations ; and while you fol- low in dread pursuit the spirits of those who have gone before you, ask yourselves in what man- dions these difierent characters ouglit now to 196 ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. dwell ? When you follow tlie path of the first, of those who have devoted here all the powers of understanding to the discovery or the support of those truths by which G od is glorified, and man made wiser and better, — your imagination assumes the confidence of faith, and you see them now the companions of the just whose spirits are made perfect, — the associates of the wise and good of every age, — the friends of the angels and the archangels who bear the errands of mercy amid unnumbered worlds, and surrounding the throne of Him, whom, through the veil of mortality, they dared to seek, and whom now "they see, not ^' darkly, but as He is." If you follow the path of the second, of those who have prostituted the noblest gifts of nature to the purposes of their own selfishness ; and who, in raising themselves to the distinction of an hour, have trampled upon all the most sacred and genuine truths of their being, — where is it, my brethren, to which the conscience of your imagination leads, and who are the fit compan- ions of such spirits ? Your eye, perhaps, recoils from the prospect ; yet, remember, my friends, that the fundamental principle of nature is jus- tice, — that <^ what a man soweth, he must also *^ reap ;" — " that of those to whom much is given, <^' much must be required ;" and that learning and genius, while they carry with them the highest honours of which man is capable, carry with \ ON FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 197 them, at the same time, the deepest responsibili- ty which his nature can either contract or pay. On that magnificent career, my young friends, you are now entering. Science is opening to you all her stores of honour and of usefulness, and the prayers of parents and of friends are following you, when you are unconscious of them. — Pause then, I beseech you, in the calm morn- ing of your day, and form to yourselves the high resolutions by which it may be afterwards dis- tinguished. Look back with the eye of memory to the past, and see on what foundations all the lasting honours of men are founded ; — look for- ward with the eye of faith to the future ; and, while you see the different issues of moral being, ask yourselves to which of these classes of exis- tence you wish to belong. But first, and most of all, let the dawn of your being be sanctified by the devotion which becomes those who are called, to be the servants of God ; let the first fruits of your understanding be offered to the service of Him whose inspiration gave it ; and while you look forward to the final issues of your existence, let it never cease to be your prayer, that you may think and act like all the wise and good that have gone before you, that so your " latter end may be " like theirs." SERMON XV. ON THE GENERAL FAST, FEBRUARY 9, 1809. St. Matthew xvi. 3. " Can ye not discern the signs of the times ?'* In these words, our Saviour replied to the na* tional prejudices, and to the national arrogance of the Jewish people. It was with them (even under their peculiar dispensation) as it is with mankind in general. They valued themselves as being the favourite people of Heaven : they con- cpived that no errours or vices of their own could ever forfeit the covenant made with their fathers : and they forgot, amid the pursuits of temporary power, all the promises which their peculiar records gave of a spiritual kingdom, and of a moral dominion. The occasion on which these memorable words were spoken, was the following : — " The Pharisees also, with the Sadducees, came, ^^ and tempting, desired him that he would shew " them a sign from Heaven. He answered, and ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. 199 ^' said unto them, when it is evening ye say, it will ^' be fair weather, for the sky is red ; and, in the '^ morning, it will be foul weather to-day, for the " sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites ! ye " can discern the face of the sky, but can ye not " discern the signs of the times ?'' In these words, there are two things remarka- ble :— 1. The first is the assertion that there are signs of the times : that, as in the natural world, there are signs established by the beneficence of Heaven, from the observation of which tlie business of life may be carried on; so in the moral world, in the conduct of individuals and of nations, there are also signs, established by the same beneficence, from which the thoughtful mind may foretel the conse- quences that must follow, and from the observation of which it may regulate its future conduct. It is upon this foresight, upon this interpretation of the signs that individuals or nations exhibit, that the wise and the virtuous of every age can act ; by which they are enabled to profit by the experience of others : by which they are taught what to avoid, and what to pursue : and by which tliey are per- petually reminded, that there is in nature a greater administration than that of men, to which they ought to be subject, and that their loftiest wisdom consists in obeying the signs which that adminis- trfttion displays. 200 ON THE GENERAL FAST, IBOa. S. The words of the text seem to convey anothei' meaning, a meaning of reproach, — of reproach to the people of that, and of every succeeding genera- tion, for tlieir inattention to the indications of Heaven. It was not that the Pharisees and the Sadducees of that unhappy age were incapable of discerning tlie signs which the times afforded them ; it was that they would not discern them. They were the imrties of that devoted country ; they were rivals in power, in influence, in consequence ; and while Heaven threatened, and prophecy fore- told, and Rome in consequence was in arms, they closed their eyes to all the signs of Heaven and of earth ; and, under the hypocrisy of religion, were ardent only for the low and momentary ends of vulgar ambition. Whenever, my brethren, a nation is assembled before the Throne of God ; — whenever, in the midst of publick danger or calamity, the command of a sovereign unites the voices of his people in supplication for the assistance of Heaven, I know not that there is any subject of meditation more fit for so solemn an occasion, than that which is sug- gested by the words of the text. It is not in obeying the ritual of a prescribed de- votion, — it is not in merely following the multitude into the house of God, and joining in words which the heart neither weighs nor feels, — that the solemn duty of days like the present can be per- formed. It is in raising our thoughts to the ad- ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. -01 ministration of the universe ; — in contemplating the laws which the Almii^iity has given to the social world ; — in marking, amid the calamities of na- tions, the operations of His justice, and His wis- dom ; and, by tijus observing the signs of His will, in learning the path of our duty. From the dis- tractions and the miseries of the world, religion «alls us into the Temple of God ; and the voice of our Saviour there meets us to say, that, amid all the desolations around us, there are signs of the care and the providence of Heaven, and that they are exhibited for our instruction. If ever there was a period when the signs of the limes were solemn and portentous to mankind in general, and to the inhabitants of this country ia particular, it is doubtless the present. We are spectators of the greatest and most awful events upon which the eye of man has ever gazed. We have been witnessing for years the progress of that mighty stream of conquest and of desolation, whicii has been spreading over the fairest portions of the civilized world. Year after year, we have seen it rolling forw ard its sanguinary tide, un- checked, and unexhausted ; and burying in its progressive w ave, the riches of nature, the land- marks of nations, and all the most venerable insti- tutions of human policy. In the last season we have seen it pause indeed — but pause only for a moment ; and, while our hearts were throbbing w ith the hopo that a barrier was at last opposed to 26 202 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. its fury, we have been doomed to see it return with accumulated force ; and soon (I fear) in spite of all the profusion of British generosity, — in spite of all the energy of British valour, — in spite of the sacri- fice of the noblest blood which British heroism can shed, — to see it overwhelm that country, which we have in vain endeavoured to protect, in the stream of general desolation. Amid the wreck of the na- tions of Europe, this country stands now insulated and alone. But we see tlie torrent gathering around us ; — and it is fit that, on such solemnities as this, we should raise our eyes to Heaven, and implore the direction and tlie assistance of Hin> who alone can say, '^ hitherto shalt thou come, ^^ and no farther ;" and who yet may make us the instruments of his power, " in stilling the noise of ^* the waves, and the madness of the people.*' It were to be ignorant or inattentive to the signs which the times present to us, to say that they were the consequences of military prowess, and military numbers alone. The world, in its histo- ry, has seen many conquerors, but it has seen them, too, checked in their career, and driven back into the regions which nursed them. There is hardly a nation upon earth, which has not (at least in the annals of its earlier story) its tale to tell, of national prowess and independence ; — whicii has not to number the hosts that were brought in array against it ; and which does not point, witli exulta- tion, to that illustrious page of its history, which ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. 203 rontains the narrative of their defeat and disgrace. There is, in truth, so deep and so active a love of country in the bosom of mankind ; — there are so many cords of affection by which it is wound round tlie heart of man ; — there is so much energy in freedom, so much elevation in publick virtue, and, even at the last, so much fortitude in despair, that we may take for granted, whenever nations fall prostrate before the sword of an invader, that the origin of their fall is not so much in external violence, as in internal decay ; — and that there must have been some previous and overpowering causes in the nature of government itself, which alone could reconcile the hearts of men to the wretchedness of ignominy and submission. What have been the civil or political causes which have led to the general ruin in which we see all the nations of Europe involved ; — what were the seeds which have been sown, and which have now sprung up into legions of armed men, it is the business of the historian and the philosopher to in- vestigate. It is the duty of this place, my brethren, it is the duty of all of us in days like the pre- Sfintj to direct our attention to a greater inquiry. It is our duty to look to the moral causes which liave been operating ; to discern the national sins, which are now visited ])y'so much national suffer- ing ; and, when we sec the mighty tragedy con- cluded, to learn the moral which it is destined to couvt'v to us^ and to every future people, a04 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. In such an inquiiy, 1 fear, we shall be at no loss in discerning the signs of the evils that have arrived : nor is there any one of us, perhaps, so regardless of tlie times in which we have lived, as not to have felt some prophetiek fears of what was coming upon the earth. We shall discern them, in the first place, in the corruptions of religion ; in the sins of that proud but servile hierarchy, which poisoned, at its source, the spring of more than mortal life ; — which cherished superstition only that it might ensure obedience ; — and which bound the noblest faculties of the human soul in chains, that it might make them the instruments of its own tem- poral and impious power. We shall discern them, in the second place, in the sins of statesmen ; in those maxims of political conduct which sacrificed justice to experience ; which gave to cunning and deceit the names of wisdom and of policy ; and which never hesitated to waste the blood and the treasures of nations, to gratify either the livalship of kings, or the am- bition of (heir ministers. We shall iind them, in tlie third place, in the injustice of internal government; in the exclusion of the great body of the people from all sliare in the administration of (heir country ; — in the haughty meglect of their rights, their interests, and their feelings; — and in the subjugation of the whole social system to the will of certain individuals, or certain hereditary orders of men. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. 20.') We shall find them, in anotlier view, in every poimtry we contemplate, in the personal vices of the great and the powerful ; in that licentiousnesy of manners, which never fsiils to be the conse- quence of superiority to laws and to publick opin- ion ; — which oilends the minds of men, at tl»e same time that it corrupts them ; — and wliich, by a fatal contagion, reaches not only into tlie busi- ness, but into the bosoms of all who are below them. We shall find them, in the last place, in the guilt of genius and of talents ; in that base prosti- tution, by which they who were destined by Hea- ven to be the instructers of mankind, have lent themselves either to be the slaves of power, the panders of courtly vice, or the apostles of sedition ; and, for the sake of a guilty celebrity, have trem- bled not at dissolving, at one time, all the ties of private virtue, and, at another, all the obligations of social duty. Such have been the signs of the times in whicli we have lived ; the signs, in some degree or other, in every country of the continent, of those coming calamities which we are now doomed to l)ehold ; and wliich, thougli they were derided by the Pharisees and the Sadducees of their day, were significant to every religious and every thoughtful mind, of the dissolution of the nations wliich pre- sented them. They signified, tliat whenever vice, and inju«;ii'.*o, and oppr^i-sion leign, the period of 206 ON THE GEXRAL FAST, 1809. society has arrived: — they signified, that Heavea visits the sins of those who govern mankind, by alienating tiie hearts of the governed ; — and that, whatever may be the instinctive love of country, there is a limit of duty, beyond which the heart of the citizen is cold, and his hand is feeble : — they signified, that when once the vital principle of soci- ety is gone, its natural termination is approaching ; — and that, although it may retain the form and semblance of strength, it is yet destined to dissolve at the fii*st touch of the steel of the invader. — "^ When thy judgments are in the earth," saith the prophet, " the inhabitants of the world will '^ learn righteousness.'' — It is in these words, my brethren, that the great moral of the tragedy of nations is to be found. It is in them we are re- minded, tliat there is a throne of justice in nature ; — tliat tliere are laws of righteousness prescribed to nations as well as to individuals ; — that when- ever the happiness of the whole is sacrificed to the power or the interests of the few, the seeds of dis- solution are sown ; — that the means by which the Almighty visits the sins of society, is not by the visitation of the earthquake or the pestilence, but by the silent operation of the principles of human nature itself; — and that the same instincts which first assemble men into society, are destined to se- parate them again, whenever the ends of society are not falfiUcd. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. 20i It is upon this awful and proplietick spectacle, that you, ray brethreuj and tlie people of this coun- try, now look. Years have been passing, and in every one of them you have seen the same signs accomplished. AV^liat impression it is to make upon your minds, I presume not to say; I will re- peat only the awful words of the Saviour of the world, that these arc the signs of the Providence of Heaven, and that they arc given that ye may discern them. Were it the inhabitantsof any other country whom it was now my duty to address, I know not that I could add to these words any accents of political comfort : But in this country, I thank God that I can, and that I ought to add words, not only of comfort, but of animation. I dare not say, indeed, that we partake not in the infirmity or in the guilt of human nature. I dare not say, that there is no where injustice in our rule, nor oppression in our government. I dare not say, that, in looking at the annals of our day, the eye of science will find every thing wise, or the eye of piety find every thing virtuous. But in the great and gl- gantick sins of other nations, I do trust I may say that we have little participation. I trust that there is among us a living spirit of religion, of patriotism, and of private virtue. I trust, that the peculiar blessings w ith which Providence has visited us ; that that reformation which purified our religion, and that revolution which fixed ouf 208 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. constitution, have given to the people of this land a corresponding character of religious principle, and of civil energy, which neither prosperity can corrupt, nor adversity suhdue. I trust, that the breath of freedom, which the lowest among us in- hales with his birth, while it has poured prosperity througli every vein and artery of the state, has poured along with it the spirit of loyalty, the vigour of patriotism, and tiie energy of independence. Amid the waves of the ocean, I trust we shall still present to mankind tlie beacon which may enlighten and direct them : and that, among the millions of our population, there is not one heart so base, or one arm so coward, as to shrink from sacrificing life itself, in defence of the majestick fabrick of our laws, and the grey hairs of our anointed Sovereign. Yet, — whatever may be our hopes, and whatever may be our prayers, let it never be forgotten what are our dangers. They are not the dangers of a day, or of a season. The clouds which so long have hung around us, seem now to be gathering into the final storm. From one end almost of Europe to the other, we see the various nations which in- habit it marshalled against us. We see their min- gled forces wielded by that powerful arm which victory has strung with new vigour ; and their march directed by that penetrating eye, which marks, with cool decision, wherever nature, or policy, or vice, has made us vulnerable, and which permits no slumber of peace to quench its malignant ambition. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. 209 If such be the sijijus of the times, they are to us the summons to duty. Amid the sunshine of pros- perity, there is a cliaracter of national gayety and levity, which suits, in some degree, with the cha- racter of the times, and which may be forgiven at least, if it is not approved. But tlic liours of dan- i^er demand another character ; and the voice of Heaven calls then for loftier purposes, and sublimer energies. In such hours, it calls upon vice to pause, and folly to think, and party to be silent. It calls upon the citizen of every rank to prepare his mind for the scenes that may follow ; to remember what are the blessings which are included in the name of his country ; and to supplicate from Heaven that strength which may enable him, in its hour of peril, to defend and to save it. It calls upon the great and the affluent to lay their wealth at the feet of their country ; to vindicate their distinction, by the distinction of their patriotism ; and to scorn every calculation of private interest, when the interest of their native land is in danger. It calls upon the poor man to harden his mind against the conflict in which he must act or suffer ; to brave those additions to penury, which the struggle for national existence must produce ; and to prepare himself, in the last rank, to defend the humble cottage, which is yet the abode of liberty and of religion. But chiefly you, my young friends ! It is you, chiefly, whom the voice of religion now summons to duty. You are entering upon the stage of time ! 210 ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. and upon that stage great interests are depending, and great events are to be transacted. In your day, the fate of your country will, to all humau appearance, be determined : and whether it is to exist (,r to fall, will depend upon the wisdom of your councils, and the vigour of your arms. It is a time, therefore, for you to encourage in your bo- soms all the native generosity of youth ; to scorn every vice that can debase, and every folly that can enervate ; to train your minds for scenes of firm enterprise and high achievement ; to clothe your- selves in the armour of that faith in which you were baptized ; and, with the lofty devotion of freemen, to swear to Heaven and to mankind, never to surrender to a tyrant the inheritance you have received from your fathers. Do you want motives, my brethren, to animate you to duty ? They are around you, — they are in every scene of that country, which is now " like ^^ the garden of Eden before you," and which the sword of a conqueror would convert into a " deso- •^ late wilderness." The names you bear are the names of patriots and of heroes ; the ground on which you tread has been often wet with the blood of the invader ; the mountains of your country rise around you, to remind you that on their summits no hostile banner was ever reared ; and that from them the eye of your ancestors saw the tide even of Uoman invasion roll back. ON THE GENERAL FAST, 1809. 21 1 Do you want examples, my young friends ! to direct your patriotism ? Go not to the records of other countries or of other climes. Go to the an- nals of your own country; to the examples which every page of them presents to you, and which teach you how the patriot can live, and how the freeman can die. — Go to that recent page w hich is yet wet with your tears ; to the example of that il- lustrious man,-* whose uncqffined remains repose, alas, far from the sepulchre of his fathers ; but whose ascending Spirit now lets fall the mantle of its glory, to cover the land which gave him hirth ; and who has left to mankind a name at the sound of which, in every succeeding age, the heart of the patriot will tlirob, — when tyrants shall have ceased to reign, and when the world shall have awakened to truth, to victory, and to freedom. ^' Sir John Moorf-. SERMON XVI. ON AUTUMN. Genesis xxiv. 63. "And Isaac went out to meditate in the field, at the even-tide," However much the necessities and the duties of life call upon us for activity, there are other principles of our being which lead us to meditation. The same divine inspiration which hath given us understanding, hath provided also the scenes in which it ought to be employed ; and the perfection of our nature consists, not in the separation, but in the union of contemplation and of action. " To '^ every thing," »ays the wise man, " there is a ^^ season ;" and, if there are times when the Day- spring summons us to activity, — there are times also, when, like the patriarch in the text, we are invited to " meditate in the field, at the even-tide." In the generality of men, however, there is some secret unwillingness to be employed in the labour of meditation ; — there is a kind of gloom that is ON AUTUMN. -^13 very early associated with it in the minds of the young ; and when inanliood arrives, the prospe- rous are too gay, and the active too busy, to listen to the voice that suggests it. It is thus, that, even in good minds, some of the most beneficial propen- sities of their nature are insensibly obliterated ; — that all the inviting and propitious seasons of thought and of solitude are neglected ; — and that their attention turns unconsciously from the very scenes where the benevolence of nature has provi- ded for them the amplest sources of tranquillity and of repose. I wish, at present, to present some views in opposition to this [jrevailing weakness ; — to shew you, that if there are seasons when the inspiration of the Almighty calls us to meditation, it is to lead us to wisdom and to happiness ; — that there is an established train of thought, which such seasons necessarily awaken ; — and that in the even-tide, as well as in the sunshine of life, the same great ends are pursued, by which He that made us wisheth that we should not only be wise here, but become wise unto salvation. 1. I'here is an even-tide in the day, — an hour when the sun retires, and the shadows fall, and when nature assumes the appearances of soberness and silence. It is an hour from which every w here the thoughtless fly, as peopled only in their imagination with images of gloom ; — it is the hour^ on the othei' hand, which, in every age, the wise 214 ON AUTUMN. have loved, as bringing with it sentiments and affections more valuable than all the splendours of the day. Its first impression is to still all the turbulence of thought or passion which the day may have brought forth. We follow, with our eye, the de- scending sun, — we listen to the decaying sounds of labour and of toil, — and, when all the fields are silent around us, we feel a kindred stillness to breathe upon our souls, and to calm them from the agitations of society. From this first impres- sion, there is a second which naturally follows it; — in the day we are living with men, — in the even-tide we begin to live with nature ; — we see the world withdrawn from us, — the shades of night darken over the habitations of men, and we feel ourselves alone. It is an hour, fitted, as it would seem, by Him who made us, to still, but with gentle hand, the throb of every unruly pas- sion, and the ardour of every impure desire ; and, while it veils for a time the world that misleads us, to awaken in our hearts those legitimate af- fections which the heat of the day may have dis- solved. There is yet a farther scene it presents to us : — While the world withdraws from us, and while the shades of the evening darken upon our dwellings, the splendours of the firmament come forward to our view. In the moments when earth is overshadowed. Heaven opens to our eyes the radiance of a sublimer being ; our hearts follow ON AUTUMN. '215 the successive splendours of the scene ; and while we forget, for a time, the obscurity of earthly con- cerns, we feci that there are " yet greater things " than these/' and that we " have a Father wlio ^^ dwelleth in the heavens, and who yet deigneth " to consider the things that are upon eartli." Such is the train of thought which the even- tide of the day is iitted to excite ; — thoughts seri- ous, doubtless, but inviting ; — which lead us daily, as it were, to the noblest conceptions of our beiug ; — ^and which seem destined to return us to the world with understandings elevated, and with hearts made better. 2. There is, in the second place, an " even- *^ tide" in the year, — a season, as we now witness, when the sun withdraws his propitious light, — when the winds arise, and the leaves fall, and nature around us seems to sink into decay. It is said, in general, to be the season of melancholy ; and if, by this word, be meant that it is the time of solemn and of serious thought, it is undoubtedly the season of melancholy ; — yet, it is a melan- choly so soothing, so gentle in its approach, and so prophetick in its influence, that they who have known it feel, as instinctively, that it is the doing of God, and that the heart of man is not thus finely touched, but to fine issues. 1. It is a season, in the first place, which tends to wean us from the passions of the world. Every 216 ON AUTUMN. passion, however base or unworthy^ is yet elo- quent. It speaks to us of present enjoyment ; — it tells us of what men have done and what men may do, and it supports us every where by the example of many around us. When we go out into the fields in the evening of tlie year, a diffe- rent voice approaches us. We regard, even in spite of ourselves, the still but steady advances of time. A few days ago, and the summer of the year was grateful, and every element was filled with life, and the sun of Heaven seemed to glory in his ascendant. He is now enfeebled in his power j the desert no more ^^ blossoms like the rose ;" the song of joy is no more heard among the branches ; and the earth is strewed with that foli- age which once bespoke the magnificence of sum- mer. Whatever may be the passions which soci- ety lias awakened, we pause amid this apparent desolation of nature. We sit down in the lodge " of the way-faring man in tlie wilderness," and we feel that all we witness is the emblem of our own fate. Such also, in a few years, will be our own condition. The blossoms of our spring, — the pride of our summer will also fade into decay ; — and the pulse that now beats high with virtuous or with vicious desire, will gradually sink, and then must stop for ever. We rise from our medi- tations with hearts softened and subdued, and we return into life as into a shadowy scene, where we have "disquieted ourselves in vajn," Such ON AUTUMN. 21?" is the first impression which the present scene of nature is fitted to make upon us. It is this first impression which intimidates the thoughtless and the gay ; and, indeed, if there were no other reflections that followed, I know not that it would be the business of wisdom to recommend such meditations. It is the consequences, however, of such previous thoughts, which are chiefly valua- ble ; and among these tliere are two which may well deserve our consideration. 2. It is the peculiar character of the melan- choly which sucli seasons excite, that it is general. It is not an individual remonstrance ; — it is not the harsh language of human wisdom, which too often insults, while it instructs us. When the winds of autumn sigh around us, their voice speaks not to us only, but to our kind ; and the lesson they teach us is not that we alone decay, but that such also is the fate of all the generations of man. — ^'They are the green leaves of the tree *' of the desert, which perish and are renewed." In such a sentiment there is a kind of sublimity mingled with its melancholy ; — our tears fall, but they fall not for ourselves ; — and, although the train of our thoughts may have begun with the selfishness of our own concerns, we feel that, by the ministry of some mysterious power, they end in awakening our concern for every being that lives. — Yet a few years, we think, and ail that now bless, or all that now convulse liumanity S8 218 ON AUTUMN. will also have perished. The mightiest pageaii> try of life will pass, — the loudest notes of triumph or of conquest will be silent in the grave ; — the wicked, wherever active, <^will cease from « troubling," and the weary, wherever suffering, ^' will be at rest." Under an impression so profound, we feel our own hearts better. The cares, the animosities, the hatreds which society may have engendered, sink unperceived from our bosoms. In the general desolation of nature, we feel the littleness of our own passions ; — we look forward to that kindred evening which time must bring to all ; — we anticipate the graves of those we hate, as of those we love. Every un- kind passion falls, with the leaves that fall around US ; and we return slowly to our homes, and to the society which surrounds us, with the wish only to enlighten or to bless them. 3. If there were no other effects, my brethren, of such appearances of nature upon our minds, they would still be valuable, — they would teach us humility, — and with it they would teach us charity. In the same hour in which they taught us our own fragility, they would teach us com- miseration for the whole family of man. — But there is a farther sentiment which such scenes inspire, more valuable than all ; and we know little the designs of Providence, when we do not yield ourselves in such hours to the beneficent inetincte of our Imagination. ON AUTUMN. 219 It is the unvarying character of nature, amid all its scenes, to lead us at last to its author ; and it is for this final end that all its varieties have such dominion upon our minds. We are led hy the appearances of spring to see His bounty ; — we are led by the splendours of summer to see His greatness. In the present hours, we are led to a higher sentiment ; and, what is most remarka- ble, the very circumstances of melancholy are these which guide us most securely to put our trust in Him. We are witnessing the decay of the year ; — we go back in imagination, and find that such in every generation has been the fate of man ; — we look forward, and we see that to such ends all must come at last ; — we lift our desponding eyes in search of comfort, and we see above us, One, ^^ who is ever the same, and "to whose vears there is no end." Amid the vicissitudes of nature, we discover that central majesty " in whom there is no variableness nor '^ shadow of turning.'^ We feel that there is a God ; and, from the tempestuous sea of life, we hail that polar star of nature, to which a sacred instinct had directed our eyes, and which burns with undecaying ray to lighten us among all the darkness of the deep. From this great conviction, there is another sentiment which succeeds. Nature, indeed, year- ly perishes ; but it is yearly renewed. Amid all its changes, the immortal spirit of Him that made it remaius ; and the same sun which now marks 220 ON AUTUMN. with his receding ray the autumn of the year, will again arise in his brightness, and bring along with him the promise of the spring and all the magnifi- cence of summer. Under such convictions, hope dawns upon the sadness of the lieart. The melancholy of decay becomes the very herald of renewal ; — the magnificent circle of nature opens upon our view ; — we anticipate the analogous re- surrection of our being ; — we see beyond the grave a greater spring, and we people it with those who have given joy to that which is passed. With such final impressions, we submit ourselves gladly to the destiny of our being. While the sun of mortality sinks, we hail the rising of the Sun of Kighteousness, and, in the hours that all the hon- ours of nature are perishing around us, we pros- trate ourselves in deeper adoration before Him who '^ sitteth upon its throne.'^ Such, my brethren, are the sentiments to which the scenes of nature we now witness insensibly lead us, aud such the final conclusion of that train of thought which they naturally occasion ; — senti- ments solemn indeed, (as I have said) but sublime, which remove us for a time from life, only to make us anticipate something greater ; — -and which lead us, as if by some mysterious charm, from the bo- som of melancholy, to the highest hopes and con- solations of our being. If, then, '^^ day unto day ^^uttereth speech, and year unto year teacheth ^^ knowledge," let not the follies or the gayeties of life withdraw us from these kind and salutary ad- ON AUTUMN. 221 luotiitions. Whatever may be our age or condi- tion, nature, in tliesc hours, has its lessons to us all ; — lessons which all may read, and all can feel ; — and which come to us with that gentle and unreproaching voice, which delights while it in- structs us, and which marks the fine education of Him who is the Father of our spirits. Let then tlie young go out, in these hours, un- der the descending sun of the year, into the fields of nature. Their hearts are now ardent with hope, — with the hopes of fame, of honour, or of happiness ; and in the long perspective which is before them, their imagination creates a world where all may be enjoyed. Let the scenes which they now may witness, moderate, but not extin- guish their ambition : — while they see the yearly desolation of nature, let them see it as the emblem of mortal hope ; — while they feel the disproportion between the powers they possess, and the time they are to be employed, let them carry their ambitious eye beyond the world ; — and while, in these sa- cred solitudes, a voice in their own bosom corres- ponds to the voice of decaying nature, let them take that high decision which becomes those who feel themselves the inhabitants of a greater world, and who look to a being incapable of decay. Let the busy and the active go out, and pause for a time amid the scenes which surround them, and learn the high lesson which nature teaches in the hours of its fall. They are now ardent with all the desires of mortality ; — and fame, and inter- 222 ON AUTUMN. est, and pleasure, are displaying to them their shadowy promises ; — and, in the vulgar race of life, many weak and many worthless passions are too naturally engendered. Let them withdraw themselves for a time from the agitations of the world ; — let them mark the desolation of summer, and listen to the winds of winter, which begin to murmur above their heads. It is a scene which, with all its power, has yet no reproach ; — it tells them, that such is also the fate to which they must come ; — that the pulse of passion must one day beat low ; — that the illusions of time must pass ; — and ^^ that the spirit must return to Him who gave '^ it." It reminds them, with gentle voice, of that innocence in which life was begun, and for which no prosperity of vice can make any compensation ; — and that angel who is one day to stand upon the earth, and to '"■ swear that time shall be no '^ more," seems now to whisper to them, amid the hollow winds of the year, what manner of men ought they to be, who must meet that decisive hour. There is yet another description among those who hear me ; — there is an even-tide in hnman life, a season when the eye becomes dim, and the strength decays, and when the winter of age begins to shed upon the human head its prophetick snow. It is the season of life to which the present is most analogous ; and much it becomes, and much it would profit you, my elder brethren, to mark the instructions which the season brings. The spring and the summer of your days are gone; juid with ON AUTUMN. *^23 them, not only the joys they knew, but many of the friends who gave them. You have entered upon the autumn of your being, and whatever may have been the profusion of your spring, or the warm intemperance of your summer, there is yet a season of stillness and of solitude which the beneficence of Heaven affords you, in which you may meditate upon the past and the future, and prepare yourselves for the mighty change which you are soon to undergo. If it be thus, my elder brethren, you have the wisdom to use the decaying season of nature, it brings with it consolations more valuable than all the enjoyments of former days. In the long retro- spect of your journey, you have seen every day the shades of the evening fall, and every year the clouds of winter gather. But.you have seen also, every succeeding day, the morning arise in its brightness, and in every succeeding year, the spring return to renovate the winter of nature. It is now you may understand the magnificent lan- guage of Heaven,— it mingles its voice with that of revelation, — it summons you, in these hours when the leaves fall, and the winter is gathering, to that evening study which the mercy of Heaven has provided in the book of salvation : And, while the shadowy valley opens which leads to the abode of death, it speaks of that hand which can comfort and can save, and which can conduct to those <^ green" pastures, and those still waters," where there U an eternal spring for the children of God, t'rlf SERMON XVII. ON THE JUBILEE, APPOINTED FOR THE 50th ANNIVERSARY 0|!' THE KING'S ACCESSION, OCTOBER 25, 1809. Genesis xliii. 27, 28. «» And Joseph asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father well ? The old man of whom ye spake, is he yet alive ? And they answered. Our father is yet alive. And they bowed down their heads, and made obeisance." These were the words of the patriarch Joseph^ one of the most distinguished personages whom we meet with in the early history of the world, and from whose pathetick story the infant mind receives its first impressions of genuine greatness. In the preceding part of the narrative, we feel all the interests which arise from adventure and success. We rejoice in that event by which the inhumanity of his brethren is leading to the pun- ishment it deserves ; and while we contemplate, with satisfaction, the hand of Providence which is conducting this interesting story, we yet trem- ble as we proceed, lest the conceptions we had formed of the character of Joseph, may be lost in ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. 225 his accomplishment of tlie dread revenge which was then placed in his power. It is the simple, but pathetick question of the text, which resolves all our doubts. The words, " is your father yet <( alive ?" let us at once into his heart. We see a mind which neither injury could harden nor prosperity corrupt ; which looks back with undi- minished affection to its first and its purest attach- ments ; — which liails with thankfulness the inteU ligence, that that father now lives, who, amid all his distance, and all his greatness, has never been forgotten ; and in these workings of nature in his uncorrupted bosom, we readily anticipate all the exquisite virtue which he is afterwards to display. It is with a sentiment similar, I trust, to the grateful joy of the patriarch, that we, my brethren, and all the people of this land are now assembled. The beneficence of Heaven has permitted us to witness an event which it is rarely given to the brevity of human life to see ; and it has been met with feelings which exalt patriotism into devotion. — Amid the calamities of war, and the sufterings of nations, the majestick multitude of the British people are, in this moment, prostrated in tli mk- fulness before tiiat God, by " whom Kings reign, "and Princes minister justice ;" and while coeval thrones are deserted of their possessors, or are trembling to their fall, the grateful spirit of this country approaches with firm step the throne of its S9 22® ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. sovereign^ and places upon liis grey hairs th« crown of patriot glory. Twice only, and that in the dark and distant ages of our history, has the eye of the citizen opened upon a spectacle so suhlime ; and ere it can again return, the eye of every one that lives will long have been closed in the grave. In a moment of such deep and various sensibility, I feel that it becomes me to limit myself to a few simple obser- vations, — happy only in being permitted to unite my humble voice with that of my country, and in being able ^^ to bow my head in obeisance before ^* the King of Kings," while I say, with the affec- tionate gratitude of the children of Israel, ^* our ^father is yet alive." It is in general, I fear, a very rude and unthink- ing estimate that men form of the character of sovereigns ; and there are prejudices very com- mon in the world, which induce it to demand, from those who govern mankind, qualities altogether incompatible with the welfare or the liberty of those who are governed. — The imagination of youth and of ignorance is dazzled with the splen- dours of the legislator and the hero; — the vanity of nations is gratified by the glory of conquest, and with the tale of extended dominion ; — and the world, in general, judging from this high and ro- mantick standard, are apt to conceive that no cha- racters become a throne, but those which display these lofty or sanguinary features. They forget? ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. 227 meanwhile, tbat such qualities are applicable only to scenes of turbulence or barbarity ; — they forget, that nature bleeds while the hero triumphs, antl that the energies of the legislator involve also the powers of the despot ;— they forget, that while the individual thus raises himself in their estimation, he rises upon the degradation of every other rank in society ; that virtue is not hereditary like the throne : and that the same unlimited powers which form at times the patriot and the hero, form, in far greater profusion, the oppressors and the tyrants of the world. But whatever, in the infancy of nations, be the glory of the legislative mind whieli gives society- its first foundation, or whatever, in subsequent times, be the dark utilities of the conqueror, whose exterminating sword is the instrument of divine justice in avenging its crimes, it is the lofty and unshared privilege of this country to say, that sucU is not the legitimate character of its sovereigns ; and the citizen of Britain has little known to esti- mate the character that is worthy of its throne, when he assimilates it to any situation either of ancient or of modern greatness. Inheriting a con- stitutional throne, to which its former agitations have now lent almost the stability of nature, and wielding a sceptre which has been given, and not wrested from his people, the sovereign of this coun- try is invested, not with the vulgar terrours of power, but with the majesty and sanctity of law : 228 ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. and the character of his greatness, like that which reigns in the government of the universe, is to be discerned in the silence of order, and in the steadi- ness of regulated wisdom. Enthroned amid the waves of the ocean, and at a distance from the insults of every enemy, it is his prerogative to rest unmoved amid all the conflicts that may assail him ; — to delegate to the brave of his people the powers which he must not descend to employ himself; — and to make the winds and the waves the messen- gers of his justice or of his mercy to mankind. The attitude, therefore, which becomes him, is not that of the legislator, or the hero, but that of the FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE; — the virtues which suit the majesty of his situation are not those which dazzle, but those which bless mankind ; — and the radiance which ought to surround his throne, is not that of personal and dangerous greatness, but that of legitimate power, and paternal authority. Such is the character which belongs to the sove- reign of this country ; — such were the sentiments which dwelt in the mind of our present sovereign, when, in the first hours of his reign, he made it his proud boast that he was born a Briton, and when he took that solemn oath to his people, which has given the firm consistency of principle to his reign; — and such, in this hour, after the long trial of fifty years, are the virtues which it is the privilege of his people to know, and their pride to acknowledge. Amid all the agitations of that extended period ; — ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. 229 amid the years of a reign more arduous and more eventful than any that has occurred in the history of mankind ; when society has been assuming a new form, and when causes have begun to operate, which may cliange, in many respects, all the social institutions of men, — his path has been ever the simple but majestick path of duty. Firm to the obligations which he first contracted to his people, — he has identified his own glory with the glory of their constitution, and leaving, with the lofty spirit of a king of England, less fortunate nations to re- dress their wrongs, or to remedy their suflierings, — he has sought only to maintain inviolate tiie mighty system which he was born to rule, and which he had sworn to maintain. While he has thus sought to deserve the affection of his people, it is his sin- gular fortune to have gained it, — to have reigned over men of kindred honour, and kindred honesty ; — to have found, amid all the turbulence of faction, and all the profligacies of party, that the afl'ections of his subjects \yere still with him : — to have seen his country ascend, amid all its difficulties, to an eminence in wealth, in dignity, and in consequencej which no eye of his ancestors had witnessed; — and, even in the present hour of danger and of alarm, to see it display a magnitude of power, and assume an attitude of greatness, which, at the com- mencement of his reign, the enthusiasm of patriotism itself durst not Jiave ventured to foretell. 230 ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. The duties of the throne, however, demand other virtues ; and he who is destined to reign over a free people, is called by Heaven, not only to be their sovereign, but their model, — to go before them in the road of piety and virtue, and to give to the morals and manners of his age, the stamp of his prevailing example. How these duties have been accomplished, — what have been the private virtues that adorn the throne, — and what has been the tenour of that example, through the long period of half a century, the pious grati- tude of the people of this country leaves it not to the fidelity of the historian to tell, but seizes this day to acknowledge. It acknowledges that elevated piety, which is not now only the ornament of his hoary head, but which gave grace to the majesty of his youthful throne, and which was the pledge to his people of the high sentiments by which his future reign and his future life were to be governed. It acknowledges that purity of domestick manners, whivh has not only been the model, but still more the reproach of his subjects; which has given to the usual splendours wf the court the virtuous simplicity of the cottage ; and which has taken from rank and affluence all the vulgar apologies of vice, by shewing that to noble minds the greatest situations are the most innocent. — It acknowledges that patriot zeal, which has never ceased to glow for the improve- ment of his country, Which, selecting from the ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. *231 varieties of occupation that fundamental art wliich gives their power and independence to nations, has collected the rays of royal favour upon the simple labours of the husbandman ; and which, passing the limits of his own empire, has sought to carry to new and barbarous shores, the bless- ings of cultivated life, and the light of revealed religion ; — it acknowledges yet farther, that purity of taste, which has given even to his hours of leisure and of amusement the character of royalty, — which has disdained every ignoble pleasure by which the character of sovereigns has been so often degraded, — and which has reserved its patronage for those finer arts alone which elevate, without corrupting the human heart, and which ally themselves either to the sublimity of religious, or the dignity of moral sentiment. These are the virtues which this day acknow- ledges ; — the virtues characteristick of a sove- reign of this country ; which make him indeed the father of his people ; and which, in this hour, are marked by Heaven, not so much by the splen- dours of the court which surrounds his throne, or by the throng and acclaim of the thousand cities which people his realm, as by the humble tears of the aged peasant in the cottage, who numbers his years by his reign, — who blesses Heaven that his lot has fallen in his days, — and who, when he teaclies his children the course of a virtuous life, points with exulting hand to the example of their sovereign upon the throne. 232 ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. It is the usual infirmity, however, of our nature, to undervalue what we have long possessed ; and the eye of the citizen, which, whenever it has beea raised to the throne, has met the same venerahle form, may come at last to regard it with the same carelessness and insensibility, with which he re- gards the regular beneficence of Providence. [f so uumanly a weakness should chill for a moment the gratitude of this day ; — if, in the bosom of one British subject, there can tlwell ignorance or indifference to the glory of his country, let him turn his wayward eye from that prosperity which has satiated it, and mark among the nations which surround us, what has been the character of their thrones. Let him mark the aspects under which, to them, this long period of British greatness com- menced, and those under which it now has closed ; — Jet him mark what has been the condition of the people, where superstition governed, where ambi- tion triumphed, or where profligacy reigned ; — let him mark what have been the effects which the corruption of courts, the dissolution of publick manners, the pride of privileged orders have pro- duced, in levelling to the dust the most venerable institutions of time ; — let him mark that fiery fur- nace, yet intensely burning, in which all the proud- est honours of ancestry, and rank, and royalty, have been dissolved, and from the dross of which are now issuing vulgar crowns and temporary dia- dems. ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. 233 From this tremendous spectacle let him recal his eye to liis native land, green with the dew of Heaven, and rejoicing beneath the labour of men ; — let liim listen to the cheerful activity of its cities, and the careless song of its fields : — let him follow the sails of its commerce as they brighten beneatli every wind of Heaven, and the thunder of its arms as they roll wherever the waters of the ocean flow ; — let him mark the senate-house of his country, still rearing its majestick head amid all the other destructions of time, and the sceptre of its dominion yet firm in that paternal hand, which first received the offering of his infant loyalty ; — and then let liim say, whether, on this memorable day, it is not a good, as well as a pleasant thing to be thankful? — whether the eye, which is permitted to see this scene of prosperity, ought not to be raised to that Heaven which bestows it ? — whether there be any principle of patriotism so steadfast or so sublime as that which is sanctified by religion ? — whether there be any blessing, for which a virtuous people ought so humbly to bow their heads in obeisance to Heaven, as for the lengthened days of a patriot king? — and whe^ier there be any means so power- ful to create or to continue the virtues which be- come a British throne, as the willing gratitude of a British people ? And the children of Israel answered, '^ Our ^^ father is yet alive." There is joy, my brethren, there is thankfulness in the words, — but is there 30 234 ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. not something in them also which is pathetick ? Is tliere not sometliing which reminds us of the feeble tenure by which all our affections are held, and which points, with but too intelligible a hand, to tliat future and inevitable day, when other tears than those of joy and gratulation are to flow. It is, indeed, the melancholy condition of our nature ; but let it never be forgotten, that it is this melancholy condition itself which gives origin to some of our purest virtues ; — it is this conscious- ness, — it is these trembling anticipations — which teach us all the tenderness of duty ; which multi- ply our cares as nature seems to withdraw the object of them from our arms ; and which prompt us to strain only more ardently to our embrace, the fading form that so soon must leave it. And Joseph said, " Haste you, and go up unto ^^ my father ; and say unto hira, come down unto ^^ me and tarry not ; and thou shalt dwell in the ^^ land of Goshen, and thou shall be near unto me, (^ thou, and thy children, and thy children's chil- ^^ dren, and thy flocks and thy herds, and all that ^^ thou hast ; and there will I nourish thee, thou, " and thy children, and thy household, lest ever " thou shouldst come to want." These were the grateful resolutions of Joseph : and such are, my brethren, on this day, and in this place, the resolutions that become the people of this land* ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. 235 Born, (as the greater part of us have been) be- neath his paternal reign ; sharing in the honours which tlie vjrtues of a sovereign ever throw over his age, and in the blessings which Heaven sheds upon the throne that is *' establislied by righteous- *^ ness ;" carried (in every year of this long peri- od) as we and all our interests have been in his bosom, and remembered in every day in every prayer which he has offered to Heaven, ours is now the grateful duty to nourish his grey hairs with the tenderness of children; — to guard, with jealous love, the throne which he fills, alike from foreigu injury, and from internal insult; — to press, with more affectionate loyalty, to our bosom that aged head, over which adversity has shed otiier sor- rows than those of time ; — to smooth with fond hands, that inevitable path, which conducts vir- tue as well as glory to the grave ; — and to ask, with fervent prayer, that his remaining course may be like that of the summer sun, when he sets at last, slowly and serenely in the west, amid the blessings of a grateful world. These are the i*esolutions which befit this place and this hour, — the resolutions which befit a great people, who, while they know their rights, ac- knowledge also their duties; — the resolutions which give the sensibilities of love to the energies of loyalty ; — which proclaim to the successors of the throne, the path of genuine glory ; — and which, amid all tlie guilt and all the miseries of society, ^Se ON THE JUBILEE, 1809. testify to Heaven and Earth, that there is yet one throne which is founded in justice, and one people who can honour virtue. You have novr, my friends and fellovr-citizens, performed the solemn duty of this day ; — you have obeyed it as men, by presenting the oflering of your united thanksgiving upon the altar of the '* King of Kings ;" — you have hallowed it, I trust, as Christians, by making the wretched partakers of your joy, — by visiting the prisoners in their affliction, — by " undoing the heavy burdens, and ** letting the oppressed go free." You are now to return into a happy world, — to meet the multitude of your brethren and fellow- citizens, — and to partake in the diffusion of the general joy. Go then, with these high remem- brances in your bosom, and open your hearts to the sublimity of that sentiment which unites the feelings of a free people, and add your voices to that prevailing song, which never wakens without bidding the British heart beat high with thoughts of patriotism and triumph ; — go, ere yet the day closes its proud festivity, and assemble your chil- dren about you, and, while the voice of thank- fulness is yet loud and long around them, seize the auspicious moment to impress upon their glow- ing hearts the love of their country. Tell them, that these are the honours due to a patriot sove- reign ; — tell them, that the purest breath which OlSr THE JUBILEE, 1809. ' S37 HeavpTi lends to awaken the virtues of the throne, is the £;ratitu(le of the i)eoi)le ;— tell them, that while the adulation of slaves is vice, the loyalty of free-horn men is virtue ; — and while you raise their youthful hands in thankfulness to God, that their inheritance is given tiiern in a free country, teach them, in that sacred moment, to pledge their youthful hearts to love, and their youthful arms to defend it. SERMON XVIII. ON THE CONSOLATIONS WHICH THE GOSPEL AFFORDS UNDER THE NATURAL EVILS OF LIFE. St. John ix. 1. " And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man wliich was blind from his' birth ; — And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born blind ? — Jesus answered, neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents : but that the works of God should be made manifest in him." Among the questions which were proposed to our Saviour by his disciples, there is scarcely any one of a deeper or more interesting nature, than that which is related in the words of the text. Wherever we pass through life, we see scenes of melancholy, of misfortune, and of wretch- edness ; and the great question of every human heart, is What is the end or purpose of these afflictions of our nature ; and upon what princi- ple are we to account for them, in the administra- tion of a benevolent God ? It is a question which has been asked in every age, and which has received various solutions, according to the know- ledge and capacity of those who examined it. ON THE CONSOLATIONS, &c. 239 But it is in the power of the Son of Gorl alone to give the satisfactory solution ; and it is one of the greatest privileges of his followers to know the reply. All the evils or calamities with which human nature is afflicted, are reducible to two great class- es, or divisions; and in one or other of them, every suffering or sorrow may be included. The first and the greatest of these is, that which arises from ourselves ; — the sufferings which arise from crrour, or from sin. To this important class of human miseries, the answer of our Saviour in the text does not apply ; and with regard to such evils, there are two very impor- tant observations to be made botli with regard to their origin, and their end. Such evils, be they of what extent of of what magnitude they may, are not the appointments of God, — they are the productions of our own will, they are the consequences of our own conduct ; and so far are they from arising from his will, that they all arise from opposition to it, and from neglect or disobedience of those great moral laws, which he has given as the fundamental principles of our being, and of our happiness. The second observation which applies to this class of miseries is, that, while they derive their origin from our own infirmity or guilt, their final purpose is to restore us, by repentance, to the innocence and the happiness we had lost. It is 240 CONSOLATIONS IN MISFORTUNE for this great end, that every vice and every folly has its own appropriate and proportioned suffer- ing ; — it is for this purpose, that the bosom of the guilty is filled with so many dark and instinctive fears : — it is for this purpose, that evil, in so many awful and conspicuous shapes, is made to pursue sin, that even the spectators of the scene may be made wise by the sufferings of others, and return from the deepest tragedy of their nature with hearts made wiser and better. With regard to this first class, then, of human miseries, it is obvious, that it derives its origin from man alone, and that, even amid all its prevalence or intensity, the spirit of Grod is ever operating *^ to overcome evil with ^' final good.'' The second class of human sufferings are those which arise, not from ourselves, but from the laws to which our nature is subject ; — the evils which the ignorant every where ascribe to chance and to time, and which the wise and the pious ascribe to the will and providence of God. Of such evils, the world affords us many examples ; — of such, our own hearts are ever forming many fears ; — and with regard to such, it is of deep consequence that we should listen, not to the voice of our own despondent hearts, but to the blest revelations of religion. When, either in ourselves or in others, we see it is guilt that is punished ; — we feel the justice, and we perceive the end. But when inno- cence suffers ; — when it is upon the head of the AFFORDED BY THE GOSPEL. 241 pious and the good that afflictions M\, we arc not so easily satisfied ; and it is often the most cruel ags^iavation of calamity itself, tiiat the innocent sufl'erers are apt to doubt the mercy of Heaven ; to fear, like the disciples in the text, " that they *' or their parents had sinned," and that the mis- fortunes they endure are rather punishment than trial. — It is this class of evils, peculiarly, to which the ever memorable answer of our Saviour Iia« respect. It was an innocent sufferer whose mis- fortunes he tlien commiserated and cured ; and it is to such, in every future age, that the mighty and consoling language of his reply is addressed. The subject, therefore, my brethren, is one which has its interest to every human heart : and what this incident contains for our comfort and instruc- tion, I shall now endeavour very briefly to explain to you. 1. You will observe then, in the first place, the situation and condition of the poor sufferer in the text. It is not easy to conceive any being belong- ing to the race of man more obscure or depressed. He is a blind man ; — he is left by his parents (as we learn in the sequel of the story,) to the compas- sion of the world ; — he sits by the wayside to im- plore it; and it is accident alone which seems to bring him within the notice of our Saviour and his disciples. No situation of human nature can be conceived more lost, more insignificant, or more forgotten than this which first presents itself in the 31 242 CONSOLATIONS IN MISFORTUNE picture ; and yet, when we learn the whole, when we see the conclusion of the story, over this de- serted and hopeless being we see the eye of Provi- dence immediately impending, — we see, even be- fore his birth, the important destiny determined, which his calamity was to fulfil ; — we see, that in him, the ^* works of God were to be made man- "ifest;'^ and that the cure of an individual, so neglected and obscure that we know neither his history nor name, was yet to be the source of instruction and of comfort to many millions of mankind, in every succeeding age of the Gospel. There is nothing in language, or in all the powers of reasoning, which can so powerfully evince to lis the great truth of the Providence and perpetual care of God, as this simple and unadorned fact. It tells us, at once, that to his eye all hearts are open, all sorrows known, and that no secret suf- fering is hid from him ; that wherever the creation of God extends, the works of God will be per- formed ; and that wherever, in his system, there are mourners, in the same system there are the means of consolation. 2. You will observe, in the second place, my brethren, the nature of the calamity which is represented to us in the words of the text. It is that, of all human sufferings or misfortunes, which is at once the most hopeless and the most irreme- diable ; in which no exertion of the sufferer him- self can arail, and iu which no benevolent labour AFFORDED BY THE GOSPEL. 243 of others can lio]>e for remedy. The poor man upon the wayside was not only blind, but was born bliiid. It is in this very circumstance ; in the hopeless nature of the calamity, that the great and consolins; lesson of the story consists ; and it was purposely to one whom no human power could relieve, that the Son of God arrives, to shew his discijiles then, and for ever, that there are 2;reater powers in existence than those of man ; that the power of God is limited by nothing but, Lis will ; — that the things which are impossible unto man, are possible unto Him ; — and that He who in one mighty hour said " Let there be light, <' and there was light," can, in every hour, cause his light to arise over the most hopeless and most benighted condition of the human soul. 3. You will observe, in the third place, my brethren, the character of the person who becomes, in so conspicuous a manner, the object of the di- vine mercv. The circumstances transmitted to us, with regard to him, are few ; but they are of a nature to afford us full instruction. " Neither « this man nor his parents had sinned." The affliction with which he was visited was not the result of his own folly or guilt, but the appoint- ment of Him who made him ; and in his conduct under it we discern all the marks of resignation and genuine devotion. He complains not ; — ha importunes not;—he sits humbly by the wayside to receive the charity of the passengers, without 244 CONSOLATIONS IN MISFORTUNE demanding it ; and, as we read in the sequel of the story, seems to fill up the vacant hours of a beni,^hted life, with the consolations of a yet im- perfect faith, and with confidence in the Gi-d of his fathers. It is the character, of all others, which the gospel loves, and which it loves to form ; the character of humble patience and sub- missive piety ; — the character of silent and unos- tentatious goodness ; — the character of that simple but sublime devotion which humbles itself in all situations before the throne of wisdom, and which carries with it the promise of being yet exalted. To such a character, the wor d, indeed, pays little attention. But it is precious in the eyes of Him ^* who seeth in secret." It is to such sufferers who sit by the wayside of life, and whose heads are loaded with affliction, that the Saviour of the world still comes ; — and it is to the eyes which are blinded with tears, that he opens the prospect of that mightier time, " when the works of God " shall be made manifest." Such are the instructions which seem to arise from the memorable incident recorded in the text. They are instructions adapted in mercy to all, in the condition of our present being ; to the inhabi- tants of a world, where changes and chances seem to reign ; where the prosperous and the hap- py are yet conscious that they have no abiding- place ; — and where happiness is ever embittered by the remembrance of the facility with which it AFFORDED BY THE GOSPEL. 245 may be lost. Amid this shadowy and unsubstan- tial scene, they teach ns, that there reisjus One eternal and parental Mind ; that no condition which it contains is too low for liis love, or too great for his power ; tliat life, with all its varieties, is only a preparatory scene in which faith may be exercised, and hope cultivated, and charity ex- panded ; and that the only immoveable founda- tion of human happiness is in obedience to Uis laws, and in resignation to His will. But to you, my afflicted brethren, to you, who- ever you may be, who come from the house of mourning or of affliction, the words of the text have a still nearer application. It was for you that this miracle was performed. — It is your eyes that are opened in the person of the poor sufferer in the Gospel ; and it is to raise your minds from the doubts and the despondencies which ever mingle themselves with affliction, that the memorable ob- servations of our Saviour himself were made. Do you then doubt, in the first place, with the natural despondency of sorrow, whether you can be the objects of the care of Heaven ? and whether your condition can attract the observation of the God of Infinity ? Go back, my afflicted brethren, to the poor sufferer in the text, and reflect on the circumstances in which you find him ; — remem- ber, that over him and over his deserted fate, the eye of Providence was yet watchful ; — that, ere his birth, the circumstances of his sufTering 246 CONSOLATIONS IN MISFORTUNE and his reward were designed ; — and that, from this obscure and nameless being, the providence of God hath brought instruction and comfort to every age and generatioa of mankind. Whatever, then, be the abode to which you return, go, my brethren, with the belief, that there the same God is present ; — that no event h^s happened there, without his permission and appointment; — that to you, the same Saviour is sent who was sent unto him ; — that, to the eye of faith, his gospel presents more glorious prospects than those which opened upon the eyes of the blind ; — and that, for the same purpose he comes to you, as he came to him, that, in the restoration of your afflicted souls, the love and the power of your Saviour may be made manifest. Do you tremble, in the second place, (with a fear but too closely allied to affliction,) that for your sorrows there is no remedy? — that hope arises no more for you, and that there is no power in nature which can give you again what you have lost. Come, my desponding brethren, to the recollection of the memorable event we are considering. Nothing that you can experience is so lost, so hopeless, so apparently impossible, as the bestowing of sight upon " one that was born '^ blind," and yet all this was done. There is, then, a pov/er in nature, which can relieve all the sufferings of the human soul ; — there is a Father in nature, who permits the afflictions of the inno- cent, only that he may relieve them by greater joy. These are the lessons which this important AFFORDED BY THE GOSPEL, 24/ incident teaches ; and there is no calamity of suf- fering nature to which they do not apply. Is it under the loss of health or of strength that you labour, iny brethren, and are age and disease com- ing upon you " like an armed man ?" There is, in the universe of God, another state of being ; a being where pain, and age, and death, are un- known ; and to this state you are permitted to aspire. — Is it under the loss of fortune that you grieve, my brethren, under the neglect and forget- fulness of an idle world, and under all the secret sorrows with which poverty loads misfortune? The hand which opened the eyes of the blind, points out to you a state of a different kind ; a state where there are other eyes than the careless eyes of man ; — where there are treasures w hich admit of no corruption ; — where the virtues which have been nourished in secret, will be rewarded openly ; — and where the noblest distinction will be that of those who have ^^ continued patiently in doing ^* well.'' Is it the loss of friends, my brethren, that you lament ; of those whom nature and virtue has made dear, and who have wound themselves around your souls by all the ties of habit and of love ? It is a case where tears are due ; — it is the case over which, and which alone, the tears of the Son of God himself fell, and the sorrow is sacred which he has authorized. Yet, my bre- thren, let it never be forgotten, that it is he wlio wept who himself provides the remedy for your 248 CONSOLATIONS IN MISFORTUNE tears. It is for you that he opens the eyes of him who was born blind, — to shew you, that eve- ry thing that appears impossible to yon is pos- sible unto him ; it is for you that he himself passes before your eyes, through the valley and shadow of death, that he may shew you that it leads only into the sanctuary of God ; — and it is for you, and your consolation, that he returns again among those whom he had loved, to shew you, that death will not separate you for ever from those you have lost ; — that the affections of virtuous love are as immortal as the being that feels them ; — and that where he and they are, you may hope, in one great hour, to be, and to be for ever reunited with them. Do you fear, in the last place, my brethren, with a timidity inseparable from affliction, that you are unworthy of these hopes ; — that your days of obedience and exertion are gone, and that you have nothing now to offer to heaven, but the ruins of a frail and of an useless being ? Come again, my brethren, and look upon the situation of the poor sufferer in this story. Nothing surely in human form was ever more sunk or more useless for all the usual purposes of life, and yet it is in these very circumstances that the greatness and the usefulness of his mind is found. It was that secret piety which the eye of the world could not see, which distinguished him in the eye of the Almighty ; — it was that fervent AFFORDED BY THE GOSPFX. 249 confidence in the God of Israel, which brou£;ht the Saviour of the world to his relief ; — it was the humility of his sublime submission, which has made him of more usefulness to mankind, tlian all who ever yet filled the tiirones, or awakened the admiration of a lower world. Whatever then, may be the homes to wiiich you return, carry with you, my afflicted hrethren, the remembrance of hi^ virtues. If it be not in the light and sun- shine of life that you are now to act, believe that there arc virtues belonging to solitude and to shade; and that, wherever virtue can be exerted, there honour can be won. Believe, that in the '' si2:ht of him who secth in secret," the tear of submission is sacred, and the prayer for assist- ance is heard ; — that there is a blessedness which belongs to those that mourn ; — aud that the sor- rows of the innocent lead " to that purity of ^^ heart which shall see God ;" — believe, still more, that (while you are unconscious of it) there is yet an angel present in the ^' troul)led waters" of your soul ; that from your humble and pious re- signation, the world around you will receive more profound instruction, than from all the activity of your prosperous years ; aud that, even in the depth of your closet, your prayers may bring down a blessing upon your children, and lead them and your household unto salvation. Return, then, my brethren of affliction, to the dwellings which your father has assigned you, 32 250 CONSOLATIONS IN MISFORTUNE, &c, with all the consolations of your Saviour upon your souls. Wherever you return, there are duties that yet await you ; and wherever, in his family, there are duties to he performed, there is happiness to be gained. Return with that faith which is able not only to overcome the world, but to overcome all its woes ; — with the belief, that no being that God hath made is absent from his care, or indifferent to his Wve ; — with the belief, that there are no wounds which he cannot heal, — no sorrows which he cannot cure, — no friends whom he cannot restore. Return still more, my brethren, with the high belief, that, to your eyes, the great veil of nature is rent in twain ; that to you is opened a new Heaven and a new Earth ; a scene where the pilgrimage of time is to close, where all the kind affections of domestick and of social love will be restored ; where from every pious eye the hand of God will wipe away eveiy tear that it has slied, and where, in the great conclusion of existence, " the works ^^ of God will be made manifest in the reign of ^•^ wisdom, and knowledge, and joy." And may the God of all consolation go along with you to all your abodes ; — may the Spirit that proceedeth from him, confirm your faith, and strengthen your hope, and settle your submission ! — and, when the years of your trial and your darkness are past, may your eyes open upon the Saviour you have loved, and upon the friends you have lost ! SERMON XXI. ON THE FAST, FEBRUARY, 1811 Romans xii. 21. *• Be not overcome of evil ; but overcome evil with good." Again, my brethren, we are assembled by the command of the Throne, in one of tJie most s(demii of our religious duties ; to liumblc ourselves before the God of the universe, and, in the midst of na- tional calamity, to implore His blessing upon our councils and our arms. Year follows year, but none of them brings with it any promise of peace, or any pause from tlie miseries of war ; and tlie wings of time, heavily as they pass by us, are still wet with human tears, and still drop with human blood. There are yet more striking circumstances, which the hours in which we meet bring almost involun- tarily into our remembrance. The whole Christian world are, at this season, united in the common service of penitence and meditation j — the gates of every church are open *^ 252 ON THE FAST, 1811. to the contrite and the sorrowful ; — fiora a thou- sand languages, one uniform voice of prayer and of repentance reaches the ear of Heaven ; — and it is in this sacred season tliat ambition is preparing its plans, and war meditating its progress ; — and that, to gratify the insatiable avidities of conquest, every guilt and every wo is to be let loose upon the unoffending race of man, and ^^ the earth again *^ to be covered with violence and blood." It is at this season, too, that the spring of nature is re- turning; that the sun is rising in his strength ; and that the breath of Heaven is blowing to awaken, over the universe, all the various family of its love ; — and it is at this beneficent season, that man is advancing to the work of desolation ; — that no sympathy with Heaven softens his ruthless heart ; — that the march of armies is to tread upon all the prodigality of Providence ; — and that the dark atrocity of ambition relents not (while it calculates its numbers) at the thousands of human souls whom it is to send, ere the seasou expires, to their final and their unprepared account. If, of such miseries, we, my brethren, were the authors ; — if it was our ambition or injustice which created this dark catalogue of crime ; — if it were the dread lusts of power, or of wealth, wliich now unsheathed the sword of this country, whatever might be the triumphs that the vulgar tongue might tell, or the vulgar ear receive, the language of this place at least, must ever have been of a different ON THB FAST, 1811. :2ia kind. The voice of the Cxospel mingles with hesi- tation with the voice of war, and when the avarice oi* ambition of nations sends forth, amid a peaceful world, " tlie flame of the sword, and tlie lightning of *^the spear,' 'tlie only lanii;uage in which religion can express itself, is tlie plaintive, but awful language of the prophet. '" Blow the trumpet in Zion, sanc- " tify a fast, eall a solemn assembly. Gather the ^' people ; sanctify the congregation ; assemble " the elders, and the children, and they that sack '* the breast : and let tlie priests, and the ministers "of the Lord, weep between the porch and the ^^ altar, and let them say, Spare thy people, O ^^Lord. and give not thy heritage to reproach;" and even, while the world was resounding with the shonts of victory and of triumph, the only prayer which religion could pronounce, would be the nielanclioly one of contrition and of sorrow. " Turn thou us, O God of goodness, and we shall "be turned. Be yet favourable to thy people, " who turn to thee in weeping, and fasting, and " prayer. — Turn us, O God of hosts, from all the " evil of our ways ; shew the light of thy counte- " nance, and we shall yet be whole." Tt is, however, T trust, my brethren, under very diferent circumstances that we are now assem- bled ; and that it is with a less trembling voice, thit we may now present our prayers unto Heaven. Whatever was the occasional origin of that war in which we have so long been engaged ; — whatever 254 ON THE FAST, 1811, were the views of statesmen or of legislators ;-— whatever even may have been the errours or the guilt of its conduct, I yet trust I may say, that, upon our part, upon the part of the people of this country, it has never had any otlier object or end than that of justice and of necessity. It lias been a war which we souglit not, and which we were unable to avoid ; a war, in which we had nothing to acquire, but every thing to preserve ; — a war, in which we have combated not for wealtli, or fame, or dominion, butfor independence, for liber- ty, and for existence ; — it has been a war, (in a higher view) in which we have combated, not only for ourselves, but for the injured and the oppress- ed of every people ; in which we have forgot every national animosity when the cry of tlieir misery approached us ; and in which we have not hesitated to pour the best blood of our country, that we might loose the bands of wickedness, and ^•^undo the heavy burdens, and bid the oppressed " go free," and break the iron yoke which the arm of conquest has so long imposed upon a pros- trate world. — It has been a war (in its highest view) of moral principle against immoral power ; — in which we have combated for all the laws of nature and of humanity ; — in which we have gone forth as the champions of the human race ; and shrunk not from the sacrifice of our treasure or our blood, that we might stem the torrent of ini- quitous ambition, and restore the reign of freedom ON THE FAST, 1811. 25i» and of happiness to mankind. These, and these alone, have been the objects of the people of this country. Amid the darkest hours which the modern world has seen, they have felt what was due to themselves, and to the situation in which the Providence of Heaven has placed them ; — they have felt that to them, and to them only, was committed the sacred fire of truth and liber- ty ;— they have held it yet (I thank God) with a firm and unwavering hand ; and they will still hold it (I trust in his Providence) until its radi- ance shall break through all the clouds that in- volve it, and restore the light and life of moral day to a dark and to a suffering world. In such circumstances, my brethren, and in such a contest, the language of this place ought not to be that of despondence or of fear. The appropriate language is that of the apostle; "be " not overcome of evil ; but overcome evil with « good." Be satisfied, that, amid the sufferings and the calamities of nature, the same guardian Providence reigns, as amid its prosperities and its peace; — be assured, that it is in the midst of suffering and of trial, that every thing that is good, and every thing that is great in the human mind, is awakened, and brought forth ; — be con- fident that, in the lofty designs of Heaven, evil shall ever be overcome with good, and that, in the spirit of religious faith, there is a " might " which can overcome the world," and make the 256 ON THE FAST, 1811. mind of man superiour to every evil that can assail liim. Such w?is the high language which the apostle used to the early Christians, in the disastrous and hopeless days of their weakness and persecution. The doctrine was believed, and the prophecy was fulfilled. They met the evils of their days with the faith and the obedience that became them ; — their meek but majestick spirit overcame the world that persecuted them ; — and, ere long, the cross of their Master was raised, upon every spot where the martyr had perished in the flame. It is in such principles, my brethren, and in such an example, that we best can learn the in- struction which this day both requires and aifords. However diiferent may be the sufferings or the calamities to which we are exposed, nature, and the God of nature, are the same ; and if we have the magnanimity not to suffer ourselves ^^ to be " overcome with evil," we may trust in the same Providence, that He is able " to overcome every *^evil with good.'' 1. Are you then overcome, my brethren, (in hours of calamity like the present) with the dread, that the affairs of men are left to chance and time ? — and that, in the hours of national dis- tress, no guardian providence is present ? I ask you not to raise your eye to the universe which surrounds you, to mark that silent but unceasing order, "in which not a sparrow falleth to the ON THE FAST, 1811. 25? « ground, without the knowledge" of him that made it; — I ask you not to recal to yourselves the history of revelation, and to see, from the cradle of tlie infant world, the care of a paternal Deity unfoldins; itself with increasing and progressive radiance ; — 1 ask you only to lay your hands U{)on your own hearts, — to ask yourselves, whether there be any situation of difficulty or of calamity that can happen to man, which has not its assigned and correspondent duty ? — whether there be any exigency of private or of publick li^e, where conscience doth not follow us? — and. whetlipv there be any scene of time so deserted and so dark, where the inspiration of the Almighty doth not tell us, what He demands, and what man expects of us ? If this be the great fact of our nature, there is then no dominion of chance ; — there is no possible situation of suffering which is not foreseen and provided (or. In the presence of conscience, we live in the presence of Heaven : — and the voice which speaks to man, in " the " still small voice'' of his own heart, is the same which speaks to the angel and the archangel, from amid the sapphire blaze of the eternal throne. 2. Are you overcome, my brethren, in another view, in the usual effeminacies of prosperity, with the fear that adversity has no compensations ; and that, in the hours of hardship and of trial, there is nothing but wretchedness and wo ? Rise 33 258 ON THE FAST, 1811. for a moment, 1 beseech yon, from the couch of ignoble pleasure, and look with the eye of men upon the world that passes, and the world that has passed you. It has many scenes to shew you of greatness and of glory ; — scenes where your heai't throbs when you contemplate the capacities and the energies of your nature;— and where you feel that man is " indeed but a little lower than ^' the angels," and that his nature is " made for ^* glory and for honour." What then are those scenes ? — and where is it that your eye finds with transport the examples it has wished ? Is it not in the situations of suffering and of hardship ? —amid the scenes where every base and selfish interest was forgot, and the generous bosom knew no motives but those of private or of pub= lick beneficence; — amid the scenes where even higher motives reigned, — and where the saint and the martyr disdained the cross and the flame, to execute the lofty commission which Heaven had assigned them. Where is it, in the game manner, that your regards rest, when you peruse the annals of mankind ? Oh ! not upon the scenes of affluence and prosperity ; — not upon the sun- shine scenes where every virtue withers, and every energy is dissolved ; — but upon the dark and stormy scenes, where freedom sprung, and patriotism glowed, and every energy of nature was called forth, and all the noblest passions of the human bosom were awakened ; apd where, in ON THE FAST, 1811* 259 the midst of hardship and of suffering, a deeper happiness was enjoyed, than ever yet fell to tlie lot of ease and of security. It is thus that evil is only the minister of good ; — it is thus that, even in its darkest aspect, the chastisements of Heaven are only the chastisements of a father ; and that, amid the tears and the sufferings of his children, they are hardened only to the vigour and to the majesty of manhood. 3. Are you overcome, in the last view, my brethren, with the fear that evil has attained its dominion ? that the present calamities of time are incapable of remedy ; and that the world is sink- ing into age and degeneracy ? Look, my brethren of little faith, at the material world around you, and say, has its order, and the beneficence of its order failed ? — have storms or tempests quenched the light of day ? — have seed-time and harvest for- got to return ? — and has the sun of Heaven become wearied in his path, and ceased to pour life and light^upon a grateful world ? Look to the history of the moral world, from its first fee hie and barba- rous cradle, to the hour in which it now resounds with the tread of hostile men, and say, has evil alone had the dominion there ? — has nothing but the guilt of the tyrant and the conqueror been suc- cessful ? — has no progress been made in this long period, in knowledge, in arts, or in arms ? — has the cause of truth, of virtue, and of freedom never been victorious? — and has the historian of the hu- 260 ON THE FAST, 1811. man race only to record the pro,^resfiive decay of its powers, its knowledge, and its welfare? — No, my brethren, in the whole of this review, you see, on the contrary, that there is a power in nature, by which evil of every kind is controUed : and that, under its Almighty guidance, amid a! i the appa- rent calamities of time, the march of the human mind has been steady and progressive, to " wis- " dom, and knowledge, and joy." You see the occasional visitations of war and of calamity o[ie- rating upon the moral world, like the occasional visitations of the storm and the tempest upon the material world ; and ending in purifying the moral atmosphere, and invigorating the powers of moral vegetation. From amid all the temporary depres- sions of the human race, you see them permanent- ly emerging into firmer power, and more enlight- ened splendour; — the harvest of the husbandman waving over the field which conquest had wet with the blood of his fathers ; the hand of the freeman pointing witli exultation to the mouldering tomb TV here the race of his tyrants and his oppressors repose ; — and the voice of the Gospel carrying glad tidings to many a people who had ^' long sat in ^^ darkness, and beneath the shadow of death," " There have been many devices in the heart of ^^ man ; but the counsel of God hath stood, and " will stand for ever." If such, my brethren, be the magnificent system in which we live ; if there be a moral power in na- ON THE FAST, 1811. 261 ture, which makes evil only the minister of his will, and which is able to " overcome every evil " with good," it is in elevating ourselves to confi- dence in this mighty system, that we best can dis- charge the duties of this day. We have long enjoyed all the blessings of na- tional prosperity ; and it has been " in secure " habitations, and amid quiet resting places," that the Providence of Heaven has given us, for a long time, our repose. We are now summoned to se- verer duties, and are to meet with darkir scenes. The Sovereign of the universe hath called us to the noblest office which he accords to the ministra- tion of men, to be the guardians of human nature, and of human welfare. To our care he hath com- mitted the present fortunes of tiie moral world ; and whether they are to expire beneath the grasp of ambition, or to waken again to life and liberty, seems now to depend upon the wisdom of our councils, and the valour of our arms. There is something, my brethren, ever anima- ting to the human heart in the approach of great duties ; but there is something still more animating in the approach of those loftier duties to which we are summoned by the voice of Heaven ; when we are called to march beneath the banners of Provi- dence ; and when we feel ourselves acting as the ministers of its will in the improvement or renova- tion of the world. It is in the belief of this lofty commission, that the inhabitants of this country 262 ON THE FAST, 1811. should on this day be assembled. — It is in the prayer for assistance to execute it, that the hours of this day should be employed ; and, heavy as the darkness may be which hangs upon the future, it is in firm reliance upon the wisdom and benevo- lence of Him who leads us, that we should rise from our knees, and advance undaunted into the darkness and the dangers that may await us. Even if we perish in such a cause, we shall at least perish with glory, and in the field of our duty. The sound of our fall will waken from their slumber the prostrate nations that surround us ; and from our ashes the breath of Heaven will kindle, in some future day, that avenging flame, which is destined to penetrate, and to purify the Avorld. If such then be the auspices under which we advance, — if such be the ends we pursue, — let not the heart of this country shrink from the dangers to which it is still exposed, or from the hardships it may be yet doomed to endure. Every thing that is animating, — every thing that is commanding in nature, are with us. The Providence of Heaven calls us, not only " not to be overcome with evil, ^* but to overcome it with good." The shades of our ancestors beckon us to follow them in the path of freedom and of honour ; — the uplifted hands of nations implore us to free tliem from their chains, and to restore them to the liberty and the dignity of man. In so high a contest, be the struggles or the hardships that are to await us what they may, there ON THE FAST, 1811. 263 is yet glory ia encountering tliem ; and I trust, that, even at this hour, there is not one British heart that would exchange the perilous but majes- tirk attitude in which his country stands, for the liollow security of any insidious peace, or the base tranquillity of ignominious submission. Nor is it to be forgotten, my brethren, in our calculations of the future, that there is an advantage which vice itself ever gives to the virtue which opposes it ; and that the elTorts of guilt to defend itself, are ever destined, by the benevolent laws of our nature, to add to its crimes and its dangers. In the history of the dark and tremendous power that opposes us, who is there that has not read this awful progress ? The mask of hypocrisy has long fallen ; — the features, the well-known features, of tyranny are descried even by the slaves who serve it ; — and the weight of military despotism sinks every hour with heavier pressure upon the people themselves that created it. Year after year, iu that great but wretched country, either takes some- thing from the happiness of private life, or adds something to publick suffering. All that once distinguished it is gone ; — the gay and harmless intercourse of social life is forbidden ; — the voice of publick information or instruction is silenced ; '- — the spy and the informer glide into the sacred privacies of domestick confidence ; — and from the arms of the mother, the children of her love or of ter widowhood are torn, that they may swell the 264 ON THE FAST, 1811. ra.iiks of armies, whose banners she dare not fol- low with her prayers. Within these few months, ray bretliren, a new and more gigantick step has been marie. The commerce of the world is to be susnended : — 'he proij;ress of every nation to wealth and to independence is to be stopt ; — the projects of insane ambition are to be pursued, not by the bravery with which its armies can act, but by the tameness with which its subjects can suf- fer; — and the world around is to return to a wil- derness, that one impious throne may be establish* ed upon the ruins of all the former honours of- liuma?>Hy.* There is a limit, my brethren, to human suffer- ance, and there is an hour in oppression, when resolution springs from despair. To that hour, to tha' avenging hour, time and nature are ap- preaching, i' The cup of bitterness is full, and ^^ there is a drop which will make it overflow." Unmarked as it may be, amid the blaze of mili- tary glory, the dread hand is yet " writing on the " wall" the sentence of its doom ; and however late may be its arrival, the hour is yet steadily approaching, when ^^evil will be overcome with " ^ood ;" — and when the life blood of an injured world will collect at the heart, and, by one con- vulsive eifort, throw off the load that has oppress- ed it. * The " Continental System" was now in fore?. ON THE FAST, 1811. 26o While these are the dark and ominous scenes that are passing around us, there is, to the people of this country, in the present hour, a spectacle presented l)y the beneficence of Heaven, of a very diiferent kind. The clouds that so long have hung around the throne have dissolved ; — the prayers of a loyal people have been heard ; — and our aged sovereign again comes forward from be- hind the veil of misfortune, to ascend his ancient throne, and to meet that glad acclaim, which but lately placed the crown of patriot glory upon his grey hairs, and which the ear of the tyrant and the despot is never destined to know. May it be the omen of better days ! With him may the reign of order, of justice, and of freedom return among mankind ! May the last years of his reign experience again all the glory and pros- perity in which it began : And may his paternal eyes not close for ever, until he sees that his peo- ple CANNOT be overcome; but that, in the spirit of their country and their faith, they are able to ^' overcome evil with good.'^ 34 SERMON XX. ON WINTER, AS THE SEASON OF SOCIAL AMUSEMENT. Psalm Ixxxiv. 5, 6- " Blessed are tJie men, who going through the vale of misery, use it for a well ; and the pools are filled with water." The words of the text contain, in tlieir moral view, one of the most beautiful allusions which is to be found even in the sacred poetry of the Psalmist. They allude to that similitude, so natural to an eastern imagination, of the course of human life to a journey through the sandy desert ; — and they represent the scenes of joy and amusement with which life is interspersed, ^^ as the green vales of ^' the desert, in whicli water springs," and where the weary traveller may find a temporary repose. But they represent still more beautifully, in their moral view, what is the duty of that traveller ; — not to linger around these fountains of ease and joy, but to use them only as for a well, to revive his exhausted strength, — to invigorate his pur- ON WINTER, &c. 267 posed resolutious, — and to send liim forward " renewed iu his mind,'' on his great journey to the promised land. I am led, my brethren, to this application of the beautiful allusion in the text, by the circumstances of the time in which we meet. — AYhile the annual season of education and business has begun, there has, at the same time, still more lately, begun among lis the annual season of pleasure and amusement. The young, the gay, and the opulent, are now preparing to enliven the winter of our year with artificial joys, and are looking forward to days of social mirth, and innocent festivity. It is a mo- ment which a benevolent mind cannot look to "without a kind of melancholy interest. Even in. the midst of his sympathy with the mirth of the innocent and the young, his heart will be sad with the memory of former days ; — when he remembers those, now lost to fame, to honour, and to happi- ness, who once entered life with hearts as gay, and minds as innocent ; — and when he thinks, that, in the bright circle of those he sees, there will, too surely, be some, whom tiiis season of gayety will lead to errour and to folly, and who will live one day to curse their fiital entrance upon that scene which now they think prodigal only of joy and happiness. It is under this impression that r now wish to submit to the young of our congregation, some very simple observations ; and ere they advance upon the road even of innocent 268 ON WINTEH, amuseraent, to lay before them some of the dan- gers which await the inordinate love of it. 1. It were unjust and ungrateful to conceive that the amusements of life are altogether forbid by its beneficent Author. They serve, on the con- trary, important purposes in the economy of human life, and are destined to produce irapoi'tant effects, both upon our happiness and character. They are, in the first place, in tiie language of the Psalmist, ^^ the wells of the desert ;" the kind resting-places in which toil may relax, in which the weary spirit may recover its tone, and where the desponding mind may reassume its strength and its hopes. — They are, in another view, of some importance to the dignity of individual cha- racter. In every thing we call amusement, there is generally some display of taste and of imagina- tion, — some elevation of the mind from mere ani- mal indulgence, or the baseness of sensual desire. Even in the scenes of relaxation, therefore, they have a tendency to preserve the dignity of human character, and to fill up the vacant and unguarded hours of life with occupations innocent at least, if not virtuous. But their principal effect, perhaps, is upon the social character of man. Whenever amusement is sought, it is in the society of our brethren ; and whenever it is found, it is in our sympathy with the happiness of those around us. It bespeaks the disposition of benevolence, and it creates it. When men assemble, accordingly, for AS A SEASON OF AMUSExMENT. 269 the purpose of general happiness or joy, tliey ex- hibit to the tlioughtful eye, one of the most pleas- ing appearances of their original character. They leave behind tliem, for a time, the faults of their station and the asperities of their temper ; — they forget the secret views, and the selfish purposes of their ordinary life, and mingle with tlic crowd around them with no other view than to receive and to communicate happiness. It is a spectacle which it is impossible to observe without emotion ; and, while the virtuous man rejoices at that evi- dence which it affords of the benevolent constitu- tion of his nature, the pious man is apt to bless the benevolence of that God, who thus makes the wil- derness and the solitary place be glad, and whose wisdom renders even the hours of amusement sub- servient to the cause of virtue. S. It is not, therefore, my brethren, the use of the innocent amusements of life which is danger- ous, but the abuse of them ; — it is not when they are occasionally, but when they are constantly pursued ; when the love of amusement degene- rates into a passion, and when, from being an oc- casional indulgence, it becomes a habitual desire. What the consequences of this inordinate love of amusement are, I shall now endeavour very briefly to shew you. When we look, in a moral view, to the ctmse- quences of human pursuits, we are not to stop at the precise aud immediate effects which they may 270 ON WINTER, seem to have upon character. It is chiefly I y the general frame of mind they produce, and the habi- tual dispositions they create, that we are to deter- mine whether their influence is fortunate or unfor- tunate on those who are engaged in them. Jn every pursuit, whatever gives strength and energy to the mind of man, experience teaches to he fa- vourable to the interests of piety, of knowledge, and virtue ; — in every pursuit, on the contrary, what- ever enfeebles or limits the powers of mind, the same experience every where shews to be hostile to the best interests of human nature. If it is in this view we consider the effects of the habitual love even of the most innocent amusement, we shall find that it produces necessarily, for the hour in which it is indulged, an enfeebled and dependent frame of mind ; that in such scenes energy resolves, and resolution fades ; — that in the enjoyment of the present hour, the past and the future are alike forgotten ; and that the heart learns to be satisfied with passive emotion, and momen- tary pleasure. It is to this single observation, my young friends, that I wish at present to p- py, could raise our minds to these high medita- tions ; and that, while we listened, in the hours of solitude, to the instructions of Revelation, we would listen also, in our common hours, to the kindred instructions of Nature. It is sucii habits of thought that best incorporate religion with our souls ; — that make us see the Eeity in every scene we visit, and every appearance we behold; — and convert the world, in which the ignorant and the thoughtless perceive only the reign of chance and time, into the temple of the living and the present God. Of the innumerable eyes that open upon nature, none but those of man see its author and its end. There is something very solemn in this mighty privilege. It is the privilege of a being not made to perish with Time, and formed, in some greater hour, to know him who inhabiteth Eterni- ty. It is the privilege, still more, of that be- ing, whom, amid the clouds and darkness of this 286 ON WINTER, &c. lower world, the Son of God came in mercy to seek and to save. Let then, my brethren, the storms of winter blow, and the rains of Heaven descend. While every inferiour nature shrinks from their approach, let us meet them as the signs of the same good- ness, which brings forth tlie promises of spring, and fulfils the hopes of the harvest ; — let us see them, as the evidence of that wisdom, which makes momentary evil the source of final good, and which can make the tears which mortality sheds, in a greater state, to be reapt in joy. What- ever may be the natural or moral appearances which we behold, let us never forget that the same Almighty mind reigns amid them all ; — that to the wise and the virtuous " all things are '^ working together for good ;" and that, amid the winter of our moral nature, that mind is formed, and those dispositions are nursed, which are to re-awaken, under the influence of a greater spring ; and to exist when the revolutions of nature are past, and when time itself shall be no more. ^im -'T'^'^-w^- SERMON XXU. ON TIIE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, JANUARY 13, 1814. St. Matthew xvii. 4. " Then answered Peter, and said unto Jesus, Lord, it is good for us to be liere : if thou wilt, let us make liere three tabernacles, one for thee, and one for IVloses, and one for Elias." These words were spoken in a moment of deep astonishment and s^ratitude. Onr Saviour, as we read, had carried up his three disciples, without any previous preparation for the mighty scene that was to follow, " into an high mountain, apart " hy themselves, and was then transfigured be- " fore them. And his face did shine as the '^ sun ; and his raiment was as white as light : '^ And behold there appeared unto them Moses " and Elias talking with Him." It was then that Peter broke out into those words, that so faithfully express the tumult of his astonished but grateful mind : " Lord, it is good for us to be here ; and, *' if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles, " one for thee, and one for Moses, aad one for « Elias.'' 288 ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. It is with some such mingled sentiments of astonishment and of thankfu.ness, that the people of this country must assemble in the service of this grateful day. After long years of doubt and of darkness, after hopes long deferred, and prayers long unanswered, the dawn of brighter years seems rising upon the world. The waves of the deluge are retiring; — the green hills appear ; — the dove of peace seems approaching «s with the olive branch upon her wings ; — and the radiant sign of mercy from above is glowing in the clouds ofKeav^n. In such moments of wonder and of joy, I feel that the duties of this place cannot be performed. I bow my head before the throne of God in deep, (and I could wish in silent) thank- fulness. And I dare only present to you a few hasty and disturbed reflections, which your own meditation must improve. What the blessings are, for which we are now assembled in thankfulness before God, the most careless eye must see, and the simplest tongue can tell. The departed year rose upon us in the midst of calamity and gloom. While the great contest was as yet doubtful, upon which the fate of the social world depended, the miseries of want and of war were settling every day more deeply over our own land. The usual channels of its industry were obstructed ; — the sounds of labour and of joy began to cease in our streets ; — the character even of our people begau to change 5— • OF THE GEXERAL THANKSGIVING, 1811. 289 and, amid the gloom tliat gathered around the poor mau's heart, new and unheard of crimes arose, and the peaceful habitations of men began to be tilled with violence and with blood. How diiJereut are the scenes with which this auspicious year begins ! — The great conflict of the social world is over : — The mighty are fallen ; and the weapons of war have perished. — The cry of freedom bursts from the unfettered eartli ; and the banners of victory wave in all the winds of heaven. Again, in every corner of our own land, the voice of joy and of gladness is heard. The cheerful sounds of labour rise again from our streets, and the dark ocean b gins again to bright- en with our sails. Over tliis busy scene of hu- man joy, the g nial influences of Heaven have descended. The unclouded sun of summer has ripened for us all the riches of the harvest. The God of nature hath crowned the year with his goodness, and all things living are filled with plenteousness. Who is there that has not felt the blessings of the year? Even the infant, while he partakes, unconsciously, of the general joy, lifts his innocent hands to that Heaven from which he sees come all tie hopes of man ; and the aged man, when he remembers the sufferings of former years, is apt to say with the good old Simeon in the gospel, ** Lord, now let thy servant depart in *' peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.'' 87 '290 ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. But there are other, and more geaeriil subjects of thankfulness, my brethren, which oij;^ht now to occupy our minds. In this solemn liour we seem to be conducted by the hand of Kiaven, like the disciples of old, unto an higii mounlaiii, from which we may look down upon the darkened world we have left, and upwards to those scenes where Heaven is displaying its glory. The im- ages of the past, and of the future, are thronging around us ; and, wherever we turn, tliere are new subjects of gratitude that arise before us. 1. Our first subject of thankfulness on this day, is for our Country ; that she has survived all the dangers which threatened her ; — that she has ful- filled the lofty duty to which the will of the Al- mighty has called her. Dear even to the savage heart is the land of his fathers ; — dear to the cit- izen of civilized ages are the institutions of nation- al wisdom, and the monuments of national glory ; — but upon no human heart did the claims of his country ever fall so deep and so irresistible, as they now do upon the citizen of this country. Other nations have preceded her in the road of arts and arms ; — other nations have wreathed around their brows the laurels of science, and the palms of victory : But the high destiny to which she ba$ of late been called, no other nation has ever shar- ed with her ; and all the glories of former times fade before the moral splendour which now encir- cles her. She has been called to suard the for- ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. 291 tunes of tlie human race ; to preserve, amid her waves, the sacred flame tliat was to relume the world ; and, like the cherubini that watclied the gates of paradise, to turn every way her flaming sword against tlie foes of God and man. These were her duties, and nolily has she fulfilled them. Through every dark, and every disastrous year ; — while nation after nation sunk around her ; — while monarchs bent their imperial heads beneath the yoke, and the pulse of moral nature seemed to stand still in ignominious terrour, — She alone hath stood, insensible to fear, and incapable of sulunission. It is her hand, that, amid the dark- ness of tlie storm, hath still steadfastly pointed the road to liberty ; it is her treasures which have clothed every trembling people with armour for the combat ;— it is her sons, (her gallant sons!) who have rushed into the van of battle, and first broke the spell that paralyzed the world ; and, in these recent days, it is her commanding voice that has wakened the slumbering nations of mankind, and sent them on their glorious march, conquering and to conquer. — And now, my brethren, in the hour of her triumph, — now, when all that is brave or generous in the human race bow before her, — where is she to be found ? And what is the atti- tude in which she presents herself to her children ? — Oh, — not in the attitude of human pride, or human arrogance ; — not with the laurels of victo- ry upon her brow, or with troops of captives fol- 292 OX THE GENERAL THANKSGIVIN^G, 1R14. lowing hev cliari( t wheels : — It is in the attitude of pious thankfulness ; with hands uplifted in praise, and eyes downcast in gratitude ; — it is before the Eternal Throne that she bctws her victorious head, and casts her crown of glory upon the ground, and calls her children to kneel aloug with her, and to praise the Father of Nature that he hath selected her to be the instrument of his raercy to mankind. These rae triumphs to wliicli the his- tory of the world has no parallel. In the long line of her splendour, what hour is to be compared with this ? Which of us does not feel somewhat of her glory to be reflected upon our own heads? And what British heart is tlere which does not pray that such may be ever her name, and her character among mankind ? 2. From your own country, my brethren, turn your eyes, in the second place, to the world around you ; observe the prospects that are now opening upon the human race ; aud say, whether there be not here a new subject of thankfulness to Heaven. The years which we have seen have been years of no common apprehension or despondence. It was not with the usual features of publick dis- tress they were marked, — by riches dissipated, or provinces lost, or armies defeated ; — it was by features of a deeper hue, and of a more terrifick form. Through the whole social system a spirit of moral disorder had gone forth, which seemed to threaten the dissolution of society itself. Be- &N THE GENERAL TIIANKSCIVIIVC, 1814, 293 fore the gigantick march of violence and of ambi- tion, the human head seemed every where to bow, and the human heart to lose its energy. Kings sunk from their thrones, and nations sur- rendered their liberties. The occupations of in- dustry ceased; — the intercourse of natio^ was arrested ; — and men seemed quietly to resign themselves to poverty and to suffering, that one arrogant nation might rule, and one impious mind triumph. It seemed, to our desponding eye, as if the old age of the human race had come, — as if the Sun of Righteousness was about to set amid the shadows of evening, and one long night overspread the moral world. These days, and these terrours, are past. The spirit of God hath again moved upon the face of the deep, and the order and the harmony of creation is again be- ginning to appear. The dread career of guilt and of ambition hath been run ; their temporary triumphs fade ; and the Eternal hand hath mark- ed the line whither they shall come, and no far- ther, and where their proud waves shall be staid. From every corner of the baptized world ; "from ^^ the east and from the west ; from the south and from the north," the warriours of justice and of freedom come. Their sovereigns even lead the way, and place the helmet upon their imperial brows, and march with their people into glorious battle. Beneath their victorious banners kings re-ascend their thrones, and, nations recover their 294 ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. liberties. The fetters fall from the hands of in- dustry ; the ocean echoes anew to the song of the mariner ; liberty and joy re-enter the poor man's dwelling ; and the voice of the mother is no longer weeping for the children, that have been torn from her arms to swell the hosts of a tyrant. Who is there anions; us, my brethren, that is admitted to witness this moral transfiguration, who doth not hear also the voice of God? and where is the country from which, in these blest days, the song of triumph does not rise, " The hosts of the guilty ^'are scattered, and the Lord God Omnipotent ^^ reigneth ?" 3. There is yet, however, my brethren, another subject of thankfulness upon this day. It is for the religious prospects that are opening upon man- kind, and for that renewed light with which the Pay Spring from on high is now rising upon the Christian world. Deep as hath been the gloom which so long has settled upon the societies of men, its most appalling feature hath been its impiety ; and when you trace the late miseries of mankind to their source, you will find them all to originate in that cold and cheerless spirit of Infidelity, which arose in the centre of European civilization ; — which dried up, as it spread, all the fountains of greatness, or of generosity in the human soul ; — and which, dis- solving all the obligations, and all the charities of life, ceased not till it had extinguished both the ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. 295 majesty of the throne and the sanctity of the altar. It was from this dense and pestilential vapour that that terrifick form arose, upon which, like the vision which appeared unto the prophet, the world for so many years has gazed with astonishment and with alarm. It was from hence that those impious hosts have issued, whose crimes and whose impieties have still more appalled mankind than their arms ; who warred not with the common guilt of men, against the wealth or the liberties of na- tions, but against all that man holds dear, or nations think holy ; — who struck tiie dagger of their enmi- ty, not into the bosoms but into the souls of the conquered ; — and who thought tlieir infernal tri- umph incomplete, until they had overthrown every altar at which human misery wept, and was com- forted. These days, too, are over. " He hath blown " with his wind, and they are scattered." The cross is again triumphant in the sky, and in its sign the faithful have conquered. The mi^ht of the gospel hath infused itself into the soldier's arm • and, while the foe is prostrate upon the ground' the mild, but thrilling voice, seems again to be heard from Heaven, "I am Jesus, whom thou per- *' secutest." — TJie days, indeed, are past, but their memory, my brethren, will never pass. They will remain to the last posterity to record the dread eiieets of infidelity upon Imman happiness, and upou human 296 ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. character. Tlie eyes of the most distant genera- tions will look back upon them and tremble ; and the parent of every future age, when he wishes to instruct his children in the importance of religion to human welfare, will point to thi? darkest page in tlie history of man, and they will weep, and be instructed. While these dread scenes are withdrawing from our view, how beautiful, on the other hand, and how welcome to every Christian heart, are the prospects that are now unfolding themselves ! The prospects of reviving Faith, and awakened Hope, and unfettered Charity. We seem to hear again, in our eventful days, the song that broke the silence of the night, to announce " glory to God, and on '^ earth peace, and good will to mankind." The high visions of Christian promise seem to open in long perspective before us. The years draw nigh '^ when all nations shall rest in secure habitations, ^^ and in quiet resting-places, and when there shall '^ be wars no more.'' We bend in thankfulness before the promises of our faith ; the events of time mingle with the prophecies of religion ; and we say, with new emotion, to the God who gave them, ^^ Thy kingdom come ! Thy will be done in earth '' as it is in Heaven !" Yes ! my brethren, it is good for us to be here. It is good for us, while all these blessings have descended upon our own land, to bow ourselves on this day, with all its inhabitants, before the God of ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. 297 our fathers. It is good for us, while all these pros- pects are opening upon the nations of the Christian World, to offer our praise as the iirst-fruits of hu- man gratitude ; and, as we have led them into the field of combat with the injustice of man, to lead them now into the temple of praise before the throne of Heaven. Yet of so great a day, who would not wish some monuments to remain ! — some memorials of thought and of emotion which might survive the hour tiiat awakens them ! — If these be our sentiments, my brethren, let us, in these moments, imitate the grateful feeling of the disciple. Let us, too, raise here three tabernacles in our bosoms : three altars, on which we may place the offerings of our grati- tude, and to which, whatever may be the aspect of future days, we may return to feel again the lofty sentiments of this. Let the first be raised to our Faith, to that fai^i " in which our fathers trusted and were holpen ; ^' which is able to overcome the world :" and in the mis;ht of which, men and nations are secure of immortal triumph. Let the next be raised to our Country ; to that country which so long has stood the landm?irk of the Iniman race, and against which " the winds " and the waves have beat in vain." Let our praise ascend to the statesmen who have guided her council* : — +0 the warriours who have w'elded her arms ;— and to that majestick People, who. 38 298 ON" THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1814. for SO many years, have borne every thing, that they mis^ht preserve the liberty which their fa- thers bequeathed them : And, though one sadden- ing reflection must dim the splendour of the day, though the Father of his People can no longer hear the voice of their praise, let not our gratitude yield to misfortune, but let the blessings of his assem- bled people fall this day upon his grey head, and precede the rewards of a greater world. Let the last be raised, my brethren, to Those who have Fallen in this mighty contest, to the memory of the young and the brave who have pur- chased, with their blood, the freedom of their country, and of mankind. — While the bones of that impious h«Kst, that defied the living God, lie scatter- ed over every foreign land, and whiten, unheeded, in the winds of winter, let their ashes be gathered with pious care, let their monuments rise among ev- ery people whom they have saved, and their names di-riify the annals of their country for ever. Over the hallowed page which records their valour, and their fall, let the aged of our people, in every future year, pour the tears that are due to the memories of the departed brave ; and thence let the young of our latest generations learn, what are the energies of British Freedom, and what the genuine path of British Glory. And Thou, " God of our fathers ; Thou, « who hast been their refuge in every former gen-