530 
 •Mil 
 
THE 
 
 MOUNTAINS OF THE BIBLE 
 
 SCENES AND THEIR LESSONS, 
 
 ay THt: 
 REV. JOHN M'FARLANE, LL.D. 
 
 GLASGOU-. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 
 No. 285 BROADWAY. 
 
 1849. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The history of this publication is a very common one. The 
 volume contains the substance of a series of Lectures which 
 the writer delivered in the ordinary course of his ministry, 
 upon each successive Sabbath during the winter 1847-48. 
 This will sufficiently account for any peculiarity of style that 
 may be observable. 
 
 The people among whom he has the happiness to labor, 
 have urged him to publish the Lectures ; and after some hesi- 
 tation, he has consented. They are now given to them and 
 to the world, from the same motive that led to their prepara- 
 tion for the pulpit — a desire to be useful. 
 
 The gloomy season during which these Lectures were de- 
 livered, will be long remembered as one of disaster and be- 
 reavement. The design wrought out in them, he has been 
 led to believe, accomplished the comforting and counselling 
 of not a few, who were walking " through the valley of the 
 shadow of death." It is his earnest prayer, that their pubH- 
 cation in this form may exceed the usefulness of their origi- 
 nal delivery. 
 
 The topographical descriptions of the Mountains are, of 
 course, the results of research into the works of other writers, 
 and especially of intelligent travellers. In some few instances, 
 in this section of the volume, the writer may not have ade- 
 quately acknowledged his obligations, as he parted with his 
 principal authorities before the purpose of pubhcation had 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 been formed. He has endeavored, however, to mark the 
 quotations as faithfully as he could. If any omissions of 
 this nature arc noticed, he trusts this explanation will be ac- 
 cepted. 
 
 Whoever opens this book in the hope of meeting with new 
 and erudite views, or with critical and metaphysical discussions, 
 must be disappointed. The object of the writer is to col- 
 lect, under one general designation, some of the more familiar, 
 but withal most important truths of the gospel, and to pre- 
 sent them in a plain, affectionate, and practical form, so that, 
 while he ministers to the understanding, the heart also may 
 be appealed to for its consent to sound doctrine. The Scenes 
 and Lessons of the Mountains of the Bible furnish ample and 
 fascinating materials for both objects ; and he hopes he has 
 been enabled, in however humble a measure, to avail himself 
 of these for the edification of the reader. 
 
 He now commits the work to Him who " despises not the 
 day of small things ;" and who will bless every sincere effort 
 to promote his glory by doing good to mankind. 
 
 Glasgow, 1st Dec, 1848. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Deluge, 
 
 III. 
 
 The Lessons, . . 
 
 
 MORIAH 
 
 Part I. 
 
 The Mountain, . 
 
 11. 
 
 The Trial, . 
 
 III. 
 
 The Improvement, 
 
 Pagk 
 
 Introduction, Y 
 
 ARARAT. 
 
 Part T. The Mountain, 18 
 
 . 22 
 30 
 
 45 
 
 48 
 58 
 
 HOREB. 
 
 Part I. The Mountain, 73 
 
 II. PoRTAiT OF Moses, . . . . . 78 
 
 III. The Burning Bush, . . . . 87 
 
 SINAI. 
 
 Part I. The Giving of the Law, . . . .98 
 
 II. The Ploclamations from Sinai, . . 106 
 
 HOR. 
 
 Part I. Passage in the Life of Aaron, . .122 
 
 II. The Death of the High Priest, . . 128 
 
 III. The Lessons from Hor, . . . .137 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PISGAH. 
 
 Page 
 
 Part I. The Death of the Lawgiver, . . 152 
 II. The Lessons from Pisgah, . . .157 
 
 GILBOA. 
 
 Part I. Portrait of David, . , . .1*74 
 
 II. The Lessons from Gilboa, . . .186 
 
 CARMEL. 
 
 Part I. The Mountain, 206 
 
 II. The Scene on Oarmel, .... 209 
 III. The Instructions from Carmel, . . 218 
 
 TABOR. 
 
 Part I. The Scenes on Tabor, .... 235 
 II. The Testimonies of Tabor, . . . 248 
 
 OLIVET. 
 
 Part I. The Precursors of the Agony, . . 267 
 II. The Nature and Concomitants of the 
 
 Agony, 274 
 
 III. The Causes of the Agony, . . . 283 
 
 IV. The Counsels of Olivet, .... 201 
 
 ZION. 
 
 Part I. The Public Worship of God, . . 300 
 
 II. The Beauties of the Ordinance, . . 307 
 
 III. The Blessings of the Ordinance,. . 318 
 
 ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Part I. The Future State of Blessedness, . . 328 
 
 II. The Privileges of Heaven, . . . 334 
 
 III. The Voice from Heaven, .... 345 
 
THE 
 
 MOUNTAINS OF THE BIBLE 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ALL SCRIPTURE PROFITABLE LANDS OF THE BIBLE INTEREST- 
 ING ITS MOUNTAINS INSTRUCTIVE MORAL RESPONSIBILITY 
 
 TO INDIVIDUAL ACTION. 
 
 Every pious mind admits the truth, and feels the 
 preciousness of these words of Paul to Timothy, — '' All 
 scripture is given by inspiration of God." This is, in- 
 deed, one of the Bible's wonderful testimonies. It is 
 also one of the Christian's " cities of refuge," into which 
 he escapes from sceptical suggestions and unbelieving 
 fears. He values it " more than gold, yea, than much 
 fine gold," and uses it as a reproof to the pride of 
 reason, as well as an encouragement to the work of 
 faith. It is impossible to overvalue the great truth as- 
 serted in it. At the same time, in this verse of scrip- 
 ture, another very notable, though, by reason of its 
 juxtaposition, not so very observable a doctrine, is em- 
 phatically stated, viz., that " all scripture is profitable." 
 This would seem to follow as a corollary from the 
 former, and so it does ; for, if aU scripture is inspired, 
 then it must be all useful. But many are inattentive 
 to this truth, and, in opposition to its exceedingly clear 
 statement, they think and act as if sonie portions of 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 scripture \Yere insignificant and required no searching. 
 The consequence is, that by them many Bible gems 
 are never discovered. Like the precious metals, these 
 lie somewhat out of the way, and, to be found and ap- 
 preciated, must be dug for in their own recesses, and 
 brought out to the light by the hand of the diligent. 
 
 All scripture is profitable, though it may not be all 
 of equal value to the interests of man as fallen and 
 guilty. The chronicles of the kings of Israel are not 
 so precious as the gospels of the evangelists, or the 
 church history of Ijuke the *' beloved physician." The 
 proverbs of Solomon do not contribute so much to 
 our spiritual instruction as the sermons of the Saviour 
 and the Pauline epistles. Still, in their own places, 
 as connected with the system of revealed truth, they 
 arc copious of wisdom, and well fitted to " furnish the 
 man of God unto all good works." That indeed w^hich 
 is t>y way of eminence called " the gospel," is heard, 
 more or less distinctly, throughout the mspired volume. 
 Hence, when the people of God possessed but a small 
 portion of scripture, they prized it as "a lamp to their 
 feet and a light unto their path." Who can read the 
 psalms of David without being convinced of this ? Be- 
 yond the Pentateuch, and two or three of the books that 
 immediately come after it, his department of the canon 
 did not extend, and yet these were prized by him as 
 more valuable than "thousands of gold and silver." 
 What an interesting production is psalm cxix. ! In it 
 we have the royal poet's estimate of his Bible. And 
 not only this, but from it we learn how mercifully 
 adapted to man's spiritual necessities may be those 
 portions of revelation which are not deemed so im- 
 portant as the subsequent additions to the canon. 
 Even his little volume of God's word he found out to 
 be " wonderful," and declared that meditation upon it 
 
INTRODUCTION. !f 
 
 night and day made him '' wiser than his enemies," 
 and '' gave him more understanding than all his 
 teachers." It must be sinful, therefore, to under-rate 
 what the Spirit of God has, in these recorded experi- 
 ences of his child, so unequivocally commended. 
 
 In every respect, it must be owned, there is a great 
 difference between God's holy Bible and man's publi- 
 cations. When knowledge increases, the latter, as 
 authorities, may not only lose their value, but become 
 injurious. But the former constitutes the " law of 
 the Lord," which, as a ivhole, is " perfect," and in 
 each of its particulars is without '' spot or blemish." 
 Besides, the worth of what is inspired Ues not in mere 
 jots or tittles, or words or sentences ; these may be 
 deciphered and understood, but they depend for their 
 spiritual influence upon God himself. The planting 
 of Paul and the watering of Apollos are necessary ; 
 but neither gives the increase. This cometh of Him 
 who is the " author and finisher of our faith." When 
 the scripture is effectual to conversion, it is because it 
 has come to the sinner, not with enticing words of 
 man's wisdom, but in " demonstration of the Spirit 
 and of power." The Holy Ghost, however, is not 
 dependent on particular portions of his word. As 
 it all contains his mind, so he can make any por- 
 tion of it serve the great end of its gift to man. 
 The divine composer of the work saw the end from 
 the beginning ; and hence the gradual additions to the 
 canon, while they diffused clearer knowledge, did not 
 neutralize but confirm the original revelations. The 
 earlier rays on the eastern horizon may be somewhat 
 faint, but they come from the approaching orb of 
 day. All scripture is therefore not only inspired, but 
 must be " profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for cor- 
 rection, for instruction in righteousness : that the man 
 
 1* 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all 
 good works." 
 
 With these impressions, we purpose to investigate 
 and improve some portions of the Bible which are not 
 very often made the subjects of pulpit discourse, nor 
 of private study, but which are most interesting, nay, 
 profitable, to the humble and believing reader. We 
 propose to visit and ascend some of the mountains 
 which scripture has immortalized, and which were 
 once the scenes of wonderful events. As we draw 
 near to these sublime monuments of nature, let us 
 remember that they are also memorials of his majesty 
 and mercy who is nature's Lord. When standing 
 at their base, and listening to their solemn procla- 
 mations, let us employ the language of the spouse, 
 and say, " The voice of my beloved ! Behold, he 
 Cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon 
 the hills." 
 
 In the prosecution of our plan we must needs travel 
 to the lands of the Bible, — and what other lands are 
 invested with such deep and hallowed interest ?- Their 
 marvellous stories are ever listened to with an atten- 
 tion, and remembered with a tenacity, which defy the 
 influences of time. In the midst of the nineteenth 
 century, Egypt, Palestine, and Mesopotamia, are alike 
 eagerly resorted to by the curious and the pious. 
 Grand may be the scenery and magnificent the cities 
 of other countries, but what are their attractions in 
 comparison with that enchanting influence wherewith 
 the Holy Land directs so many hearts and eyes 
 towards her hills and streams, her cities and plams ? 
 There Is a somewhat mysterious agitation of the 
 human mind in its mere fancies of the sublime and 
 beautiful in the scenery of Syria. Few natures are so 
 stolid as to remain unmoved when the waters of the 
 
INTRODUCTION. %% 
 
 Jordan are forded, or the gardens of Canaan prome- 
 naded, or the heights of Zion scaled. This is the land 
 of God ! Here Jehovah visited his people, now with 
 judgments, and then with mercies. It is the witness 
 of his covenant, and the ark of his promises. Here 
 holy men of God, wrapped in the mantles of inspira- 
 tion, spake the secrets of heaven to astonished genera- 
 tions. Here Christianity was cradled in the types 
 and bound up in the swaddling clothes of an initiatory 
 dispensation. Here God made ready to assume the 
 nature and atone for the sins of its people. This is 
 the land of Jesus of Nazareth ! Here he was born. 
 Amid these vales, on these mountain sides, within the 
 gates of these cities, on the banks of these rivers, or 
 on the bosom of these seas, the incarnate Son of God 
 lived and loved, prayed and wept, agonized and bled, 
 died and was buried. Surely we may appropriate the 
 beautiful words of Amos, and say of it, " The Lord of 
 hosts is he that toucheth the land ;" or, in the still 
 more graphic words of Isaiah, " Thou shalt no more 
 be termed forsaken, neither shall thy land be any 
 more termed desolate ; but thou shalt be called Heph- 
 zibah and thy land Beulah ; for the Lord delighteth in 
 thee, and thy land shall be married." 
 
 For such reasons, any of the lands of the Bible 
 would merit, and richly repay, our devout meditations. 
 At present we restrict ourselves to their Mountains, 
 not only because with them are associated the most 
 marvellous events and the most distinguished men of 
 inspired history, but because they supply ample mate- 
 rials for enforcing upon our minds the noblest virtues 
 and the most attractive graces of eminent piety. As 
 to these things we may say truly, '' there were giants 
 in the earth in those days." To speak of the activity 
 or of the self-denial of Christians in our times, com- 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pared with the ''might and mastery" of the men who 
 spake and lived for God in the olden days, is to com- 
 pare small things with great. We have need of 
 counteractives to our conceit. There is a tendency in 
 a reviving church, such as the church of Christ is at 
 present, to take an overweening estimate of its sacri- 
 fices for God. We sometimes see her almost in a fit 
 of ecstacy, and well nigh to clapping her hands for 
 very joy, when she has done some excellent piece of 
 liberality. Our tones of exultation would be lowered 
 if we would come more close to the Bible examples 
 and study them. And of these we find a copious sup- 
 ply on the mountains of the East. There is one lesson 
 which, above all others, such a study is fitted to teach 
 us, viz., that there is a moral obligation to individual 
 action from which we cannot be relieved, if we would 
 glorify God. The duty of devoting ourselves to God, 
 is imposed not alone upon the church collectively, 
 but upon the members of the church individually. 
 It cannot fail to attract our notice in visiting the 
 Bible Mountains, that the mighty things done upon 
 or beside them, were done not by masses of men but 
 by solitary men. Noah, Abraham, Moses, Aaron, 
 David, Elijah, stand out conspicuously as illustrations 
 of this great principle in Christian ethics, that every 
 man, in his own place and generation, is bound to be 
 a witness for the Lord, " that he is God." This obli- 
 gation cleaves to man while he lives, and wlien he 
 dies he will be made to feel, in the judgment, that he 
 was not overlooked in the multitudes of men that 
 went down with his era to the grave. 
 
 The importance of this great truth cannot be over- 
 estimated. This will appear if we think for a moment 
 of the evils that result from its neglect. Wherever 
 the sense of such obligation to individual moral action 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 is lost, there is a danger, if not a certainty, that by- 
 and-by all fear of God and all benevolent sympathies 
 will depart. Let but this anchor of personal respon- 
 sibility be lifted, and this helm of personal regulation 
 be cast away, and man becomes a moral wreck. That 
 he is not more palpably so at present, is owing not to 
 him, but to the restraints of Providence, and the 
 influences of religious truths and examples. Place 
 many men of apparently moral habitudes where pure 
 examples have no existence, and where unmasked 
 impiety has no aspect of singularity, and speedily 
 they would come out in their genuine colors. As the 
 unlovely bat or the wild beasts of the forest venture 
 forth from their hiding-places only when darkness 
 covers the earth, so would the baser passions of our 
 nature then bound forth to luxuriate in the consfenial 
 gratifications of lust and lies. 
 
 Even as it is, we have daily to lament over tho 
 grievous loss to the best interests of man, and to the 
 high cause of God, which general inattention to this 
 cardinal principle occasions. Uninfluenced by it, man 
 is doing nothing in the sphere in which he ought to be 
 energetically working for the glory of his Creator. He 
 is defrauding that great Being of the talents given to 
 him. He is cheating society of the benefits which 
 this personal responsibility binds him to dispense, 
 and he is robbing the church of so much of the treas- 
 ure which her Lord bequeathed. Ere long he becomes 
 blind to all those splendid opportunities for doing good 
 which are every now and then casting up in the course 
 of his life; and ultimately you find him undoing all 
 that God has done for him, and doing all that God for 
 him would undo ; obscuring, if not extinguishing, one 
 by one, the very lights of reason within him, and pre- 
 ferring such darkness to the light of Christ, who is 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "the light of the world." There he is, instead of 
 working on behalf of the noblest of all causes, folding 
 his hands to sleep, and, as far as he is concerned, 
 allowing mankind to be lost in circumstances favorable 
 to their salvation. Alas ! that we cannot speak of 
 such a character as an exception ; as a rare and 
 curious, though melancholy specimen of the disastrous 
 effects of sin. He is the prevalent character of the 
 age ; and the sin of such moral lethargy is, to a pain- 
 ful extent, the sin of the church herself. 
 
 The moral idler ! — melancholy spectacle ! View 
 him setting out for eternity ! His talents, given him 
 to use for God, are laid up in a napkin and hid in the 
 earth. In the earth they lie. Symptoms of motion 
 may appear upon the cerements within which he hath 
 swathed them, but these arise from the process of cor- 
 ruption. View him in his progress I His capacities 
 remain in the sepulchre where he entombed them, 
 supplying food only to the insects that prey upon the 
 remains of godly influence — that swell out the body of 
 sin into the dropsy of death, and increase the malaria 
 that ascend from the decomposition of the grave. 
 View him at some of the gi*eat stations of his jour- 
 ney ! He alone, out of many that are eagerly serving 
 God, keeps his place ; or if he be constrained for a 
 moment to taste the air and look upon the activities 
 and bustle around him, which have excited a little 
 curiosity even in him, he quickly relapses, and as the 
 Egyptian mummy, when subjected to the action of 
 the atmosphere, crumbles into dust, so is the work of 
 his moral dissolution quickened. Above all, view him 
 on the brink of eternity ! What a shock does the 
 summons to die give him ! He is aroused, for a time, 
 from his spiritual apoplexy, and is now conscious that 
 however busy he may have been in his dreams, he has 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 actually been doing nothing, either for himself or for 
 others, and that he is standing at length on the thresh- 
 old of judgment, a moral bankrupt. Not only so ; 
 he now makes the mortifying discovery, that while he 
 has been doing nothing for, he has been doing every- 
 thing against himself. He has been '' all the day idle I" 
 and now the night has set in, when he cannot work. 
 
 What a contrast have we to this character in the 
 Christian, who is " not slothful in business, fervent in 
 spirit, serving the Lord !" Feelmg that he is morally 
 responsible for individual action, he is blessed and is 
 a blessing. Upon himself this impression has the best 
 effects. Its influence is electrical. He springs as 
 from the dead ; his bosom heaves ; his limbs become 
 supple ; his hands, and eyes, and ears, his heart and 
 soul, and mind, now " live, and move, and have their 
 being" in God. He not only ceases to be idle, but he 
 learns to do good, and to communicate. He becomes 
 a second patriarch of Uz — eyes to the blind, feet to 
 the lame, and a father to the poor ; yea, he has the 
 same mind in him that was in Christ Jesus, and goes 
 continually about doing good. And how happy all 
 this makes him ! Let those tell who thus spend their 
 days. 
 
 But we must also consider the influence of such a 
 character on all around him. He is a living rebuke 
 to the idler, and a constant encouragement to the 
 well-disposed. Like the sun, he diffuses light wherever 
 he goes ; like the morning breeze, he breathes health 
 upon whatever he falls ; like the genial spring, as he 
 revolves, he imparts vitality and verdure ; hke the 
 balmy summer, he beautifies, replenishes, and ma- 
 tures ; like the golden autumn, he calls forth the 
 reapers and gathers in the harvest ; and, like the 
 snowy winter, in his more zealous efforts to do good, 
 
16 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he dispels noxious vapors, and restores the salubrity 
 of the atmosphere. In a word, having begun with 
 the individual himself, it proceeds to the family ; from 
 the family to the circle of friends ; from these to the 
 neighborhood ; and from that, onward to more distant 
 and interesting spheres. What has been beautifully 
 said of the influence of one generation, may be af- 
 firmed of the influence of one such man : "As every 
 generation owes some part of its character to that 
 which preceded it, so it imparts some portion of its 
 own to that which follows it, and thus propagates the 
 blessed and augmented influences of itself and all its 
 predecessors." 
 
 Let it not be thought that this is an ideal character. 
 Rare it may be, but not fanciful. Such is what man 
 ought to be. He may have let down the standard of 
 mora] industry, and paralysed the capacities of moral 
 authority ; but God has done neither. The law from 
 his Maker remains as it was : " Thou shalt love the 
 Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy 
 soul, and with all thy mind ; and thou shalt love thy 
 neighbor as thyself." This law the Gospel has estab- 
 lished, not made void. In obedience to it, the illus- 
 trious men who figured upon these mountains, and 
 their descendants according to the spirit, in subse- 
 quent ages, whether apostles, or confessors, or martyrs, 
 or reformers, lived, and suflered, and died. The sense 
 of their responsibility to individual action, made them, 
 under God, what they became, and won for the cause 
 of truth many immortal triumphs. From which we 
 must infer, that if all church members, especially in 
 these times, would but " drink into their spirit," and 
 plant their feet in tlie prints of their steps, the cause 
 of God would speedily make itself to be felt in every 
 recess of idolatry, in every corner of the earth. It 
 
INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 shall be, when our estimates of duty are taken from 
 such a position, that we shall feel ashamed of our 
 present limited efforts. The church is by no means as 
 yet fully alive to the sacrifices her Lord demands of 
 her. In comparison with what she is certain as yet 
 to do, she is now doing nothing. O that God would 
 pour out upon her, patriarchal and prophetic faithful- 
 ness, apostolic zeal, pentecostal power, and primitive 
 Christian love and union I '' Then shall the earth 
 yield her increase, and God, even our own God, shall 
 bless us !" 
 
 To exhibit this great principle, therefore, as it was 
 embodied in the men whose memories the Bible has 
 embalmed, and to excite to their holy fervor and mag- 
 nanimous self-denial in promoting the interests of pure 
 and undefiled religion, we would proceed to the IMoun- 
 tains which have been famous as the witnesses of 
 their exploits, and the monuments of their individual 
 exertions. 
 
MOUNT ARARAT, 
 
 THE LESSONS OF THE DELUGE. 
 PART L 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN. 
 ITS TOPOGRAPHY AND NATURAL APPEARANCES. 
 
 ■In choosing from amongst the lands of the Bible the 
 Mountains that have the grander associations with the 
 movements of the Deity, it seems proper to begin with 
 Ararat. But before we specially consider that fear- 
 ful work of God, of which it is an everlasting monu- 
 ment, let us first of all contemplate its situation and 
 natural appearance. 
 
 The Bible speaks of the " mountains of Ararat ;"* 
 but though the word be in the plural, there is only 
 \ one mountain so called. This mountain, however, has 
 / two peaks, of greater and lesser altitude, and upon the 
 ; highest of these it is understood the ark rested. Ara- 
 rat rises in Armenia, a country in Asia, part of which 
 is now called Turcomania, and the rest is included in 
 ^Persia. Here are the celebrated rivers Euphrates, 
 Tigris, Araxis, and Phasis. Some think that Ararat 
 is only another name for Armenia ; and, in the Vul- 
 gate, the ark is said to have rested not on the moun- 
 
 * Gen. viii. 4. 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 19 
 
 tains of Ararat, but of Armenia. Others contend that 
 there is no special mountain of this name, but that it 
 is applicable to the whole of that stupendous range 
 known to the ancients as mount Taurus, which, be- 
 ginning in the Lesser Asia, stretches as far as the 
 East Indies. If the first opinion be correct, Ararat is 
 then supposed to have been one of the range called the 
 Gordioean mountains, which are now the sources of 
 the river Tigris. The ancients maintained this, and 
 tell us that some remains of the ark were seen on that 
 mountain so late as the days of Alexander the Great. 
 It is certainly somewhat singular that in their imme- 
 diate neighborhood is the town of Cemain, or Themana, 
 (from the Hebrew word shemen, which signifies eighty) 
 in allusion to the eight persons that were saved from 
 the deluge, and that the very place where Noah and 
 his family went out of the ark was distinguished by a 
 name expressive of the event. 
 
 Travellers, ancient and modern, unite in describing 
 Ararat, which forms the angle in this mountainous 
 chain, as a truly sublime and stupendous object, ex- 
 citing in the mind of the spectator both admiration 
 and terror. Fafrbt, the Russian traveller, states its 
 height to be 17,260 feet above the level of the sea. 
 Thus it must be 6,389 feet higher than Etna, and 
 above 1,500 feet higher than Mount Blanc, which is 
 the most elevated point in Europe. The two peaks or 
 cones of the mountain are called the Great and the 
 Little Ararat. The smaller is separated from the 
 greater by an immense plain ; from it the snow dis- 
 appears in summer ; whereas, on the peak of the 
 greater, the snow forever abides. Such an eminenceN 
 must necessarily be seen from a vast distance — from / 
 160 to 200 miles. Indeed, it is said to serve as a '^ 
 landmark to the navigators of the Caspian sea. We 
 
20 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 may add, that the surrounding country abounds with 
 traditionary stories about Noah's ark and the flood. 
 " From Erivan," says the French traveller, Tavernier, 
 *' we went to Tauris (a fortress at the foot of mount 
 Gordion,) which is a journey of ten days by the cara- 
 vans — upon the second of which you pass through the 
 plains in the sight of mount Ararat, which you leave 
 on the south, and where there are a great many 
 monasteries. The Armenians call that mountain 
 Mesesoussar, because the ark of Noah was stopped 
 there, when the waters of the flood abated. It is as it 
 were separated from the other mountains of Armenia, 
 which make a long chain or ridge, and from the middle 
 to the top it is covered with snow. It exceeds the 
 neighboring mountains in height; and the upper half 
 of it is often hid in the clouds for the space of three 
 ;and four months." Boulaye, again,- another French 
 writer, tells us that " Ararat is called Ardag'h, by the 
 Turks ; and that it is the highest mountain in the 
 world." Were we to credit the authorities quoted 
 by the learned Saurin, we might occupy some time 
 in referring to the Armenian traditions about the 
 locality ; but these we omit to attend to more inter- 
 esting matter. 
 / One of the great features of this mountain is the 
 1/ immense chasm which extends nearly halfway down, 
 Vl over which impends a clifl*, whose enormous masses 
 l^>)f ice are from time to time precipitated into the 
 \ abyss, with a noise resembling the loudest thunder. 
 M. Morier says, " Nothing can be more beautiful than 
 its shape ; more awful than its height." Sir Robert 
 Kerr Porter has furnished the following graphic pic- 
 ture of this magnificent work of nature : — " As the 
 vale opened beneath us, in our descent, my whole at- 
 tention became absorbed in the view before me — a vast 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 21 
 
 plain peopled with countless villages — ^the towers and 
 spires of the churches of Eitchmai-adzen arising from 
 amidst them — the glittering waters of the Araxis flow- 
 ing through the fresh green vale, and the subordinate 
 range of mountains skirting the base of the awful 
 monument of the antediluvian world, it seemed to 
 stand a stupendous link in the history of man, uniting 
 the two races of men before and after the flood. But 
 it was not until we had arrived upon the flat plain 
 that I beheld Ararat in all its amplitude of grandeur. 
 From the spot on which I stood it appeared as if the 
 hugest mountains of the world had been piled upon 
 each other to form this one sublime immensity of 
 earth and rock and snow. The icy peaks of its double 
 heads rose majestically into the clear and cloudless 
 heaven — ^the sun blazed bright upon them, and the re- 
 flection sent forth a dazzhng radiance equal to other 
 suns. My eye, not able to rest for any length of time 
 on the blending glory of its summits, wandered down 
 the apparently interminable sides, till I could no 
 longer trace their vast lines in the mists of the hori- 
 zon ; when an inexpressible impulse immediately car- 
 rying me upwards again, refixed my gaze on the 
 awful glare of Ararat — and this bewildered sensibility 
 of sight being answered by a similar feeling in the 
 mind, for some moments I was lost in a strange sus- 
 pension of the powers of thought." 
 
 Grand, however, and terrific as are the natural ap- 
 pearances of this mountain, the devout mind is much 
 more apt to undergo a suspension of its powers of 
 thought when meditating on that appalling judgment 
 with which the inspired narrative has linked its history. 
 The most intelligent travellers admit that though 
 several attempts have been made to reach the top, 
 " -^^ feat has never been achieved ; for farther than the 
 
22 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 snow limit, none have ever ascended. In the Bible, 
 however, it is recorded that man was once on its dizzy- 
 heights — for on these the ark rested, and on these, for 
 several weeks, Noah and his family must have remained. 
 Moses informs us that it was not till the tenth month 
 that the tops of other mountains were seen ; whereas 
 in the seventh month, three months previous, the top 
 of Ararat was visible. This may aid us in forming 
 some idea of its immense height — nearly three months 
 I additional elapsing before the waters subsided so far 
 ^s to uncover the summits of other mountains. In 
 studying the history of Ararat, therefore, we are led to 
 inquire how it came to pass that what has ever since 
 been an insurmountable barrier, was got over in the 
 days of the patriarch ; and that not only he, but his 
 family, and a sample of all living creatures, lived for a 
 considerable time amid a region where animal existence 
 is now, and has always been, unknown ? The answer 
 to this inquiry opens up to us a large field of interest- 
 ing truths, of which but a few can be noticed. 
 
 PART II. 
 THE DELUGE. 
 
 CAUSES NOT ALL NATURAL ENTRANCE OF MORAL EVIL A 
 
 MYSTERY LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD IIIS PATIENCE HAS 
 
 A LIMIT DOOR OF THE ARK IS SHUT. 
 
 Passing by mhiute allusions to the deluge itself, I 
 would lay it down, as an unassailable position, that 
 such an event cannot be accounted for on natural 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 23 
 
 causes alone. It was not an ordinary overflow of the ! 
 rivers — not an ordinary submerging of contiguous 
 shores by the fulness of the ocean's tides — -not an or- 
 dinary prolonged outpouring from the clouds of heaven 
 — such superabundance of the waters has more than 
 once, in different parts of the world, devastated large 
 territories, and carried away multitudes of the human 
 race. But the flood — " the shoreless ocean that, from 
 the centre to the streaming poles, tumbled round the 
 globe" — was altogether supernatural. The same book 
 that tells us of the fact, reminds us also of the causes 
 to which it must be traced* These causes may be de- 
 scribed in one sense as natural, inasmuch as it was by 
 the opening up of the fountains of the great deep, and 
 of the " windows of heaven," that the deluge was 
 brought upon the earth ; but, in a moral or religious 
 sense, it must be regarded as the doing of Jehovah, 
 who, for good and sufficient reasons, after t.iis manner 
 determined well nigh to depopulate the world. Hence 
 it is written, '' Behold 1, even I, do bring a flood of ) 
 waters upon the earth." Herein the divine glory is 
 asserted. Again, " God looked upon the earth, and 
 saw that it was corrupt : for all flesh had corrupted 
 his way upon the earth. And God said unto Noah, 
 The end of all flesh is come before me ; for the earth 
 is filled with violence through them : and, behold, I 
 will destroy them with the earth." Herein the con- 
 nection between the flood and the existence of moral 
 evil is emphatically stated, and not of extensive moral 
 evil only, but of almost universal moral evil : " And 
 God saw that the wickedness of man was great on the 
 earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of 
 his heart was only evil continually." These descrip- 
 tions must be literally understood. Human nature, in 
 itself, was not only universally depraved in all its 
 
24 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 powers and faculties, but all the human beings then 
 living were partakers of such depravity, excepting one 
 family. What must have been the extent of a de- 
 generacy, to correspond with such an account, and the 
 judgment inflicted upon it, we cannot conceive. Bad 
 as the world has often been since, and bad, after all, 
 as it is still, it appears that the wickedness of man has 
 never produced like enormities. It is nowhere re- 
 corded, nor does the history of the world justify us in 
 conceiving that it could be truthfully recorded, that, 
 excepting at that period, " God repented that he had 
 made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his 
 heart." 
 
 It may here be asked, as it was in the power of God 
 to prevent the existence, and, after the entrance, to 
 restrain the progress of moral evil, so that such a 
 judgment might not have been needed, why did he not 
 do so ? This is an old question of the free-thinker. 
 Like all his questions, it proceeds on mistaken views 
 of the divine character, and an unbelieving disregard 
 of the divine word. As the fact of moral evil cannot 
 be denied, the drift of such a question must be to 
 charge the Deity as the author of sin. Now, that 
 He should be so, is impossible, from God's own 
 nature, which is essential holiness. Besides, it is 
 opposed to the truth in reference to the origin of 
 sin. Man was made perfect in holiness, and while 
 master of his own will, and with the penalty of diso- 
 bedience full before his mind, he transgressed the law. 
 In the very moment of temptation his ability to resist 
 was perfect, his holiness unimpaired, and God was be- 
 side him to assist him if he needed and asked as- 
 sistance. But when he sinned, then God forsook him, 
 because he, (not God,) but he, the mail, originated 
 sin. " No man can say, when he is tempted, I am 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 25 
 
 tempted of God ; for God cannot be tempted with evil, 
 neither tempteth he any man." In justifying God on 
 the score of the existence of moral evil, an esteemed 
 theologian has noticed the following things : — First, 
 that it cannot be proved that he was obliged, either by 
 justice or benevolence, to prevent sin from existing ; 
 and, secondly, it cannot be proved that the existence 
 of sin will, in the end, be a detriment to the universe. 
 " All moral beings," as he remarks, '• are governed by 
 motives only. What motives will, upon the whole, 
 produce the greatest good, united with the least evil, 
 to the intelligent kingdom, and how far the fall and 
 punishment of some moral beings may, in the nature 
 of the case, be essentially necessary to the preserving 
 obedience of the great body, cannot be determined. 
 But until this is done, and, indeed, many other things 
 of great moment to the question, it can never be 
 proved that the existence of moral evil is injurious to 
 the universe, or the permission of it inconsistent with 
 the most perfect good-will on the part of God." '' At 
 the same time," he adds, '' I acknowledge myself ut- 
 terly unable, and my complete conviction that all other 
 men are unable to explain this subject, so as to give to 
 an inquirer clear and satisfactory views by the light 
 of reason, of the propriety of permitting the introduce 
 tion of moral evil into the intelligent system." 
 
 It is much more becoming with our present partial 
 knowledge, to be extremely chary in the agitation of 
 such questions. A good purpose can scarcely be 
 served by it, and much serious injury may be done to 
 our own spiritual comfort. It is enough for us to 
 feel that such evil exists, and that it exists in us. 
 It is enough to know that we are to be charged 
 with it, and that God is to be our judge. If we ply 
 our mental energies diligently in attending to these 
 
 2 
 
26 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 personal views of the matter, we will neither have 
 time nor inclination to seek ''to be wise above what 
 is written ;" for whoever has been so foolish as to 
 commence such a search, has returned empty as to 
 any additional information, but more guilty than 
 before, in presuming to attempt the withdrawment of 
 the veil vrhich God has suspended over the incompre- 
 hensible doctrines of his word. 
 
 In reference to this serious subject, it is also the 
 most useful plan to receive, with implicit faith, the 
 plain statements of scripture, and to meditate on such 
 portions of these as persuade us to return to God. 
 The narrative under review supplies abundance of such 
 encouragements. Whatever darkness rests upon the 
 question of the entrance of sin, none whatever rests 
 on the in-acious determination of God to banish it from 
 the world. In doing this he is sovereign ; he can take 
 any way that pleases him. He can clear the earth of 
 sin by destroying sinners and casting them out of it, 
 or by presenting them with those motives to obedience 
 which allare them from their sins, or by employing so 
 much of the first expedient, the destruction of some 
 sinners in his awful indignation, that others may be 
 impressed with the fear of sin, and with a desire to 
 be made holy. This he did in the case of the deluge. 
 He preserved one family to perpetuate the race, and he 
 I preserved the record of the flood to act as a beacon to 
 \ future generations. Even, however, in pursuing this 
 ^lan, Jehovah richly manifested his long-suffering and 
 patience ; for it ought to be remembered that the flood 
 did not come unexpectedly on the inhabitants of the 
 earth. To show his desire to save them from destruc- 
 tion, God appointed Noah to preach righteousness to 
 them, not only all the time the ark was building, but 
 foy one hundred and twenty years previous to the 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 27 
 
 coming of the flood — time enough, surely, to allow the 
 aAvful premonitions of the impending judgment to cir- 
 culate round the earth. In reference to this, an apostle 
 remarks, that '' the long-suffering of God waited in 
 the days of Noah while the ark was preparing." Yes, 
 for one hundred and twenty years before the flood 
 came, Jehovah did strive with man ; but, alas ! with- 
 out eflect — the time expired, and the limit of divine 
 patience was reached. 
 
 Yes, sinner! — unrepentant and unbelieving — even 
 the patience of God has its limit ; and though none of 
 the menaces against your sins, to which you have often 
 listened, be as yet accomplished, rest assured their 
 accomplishment is certain. Peradventure you are 
 deceived, by the mere circumstance of their delay, 
 into the idea that they are either entirely withdrawn, 
 or that they have never been anything else than bug- 
 bears of human begetting. Ah ! not unlikely so 
 reasoned and so thought those foolish men who lived 
 in the immediate neighborhood of Noah when the ark 
 was a- building. Daily they came to assist in its con- 
 struction, and daily the patriarchal minister came to 
 the ark, and exhorted them to forsake their sins, and 
 worship God. Year after year did that good man 
 plead with these bad men, but in vain. Each night, 
 peradventure, as they retired to their houses, they 
 would entertain their families with the old man's cre- 
 dulity, and many a laugh would be raised at his ex- 
 pense, till at length, in all probability, even derision 
 would cease to be excited — the repetition of the same 
 truths rather lulling to sleep than quickening to vigi- 
 lance and prayer. But the hundred and twenty years 
 expire, and Noah at last begins to embark. Just one 
 week is allowed him to carry into the ark all his 
 family, with bu'ds, and beasts, and creeping things, 
 
28 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 and provisions. It is melancholy to see how these 
 same men assist him during every one of these seven 
 days — often going into and out of the ark — still un- 
 alarmed — still ridiculing the fears of the fanatic 
 preacher. On the evening of the seventh day, all are 
 now within the massy fabric — Noah, his wife, his 
 sons' wives, and the living creatures God had com- 
 manded him to take with him. For the last time, we 
 may fancy these obstinate sinners in the act of retir- 
 ing from the ark. Noah's heart is moved ; and, it 
 may be, he thus closes his ministry : " Stop, sinful, 
 infatuated men ! — stop for one moment — this is the 
 last opportunity. I believe God to be sincere ; and if 
 you will even now repent, and remain in this ark, 
 you will be saved ; but if you take one step more 
 from where you now stand, in scornful defiance of 
 God's warnings, you are lost." The scorners con- 
 sider this to be the crisis of the hoary preacher's mad- 
 ness ; with a look of contempt, they descend and re- 
 pair homewards, again to entertain their families with 
 the last ridiculous eccentricities of their neighbor 
 Noah. But, hark ! what sound is that which strikes 
 upon their ears ? That is no usual sound — it goes 
 through their hearts — their steps are arrested, and they 
 turn and look behind them — what was it ? It was 
 the shutting of the door of the ark ; not by Noah's, 
 not by human hand, but by the hand of Jehovah ; for 
 it is written, " And the Lord shut him in." And 
 now, (for the sacred narrative intimates as much,) the 
 waters begin to flow and fall — the sun is darkened — 
 the earth shakes, and the distant thunder rolls, while 
 reverberating hills multiply manifold the roaring of 
 the dread artillery of heaven. Forgetful now of every- 
 thing but self-preservation, they flee in terror towards 
 the ark, which but a little before they had insolently 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 29 
 
 quitted. They see that this is no ordinary rain, and 
 they fear that, after all, Noah has been right. What 
 a frightful simultaneous rush would then be to that 
 singular building ; but how much more awfully ter- 
 rific would it become, when, as they all in distraction 
 labor to scramble up its huge sides, one after the 
 other falls into the accumulating waters, and all hope 
 of that shut door re-opening dies within them ! Away, 
 away to the high places and the mountains they now, 
 in the speed of despair, are hurried ; but it is all in 
 vain : in forty days the tops of the highest mountains, 
 even Ararat's lofty pinnacles, are covered. 
 
 Sinners, unbelieving and impenitent, come and lis- 
 ten to the lessons of the deluge ; for pointedly to you 
 this Bible story speaks, and that with a pathos so 
 melting that it might charm into hearing even the 
 deaf adder. Indeed, not to restrict the improvement 
 of this subject to you, were unfaithfulness on our part, 
 greatly to be blamed. Something like this is to be 
 realized in your own experience, if you continue to 
 despise " the riches of God's long-suffering ;" for it is 
 written, ''He that, being often reproved, hardeneth 
 his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that with- 
 out remedy." 
 
 Receive, then, the lessons from Ararat ! 
 
30 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 LESSONS OF ARARAT. 
 
 JUDGMENTS ARE PREPARED FOR SCORNERS A REFUGE IS 
 
 PROVIDED FOR SINNERS. 
 
 I. Judgments are prepared for scorners. — It is 
 true, a universal flood shall not again sweep man from 
 the face of the earth ; for the Lord God hath said in 
 his heart, " I will not again curse the gi-ound any- 
 more for man's sake ; for the imagination of man's 
 heart is evil from his youth : neither will I again 
 smite any more every thing living, as I have done. 
 While the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, and 
 cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and 
 night, shall not cease." But other and more tremen- 
 dous judgments are in reserve for scorners. The 
 deluge, appallingly comprehensive as it was of all 
 temporal evil, did not exhaust God's deadly reservoirs 
 of righteous vengeance. His mercies, Ivcpt for and 
 dispensed among thousands, are as full as ever, and 
 cannot be diminished ; and that which he calls his 
 *' strange work" is, and must be, as completely at his 
 command as if none of his " pestilences that walk in 
 darkness" had ever spread the pall of death over the 
 nations. "Judgments are prepared for scorners," says 
 the preacher. 
 
 Who are the scorners ? You, who live in unbelief, 
 amid the light of the Gospel dispensation ; you, who 
 have the same love of sin — the same evil imagina- 
 tions continually, that imprecated the wrath of God 
 on the antediluvians ; you are the scorners. And so 
 are you, who sit from day to day at the table of God's 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 31 
 
 providential bounties, and, when you have eaten and 
 are full, refuse to give thanks to Him who opens his 
 hands liberally, and daily supplies all your wants— 
 you, also, who sit from Sabbath to Sabbath at the 
 Gospel table, and eye with indifference the bread of 
 life which is thereon provided for you, and dash the 
 cup of salvation from your very lips, instead of eating 
 and drinking that your souls may live ; you are the 
 scorners. And so are you who, in obedience to a prev- 
 alent custom, qualify yourselves for an external ad- 
 mission into the membership of the church, and spend 
 . your days under the shelterless canopy of a nominal 
 Christianity. Such, in short, are all, who not only 
 are not converted, but refuse to be converted, prefer- 
 ring to live on amid a dogged adherence to the mere 
 name, an obstinate dislike to the strict spirit, and a 
 growing disrelish for the holiness of a pure and unde- 
 filed religion. Yes, all such are scorners ; and though 
 you may flatter yourselves that all is well, on the 
 ground of the creditable opinions of your fellow-men ; 
 and though that arch-deceiver within you, your own 
 heai't, may endorse the world's short-sighted encomi- 
 ums, and puff up your vanity with pitiful notions of 
 your own worth ; worthless, and worse than worthless, 
 you still are, and must continue to be, while the in- 
 side of the platter is unpurified, and your hearts re- 
 semble the " whited sepulchres, which indeed appear 
 beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's 
 bones, and of all uncleanness." 
 
 If the rude and roaming savage of the woods, who 
 has the law of God written in his heart, is, in the eye 
 of that law, a scorner when he falls down to worship 
 the graven image, or it may be the glorious sun — if 
 the more civilised idolater, who will not understand 
 by the things that are made, the eternal power and 
 
32 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 Godhead of the Deity, be, in the judgment of God, 
 without excuse — if he, too, be a scorner — or, if the 
 polished preceptor of a Platonic philosophy, and the 
 almost sublime exemplifier of a Socratic calmness in 
 the view of death, be included by the revelation of 
 God, among those who are in reality dead, having no 
 faith, no well-founded hope, no thoroughly unselfish 
 trust — among what class of scorners must you be 
 ranged, and what measure of judgments must be in 
 reserve for you, who have received the knowledge of 
 the love of God, and yet cherish enmity towards him 
 in your hearts ; who have had Christ Jesus set forth 
 as evidently crucified for you, and yet put him to an 
 open shame, by lifting towards him the finger of scorn, 
 while he stretches out to you those friendly hands that 
 once were nailed for you on the accursed tree ; who 
 perhaps perpetuate the fickleness and blasphemy of 
 the men of Judea, following him the one day, in the 
 observance of a mere ordinance, with feigned hosan- 
 nas, and on the next heaping upon him, in your cool 
 and daring relapses into sin, the heartless execration, 
 " Crucify him, crucify him I" 
 
 If, then, these descriptions of character come home 
 to any of your consciences, let it be remembered that 
 for all such scorners " judgments are prepared." What 
 an awful revelation is this! Ponder it seriously. 
 Judgments ! what are these ? The term is compre- 
 hensive of temporal disasters, spiritual distresses, and 
 eternal torments. How common in these days are the 
 first I Riches on all hands make to themselves wings 
 and fly away. Ruin grimly sits where Fortune once 
 gaily smiled. Family circles are invaded by disease 
 and death, and Rachel weeps, refusing to be com- 
 forted, because her children are not. What are usu- 
 ally known as all '' the ills of life," seem to be let 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 33 
 
 loose upon men ; and what are these but the judg- 
 ments of God ? Then as to spiritual distresses ! who 
 is he who can analyse and exhibit them ? Alas I 
 they are among the deep things of human experience. 
 Yet if, by the hand of God, the veil were withdrawn 
 from even one solitary bosom vnrithing under their 
 lash, the spectacle would appall us. We should see 
 the mind's confusion in respect of its relationships to 
 God and eternity — the heart's agony under the terror 
 of impending wrath — the conscience rising in its fury 
 to accuse and condemn, and the whole soul unsuccess- 
 fully struggling in the meshes of carnality, to rise 
 from beneath the frowns of God's face and realize the 
 joys of his salvation. Under these spiritual judg- 
 ments, neither Bibles nor ordinances afford relief. 
 They avail not to comfort the scorners ! The light 
 shines not into their souls. The waters refresh not 
 their thirsty spirits — and even out of the cup of salva- 
 tion they drink what seems to them gall and worm- 
 wood. The tidings which speak pardon and peace to 
 others, only tantalize them the more, and throw them 
 into unutterable grief. Yet " all these are but the 
 beginning of sorrows." With respect to eternal tor- 
 ments, what shall we say ? As yet they have not 
 been known by yoa. Their infliction, however, is 
 certain, if you die scorning. In that case, " a fearful 
 looking for of judgment and fiery indignation," from 
 the Almighty, may now seize upon you ; for the 
 judgment which is as it were asleep to-day, may 
 awaken to-morrow, and must awaken ere long. The 
 truth is, such a judgment is not far from any scorner. 
 It lieth always at his door, ready to do its work, when 
 He gives the command who has " prepared" it. 
 
 Yes, scorners, such judgments are prepared for you 
 — as really prepared for you, as salvation is prepared 
 
 2* 
 
34 MOUIST ARARAT. 
 
 for the lovers of God. They do not belong to what 
 the world calls the chapter of accidents. Escape from 
 them is impossible while you scorn. O, that you 
 would take warning from your temporal and spiritual 
 troubles, and flee from the wrath to come ; for while 
 escape from the former is certain, if you believe and 
 repent now, the latter must be endured when once 
 encountered, and endured throughout unending ages, 
 repentance only aggravating the wo, and faith only 
 deepening and darkening the despair of the soul ! 
 
 And who has prepared such judgments ? Ah ! here 
 is the thought that gives to the worm new power to 
 gnaw, and to the fire new fuel to burn. God has pre- 
 pared them. Though it be his "strange work," yet 
 judgment is his work — the work of him who is the 
 God of love and mercy — the God and Father of a Sa- 
 viour who was often offered to you, and ever despised. 
 His law, his justice, his holiness, ay, even his very 
 loving-kindness, demand it of him that he exhibit to 
 the universe his detestation of sin — especially of the 
 sin of scorning his pardoning grace. Believe it, then, 
 ye who now scorn. The wrath of God is coming — it 
 is hastening towards you like a mighty flood! Yet 
 but a few years, it may be days, and the fountains of 
 his fury shall be opened, and you shall be swept into 
 " the lake that burns with fire ;" for thus it is written, 
 " The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against 
 all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold 
 the truth in unrighteousness ;" and again, " Upon the 
 wicked he shall rain snares, fire, and brimstone, and 
 an horrible tempest." Do you hear these scriptures 
 with unconcerned minds ? Then you resemble the 
 men that lived in the days of Noah, who wholly dis- 
 regarded the divine warnings; inferring, that as all 
 things as yet continued as they were, the deluge 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 35 
 
 would never coiiiej and that Noah's words were empty 
 sounds. 
 
 These may be, and often are, very disagreeable in- 
 timations to unbelievers. But we dare not hide them 
 from your view. Love to your souls, as well as faith- 
 fulness to the Redeemer, demand that we do '' not 
 shun to declare unto you all the counsel of God." To 
 the ministers of the gospel, it is not certainly so agree- 
 able to persuade men "■ by the terrors" as by " the 
 mercies" of the Lord. Yet they know that the latter 
 are never so likely to be prized and sought after as 
 when the former have been honestly and affectionately 
 proclaimed. Let us now, then, with grateful hearts, 
 turn your attention to the second lesson from Ararat. 
 
 IL A REFUGE FROM JUDGMENTS IS PREPARED FOR 
 
 SINNERS. — The antediluvians had the ark, and we 
 may believe that room would have been provided for 
 any that yielded to Noah's entreaties ; but none of 
 them repented, and none were saved. Sinners, you 
 too have an ark — a new testament ark. God himself 
 has built it for you, and there is room in it for you all. 
 And what and where is that ark ? 
 
 Jesus Christ and him crueified forms the ark into 
 which you are invited to flee and be saved. If you 
 know not where to find it, go to the gospel, for in it 
 Jesus is evidently set forth as crucified for you. He, 
 and he only, can ''deliver you from the wrath to 
 coiTie." He is the eternal Son of God — God " equal 
 with the Father." He is the Son of man, having 
 taken the nature of the seed of Abraham into myste- 
 rious union with his divinity. He is the substitute of 
 sinners, having taken their place in relation to the law 
 and justice of God, and " made an end of sin" by the 
 sacrifice of himself. He has lived a life of obedience 
 to that law which sinners broke. He has borne the 
 
36 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 punishment due to sin, though he " knew no sin.'^ 
 Every claim, therefore, whether of law or justice, he 
 has fully satisfied in your stead, so that if you will 
 only avail yourselves of his suretyship, and take refuge 
 in his atonement, and be clothed in his righteousness, 
 and become obedient to his commandments, then you 
 are within the ark — the great, the capacious gospel 
 ark ; where, come whatever storm Jehovah may com- 
 mission into our guilty world, you are certain to ride 
 safely above the tumultuous waters, till you rest at 
 last on the celestial mountains. 
 
 Why then will you not enter ? Make known the 
 reason of your backwardness. Say, does it arise from 
 a fear that there is not room enough within for all 
 that are invited, or that perhaps you are not included 
 among them to whom the gracious offer is tendered ? 
 Not room enough in Christ ! Banish the thought 
 from your minds. One thing we know, there was 
 room in him after sinners had been fleeing to him for 
 four thousand years. This truth he himself taught 
 us in his own beautiful parable of the great supper, 
 to which all and sundry were invited ; and after 
 everything had been done precisely as he had com- 
 manded, the servant comes and tells the master of the 
 house, " Yet there is room." In these striking words 
 a glorious truth is revealed — that the Christian's ark 
 is not yet fully tenanted ; and as it is not likely soon 
 to be, you are yet in time. Not only in Christ's 
 " P^ather's house are many mansions" prepared for 
 the saints, but Christ's own heart is all ready for the 
 reception, in the first instance, of every sinner of man- 
 kind who will take shelter in it. An entrance must 
 be actually made into his gospel invitation, to take 
 possession of its promises — into his covenant, to take 
 possession of its blood — and into his heart, to take 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 37 
 
 possession of its wonderful love. Not room enough in 
 
 -t 
 in Christ ! 
 
 Christ ! — the needed mansions not numerous enough 
 
 "Great God forbid that such a thought 
 Should in your breasts be found !" 
 
 His love for you, sinners, is boundless as his own 
 divinity, and could embrace innumerable worlds teem- 
 ing with transgressors more guilty even than you. 
 His atonement for sin is likewise infinite in its intrin- 
 sic value ; it is absolutely impossible to drain away its 
 precious blood, even though every sinner now on the 
 face of the earth, or who may hereafter live, were to 
 wash in it and be cleansed. Your own righteousness 
 is filthy rags, but His righteousnees is righteousness ; 
 that is, it is righteousness indeed and in truth, be- 
 cause it is of sufficient excellence to screen you from 
 the anger of God, and to hide your imperfections from 
 his eye. Clothed in it you will, at death, find instant 
 admission into God's presence, and be through all eter- 
 nity entitled there to occupy a higher place even than 
 the angels who kept their first estate. 
 
 But there is more than this to be attended to ; for 
 as there is plenty of room in this spiritual ark for you 
 all, so it is equally true that you are all not only war- 
 ranted to enter, but the commandment of God himself 
 is your warrant. This is indisputable ; for there can- 
 not be any doubt that there must be, and that there is 
 a sense in which the accommodation and the invita- 
 tion to use it are equally extensive. All are asked to 
 enter, just because there is room in this ark for all. 
 Upon this delightful representation of the case, listen 
 to the word of God in the following passages : — " Have 
 I any pleasure at all that the wicked should die, saith 
 the Lord, and not that he should return from his ways 
 and live ? I have no pleasure in the death of him that 
 
38 MOUNT ARARAT 
 
 dieth, saith the Lord, wherefore, turn yourselves and 
 live ye." " Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways ; 
 for why will ye die, O house of Israel ?" " Ho, every 
 one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that 
 hath no money : come ye, buy and eat ; yea, come, 
 buy wine and milk without money, and without 
 price." '' God so loved the world, that he gave his 
 only-begotten Son, that whosoever" (God be thanked, 
 there is a whosoever in the promise !) '' whosoever be- 
 lieveth in him should not perish, but have everlasting 
 life." " This is a faithful (or true) saying, and worthy 
 of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the 
 world to save sinners." " The Spirit and the bride 
 say. Come. And let him that heareth say. Come. 
 And let him that is athirst come. And lohosoever 
 will, let him take of the water of life freely." 
 
 These are the words of the unchangeable Jehovah, 
 and they are addressed to all sinners, without excep- 
 tion. Why then do any conclude that they are not 
 warranted to accept of mercy ? Upon what view of 
 the subject can such doubts be defended? Gospel 
 hearers, beware of unbelief. It may not seem to you 
 to be so bad a thing as infidelity ; notwithstanding, it 
 may be to you as ruinous. A distinction may be 
 formed between infidelity and unbelief, meaning by 
 the first, the total rejection of revelation, and by the 
 second, the tacit, if not avowed, acknowledgment of 
 the gospel as a message of God, but the refusal to 
 conclude that its offers of pardon extend to us, or that 
 our sins have been atoned for by the death of Christ. 
 Are you taking comfort from such a distinction as 
 this ? It is not safe. There is certainly no hope for 
 the man who dies an infidel ; but neither can there be 
 any hope for him who dies in such unbelief of God's 
 sincerity in the gospel call, and of Christ's sufRciency 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 39 
 
 as a propitiation, not only for our sins, '' but also for 
 the sins of the whole world." This is in reality in- 
 fidelity, and something worse. There is here a tam- 
 pering with the truth — an almost persuasion to be a 
 Christian — a halt between two opinions — an admission 
 of the truth of the gospel as a general remedy, com- 
 bined with a rejection of it as not specially intended 
 for you. There is one consideration upon which we 
 might give way to such doubts. It is this : — Has any 
 sinner, in any age of the w^orld, and from among any 
 people, gone to Christ, asked admission, and been 
 dismissed, not alone on the score of want of room in 
 him, but on any ground whatever ? Many hard words 
 have been uttered against our ark, brethren, but we 
 have never yet heard such an accusation as this, and 
 the reason is obvious. None ever sought admission 
 there who were not admitted ; consequently they could 
 not return to tell any such doleful tale, as that they 
 knocked at the door, and the door was not opened. 
 Be assured, no such testimony can truthfully be borne 
 against Christ ; and if you wish to be joyfully con- 
 vinced of this, go away to him and make the experi- 
 ment for yourselves. Would God you would only 
 do so ; then our remonstrances with you should not 
 be required ! You would then have the witness 
 within yourselves, that to receive instant welcome, 
 you have only to ask it — to find pardon, you have 
 only to seek it — to have the door opened, you have 
 only to knock — to see that God is good, you have only 
 to taste — to be saved, you have only to believe — to be 
 strengthened for all the duties and temptations of this 
 life, you have only to trust — to be comforted and 
 made happy in your passage through tribulation, 
 you have only to " fear no evil" — aijd to be glorified 
 eternally, you have thereafter only to gather up your 
 
40 MOUNT ARARAT. 
 
 feet into the bed, and, like Jacob, yield up the 
 ghost. 
 
 Sinner, are you yet unconvinced of the necessity of 
 repentance, and of faith towards Christ as your ark ? 
 What is this that stumbles you now? I see what 
 it is. You are too proud to enter that ark — the cross 
 is an offence to you. You cannot stoop to take it up. 
 You will not suffer your carnal conceits to be sacrificed 
 upon such a tree. You will risk some other experi- 
 ment. YoQ will take your chance of the Christian 
 Noah that warned you, turning out a garrulous old 
 fool — a babbler. You will wait awhile and see what 
 the future produces. You will try the manufacture of 
 some nice little ark of your own to escape to, if a 
 storm should arise, and a flood should come. You 
 will, even if it should come to the worst, get up to the 
 top of some of your own mountains. Why not ? they 
 are your own property. Or to the high towers of your 
 own Babels. Why not ? do they not reach up into 
 heaven ? And if not from the Babel tops of your own 
 good works, surely from the magnificent peak of some 
 moral Ararat, you will have the good fortune to escape 
 the terrors of the Lord, and appropriate salvation. 
 Yea, and if all this should fail, you will, you think, 
 have time enough, as a last resort, to flee unto, and 
 experiment upon Jesus ; and then surely all will be 
 well ! So thought, and so reasoned, let us suppose, 
 some of the congregation of Noah. Regarding his 
 predictions as the ravings of madness, they resisted 
 his ministry till the flood came, and then they arose 
 and fled to the ark ; but the door was shut. 
 
 Brethren ! realize the position and looks of tho 
 very last survivor of that wicked generation. Con- 
 template the last^ntediluvian man ! Miserable being ! 
 "he, too, had been at the building of the ark ; and had 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 41 
 
 joined in ridiculing the prophet of the Lord. He 
 remembers the sermons now — but a late memory is 
 sometimes worse than a total oblivion ; and so it is 
 with him — it is too late. He must flee now to the 
 house-tops, for the waters are rising — but safety is not 
 there. He hies him away to the neighboring hills 
 — ^but the waters are rising : safety is not there. He 
 reaches at length the summit of the loftiest mountain 
 near him, and he alone reaches it — every wicked 
 man, except himself, has perished. He looks around 
 — all is '' ocean, into fearful tempest tossed." He 
 looks above — but the dreadful eye of an angry God 
 is fixed upon him from every cloud. He is alone too. 
 He has seen wife, children, and friends sink in 
 the mighty waters. He has heard the gurgling sounds 
 — the dread requiem of his race, and he now occupies 
 the only uncovered spot of the drowning globe. For 
 one moment hope whispers to him that possibly the 
 waters may not reach his lofty retreat — his eye is fixed 
 on the angry tide that roars around him — now he 
 fancies that that tide recedes, and a shout of joy 
 breaks through the watery clouds — ^but another look 
 undeceives him. Lo ! the waters rise, and rise, and 
 even now he is enveloped in their foaming spray. 
 He is about to abandon himself to his fate — when, 
 while casting his last look over the wide abyss, he sees, 
 at a distance, a huge object tossed to and fro upon the 
 waves, and evidently rapidly approaching him. It is 
 the ark ! Behold there that wondrous ship comes 
 dashing on, erect and safe. It nears the last man — 
 perad venture it may come so near that Noah may 
 hear and admit him. Ah ! vain imagination. It 
 did approach him — very near indeed — so near that 
 he could have touched it, when up into heaven rose 
 the terrific cry of despair, as the next swelling surge 
 
42 MOUxXT ARARAT. 
 
 carried it far, far, out of his reach, and in the same 
 moment engulphed him in its angry bosom I Ebb, 
 ebb now, ye mighty tides — retire now, ye troubled 
 waters ; for the Lord God omnipotent has triumphed 
 — your work is accomplished — the Deity is avenged. 
 
 Sinner ! in the despairing eftbrts and ultimate 
 destruction of the last antediluvian man, you may 
 see depicted what, in a moral and religious sense, 
 is certain to be your closing struggles, with an 
 accusing conscience within you — an angry God above 
 you — an appalling judgment-seat before you, and 
 the ark of salvation appearing now to aggravate 
 your misery, and now lost, lost forever to your view. 
 Such, we say, is certain to be your end, if you will 
 not now repent and believe and abide in Christ. 
 Leave off this work to the last — let but the waters 
 of Jordan begin to rise, and let the mental, the 
 spiritual storm within you but begin to rage, and 
 you will find it — yes ; it is more than probable — it 
 is almost certain — that you will find it too late to pray 
 for an interest in him who is ''as an hiding-place from 
 the wind, and a covert from the tempest." What a 
 poor, desolate, solitary wretch you will be then ; sur- 
 rounded, it may be, by no Christian friends, and in- 
 capable, it is very likely, of deriving the slightest ad- 
 vantage even from the whole appliances of the gospel 
 of God ! You will, perhaps, in these circumstances, 
 make a last eflbrt to reach the ark — Christ — whom you 
 at present despise. But it will be in vain. That door 
 LS shut — and if it be shut against you, so must also 
 be the door of heaven. Ararat's peak was, and only 
 could be, reached by Noah, in the ark ; and you 
 shall never dwell on the heights of mount Zion, 
 unless you go thither " in Christ Jesus." " Behold, 
 then, now is the accepted time ; behold, now is the 
 day of salvation." 
 
MOUNT MORIAH, 
 
 THE VICTORIES OF FAITH. 
 
 Abraham was the most illustrious of the patriarchs. 
 He lived about four hundred years after the deluge. 
 There is reason to conclude that he was a partaker 
 of the idolatry which universally prevailed. In the 
 seventy-fifth year of his age he was '' effectually 
 called." Jehovah appeared to him, and commanded 
 him to arise and leave his country and kindred, to go, 
 the patriarch knew not where, but with a divine 
 promise that of him God would yet make a great 
 nation. At that time Abraham was childless. Some 
 time after this, when he was sojourning in the plain 
 of Moreh, the Lord appeared unto him, and repeated 
 the promise of offspring, which was as yet unfulfilled. 
 Years again elapsed, and Jehovah, for the third time, 
 honored his servant with a revelation of his purposes. 
 On this occasion, however, the very time of the child's 
 birth was specified. That " set time" in due course 
 arrived, and Isaac was born. 
 
 The faith of Abraham and Sarah, so long tried, was 
 now rewarded. Within their humble tent they pos- 
 sessed him in whom the nations of the earth were to 
 be blessed. The unchangeable God had assured them 
 
44 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 of this, and they were relieved of fears about his fu- 
 ture preservation. They would, no doubt, indulge 
 the hope of enjoying his society during the closing 
 years of their own pilgrimage. The children of other 
 parents might die ; Ishmael, the son of the bond- 
 woman, might die ; but Isaac could not die, in child- 
 hood nor in youth. He was to live to be the father 
 of a great people, more numerous than the stars of 
 heaven. What endearing conversation, concerning 
 such a child, would often pass between the aged 
 couple I How natural that they should indulge in 
 anticipations of his future greatness — his honored in- 
 tercourses with God — his increasing opulence, and 
 numerous descendants ! To his education and im- 
 provement, in everything corresponding with these 
 hopes, they would unceasingly devote their attention, 
 and there can be no doubt of their success. In their 
 eyes, Isaac would grow up a pattern of everything 
 most estimable. They were, therefore, now at ease. 
 The shades of evening were fast gathering around 
 them. Isaac was twenty-five years of age — his 
 father's hope and his mother's joy — and they looked 
 ere long to be gathered to their people, leaving him to 
 be the heir, not only of all their wealth, but of the 
 exceeding precious promise that, in him and in his 
 seed, nations yet unborn should be blessed. 
 
 The patriarch was now, and had for some time 
 been, dwelling in Beersheba, where he '' had planted 
 a grove, and called there on the name of the Lord, the 
 everlasting God." It is far from improbable that he 
 was thus engaged when he was favored with another 
 visit from Jehovah. But what could now be the ob- 
 ject of this return of the Holy One ? A long time had 
 elapsed since they spake face to face. The fondest 
 wish of the patriarch's heart had been gratified, and he 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 45 
 
 only waited his peaceful dismissal into rest. Through 
 many severe trials he had passed. He might now 
 calculate that, in the decline of life, '' the days of his 
 mourning were ended," and that he and his beloved 
 Sarah would go down to the grave amid the regrets 
 of their household, and the filial devotedness of Isaac. 
 How sadly mistaken was this good man in his inter- 
 pretations of a future Providence I At no period of 
 life are even the children of God secured against its 
 trying vicissitudes ; and oft, when they have battled 
 bravely through its storms, and thought they could 
 foresee a calm passage into the desired haven, does 
 the bitterest tempest of all arise, in the very midst of 
 which, perhaps, their celestial inheritance is reached, 
 only, however, over the previous shipwreck of worldly 
 comforts and cherished temporal hopes. Thus the 
 time came when Abraham was commanded to put 
 Isaac to death on the mount Moriah. Let us con- 
 template for a little the mountain itself, where the 
 scene referred to occurred. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ACRA ZION MAHOMMEDAN" CLAIMS THE MOSQUE MORIAH 
 
 THE SITE OF THE THREE TEMPLES. 
 
 Possessed of none of the natural grandeurs of Ar- 
 arat, there are yet some things peculiarly worthy of 
 notice in the topography of Moriah. In ages long 
 after the days of Abraham, it became the site of the 
 
46 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 temple built by king Solomon. It does not appear, 
 however, that in the patriarch's time there were any 
 buildings either on it or near it. On the contrary, we 
 learn that there was a thicket in the immediate neigh- 
 borhood, where the ram was caught which was offered 
 for a burnt-offering in the stead of Isaac. There was 
 another hill beside it, called Acra, on which the city 
 of Jebus was afterwards built ; which Jebus came 
 latterly to be called Jerusalem. But to convey a 
 more distinct idea of the precise situation of mount 
 Moriah, it may be noticed that Jerusalem was built 
 on two hills, named Acra and Zion, the one confront- 
 ing the other, while naturally lower down was Moriah, 
 separated from them only by a broad valley ; which 
 valley was afterwards filled up by the Asmoneans, for 
 the purpose of joining the city itself to the temple, 
 which was built on Moriah. We are told that Sol- 
 omon built a causeway from his palace on mount 
 Zion to this temple on Moriah, which was of easy as- 
 cent and descent. This eminence lay to the north- 
 east part of Jerusalem, and has been sometimes reck- 
 oned part of the hill of Zion. 
 
 The precise locality of the scene in the text has 
 been disputed. The Samaritans contended that the 
 trial of Abraham was upon their favorite mountain 
 Gerizzim. Hence, Dr. Wilson, in his recent admira- 
 ble work on the " Lands of the Bible," tells us that, 
 when on his way from Jerusalem to Tiberias, he as- 
 cended Gerizzim, and was showm by his guides the 
 place where, they said, Abraham offered up Isaac. On 
 the same mountain the Samaritans had their temple, 
 which was rival to that built by Solomon. The Ma- 
 hommedans also contend that the site of their famous 
 temple at Mecca was the scene of the patriarch's trial, 
 but they naturally substitute Ishmael for Isaac. It 
 
MOUNT MORIAH, . 47 
 
 certainly must be looked upon as somewhat singular, 
 that Samaritans, Jews, and iMahommedans, should all 
 fix upon the sites of their temples as having been the 
 scene of this interesting event. Moriah, however, was 
 neither at Gerizzim nor Mecca, but beside mounts 
 Zion and Acra, upon which, in latter days, the holy 
 city was built — even Jerusalem, " the city of the 
 great king." That the temple was built on it we 
 learn from second Chronicles, third chapter and first 
 verse, where it is said, '' Then Solomon began to build 
 the house of the Lord at Jerusalem in mount Moriah, 
 where the Lord appeared unto David his father, in the 
 place that David had prepared in the threshing-floor 
 of Oman the Jebusite." When the temple was reared, 
 the ark of the testimony was removed thither from its 
 place on mount Zion ; and when this magnificent 
 structure was, four hundred years afterwards, de- 
 stroyed by the Babylonians, the second temple was 
 erected by Zerubbabel on the same site. When again 
 this edifice was plundered by Antiochus Epiphanes, 
 the third was reared and beautified by Herod, where 
 the former ones had stood ; and, ever since the Roman 
 soldiers under Titus, according to our Lord's predic- 
 tion, completely demolished the third, the place has 
 been regarded as one of very singular interest by the 
 succeeding governors of the land of Syria. At this 
 moment, Moriah, the scene of Abraham's offering up 
 of his son, and the site of the three successive temples, 
 is occupied by a splendid Moslem mosque, the re- 
 nowned Sakara, built by the caliph Omar. At pres- 
 ent both Moriah and Acra are scarcely discernible as 
 elevations on the platform where Jerusalem stands. 
 This arises, probably, from the gradual filling up of 
 the interjacent valleys. Except at mount Zion, which 
 is the elevated termination of that platform towards 
 
48 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 the south, the general level of the site is below that 
 of the immediately surrounding country ; though, 
 considering that it is not very distant from the sea, its 
 positive elevation above the sea-level is considerable. 
 
 Let us now meditate for awhile on the sublime 
 associations of Moriah with the faith of the patriarch, 
 and the movements of the Deity. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE TRIAL OF THE PATRIARCH ON MORIAH ! 
 
 A TRIAL OF NATURAL AFFECTION OF FAITH OF PATIENCE 
 
 AND FORTITUDE THE SPLENDID EFFECTS OF GENUINE 
 
 PIETY. 
 
 In shortly reviewing the nature and extent of the 
 trial to which, on Moriah, Abraham was subjected, we 
 notice, 
 
 I I. It WAS A TRIAL OF HIS NATURAL AFFECTION. 
 
 ^*-Abraham was rich in flocks and herds, and would 
 have been ready, we cannot doubt, to have sacrificed 
 them all at the command of God. He was rich also 
 in man-servants and maid-servants, and if it had been 
 enjoined on him, he would have offered any one of 
 them, though it might be with painful emotions. He 
 was fortunate, too, in having Eliezer of Damascus as 
 the steward of his house, and him he would uot have 
 hesitated to sacrifice. He had, besides, another son, 
 Ishmael, whom he tenderly loved, and even Ishmael 
 he would not have withheld. But, everything con- 
 sidered, natural affection was more awfully tested by 
 
MOUNT MORIAII. 49 
 
 the order from heaven to go and sacrifice Isaac, his 
 only son — the son whom he loved with a very peculiar 
 and intense affection. And if he so loved this child, 
 God himself had taught him to do it, by making him 
 wait so long for his birth, and by associating with his 
 future history the glory of his house. And what is it 
 that God requires him to do ? When first the voice 
 reaches his ear, he is ready to hear and obey. It con- 
 cerns Isaac, and perhaps the thought would suggest 
 itself that now somewhat of the future eminence of 
 his son was to be communicated. Visions of earthly 
 splendor might pass before his mind, and the parental 
 pride might even then be gratified by anticipating for 
 him the obeisance of surrounding kingdoms. " Take 
 now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, 
 and get thee into the land of Moriah." The patriarch 
 might already have realized the separation of Isaac 
 from himself at some future period, and indulged the 
 fond hope that, if this should be the will of God, the 
 distance between them might be such as to admit of 
 their occasional fellowship. How delightful to him, 
 then, under such impressions, to hear that Moriah was 
 the place to which they were to repair — only three 
 days' journey from Beersheba ! But the reaction on 
 the parental heart must have been dreadful beyond 
 description, when the closing words fell upon his ear, 
 — " and offer him there for a burnt-offering, upon one 
 of the mountains which I will tell thee of." 
 
 II. It was a trial of his faith. — Isaac was not 
 only his son, but the son of promise, and Abraham 
 was already in possession of assurances from God 
 himself that this very child would become the father 
 of a great people. Herein, then, lay a trial of faith. 
 He believed God's word, and yet he must act in direct 
 opposition to what to reason appeared subversive of 
 
 3 
 
50 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 that word. He believed that Isaac would become 
 everything God had predicted he should be. He be- 
 lieved God to be sincere in all his promises concerning 
 that son. He believed at the same time that this son 
 he must put to death, and that within three days. 
 This he believed he would do, and had no idea that 
 the divine mandate should be recalled as it ultimately 
 was, nor even that Isaac should be restored to life 
 after the sacrifice. This was just as severe a trial as 
 faith could possibly be subjected to, and fit to be placed 
 beside the temptation to natural affection of which we 
 have spoken. " Now faith," we are told, " is the sub- 
 stance of things hoped for." How, then, was this ele- 
 ment of faith tested hero? *' The things hoped for" 
 by Abraham v/ere, Isaac's prosperity and Isaac's pos- 
 terity. These things were substantially before him in 
 the life of his son, and in the inward persuasion or 
 faith that that life would not be destroyed, and though 
 destroyed, would yet be the productive cause of these 
 expected blessings in a way and manner unknown in 
 that case to him, but perfectly well known to that 
 God whose word was pledged for it. But faith is also 
 " the evidence of things not seen;" and how was this 
 element tested in the crucible of this trial? Thus, 
 the things not seen by the patriarch were the future 
 fortunes of Isaac, and God's mode of unravelling the 
 present mystery. Accordingly, his conviction that 
 such fortunes were safe in God's hands, and would be 
 accomplished in God's time, was as good to him in 
 the way of enjoyment, as if these invisible things had 
 started into existence before his eyes. His faith was 
 to him in the stead of actual substance, and as con- 
 firmatory of the existence of such a substance, as if 
 the evidence of sight had been added to the testimony 
 of faith. Still, it must be repeated, to his faith this 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 51 
 
 was a most dreadful trial. Never before had God so 
 experimented upon the confidence of any son of Adam, 
 and never before had God been so greatly glorified by 
 the immovable adherence of that confidence in his im- 
 maculate veracity. 
 
 III. It was a trial of his patiexce and forti- 
 tude. — When the human mind is called on to submit 
 to some painful sacrifice, either of affection or faith, 
 there is a strong dasire to have the trial quickly over. 
 Between the purpose formed, and the purpose exe- 
 cuted, there is sometimes more real agony endured 
 than in actual suffering, — 
 
 " The fears of fancy are most terrible ; 
 But when the apprehended misery comes, 
 The spirit smiles to feel how bearable 
 The heaviest stroke of heaven." 
 
 Hence it is possible that the spirit of a man, which 
 would sustain him under the infliction of an evil, 
 would utterly break down in the interval, were it pro- 
 longed, during which he must brood in misery over 
 his anticipated struggles. True heroism in war con- 
 sists in the calm and unfaltering march of the veteran 
 to the cannon's mouth. All that follows this is but 
 the desperate energy of an unbridled natural instinct, 
 intensely bent on the preservation of one life by the 
 sacrifice of many. True martyrdom is not exempli- 
 fied in the composed resignation of life at the block, or 
 in the fire, but in the silent and cheerful endurance of 
 the intermediate contests with flesh and blood, and of 
 the invariable peril to life and liberty to which the 
 confessor is every moment conscious that he is ex- 
 posed. Whatever follows this, is but the gentle lapse 
 into sleep of a child of heaven on the bosom of truth. 
 Now this was eminently the case with the father of 
 
52 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 the faithful in this trial. The instruction was, not to 
 put Isaac to death immediately, but in three days 
 hence ; not in the tent, or in the grove at Beersheba, 
 but in the land of Moriah ; not in the presence of his 
 people, to whom the divine request might be made 
 known and explained, and who might maintain his 
 purpose of obedience by their acquiescence, but alone — 
 alone on the top of the mountain with the beloved and 
 lovely victim. 
 
 What heart does not throb with emotion as it fol- 
 lows that father on such a journey ! Let us picture 
 to our minds the family of the patriarch assembled 
 that night for the worship of God, — A_braham presides, 
 Sarah sits beside him, and before him were Isaac and 
 the household. The father's eye is fixed on the sacred 
 boy — the child of a divine promise. He believes that 
 this happy domestic circle is soon to be diminished, and 
 that never again in the praises of God shall that melo- 
 dious voice of Isaac be heard within that humble tent, 
 the scene of his birth, the witness of his childhood's 
 prattle and play, and the sanctuary of all the mother's 
 fondest, of all the father's deepest sympathies. There 
 is no tremulousness in the voice, no change in the 
 countenance, no tear in the eye, by which either 
 mother or son or servant could discover the welling 
 emotions of his heart. They retire to rest. He sees 
 the mother embrace her son, as he thinks, for the last 
 time, but still he commands himself, and keeps at once 
 his secret and his spirit under. The morn dawns ; 
 thp patriarch rises with the sun ; he calmly makes 
 provision for the sacrifice on Moriah, and summons 
 Isaac and two servants to follow. As he quits the 
 tent, is he tempted to divulge tlie truth to the mother, 
 and afford her a last opportunity of folding that dear 
 son in her arms ? No ; he never thinks of it. This 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 53 
 
 would be placing too much of nature in the road of 
 faith, and he might stagger in his purpose. He is 
 quiet, collected, and unimpassioned. Why ? He has 
 got work to do which the great God who brought him 
 from Ur of the Chaldees, gave him to do : and what 
 was he that he should delay ? It is God's work ! He 
 holds on his way, sometimes walking alone, and some- 
 times with Isaac at his side ; nature working, as it 
 ought, in solemn seriousness, and faith working, as it 
 ought, in perfect control of nature. 
 
 But the sun is now setting, and the twilight casts 
 its sombre shade over the plain. They pitch their 
 tent, and after the usual evening devotion, retire to 
 rest. Thus also passed the second day of their travel ; 
 and on the third " Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw 
 the place afar off." He takes the wood of the burnt- 
 offering ; he lays it on his son ; he takes the fire and 
 the knife ; and leaving the two servants behind, they 
 go together to Moriah. For awhile they are silent. 
 They converse at length. The obedient son, confiding 
 hitherto in his parent's superior wisdom and piety, 
 proposes a question which, in the circumstances, is 
 replete with a pathos unparalleled : " And Isaac spake 
 unto Abraham his father, and said. My father ; and 
 he said. Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold 
 the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a 
 burnt-offering ?" Many a sportive lamb from the fold 
 at Beersheba had the pious Isaac brought to his father's 
 altar, and stood by and witnessed the patriarch priest 
 shed its blood; but here was wood, and there was 
 fire, but where the lamb ? This question appears to 
 be the crisis in the trial of natural affection, and now, 
 if ever, will the weakness of the man give way before 
 the yearnings of the parent. It is not so. How calm 
 the reply as they move on to the mount : " My son, 
 
54 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt-offering !" 
 So, this struggle over, they both went on together. 
 They gain the hill, they come to the very place, and 
 in a short space of time an altar is reared, Isaac look- 
 ing on, and wondering where God's lamb was to be 
 found. His father approaches him, stretches forth his 
 hands, and forthwith proceeds to bind him as the sac- 
 rifice. Isaac submits in silence. This he could easily 
 have resisted. Abraham was an old man, one hun- 
 dred and twenty-five years old ; the son was in the 
 prime and vigor of life, only twenty-five ; but the one 
 was as willing as the other. Nothing so finely demon- 
 strates this as the circumstance that Isaac was laid 
 alive upon the altar. It was the invariable custom 
 to slay the animal first, and then, when dead, to place 
 it on the altar to be burnt. But had Abraham done 
 this, his strength might not have been equal, to lift up 
 the dead body of his son. To relieve and assist the 
 father, the son censents to be bound alive, and when 
 stretched upon the altar, awaits the fall of the fatal 
 knife. This appears to be the crisis in the trial of 
 faith. If that weapon is plunged into this bosom, 
 heaving with young life, how is it possible even for 
 God to make that dead body fruitful ? Where shall 
 another Isaac be found ? The father's faith in God, 
 however, equals the son's resignation to God; he 
 bares his arm ; takes the knife ; raises it ; and in an- 
 other moment the blood of the son of promise would 
 have purpled the green sod of Moriah. But the trial 
 was past ; natural affection had been subdued ; faith 
 and patience had had their perfect work ; God had 
 been obeyed ; the spirituahty of the patriarch had been 
 greatly increased in the furnace ; and one of the most 
 magnificent illustrations of the power of faith had 
 been given, for an example to all coming generations. 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 55 
 
 Abraham believes and obeys ; Isaac submits and lives; 
 and God is glorified. 
 
 Behold, then, in all this, how true piety contributes 
 to enlighten and empower the human mind ! That 
 the patriarch was possessed of a superior intellect, is 
 clear from the above illustrations. It is true, his past 
 life had been but ill adapted to what is called the cul- 
 tivation of the mental faculties. He was an Hebrew ; 
 that is, a wanderer. He had little or no intercourse 
 with men above or equal to himself. In that rude age 
 of the world, neither art nor science could have en- 
 gaged his attention, so as to multiply his stores of 
 wisdom, or quicken his powers of reflection. Still, he 
 was a man enriched with the substance and fertility 
 of such sanctified intelligence as has not, we may 
 venture to affirm, been paralleled in human biography. 
 The human passions, even in the most civilized con- 
 dition, are difficult of control ; and the power of sense 
 is the very last of our natural endowments that sub- 
 mits to the dictates of reason and the requirements of 
 religion. Few men, though educated in the morals 
 of a developed Christianity, in entering the lists with 
 those severities and sacrifices of fife which crave so 
 much conflict in " the hidden part," have been able so 
 to embody in their life the first principles of religion, 
 as to demonstrate the supremacy of divine faith over 
 human failings. But Abraham did this. His mind 
 had much innate power, because it lived up in that 
 pure region where habitual intercourse with God can 
 alone be maintained. This was the secret of his in- 
 tellectual excellence. His companion was God. His 
 study was God. His aim was conformity to God. 
 His object always and everywhere was the glory of 
 God. Consequently he grew in that knowledge of 
 God, which is the true and only process by which he 
 
56 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 attained to his eminence as a man of mind, as well as 
 a man of faith. There is, indeed, no process through 
 which the human understanding can be carried, so 
 absolutely certain to reifine and exalt its faculties, as 
 such communion with Jehovah. Here it dwells in 
 light ; meditates on truth ; acquires power ; imbibes 
 purity, and grasps perfection. Apart from the unset- 
 tled elements of an inferior scholarship, its elasticity 
 is undepressed by the damps of this humid clime, its 
 penetration is undisturbed by falsities in principle or 
 errors in reasoning, and its solid improvement is safely 
 insured by a rapid and animating discovery of new 
 and astonishing truths. We are apt to think that the 
 inhabitants of an infant world, destitute of the advan- 
 tages which now quicken the mind and endow it with 
 the treasures of a more matured age, are greatly to be 
 pitied, as having occupied a lower platform, and served 
 an inferior purpose in creation. This, in a most im- 
 portant respect, is a grievous misapprehension. Con- 
 sider Abraham ! Born and living all his days in an 
 €ra unenlightened by knowledge, and rendered still 
 more dark by idolatry, and not possessed of any one of 
 those helps to mental culture upon which men now 
 plume- themselves, and say, was there ever among 
 men any mere intellectual stature that equalled his — 
 any conceptions of the Supreme Being more truthful 
 or comprehensive — any mastery of the human pas- 
 sions so perfect — any achievements of spirit over mat- 
 ter, faith over sense, or reason over superstition, that 
 can at aU match with his ? And yet, he had no com- 
 panionships ; no competitors ; no inducements beyond 
 the circle of his own tents, and the precincts of his 
 own altar grounds ; no Bibles ; no priests ; no ordi- 
 nances, such as we have ! What value should not 
 this teach us to set on the life of fellowship with God ! 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 57 
 
 Restricted to this, we may lack the phylacteries and 
 coronets of modern philosophies ; but, possessed of 
 this, we shall secure our own gradual assimilation to 
 the image of God, which is knowledge, righteousness, 
 and true holiness. Let no man, then, despise the op- 
 portunities and privileges of true piety, as if these 
 alone could not fit him to take his place, and act his 
 part, among the most illustrious of his race. Let but 
 these be conscientiously improved by him, and he will 
 speedily be as far removed, in respect of true great- 
 ness, from the possessors of mere earthly wisdom, as 
 are the angels of God from the blundering astrologers 
 of time. In a word, the human mind can be " thorousrh- 
 ly furnished unto every good work" of piety towards 
 God, and of benevolence towards man ; can be wrought 
 up to meet, to battle with, and master, all the diffi- 
 culties of this life ; can be educated for joining the as- 
 sociation of the highest order of intelligent beings ; 
 can be prepared to meet God in judgment, and to 
 serve God through all eternity, by a devout and habit- 
 ual intercourse with God himself, and God alone. 
 This we say, not to deprecate human learning, or de- 
 cry earthly science, but simply to recommend the fife 
 of religion, and exalt the science of faith. 
 
 3* 
 
58 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE SCENE ON MORIAH IMPROVED. 
 
 GOD IN HIS SOVEREIGNTY MAN ON HIS TRIALS FAITH AT 
 
 HER PROPER WORK BETWEEN THEM. 
 
 I. The scene invites us to contemplate God in his 
 SOVEREIGNTY. — That God is sovereign, is apparent in 
 all his intercourse with Abraham, from the day that he 
 gave him command to depart from his native country. 
 This call was made irrespective of any wish or claim 
 of the patriarch himself Out of all that generation 
 of men, it may be asked, why was Abraham selected ? 
 And why was it not Terah, the father, rather than 
 Abraham, the son ? Or why was it not from a former, 
 or why not from a succeeding generation, that one was 
 chosen to become an instrument in God's hands for 
 working out God's mysterious work ? Questions such 
 as these are endless, and but one satisfactory answer 
 can be given to them : God is sovereign. He has a 
 right to do what pleases him anywhere and every- 
 where. " Therefore hath he mercy on whom he will 
 have mercy, and whom he will he hardeneth." This 
 exercise of sovereign authority is quite manifest in 
 what may be called God's general management of the 
 affairs of all his creatures and their works ; and to this 
 absolute exercise of power, whether it be in the crea- 
 tion or destruction of nature, in the punishment or 
 pardon of sin, in the selection of men or the abandon- 
 ment of devils, no intelligent creature of God ought to 
 object. Being creatures, we have no title to question 
 God on any matter ; and being sinners, we should not 
 seek to be wise above what is written. Our ooniidence 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 59 
 
 should be this : that the Judge of all the earth must 
 do what is right, whether we perceive it or not ; and, 
 if we find it not only expressed in scripture, but re- 
 peated emphatically in Providence, and, in fact, re- 
 echoed throughout human experience, that God has 
 electing decrees by which he is guided in his gracious 
 dealings with our race, we are bound to believe it, 
 though we cannot reconcile it with what, after all, 
 may on our part be very erroneous principles of rea- 
 soning, Abraham is a beautiful specimen of this 
 humble submission of the mind to revelation. God 
 commanded him to expatriate himself; and thus it is 
 written — how simple, yet how impressive the narra- 
 tive ! — " So Abraham departed." God promised to 
 give him a son by Sarah, who was barren ; years 
 passed away, he and Sarah became old and infirm, and 
 no son was born. The arrangement might not be very 
 satisfactory to them, and the delay in fulfilling the 
 promise might seem wanton and unnecessary ; but 
 Abraham waited on the Lord, confident that all was 
 well considered, that all v/ould be rightly adjusted at 
 the last ; and it was so. That son of promise was 
 born, and grew up to manhood. But what next? 
 God commanded the father to put him to death. Abra- 
 ham rose on the instant to do it, though a more 
 stunning injunction was never offered to the submis- 
 sion of a rational being. It is all one, however, to the 
 patriarch. '' God is sovereign ; he has a right to com- 
 mand ; I have no right to question. Do what he bids, 
 in defiance of my feelings, of my light, of God's own 
 express declaration, I must and Avill, leaving conse- 
 quences to him who supports his throne on righteous- 
 ness and judgment, though it may be overshadowed 
 by clouds and darkness." And such, brethren, is the 
 use we all ought to make of this doctrine of the divine 
 
 \ 
 
60 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 sovereignty. No creature ought to suppose it possible 
 that God can do or be wrong, whatever be his doings 
 or sayings. " Let God be true, and every man a liar." 
 But, though God is sovereign, it does not follow 
 that he ever acts, or can act, in any way inconsistently 
 with his absolute perfections. He not only can do 
 what he pleases, but he is never pleased to do any- 
 thing but what is right. All his attributes act in per- 
 fect harmony ; and hence all his words to, or dealings 
 with, his creatures, are so beautifully compacted to- 
 gether, and so nicely balanced, that no dissonant note 
 is ever heard among his decrees, and no antagonism 
 ever introduced to occasion conflict among his handi- 
 works. It does not please him to show us, at present, 
 all the various links of the chain which so comiects his 
 numerous dispensations, either in nature or grace, as 
 to produce systematic and combined results. We are 
 certainly kept in the dark ; and for this he has, no 
 doubt, the best of reasons. Who would wish it other- 
 wise, when God has wished it so ? And if men would 
 but curb their curiosity, and restrain their impatience 
 but for a little time, they would find that, in the end, 
 God's processes with them are altogether just and 
 merciful. To many, for instance, it is mysterious 
 how God should so long delay the fulfilment of his 
 promises. They cower down beneath the clouds of his 
 Providence, timid and distrustful, saying, " Are his 
 mercies clean gone ? Has the Lord forgotten to be 
 gracious?" Now, we should remember, that not only 
 does God promise, but he determines when to fulfil ; 
 and every promise of his receives its accomplishment 
 at the very moment and in the very way he has fixed. 
 He righteously keeps the matter, and as punctually 
 the time, of all his engagements. Delay with God is 
 ' neither to be accounted loss of honor nor of memory. 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 61 
 
 He is not "slack concerning his promises, as some 
 men count slackness," but the word of the Lord en- 
 dureth forever. His promise is always and honorably 
 kept, even when, as appears to us, he is literally break- 
 ing it to pieces. The patriarch might be astonished 
 when he was required to sacrifice his Isaac ; but he 
 had faith within him, and God had honor and majesty 
 before him ; so Isaac lived, and God's veracity re- 
 mained intact. Now, we should judge of all his 
 actions by this one. It is recorded that we might have 
 faith and consolation in the midst of our darkest and 
 severest providences. Rest assured, God is always 
 right. He is doing you no wrong. He is forgetting 
 no promise. He is accomplishing just decrees. He is 
 working out at once his own ends and your own wel- 
 fare ; and if we are to accommodate our feelings, in 
 times of trouble, to his express declarations on this 
 subject, then we may never be so confident of a re- 
 markable manifestation of divine power and love, as 
 when all is getting dark above our heads, and the 
 whole framework of our earthly and spiritual comforts 
 threatens to dissolve. " Man's extremity is God's op- 
 portunity;" and such opportunities he knows best 
 when, in every man's history, to employ for command- 
 ing deliverances to Jacob. 
 
 " The mount of danger is the place 
 Where you shall see surprising grace." 
 
 II. The scene invites us to contemplate man 
 ON HIS TRIAL. — The Intelligent creatures of God are, 
 and must be, in an important sense, continually on j 
 trial. The angels are tried in heaven. There musf' 
 be some principle on which their obedience to God is 
 tested and demonstrated. Our first parents were tried 
 in Paradise; and though the condition of mankind 
 
62 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 has, in consequence of their fall, undergone material 
 changes, the original constitution of things remains 
 the same ; the creature is still under trial, and it is 
 still by his Creator that he is tried. His allegiance is 
 tried by the requirements of the divine law, and his 
 nature is tried by the inflictions of the divine rod. Our 
 subject, however, calls rather to the consideration of 
 man tried by severe affliction, in the endurance of 
 which his corrupt nature is tempted, while his resigna- 
 tion to the divine will is put to the proof. Trials of 
 this description are not essential to the manifestation 
 of our submission to the divine law. They are con- 
 tingent upon a state of insubordination to that law, 
 and are superadded to the former, because the law has 
 been broken, and that the law may again be '' made 
 honorable." It is in this view that all trials among 
 men in general should be considered, and especially 
 the trials of those who by grace are the believing 
 children of the Most High. 
 
 Believers are God's children by adoption. Hence 
 their Father, to prosecute the ends of their adoption, 
 sees it necessary to administer the rod to them ; not 
 willingly, that is, not from any wanton delight in 
 their suffering, but from a constraining love of their 
 spiritual wellbeing, which, it is apparent, imperiously 
 requires this mode of treatment. If they could do 
 without it, or if there were some better way by which 
 their natures could be improved, we may rest assured 
 that no tribulations would be mingled with the lot of 
 the righteous ; hence we are expressly told, that " no 
 chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but 
 grievous, nevertheless, afterward, it yieldeth the peace- 
 able fruit of righteousness unto them which are exer- 
 cised thereby." 
 
 All this is forcibly illustrated in the trials of 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 63 
 
 Abraham. He was chosen of God to walk with God. 
 He was a remarkably good man ; and the most honor- 
 able title that can be conferred on any being, however 
 exalted in rank, was first given to him — Jehovah con- 
 descended to call him his friend. Who, then, so like- 
 ly, so certain, as the friend of God, to be saved from 
 the trials afflictive to human nature ? And yet, after 
 all, no other man was ever so severely tried. Hence, 
 we may infer, that no degree of intimacy with the 
 divine Being; no amount of his friendship, however 
 largely it may be enjoyed ; no attainments in grace 
 and godliness, however many and bright, render trials 
 unnecessary, or diminish the probability of our present 
 exposure to them. 
 
 The spectacle of a good man enduring his afflictions 
 is truly sublime. His temptations must be regarded 
 as the temptations of the Holy One of Israel ; for it is 
 said, " God did tempt Abraham." They must be 
 connected with the mysterious revolutions of a uni- 
 versal Providence, by which all things are made to 
 *'work together for good to them that love God." 
 The apostle says, ^'' all things.'''' How comprehensive ! 
 Things remote as to time and place, and things at 
 hand ; things above, and things below ; things brilliant 
 with the smiles, and dazzling with the sunshine of 
 Jehovah's countenance, as well as things blackened 
 with the shade of his frown ; things that make the 
 mountains and caverns vocal with their thunder, and 
 things that breathe out their whispers in the ear of si- 
 lence ; things that receive the loud applause of heaven, 
 and things that call down the satire and contempt of 
 earth ; things that appear to be all in musical har- 
 mony with one another, and things that torture the 
 mind with their screeching dissonance; things that 
 bless, and things that curse ; things of God, and things 
 
64 MOUNT MORIAII. 
 
 of man ; things of heaven, and things of hell ; all 
 these things, and every other thing, we are bound to 
 associate together, as forming a magnificent and suc- 
 cessful order of means — not acting apart, independent 
 of one another, but all working together — all in uni- 
 son, and the entire influence of their gigantic co-opera- 
 tion bearing directly, minutely, and perpetually, on 
 the good of all and of each of the lovers of God. To 
 him, then, who has spirituality enough to realize a 
 good man undergoing such a process, up to the very 
 article of death, no more imposing moral spectacle can 
 be exhibited. The history of such a man, indeed, is 
 next thing to a narrative of miracles, which, when 
 attentively perused, appear in the three following 
 views of God's probationer : — 
 
 1. That man, sinful and weak, should ever encoun- 
 ter God upon any arena, without being at once and 
 forever crushed like a moth, is somewhat incompre- 
 hensible. The difficulty is increased when we consider 
 that God's intercourses with man must now demon- 
 strate his indignation at sin, and his purpose to punish 
 it. It is true, all this is easily accounted for, now 
 that the atonement has been made and accepted of; 
 still, even in the case of the believer, it is not without 
 a great share of the marvellous. He, too, all justified 
 as he is, and greatly beloved of God, for Christ's sake, 
 is often carried into the deep sea of trouble, and all 
 the billows of God pass over him : yet is he not de- 
 stroyed. His life remains in him, and, what is more 
 astonishing, his religion remains in him. He may be 
 in Egyptian dungeons ; he may be stretched out in 
 the den of lions ; he may be cast into the fiery fur- 
 nace ; he may be hunted like a partridge on the 
 mountains ; he may have for enemies those of his own 
 kindred ; he may live to see his children swept into 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 65 
 
 the eternal world, perhaps unprepared for judgment ; 
 and, ere he himself dies, he who was once clothed in 
 purple, may he begging in rags. But still he is found 
 enduring, still praising, still content, still hopeful; 
 and never for one moment disposed to yield to the 
 temptation of Satan, to " curse God and die." In all 
 this, we see a short-sighted sinful creature, whom the 
 breath of God's mouth could in a moment annihilate, 
 supported amid trials before which the vaunting mor- 
 alist, and the cold-hearted stoic, are carried away like 
 chaff. Clothed in the whole armor of God, the be- 
 liever ^^ stands in the evil day;" and, having done all, 
 he still stands. This, we say, is not only a marvel- 
 lous, but a miraculous thins^. 1 
 2. Nor does the marvel diminish as we follow God^s 
 probationer in his steady progress through his trial. 
 A tolerable amount of natural fortitude may sustain a 
 man's spirit during a severe but short conflict. The 
 most authentic records of suffering, however, present 
 us with few specimens either of peaceful and sustained 
 acquiescence in the prolongation of misfortune, or of a 
 corresponding refinement and elevation of those pecu- 
 liar natural feelings which are so prone to degenerate 
 under the shades of adversity. You see this, however, 
 in the saint as he passes through the conflicts of this 
 life. Sometimes so dreadful is the tempest, that the 
 frail bark of his mortality, with its precious cargo of 
 faith, hope, and love, shudders from end to end, and 
 remains immovable in the waters ; but the stop is 
 only for an instant, and onwards still it pushes to 
 the desired haven. Sometimes that bark is driven 
 to and fro during many a lowering day, and many 
 a starless night ; against its fragile form the furious 
 breakers are dashed, and rocks and sands menace 
 it with speedy destruction ? but it is all one to that 
 
66 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 mysterious little vessel — onward still it moves I It 
 bears a charmed existence ! It is insured in the 
 covenant books of Him whom winds and waves obey. 
 It is chartered for the shores of Paradise, and never 
 veers nor tacks till the port is reached at which the 
 voyage terminates, and the debarking begins. In 
 short, every saint continues to believe, to love, to 
 work, in all weathers, and to make spiritual progress 
 under the most severe .inflictions of his Father's rod. 
 Yea, the more copiously the afflictive elements are 
 poured into his cup, the more is added to his heavenly 
 mindedness, and the sooner is he ready to take posses- 
 sion of his inheritance. On natural or rational prin- 
 ciples, this is an unintelligible result, and can only be 
 accounted for by referring all the probationary experi- 
 ences to the rod, and all his support to the staff', of the 
 '' Lord, our shepherd." 
 I 3. But the greatest wonder of all in the trial of the 
 
 saint is, their peculiar termination. Whatever be 
 their number, nature, or length, their end is perfect 
 purity and peace. These are the legitimate and 
 necessary fruits of affliction. " For our light afflic- 
 tion," says Paul, '' which is but for a moment, worketh 
 for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of 
 glory." What astonishing contrasts are there in this 
 sublime text, which, when put together, greatly aid 
 us to comprehend its treasures of consolation. First, 
 there is affliction, then glory set over against it ; next, 
 there is "light affliction," then '' an exceeding weight 
 of glory" set over against it ; and lastly, there is 
 " affliction for a moment," then an eternal glory set 
 over against it I Such a view of this passage, while 
 it opens up a fountain of comfort to us during our 
 affliction, casts a flood of light upon the magnificent 
 winding up of sanctified probationship. No wonder, 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 67 
 
 though with such views, the apostle exclaimed, <'I 
 reckon that the sufferings of the present time are not 
 worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be 
 revealed in us !" Only contemplate all your trials, 
 brethren, in this light, and you will feel their burdens 
 to be lessened. Who would not suffer, since suffering 
 is one of the buds from which glory is to burst ? Who 
 would not weep, since a tear is one of the drops fi*om 
 which shall flow and be expanded one of the rivers of 
 God's pleasure ? Who would not groan beneath this 
 load of clay, since the sigh of the prisoner is to become 
 one of the songs in the symphony of heaven ? Who 
 would not hunger and thirst, since these appetites 
 are the future channels through which the life which 
 is hid with Christ in God is to be consummately en- 
 loyed? Who would not sacrifice his dearest treas- 
 .ures, — his very Isaac, — since the blood of our victims, 
 and the incense of our altars, are all graciously to 
 issue in the complete reproduction of whatever we 
 have given to God, and in the final possession of all 
 we have hoped for ? Who would not sicken and lan- 
 guish during days and years of weariness, when dis- 
 ease is to be the medicine by which the precious soul 
 is to be restored to spiritual health ? And who would 
 not die, when life and immortality are to be reached 
 through death and the grave ? 
 
 The scene invites us to contemplate, 
 
 III. Faith at her proper work between God in his 
 
 SOVEREIGNTY, AND MAN ON HIS TRIAL. Thc doctriuC of 
 
 divine sovereignty is, in many views, an appalling one, 
 especially to guilty men; and this mysterious mode 
 of perfecting pardoned sinners, by placing them in a 
 state of afflictive probation, is, to the eye of nature, 
 and in the judgment of the godless, the very opposite 
 of wisdom, and the counterpart of mercy. A correct 
 
68 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 estimate of both, however, is quite attainable, and has 
 been attained. Nor can human reason take any credit 
 to itself in the attainment. No mere man can com- 
 fortably to himself, or profitably to others, explain the 
 solemnizing attribute of the Deity on the one hand, nor 
 the sufferings of saints on the other. There is but one 
 principle upon which these hidden things can be, to 
 some extent, disclosed ; that is, the principle of faith. 
 Now this faith is begotten by no uninspired arguments, 
 and lives not on the unaided exertions of mere intellect. 
 It is a divine principle ; that is, it came from God, and 
 it lives in God, even though it has its being and its 
 motions on the earth. Consequently, operating in any 
 human mind, it necessarily deposits there the seeds of 
 immortal truth, so that it is not so much reason, as it 
 is revelation, that it has to do with. Dwelling in the 
 human heart, it diffuses such warmth of love and 
 trust, as that every sentiment and desire become im- 
 bued with its spirit, fascinated by its promises, and 
 completely subject to its influence. The result of all 
 this is, that faith, occupying a kind of middle position 
 between heaven and earth, readily justifies all the 
 ways of God to man, and reconciles man to the provi- 
 dence and to the grace of God. Mysteries, coming to 
 the saint, first through his faith in the divine goodness 
 and wisdom, are received with humility, and neither 
 startle nor disaftect his mind ; while trials, commis- 
 sioned from above, and first of all received by faith, 
 are endured with a calmness and fortitude, which it 
 were impossible to account for upon natural causes. 
 This was the great mediating principle by which 
 Abraham was so intimately connected with Jehovah, 
 that, instantly on the divine will being expressed, he 
 hoped against hope, believed against belief, combated 
 natural affection, and reached the bright eminence of 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 69 
 
 trust in the faithfulness of God, even when that faith- 
 fulness was imperilled by the descending knife. " By- 
 faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a 
 place which he should after receive for an inheritance, 
 obeyed; and he went out, not knowing whither he 
 went. By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, 
 as in a strange country. By faith, when he was tried, 
 he offered up Isaac ; and he that had received the 
 promises offered up his only-begotten son, accounting 
 that God was able to raise him up, even from the 
 dead ; from whence also he received him in a figure." 
 How few there be amonsfst us that have the faith 
 of Abraham ! It cannot be otherwise till more holy 
 and earnest effort is made to increase our faith ; till 
 indeed we are persuaded that it is our duty to aim at 
 " full assurance." We are verily to blame in this 
 matter ; inasmuch as, if we were so disposed, the means 
 are within our reach for greatly enlarging this Christian 
 grace. '' Faith is the gift of God." He is the '' Father 
 of lights," and consequently of faith, as one of the 
 most brilliant of them all. To him, therefore, in ear- 
 nest prayer we must apply, not only for the original 
 gift, but for its steady and cumulative influences. The 
 prayerless are they that are faithless : and the prayer- 
 ful only are the believing, who become " the lights of 
 the world." This honor have all the saints, and they 
 are solely indebted for it to the grace of God. If, 
 then, we sincerely desire to be strong ia faith, we must 
 make very diligent use of all the means of grace. 
 Specially must the word of God be studied ; not for- 
 mally read merely, but most seriously and persever- 
 ingly studied. The character of God, and the worth 
 and work of the Saviour, as therein described, must 
 become regular subjects of meditation, together with 
 the divine modes of dealing with the saints in past 
 
w 
 
 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 generations. In addition to this, we must be prepared 
 to offer uncompromising resistance to the temptations 
 of the world, the devil, and the flesh. No longer 
 " lovers of pleasure," the aspirants after great faith 
 must become " lovers of God," in an eminent degree. 
 The whole life, in short, must be surrendered to the 
 activities of Christianity. We must not consider our- 
 selves as our own, but as "bought with a price;" 
 even with the precious blood of Christ ; and bought for 
 the glory of his name, and the advancement of his 
 cause on earth. Less than this may be, and alas ! 
 too generally is given ; but less than this cannot achieve 
 the mighty works of patriarchal faith. 
 
 If, then. Christians would have comfort in God ; if 
 they would see through the clouds and darkness that 
 go before him, into the very sirdles of his face ; if they 
 would unravel all mysteries to act thereon as if they 
 comprehended them ; if they would have the flesh, 
 with its affections and lusts, crucified ; if they would 
 get complete control of those deeply-seated principles, 
 and those bounding affections of their nature which 
 are so apt to rebel against the stern requirements of 
 sovereign law, and the opening of the vials of Jehovah's 
 anger ; if they would be put in possession of the secret 
 for finding God out in the word, in the cross, and in 
 the providence, and for comfortably interpreting all his 
 procedure with them from birth to death ; and if they 
 would learn the way to entomb self in oblivion, to cast 
 the world behind their back, to carry their most cher- 
 ished possessions, even to bind their very Isaacs to the 
 altars of God, there to shed their blood if commanded ; 
 if they would do these mighty works, and works kin- 
 dred to these, they must have faith towards God ; 
 they must " endure as seeing God, who is invisible ;" 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 71 
 
 they must become the children of faithful Abraham ; 
 they must trust God as much in the dark as in the 
 light, in the breach as in the fulfilment of promises, in 
 the chambers of affliction as in the house of mirth, in 
 poverty as in plenty, in death as in life. 
 
MOUNT HOREB 
 
 AND 
 
 THE CALL OF MOSES 
 
 God promised to Abraham, that to him and to his 
 seed would be given the land of Canaan. The time, 
 however, was not specified ; consequently the faith of 
 the Hebrews was kept in constant exercise. They 
 " waited upon the Lord," in anticipation of the day 
 when he would ride forth in " truth and faithfulness." 
 During their captivity in Egypt, it does not very 
 clearly appear that they thought much about the 
 Abrahamic covenant. Like all the victims of slavery, 
 their spirits were crushed under oppression, while 
 their despair of immediate emancipation gradually 
 reconciled them to their captivity. We are not war- 
 ranted to conclude, however, that there were none 
 amongst them who confidently expected an exodus 
 from it. From the day that the Chaldean pilgrim 
 departed from Ur, to the reign of that monarch who 
 " knew not Joseph," God never left himself without a 
 witness among the descendants of the patriarch. The 
 dying words of Joseph were never, even throughout 
 that age of gloomy darkness which followed his de- 
 cease, altogether forgotten : '^ Arid Joseph said unto 
 his brethren, I die ; and God will surely visit you, 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 73 
 
 and bring you out of this land unto the land which 
 he sware to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob." To 
 this testimony some would cling with believing tena- 
 city ; and though generations passed away, and their 
 external condition waxed more and more miserable, 
 the hope would not be destroyed that in God's time it 
 would be verified. And so it was. As four hundred 
 years elapsed from the time of Noah to the call of 
 Abraham, so an equal number passed away from the 
 days of Abraham to the call of Moses. " Beloved, be 
 not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with 
 the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years 
 as one day." "When these years had fled, He who 
 had spoken face to face with the father of the faithful, 
 but who, during this long interval, had neither broken 
 silence nor come out of his secret place of thunder, 
 again appeared. His presence was vouchsafed to one 
 of '' the Hebrew children," in a region of the world far 
 from their house of bondage, denoted by the inspired 
 historian as "the mountain of God, even Horeb."* 
 Before describing the scene, let us ascertain the topo- 
 graphy of the mountain. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN OF GOD. 
 
 IIOREB ARABIA PETREA SIXAIC GROUP JEBAL KATRINE, 
 
 AND JEBAL MUSA, THE TWO PEAKS OP ONE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Immediately after crossing the Red Sea, at the 
 place where it is almost certain the Israelites made 
 
 * Exodus iii. 1, 
 
 4 
 
74 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 the miraculous passage, the traveller enters the coun- 
 try called Arabia. Arabia presents the form of a vast 
 peninsula, connected with the south-western extremity 
 of Asia by an isthmus of sandy deserts, the breadth of 
 which has been estimated at eight hundred English 
 miles. It has long been "famous for its poisonous 
 blasts, odoriferous plants of frankincense, myrrh, cas- 
 sia, and cinnamon, its coffee shrubs, its manna, and its 
 camels and horses." But our visit to it at present is 
 occasioned by some more powerful attraction than its 
 interesting natural history. By Ptolemy, one of the 
 kings of Egypt, who flourished a few centuries before 
 the coming of our Saviour, Arabia was divided into 
 three parts : Arabia Felix, Arabia Deserta, and Arabia 
 Petrea. It was into this third division of the country, 
 Arabia Petrea, so called from Petra, the ancient capi- 
 tal of the Nabotheans, that the Israelites entered, 
 when they crossed the Red Sea and traversed the wil- 
 derness, which is bounded on the west by its waters. 
 Within three days they reached the fountain called 
 Mar ah, where the waters were bitter ; and from Marah 
 they journeyed till they came to '' Horeb." The coun- 
 try in that region seems to be as unproductive and 
 wild now as it was then. A recent traveller tells us 
 " that there is no part of the world where the face of 
 nature, and the natural landmarks, have remained so 
 totally unchanged. In the days of Moses, as now, it 
 was a barren, mountainous region ; bare of verdure, 
 and destitute of streams of living water. So that the 
 Almighty was obliged to sustain his people with man- 
 na from heaven, and water from the rocks." 
 
 Leaving Marah, and still keeping to the south-east, 
 the traveller in a few days gets into a still more moun- 
 tainous and dreary region, where there are very few 
 inhabitants, and these almost entirely composed of in- 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 75 
 
 dependent Bedouins, or wandering Arabs. The moun- 
 tains here form the high lands in the interior of Arabia. 
 Petrea ; and the north-western portion has been desig- 
 nated by some, the region of Horeb ; by others, the 
 Sinaic group, because Mount Sinai stands in the cen- 
 tre. This range of mountains is of considerable extent, 
 and fills up a large space in that peninsula which pro- 
 jects into the Red Sea, having the gulf of Suez on its 
 west, and the gulf of Akaba on its east. The district 
 by which Sinai is approached from the north, is called 
 in scripture " the wilderness of sin ;" and the valley 
 immediately at the base of Sinai, where the children 
 of Israel were assembled at the promulgation of the 
 law, is called the Desert of Sinai. When nearing 
 this central elevation in the high land of the peninsula, 
 the traveller sees before him this valley, bounded by 
 high rocky cliffs ; and immediately in front, though 
 still more than a day's journey distant, stands the 
 sacred mountain itself, directly across the road, and, 
 as has Ipeen said, " looking like the end of the world." 
 After passing through this valley, shut in on either 
 hand by lofty and crumbling mountains, on whose 
 sides, notwithstanding, are produced oranges, dates, 
 and figs, in great abundance, the traveller suddenly 
 reaches a plain table of ground, from which the 
 ascent to the most remarkable mountain among the 
 Sinaic range, (three miles in length,) may be said to 
 commence. 
 
 It is proper, however, to notice, that the " Horeb" 
 of scripture, and the '' Sinai," to be afterwards com- 
 mented on, do not form two distinct mountains, though 
 different names are used when referring to them. 
 There appears to be a sense in which Horeb is Sinai, 
 and Sinai is Horeb. Much difference of opinion exists 
 among intelligent travellers upon this subject. With- 
 
76 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 out occupying time by more particular references to 
 their various conjectures, we shall simply state, what, 
 upon the whole, appears to be the most correct view 
 of the subject. In the very centre, then, of the cluster, 
 called indiscriminately Horeb or Sinai, there is one 
 stupendous mountain, which, like Ararat, is divided 
 into two parts, or two immense cones, " towering, like 
 giant twin-brothers," above the rest. The one is 
 called Jebal Katrine, and the other Jebal Musa. The 
 highest one is called " Jebal Katrine," or the " Moun- 
 tain of Catherine," because of the convent of St. 
 Catherine's which was built upon it, in the fourth cen- 
 tury, by Helena, the mother of Constantine, to com- 
 memorate the conversion to Christianity of a daughter 
 of one of the kings of Alexandria, whose name was 
 Catherine. The legend says that her father, in conse- 
 quence of her conversion, put her to death ; and that 
 the angels brought her body and interred it on the 
 summit. This appears to be the division of the moun- 
 tain called in scripture Horeb ; and the district sur- 
 rounding it is designated '' the back side of the desert," 
 where Moses was feeding the flock of Jethro. A chapel 
 is now erected over the spot where that marvellous 
 spectacle was seen ; and as travellers enter the pre- 
 cincts, they are addressed by the attending monk in 
 these words : " Put thy shoes from off thy feet, for the 
 ground whereon thou treadestis holy ground." " The 
 place," says one, " is now bedizened with Grecian 
 ornaments. The rude simplicity of nature which be- 
 held the interview between God and his servant is 
 utterly gone ; and the burning bush is the last thing 
 one would think of on the spot where it grew." 
 
 The other division, or second peak, is at present 
 named " Jebal Musa" by the Arabs, that is, the 
 "Mountain of Moses;" so called because from its 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 77 
 
 summit the law was promulgated, and there he re- 
 ceived from God the two tables of stone on which that 
 law was inscribed. To this peak, consequently, the 
 name of Sinai has been given. I have abeady noticed 
 that the whole group of mountains in that peninsula 
 are by some comprehended under the general designa- 
 tion of the '' Mountains of Sinai ;" also, that in scrip- 
 ture, Horeb is used as a general and descriptive title 
 of this interesting region of hill and valley. Be this 
 as it may, it is likely that the general name either of 
 Sinai or Horeb took a particular application when any 
 one of the group was distinguished, as these peaks or 
 cones were, by the manifestations of Deity. It ap- 
 pears, then, that in considering the scripture references 
 to this locality, we must look for this place where God 
 first met with Moses in the larger division of the centre 
 mountain of the Sinaic group, called Jebal Katrine ; 
 and we must look for the mountain whereon the law 
 was given in the lesser eminence beside it, called Jebal 
 Musa, or the Mountain of Moses. Horeb, then, is 
 Jebal Katrine, and Sinai is Jebal Musa. 
 
 Travellers describe this douhle-peaked mountain aS 
 presenting a grand and imposing spectacle. Horeb 
 rises almost perpendicularly from the plain. It is of 
 deep red granite, and is about four thousand feet above 
 the level of the sea. Sinai is more easy of access, and 
 is about three thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
 It terminates at the top in white granite, to which 
 Milton is thought to allude when he sings of the " gray 
 topped Sinai." Its summit is only about sixty feet 
 square in extent, which is partly occupied by a chapel 
 belonging tfl the convent at the foot of the mount. 
 Dr. Wilson was shown, a little below this chapel, a 
 mark in the granite, said to be an impression of the 
 foot of the camel of Mahomet when he ascended this 
 
78 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 height ; and also a small hollow of the rock into which 
 the monks imagine that Moses retired, when the glory 
 of God was revealed before him. 
 
 To '' the terrific solitude and bleak majesty" of this 
 dreary region, it pleased God to come down that he 
 might again converse with man. The place selected 
 for the interview might have been somewhere about 
 the base, or on the side of that division of Sinai called 
 Horeb, which derives additional force from the fact 
 that there is pasturage for flocks there, whereas there 
 is little or no verdure on the sides of the neighboring 
 peak, the Mount of Moses. Our attention is now to 
 be turned to the distinguished individual who was, at 
 this time and in this place, solemnly set apart by Je- 
 hovah to be the Hberator of his people Israel. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF MOSES. 
 
 HIS EARLY HISTORY FAMILY SCENES rROVIDENCE TRUST 
 
 IN GOD FLIGHT FROM EGYPT ARRIVAL IN HOREB. 
 
 Moses was born in Egypt. His parents were He- 
 brews. Before his birth the king of Egypt had become 
 jealous of the descendants of Jacob. They were rap- 
 idly increasing, and he determined to diminish both 
 their numbers and influence. Hence, after the failure 
 of other expedients, he commanded that every Hebrew 
 male infant should be cast into the river. This last 
 decree was in operation at the birth of Moses. His 
 parents were in perplexity as to what they should do 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 79 
 
 with the child. He was an unusually beautiful one. 
 The martyr Stephen tells us he was " divinely fair." 
 At the end of three months, during which she had hid 
 her child, his mother was necessitated to consign him 
 to the waters of the Nile, and the jaws of the croco- 
 diles, with which that river abounds. Guided, how- 
 ever, by Providence, and, we doubt not, in the hope 
 that something might occur to preserve her child, 
 Jochebed " took one of the common baskets made from 
 the papyrus, and strengthened it and made it imper- 
 vious to the water, by daubing it on the outside with 
 bitumen, and in the inside with the sHme of the river." 
 In this strange bed she then cradled her infant. But, 
 surely, ere this ark and its precious treasure are car- 
 ried away, never to return, the family would be assem- 
 bled, and a last look would be taken. The scene must 
 have been truly melting. Behold that manly figure 
 bending over the little ark ! He embraces the boy, 
 and then raising his heart to heaven, commits him to 
 the God of Israel. That is Amram, the father ; he 
 dashes the tear from his cheek, and retires under a 
 severe conflict of nature. And what children are 
 these who watch the whole proceedings with intense 
 but silent wonder? They, too, gaze as for the last 
 time on the child, who, it may be, smiles on recogniz- 
 ing their well-known looks ; for these are Aaron and 
 Miriam, the brother and sister of Moses, who were 
 afterwards associated with him in the wondrous works 
 that were done in this same land of Ham, and in the 
 terrible things that were done in the Red Sea, 
 
 And now this scene of agony is over. The lid is 
 shut, and Jochebed takes up the ark. O, never, never, 
 from beneath the homely roof tree, did mother carry 
 such a burden as this, and with such a bursting heart 
 as hers ! But she must needs go forth to the Nile ; 
 
80 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 and to the Nile she came, and there, among the flags 
 that grew upon the river's brink, she laid her burden 
 down. Having done so, she returned to her home. 
 But mark, there must have been faith in God at work 
 the meanwhile in her family, for Miriam, her daugh- 
 ter, now about nine or ten years of age, remains at 
 some distance from the spot " to wit what would be 
 done to him." How astonishing the Providence of 
 God ! Behold, in a short time — ^had it been protracted 
 the child might have been carried down the stream, or 
 devoured by the crocodiles — some females approach 
 the very spot. One of them is a princess, the daugh- 
 ter of Pharaoh. Had it been a woman of common 
 rank she would not have dared to do what the royal 
 Thermutis did. She espies the ark ; commands it to 
 be brought, and opened before her. She sees a beau- 
 tiful infant, and that infant weeping. How providen- 
 tial these tears ! they melt her heart. She immedi- 
 ately resolves to adopt the child. But who shall be 
 his nurse ? How exceedingly touching the scriptural 
 narrative here ! Miriam, narrowly watching the 
 whole procedure, and though little more than a child 
 herself, makes bold to approach. How natural ! it 
 was her own sweet infant brother ; she knew how sad 
 her mother was at parting with him, and she must 
 needs hear and see what passes. She instantly de- 
 tects pity at work in the royal bosom, quickly antici- 
 pates her benevolent intention, and perhaps, by her 
 seasonable question, gives decision to the already 
 nearly formed purpose of that lady's heart, " Shall I 
 go and call to thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, 
 that she may nurse the child for thee ?" With what 
 alacrity would Miriam execute her commission ! She 
 knew where to find a nurse ; and, keeping her secret 
 to herself, " she went and called the child's mother." 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 81 
 
 Jochebed came quickly ; was hired to nurse her own 
 infant, and watched over him for three years, after 
 which she carried him to the palace, and resigned him 
 into the hands of the princess, and Moses became her 
 son. 
 
 Who can meditate on this scene without being con- 
 vinced that there is a Providence that over-rules and 
 controls all that comes to pass ; and not only a gen- 
 eral, but a special Providence, condescending to the 
 most minute, and, as we may think, trifling matters, 
 as well as comprehensive of the mightiest and most 
 august events that shake the nations to their centre ; 
 a Providence that watches over the revolutions of 
 worlds, and notices the fall of a sparrow ! To believe 
 that all this has happened to the child of Amram and 
 Jochebed, especially when his future history is con- 
 sidered, was merely chance work, is a much more 
 violent shock to reason, than to trace it to such a 
 source. It must indeed be so, not only in this, but 
 in every case. God is everywhere, and sees all that 
 goes on. He is infinitely wise, and knows all that is 
 to occur. He is infinitely good, and orders all for the 
 general good of his creatures ; and he is infinitely 
 powerful, and uses bis power to promote their happi- 
 ness. Their disordering his wise arrangements by 
 sin, is the sole cause of their miseries ; but the events 
 that counteract evils in their lot are entirely under his 
 own management. All this must be especially true 
 of his " peculiar people." Their entire history is one 
 of special, or, as it may be termed, of gracious Provi- 
 dence. To this they are indebted for their birth in a 
 land of gospel light, their Christian parentage, their 
 religious nurture; and all the events in their lot, 
 whether joyous or grievous, that work together for their 
 good, flow from this. It is God who preserves them 
 
82 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 alive when disease threatens to destroy them ; who 
 appoints them wealth, or confines them to poverty, as 
 either the one or the other estate is to bear most use- 
 fully on their wellbeing ; and it is God who assigns 
 to them a larger or smaller cup of affliction, accord- 
 ing to what he knows is to be their peculiar spiritual 
 needs. Consequently, we never murmur over the 
 trials and vicissitudes of life without impugning his 
 goodness, and thereby incurring his displeasure. Con- 
 sider Jochebed, the wife of Amram and the mother 
 of Moses ! She believed in this consolatory doctrine, 
 and trusted that her child, when laid in the waters 
 of the Nile, was as certainly under His care as when 
 sleeping in her own bosom. How many parental 
 pangs might be spared us, if, when thus tried in the 
 early decease of our own children, we would imitate 
 this pious woman of the house of Levi ! She did not 
 know, when she committed her child to the river, that 
 he was so soon to be restored to her, and yet she went 
 through the trial, bowing her head to the mysterious 
 wUl of her God ! Such resignation is also incumbent 
 on us when death blanches the fair cheeks of our in- 
 fants, or prostrates now a hopeful son, and now a lovely 
 daughter. When we lay their dead bodies in the cof- 
 fin, and when the grave at last hides them from our 
 view, let us remember that there is a Providence in it 
 all, and that a Providence watches over it all. Our 
 Isaac will be given back from the altar, our Moses 
 will be raised from the grave ; for neither our young 
 men nor our maidens are dead — they only sleep ; and 
 He who sets a watch over their precious dust will 
 awaken them in the morning, and restore them to us, 
 radiant in the beauties of holiness, and buoyant with 
 immortal youth ! 
 
 Within the palace of the Pharaohs, Moses lived till 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 83 
 
 he was forty years of age. He was, though an He- 
 brew, treated as one of the royal family. An eastern 
 princess, in these times, such as Thermutis who drew 
 him from the water, had extraordinary influence ; her 
 will was law in the house of her father. We can 
 easily understand, then, how the adopted son of Pha- 
 raoh should receive the full advantages of his high 
 rank. The scriptures tell us expressly regarding his 
 splendid education and wonderful intellectual attain- 
 ments ; " he was learned in all the wisdom of the 
 Egyptians, and was mighty in words and in deeds." 
 Jewish literature, too, is full of glowing descriptions 
 of his life at the court of Pharaoh. He is represented 
 as having been a beautiful poet, an accomplished his- 
 torian, musician, and astronomer. The Pentateuch, 
 the book of Job, and the ninetieth psalm, all of which 
 are understood to be his compositions, corroborate these 
 views. 
 
 How true is it, when we think of this initiatory 
 process, that God ^' makes the wrath of men to praise 
 him," and that '^ the king's heart is in the hand of the 
 Lord !" Pharaoh would nip in the bud this rising hope 
 of the house of Israel ; when, lo ! his own daughter 
 is employed to save the future prophet and give him 
 nourishment within the walls of his palace ! Pharaoh 
 would keep Israel in bondage ; when, lo ! to his own 
 wise men, the heads of Egyptian literature, and to his 
 most experienced warriors and statesmen, is this boy 
 assigned, that he might be fully accomplished in the 
 learning and philosophy of that day, as also in the arts 
 of war, and the science of government. 
 
 But God will take no more from the wicked than 
 what serves his purpose. When Moses had lived 
 long enough in Egypt to acquire all this knowledge, 
 and to become acquainted with the history and pros- 
 
84 MOUNT IIOREB. 
 
 pects of his own people, he was sent to a school of a 
 very different charaeter, and to get wisdom and expe- 
 rience which neither the court nor the astrologers of 
 Pharaoh could impart. It is evident from the inspired 
 narrative that, though living amid the splendors and 
 pleasures of a palace, he could not forget the afflictions 
 of the people of God. He knew himself to be a He- 
 brew, and that they were his brethren. This is a no- 
 ble feature in the character of this illustrious man. 
 Greatly tempted to regard them as a nation of slaves, 
 and having at his command the sources of earthly 
 gratification, yet he could not brook the idea of his 
 brethren's oppression, while he revelled in plenty within 
 the citadel of their oppressors. It has been thought 
 that the death of Pharaoh about this period determined 
 him in his course. His benefactress, it is understood, 
 ascended the throne ; in which position she could no 
 longer continue to recognize him as a Hebrew, but 
 desired that he should submit to a formal act of natu- 
 ralization and adoption, so as to constitute him legally 
 an Egyptian. This was the critical moment ; and on 
 his decision depended the highest destinies. Ijove to 
 the queen, who had been as a mother to him, and to 
 whose patronage he was so much indebted, would pow- 
 erfully advocate her claims, and as j^ainfuUy agitate 
 his mind in resisting them. Let us imagine him re- 
 tiring from the royal presence to meditate and pray. 
 It might be that, amid troubled thoughts, and the bal- 
 ancing of conflicting interests, he found himself on one 
 of the stately turrets of the palace. Perhaps it was 
 evening, and the silver light of the moon beautified 
 the scene. Lo, how rpiickly his eye selects and is 
 fixed on one spot in that landscape ! It rests not upon 
 the city, whose busy hum dies away as man reposes 
 after toil ; nor upon the fertile fields that stretch out 
 
MOUNT IIOREB. 85 
 
 far and wide on every hand, waving with corn ; nor 
 even upon Goshen, from whence his countrymen had 
 been dragged to the brick kilns of Pharaoh. That 
 eye rests upon the waters of the Nile, and upon the 
 very spot from which he had been rescued in his in- 
 fancy, and which had been ever associated in his mind 
 with the mysterious purposes of God with regard to 
 himself Thus musing, he revolves the stories of his 
 ancestors, as he had heard them from the lips of Jo- 
 chebed during these three precious years of childhood 
 which he had passed under her care. Then came 
 thoughts about the present sufferings of these de- 
 scendants of the patriarchs, and also of the covenants' 
 and promises of God with regard to their future great- 
 ness. His purpose is at once formed. He returns 
 to Thermutis, and, with singular self-denial, grace- 
 fully but firmly declines the honors she intended for 
 him. How beautifully is this expressed by an apostle ! 
 " By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused 
 to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter, choosing 
 rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than 
 to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season, esteeming 
 the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures 
 of Egypt." 
 
 The spirit of the future deliverer of Israel now 
 worked strongly within the bosom of Moses. He soon 
 had an opportunity of manifesting his patriotic prefer- 
 ences. In one of these days, when mingling with his 
 brethren, and looking upon their burdens, he saw an 
 Egyptian smite an Hebrew. He instantly slew the 
 Egyptian, and buried him in the sand. Next day he 
 saw two Hebrews quarrelling. He interfered to make 
 peace between them, not doubting but that, by this 
 time, even they would be convinced that in him was the 
 hope of their people. " He supposed," says Stephen, 
 
80 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 '' that his brethren would have understood how that 
 God would by his hand deliver them ; but they under- 
 stood not." One of them said, " Who made thee a 
 prince and a judge over us ? Intendest thou to kill 
 me, as thou killedst the Egyptian ?" Moses no doubt 
 knew that he had been seen by some of his own breth- 
 ren, but he had hoped that from them no imprudent 
 allusions to the deed would ever come. On observing 
 this indication of an ungenerous spirit, he judged that 
 it would not be safe for him to remain longer in Egypt. 
 Orders were given for his apprehension ; but he was 
 not to be found. He was soon beyond the reach of 
 pursuit. He fled upwards of two hundred and fifty 
 miles to the east, crossed the Red Sea, entered Arabia 
 Petrea, and, descending to the land of Midian, in the 
 region of the Sinaic mountains already referred to, he 
 was married to one of the seven daughters of Jethro, 
 the priest of Midian, and for forty years followed the 
 humble occupation of a shepherd, keeping the flocks 
 of his father-in-law; "meanwhile forgotten both by 
 Hebrews and Egyptians, or remembered only as a 
 tradition." To the eye of reason, such a conclusion 
 to such a life appears most inappropriate and unseem- 
 ly. The poet would have crowned him with laurels, 
 gathered from all fields ; the novelist would have car- 
 ried him onwards in a career of earthly gayety and 
 grandeur in the court and kingdom of the Pharaohs. 
 But the history of Moses is not yet completed ; and, 
 in the end, it will be seen that in his case, " before 
 honor is humility," and that " he that humbleth him- 
 self shall be exalted." 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 87 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE BURNING BUSH. 
 
 SCENE ON HOREB BURNING BUSH CALL AND COMMISSION 
 
 OF MOSES BUSH NOT CONSUMED, TYPICAL DIFFERENT 
 
 VIEWS OF THE SYMBOL CLOSING REFLECTIONS. 
 
 Moses passed the first forty years of his life in the 
 palace of a king. The next forty slid away in the 
 wilds and solitude of an Arabian desert. In the 
 palace his manners had been polished, and his mind 
 educated. In the desert both had been subjected to 
 a discipline which was necessary to qualify him for 
 Dcing a " king in Jeshurun." In Egypt he must have 
 acquired some habits, both of temper and action, un- 
 suitable to that position, and these must be subdued. 
 He was evidently not a meek man. He was quick 
 and ardent, and so far disqualified from being the 
 leader of an obstinate and ungrateful people. His 
 religious principles must have been kept essentially 
 orthodox. Still, it must be owned that a life at court, 
 and such a court as Pharaoh's, could not afford the 
 requisite preparation for the endurance of trials and 
 difficulties, such as afterwards befeU him. While, 
 then, his life in the desert would so far undo what of 
 the Egyptian remained in him, it would likewise give 
 decided encouragement to his feelings and purposes as 
 a man of God. On the mountains of Horeb he must 
 have often held very close and improving fellowship 
 with Jehovah. "The very grandeur of the scenery 
 around him would assist his conceptions of the glory 
 of the Creator. The throng of cities and the pomp of 
 courts no longer disturbed his imaginations. The 
 
OO MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 solitary deserts and unfrequented dales would present 
 other charms to his mind, which, if not so fascinating 
 to mere sense, were far more beneficial to his religious 
 improvement. Though a recluse from the busy world, 
 he would not be idle. He was too much a man of in- 
 tellect for that. His time would pass pleasantly and 
 profitably away, in reflecting on the history of his 
 fathers, and in turning to good account the ample 
 materials of thought with which his extensive and 
 various acquirements supplied him." 
 
 Thus exercised, and for so long a period, he became 
 what he had not been, not only a meek man, but, in 
 the language of scripture, " very meek, above all the 
 men on the face of the earth." He had great difiicul- 
 ties to contend with, but he became equal to them all. 
 Adversity seems to be necessary to the man who is 
 destined to act a conspicuous part in any portion of 
 God's gracious work. Thus was David, in an after 
 age, prepared for the throne of Israel. Thus was Paul 
 trained to be an apostle ; and I need not say that thus 
 also " it became Him, for whom are all things, and by 
 whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory? 
 to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through 
 suffering." 
 
 On a certain day, Moses led his flock " to the back 
 side of the desert," and came to " the mountain of 
 God, even to Horeb." He did so, because that local- 
 ity is much more verdant than the adjacent parts ; 
 pasture is more abundant, and it is well watered. 
 But God, the Shepherd of Israel, led him to Horeb for 
 another purpose. As he watched these flocks on this 
 occasion, — he might, as usual, be employed in the 
 silent worship of Him whose awful form he had so oft 
 seen shadowed forth, and whose voice he had so often 
 heard in the storms of Sinai — his attention was sud- 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 89 
 
 denly arrested by a remarkable phenomenon in his 
 immediate neighborhood. This was a flame of fire in 
 the midst of a bush, and the bush burning, but not 
 consumed. His curiosity was excited, and he said to 
 himself, " I will now turn aside and see this great 
 sight, why the bush is not burnt." But no sooner 
 did he draw near than he was addressed by a voice 
 from the bush itself, and the voice said, " Moses ! 
 Moses! And he said. Here am I." And the voice 
 said, " Draw not nigh hither : pufc off" thy shoes from 
 off thy feet ; for the place whereon thou standest is 
 holy ground." "What astonishment would seize the 
 mind of the shepherd ! He saw no form of angel or 
 of man, and yet he heard the voice* thus distinctly 
 name and address him. He listened again, and the 
 voice spake — " I am the God of thy father, the God 
 of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob." 
 Moses became still more overawed, and, it is written, 
 he " hid his face; for he was afraid to look upon God. 
 And the Lord said, I have surely seen the affliction of 
 my people which are in Egypt; and I am come down 
 to deliver them out of the hands of the Egyptians, and 
 to bring them up out of that land into a good land and 
 a large, unto a land flowing with milk and honey. 
 Come now, therefore, and I will send thee unto Pha- 
 raoh, that thou mayest bring forth my people, the 
 children of Israel, out of Egypt." God's '' set times" 
 always come round for favoring Zion. The present 
 was one of the most remarkable that we have on rec- 
 ord. Now we see the mysterious cloud rising from 
 off the covenant which he had made with the patriarchs, 
 and which it seemed as if he had clean forgotten. 
 Now is about to commence that long and intensely 
 interesting chain of events which must include at once 
 the gathering together into one of the outcasts of Israel, 
 
90 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 their exodus from Egypt, their sojourn in the wilder- 
 ness, and their organization into a kingdom, and into 
 a church. 
 
 The scene on Horeb was eminently symbolical. 
 *' The angel of the Lord," it is said, " appeared in a 
 flame of fire." There can be no doubt that this was 
 the glorious and eternal Son, who was in after ages to 
 come into our world, wearing our nature. Fire or 
 light was, in the former dispensations, frequently em- 
 ployed by God as a symbol of his presence. Thus, 
 when Moses returned with the Hebrews to this same 
 valley, Jehovah descended on Mount Sinai in the 
 midst of fire. A pillar of fire preceded the Israelites 
 in their nocturnal marches. The bright shechina, or 
 visible glory, was the symbol of the divine presence 
 within the holy of holies ; and in the beginning of the 
 gospel dispensation, when the Holy Ghost came down 
 on the apostles, " there appeared unto them cloven 
 tongues, like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them." 
 It has been noted as somewhat singular, that among 
 the ancient Greeks supernatural light was considered 
 a token of the presence of Deity. Homer relates that 
 Minerva waited on Ulysses with her golden lamp or 
 torch ; and that Telemachus thus in rapture addressed 
 his father — 
 
 " What miracle thus dazzles with surprise 1 
 Distinct in rows the radiant columns rise ; 
 The walls, where'er my wondering sight I turn, 
 And roofs amid a blaze of glory burn ! 
 Some visitant of pure ethereal race 
 With his bright presence deigns the dome to grace !" 
 
 This symbolical spectacle, then, may represent one 
 or other of these things : — 
 
 1. The bush burning denotes the afflicted condition 
 of G od's people at that time — the church suffering in 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 91 
 
 Egypt. Its not being consumed intimates the inde- 
 structibility of that church, notwithstanding all that 
 was done against her by her oppressors ; and the angel 
 of God appearing in it in a flame of fire, is expressive 
 of the divine presence with her in the midst of tribula- 
 tions. There is a beautiful passage in one of the 
 Rabbinical writings that expresses this thought most 
 afFectingly : " God walked in the bush, and the bush 
 represented the trouble and sorrow wherewith we are 
 encompassed. But when God saw his Israel walk in 
 the midst of them, he resolved to walk likewise with 
 his people ; confirming thus what he said by his pro- 
 phet, ' in all their afliictions he was afflicted.' " 
 
 2. Enlarging upon this interpretation of the symbol, 
 it has been applied to God's presence in all the trials 
 of his church in every age. Hence by the mouth of 
 one of his prophets he says, ^' I, saith the Lord, will 
 be unto her a wall of fire round about, and will be the 
 glory in the midst of her." Again — '' And the Lord 
 will create upon every dwelling-place of Mount Zion, 
 and upon her assemblies, a cloud and smoke by day, 
 and the shining of a flaming fire by night : for upon 
 all the glory shall be a defence." When these prom- 
 ises are fulfilled, then the church shall "look forth 
 as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and 
 terrible as an army with banners." 
 
 3. A third interpretation refers this symbol to the 
 future passion of our Saviour, when he endured the 
 dreadful fire of Jehovah's anger, as our substitute, 
 on the accursed tree, and yet was not destroyed. He 
 arose from the fiery ordeal, a Saviour '' made perfect" 
 in consequence. 
 
 It is not difficult to see the design of Jehovah- Jesus 
 in this manifestation. He knew that the man whom 
 he had chosen was not so "forward" now as he had 
 
92 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 been in the days when he slew the Egyptian. Forty 
 years' seclusion in the desert had, in a great measure, 
 moderated his views. The impetuosity of youth had 
 been subdued, and the desire for an active life had 
 been moderated, if not extinguished, within him. 
 Hence, at the time, he shows great backwardness to 
 comply with the invitation of the angel. The man- 
 ner, however, of his call, the sight he saw, the words 
 he heard, all tended to revive his ancient longings 
 after deeds of enterprise and glory. To the encour- 
 agements of Jehovah he finally yielded. " His hesita- 
 tion and resistance had been that of a man but too 
 well aware of the duties of the office to which he was 
 called, and who knew that they must be discharged, 
 and was determined to discharge them. So, hence- 
 forth we hear no more of doubt and difficulty. The 
 youth of his mind was revived, and from that day to 
 the last of his protracted life, all its powerful energies 
 were devoted to the deliverance and welfare of Israel." 
 That heart is to be pitied which remains unim- 
 pressed by such a scene as this. With intense interest 
 the church had waited for centuries on the develop- 
 ment of the divine plans ; but generations passed away 
 and no sound was heard but her own sighing in exile, 
 and no sight was seen, either in heaven or earth, to 
 indicate that Jehovah still remembered the seed of 
 Abraham. At last when matters had come to the 
 worst, Jehovah re-appears, in an unfrequented and 
 remote region, and to a man whom his brethren had 
 rejected. So true is it that "the kingdom of God 
 Cometh not with observation." He brings up liis Moses 
 from a desert to drive Pliaraoh from a tin-one. It was 
 to be expected that, wlien Jehovah did again mani- 
 fest himself, it would be to accomplish some very grand 
 object, and that in some very striking and imposing 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 93 
 
 form. Apparently there was little external grandeur 
 in a burning bush ; but, when examined, it turned 
 out to be a most marvellous thing ; for though burn- 
 ing it was not consumed. And thus it is with some 
 of the grandest moral manifestations of Deity. Cal- 
 vary and its cross were " unto the Jews a stumbling- 
 block, and unto the Greeks foolishness ;" but, when 
 looked into with a clear eye, there were beheld the 
 wisdom and the power of God. There, men and 
 devils considered that they had destroyed the man 
 whom they hated ; but, when Faith reconnoitred the 
 scene, it saw victory crowning the Saviour — it saw 
 the blood and terror of death produce the life and glory 
 of millions born, and as yet unborn. Apparently, too, 
 this resumption of the divine intercourse with men 
 promised but little, save a mere temporal deliverance 
 from slavery ; but, read as it is now, in the light of 
 its progressive and ultimate history, how big with 
 marvellous consequences was the scene at Horeb ! 
 True, much was still hid of what were to be the pecu- 
 liarities of the economy to be constructed ; but, though 
 only gently and slowly, at Horeb, the veil is partially 
 rent, so that we can discern, far down into the vista 
 of the future, the faint outlines of the -'fat things" in 
 reserve for the house of Israel. Jehovah now appears 
 intent on great exploits. As if he can wait no longer, 
 even on himself, he here strikingly typifies much of 
 what afterwards passed into the substance of the gos- 
 pel plan. Here were prophet, priest, and king, in 
 Moses. Here was the eternal Word to be made flesh, 
 and to suffer and die in the fulness of the times, sym- 
 bolized in the flame in the bush, and in the miraculous 
 preservation of the bush in the flame. Soon, now, the 
 necessary exodus from Egypt is to be made. Soon, 
 now, that awful voice, which had never been heard 
 
TO MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 from the foundation of the world, except by one or two 
 favored sons of men, was to be heard by millions at a 
 time ; and soon the whole elements of the preparatory 
 economy, which was to embody the types and figures 
 of the person, offices, and atonement of Christ, were 
 to be made known and put into operation. 
 
 Let us not despise the day of small things. It 
 seems a simple matter to open or to shut a door ; but 
 the opening of a door for entrance may be followed by 
 the sight and possession of all the treasures that are 
 within ; while the shutting of that door, and the keep- 
 ing of it shut, may leave thousands in destitution and 
 despair. At Horeb such a door was opened, and it 
 was never shut till the dispensation to which it be- 
 longed was dissolved. God here threw back from his 
 secret place much of that awful mystery that had 
 hitherto shrouded it, and his church now approached 
 nearer to him than it had ever done. It got within 
 the mystic circle that, for ages to come, was to com- 
 prehend and witness his preparatory movements, up 
 to the actual sacrifice of himself in human form on 
 the cross. Once, therefore, fairly enclosed with him 
 in covenant engagements now to be executed, that 
 church, from this time, looked every day and year for 
 some more pertinent and consolatory revelations of 
 ultimate design, till the whole scheme should be 
 finished, and the preliminary arrangements disappear. 
 
 Nor did she look in vain. To this very spot, in a 
 short time, did Moses return with the church ; and, 
 from that day, forward to the hour of Christ's death, 
 came forth the great and glorious decrees of divine 
 love, becoming more and more clear, and more and 
 more ample, as the period approached for the magnifi- 
 cent consummation on the cross. Whatever God 
 begins he will complete. He may promise to our 
 
MOUNT HOREB. 95 
 
 first parents, and leave off for hundreds of years, as if 
 he had not; he may promise again to Noah, and 
 retire for other centuries, as if he were slack concern- 
 ing his word ; he may promise again to Abraham, and 
 hide himself for other hundreds of years ; but he will 
 return to Horeb, and lay deep the foundations of that 
 gorgeous structure, before whose altars, and within 
 whose temples, he indicates for as many centuries his 
 future plans of vindicating his own covenant honor. 
 And, when at last the sacred cycle is complete, when 
 the full round of typical revolutions has been made, 
 there, in the very Son of his love, and in the Saviour 
 of his people, he comes forth resplendent in the re- 
 demption of promises, to be glorified in all his saints. 
 
 Let the people of God see in all this the pledge of 
 that safety, triumph, and perfection, which yet await 
 the church. Truly her best and brightest days are 
 yet to come. Though now under the superior and 
 clearer light of the gospel, and even " willing for a 
 season to rejoice" in that light, yet does she, after all, 
 only " see through a glass darkly." Though possessed 
 of the liberty wherewith Christ makes his people free, 
 yet there are not a few fetters which impede her prog- 
 ress, which remind her of her wilderness condition, 
 and tell her that " this is not her rest :" and though 
 secure of the favor and gracious presence of her King, 
 who has promised to destroy every one of her enemies, 
 yet is she frequently brought upon days of darkness, 
 in which she goes about " mourning without the sun," 
 these enemies apparently prevailing over her, and her 
 cause brought well nigh to the dust. But there is no 
 reason why she sliould either murmur or despond. 
 Her progress towards a more glorious condition, even 
 in this world, than any she has as yet reached, is cer- 
 tified to her, not only in the modes of God's dealing 
 
96 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 with Zion in ancient times, but in many precious as- 
 surances to that effect. Her millemiial glory yet 
 awaits her ; and it shall as surely come, as came '' the 
 fulness of the time," and the birth of the promised 
 Shiloh. Her celestial glory, too, is yet to be attained, 
 and attained it shall be, under the divine sway of Him 
 who, on Horeb, was shadowed forth in the symbolic 
 bush, but who, in heaven, shall be seen face to face by 
 " the general assembly and church of the first-born." 
 " Amen. Even so, come. Lord Jesus !" 
 
MOUNT SINAI, 
 
 THE PROMULGATION OF THE LAW. 
 
 When the angel of the Lord had left communing 
 with Moses, we are told that " he took his wife and 
 his sons, and set them upon an ass, and he returned 
 to the land of Egypt. And Moses took the rod of God 
 in his hand." On his arrival in Egypt he convened 
 the elders of Israel, and acquainted them with what 
 had been disclosed to him on Horeb. His brother 
 Aaron was, from this period, associated with him in 
 the sacred office to which God had consecrated them. 
 It is written, ''the people believed; and when they 
 heard that the Lord had visited the children of Israel, 
 and that he had looked upon their affliction, then they 
 bowed their heads and worshipped." Upon the various 
 plagues sent to Pharaoh and his people, to influence 
 them to give the Hebrews an exodus from Egypt, we 
 need not animadvert. That liberty was at length 
 granted, and the Israelites marched out of the country 
 of their long bondage, crossed the Red Sea miracu- 
 lously, and continued their journey in Arabia Petrea 
 for nearly three months, till they came into the wilder- 
 ness of Sinai, and "there Israel camped before the 
 mount;" that is, upon the low grounds before the 
 
 
 
98 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 double-peaked mountain formerly described. Horeb 
 was the scene of the burning bush ; but the promul- 
 gation of the law was made from the mountain of 
 Moses, which is Sinai. To the sublime and altogether 
 appalling circumstances in which that law was deliv- 
 ered let us now direct our meditations.* 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE GIVING OF THE LAW. 
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR THE DESCENT OF JEHOVAH THE DIVINE 
 
 APPROACH ITS APPALLING CONCOMITANTS MOSES' AS- 
 CENTS AND DESCENTS — THE GOLDEN CALF. 
 
 On the occasion of Jehovah's former visit to this 
 wild region, only one of his people was present. At 
 this time, six hundred thousand men, besides women 
 and children, amounting to nearly three millions in 
 aU, were encamped before Sinai, and there witnessed 
 the grandest spectacle ever presented to the eyes of 
 mortals. It was now the purpose of God to come 
 down from heaven and display his glory. But, pre- 
 vious to this, three days were to elapse, which were to 
 be occupied in solemn preparations for meeting God, 
 who, on the third day, was to come down in the sight 
 of all the people. The Hebrews were to wash their 
 clothes, to sanctify themselves, to set bounds around 
 the mount, across which neither priests nor people 
 were to step, on peril of perishing ; yea, tliey were not 
 to touch the mount, not even the border of it ; " for 
 
 * Exodus xix. 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 99 
 
 whosoever toucheth the mount shall be surely put to 
 death." We can easily conceive the intense interest 
 with which that vast multitude would attend to these 
 instructions, and their deep solicitude about the inten- 
 tions of that awful Being who was to manifest his 
 glory before them. Within every tent this would be 
 the topic of conversation, and within every mind this 
 would be the predominant subject of thought. Many 
 eager looks, during these days of preliminary arrange- 
 ment, would be directed to that bleak and frowning 
 mountain, and many conjectures would be formed 
 about the moment and the mode of the grand descent 
 on its summit ! 
 
 The morning of the third day dawned — all Israel 
 was astir ; there was a going to and fro among the 
 people. We may believe no sluggard folded his arms 
 to sleep then. At every tent-door throughout the 
 wilderness, were groups of gazing spectators. Fathers 
 were there whose hands had been hardened in the 
 oppressions of Egypt ; mothers were there whose hearts 
 had sunk within them over the tears and cries of their 
 enslaved children; and children were there who did 
 not yet understand the ways of the Lord, but who 
 were destined to become the future warriors that 
 should take possession of the land of promise. As 
 they thus stood, the order of Moses circulated through- 
 out the camp that they should all come forth and meet 
 with God. And they all came forth and " stood at 
 the nether part of the mount." Now, every tongue is 
 silent, every murmur hushed, and every eye is fixed 
 on Sinai. The stillness that pervades the vast assem- 
 bly is fearfully profound, when, lo ! a distant rumbling 
 noise disturbs that stillness. It is the noise of thunder. 
 The people draw closer to one another, for thunder has 
 a solemnizing effect ; it is the voice of the Lord God 
 
100 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 omnipotent. Then after the thunder, came vivid and 
 terrific flashes of lightning. The people turn pale, and 
 fix themselves more firmly on the ground. The 
 mother hides her babe in her bosom, the children cling 
 to their parents, and the parents fear for themselves 
 and offspring. After the thunders and lightnings, 
 came down a thick cloud upon the mount. By and 
 by, Sinai is enveloped, from its summit to its base, in 
 smoke ; which smoke " ascended as the smoke of a 
 furnace." 
 
 Sinai is now invisible, and the people, whom fear 
 has wedged more closely together, gaze in astonish- 
 ment, wondering what prodigies must next appear. 
 As they looked upon that dense mass of cloud, within 
 whose smoky folds the sacred hill lay concealed, they 
 beheld strange fire descending from the higher regions 
 of the air. That fire alighted on the summit of the 
 cloud-clothed Sinai ; and in that fire was the Al- 
 mighty himself. Then, piercing through cloud and 
 camp, w^as heard " the voice of a trumpet, exceeding 
 loud ;" and that voice sounded long, and waxed louder 
 and louder. It was not the varying notes of the loud 
 clarion playing wHth the gentle and musical echoes of 
 the hills, but one long, long, monotonous, load, and 
 ever waxing louder stream of awful sound, which 
 drowned the very noise of the thunder itself. Then, 
 not only the millions of Israel, but the ground on which 
 they stood, trembled, and Sinai rocked to and fro as 
 in a cradle I Angels were employed in this astonish- 
 ing display; for "the Lord shined forth from Paran 
 with the thousands of his saints," (that is of his angels,) 
 and then " the earth trembled at the presence of the 
 Lord," and " the mountains skipped like rams ; yea, 
 even Sinai melted from before the Lord God of Israel I" 
 It is impossible to do justice, by description, to such a 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 101 
 
 terrific and sublime scene as this. To describe it is to 
 profane it. Let us, therefore, put off the shoes from 
 our feet. But, in the midst of all the thundering, and 
 flashing, and quaking, another sound, different from 
 the rest, reaches the ear. It is the voice of one that 
 speaks. They listen, and they hear some one com- 
 manding their leader to ascend to the very top of that 
 mount. It is the voice of God ! And will Moses 
 have courage to go up, in the very midst of that fire, 
 exposed to the terrors and perils of that dread artillery ? 
 For a moment every eye in the camp is fixed on him. 
 Some fear that he may be destroyed, and others, per- 
 haps, implore him to remain. But, behold ! the man 
 of God arises I How erect his person, and how tran- 
 quil his appearance I He proceeds to the sacred limit, 
 steps over it, ascends, enters the cloud, and disappears ! 
 Moses rested not till he gained the very summit. 
 And not a few men of God since then, have had to 
 climb even the ascent of Zion encompassed with many 
 legal terrors. Determined, however, to gain its mer- 
 ciful and blissful heights, whatever were the difficul- 
 ties and the discouragements of the passage, by the 
 grace of God, they succeeded. 
 
 The scripture is not altogether silent as to what 
 took place on the top of the mount, between Jehovah 
 and his servant. Moses received a commandment to 
 go down again, without delay, and prevent the people 
 firom looking through the prescribed bounds to gaze. 
 Permission was, at the same time, given to bring up 
 Aaron, when he should return. Moses descended; 
 and immediately after he had resumed his proper po- 
 sition a the head of the congregation, the voice of 
 God was again heard froni within the cloud on the top 
 of the mount ; and it was at this time, and in those 
 circumstances, that the moral law, which comprehends 
 
102 MOUNT SINAI, 
 
 the ten commandments, was promulgated. Surely, 
 never was there before, and never has there been since, 
 such a sermon, and such a preacher, and such an au- 
 dience. With the mountain top for his pulpit, and 
 the firmament for its canopy, Jehovah here lifted up" 
 his voice, and became himself the preacher to millions 
 of his people. Surely, too, every eye was fixed on 
 that mysterious fire upon the summit of the mount, 
 and every ear listened to these solemn commandments, 
 and every heart beat in holy unison with the will of 
 the preacher. We are apt to think so ; but it is pos- 
 sible that there were inattentive hearers, even on that 
 day, in that vast congregation ; just as now, men and 
 women sit indifferent under the preaching of the gospel 
 of God, which uses no threats, but offers salvation and 
 eternal life. Let us not boast ourselves as if we were 
 something ; but, for the encouragement of humility 
 and self-distrust, let us ever remember our liord's 
 striking words, in the parable of the rich man and 
 Lazarus, *' If they hear not Moses and the prophets, 
 neither wdll they be persuaded though one rose from 
 the dead." The human heart is to be changed nei- 
 ther by the terrors of Sinai nor by the persuasions of 
 the gospel. It is not by the might of the one, nor by 
 the power of the other, but by the convincing and en- 
 lightening influences of the Holy Ghost. As Jehovah 
 was repeating these holy, just, and good 'command- 
 ments, the solemnizing phenomena of thmider, fire, 
 cloud, earthquake, and the sound of a trumpet, accom- 
 panied his dreadful voice. The eflect of this upon the 
 people seems to have been overwhelming. So long as 
 God kept silence, they had. been able to listen and 
 look without absolute consternation ; but when this 
 voice was heard, they seem to have become incapable 
 of farther endurance : '* And they said unto Moses, 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 103 
 
 Speak thou with us, and we will hear ; but let not 
 God speak with us, lest we die." The people then 
 retired farther and farther from the mount. But 
 Moses " drew nearer and nearer unto the thick dark- 
 ness where God was." It appears, then, that the only- 
 portion of what was revealed on Sinai, which was 
 heard by all the people, was the moral law, or the ten 
 commandments. To Moses, alone, the minutae of the 
 judicial or civil law, and the regulations of a ceremo- 
 nial or ritual character were communicated. 
 
 Immediately after he had received the judicial law, 
 Moses returned to the camp, repeated to the people all 
 that God had spoken ; and obtained from them a sol- 
 enrm promise that " all the words which the Lord had 
 said they would do." He then rose up early next 
 morning, and wrote down the judicial enactments for 
 future use. He next built an altar, on which were 
 offered sacrifices of oxen to the Lord. After which, 
 he took the book in which he had written the law, and 
 read it in the audience of the people ; and they said, 
 " All that the Lord hath said will we do, and be obe- 
 dient." This over, Moses, according to his instruc- 
 tions re-ascended the mount, taking with him Aaron, 
 Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Is- 
 rael. Having reached a particular elevation, a very 
 splendid sight met their view : '' And they saw the 
 God of Israel ; and there was under his feet as it were 
 a paved work of a sapphire stone, and as it were the 
 body of heaven in his clearness ; and upon the nobles 
 of the children of Israel he laid not his hand, and they 
 saw God ; and did eat and drink." This sublime 
 scene seems to have lasted six days ; after which, these 
 representatives of the congregation returned to the 
 camp. They all descended, excepting Moses and 
 Joshua, who, for reasons not specified, remained for 
 
104 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 several days by themselves. On the seventh day, Moses 
 was again commanded to come up to the summit of 
 the mountain ; which he did, leaving Joshua his min- 
 ister alone. At this time Moses continued forty days 
 and forty nights, in the cloud on the top of Sinai, with 
 the God of Israel; and all that time "the sight of 
 the glory of the Lord was like devouring fire, on the 
 top of the mount, in the eyes of the children of Is- 
 rael." During this long interview, Moses received from 
 Jehovah the whole of what is called the ceremonial 
 law ; also, the two tables of stone, with the ten com- 
 mandments inscribed on them by the finger of God 
 himself. 
 
 This part of the sacred narrative is interrupted with 
 an account of a most extraordinary instance of human 
 depravity. The Israelites, notwithstanding all that 
 they had so recently beheld and heard, when they saw 
 that Moses was so long of returning, concluded that 
 he might be dead, and that they might betake them- 
 selves to other gods. " Up, make us gods," they said 
 to Aaron, " which shall go before us ; for as for this 
 Moses, the man that brought us up out of the land of 
 Egypt, we wot not what is become of him." How to 
 account for it we know not, but Aaron appears to 
 consent ; a golden calf is made, and Israel falls down 
 to worship the idol on the very spot where God had 
 so recently commanded, " Thou shalt have no other 
 gods before me," and at the very time, too, that Sinai 
 is crowned with his glory, and as yet is shaking under 
 the tread of his foot. Moses is ordered quickly to de- 
 scend. He finds Joshua on the way, and together 
 they reach the idolatrous multitude. The man of 
 God is wroth at the disgraceful and humiliating sight 
 which met his eye, and casts down and breaks to 
 pieces the two tables of stone. He challenges all that 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 105 
 
 are on the Lord's side to come unto him. The sons 
 of Levi come. Every man girds his sword by his 
 side ; then they rush from gate to gate throughout the 
 camp, and " slew every man his brother, and every 
 man his companion, and every man his neighbor ; and 
 there fell of the people that day three thousand men." 
 Immediately after this, Moses is again, and for the 
 last time, ordered to ascend to the top of Sinai ; and 
 after hewing two tables of stone like unto the first, he 
 was found on its sacred summit. Again did Jehovah 
 appear descending on the mount in the cloud, and 
 again did other forty days and forty nights pass away 
 before Moses was seen. It was at this time that he 
 was favored with the sight of the glory of God, and 
 with the proclamation of the incommunicable name 
 as Jehovah passed by. Now, also, he got other two 
 tables of testimony, in lieu of those he had broken, 
 with additional instructions for the government of the 
 church and commonwealth of the Hebrews. He then 
 returned to the camp ; but so brilliant had the com- 
 plexion of his face now become, from this long com- 
 munion with God, that he had to cast a veil over his 
 head before the people could approach him. Many 
 reflections crowd upon the devout and believing mind 
 when contemplating such scenes. To some of these 
 let us now attend. 
 
 5* 
 
106 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE PROCLAMATIONS FROM SINAI. 
 
 god's awful majesty man's depravity EXCELLENCE OP 
 
 THE LAW MAN BOUND TO OBEY CONTRAST BETWEEN LAW 
 
 AND GOSPEL RESPONSIBILITIES OF CHRISTIANS. 
 
 I. SiNAi PROCLAIMS — How GREAT IS GoD ! — Surely 
 this God is the Lord, and besides him there is none 
 else. He is the supreme and only potentate. By 
 him kings reign, and princes decree justice. '' The 
 Lord is a great God and a great King, above all gods. 
 In his hand are the deep places of the earth ; the 
 strength of the hills is his also !" He, and he alone, 
 giveth laws to his people ! "When he made man at 
 the first he gave him these laws; they were written 
 in his heart. No thunder, nor lightning, nor trumpet 
 sound were needed to command for them the rever- 
 ence of the creature. Made in the image of God, he 
 naturally took to the law of God, and gave it perfect 
 and cheerful obedience. This, however, continued 
 only for a time. The creature transgressed these 
 laws ; and, though afterwards human nature became 
 desperately wicked, the voice of conscience, vindicat- 
 ing these laws as wise, and just, and good, was not 
 altogether silenced. Still, their fair and full lineaments 
 were, to a great extent, obliterated ; and as the sove- 
 reign Legislator had not, and could not have, relaxed 
 his claims on obedience, so was it to be expected that 
 there would at some time be, on his part, a re-publica- 
 tion of the law, in such a form and manner as would 
 suit the depraved nature and rebellious position of the 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 107 
 
 creature. That time had now come, and the law was 
 reproduced, as we have seen. How great is God! 
 How glorious in his holiness ! Nearly fifteen hundred 
 years had passed since that law had been broken, but 
 not until now was it re-issued. In this the sove- 
 reignty of God is most apparent. He must do every- 
 thing, or nothing is done. If law is to be given, he 
 must promulgate it. If gospel is to be preached, he 
 must originate and proclaim it. He is indeed the 
 Alpha and Omega at once of the law and of the gos- 
 pel. '^ Counsel is his, and sound wisdom : He is 
 understanding ; he has strength i" 
 
 It is solemnizing to think that the God with whom 
 we all have to do, is the very same Jehovah who, 
 at this time, and in these dreadful circumstances, 
 appeared on Sinai. He is as majestic as ever in his 
 displays of glory ; and though his thunders may not 
 play around one particular mountain, nor his light- 
 ning illumine one particular valley, nor his footsteps 
 shake one particular region of the solid globe, nor his 
 voice resound throughout one particular encampment 
 of his creatures, still are all these manifestations of 
 his presence and power every now and then made 
 throughout the extent of nature, to awaken his people 
 to attention, and to subdue them to reverence. These 
 phenom.ena are his instruments ; they wait upon him 
 to serve him, and at any time he may give them 
 commandment to go forth and execute his purposes. 
 That a time shall come when that commandment will 
 be issued, we believe. Let us prepare to meet it. 
 How dreadful the idea of meeting such a God, in such 
 terrific disclosures of his majesty, with all our sins 
 unforgiven ! Awake, awake, ye sleepers ! Escape 
 for your lives ! Flee unto Jesus ! God is in him 
 reconciling you to himself. You surely cannot fail to 
 
108 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 see the necessity of being at peace with this God be- 
 fore a day of judgment dawns. The thought of his 
 incomprehensible greatness ought of itself to induce 
 you to repent and obey. You know it, and you can- 
 not deny it ; for it is written in your very hearts, that 
 it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of such a 
 God. 
 
 II. Sinai proclaiivis — How depraved is man ! — Be- 
 hold him at the foot of Sinai in all his meanness. 
 That Hebrew, kneeling before yon golden calf, is but 
 the type of every sinner. Such would we all become 
 if left to ourselves. Alas I for poor human nature ! 
 Let it come in its dignity and see itself in the camp 
 of Israel, and then go away and fling that dignity to 
 the dust. Is it not humiliating to think of it ? God 
 had delivered them from bondage ; God had parted the 
 waters of the sea that they might safely pass over ; he 
 had sweetened the waters of Marah for them, and 
 brought them to this mount in safety ; here he had 
 exhibited his awful majesty, in a form the most appal- 
 ling — the most fitted to produce impressions, even on 
 hearts as hard as Horeb rocks ; and yet, while Sinai 
 trembles and smokes, and awful thunder rolls ; while 
 the echoes of Jehovah's voice are yet pealing among 
 the mountains; and while the terror that whitened 
 their faces, and made their knees shake the one against 
 the other, has scarce forsaken them, they demand an 
 idol ; they manufacture a calf out of the gold of their 
 ear-rings, and dance around it in the madness of pro- 
 fane mirth. O man, thou art fallen by thy iniquity .' 
 pride ill becomes thee I If there is a spot on this sin- 
 stained soil more lowly, more obscure than another, 
 thither go and prostrate thyself before the most high 
 God, and exclaim, " Unclean ! unclean ! woe is me ! 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 109 
 
 for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell among a 
 people of unclean lips." 
 
 Not one good interest in humanity can be served, 
 by pampering the pride of our nature, and yet nothing 
 is more disrelished by the carnal man than allusions to 
 his utter vileness. To yield to this weakness in him 
 is cruelty ; inasmuch as our giving him credit for 
 being better than he is, does not actually make him 
 so ; and he is thereby tempted to think more highly 
 of himself than he ought, and to be hurried into speech 
 and action, by which his miseries are augmented and 
 his difficulties increased. It is always best to tell the 
 truth, however disagreeable it may be ; for this tells 
 best, alike on our own well-being and well-doing. 
 Besides, the gospel remedy can never be valued nor 
 applied while self-righteousness retains its seat in the 
 human mind. The very first step to salvation is to 
 become nothing in ourselves ; to feel and own the 
 truth of the depravity of our natures, and the worth- 
 lessness of our own works, and to rely with confidence 
 on the righteousness of Christ for our acceptance be- 
 fore God. Happy is the man who is emptied of self; 
 that man is soon to be full of Christ. But to be 
 emptied of self, we must study the history of our fall, 
 and of our fallen race. If we do this with docility of 
 mind, guided in our researches by the word of God, 
 we must be convinced that " the imagination of man's 
 heart is only evil, and that continually ;" that if left to 
 ourselves, there is no extremity of sin to which we will 
 not go ; and that nothing is so sure of propitiating to- 
 wards us the divine approbation, as to admit the need 
 of divine grace to form wdthin us every good thought, 
 to teach our lips every good word, and to lead our feet 
 into the way of every good deed. " The way of man 
 is not in himself ; it is not in man that walketh to 
 
110 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 direct his steps." We are all "by nature children 
 of wrath." ''Behold, we were shapen in iniquity, 
 and in sin did our mothers conceive us." 
 
 III. Sinai proclaims — How excellent is the law I 
 — Given in such unusually sublime circumstances, 
 amid all the pomp and grandeur of heaven's own fires 
 and voices, we may surely infer that, in God's estima- 
 tion, it is indeed most just and good in itself, and most 
 worthy of the love and obedience of mankind. Ema- 
 nating, as it did, directly from Jehovah, it bears the 
 impress of his absolute perfections. It is the moral 
 image of God, and therefore we need not be surprised, 
 if it shall enact, that not one jot or tittle of it shall be 
 permitted to pass away. All shall be fulfilled. True, 
 we must make proper distinctions between what is 
 moral and what is civil and ritual in that law. Its 
 judicial enactments and its ceremonies have passed 
 away, because they were designed for the preparatory 
 dispensation. The moral law, however, remains ; the 
 ten commandments are not obsolete, and obsolete they 
 cannot be made, even by the introduction of the gospel. 
 Before its dawn,, rites and types fled away ; but not 
 the moral law. The author and finisher of our faith 
 came not "to destroy, but to fulfil" the law and the 
 prophets. He obeyed the whole of that law in his 
 own life, not only that he might thereby provide a 
 righteousness for his people, but that he might show 
 them an example: Hence the apostle, in vindicating 
 the doctrine of justification by fJaith without the works 
 of the law, exclaims, " Do we then make void the law 
 through faith ? God forbid ; yea, we establish the 
 law ;" that is, by the gospel we place on a firm and 
 unmovable basis the whole of the ten commandments ; 
 every one of them remains in its old place which it 
 occupied originally in the hearts of our first parents in 
 
MOUNT SINAI. Ill 
 
 Eden, and afterwards on the two tablets of stone given 
 to Moses on Sinai. 
 
 If this be so, well may we inquire, how it is that 
 some are so foolhardy as to point the finger of scorn 
 at the fourth of these commandments, and demand its 
 erasure from the divine code ? It appears to be an 
 axiom, that if such a liberty can be lawfully taken 
 with the fourth, a similar liberty may be taken with 
 any of the other nine. This position is not at all 
 weakened by the circumstance that the Christian 
 charch has moved the Sabbath from the last to the 
 first day of the week. We do not, and never can, 
 properly argue, that the Lawgiver himself is not at 
 liberty to make any alterations that may please him 
 on his own laws. This he can do, and this he has 
 done, with respect to the mere time of observing the 
 Sabbath. He himself, after his resurrection, evidently 
 changed the day. He gave no countenance whatever 
 to the Jewish Sabbath, but uniformly made his appear- 
 ance, during the forty days he remained on the earth 
 previous to his ascension, on '' the first day of the 
 week ;" hence it was called by the inspired apostles, 
 " the Lord's-day ;" and hence, also, these holy men, 
 under the guidance of the Holy Ghost, continued the 
 observance of the Sabbath on the first day of every 
 week. If we err, then, we err with those whose testi- 
 mony, in far weightier matters, we implicitly trust ; 
 even in matters that lie at the very foundations of our 
 belief as disciples of Christ. 
 
 IV. Sinai proclaims — How imperative is man's 
 OBEDIENCE I — Think of the Lawgiver, and think of the 
 law itself; then say, is it safe to oppose the one or 
 transgress the other ? God is opposed when his law 
 is broken; and God is as angry with transgressors 
 now as when he rushed, in righteous indignation, 
 
112 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 from Sinai's fiery heights, and slew thousands of his 
 people. AH calamities, including '' the pestilence 
 that walketh in darkness," and " the destruction that 
 wasteth at noon-day ;" the monetary and commercial 
 panics by which credit is paralysed, trade ruined, and 
 the people reduced to starvation ; are just as clearly 
 the indications of his anger at sin, as were the blood- 
 stained swords of the sons of Levi in the camp of 
 Israel, or the horrid and loathsome plague which sub- 
 sequently destroyed those who had escaped the edge 
 of the sword. We, however, who live under the light 
 of the gospel, have a still more striking manifesta- 
 tion of God's regard for his law, and of his hatred for 
 sin. We have it, not in the sharp swords of Levi's 
 sons, but we have it in the unsheathed sword of jus- 
 tice when it struck the man that was God's fellow, 
 and bathed itself in the blood of " the only-begotten of 
 the Father." In that awful work of the ninth hour 
 upon Calvary, the ancient insignia of the law, when 
 promulgated from Sinai, partially re-appeared. There, 
 when the Saviour was making the atonement, the 
 darkness, the lightning, the earthquake, and other in- 
 dications of Jehovah's holiness, made the spectators 
 tremble. The incarnation — indeed, the obedience and 
 death of Jesus Christ — may all be traced to God's love 
 of his own law ; a law, injury to which he could not 
 possibly overlook or pardon, except by such a tribute 
 to its intrinsic worth, and his inflexible righteousness, 
 as should even more fully glorify it, than if its trans- 
 gressors had been allowed to perish. Let us never for- 
 get, that by this law we are all bound, and more bound 
 than ever, to abide, now that Christ has died, and, in 
 his life and death, magnified and made it honorable. 
 While we cannot be too thankful, that our obedience 
 to it is not in any sense the ground of our acceptance 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 113 
 
 with God; not in any sense a title to our pardon and 
 salvation ; let us never forget, that whenever that sal- 
 vation is ours, we are more than ever obligated to 
 " fear God and keep his commandments," which re- 
 mains still the whole duty of man. Yea, we are not 
 only more obligated than ever, but more than ever dis- 
 posed to do so ; for it is not till we are saved through 
 the faith of Christ that we come to love and obey the 
 law. His love constrains us to keep it. He died, and 
 " gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from 
 all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, 
 zealous of good works." 
 
 V. Sinai proclaims — How glorious is the con- 
 trast BETWEEN THE LAW AND THE GOSPEL ! Lct it 
 
 not be imagined, when we speak of a contrast, that 
 anything depreciatory of the law is intended. It is 
 simply meant to express the warm and grateful emo- 
 tions of the believer, in hearing from the gospel that 
 there is pardon provided for those who have broken 
 the law, and lie under its curse ; that though by the 
 works of the law no flesh living can now be justified, 
 yet is there justification secured to every one who 
 appropriates, by faith, the righteousness of Jesus 
 Christ. It detracts not from the intrinsic excellence 
 of the law, that sinners now tremble before its just 
 and inflexible requirements. It has not abated, and 
 it cannot abate, one jot of its precepts. No comfort, 
 then, can be conveyed by the law to the transgressors. 
 It is in this light, and in this only, that we wish to 
 view the gospel contrasted with the law, inasmuch 
 as the gospel reveals deliverance from its penalties, 
 provides grace to help us in observing its precepts, 
 and, at the same time that it continues that law to 
 us as a rule of life, entirely frees us from it as a cove- 
 nant. Thus contemplated, how glorious is the con- 
 
114 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 trast between the two I Let the Christian run over 
 in his mind a few of these points of contrast, and he 
 cannot fail to see his superior privilege in living under 
 the new dispensation ; "for the law came by Moses, 
 but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ." 
 
 The law came in the midst of terror-striking phe- 
 nomena. The gospel was announced by an angel, in 
 the stillness of the evening hour, to a few shepherds, 
 on the plains of Bethlehem. Clouds and darkness 
 were about the one ; light and peace were about the 
 other. The one made the earth to shake for fear ; the 
 other caused it to rejoice with exceeding great joy. 
 The one was delivered in fire and thunder ; the other 
 was heralded, on the day of pentecost, by the descent 
 of the Holy Ghost in fiery tongues on the apostles. 
 The fires of Sinai were accompanied with smoke ; 
 but the fires of the gospel were without smoke, " be- 
 fitting the clearness of the new dispensation, fire, not 
 in flashes, but in tongues, not to terrify, but to in- 
 struct." The mount itself was strictly protected, and 
 it was on peril of life if it was even touched, while 
 only to a very few was the honor given of ascending 
 so far up its rugged sides, and only to one was it per- 
 mitted to come near to God on its summit. In the 
 gospel, however, no cordon of any description forbids 
 our approach to Zion ; not only may the mount be 
 approached and touched, but to the God whose glory 
 rests upon it, we may all draw near; and not only 
 may all draw near to him, but even he himself may 
 be touched. The hem of his garment was touched 
 by the diseased woman, and his very lips received the 
 embrace of Judas Iscariot. The law encompasses it- 
 self with numerous and dire menaces ; but the gospel 
 pours forth gracious and soul-encouraging promises. 
 The law says, " The soul that sinneth it shall die ;" 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 115 
 
 the gospel says, " Whosoever belie veth in the Son of 
 God hath everlasting life." The law frowns upon the 
 sinner ; the gospel smiles upon him. The law strikes, 
 the gospel binds up the wound. The law shuts to 
 the door ; the gospel opens it. The law " still has 
 within itself the ancient fires in which it was uttered, 
 hence the flashes which it still darts into guilty con- 
 sciences ; the gospel has in it no fires, but it sends 
 forth its light and its truth, gently and softly, as the 
 orient rays move upon the awakening earth. The 
 one thunders wrath ; the other whispers mercy. On 
 Sinai the Lord God is hid from the view of Israel by 
 the dense smoke that enveloped it ; but in the gospel, 
 he comes forth all radiant in love. He is seen in 
 Christ, who is '^ the brightness of his glory, and the 
 express image of his person." The law entailed heavy 
 and expensive ceremonies ; the gospel calls us to a 
 yoke that is easy, and to a burden that is light. The 
 law was for one nation ; the gospel is for the whole 
 world. The law sought to do its work by fear ; the 
 gospel by love. The terrors of Sinai wrought no 
 saving change on the depraved hearts of the men erf 
 Israel — they made a calf and worshipped it while God 
 was speaking ; but when the still small voice of the 
 gospel was heard, thousands were born in one day to 
 the Lord ; and ere the end come, by the power of 
 that gospel, " every knee shall bow," and, " every 
 tongue confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God 
 the Father." 
 
 VI. Sinai proclaims — How necessary for gospel 
 
 HEARERS TO WEIGH WELL THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES, AND 
 
 TO IMPROVE THEIR PRIVILEGES ! — ^Wliocvcr studics the 
 advantages of the gospel, contrasted with the previous 
 legal dispensation, must be satisfied of the increased 
 obligations under which Christians lie, to walk worthy 
 
116 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 of their high vocation. If we have more light, we are 
 expected to do more work ; and if we have less exter- 
 nal ceremony to occupy the mind, we are bound to 
 cultivate more the gifts and graces by which the inner 
 man of the heart can be elevated and enriched. We 
 have a completed revelation, and upon us have come 
 the ends of the world. Let us see to it, then, that 
 we carefully husband our privileges and go on to perfec- 
 tion. The present dispensation is not to be set aside, 
 till the final consummation of all things. We are, there- 
 fore, called upon to employ the providences and ordinan- 
 ces of God, for the wider promotion of his glory in it, 
 and our own spiritual improvement. We do not re- 
 quire to wade through clouds and shadows, in order to 
 realize the great things of salvation. These are clearly 
 unfolded to us in the finished work of Christ. No 
 pompous ritual detains us from the altar and sacrifice 
 of atonement. We have neither to remain under tu- 
 tors and governors, nor under the law itself, as a task- 
 master to bring us to Christ. We are placed by the 
 gospel, as it were, within the holy of holies at once. 
 We are all invited to become kings and priests unto 
 God ; and a new and living way is opened up for us 
 direct to the Father. We have attained our majority, 
 and it is consequently expected of us that we mani- 
 fest the manliness, and bring forth the matured fruit, 
 of a full Christian stature. God looks to us that we 
 bring forth grapes. It was a serious thing to enjoy 
 the comparatively superior light of the Mosaic econo- 
 my. Israel's responsibilities were greatly increased 
 by the revelations of Sinai ; and from that day for- 
 ward, to the winding up of the law, the people of 
 God were more amenable to his displeasure when they 
 refused to walk by his revealed will. But it is a much 
 more serious thing to live under the wings of the Sun 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 117 
 
 of Righteousness, because in an emphatic and solemn 
 sense, no more remains to be done for the church than 
 what has been done. 
 
 If men, then, would but reflect on what God has 
 done for them, and remember that he most righteously 
 demands of them that they act up to their light, sure- 
 ly they " would give the most earnest heed to the 
 things which they have heard, lest at any time they 
 should let them slip." Impartial retributions will be 
 given in the day of judgment. The heathen who have 
 sinned without law, shall then be judged without law. 
 It will then be more tolerable, not only for the men of 
 Sodom and Gomorrah, but for the ancient Jews them- 
 selves, than for us, to whom the word of God's great 
 salvation has been sent, if we despise it. This princi- 
 ple of adjudication will be most inflexibly adhered to, 
 whether we are wise or whether we scorn, whether we 
 hear or whether we will forbear. Some idea of the 
 appalling concomitants of the last day's procedure, 
 may be formed from the terrific displays of the divine 
 majesty on Sinai. But, then, instead of God appear- 
 ing in cloud and fire, he will come in visible form, and 
 '^ every eye shall see him." Instead of the thousands 
 of Israel, will be gathered before him '^ aU nations." 
 Instead of the promulgation of the law, the demand 
 will be, How has that law been obeyed ? Instead of 
 the construction of typical or gospel ordinances, will 
 be the enthronement of the great Mediator, to test 
 every man's work. Not even will the gospel tidings 
 be heralded then, for both the book of the law and the 
 book of the gospel will be shut. The only book to be 
 opened will be that of the Judge's remembrances ; and 
 instead of the man Moses being summoned to stand 
 before the Judge, every man will be called upon to 
 answer for "the things done in his body, according 
 
118 MdXJNT SINAI. 
 
 to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad." 
 Careless and unbelieving sinners ! you will then come 
 to all our conclusions anent your weighty responsibili- 
 ties. You will then repent, and pray, and believe ; 
 but your faith will not save you, your prayers will not 
 be heard, your repentance is too late. The sword of 
 divine vengeance slew the men who insulted Jehovah 
 at the foot of Sinai ; and then, that same weapon will 
 execute vengeance tenfold more destructive on you, 
 who continue to resist and rebel within the very walls 
 of Zion. Be wise in time ; be instructed ye foolish 
 ones. We beseech you, have done with tampering 
 with eternal interests. Let this world and all its van- 
 ities sink into insignificance in your eyes ; live under 
 the powers of the world to come. Make God your 
 chief joy, and seek your happiness in his friendship. 
 At present you can secure every blessing, without ex- 
 ception, for which God's Son shed his blood. You 
 have not far to travel for any one of them, even the 
 most precious. O, how near they are to the chief of 
 sinners I But, remember, that very nearness aggra- 
 vates your guilt, if you refuse to approach and appro- 
 priate. You cannot reasonably calculate on God's 
 treating with indifference what cost him so much to 
 procure for you ; what he has labored to induce you 
 to accept, and what you have recklessly continued to 
 despise. By every hour you live in impenitence and 
 unbelief, you are the more hardening your hearts, the 
 more increasing in amount and degree the difficulty 
 of your conversion, and the more certainly " treasur- 
 ing up unto yourselves wrath against the day of wrath." 
 You are manufacturing many and bitter elements of 
 wretchedness for a dying hour, for a sick bed, for a 
 final judgment, and for an endless eternity. Your re- 
 liances on the general mercy of God, at that day, are 
 
MOUNT SINAI. 119 
 
 exceedingly infatuated and daring, for God has fore- 
 warned you that his mercy will then be " clean gone 
 forever." 
 
 How blissful, on the other hand, shall their state and 
 privileges be, who, while they obey the great gospel 
 commandment, and believe on the name of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ, also " walk in all the commandments 
 and ordinances of the Lord blameless !" Even now, 
 i]> the very exercise of such faith, and in these very 
 acts of obedience, they may be said to enjoy the fore- 
 tastes of the celestial felicity ; '' for," says the apostle 
 of all such, " ye are not come unto the mount that 
 might be touched, and that burned with fire, nor unto 
 blackness, and darkness, and tempest, and the sound 
 of a trumpet, and the voice of words ; which voice 
 they that heard entreated that the word should not be 
 spoken to them any more: but ye are come unto 
 Mount Zion, and unto the city of the living God, the 
 heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company 
 of angels, to the general assembly and church of the 
 first-born, which are written in heaven, and to God the 
 Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made per- 
 fect, and to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, 
 and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better 
 things than that of Abel." 
 
MOUNT HOR, 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE HIGH PRIEST. 
 
 Aaron, the first high priest of Israel, was the brother 
 of Moses. He was eighty-three years of age on the 
 return of the latter to Egypt from Arabia. One of 
 Moses' objections to undertake the leadership of the 
 Israelites, was his not "being eloquent, but of slow 
 speech and slow tongue." The angel met the objec- 
 tion, by informing him that Aaron was to be asso- 
 ciated with him in that work, and that he should be 
 his " spokesman." Accordingly, from this time, they 
 went hand in hand in the work to which they were 
 consecrated. Though thus collegiated, however, they 
 were men of very dissimilar traits of character. Aaron 
 had certainly many excellences, but Moses was, in 
 every point of view, his superior. '' He does not 
 seem," as one remarks, " so much above the follies 
 and prejudices of his age. He was more a man of the 
 times, subject to passing influences and prevailing 
 tastes. Moses, on the contrary, was one of those rare 
 characters in history which seem to live in the past, 
 present, and future. Reviewing the good that has 
 been, understanding the full drift and scope of the pre- 
 sent, he at the same time comprehends and lives in the 
 
MOUNT HOR. 121 
 
 future. Such a man the ardor of hope never beguiles 
 into scorn of the past, nor over-reverence of the present 
 Like those mountain summits which first catch the 
 sunlight, he rises out of the darkness and prejudice 
 below him, heralding the day that is approaching. 
 Neither does Aaron seem borne up and onward by so 
 lofty a feeling as he. With mind less strong, he 
 lacked also the enthusiasm of his brother. Yet he 
 must have possessed rare gifts to have been chosen the 
 companion and fellow-laborer of Moses ; he must have 
 possessed an elevation and purity of character far above 
 his fellows, to have been chosen as the founder of the 
 Jewish priesthood ; the first to minister at the altar, 
 and to represent a sacerdotal dynasty more glorious 
 and more immortal than the line even of David, or any 
 successor of kings that ever filled a throne." The 
 office of high priest, to which Aaron was elevated, was 
 the first of its kind. He was invested with it, in due 
 solemnity, immediately after the promulgation of the 
 law and the consequent setting up of the tabernacle. 
 The chief duties of his office were, to offer sacrifices 
 upon the altar, and to intercede for the people. Its 
 importance lay in its typical character. Aaron was 
 the type of the great High Priest of our profession. 
 His annual sacrifices of atonement, his intercession, 
 and his appearance at the specified periods before the 
 shechina, all prefigured the propitiation and advocacy 
 of our Lord and Saviour, and his appearance in the 
 presence of God for us. Everything, indeed, about 
 the ordinance of the priesthood partook of this typical 
 property. The laws that related to the persons of the 
 priests, to their priestly garments, to their consecra* 
 tion, and to their official duties, sufficiently demon- 
 strate this. Exalted, however, as Aaron was, in re- 
 spect of office, he was not exempt from the infirmities 
 
122 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 of our nature. " At the waters of strife he was be- 
 trayed into anger, self-conceit and presumption ; in the 
 matter of the golden calf he is chargeable with timidity 
 and sinful compliance, with unkindness and ingrati- 
 tude to one of the best of brothers, with impiety 
 towards God, and with dissimulation bordering on 
 falsehood. Even after his consecration to the priest- 
 hood he exhibited the contemptible passion of envy at, 
 and jealousy of, his brother, to whom he was indebted 
 for all that eminence to which he was himself raised, 
 and which he transmitted to his family." For these 
 sins, however, he was corrected in the wilderness. 
 That he repented of them all we cannot doubt, and 
 that they were all forgiven is certain. There were 
 some striking passages in his life. Before we go up 
 with him to Hor, to witness his remarkable decease, 
 let us simply glance at one of these, which furnishes a 
 solemn proof of the divine displeasure with him for 
 these sins, and which at the same time supplies us 
 with some instructive reflections. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF AARON. 
 
 NADAB AND ABIHU THEIR SIN THEIR AWFUL DEATH 
 
 REFLECTIONS AAROn's RESIGNATION. 
 
 Aaron had two sons. They were associated with 
 him in the duties of the high priest's office. Upon a 
 certain occasion, the scripture narrative informs us,* 
 
 ♦ Lev. X. 1—8 
 
MOUNT HOR. 123 
 
 these sons, " Nadab and Abihu, took either of them 
 his censer, and put fire therein, and put incense there- 
 on, and offered strange fire before the Lord. And there 
 went out fire from the Lord, and devoured them ; and 
 they died before the Lord. Then Moses said unto 
 Aaron, This it is that the Lord spake, saying, I will 
 be sanctified in them that come nigh me, and before 
 all the people I will be glorified." It appears from this 
 that these two men, though consecrated to the service 
 of God, were nat good men. Their sin was this : they 
 " offered strange fire before the Lord." God had com- 
 manded, that the incense to be offered on the day of 
 atonement, should be kindled by a portion of the per- 
 petual fire which had at first descended from heaven, to 
 consume the earliest victims which Aaron offered for 
 a burnt-offering, and which had been burning on the 
 altar ever since. Every other kind of fire was there- 
 fore unlawful ; it was strange. Such forbidden fire, on 
 the occasion referred to, had been used by Nadab and 
 Abihu to kindle the incense which their office obliged 
 them to burn, every evening and morning. Some 
 imagine that their crime was the result of intemper- 
 ance ; that they had indulged in the " delicacies of 
 the sacrifice" to a sinful excess ; that they had impi- 
 ously dared to go into the very holy of holies, into 
 which none but their father was permitted to enter, and 
 that only once every year, and that fire from the glori- 
 ous shechina above the mercy-seat then instantly darted 
 forth, and destroyed them ; hence it is said, " They 
 died before the Lord." Their sin, in itself very hein- 
 ous, was greatly aggravated by their official character 
 and rank. " They had seen the perfect exactness with 
 which their illustrious uncle had constructed every- 
 thing according to the pattern shown him in the mount, 
 and the force of his example they resisted. They 
 
124 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 could not be ignorant of their duty, and it was spe- 
 cially incumbent on them to set an example before the 
 people of the strictest respect for the sanctity of the 
 whole institution." 
 
 This must have been a very heavy trial to their 
 aged father. The death of children at any period of 
 life is to a parent the most distressing of bereave- 
 ments. The consolations of the world are then use- 
 less, and to the hopes and precepts of the gospel we 
 can alone look for support. When our children die in 
 infancy, we have reason to be comforted concerning 
 their safety. They pass immediately into glory. 
 Washed in the blood of Christ, they are, at the very 
 same moment that they are torn from the maternal 
 bosom, rejoicing in the bosom of the blessed Jesus. 
 What mother would be so cruel as to wish them back 
 again ? I^et them abide in their heavenly refuge ; let 
 them remain in the heavenly choir ; and let their 
 sweet voices be attuned to the music of the heavenly 
 song ! Yes, they are safe forever, and what more 
 should we wish for them ? They have got all for which 
 the Son of God shed his blood. Let them enjoy it. 
 Why should we selfishly wish to recall them to this 
 scene of sin and misery ? Or, if no such wish is ex- 
 pressed, why should we refuse to be comforted because 
 they are not ? Similar consolation awaits the parent 
 who commits to the grave the dust of some beloved 
 son or daughter who may have reached the years of 
 maturity, but whose life had afforded unequivocal 
 proofs of piety. The affliction here is no doubt heavy, 
 inasmuch as we have to mourn over the greater loss 
 of matured excellences. Still, we do not mourn like 
 those " who have no hope." We saw them growing 
 in grace ; we marked those meek but certain signs 
 of saintship which told of their adoption into the fam- 
 
MOUNT HOR. 125 
 
 ily of God. We congratulated ourselves, and our 
 Christian friends also congratulated us, on having such 
 children ; and we were happy in the thought, that 
 their eternal interests were safe. And now they are 
 gone before us. We had hoped that they should have 
 tended our dying pillow, closed our eyes in death, fol- 
 lowed our " dust to the dust," and perpetuated to an- 
 other generation our good name and services in the 
 cause of God. But he has willed it otherwise, and 
 we resigned our spirit to his will. We know that he 
 had work for them in heaven, else they would not have 
 been called up so soon ; we therefore comfort ourselves 
 with the conviction of their perfect happiness elsewhere, 
 and with the hope of meeting them again in that bet- 
 ter land. 
 
 But who or what shall comfort that parent, whose 
 children die in advanced life, without having given any 
 evidence of a justified state ? Above all, what shall 
 sustain them whose children have been hurried into 
 eternity by their own sinful provocations of the Al- 
 mighty ? Surely, if ever sorrow is allowable, it must 
 be in such a case as this ; if ever it can be lawful to 
 refuse to be comforted, it must be now. This, then, 
 was Aaron's case. His sons were hopeful men; men 
 whom God had honored by associating them with 
 their father in sacred duties ; men that had ascended 
 Sinai when the glory of the Lord encompassed it ; and 
 men that had seen God upon that dreadful occasion ; 
 for it is written, " and they saw the God of Israel." 
 No doubt the aged father would be expecting that, 
 when he died, upon the head of the eldest of these his 
 mitre would be placed; and every mean would be 
 employed to inform him of the duties of the high 
 priest's office. It is not easy, then, for us to conceive 
 the extent or degree of the affliction of that father, 
 
126 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 when, supposing this view to be correct, he entered 
 within the veil, and saw the dead bodies of his two 
 sons prostrate in the holy of holies " before the Lord," 
 before the ark and the mercy-seat. There lay the 
 blighted carcases of the half of his family, of his first 
 and darling hopes, cut off in the prime of life, cut off 
 in the moment of awful impiety, and by the indignant 
 fire of Jehovah ! Aaron gazed in the agony of grief 
 upon that harrowing sight ; and, peradventure, in 
 giving way to that grief, had he been permitted, he 
 too might have enkindled the fire of God against 
 himself But as he looked, with tears, it may be, 
 streaming down his breast-plate, and with hands wrung 
 in the anguish of his soul, he hears a footstep, and 
 commands himself Moses draws near. The judg- 
 ment of the Lord had been hastily communicated to 
 him, and he came to the sanctuary. Calm and un- 
 moved he addresses his stricken brother, instructs 
 him to remain where he is, and not to touch the dead 
 bodies, neither to follow them out of the tabernacle, 
 neither to utter one word of lamentation over what 
 had taken place. He is instantly obeyed. The bodies 
 are raised, and carried away out of the camp " in the 
 coats o^ the sons of Uzziel, as Moses had said." 
 
 And how did Aaron behave himself in such a case ? 
 The Scripture tells us in most expressive language : 
 " And Aaron held his peace." That is, he was dumb ; 
 he opened not his mouth, no, not so much as to allow 
 the deep-drawn sigh of paternal agony to escape. 
 What a sublime instance have we here, of resignation 
 to the will of God ! We are not at liberty to suppose 
 that his silence was the result of stupor from the sud- 
 denness and awfulness of the stroke ; much less are 
 we to set it down to the want of natural affection, or 
 to any indifference about their fate. He retained his 
 
MOUNT HOR. 127 
 
 self-possession, and was fully alive to the appalling 
 judgment which had descended on them. He '* held 
 his peace," and, obeying the commandment of God, 
 he went about all the duties of his office that same 
 day, as if nothing strange had occurred. Behold that 
 illustrious high priest, in these circumstances, con- 
 ducting the services of the sanctuary with meek and 
 unruffled composure ! We can scarce conceive of a 
 father restraining himself thus. Amongst men in 
 general no such magnificent control of the natural 
 affections is ever seen. Contrariwise, the flood-gates 
 of feeling are opened, and the passions rush forth in 
 unmanageable confusion. It is painful to realize it ; 
 we refer to it only to give emphasis to the divine re- 
 quirement, that we take care of the heart in the hour 
 of sorrowful bereavement. Aaron's was a case in 
 which no comfort could be taken, consequently no 
 comfort was tendered to him. It was indeed an un- 
 mitigated affliction, notwithstanding he " held his 
 peace." How are we to account for it ? It was man- 
 ifestly the doing of God, and it did not therefore become 
 him even to appear to be dissatisfied ; it was necessary 
 for the preservation of the sanctity of the divine ordi- 
 nances, which had been profaned in the eyes of Israel ; 
 and it was the punishment due to himself for his own 
 sin in the making of the golden calf. Considerations 
 such as these imposed upon him silence. Remember- 
 ing his past sins, he bowed his head to the chastening 
 of the Lord. Let us go and do likewise. However 
 much of human weakness Aaron may have discovered 
 on other occasions, he certainly shines forth in this as 
 a bright example to us all. If it would have been 
 wrong and sinful in him to have repined under the rod, 
 and such a rod, how much more sinful is it in us to 
 be angry, or to act as if we were angry, with God 
 
128 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 when he visits us with similar trials ? Let us bear in 
 mind that we are not chastised with the severity that 
 we deserve, and that the sins of which we have been 
 guilty are the causes of many of our severest tribula- 
 tions. Better far to receive the punishment due to 
 these sins in this life than to enjoy uninterrupted com- 
 fort here, and meet the wrath of God where it must 
 be endured forever. 
 
 In a very few years after this, and shortly after the 
 decease of his sister Miriam, Aaron is himself sum- 
 moned to lay down his high office, and with his office, 
 his life. Before adverting to the solemn scenes of that 
 occasion, it may not be uninteresting to pay a visit to 
 the mountain itself, where he breathed out his spirit. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE HIGH PRIEST. 
 
 MOUNT HOR THE ASCENT OF MOSES, AARON, AND ELEAZAR 
 
 DEATH OF AARON REFLECTIONS. 
 
 It is written, "And the Lord spake unto Moses and 
 Aaron in Mount Hor, by the coast of the land of 
 Edom, saying, Aaron shall be gathered unto his peo- 
 ple. Take Aaron and Eleazar his son, and bring them 
 up unto Mount Hor ; and strip Aaron of his garments, 
 and put them upon Eleazar his son ; and Aaron shall 
 be gathered unto his people, and shall die there.* 
 
 Mount Hor is in the same country with Sinai, 
 though not in the same neighborhood. It forms one 
 
 * Numbers xx. 22—29. 
 
MOUNT HOR. 129 
 
 of the chain of mountains called in scripture *' the 
 mountains of Seir," which reach from the bottom of 
 the Dead Sea down to the top of the gulf of Akaba. 
 Seir is in the land of Idumea, or Edom, to which Esau 
 retired from the presence of his brother Jacob. This 
 range separates Arabia Petrea from the eastern deserts 
 of sand : they are ten or twelve leagues in width, and 
 have a very stern and dark appearance. Lord Lind- 
 say speaks of them as "the black mountains from 
 which the Edomites looked down." Another traveller 
 thus WTites : " The land of Idumea lay before me in 
 barrenness and desolation ; 4io trees grew in the valley, 
 and no verdure on the mountain tops. All was bare, 
 dreary, and desolate." Of this long range of moun- 
 tains, Hor is the tallest summit, and is a towering 
 landmark to the wanderer afar off. It is said that 
 though Sinai be nearly 150 miles farther south, it can 
 be seen from the top of Hor ; and Petra, the famous 
 capital of the Edomites, is supposed to have been in 
 its immediate neighborhood. The place where it is 
 said Aaron was buried is at present inclosed by a 
 small modern building, crowned with a cupola, such 
 as usually covers the remains of modern saints. It 
 now gets the name of Jebal Haroun, the mountain of 
 Aaron, and is of very difficult and steep ascent. 
 
 Dr. Wilson and his friends recently reached the 
 summit with great difficulty. He thus writes : " After 
 the greatness and peril of the effort which we had been 
 compelled to make, we should, in ordinary circum- 
 stances, have been elated with our success ; but the 
 wild sublimity, and grandeur, and terror of the new 
 and wonderful scene around and underneath us, over- 
 awed our souls. We were seated on the very throne, 
 as it appeared to us, of Desolation itself. Its own 
 metropolis of broken, and shattered, and frowning 
 
 6* 
 
130 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 heights — ruin piled upon ruin, and dark and devouring 
 depth added to depth, lay on our right hand and on our 
 left. To the rising sun, mount Seir, the pride and the 
 glory of Edom, and the terror of its adversaries, lay 
 before us, smitten in its length and breadth by the 
 hand of the Almighty, stretched out against it, barren 
 and most desolate, with its daughter, the ' city of 
 Merook,' overthrown and prostrate at its feet. To 
 the west we had the great and terrible wilderness, 
 with its deserts, and pits, and droughts, spread out be- 
 fore us, without any limit but its own vastness, and 
 pronounced by God himself to be the very ' shadow 
 of death,' It was the type and representative to us 
 of that day of the Lord in which the heavens shall pass 
 away with a great noise, and the elements melt with 
 fervent heat, and the earth also, and the works that 
 are therein, shall be burned up." 
 
 The same writer also mentions that he entered into 
 what is reputed to be the tomb of the high priest of 
 Israel, which he describes to be nothing more ^' than a 
 small Mahommedan mosque of no great antiquity. 
 The door, which is at the west corner, is raised about 
 two feet, and it is about four feet high, exclusive of 
 the arch, above which is an arc of a wall. The wall 
 is strongly built of red sandstone, about four feet thick. 
 The roof, which is flat, rests upon two rows of double 
 arches of the Saracenic form. The area within is 
 eleven paces by nine and a half. At its north end 
 there is a Mahommedan sepulchre of the ordinary 
 length. It has a stone in front with an Arabic inscrip- 
 tion. Four little marble pillars, of unequal workman- 
 ship, were at the end of the tomb." The range of 
 Seir, of which Hor seems to be the central elevation, 
 is supposed to be about 3,500 feet above the plains 
 beneath. *' It is of white chalk, and its strata, rising 
 # 
 
MOUNT HOR. 131 
 
 in many places in successive terraces, have the appear- 
 ance of dipping to the east. It embosoms on three 
 sides the purple, and orange, and rose-colored, sand- 
 stone, forming the natural walls of Petra, and the 
 body and crags of Mount Hor itself, and extends to a 
 distance on the west, strangely diversified in its hue 
 and shading by the eruptions of granite, porphyry, and 
 basalt." 
 
 In their wanderings towards Canaan, the children 
 of Israel had at length reached the valley from which 
 this mountain rose, and they encamped before it. 
 There was a reason for this. Their high priest was 
 to die and be buried on its summit. Neither Moses 
 nor Aaron, nor any of those who had rebelled against 
 God's word at the waters of Meribah, were to be per- 
 mitted to enter the promised land. The time drew 
 nigh for crossing the Jordan and taking possession of 
 the country, and the leading actors in the scenes of the 
 last forty years must fall, and leave their carcases in 
 the wilderness. Hundreds and thousands had already 
 died ; very few, indeed, of that generation who had 
 come up out of Egypt remained. The time had come 
 when the leaders themselves must also submit to the 
 stroke of death. Aaron, by the commandment of God, 
 is the first to take his departure, and the manner in 
 which this was done is singularly affecting. Moses 
 was instructed to take Aaron and his son Eleazar, and 
 bring them to the top of Hor ; there to strip Aaron of 
 his official garments, and put them upon his son, who 
 was to succeed him ; and then he was to die, and " be 
 gathered to his people." All this was done, and done, 
 too, in the sight of the congregation. Moses might 
 not inform them that they were never to see their high 
 priest again ; but in the recollection of what they had 
 beheld on Sinai, they might expect that God would 
 
132 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 again make some imposing manifestation of his glory. 
 They gazed upon the three men, then, as they wended 
 their way up the steep and rough ascent, and wondered 
 when and how Jehovah would appear ; but no dis- 
 play, such as that which was made on Sinai, was made 
 on Hor. The scene itself, however, is really a com- 
 manding one. Witness three such men, in the perfect 
 knowledge of what was going to happen, so cheerfully 
 and promptly bidding adieu for a time to the camp, 
 one of them never to return, and that one the high 
 priest. They have made the ascent, and now they 
 stand on the summit of the mountain. No delay 
 takes place. Moses at once approaches his brother, 
 who again " held his peace." Without the least oppo- 
 sition, he permits himself to be stripped of his gorgeous 
 robes, and though submissive not unconcerned, wit- 
 nesses the investiture of Eleazar. This ceremony 
 finished, the two brothers, so long associated in office, 
 and so soon and so affectingly to be parted, await in 
 silence and awe the approach of God. 
 
 What a moment of suspense would this be ! It is 
 difficult to say which of the three would feel it most. 
 To Moses, his brother had been of eminent service in 
 the government of Israel. He might remember some 
 of Aaron's infirmities ; but these would instantly be 
 forgotten in the rush of other thoughts, which rekin- 
 dled from memory's lamp the lights that had illumined 
 the path of the first high priest of Israel, even from 
 the days when together they had confronted the mon- 
 arch of Egypt, to the present moment of sublime 
 resignation to the will of God. Aaron again, now 
 looks down the mountain side to the plain beneath, 
 that he might for the last time behold the goodly tents 
 of Jacob and the tabernacles of Israel. What a tu- 
 mult of thoughts would the view occasion I Having 
 
MOUNT HOR. 133 
 
 surveyed, for a time, this interesting spectacle, he 
 turns to his illustrious brother, and fixes on him a look 
 of inexpressible emotion. The recollection of his fool- 
 ish envyings of Moses' distinctions might suggest some 
 little regret. If so, the feeling would soon pass away 
 in the joyous conviction, not only that all had been 
 forgiven between them, but that even with the God 
 of Israel he was now at peace, and would be soon in 
 glory. 
 
 The newly-inaugurated high priest, meanwhile, 
 stands apart, a silent but not uninterested spectator. 
 He loved and honored his venerable sire ; he submitted 
 to see him, for the first time, denuded of his pontifical 
 robes, and, in amazement, beheld them put upon him- 
 self The ceremony told him that the death of his 
 father was at hand, and that he should occupy that 
 father's place among the nobles of Israel ; but the sad- 
 ness of the occasion interfered to repress the joys of 
 succession. It is far from Eleazar, however, to feel 
 or express a murmur. He, too, prepares his spirit to 
 witness in adoring acquiescence, Aaron's sublime and 
 impressive decease. And now these three men kneel 
 in prayer ; they have embraced each other for the last 
 time, and stand together in expectation of the summons 
 that was to carry the devoted one into the immediate 
 presence of God. Moses and Eleazar steadfastly 
 contemplate Aaron, whose attitude and aspect bespeak 
 the approaching awful solemnity. As they watch his 
 heaven-lit countenance, behold, it changes ! The high 
 priest falls ; he is dead ! His soul is gathered to its 
 people ! 
 
 Such was the latter end of Israel's first high priest. 
 How appropriate such a conclusion to his life ! At the 
 base of one mountain Aaron had yielded to human 
 weakness, and scandalized the religion of his fathers, 
 
134 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 in giving countenance to the golden calf; but here, 
 on the summit of another, he manifests the power of 
 faith, and contributes largely to the glory of Jehovah, 
 in resigning at once office and life at his command. A 
 dying scene like this disposes us to forget, that the in- 
 firmities of our nature had left their usual stains upon 
 his previous walk. Thus, while the best of men often 
 come short, it is sometimes granted to them, ere they 
 leave this world, to repair the breaches they have made, 
 to redeem some of the time they have lost, and by 
 one dying scene, to do more for the credit of their 
 religion than all their former good works ever accom- 
 plished. 
 
 We should learn from this, not to pursue the falls 
 of good men into scandalous sins, with too severe dis- 
 cipline. When evidence of repentance is manifested, 
 when subsequent zeal and activity prove its genuine- 
 ness, their sins ought to be forgiven by their fellow- 
 believers, and they themselves ought to be treated as 
 if no such clouds had ever rested on their good names. 
 By this tender and just restoration of confidence, we 
 not only commend the doctrines of Christianity, as 
 breathing mercy and love amongst brethren, but we 
 secure their services more devotedly than ever to the 
 side of truth and holiness. Aaron was made high 
 priest after his fall at Sinai, and Peter became not the 
 less efficient an apostle, that he had repented and been 
 forgiven " the iniquity of his sin" in the palace of 
 Caiaphas. It is said that young converts are generally 
 most zealous in propagating truth. We believe it. 
 But, on the same principle, it ought to be conceded 
 that a repentant brother, when forgiven alike by God 
 and man, is almost certain to labor more abundantly 
 to recommend and diffuse the principles of our most 
 holy faith. David sinned heinously in the matter of 
 
MOUNT HOR. 135 
 
 Uriah the Hittite ; but he repented and was forgiven. 
 What was the consequence ? He was more devoted 
 than ever to God and to Israel. How significant of 
 this are some of the clauses in the penitential psalm 
 composed on the occasion referred to: "Restore unto 
 me the joy of thy salvation ; and uphold me with thy 
 free Spirit : then will I teach transgressors thy ways ; 
 and sinners shall be converted unto thee !" No doubt 
 the son of Jesse was as often praying on his knees as 
 playing on his harp, and the God of Israel would be 
 ever uppermost in these prayers. We question, how- 
 ever, if his earnestness on behalf of Zion, previous to 
 his fall, was so intense as it became after his restora- 
 tion. Then, with peculiar emphasis, he is heard im- 
 ploring Jehovah, '' Do good in thy good pleasure unto 
 Zion : build thou the walls of Jerusalem." 
 
 In cases like David's, a constant and persevering 
 piety afterwards, is perhaps a more striking illustration 
 of the power of God's grace in the heart, than the or- 
 dinary walk of the man whose feet have never slipped. 
 In applying these remarks, however, to the case of 
 office-bearers in the church of Christ, great care must 
 be taken, lest, in our amiable efforts after reconcilia- 
 tion, we rashly commit the real welfare of our brother, 
 and the credit of religion, to be carried away in the 
 stream of a baneful latitudinarianism. It must be 
 allowed that what God can do, without the possibility 
 of injury to his own cause or our interests, ought not to 
 be ventured upon by us, until we have well examined, 
 not only the spirit of the penitent, but our own spirits 
 in their proposals to pardon and restore him. But 
 prosecuting these views under the control of wise, con- 
 siderate, and Christian principles, we are almost sure 
 of protecting the credit of our religion, while we ex- 
 tend forbearance and privilege to the sorrowing and re- 
 
136 MOUNT IIOR. 
 
 formed transgressor. In such cases, we may, in their 
 issue, have the splendors of Hor to set over against the 
 humiliations of Sinai. 
 
 We cannot descend from this mountain top, with- 
 out one glance at another decease of a still more sol- 
 emn and overawing character. Aaron was but the 
 type of a more enduring High Priest, even Jesus 
 Christ. How singular the contrast between the one 
 scene on Hor and the other on Calvary ! Aaron's last 
 moments were passed in tranquillity, honor, and hope ; 
 the blessed Jesus died in the midst of execrations and 
 agony. The " type" disappeared between two of his 
 nearest and dearest relations; the " substance " gave 
 up the ghost between two notorious criminals ! But 
 when faith studies these two deaths, it quickly dis- 
 cerns the superiority, in every respect, of the anti- 
 typical scene. Aaron was here stripped of his robes 
 and denuded of his office. His eyes, ere they closed 
 in death, saw his successor. His decease, in itself, 
 had not even the typical properties of those sacrifices 
 of bulls and goats over which he had often presided. 
 It was in no sense even a shadow of " the decease 
 which was accomplished at Jerusalem." His body 
 was buried where it fell, and there its dust may still 
 repose. The character he sustained to the church, 
 and the office he held, together with the whole econo- 
 my to which they appertained, have long ere this 
 passed away, and are never to re-appear. The reverse 
 of all this holds true of our Lord. When he died, he 
 secured for himself from that moment the everlasting 
 possession of the offices of prophet, priest, and king to 
 his church. His death was the atonement for sin. 
 In it he laid the foundation of that heavenly Jerusa- 
 lem whose palaces and towers are to endure forever. 
 When he rose from the dead (for God did not " suffer 
 
MOUNT HOR. 137 
 
 his Holy One to see corruption,") he "ascended up 
 on high," entered into the holy of holies, and hath 
 forever '' sat down at the right hand of the Father." 
 " Jesus was made a surety of a better covenant. And 
 they truly were many priests, because they were not 
 suffered to continue by reason of death : but this man, 
 because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable 
 priesthood. Wherefore he is able to save them to the 
 uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever 
 liveth to make intercession for them." In this divine 
 arrangement believers may have perfect confidence. 
 Their High Priest is with God. His sacrifice has 
 been accepted once for all. His advocacy is ever prev- 
 alent. His sympathy is always certain. And their 
 future admission into his blessed presence is as sure 
 as " the word of the oath" can make it. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE LESSONS FROM HOR. 
 
 DEATH — ITS CERTAINTY GOOD MEN ONLY DIE SAFELY THE 
 
 VALUE OF THE GOSPEL. 
 
 The affecting scene we have just contemplated re- 
 mmds us, — 
 
 I. That we must all die ! — This is perhaps the 
 only truth connected with revelation that infidelity it- 
 self cannot, and does not dispute. He must be insane 
 who would do so. Notwithstanding, it is a truth 
 which is deplorably disregarded by most men. They 
 live as if it were not true that they must all die. To 
 
138 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 the universal belief that it is the common lot, may be 
 traced its failure in producing appropriate seriousness. 
 This makes it all the more necessary that we now 
 and then fix attention upon the subject, so as to be- 
 come " wise, and understand this, and consider our 
 latter end." If, then, we animadvert for a little on 
 death as certain, and certain to all, it is not because 
 man requires to have it proved to him that he is mor- 
 tal, but because he needs to have his mind deeply 
 filled with such a conviction. To produce and main- 
 tain it is indeed a service to humanity ; for O, how 
 many adverse influences are at work, to lull the dying 
 creature to sleep, and to make him live as if he were 
 never to die; as if all were mortal except himself! 
 The world, the devil, and the flesh combine to harden 
 his mind to the force of a truth which, notwithstand- 
 ing, he sees verified every day in the passing funeral. 
 Such, indeed, is the miserable indifference that pre- 
 vails among men upon this subject, that we are almost 
 justified in taking it for granted, that they do not be- 
 lieve that they are to fall under its stroke, and in pro- 
 ceeding to reason with them accordingly. 
 
 And what shall we say to such ? We tell them to 
 consider this : that ever since the fall of Adam death 
 has invaded the world and converted it into one im- 
 mense grave, into which he has, with contemptuous 
 indiscrimination, cast the generations that are gone 
 before. That grave still yawns, and ever opens its 
 mouth insatiably for more. " Our fathers, where are 
 they ? and the prophets, do they live forever ?" Our 
 fathers sleep in dust, and the prophets' harps are long 
 since hung upon the willows. And you, too, who now 
 ponder these things, must follow in that solemn pro- 
 cession to the tomb. " Dust thou art, and unto dust 
 shalt thou return." Your bodies are so constructed 
 
MOUNT HOR. 139 
 
 that dissolution would come though they were not ex- 
 posed to the accidents of life and actual disease. Sin 
 now " reigns in your mortal bodies." It lives in them 
 at the end, as well as at the beginning of a long life. 
 At some period the wages of sin must be paid. We 
 must die, and become the food of worms, the victims 
 of corruption, and kindred with the clay. This is the 
 end of it, whatever may have been the character of 
 life's progress ; whether joyous or grievous ; whether 
 spent in the giddy dances of worldly honor and pros- 
 perity, or in the joyless regions of poverty and wretch- 
 edness ; whether useful or useless ; whether devoted 
 to God or devoted to the devil ; this is the end of it — 
 all die, and all must die. There is no escaping ; from 
 this war there is no discharge. Out of the many 
 generations of men that have appeared and disap- 
 peared, two only have been exempted from its stroke ; 
 but, excepting those that shall be found alive at the 
 last day, we have no reason to expect that any others 
 shall be similarly privileged. Yes, the gates of death 
 all must, and all do approach. There monarchs lay 
 aside crowns and sceptres, doff gold and purple, abdi- 
 cate kingdoms, and enter the grave as naked as when 
 they entered the world. There the squalid and starv- 
 ing wretch, whose whole existence has been pensioned 
 on the coldness of charity, finds a last relief; he lays 
 down his rags, his burdens, his needs, and suffers 
 earthly pain no more. There philosophy is arrested 
 in the midst of its most sublime and successful re- 
 searches, and receives a sure quietus to all its careful 
 and perplexing thoughts. There beauty in her smiles, 
 and deformity in her tears, lie down together, soon to 
 be commingled in indistinguishable dust. There the 
 sinner who has lived far from God, and the saint who 
 has walked with God — strange encounter ! — meet to 
 
140 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 tread the same dismal path, and ford the same swel- 
 ling Jordan. No exception breaks the dull monotony ; 
 all are promiscuously hurried off the stage of life, and 
 laid without order in the gloomy mausoleum. Vain 
 and inconstant world ! Fleeting and transient life ! 
 when will the sons of men learn to think of thee as 
 they ought, to prize their opportunities as they should, 
 and to draw their hearts from thee as they must? 
 How appropriate to this subject are the weighty 
 words of Sir Walter Raleigh : " O, eloquent, just, 
 and mighty death ! whom none could advise thou hast 
 persuaded ; what none hath dared thou hast done ; 
 and, where all would have flattered, thou only hast 
 cast out of the world and despised. Thou hast drawn 
 together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, 
 cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over 
 with these two little words, ' Hic jacet.' " 
 
 II. Death is stingless only to good men ! — To 
 those who die in their sins, death is unquestionably an 
 immeasurable evil. Any conceivable state of misery 
 on this side of the grave is better far to them than that 
 into which, after death, they immediately pass. Here 
 there is always some modicum of earthly rest to miti- 
 gate the concomitant ills of man's weary pilgrimage. 
 His condition, whatever it be, can never be considered 
 one of absolute despair. Though he be reduced to the 
 very dust, still he has life ; and while there is life, 
 there is hope. He gets pity, too ; the pity of the kind 
 and compassionate ; and when there is pity, there may 
 come relief At the very worst, his woes are tolerable, 
 and possibly they may be of short duration. It is 
 true, alas, too true ! that in the midst of the devasta- 
 tions of adversity, some reckon life a curse, and, to get 
 quit of ills they have, they madly flee " to others that 
 they know not of" Is not such suicide the worst form 
 
MOUNT HOR. 141 
 
 of insanity ? for nothing can be conceived more unrea- 
 sonable than to risk the eternal loss of the soul, merely 
 to escape a passing hurricane, or, it may be, an im- 
 aginary evil. 
 
 But in no case can death, to a good man, be set 
 down as a loss. It is, in every sense of the word, a 
 gain, a great and unspeakable gain. He could not 
 have bettered his earthly condition by one hour's addi- 
 tional existence. His sins were pardoned at conver- 
 sion ; his nature has been meetened for heaven in 
 sanctification ; and his evidences of being '' in Christ 
 Jesus" have become so bright, by long and intimate 
 communion with him, that death comes with a most 
 welcome invitation to him, to go up and be glorified. 
 No really justified man needs time in order to die in 
 safety. He may require time to die more comfortably 
 to himself, and perhaps more usefully for others ; but 
 as for his safety, it is of no consequence to him at 
 what hour of the day or night he takes his leave of 
 the world. Death to him is stingless ; that is, the 
 sting which makes death fatal to others, is in his case 
 extracted. 
 
 An apostle says, " The sting of death is sin ;" a 
 saying which on many a death-bed has been awfully 
 illustrated. But when death comes to a believer, it 
 comes without sin ; and if it comes without sin, it 
 comes without danger to him. And what is meant by 
 death coming without sin? It means that, to a good 
 man, death comes having not the curse of sin in it ; that 
 curse is exhausted to every believer in the death of 
 Christ. It is written that the " strength of sin is the 
 law ;" that is, the strength of the sting of death is the 
 law. And how does the law strengthen this sting of 
 death ? It does so by coming to the soul that lies in 
 sin, and demanding an obedience to its precepts which 
 
142 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 has never been rendered, and a submission to its 
 penalty which must now be made. How dreadful is 
 the sense of sin in such circumstances I When the 
 unpardoned sinner realizes death, is it to be wondered 
 at, if he be abandoned to despair ? Death comes to 
 him with its sting, which is always fatal. An angry 
 law, a law which has been recklessly violated, it may 
 be during a long life, and in defiance of favorable pro- 
 vidences and gracious ordinances, comes up to him, 
 seizes him by the throat, and says, " Pay me that 
 thou owest." Oh, how does such a demand dart a 
 sting into a guilty conscience ! The sinner is a spirit- 
 ual bankrupt ; he has nothing to pay ; he has no 
 righteousness of his own; and he has no interest in 
 the righteousness of any other. What then must he 
 do ? The necessity is awful ! it is appalling ! but it 
 cannot be avoided now ; he must pay what he can, 
 and that is, the penalty — eternal death I 
 
 Now, when this law comes to a dying Christian, it 
 imparts no strength to sin, either as to his state or as 
 to his experience, and this especially as to his state ; 
 for when it makes its demand of him, " pay me that 
 thou owest," the believer is quite ready with his pay- 
 ment ; he has had it lying beside him probably for a 
 long, long time ; in fact, he has just been waiting for 
 this call of the law, and now he offers it not only the 
 principal, but an unspeakably valuable amount of in- 
 terest. He offers to its rules the obedience of their 
 own Maker, the obedience of Jesus Christ; and he 
 offers to its penalty the sufferings and death of the 
 Son of God in the nature of man. The law, of course, 
 is well pleased with such payment ; for it is thus mag- 
 nified, and made far more honorable than if the crea- 
 ture himself had obeyed it, or had been left under the 
 infliction of its wrath forever. This sufliioiently ac- 
 
MOUNT HOR. 143 
 
 counts for the peaceful death of a saint. He feels no 
 sting in it. He is a justified man through the impu- 
 tation of Christ's righteousness. He knows this, he 
 believes this ; and he dies singing these beautiful 
 words, " O Lord, I will praise thee ; for though thou 
 wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and 
 thou comfortest me !" Yes, die when that man may, 
 he is quite safe ; for there is no more " condemnation 
 to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after 
 the flesh, but after the Spirit, For the law of the 
 Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made them free 
 from the law of sin and death." 
 
 Such considerations ought greatly to enhance to us 
 the gospel of God. That we are all to die is true ; 
 but, apart from the consolatory revelations of the Bi- 
 ble, this truth would make life insupportable. With 
 what tranquillity, however, can we now proceed to the 
 grave ! We know that there is a happy land beyond 
 it, into which every Christian is immediately received ; 
 that this inheritance has been purchased for us by the 
 precious blood of Christ ; and that by the influences 
 of the Holy Ghost, we are certain to be made fully 
 meet for it, whenever God may call us hence. For 
 this cheering and invigorating knowledge we are in- 
 debted to the gospel ; not to reason nor to philosophy, 
 but to the glorious gospel of the ever-blessed God. 
 Dearly, then, should we prize it, very grateful should 
 we be for it, and very diligently should we study it. 
 That gospel is the best counsellor, even for this world, 
 inasmuch as it enables us " to exercise ourselves unto 
 godliness," which godliness, the apostle says, " is profit- 
 able unto all things, having promise of the life that 
 now is," as well as "of that which is to come." For 
 temporal ends, then, alone, it is invaluable. But 
 there is no term of human existence so richly to be 
 
144 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 prized by unbelieving man, as its closing periods. Too 
 often is the great work of preparation for eternity de- 
 layed till then, when into a few days or hours it is 
 attempted to crush that which ought to have been the 
 business of a lifetime. The gospel, then, even at that 
 late hour, is still at hand, offering its services, and 
 proving that, as the friend of sinners, it is faithful even 
 unto death. 
 
 To the believer, who has been considering and pre- 
 paring for his latter end, it provides light for the dark 
 valley, the staff of divine promise for the tottering and 
 feeble step, the influence of hope for a sure and stead- 
 fast anchor to the soul, and the foretaste of heaven as 
 an earnest of approaching glory. For the unbeliever, 
 also, who has sinfully procrastinated till now the work 
 which was given him to do, this gospel, if he wishes 
 to be saved, is, and must be, his last resort. Health, 
 wealth, fame, and friends, may all have abandoned 
 him, so that he finds himself, in the hour and agony 
 of death, with no other possession. All that he praised 
 and flattered have fled, and that alone which he 
 despised remains. It is true that, for the most part, 
 death-bed repentances are too late. The gospel, so 
 long refused, has ceased to influence the heart ; and 
 the Spirit of God, so long resisted, has ceased to strive 
 with the sinner. We are not, however, on this ac- 
 count to undervalue the gospel as the best treasure of 
 man. If he has so stupefied himself, and so offended 
 God by his sin, as to be unfitted now for taking ad- 
 vantage of mercy when it is offered to him, as it cer- 
 tainly is, even at the very close of his life, we are not 
 on that account to defraud the gospel of the credit 
 which is due to its long-suffering and kindness. Its 
 salvation is still proclaimed to the dying man ; its 
 entreaties to repent and believe are still urged ; its 
 
MOUNT HOR. 145 
 
 proffers of forgiveness and grace are made as sincerely 
 as ever ; and if now accepted of, even this the last 
 would become the day of his salvation. We claim 
 all this for the gospel message, and we dare not claim 
 less, though in doing so it is certain that we fearfully 
 increase the responsibilities of the gospel despiser ; and 
 truly it is impossible to conceive of any condition more 
 deplorable than his who, in dying, perishes at the door 
 of escape from divine wrath. Our position has, not- 
 withstanding, powerful supports in those instances in 
 which, at the latest periods of life, sinners have re- 
 pented, believed, and been saved. In every case, in- 
 deed, in which any sinner did then and there believe 
 in the gospel, it was found that mercy was not far 
 from any one of them. But, alas ! how few there be 
 who, thus late in the day, make their escape ! We 
 have only one example recorded in the Bible, that of 
 the thief on the cross ; and that one, as has been said, 
 that all may hope — but one, that none may presume. 
 From all which it must follow, that while the good 
 man only dies safely, it is not the fault of the gospel 
 if even the impenitent, when death is at hand, dies 
 and is lost. The gospel also is at hand ; the physician 
 is at his bedside, the remedy is available, the well of 
 salvation is opened, and all that is needed is the sin- 
 cere reception of the remedy, and the drinking of the 
 water, before the last breath is drawn. If that breath 
 is drawn before the water is drawn from that well, the 
 soul perishes ; but, if the pitcher is let down in time, 
 and but one drop is tasted, the soul lives, and lives for- 
 ever. Such are the might and mercy of the gospel. 
 What a precious boon is it to him "who is of few days, 
 and full of trouble ;" who is of many sins and full of 
 guilt; who is at the door of judgment, and whose 
 everlasting state is fixed irrevocably at death ! Let 
 
 7 
 
146 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 US prize the ''good tidings of great joy;" and, while 
 we anticipate for ourselves a happy and safe death, 
 like that of Israel's high priest, let us never forget 
 that we must also, like him, be devoted during life to 
 the service of God, and ready, at the end, to lay our- 
 selves down to die at his bidding, without either cloud 
 or peril upon our souls. '' Mark the perfect man, and 
 behold the upright : for the end of that man is peace." 
 
MOUNT PISGAH, 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE LAWGIVER. 
 
 The chequered character of life is proverbial. All 
 believe in the existence, and most men drink deeply 
 out of the cup of its endless and trying vicissitudes. 
 How rarely, indeed, do we find an instance of uninter- 
 rupted and tranquil prosperity ! Nor is it considered, 
 in the present state of man, to be at all favorable to 
 his improvement, that he should escape the rough and 
 angular pieces of the road, and slide smoothly into the 
 vale of years. He who has to fight the battle of life, 
 now subject to its reverses, and now fortunate in its 
 conquests, is the more likely to be sober in success, 
 and resigned under discipline. He is the man in 
 whom the better principles of our nature, as these 
 have been renewed by the Spirit of God, are certain 
 to become both athletic and fruitful. *' Born to trouble, 
 as the sparks fly upward," and enduring that trouble 
 in the assured confidence that " all things work to- 
 gether for good to them that love God," he evidently 
 " grows in grace," and is every day made more and 
 more " meet for the inheritance of the saints in light." 
 Thus, that smgularly mournful condition into which 
 sin has brought mankind, and over which unsanctified 
 
148 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 nature is ready to poar such pathetic lamentations, is 
 converted, by the God of all grace, into a merciful 
 system of means for the reproduction of piety and the 
 restoration of peace. It is true, the benefit of this 
 arrangement is felt only by those who are suitably 
 exercised by their afflictions. Good men alone can 
 say that it has been " good" for them that they have 
 been afflicted ; because, in such men alone, godly sor- 
 row " yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness." 
 To the believer, however, this truth is the sovereign 
 catholicon for the ills, and the kindly comforter amid 
 the chequered scenes of his pilgrimage. It may, in- 
 deed, be, after all, a "day of small things" to him, 
 compared with the " more exceeding and eternal 
 weight of glory" which is to be the consummation of 
 the whole matter; still he is far from "despising" it. 
 To him such a truth gives a view of life on earth, 
 which imparts somewhat of the tranquillity of the 
 future rest to present conflict, somewhat of the charms 
 of Eden to the desert where he dwells, and not a few 
 of the choicest treasures of unveiled communion above 
 to the partial and obscured manifestations of Christian 
 fellowship below. 
 
 But while life is chequered, and has its appropriate 
 consolations to the believer, it ought to be, much 
 oftener than it is, a subject before our minds, that 
 death also is chequered ; death also has its vicissi- 
 tudes, and its kindred terrors or supports in the midst 
 of their endurance. As there is no monotony in life, 
 neither is there in death. The varieties of death are 
 as interesting, and perhaps more inexplicable, than 
 those of life. Certainly all do not live alike ; equally 
 certain it is, that all do not die alike. The inequali- 
 ties in both may be nearly proportioned ; the common 
 saying holding for the most part true, that as is the 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 149 
 
 life, so is the death. If the life has been thoughtless 
 and godless, and racked and riven with sordid cares, 
 so also is the death. The ruling passions retain their 
 strength, and ofttimes have that strength increased, in 
 death. Hence the varieties of an unbelievinsf career 
 are almost sure to have their counterparts deeply 
 characterizing its termination. If the life had its 
 enjoyments by excluding the thoughts of death, the 
 death has its alarms by including the memorials of 
 life. So also, in the other and better case, when the 
 Christian's hour for death arrives, he sees it reflecting 
 the beauties of his life, and endorsing aU the promises 
 of glory and immortality, on which he has founded his 
 hope. In his passage through life, he never accounted 
 it else than " the valley of the shadow of death ;" con- 
 sequently, now that death is to terminate life, he be- 
 lieves that he is certain, in the encounter with the 
 dark reality itself, to be " more than a conqueror, 
 through him that loved him." Death, during life, he 
 never feared nor forgot; and life, at death, he now 
 remembers and reviews without alarm. 
 
 This is one view of the subject; but there is an- 
 other. Often in death there is an apparent contradic- 
 tion of things spiritual. There are diversities in the 
 experiences of the dying, which, in the apprehension 
 of faith, may be explainable, but of which mere reason 
 can form no consistent ideas. We refer to the abso- 
 lute indifference of some, the seeming composure of 
 others, and the positively pleasant hopes of not a few 
 unregenerated persons, when they lie down to die. It 
 does not seem to make much difference in these cases, 
 whether the individuals may have been of what we 
 term amiable dispositions, like to the young ruler 
 whom Jesus loved, or of flagrantly immoral habits; 
 
150 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 when they come to a death-bed they are singularly 
 cool, and utter some strange words about their com- 
 forts and hopes, which certainly do not deceive those 
 who have known them, but which, nevertheless, are 
 not a little startling. Even Asaph, in endeavoring to 
 account for this, confessed it to be ''too painful to 
 him." He says, in the 73rd Psalm, concerning the 
 wicked, " there are no bands in their death, but their 
 strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other 
 men ; neither are they plagued like other men." The 
 mystery, however, was solved to him when he went 
 into the sanctuary of God ; " then he understood their 
 end ;" then he saw that they were cast " down into 
 destruction," that they were " as a dream when one 
 awaketh ;" and that " the Lord, when he awoke, de- 
 spised their image." Thus ought we to establish our 
 confidence in the safety of the righteous in death. 
 Often they have " bands," and their strength is " weak- 
 ened in the way;" they are "in trouble," and some- 
 times are "plagued;" but how different their "end" 
 from that of the dreamy sinner! "Blessed are the 
 dead who die in the Lord from henceforth : Yea, saith 
 the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors ; and 
 their works do follow them." 
 
 Among the varieties of death-bed scenes, however, 
 it is in the main true, that the generality of the 
 righteous die happily. A few only may die in the 
 full assurance of hope ; but most die in peace, and all 
 of them " die in the Lord." Hence, we have many 
 testimonies from the saints, at that solemn period, to 
 the faithfulness of God, and to the consolations of the 
 gospel. It is, indeed, a splendid tribute to the truth 
 of our holy faith, that no genuine disciple of its divine 
 Author ever stultified his profession, by abandoning 
 his creed in the hour of death. Many of the votaries 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 151 
 
 of superstition, and not a few of the dupes of infidelity, 
 have broken down under its terrors, and held up their 
 life-time professions to contempt. But from the be- 
 ginning of the world has it never been known, that a 
 Christian, in the possession of consciousness, let go his 
 hold of the cross when on the eve of his soul's call to 
 judgment. The authentic biographies of saints are, 
 therefore, greatly to be prized, as every believer who 
 dies with the hope of life and immortality contributes 
 another evidence to the truth of his religion. When 
 the individual has been eminent for piety and useful- 
 ness, it is of more importance that his latter end be 
 peaceful, and that its character should be kept no 
 secret. The saints encourage one another to live well, 
 but they should also encourage one another to die 
 well. Such encouragement becomes peculiarly pleas- 
 ing when we know how bravely those have died who 
 have occupied official positions in "the house of the 
 Lord." These were our pastors, and we naturally 
 desire to know how the principles which they enforced 
 upon us, supported themselves "just in the last dis- 
 tressing hour." Dying as they for the most part do, 
 not only are mourners comforted, but some gainsayers 
 may be silenced, and not a few waverers confirmed. 
 
 For such reasons, we should be thankful students 
 of scriptural biography. The lives of such men as 
 Aaron and Moses are richly instructive ; but equally 
 so are their deaths. It has been to the profiting and 
 encouragement of many, that the Holy Ghost has held 
 back the curtain from their dying scenes, and privi- 
 leged us with a view of their peaceful " latter end." 
 We have already witnessed the impressive death of 
 the high priest, and we are now to contemplate that 
 of the lawgiver. As Aaron ascended to heaven from 
 the sununit of a mountain not far from Canaan, so 
 
152 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 Moses rises to his '' rest" from the top of another, still 
 nearer to the land of promise. The whole scene is 
 thus described by Joshua the son of Nun, at the close 
 of the book of Deuteronomy : — " The Lord spake unto 
 Moses, saying. Get thee up into this mountain Abarim, 
 unto mount Nebo, which is in the land of Moab, that 
 is over against Jericho, and behold the land of Canaan, 
 which I give unto the children of Israel for a posses- 
 sion ; and die in the mount whither thou goest up, 
 and be gathered unto thy people." Joshua adds, 
 " and Moses went up from the plains of Moab unto 
 the mountain of Nebo, to the top of Pisgah," and 
 "died there."* This affecting death we are now 
 briefly to contemplate. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE LAWGIVER. 
 
 ABARIM NEBO PISGAH MOSEs' LAST WORDS HIS DYING 
 
 SCENE HIS BURIAL LAMENTATION OF ISRAEL. 
 
 The inspired narrative mentions no less than three 
 names, as significant of the mountain on which Moses 
 was to die. A simple explanation will make this in- 
 telligible. The range of mountains, on the summit 
 of one of which this great man gave up the ghost, is 
 called Abarim. Mount Nebo is the name of one of 
 that range, and Mount Pisgah was the most elevated 
 and commanding peak of Nebo. The range of Abarim 
 extended southward from the land of Canaan towards 
 
 * Deut. xxxiv. 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 153 
 
 the river Arnon, and possibly to the range called Seir, 
 of which Hor is one. Nebo is usually identified with 
 Mount Attarous, about ten miles north of the Arnon, 
 and nearly the same distance east from the north- 
 eastern extremity of the Dead Sea. It is a barren 
 mountain, which offers nothing remarkable. It is, 
 however, the most lofty elevation in the neighborhood, 
 and its summit is now distinguished by a large wild 
 pistachio tree, overshadowing a heap of stones. In the 
 text we are told that Nebo was over against Jericho, 
 w^hich makes it evident, that from its summit the 
 promised land could easily be viewed. 
 
 Having, then, conducted the Israelites to this place, 
 and the time of their crossing the Jordan to take pos- 
 session of Canaan being now at hand, Moses must 
 retire from the high and honored position which for 
 forty years he had occupied ; for God had told him 
 that not even he should be permitted to enter Canaan ; 
 but though he shall not enter it, he shall have a view 
 of the country. He is commanded to go up to the 
 summit of Nebo and view the land ; and after having 
 seen it in the distance, hfe must die. Before ascend- 
 ing he must needs give Israel his blessing. He, there- 
 fore, issues his latest summons to the congregation, 
 and lo, all Israel draw near to hear their king ! They 
 listen attentively to his dying words. He addresses 
 each tribe by name, like good old Jacob, and having 
 blessed all the people, he closes his long and brilhant 
 ministry with these beautiful and remarkable words : 
 *' There is none like unto the God of Jeshurun, who 
 rideth upon the- heaven in thy help, and in his excel- 
 lency on the sky. The eternal God is thy refuge, and 
 underneath are the everlasting arms ; and he shall 
 thrust out the enemy from before thee, and shall say, 
 Destroy them. Israel then shall dwell in safety alone : 
 
 7* 
 
154 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 the fountain of Jacob shall be upon a land of corn and 
 wine ; also his heavens shall drop down dew. Happy- 
 art thou, O Israel : who is like unto thee, O people 
 saved by the Lord, the shield of thy help, and who is 
 the sword of thy excellency ! and thine enemies shall 
 be found liars unto thee ; and thou shalt tread upon 
 their high places." 
 
 " Noble language ! noble heart !" exclaims a beau- 
 tiful writer : " carried away in the contemplation of 
 his children's happiness, he bursts forth into exclama- 
 tions of joy in the moment of his deepest distress. 
 But did that manly voice falter, and that stern lip 
 quiver, as he advanced to bid them his last adieu ? 
 For a moment, perhaps, the rising emotions checked 
 his utterance. They had been the companions of his 
 toil, the objects of his deepest solicitude. A common 
 suffering, a common fate, had bound them to him by 
 a thousand ties. He looked back on the desert: it 
 was past. He looked forward to Canaan : it was near. 
 He turned to the people : they were weeping. Ho 
 cast his eye up to Nebo, and he knew he must die. 
 Although no complaint escaped his lips, no regriet fell 
 from his tongue, a deeper paleness was on his cheek, 
 and a sterner strife in his heart, than he had ever felt 
 before. Though outwardly calm,- his stern nature 
 shook for a moment like a cedar in a tempest, and then 
 the struggle was over. His farewell was echoed in 
 melancholy tones from lip to lip through the vast host, 
 as he turned to ascend the mountain. As he advanced 
 from rock to rock, the sobbing of the multitude that 
 followed after tore his heart-strings, like the cry of a 
 child for its parents, and it was long before he dare 
 trust himself to turn and look below. But at length 
 he paused on a high rock, and gazed a moment on the 
 scene at his feet. There were the white tents of Jacob, 
 
MOUNT I'lSGAH. 155 
 
 gtttering in the sunlight, and there the dark mass of 
 Israel's host, as they stood and watched the form of 
 their departing leader. Those tents had become fa- 
 miliar to him as household scenes ; and as he gazed on 
 them, now far, far beneath him, and saw the cloud 
 overshadowing the mysterious ark, a sigh of unutter- 
 able sadness escaped him. He thought of the bones 
 of Joseph he had carried forty years, that were to rest 
 with his descendants, while he was to be left alone 
 amid the mountains. Again he turned to the ascent, 
 and soon a rock shut him from view, and he passed on 
 alone to the summit."* 
 
 The lawgiver at length reaches the top of Pisgah, 
 and from that spot God showed to him the fertile land 
 which he had sworn " unto Abraham, unto Isaac, unto 
 Jacob, saying, I will give it unto thy seed." What a 
 splendid scene would open to his view ! He saw before 
 him " all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, and all Naph- 
 tali, and the land of Ephraim, and Manasseh,.and all 
 the land of Judah, unto the utmost sea, and the south, 
 and the plain of the valley of Jericho, the city of 
 palm-trees, unto Zoar." How long he was permitted 
 to feast his eyes with this lovely landscape cannot be 
 ascertained, but the curtain of death at last was 
 dropped, and, to use again the glowing description of 
 another, •' the scene vanished from his sight ; and, with 
 the rock for his couch, and the blue sky for his cover- 
 ing, he lay down to die. O, who can tell what the 
 mighty lawgiver felt, left in that dreadful hour alone ! 
 The mystery of mysteries was to be passed. No friend 
 was beside his couch to soothe him, no voice to encour- 
 age him, in that last, darkest of all human struggles. 
 No one was with hun but God ; and though with one 
 hand he smote him, with the other he held his dying 
 
 * Headlev. 
 
156 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 head. How long was he dying ? God alone can an- 
 swer. What words did his quivering lips last utter ? 
 God alone knows. Was his last prayer for Israel ? 
 his last words of the Crucified ? From that lonely rock 
 did a shout go up, " O death where is thy sting ? O 
 grave, where is thy victory ?" Of that last scene and 
 its changes we Ivnow nothing ; but when it was over 
 Moses lay a corpse on the mountain top ; and Gcxi 
 buried him. There he slept alone. The mountain 
 cloud which might hang over him was his only shroud 
 and the thunder of the passing storm was his only 
 dirge. There he slept while centuries rolled by, his 
 grave unknown and unvisited, until at length he is 
 seen standing on mount Tabor, with Christ, in the 
 transfiguration. Over Jordan at last ! In Canaan at 
 last 1"=^ 
 
 Such was the striking and appropriate termination 
 of a most remarkable life. He who for forty years 
 lived alone in the solitude of Horeb, and walked there 
 with God while tending the flocks of an idolatrous 
 priest, was thus brought to close his pilgrimage as he 
 had commenced it. Alone on Horeb he had met the 
 Angel of the Covenant, and received from him his 
 commission to deliver Israel from bondage, and guide 
 them to Canaan. That commission he had honorably 
 fulfilled. Israel were on the borders of the promised 
 land ; and now again, alone, on Pisgah, that Angel 
 returns to relieve his servant of office, and crown him 
 with " the recompense of reward." With fear and 
 trembling he had fled from the palace of Thermutis 
 into the wilderness of Sinai ; but " with gladness 
 and rejoicing" does he ascend from Abarim, and " en- 
 ter into the king's palace," from which he shall go 
 no more out. What a transition was this ! Even to 
 
 * Headley. 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 157 
 
 Moses, who expected then and there to die, it must 
 have been a marvellous surprise. And surely if any 
 regret was felt because he was not to cross that 
 stream, and set his foot on that fertile land, it would 
 instantly be quenched when he found his emancipated 
 spirit amid the light, the love, and the glories of Para- 
 dise. 
 
 " So Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there, in 
 the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord. 
 And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, 
 over against Beth-peor : but no man knoweth of his 
 sepulchre unto this day. And Moses was an hundred 
 and twenty years old when he died : his eye was not 
 dim, nor his natural force abated. And the children 
 of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty 
 days : so the days of weeping and mourning for Moses 
 were ended." 
 
 PART IL 
 
 LESSONS FROM PISGAH. 
 
 GOOD MEN SHOULD NOT FEAR DEATH DUTY TO PREPARE FOR 
 
 IT THE WAY NOT TO FEAR DEATH IS TO LIVE IN THE 
 
 HOt>E OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Pisgah and Hor preach to us upon the same theme : 
 their subject is death. Let us receive, then, these 
 lessons from the death of Moses, the servant of the 
 Lord : — 
 
 I. Death ought not to be feared by believers ! 
 
 We are prepared to admit that death is the most 
 
158 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 solemn of all the events that fill up human history. 
 It ought to be regarded with the most profound seri- 
 ousness. To think or speak of it lightly, tells of la- 
 mentable levity of mind. We cannot over-estimate 
 the importance of that one step which is succeeded by 
 the unalterable decision of our eternal state. Still, 
 we confidently repeat, good men ought not to antici- 
 pate it with sinful fears. 
 
 To fear death implies, on the part of believers, that 
 they regard it as an evil thing, which to them it is 
 not ; or it implies that they have some misgivings, 
 either about their readiness for it, or the solidity of the 
 Rock on which their trust is fixed. We have already 
 endeavored to demonstrate that to good men it is not 
 an evil in any sense of the word ; it is stingless to the 
 saint. It cannot take from him any one good thing 
 he has, or ever had, or can wish for ; it cannot add to 
 any trial or affliction to which he has been exposed ; 
 it can make no cloud darker, no tear bitterer, no bur- 
 den heavier, no difficulty more perplexing, and no 
 anxious anticipations more saddening. If, then, it 
 can do none of these things, a great cause of fear is 
 removed. These things are inclusive of most of the 
 ills that human nature dreads. But this is far from 
 being all the truth. Death is a positive advantage, 
 inasmuch as it perfects the felicity of the soul. It 
 extinguishes instantly all the fires of affliction, levels 
 all the barriers in the way to God, hides the happy 
 spirit in the bosom of the Father, and puts it into the 
 complete possession and enraptured enjoyment of all 
 that life for which the Saviour " became obedient unto 
 death." On these grounds it is unreasonable as well 
 as unchristian to be afraid of death. 
 
 On the other hand, if the fear of death arises from 
 a sense of unpreparcdness to meet it, we must at onco 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 159 
 
 resolve fear on such a ground into unbelief. There 
 are two ways in which a good man may be said to be 
 ready for death ; the one is by actual justification, or 
 by having the guilt of his sin completely and forever 
 cancelled through personal union with the Saviour 
 " as the Lord his righteousness ; " the other way is by 
 the brightening of his hopes and the maturing of his 
 convictions, that he is one of the people of God, and 
 that, consequently, for him to die is to " depart and be 
 with Christ, which is far better." Now, it is evident 
 that his fears are groundless, are utterly unbelieving 
 fears, if they have anything to do with the first of 
 these — that is, if they refer to the completeness of his 
 justified condition. As far as that goes, he is always 
 ready for death ; yea, he might die in the very act of 
 justification and be in Paradise the next moment, as 
 was the penitent and pardoned thief on the cross. 
 Eternal life is unalterably and inalienably secured to 
 the man whose transgressions are forgiven. He may 
 die then, or he may live for a century afterwards, he is 
 equally secure. Death to him at any time would be 
 gain, great gain ; for a man is and can be justified 
 only once, and that forever. " The gifts and callings 
 of God are without repentance." " The path of the 
 just, (or justified,) is as the shining light, that shineth 
 more and more unto the perfect day." 
 
 If, again, the saint fears death from lack of proper 
 evidence that he is in such a justified state, then it 
 may be proper enough, nay, it is his duty, to be con- 
 cerned about it, and that for several reasons. Why, 
 for instance, is he in doubt upon a matter of such 
 importance ? Was he not commanded to make his 
 " calling and election sure ? " And are not all his un- 
 certainties on this weighty question caused by his 
 own remissness in self-examination ? or, peradventure, 
 
160 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 by his allowing his mind to be too much in the habit 
 of conforming itself to this world ? No man, whatever 
 be his attainments otherwise in the experience of 
 religion, can realize death without fear, who does not 
 realize God without fear. And why should not every 
 child of God think of him confidently, and long to be 
 with him eternally ? God is love ! God is in Christ 
 Jesus reconciling all such to himself. The act, then, 
 which certifies the reconciliation, and brings the father 
 and the child into actual and eternal embrace, ought 
 rather to be hailed with hosannahs than regarded with 
 apprehensiveness. Besides, it ought not to be forgot- 
 ten that good men are to have grace given them, such 
 as is not given till the hour of death — grace for that pe- 
 culiar work. Hence, they may then discover that they 
 are not only justified, but far advanced, in point of feel- 
 ing and desire, for entrance into the glorified state. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to advert at any length to 
 what was alluded to as the remaining ground of fear ; 
 namely, the solidity of the foundation on "which the 
 hopes of the believer rest. Ah I never were fears more 
 baseless, as never was foundation more secure and 
 immovable. Our God is a rock, and his work is per- 
 fect. Our God is true, and his words are righteous 
 altogether. Our God is faithful, and his promises 
 shall be all literally accomplished. Our God is mercy, 
 and all his compassions are kindled together when his 
 people are passing through the waters, that he may 
 " uphold them with the right hand of his righteousness." 
 He may sometimes, in their lifetime, be provoked to 
 leave them for a little, but he never does this in death. 
 All the past is forgotten now, except "the kindness of 
 their youth, the love of their espousals, when they 
 went after him in the wilderness, in a land that was 
 not sown." Not to fear death, then, is a duty. '* Fear 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 161 
 
 thou not," says God ; "for I am with thee : be not dis- 
 mayed ; for I am thy God : I will strengthen thee ; 
 yea, I will help thee ; yea, I will uphold thee with the 
 right hand of my righteousness." " Be not afraid," 
 says Christ, " it is I." 
 
 Not to fear death is the attainment of eminent 
 piety. " Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
 the shadow of death," says David, " I will fear no 
 evil : for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff 
 they comfort me." " I am persuaded," says Paul, 
 " that neither death, nor life — nor any other creature, 
 shall be able to separate me from the love of God." 
 To a similar effect have been the dying attestations 
 of many illustrious Christians. " Let him fear death," 
 said an ancient father, Cyprian, " who must pass from 
 this death to the second death." " I am not afraid to 
 look death in the face," said Dodd. " I can say. 
 Death, where is thy sting ? Death cannot hurt me I" 
 "O, when will this good hour come?" exclaimed 
 Robert Bolton. " When shall I be dissolved ? When 
 shall I be with Christ ?" " Here," said the pious 
 Halybm'ton, " is a demonstration of the reality of reli- 
 gion, that I, a poor, weak, timorous man, as much 
 afraid of death as any, am now enabled, by the power 
 of grace, composedly with joy to look death in the 
 face." And, " as for my death," said another dying 
 Christian, " I bless God I feel and find so much inward 
 joy and comfort to my soul, that if it were put to my 
 choice whether I would live or die, I would a thousand 
 times rather choose death than life, if it may stand 
 with the holy will of God." If God be so very present 
 a help in all times of trouble, that be, far from him to 
 deny us his presence in the hour of our departure. 
 Be not afraid to die, then, O men of God ! O daughters 
 of Jerusalem I All is safe. The blood of the ever- 
 
162 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 lasting covenant is upon you. Jesus is your advocate 
 with the Father ; and him the Father heareth always. 
 He has brought forth the best robe and put it on you ; 
 yea, you are united to his person who is the resurrec- 
 tion and the life ; you are bone of his bone, and flesh 
 of his flesh. You are, therefore, locked in his em- 
 brace. At death you are on the very threshold of 
 glory ; and that very moment you cross it, you are 
 with the Lord. 
 
 II. Death should be anticipated and prepared 
 FOR. — ^Whatever be the aspect which death presents 
 to us, it is our duty and interest to make ready for it. 
 If it appears to us as an evil we should dread, then 
 the sooner we are prepared to meet it the better, see- 
 ing there is no escape from it. And if it appears to 
 us as a blessing we should long for, then it is incum- 
 bent on us to meditate on that manner of spirit with 
 which we ought to hail it when it comes. As it is 
 rather the death of good men, such as were Moses 
 and Aaron, that raises these reflections, we would 
 press this duty upon you that believe. It is no reason 
 that you should be careless about death, because you 
 should be fearless of death. You admit that it is a 
 blessed thing to die, and be happy in heaven. Well 
 then, be prepared to die with the law of gratitude in 
 your heart, and the song of praise on your lips. We 
 must trace the uninteresting, and, we had almost said, 
 unedifying character of many a good man's death-bed, 
 to his allowing death to take him in some measure by 
 surprise. It cannot be expected that he is, at that 
 solemn hour, to manifest "joy and peace in believing,'* 
 if he is busied with, it may be a necessary but a some- 
 what out of season, and out of place preparation for 
 his dissolution. How can he welcome death with 
 spiritual tranquillity if, for instance, he has on hand a 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 163 
 
 great deal both of secular and religious matters to be 
 settled ? This is indeed an unseasonable mixture of 
 things which, at such an hour, ought never to be com- 
 mingled I Their worldly business, as far as is prac- 
 ticable, such as the disposal of property, and other 
 family arrangements, ought to have no place in the 
 exercises of dying saints. 
 
 Neither ought a good man to have his evidences of 
 saintship to search for at such a time. When he 
 comes to die he should have nothing else to do ; and 
 if he had nothing else to do, he would in every case 
 die, if not triumphing, at least trusting; his soul 
 would pass away in the midst of light. So died Aaron 
 and Moses. They knew that death was near, they 
 realized it, they made preparation for it, and when it 
 came, it was just what they expected ; they would 
 have been disappointed if death had not come. They 
 went about their own death as you see men going 
 about their common business. Aaron ascends Hor, 
 with his brother and son, to die there, and knowing 
 that he was to die there ; but no man in the camp 
 could have gathered from his bearing that he was go- 
 ing upon such an errand. He allows his high priest's 
 robes to be taken from him ; he sees his successor in 
 office invested with them ; he is perfectly willing to 
 leave his sacred duties at the altar, and to commit 
 them now to Eleazar ; he has no paltry envy of his 
 son stepping into his place, and receiving the rever- 
 ence of the nation and the gratitude of the church, 
 which he had assisted in bringing forth from Egypt 
 and organizing in the desert. He knows that in a few 
 moments those goodly tents of Israel, upon which he 
 looks down for the last time, will soon be filled with 
 the voice of lamentation and weeping for him, and 
 that never again is he to plead for them before the 
 
164 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 mercy-seat. Notwithstanding, he is ready for death ; 
 he expects it ; and when it was requisite that he should 
 die, he died as it was requisite. 
 
 This readiness for death is even more touchingly 
 illustrated in the last moments of Moses. Aaron died 
 in the company of two much loved and greatly honored 
 servants of God, and no doubt their presence would 
 cheer and encourage him. But no one went up to 
 Pisgah with Moses. He, too, knew that he was to 
 die there, and when he left the camp that morning he 
 knew that he was never to return. Yet he ascended, 
 and alone, that he might expire ! What an impres- 
 sive spectacle ! Follow him as he climbs the rugged 
 sides of Nebo ; see him on its summit. He turns his 
 eyes towards Canaan, next towards heaven, then he 
 lays himself down, as if to sleep and dies. These are 
 two beautiful examples for all good men to copy. 
 Think, then, my friends, think often of death ; realize 
 it daily. Paul did this ; and hence he was always 
 making ready for it, and when it did come, he peace- 
 fully bowed his head, and gave up the ghost. " I am 
 now ready to be offered," he says, " and the time of 
 my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, 
 I have finished my course, I have kept the faith : 
 henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteous- 
 ness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give 
 me at that day ; and not to me only, but unto all 
 them also that love his appearing." 
 
 in. Death is met without fear when heaven is 
 EXPECTED without DOUBT. — Thcrc are some who 
 hold inconsiderate opinions upon the subject of " full 
 assurance." They over-estimate its importance. 
 They exalt it to a position which it does not occupy 
 in the word of God, which is the rule of our faith. 
 We refer to the dogma, that full assurance is, in 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 165 
 
 every true instance of conversion, not only attainable, 
 but attained. The proper inference from this is, that 
 such assurance is necessary to salvation, and that 
 whoever lives and dies without it, passes into eternity 
 as he entered upon time, " a child of wrath, even as 
 others." 
 
 Now this dogma has no countenance from scrip- 
 ture, and the experience of the best of men opposes 
 it. Many live and many die who never triumphed, 
 but who have long trusted, and the promise of blessed- 
 ness is to the man who " puts his trust in the Lord." 
 At the same time, it is to be regretted that the duty 
 of being assured of our interest in Christ — a duty 
 which is so clearly enjoined upon all his disciples, ob- 
 tains so small a place in the ordinary ministrations of 
 the gospel, and consequently bulks so little in the eye 
 and estimate of professing Christians. The conse- 
 quences are, and must be, littleness of faith in the 
 church, and a feeble and limited action by the church 
 for the maintenance and extension of undefiled religion. 
 This is an evil of a more general kind ; but there are 
 other injurious results which refer to the individual 
 comfort of the people of God in the last trying hour. 
 If all the '' diligence" to which we are exhorted by an 
 apostle were given to make our " calling and election 
 sure," we should have far finer specimens of the victo- 
 rious power of faith over the natural fears of death 
 and the judgment that follows. We have said that 
 good men should not fear death ; that to them it is 
 stingless. How does it come to pass, then, that a 
 great number of really good men and women through 
 fear of death, are all their lifetime '* subject to bon- 
 dage ?" 
 
 It is not satisfactory to account for this, by referring 
 it to their consciousness of having sinful hearts and 
 
166 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 many defections both of character and conduct. This 
 will be true of the brightest of saints to the last mo- 
 ment of life ; for ''if we say we have no sin, we de- 
 ceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us." It is be- 
 cause we did sin, that Jesus died ; and it is because 
 we still sin, that Jesus " ever lives to make interces- 
 sion for us." As, then, his atonement and intercession 
 are intended and adapted to counteract the penal con- 
 sequences of sin, we who believe in the infinite worth 
 of the one, and in the all-prevailing power of the other, 
 cannot, either reasonably or scripturally, plead the re- 
 maining corruption of sin, as a vindication of this dis- 
 trust. In justification, our guilt is forever cancelled ; 
 so there cannot be curse in sin to us. And in sancti- 
 fication, our love of sin is destroyed : we are conscious 
 that we hate it, though the " law of the members" 
 every now and then gets the better of the "law incur 
 minds." Thus, then, delivered from the curse and 
 love of sin, its power over us, to a certainty, is grad- 
 ually diminishing ; that is, we are surely and progres- 
 sively made ready for death, come whensoever God 
 may send it. Now, if these views of truth were 
 kept steadily before our minds, we would soon be 
 ashamed of our terror at dying. Many are afraid of 
 what they call the sin of presumption. And so they 
 ought. But why are they not equally conscientious 
 upon the sin of unbelief ? A genuine Christian cannot 
 be guilty of the first sin, presumption, when he rejoices 
 in the hope of heaven as the gift of Christ to him. It 
 is his duty so to rejoice. But he may be guilty of the 
 second, unbelief, when he hesitates to realize his title 
 to eternal life through the merits of his divine Medi- 
 ator. 
 
 We cannot go far aside, if aside at all, from the 
 truth, when we aver that it is the duty, and may be- 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 167 
 
 come the privilege of all the people of God, to con- 
 vince themselves that they are of the truth, and so 
 *' assure their hearts before him." This duty is never 
 more easily performecf, and this privilege is never more 
 deliciously enjoyed, than by habituating the mind to 
 the idea that we are sure of heaven when we die. 
 Kept continually before us, this certification of eternal 
 bliss would not only have a fine reactive influence in 
 restraining the growth of worldly-mindedness, but it 
 would impel us forward in all the higher walks of 
 Christian activity. Yes, believers in the love and 
 sacrifice of the Lamb of God, we afi^irm it without 
 any hesitancy, you ought not to doubt of your safety 
 in him, either before, at, or after death. Neither 
 death nor life make any difference to you as to your 
 secure possession of his favor. If you live you have 
 it ; if you die you have it ; and you must surely admit 
 that, whether living or dying, '^ in his favor there is 
 /z/e," and in his loving-kindness, something even 
 better than life. For any one, then, who has faith 
 in the atonement of Jesus, to be afraid of death, is 
 somewhat tantamount to his being afraid of life. 
 To the Christian, death is life ; it is going to the Lord ; 
 it is '* being with the Lord." There is no journey 
 which we ought to be more happy to take, than that 
 which is to lead us heavenward and Christward; 
 and there is no presence we ought so much to long 
 and pray for, as His, where there " is fulness of joy, 
 and at whose right hand there are pleasures for ever- 
 more." 
 
 But how, it may be still asked, are we to contrive 
 to reach such a clear and blissful height as that from 
 which we could enjoy a foresight of our future entrance 
 after death into the '' land that is afar off?" The an- 
 
168 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 swer to this question shall be simple, and with it we 
 conclude : 
 
 Live on the summit of your spiritual Pisgahs ! 
 Let the word, the covenant, and the perfections of 
 God, be to you as the mountains of Abarim. Let the 
 all-sufficient righteousness of Christ be to you as 
 mount Nebo. And let your hope in that righteousness 
 be to you as Pisgah. With your minds enlightened 
 in the truths of the Bible ; with your hands grasping 
 the bonds of the everlasting covenant ; with your eyes 
 gazing on the brilliant glories of Jehovah's attributes 
 as they are exhibited in redemption, ascend by faith, 
 that you may set your affections on things above. To 
 be continually sustained in this spiritually elevated 
 condition and exercises, let this be yom* confidence, that 
 it is the Rock of salvation on which you stand. Above 
 all things, do not mistake your own sinful shakings 
 and fears for any insecurity about that immovable and 
 indestructible foundation. 
 
 When thus lifted up and planted on God's own high 
 places, on Zion's own lovely heights, open the eyes of 
 your hope, and you will see before you the promised 
 inheritance : that is Canaan ! that is heaven ! Now, 
 do not close your eyes, neither avert your head ; do 
 not look behind you, and think not of descending to 
 the valley of the world you have left. You must 
 tabernacle for a season on Pisgali ; it is really good for 
 you to be there. Keep your gaze fixed on the magni- 
 ficent scenery spread out before your spiritual vision. 
 See, yonder in the distance is the New Jerusalem, 
 whose light is " like unto a stone most precious ; even 
 like a jasper stone, clear as crystal ;" whose wall is 
 "great and high," having " twelve gates, and at the 
 gates twelve angels ;" whose city itself is " pure gold, 
 like unto clear glass," having *' no need of the sun, 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 169 
 
 neither of the moon to shine in it ; for the glory of the 
 Lord doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the light 
 thereof." Yonder is the " pure river of the water of 
 life proceeding out of the throne of God and of the 
 Lamb." Yonder is the tree of life, bearing twelve 
 manner of fruits, and yielding her fruit every month. 
 Yonder is the throne of the Eternal, and that is the 
 Lamb of God sitting upon it ; round about that throne 
 there is a rambow, in sight like unto an emerald, also 
 four and twenty seats, whereon are four and twenty 
 elders clothed in white raiment and having on their 
 heads crowns of gold. Before that throne are burning 
 seven lamps, which are the seven spirits of God, and 
 ranged around, with harps in their hands, are innumer- 
 able angels and ransomed spirits, who rest not day nor 
 night, singing, " Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, 
 which was, and is, and is to come." '' Thou art wor- 
 thy, O Lord, to receive glory, and honor, and power ; 
 for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure 
 they are and were created." 
 
 Believers ! that city is your destination, that God is 
 your God, that Lamb is your Saviour, these angels 
 are your servants, and these just spirits are your 
 fellow-citizens, who have gone before you ; some of 
 them may be your own dearest and most beloved re- 
 lations and friends. These, it may be, are your 
 parents, your husbands, and wives ; and these sweet- 
 looking happy seraphs, who are claiming right to sing 
 above all the rest, are your beautiful little ones, who 
 there 
 
 " Have found the happy shore, 
 They never saw nor sought before." 
 
 O, how can you ever think of turning your eyes away 
 from such sights as these, to view the vanities of life ? 
 
 ^3 
 
170 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 How can you deliberately purpose to go down and 
 dwell again with the men of the world ? Goodly may 
 be the tents of Jacob and the tabernacles of Israel ; as 
 *' the valleys they may be spread forth, as gardens by 
 the river side, as the trees of lign-aloes which the Lord 
 hath planted, and as cedar trees beside the waters ;" 
 but even they cannot for a moment stand in compari- 
 son with this view from Pisgah. The Lord himself 
 *' loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings 
 of Jacob," and so in your estimate of the two, ought 
 you to prefer the heavenly to the earthly Jerusalem. 
 If you are wise, cherish such a preference continually. 
 Abide in the full assurance of hope that you will soon 
 go over to that land of bliss ; and resolve, under divine 
 grace, never to disturb the peaceful testimony within 
 you, that Paradise is to be your everlasting home, and 
 that death is to be the messenger that must carry you 
 thither. 
 
 And when at last that messenger arrives ; when you 
 feel that the tide of life has well nigh reached its low- 
 est ebb ; when the farewell scene with weeping friends 
 is over, and when every sublunary thing has faded 
 from your mind, even then your faith, which is certain 
 soon to pass into vision, shall become not only omni- 
 potent over the King of Terrors, but so eloquently 
 vocal with the praises of Him who has " abolished 
 death" for you, as to leave the privileged spectators 
 for a moment in doubt whether you are in the body 
 or out of the body. Thus you will pass from your 
 death-beds to your thrones, in the very exercises, and 
 with the very feelings, which are to be maintained and 
 cherished throughout all eternity. Thus even heaven, 
 with all its inconceivable splendors, will take you less 
 by surprise than if you went thither from a lower plat- 
 form ir^ the steep ascents of spiritual life. Its full 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 171 
 
 communion you had almost reached ; with its exalted 
 society you had made yourselves sweetly familiar ; to 
 its elevating and gorgeous music you had long tuned 
 your hearts ; and now, one last breath drawn, and 
 your happy spirits are absent from the body and pre- 
 sent with the Lord. 
 
 I 
 
MOUNT GILBOA, 
 
 THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE 
 
 Having crossed the Jordan under the leadership of 
 Joshua, the successor of Moses, the children of Israel, 
 after many severe contests with the Canaanitcs, at 
 length got possession of the promised land. For a long 
 period they continued under the government of the 
 judges, and were prosperous and happy. In course of 
 time, however, they became emulous of monarchy, 
 and demanded a king. " Behold," they said to Samuel, 
 " thou art old, and thy sons walk not in thy ways : 
 now make us a king to judge us like all the nations." 
 The venerable seer remonstrated with them on the 
 sin and ingratitude of such conduct, but in vain. — 
 " Nay," said they, " but we will have a king over us ; 
 that we also may be like all the nations ; and that 
 our king may judge us, and go out before us, and fight 
 our battles." They got their wish, and in due time 
 Saul was crowned. Troublous times soon thereafter 
 befell the kingdom. Saul proved himself to be unequal 
 to the exigencies of his high position. The evil spirit 
 which sometimes came upon him, and his jealousy of 
 the man whom Providence pointed out as his sue- 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 173 
 
 cessor, involved the nation in turmoil, and often placed 
 them in peril. 
 
 The Philistines were the most warlike and formi- 
 dable of Israel's adversaries. Jehovah used them as 
 instruments of punishment for his people's rejection 
 of himself. It should be noticed, that the coronation 
 of Saul was not under divine sanction. God only 
 permitted it. The idea of erecting Israel into a king- 
 dom was of their own suggestion. They ought to 
 have been contented with their first system of govern- 
 ment, not only because it had been tried and found 
 suitable for four hundred years, but because it was of 
 divine appointment. There is something peculiarly 
 impressive in the words of Jehovah respecting their 
 conduct at this time : " Hearken," he said to Samuel, 
 " unto the voice of the people in all that they say unto 
 thee : for they have not rejected thee, but they have 
 rejected me, that I should not reign over them." The 
 sequel of their history proves how dangerous it is to 
 dictate to God in a spirit of dissatisfaction with his 
 arrangements. We may assure ourselves that we are 
 never so weU nor so safe, as when we permit Him 
 who sees the end from the beginning to determine the 
 bounds of our habitation. Over our prayers for his 
 guidance and goodness, we ought to exercise a jealous 
 watchfulness, that they do not degenerate into clamors 
 for change, merely for the sake of change. He may 
 be provoked to give us our heart's desire, which, in 
 such circumstances, is certain to turn out a curse, not 
 a blessing. The Hebrews scorned the theocracy, even 
 the rule of him who is King of kings, and they soon 
 discovered, upon the mountains of Gilboa, and under 
 the reign of many of their kings, that, as they were 
 chastised with the whips of one, and with the scorpions 
 of another, they were only " eating the fruit of their 
 
174 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 own way, and filled with their own devices." Let us 
 meditate for a little upon the melancholy disasters 
 that befell them in the battle of Gilboa, in which they 
 sustained a disgraceful defeat, and the death of their 
 first monarch.* 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF DAVID. 
 
 GILBOA DAVID AND GOLIATH JONATHAN BRAVERY AND 
 
 PIETY — DEATH OF SAUL AND JONATHAN DAVId's LAMEN- 
 TATION. 
 
 There is but little to be told about the field of bat- 
 tle. The mountains of Gilboa lie sixty miles to the 
 north of Jerusalem, bounding the great plain of Ez- 
 draelon on the southeast, and are interposed between 
 that plain and the valley of the Jordan. " Here," we are 
 informed, '' there are a number of ridges with a gen- 
 eral direction from northwest to southeast, separated 
 by valleys running in the same direction. The largest 
 of these valleys is the southermost. It is a broad deep 
 plain, about two miles and a half wide, and leading 
 directly into the Jordan valley. This is supposed to be 
 the valley of Jczreel, as Ezdraelon is sometimes desig- 
 nated. The mountains which bound it on the north 
 appear to be those of Little Hermon, and the higher 
 mountains, which bound it on the south, undoubtedly 
 form mount Gilboa." This group of hills rises to 
 the height of 800 feet above the level of the road, 
 
 * 1 Samuel xxxi. ; 2 Samuel i. 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 175 
 
 and is perhaps 1000 feet above the level of the Jordan. 
 The ridge rises up in peaks, and bears a little withered 
 grass, and a few scanty shrubs, scattered about in 
 different places." The peculiarly desolate character of 
 Jebal Gilbo, as the natives still call it,. was ascribed 
 by most of the old travellers to the poetical impreca- 
 tion of David, where, in his lamentation over Saul 
 and Jonathan, he says, "Ye mountains of Gilboa, let 
 there be no dew, neither let there be any rain upon 
 you, nor fields of offerings !" This, however, is too 
 literal an interpretation of the words of the poet, since 
 it is admitted, that at the present day, ample dews 
 and heavy rains fall upon these hills. 
 
 Meagre, however, though the topography of Gilboa 
 may be, we quickly become interested in its moun- 
 tains when we study their scriptural history. The 
 pathetic strains of the sweet singer of Israel have im- 
 mortalized them. They are now associated, in every 
 pious mind, with one of the most graphic pieces of 
 Bible narrative. There the mighty fell, and there the 
 weapons of war perished. There Saul, the king of 
 Israel's choice, and Jonathan, the brave and the good, 
 were slain ; and there David, the anointed of the Lord, 
 ascended the vacant throne. 
 
 It was altogether a singular manifestation of the 
 overruling Providence of God. As in the first instance 
 the choice of the people fell upon one while he was 
 seeking for his father's asses, in the second the choico 
 of Jehovah fell upon one who was tending his father's 
 sheep ; so true is the scripture : " Promotion cometh 
 neither from the east nor the west, nor from the south, 
 but God is the judge ; he putteth down one, and set- 
 teth up another ; he raiseth up the poor out of the 
 dust, and lifteth the needy out of the dung-hill, that 
 
176 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 he may set him with princes, even with the princes of 
 his people." 
 
 In studying the scene before us, we cannot disre- 
 gard the truly exquisite picture which the inspired 
 narrative draws of the shepherd-boy's introduction to 
 our notice in the character of a warrior.* Let a brief 
 sketch suffice. 
 
 King Saul sits in his tent by the valley of Elah, 
 and the banners of the armies of Israel are floating 
 all around on the sides of Gilboa. The king has sum- 
 moned a council of war, and beside him now are 
 gathered both the men of wisdom and the men of 
 might : these are pale with terror, and those are ab- 
 sorbed in perplexing consultation. Each man looks in 
 the face of his neighbor to find the courage which he 
 lacks in himself, but conscience has made cowards of 
 them all ; no one seems disposed to deliver this coun- 
 cil of war from its dilemma. What occasions it ? 
 The challenge of a Philistine giant to settle the present 
 contest between his army and that of Israel, by a per- 
 sonal combat between him and one of the Hebrew 
 warriors. " Why are ye come out to set your battle 
 in array ?" he exclaims. " Am not I a Philistine, 
 and ye servants to Saul ? choose you a man for you, 
 and let him come down to me. If he be able to fight 
 with me, and to kill me, then will we be your servants ; 
 but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall 
 ye be our servants, and serve us." 
 
 Already forty days have passed away ' since the 
 Philistine defied the armies of Israel, saying, " Give 
 me a man, that we may fight together." He had pre- 
 sented himself every morning and every evening daring 
 that period, but as yet his gauntlet lay untouched 
 upon the neutral ground. O shame to the warriors 
 
 * 1 Snm. xvii. 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 177 
 
 of Israel, who had seen the glory and power of Jeho- 
 vah, and who had so often fought and conquered under 
 the broad shield of his favor ! Matters cannot remain 
 long in this state. The heathen hosts, by every day's 
 delay, become more emboldened, and are impatient for 
 the battle. The Israelites are every day correspond- 
 ingly disheartened, and less disposed to risk a general 
 engagement. But the dreaded crisis comes. The 
 host " goes forth to the fight, and shouts for the battle." 
 "Israel and the Philistines put the battle in array, 
 army against army." 
 
 The king has made a last appeal. It is received as 
 the others were, in silence and fear, and hope is about 
 to be abandoned. Suddenly the tent door is thrown 
 open, and all breathless from his speed, a messenger 
 from the field enters, and narrates that the challenge 
 has been accepted. The bosoms of the council again 
 heave ; they are relieved of fear, but their eyes are full 
 of astonishment. Surely, thought they, this bold man 
 must be one of the hardy and powerful veterans of the 
 camp, and they await wdth impatience his arrival, for 
 the kins: has sent for him. He comes ! What a dis- 
 appointment! They expected, perhaps, one of the 
 old warriors of the time of the judges ; but lo ! the 
 brave accepter of the giant's challenge is a stripling. 
 He has never been in battle, he knows not how to use 
 the sword, nor project the arrow. How mortifying ! 
 It is the court minstrel ! it is the son of Jesse ! known 
 only for playing skilfully on the harp ! A smile of 
 derision is upon every face. The king is offended, 
 and exclaims that it cannot be. His harper firmly, 
 though meekly, maintains his purpose, and narrates 
 what God already enabled him to do when he delivered 
 the lamb of his flock from the paws of the lion and 
 the bear. The royal heart is assured. " Go, and the 
 
 8* 
 
178 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 Lord be with thee," he said, and David is taken to the 
 royal armory. He is encumbered with the weapons 
 of their warfare. He quickly puts them off ; he has 
 *' not proved them." So, with nothing more than a 
 staff in his one hand, and a sling and a few pebbles 
 from the neighboring brook in the other, he goes forth 
 — confidence in the Lord of Israel strong and steady 
 within him — to fight the uncircumcised Philistine. 
 
 But there is a stir also in the camp of the enemy. 
 It is rumored that their champion's gauntlet has been 
 lifted ; and soon the rumor is confirmed. Goliath, in 
 the pride of his strength, awaits the approach of his 
 bold antagonist. "When he espies David, his soul is 
 filled with contempt. " Am I a dog," he cried out, 
 " that thou comest to me with staves." And the 
 Philistine cursed David by his gods, and said, '' Come 
 to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the 
 air, and to the beasts of the field !" How noble the 
 reply of the king's minstrel boy! "Thou comest to 
 me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield ; 
 but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, 
 the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. 
 This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand : 
 and I will smite thee, and take thine head from thee ; 
 and I will give the carcases of the host of the Philis- 
 tines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the 
 wild beasts of the field; that all the earth may know 
 that there is a God in Israel." He then lifts his sling ; 
 the stone is projected from it ; God gives that stone 
 direction and force ; in a twinkling it sunk into the 
 forehead of the giant ; his huge carcase measures the 
 earth ; and having cut off his head, David carried it 
 with him to Saul, and receives the royal command to 
 return no more to his father's house. 
 
 There was one in the household of Saul on whom 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 179 
 
 the circumstances related made a deep impression. 
 This was Jonathan, his son, and, as one would say, 
 the heir-apparent to the throne. No sooner had he 
 listened to the account which David gave of himself 
 to his father, than he conceives for him the strongest 
 love. ^' The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul 
 of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." 
 The many proofs which he gave of this love are re- 
 corded in the sacred narrative. Often did he intervene 
 to avert the deadly jealousy of his father from David ; 
 and uniformly, when the latter was persecuted and 
 oppressed, did he essay to alleviate his grief by sym- 
 pathy, and revive his drooping spirit by pointing him 
 to the brilliant future. This was the more to be com- 
 mended, when we consider that filial respect and 
 affection abode still and strong in his heart. His was 
 an exceedingly delicate position ; for if he ventured 
 too far in obedience to his love for David, he might 
 seem to disregard the authority of, and the respect 
 due to a royal parent, and thus risk his displeasure. 
 On the other hand, if his anxiety to manifest that 
 filial regard was not very carefully controlled, and very 
 adroitly timed, the life of his adopted brother might 
 be seriously imperilled. 
 
 If any additional consideration can increase our 
 admiration of this truly lovely youth, it is this ; he 
 evidently had no jealousy of David, who he knew 
 was to supplant him in the throne. So far from this 
 being the case, it seems to have been his great object 
 to preserve him for that throne, and to reserve that 
 throne for him. There must have been, yea, there 
 was, in such extraordinary self-denial, the fear of God. 
 Such disinterestedness is rare. In analogous instan- 
 ces, the worst passions of depraved nature have been 
 infuriated in order to circumvent the accession of rivals 
 
180 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 or opponents. But Jonathan was pious. He saw 
 that the crown was designed by the God of Israel for 
 the son of Jesse ; and perhaps, too, he had seen enough 
 of the cares that are inseparable from such exalted 
 stations, and enough of the vanity of earthly greatness, 
 to quench in him all desire after the succession. He 
 w^as not only content then to step aside and allow an- 
 other to take his place, but he was so well pleased 
 with the evident designs of Providence, as to lend a 
 most cheerful aid to their entire accomplishment. 
 
 O that such a spirit had ever dwelt in the bosoms 
 of the mighty men of the earth I What wars and 
 rumors of wars might thus have been prevented I 
 How many of the countless and appalling miseries 
 that accompany and flow from unbridled and cruel 
 lusts, might never have been known! In the case 
 before us, if the father had possessed but a tithe of 
 the godly fear and manly acquiescence of the son, the 
 character of David perhaps would not have been sub- 
 jected to the severe ordeal, in passing through which 
 he was qualifying for his future distinction, but Israel 
 would have had more honor and happiness under his 
 reign, and he himself would have enjoyed the advan- 
 tages of his high rank. But how unlike the father to 
 the son ! How fickle, envious, ferocious, and impious 
 was Saul — how steady, generous, self-denied, submis- 
 sive, and devout was Jonathan ! Earthly greatness 
 and divine grace are seldom found together in the 
 same individual ; sometimes they have been discerned 
 in the same family. Saul was a great man, as the 
 world counts greatness, but he was very far from being 
 a good man. His son, however, (and it is not often that 
 king's sons have such a reputation,) was one of the 
 very best of men. In every point of view, his charac- 
 ter is extremely beautiful and even noble. It has 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 181 
 
 been inadvertently surmised, that it requires a hard- 
 hearted man to be a hero. There never was a more 
 affectionate man than Jonathan, and after David's en- 
 comium on his bearing in the battle-field, who shall 
 deny that he was brave as a lion ? " From the blood 
 of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of 
 Jonathan turned not back." 
 
 It is also equally ignorantly afiirmed that a pious 
 man cannot make a brave soldier. You know how 
 many scriptural illustrations can be quoted to prove 
 the very opposite, and Jonathan and David are not 
 the least eminent among the heroes of the Bible, who 
 were also most evidently God fearing and praying 
 men. Even profane history furnishes not a few honor- 
 able instances of the union of piety and fortitude in 
 the same individual. We are told that the Duke of 
 Marlborough, after one of his famous engagements, 
 declared, that he believed he had prayed more that 
 day, than all the chaplains of the army put together. 
 The illustrious Cromwell, we know, was much given 
 to prayer ; and whether he was most expert at hand- 
 ling the '' sword of the Spirit" or the sword of war, it 
 is not easy to decide. By the chivalrous use of the 
 one, and the sincere employment of the other, he de- 
 stroyed the enemies of his country's liberties, and 
 shielded with a nation^s bravery and piety his coun- 
 try's altars. The name of Colonel Gardiner is well 
 known to all who delight to contemplate heroism in 
 the soldier with godliness in the man. And thus it 
 will always be. It is '' the fear of man that bringeth 
 a snare ;" the fearers of God are bold as lions. 
 
 We cannot venture on a description of the subse- 
 quent events in the history of David, from the period 
 of his victory over Goliath to the battle in which Saul, 
 his royal persecutor, and Jonathan, his beloved friend, 
 
182 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 were slain. Suffice it to say, that his life was one of 
 perpetual unhappiness, from the evil spirit of Saul. 
 Even the exquisite music of his harp came to lose its 
 soothing influence over the royal mind. As David 
 played, the king meditated murder, and oftener than 
 once projected the deadly javelin against his minstrel. 
 Again and again he had to escape from the palace ; 
 and for years he fled from place to place, hiding, now 
 in the field, now in the cave, now on the mountain 
 side ; sometimes, in the mysterious Providence of 
 God, having the life of his kingly foe in his power, 
 but never venturing to injure one hair of the head of 
 him whom Samuel had crowned king of Israel. The 
 chivalry of the conqueror of Goliath was forgotten in 
 the eager haste of Saul to shed the blood of that hated 
 one whose praises filled the land of Canaan. His en- 
 vious spirit could not tolerate the acclamations that 
 extolled the son of Jesse at the expense of the son of 
 Kish. He might have been pleased with this, " Saul 
 has slain his thousands ;" but became like a madman 
 when there was appended to it, " David has slain his 
 tens of thousands." An end, however, came to it all. 
 The Philistines gave battle to Israel, and Saul was 
 routed. Saul and his sons were among the slain ; and 
 from amid the disasters of the mountains of Gilboa, 
 David ascended the throne of Judah. 
 
 The conduct of David, on hearing of these disasters, 
 is exceedingly rich in all those treasures for which a 
 forgiving disposition and a grateful heart are com- 
 mended. From his pathetic lamentation, no one 
 could have gathered that Saul had been his enemy, 
 and the occasion to him of years of unutterable dis- 
 tress. No ; there is not one line on which even the 
 shade of such an allusion can be detected. The wail 
 of this touching scriptural coronach could not have 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 183 
 
 been more genuinely sorrowful, though Saul's love to 
 David had equalled that of Jonathan. No difference 
 is here made in the tribute given to the father and 
 the son ; both are characterized as the " beauty of 
 Israel," as the " mighty fallen," as having both '' been 
 lovely and pleasant in their lives." Nothing is here 
 recorded of the dead but what is good. The past is 
 forgotten, and the rank and excellences of the de- 
 ceased are alone remembered. Whatever he had 
 been to David, Saul was king ; he was " the Lord's 
 anointed ;" and under the same holy regard for the 
 honor of Jehovah which led him to put to death the 
 Amalekite who pretended to have slain the king, he 
 now celebrated those qualities which would not only 
 embalm his memory in Israel, but diffuse its savor 
 among the nations. His thoughts were not all selfish 
 in this melting cardephonia. He remembered the 
 honor of Jehovah. God's people had been routed by 
 the Philistines, and his people's king had fallen ; hence 
 that fine burst of regard for the glorious name of 
 Jehovah : '' Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the 
 streets of Askelon ; lest the daughters of the Philis- 
 tines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncircumcised 
 triumph." 
 
 David here sets a fine example. If the followers of 
 the Lamb had always been under similar impressions 
 of what was due to the credit of the common cause, 
 the cause of God, there would have been amongst 
 them fewer denunciations of their several failings or 
 backslidings, and much more of that charity which 
 thinketh no evil, and covers a multitude of sins. 
 Christians should remember that they are of one fam- 
 ily, and that they ought not to make public all the 
 defects which, if it may be so expressed, their house- 
 hold familiarity occasionally develops. An honorable 
 
184 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 mind will conceal from the world what in the family 
 circle is freely discussed and condemned as improper. 
 So ought the members of the household of faith. Such 
 a system, did it more extensively prevail, would tend 
 greatly to commend Christianity to ungodly men. It 
 is admitted that some provocations are not easily re- 
 sisted, and some injuries not easily borne ; but if we 
 would only remember that the sacred cause of religion 
 is at stake in our hands, that the honor of our be- 
 loved Redeemer is in peril, we would much more 
 easily conquer our own spirits, and submit in silence 
 to what otherwise we might very properly denounce 
 in public. It is, or ought to be, a most humbling 
 thing to the genuine disciple of Christ to hear the 
 daughters of the Philistines rejoicing, and the daugh- 
 ters of the uncircumcised triumphing over the fail of 
 virtue or the declension of piety. It is possible that 
 we may have been unjustly and even cruelly treated 
 by some who call upon and trust in the same Saviour. 
 It is our duty to forgive them ; and if they should be 
 in danger of bringing disgrace on our common profes- 
 sion, it is our duty to do what in us lies to hide their 
 misconduct, unless the still higher interests of truth 
 demand a more open and free investigation. In this, 
 it is best to err (if it be an error) on the side of tender 
 jealousy for the credit of religion, and of enlightened 
 charity for the failings of human nature. 
 
 It were injustice to this beautiful and touching an- 
 them, and to that sweet psalmist who made it, to 
 overlook the truly melting effusion of fraternal grief 
 with which it concludes. No other language has 
 made such a contribution towards the expression of 
 those exquisitely amiable affections that reign in the 
 inner man of the renewed heart. " O Jonathan, thou 
 wast slain in thine high places ! T am distressed for 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 185 
 
 thee, my brother Jonathan : very pleasant hast thou 
 been unto me ; thy love to me was wonderful, passing 
 the love of women. How are the mighty fallen, and 
 the weapons of war perished !" If we except our 
 Saviour's lamentation over Jerusalem, we consider 
 this specimen of pathos in grief to be unparalled. It 
 is sublime without being unnatural, intense without 
 being extravagant, laudatory without being fulsome, 
 copious without superfluity, and sentimental without 
 effeminacy. Jonathan well merited such an enco- 
 mium, for the annals of friendship present no such em- 
 bodiment as did his, of all the properties that give to 
 manly affection the image of divine love, and enrich 
 its outgoings with the nutritious aliments of sensible, 
 seasonable, and substantial piety. To this admirable 
 youth may be assigned, in Old Testament biography, 
 a niche corresponding to that which John, "the be- 
 loved disciple," occupies in the New. Let us learn 
 from his history not only to bow to, but to labor to 
 carry out, the designs of Providence ; not only to 
 live, but to die, if need be, for the cause of God, and 
 that his decrees may be fulfilled. 
 
 The beautiful story of the battle of Gilboa is replete 
 with instruction of a varied and interesting character. 
 To one view of the subject, however, we confine our 
 observations, and that for obvious reasons. The vicis- 
 situdes of this life are strikingly apparent in the mis- 
 fortunes of Saul, and the elevation of David ; but such 
 changes belong to no age or people ; they appertain to 
 the human lot; and as in these days we are called 
 upon to witness such, not only in the revolutions of 
 kingdoms, but on a large and distressing scale, in the 
 ruinous circumstances into which many private fami- 
 lies throughout the land have been hurried, as well as 
 in the destitution that generally prevails among the 
 
186 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 laboring classes of society, it may be useful to re-carry 
 the subject to our minds, and extract wisdom, resig- 
 nation, and comfort from our meditations upon it. 
 God speaks to men both in his Providence and in his 
 Bible. There are indisputably rich varieties of wis- 
 dom in his Bible, far surpassing, in importance to 
 sinners, any of the lessons which are taught in his 
 Providence ; still, these lessons are not to be despised. 
 The vicissitudes of life are among the most impressive 
 and instructive of them. The wonder is that they are 
 so generally neglected. Perhaps it is because they 
 are so common and so constant. We are evermore in 
 the midst of them ; and as the hackneyed grave-digger 
 comes to be as unconcerned about death as the monu- 
 mental stones around him, so do men lose the keen 
 sense of this world's distressing alternations of good 
 and evil, from their familiar and uninterrupted expos- 
 ure to them. We have already endeavored to arrest 
 the attention of the reader to the subject of death ; 
 so would we now submit for his profitable reflection, 
 the subject of life, in its numerous and interesting 
 mutations. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE LESSONS FROM GILBOA. 
 
 life's vicissitudes THESE ARE TESTS OF CHARACTER USE- 
 FUL INSTRUMENTS OF GOD THEY WEAN FROM THIS WORLD, 
 
 AND PREPARE FOR A BETTER. 
 
 I. Human life is exposed to many vicissitudes. — 
 The proverbial character of this statement almost 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 187 
 
 forbids our illustrating it. But, though proverbial, it 
 is seldom that the thought which it contains is suffi- 
 ciently ruminated. How does this happen, since aU 
 experience its truthfulness ? Can it be that some classes 
 are an exception ? If so, we may surely look for that 
 exception among the first grades of Hfe, where are to 
 be found what are called, "the children of fortune," 
 whose lives describe one apparently tranquil course to 
 the grave. No change passes over them but what is 
 the necessary result of prolonged being. They were 
 born, they have Hved, and they die ; they were born to 
 independence, they have lived in plenty, and they 
 descend to the grave in honor. Compared with the 
 sons of toil and trouble, there does not seem much 
 irregularity or rudeness here. But this is a surface 
 view of the matter. It is not as it seems. Here, 
 also, are many and distracting changes. Go to the 
 highest examples at once. Select at random from 
 history, and you have specimens in abundance. Saul 
 dies on Gilboa ; David, his harper, reigns in his stead ! 
 How much of profane history answers in kind to 
 this sacred vicissitude ! The descendant of a long line 
 of kings is a fugitive from his throne, and is thereafter 
 beheaded in his capital. A citizen of obscure birth, 
 and a puritan soldier, seizes the sceptre, makes the 
 commonwealth the most powerful dynasty in the 
 world, and dies the far-famed founder and protector 
 of his country's freedom. An ambitious Corsican wades 
 to an imperial throne through torrents of human blood ; 
 Europe quakes under the tread of his foot ; his word 
 dethrones hereditary sovereigns, whom he replaces 
 with the menials in his court, or the brave in his 
 camp. Quickly his career reaches the culminating 
 point, and he falls, dragging out a wretched exile on 
 a barren ocean-rock, not forgetting, but forgotten by 
 
188 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 all, excepting the few companions who share with him 
 his misfortunes. A wanderer among the Alps, though 
 once a prince, another royal scion ekes out his exist- 
 ence by instructing the peasantry of a foreign land ; 
 bides his time till the revolutionary tempest that over- 
 threw the Bourbon had passed away, outlives the in- 
 terregnum, watches the insane policy of the restored 
 monarchy, witnesses its second fall, becomes the na- 
 tion's choice, and reigns ; reigns not long, till he, in 
 his turn, is the victim of a third revolution, and now 
 hides his head among a people he would have injured, 
 but who trample not upon the unfortunate. The pos- 
 sessor of a splendid mind, greatly enriched by the 
 treasures of wisdom and science, and made still more 
 illustrious by his advocacy of every good and noble 
 cause, lives to occupy the highest station in his coun- 
 try below the throne, but outlives his magnificent 
 reputation and, all uninfluential now, squanders his 
 powerful intellect in the twaddle of political imbecility. 
 On the other hand, the son of an humble agriculturist, 
 with nothing but a sound judgment and moral recti- 
 tude to regulate it, conceives a great idea, perseveringly 
 works it out, and, while abiding in his plebeian rank, 
 compels legislative respect, and becomes an authority 
 in the councils of a great nation, which is often denied 
 even to royalty itself. These are some of the vicissi- 
 tudes of life which characterize and afflict the higher 
 orders of society, proving that even they are no ex- 
 ception to the rule. 
 
 But "change" is written upon all the lintels of the 
 numerous door-posts of human life ; change of the 
 most contradictory and surprising nature, and of which 
 we have at present some impressive and even mourn- 
 ful instances. The man born in poverty dies in pos- 
 session of the fields upon which, in early life, he 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 189 
 
 earned his bread by the sweat of his brow. The 
 hereditary owner of vast estates lives to see them, like 
 dissolving views, fading before his eyes, and he expa- 
 triates himself, perhaps to draw his latest sigh in the 
 shambles of continental debauchery. The diligent 
 and successful merchant, who contemplated an evening 
 of life placid and clear, sees the fortune of his industry 
 fall to pieces before some commercial tornado ; and 
 instead of enjoying the fruit of his labors, must end 
 his days in contributing, perhaps, to enrich those by 
 whom he has been ruined. The father of a hopeful 
 family, upon whom he has expended time, and labor, 
 and money, who he expected, in his vanity, might be 
 the founders of an illustrious house, and transmit to 
 distant generations the names and the virtues of an- 
 cestral antiquity, lives to carry every one of them to 
 the grave, and dies, leaving his all to one not born in 
 his house, and who only acts the part of a chief 
 mourner out of deference to public decency. Such 
 are some of the illustrations of life's vicissitudes upon 
 what may be called the medium scale. 
 
 But who requires to be told that there is many a 
 touching, overwhelming story of this kind in the ex- 
 perience of all, however lowly their station, or unam- 
 bitious their projects! We are sometimes meeting 
 with the disappointment, sometimes with the realiza- 
 tion of our hopes. We are seldom without the garb 
 of mourning in our houses ; and the tear is often 
 falling over the graves of beauty, affection, and friend- 
 ship. There is nothing abiding here; if what we 
 fondly call our own does not fly away from us, we go 
 away from it. In undergoing the troubles, and fighting 
 the battles of life, we are the subjects now of comfort, 
 then of dejection ; to-day of sunshine, to-morrow of 
 gloom. There is first the glee of hilarity, then the 
 
190 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 sigh or shriek of ruin. Here is life dancing before us 
 in the nimbleness and agility of success ; there is death 
 riding on his pale horse. This is Lazarus in rags and 
 sores ; that is Dives in purple and plenty. There 
 lies love bleeding ; here malignity triumphing. Here 
 is genuine merit neglected ; there patronized ignorance 
 installed. Above, is duplicity chuckling over its dupes ; 
 below, is honesty paying what it owes. On the right 
 is the good man struggling with adversity ; on the left 
 the wicked flourishing like a green bay tree. In that 
 corner, genius and industry are amassing fame and 
 opulence ; in this, vice and dice are casting both away. 
 What a world is this we live in! How full of 
 changes ! How marred with misfortunes this hour ; 
 how enlightened with prosperity the next ! Music to- 
 day ; yelling to-morrow ! Gold for a year or two ; 
 copper ever after ! Now a cradle ; then a coffin I Now 
 smiling on our mother's bosom ; then asleep in our 
 mother earth ! A curse at one time ; at another a 
 blessing ! Faithful here ; a traitor yonder ! Once a 
 sycophant ; again a tyrant ! Having something, and 
 being somebody, for awhile ; dying at length, having 
 nothing, and being nobody ! O man ! at thy best estate 
 thou art altogether vanity ! O life ! thou art but a 
 vapor, that appeareth for a little ! O world ! thy people 
 and thy fashions alike pass away ! And yet before 
 this man, whose "inhumanity to man makes countless 
 thousands mourn," these countless thousands are eager 
 to bend the knee ; this life, short, uncertain, and un- 
 satisfying as it is, is eagerly sought after, while the 
 long, long life to come is clean forgotten ; and this 
 world, which, after all, is to be enveloped in destructive 
 fire, is intensely pursued, while the eternal glories of a 
 celestial inheritance are either discredited or despised. 
 " Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher ; all is vanity." 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 191 
 
 II. The vicissitudes of life are severe tests 
 OF character. — Subjected to this test, many a stately 
 structure of human pretensions crumbles into dust. 
 They vanish as the thistle-down before the stormy 
 wind. The friendships of life, the maxims of worldly 
 morality, and the principles of true religion, when 
 passing through this ordeal, have their truth or falsity 
 discerned. 
 
 Of the friendships of the world, it may be affirmed 
 that few of them stand the test, whether we view it 
 in connection with the prosperities or adversities of 
 life. It reads either way, and the lessons are ever the 
 same. We have a friend, as he is called, and perhaps 
 we are convinced he is one. He is of the same stand- 
 ing as to circumstances. Mutually dependent on each 
 other, we are in the habit of rendering mutual assist- 
 ance. By and by he gets the start of us ; we continue 
 poor, or of moderate possessions; he waxes rich, then 
 great, then proud. Where is his friendship ? Let 
 many a humiliating tale reply. He does not know 
 us now ; he is ashamed to be seen in our presence, or 
 to be thought of our acquaintance. He passes by on 
 the other side, and eventually our society is despised. 
 Or, we have a friend who is presently dependent on 
 our humble aid to get on in life. He begins life on the 
 credit of our good name ; he suffers reverses, and our 
 means help him out of them ; he lives upon us ; he is 
 a debtor to a large amount to our generosity, sym- 
 pathy, prudence, and counsels. Suddenly the sun 
 rises upon him ; he is exceedingly fortunate ; he gets 
 into society above our rank ; his head gets giddy ; his 
 heart gets cold ; he remembers us no more. Unex- 
 pectedly our day of adversity comes ; we need a friend, 
 assistance, comfort, and advice. We go to him in our 
 straits. He makes every effort to keep out of our 
 
192 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 way ; but we are importunate, and succeed in getting 
 an interview. Alas ! he cannot help us. He has so 
 many claims, so many pressing demands of so many 
 different kinds, it is just enough to ruin one to attend 
 to one half, to one tithe of them ; we are gracefully, 
 perhaps insolently, bowed to the door. This is no 
 satire ; it is of every-day occurrence. But there is an 
 oasis even in this desert. With some truly noble 
 natures it is widely different. Their prosperity never 
 damages their ancient friendships. On the contrary, 
 they remember Joseph, even when in the dungeons of 
 Pharaoh, and hasten to deliver him. These are the 
 friends born for adversity. The friends indeed are 
 the friends in time of need, but theirs are angelic 
 visits, " few and far between." 
 
 Apply this test next to the maxims of worldly mor- 
 ality, and you speedily expose them to just contempt. 
 This world is very wise in its own conceit. In itself, 
 or out of its own resources, it can supply principles 
 for all conduct, motives for all duties, and strength for 
 every trial. This world is a boasting philosopher. It 
 vaunteth itself mightily on its own magnanimity, and 
 pufFeth itself up with high estimates of its own moral 
 rectitude. Religion it despises ; it has no need of it. 
 It may be useful for women, perhaps, and children, 
 but it is too pretty a conceit, or too much of a toy, to 
 be made the protege of manly dignity. Let us see. 
 There is one of its votaries, one of the alumni from its 
 university, one of the prophets from its schools ! He 
 is soliloquizing. Let us listen to him. That thing, 
 he says, which priests call religion, is a hoax. A man 
 has no need of it, either to keep him moderate in the 
 use of fortune, or unmoved in a time of trial. There 
 is that in man which will uplift him above the storms 
 of life ; his is a noble nature ; and there is that in 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 193 
 
 reason which will comfort man in sorrow ; and there 
 is that in philosophy which will dispose him to acqui- 
 esce without peevishness in the decisions of fate. 
 
 Such is the theory of the moralist. Look now at 
 his practical application of it. He is lifted into opu- 
 lence, clothed with honor, and endowed with power. 
 Where is his moderation now ? He lives in luxury 
 and debauchery. Where is his nobility ? He puts on 
 the fool's cap of vanity, and struts about, thinking 
 himself more than man, or other men less than him. 
 Where are his compassions ? He becomes a tyrant, 
 and shuts up his bowels of mercy : it is beneath the 
 dignity of a great man to weep — that is the attribute 
 of soft and vulgar natures. But let us see him thrown 
 back upon obscurity and seeming ruin. If it be 
 actual disaster, where is his fortitude ? Can that dis- 
 contented, spiritless man be he who so recently ap- 
 plauded the maxims of this world's ethics ? If fraudu- 
 lent, where are his honesty and integrity ? Can that 
 unprincipled withholder of his creditor's goods, that 
 deceitful exhibitor of false balance sheets, can this be 
 the man who decried religion, and commended the 
 dignity of human nature ? Ah ! how loathsome the 
 picture ! Let us turn from it to another more inviting 
 and instructive. 
 
 The principles of genuine religion are also severely 
 tested in the vicissitudes of life, but they stand that 
 test. Suppose the case of a truly good man rising 
 into affluence and influence. He abides uncorrupted 
 alike in faith and in manners. He is not on that 
 account made sinfully proud. He remembers the 
 days of his poverty, and is humble ; the God who 
 blessed him, and is grateful ; the poor, who are his 
 brethren, and for whom he is steward, and he provides 
 for them ; the sick and the friendless, and satisfies 
 
194 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 them with his goodness, and his better counsels, and 
 his best prayers ; and, in the midst of other claims, he 
 never forgets a world lying in wickedness, but devis- 
 eth liberal things for its conversion to God. This 
 man, however, is very far from being free from the 
 temptations of riches and worldly importance. His 
 virtues are tried ; his heavenly-mindedness is oft in 
 danger. He is apt to consider his earthly his best 
 portion ; and sometimes he may even forget, and think 
 more highly of himself than he ought to do ; yea, he 
 may not entirely keep himself from the idolatry which 
 rich men give to Mammon. But when at any time 
 his foot slips on these high places, he is sure to recover 
 himself. His better principles regain the ascendancy ; 
 he is often heard saying, " How then can I do this 
 great wickedness, and sin against God ?" " Get be- 
 hind me, Satan." " If I have done unjustly, I will 
 do so no more." 
 
 But to do a good man justice, we must scrutinize 
 his behavior in the opposite condition. Suppose him, 
 then, to lose his all, how does he sustain his spirit? 
 A very good, and a very great man, in ancient times, 
 was subjected to this trial. He was the chief magis- 
 trate in the land of Uz. He had many sons and 
 daughters, and very gi'eat substance. Satan refused 
 to believe him a disinterested fearer of God. " Put 
 forth thine hand now," he said to the Lord, " and 
 touch all that Job hath, and he will curse thee to thy 
 face." God put forth his hand, and the patriarch was 
 speedily without son or daughter, flock or herd. He 
 was totally ruined in a night's time ; hurled from the 
 high places of honor and abundance into the lowest 
 depths of distress. How did he stand the test of such 
 an appalling vicissitude ? " Then Job arose, and rent 
 his mantle, and shaved his lie^d, and fell down upon 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 195 
 
 the ground, and worshipped, and said, Naked came I 
 out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return 
 thither : the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
 away ; blessed be the name of the Lord. In all this 
 Job sinned not, nor charged God foolishly." Satan 
 still refused to give him credit for piety, and said to 
 God, " Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he 
 give for his life : but put forth thine hand now, and 
 touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to 
 thy face." God put forth his hand, and immediately, 
 from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, Job 
 is covered with loathsome disease ; " and he sat down 
 among the ashes. Then said his wife unto him. Dost 
 thou still retain thine integrity ? curse God and die. 
 But he said unto her. Thou speakest as one of the 
 foolish women speaketh. What ! shall we receive 
 good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive 
 evil? In all this did not Job sin with his lips." 
 
 Few good men have been so severely tried, yet 
 amid their diversified probations, none of them are 
 found wanting ; they come forth from the furnaces 
 worshipping God. Their faith never fails, their con- 
 solations never flee away, their hopes are never extin- 
 guished, and their resignation is often truly sublime. 
 '' How can you be so calm and cheerful ?" said one 
 to an eminent Christian whose property was enveloped 
 in fire ; " is not your all at stake ?" " Nay," was the 
 reply, "it is not so ; my all is laid up where fire can- 
 not reach, and where neither moth nor rust doth cor- 
 rupt." The high priest "held his peace" when his 
 sons were slain. The Shunamite said, when her only 
 son died, " It is well." The Hebrew children, rather 
 than worship an idol, walked in the fire. Daniel, 
 rather than be prayerless, lay down in the den of lions. 
 The apostles shed their blood, and laid down their 
 
196 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 lives, rather than put their Lord to shame. And all 
 the truly faithful can say, " Though he should slay 
 me, yet will I trust in him." The secret lies here, 
 they have all drunk into his spirit who, in the hour 
 of unutterable agony, and with the curse due to sin 
 upon him, lifted up his eyes to heaven and said, 
 " Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from 
 me ; nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done." 
 
 III. God employs the vicissitudes of life to 
 WORK OUT HIS OWN ENDS. — Had this world continued 
 the abode of innocence, there could have been no 
 moral necessity for any process, by which its rational 
 inhabitants might be induced to desire a change of 
 habitation. But this is now a sinful and miserble 
 world ; and it is no more than what might be expected 
 of Him who laid down his life for us, than that he 
 should alienate our affections from it, and inspire us 
 with ardent longings after the better country. To 
 bring men to heaven, Christ died ; and there is nothing 
 in the providences of the Father running counter to 
 the designs of the Son in redemption. What a mighty 
 and imposing structure of truth may be reared on 
 these two simple propositions of our Lord : "The very 
 hairs of your head are all numbered ;" even a sparrow 
 " shall not fall on the ground without your Father !" 
 Herein lie the weighty elements of the argument for 
 a special as well as a general Providence. These say- 
 ings of Christ are sufficient reasons for believing that 
 God has a minute oversight and control of everything 
 that here below comes to pass. He reigns throughout 
 all his kingdoms of nature, providence, and grace. 
 As to his administration of the affairs of this world, 
 we may rest assured that he is everywhere, and in 
 everything ; in the rise and fall of the mightiest em- 
 pires ; in the creation of the atom, and in the oommis- 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 197 
 
 sion of the archangel ; in the calm and in the tempest ; 
 in the palace, and in the cottage; in the career of 
 temporal prosperity, and in the whirlwind of temporal 
 disaster ; in the songs of the happy, and in the tears 
 of the sad; in the blessings of the righteous, and in 
 the judgments of the wicked. He is, therefore, in all 
 the vicissitudes of human life, and he is in them for 
 the very same reason that he is in everything else, 
 namely, to promote his own ends. And what are 
 these ? The good of his creatures^ and the glory of 
 his name. 
 
 He is in them for the good of his creatures. 
 He is not willing that any should perish, but that all 
 should come unto him, and live. He finds man a fool 
 as well as a knave, stupid as well as wicked. He 
 therefore corrects him for his folly, and endeavors to 
 make him wise. One of his methods for accomplish- 
 ing this is to show him the vanity of this world. He 
 permits him to go the full round of its pleasures, and 
 to take a drink out of all its cups, and then gives him 
 to experience their bitterness, and to test their worth- 
 lessness. His purpose is to induce man to taste and 
 see that only God is good. Alas ! how few are apt 
 learners in this school of Providence ! They resist the 
 efforts thus made to bring them to repentance and 
 holiness. It is all one to them whether they have 
 plenty or poverty ; whether bereaved, or full of chil- 
 dren ; whether whirling in the giddiness of greatness, 
 or shivering in the damps of death ; they repent not, 
 they believe not. In the enjoyment of his kindness 
 they wax fat and kick, and forget God ; and in the 
 endurance of his chastisements, they curse God, and 
 die. How true the saying of the wise man, "Though 
 thou shouldst bray a fool in a mortar among wheat 
 
198 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from 
 him !" 
 
 But it is not uniformly so. Scripture and our own 
 observation furnish us with many illustrations of the 
 benefit to be derived from the vicissitudes of life. 
 Joseph, Moses, David, Manasseh, and many others, 
 were all improved by their various experiences. These 
 fitted them for the duties, the trials, and the variations 
 of life. "It is good for me," says one of them, " that 
 I was afflicted. Ere I was afflicted I went astray. I 
 know, O Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that 
 thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me." 
 
 Were it not for these trying ordeals, good men 
 would be apt to forget their pilgrim character, and 
 perhaps take themselves to the unreserved service of 
 Mammon. God knows best each man's temperament 
 and infirmity. He only reads each man's history to 
 its closing chapter. He, therefore, is the best judge 
 as to whether they should or should not have worldly 
 prosperity. He knows when to turn the tide of 
 fortune, and leave them, as it were, stranded on some 
 inhospitable shore. They may be better able to bear 
 the full flow of success at some future time. In these 
 days of commercial panic and disaster, when the 
 savings of industry and the treasures of generations 
 are tumbling above our heads, good men, who are 
 losing their earthly al], may rest assured, that the 
 moment for encountering such losses was, to their best 
 interests, a moment of danger. Their whole future 
 destiny, it may be, depended on the issues of that 
 moment. Their incorruptible inheritance in heaven 
 was perhaps secured, when their corruptible treasure 
 on earth took wings and fled away. It is good for 
 them that God does not leave it to their choice, 
 whether they will retain or lose their monies and 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 199 
 
 their lands. He solves that problem for them, and 
 will by and by convince them that the disappearance 
 of the shadow was necessary to the security of the 
 substance. Stripped naked of this earth, that flows 
 with tears and cares, they are then infeft into the land 
 that flows with milk and honey. They are now in- 
 doctrinated into the truth about the real vanity of life, 
 and are more assiduously than ever set on making 
 clear and good their title to the skies. Hence it is, 
 also, that God gets his use out of them as experienced 
 teachers of others in the ways of wisdom. He gets 
 the use of their example for those that are around 
 and to come after them, and his own cause on the 
 earth is thereby maintained and promoted,; which 
 reminds us that, 
 
 God, in all the vicissitudes of life, seeks his 
 OWN GLORY. How eminently does this appear in the 
 chequered history of the patriarchs, and especially of 
 Saul and David ! That which looked to the eye of 
 nature dark and unpromising, was surely and directly 
 working out the glory of Jehovah. Saul rises and 
 falls, that David might fall and rise. So it seemed to 
 be. But was there nothing underneath all the turn- 
 ings and windings of these two lives, of far higher 
 import than their own terrestrial significance ? There 
 certainly was. God was thereby preparing his chosen 
 one — one of the most illustrious types of the Messiah 
 — for laying broad, deep, and secure, the foundations 
 of that kingdom, whose career of reverses or victories 
 was sublimely figurative of the future history of that 
 church for which his incarnate Son was to shed his 
 blood. He was thereby qualifying for his future high 
 position, one, from whose loins the Saviour was to 
 proceed, and in whose experiences, as recorded in the 
 
200 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 Psalms, the future believer was to have one of his 
 chiefest enjoyments. 
 
 And though each good man's history may not be so 
 clearly revealed to us in all its bearings upon the 
 glory of Jehovah, we can have no doubt that, whether 
 he eats, or drinks, or whatever he does, he does all to 
 the glory of God. If he lives, he lives to the Lord ; 
 and if he dies, he dies to the Lord : living or dying, he 
 is the Lord's. It may not be easy, perhaps not possi- 
 ble, for us at present to trace the connection that 
 exists between all the vicissitudes in the history of 
 man in this world, and the advancement of the spirit- 
 ual kingdom of Christ ; but that there is such a con- 
 nection we must believe. Jesus is exalted to the 
 right hand of his Father. He is indeed head over all 
 things to the church. Everything is put into his 
 hand, every person under his authority, and every 
 devil beneath his feet ; and he will come at the last 
 day to be seen of all his saints, and to be glorified of 
 them that believe. Then will be seen the most aston- 
 ishing coincidences and alliances. The saint will see 
 that his cup of tears was really filled with the water 
 of life ; that his downfalls were his true uprisings ; 
 that his losses were his gains; and that his earthly 
 biography, when translated into the language of the 
 heavenly Canaan, describes his course below to have 
 been, without exception, the direct and safe road to 
 the chief end of man. 
 
 IV, The vicissitudes of life ought to wean our 
 
 AFFECTIONS FROM THIS WORLD, AND FIX THEM ON THINGS 
 
 ABOVE. — Such was the effect these vicissitudes had 
 upon the man of Uz. "I loathe it," he said; "I 
 would not live alway." David also thus improved 
 them; ''And he said, Oh that I had wings fike a 
 dove ! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. I 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 201 
 
 would hasten my escape from the windy storm and 
 tempest." Likewise also did Paul; hence his "desire 
 to depart and to be with Christ." When changes and 
 trials lead us forth from Egypt, and fill us with ardent 
 longings after the heavenly Canaan, then they may 
 be said to have been sanctified to us ; and for such a 
 sanctification of them, we ought all to be most solici- 
 tous with God. We cannot doubt that he sends 
 affliction to make this world bitter to our taste, and to 
 generate within us holier aspirations. When, then, 
 we pass through sudden, and it may be, trying changes 
 in life, we ought to receive their proper instruction, 
 and withdraw our hearts from the phantoms of time, 
 to give them to the realities of eternity. Every vicis- 
 situde is vocal with this message : " Arise, and depart ; 
 for this is not your rest ;" and all good men who hear 
 "the rod, and who hath appointed it," will reply, 
 " Here we have no continuing city, but we seek one 
 to come." The love of the world is the besetting sin 
 of mankind, and it is exceedingly prejudicial to re- 
 ligion. It is utterly incompatible with the love of God, 
 and stands like an Alpine range frowning upon the 
 progress of those better principles and feelings which 
 distinguish the spirituality of saints. Consequently 
 our heavenly Father must strike a fatal blow at its 
 roots in the hearts of his children, who never give more 
 unequivocal proof of their adoption, than when they 
 sustain adversity without murmur, and sing of mercy 
 in the midst of judgments. We do not know a better 
 test of saintship than that which is given by the man 
 who can say, and that with perfect truthfulness, and 
 it is indeed sublhne to be able so to say it, " Whom 
 have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none in all 
 the earth that I desire besides thee. O Lord, thou art 
 all my salvation, and all my desire." 
 
 9* 
 
202 MOUNT GILBOA. 
 
 When we take a calm survey of this life, with its 
 stern variety of change, we may wonder that any 
 should be attached to it. But when we meditate on 
 the splendid hopes of Christians, in respect of the life 
 that is to come, we confess it difficult to account for 
 the touching, tasting, and handling of this world that 
 obtains among them. They not only have received 
 the promise, but they live in the hope of a better and 
 more enduring inheritance. What a sad contradic- 
 tion to their Christian profession is the longing, linger- 
 ing look they cast behind on the gold and silver, on the 
 friendships and partnerships of the world they are 
 quitting ! Let us not be taken by surprise, if He who 
 has prepared treasures and mansions for them in 
 heaven should dash their earthly cup from their lips, 
 and grind their idols to powder. They may be so 
 foolish as to risk the loss of a celestial inheritance to 
 grasp a handful of dust; but He is not faithless, 
 neither quick to anger, else he might leave them to 
 go after other gods, and be ruined for ever. He re- 
 members his covenant with them in the days of their 
 espousals, and secures their opulence in eternity, by 
 meting out to them their poverty in time. It will bo 
 well for you, ye sons of men who are now passing 
 under the rod of God, if all your evil things are given 
 you here. O listen to the warnings of this mutable 
 state, and believe these trials to be treasures I They 
 serve you as the angel served Lot and his family. 
 While you linger, they lay hold upon your hand, and 
 upon the hand of your wives, and upon the hand of 
 your daughters, the Lord being merciful unto you; 
 and they " bring you forth, and set you without the 
 city," and say unto you, " Escape for your life ; look 
 not behind you, neither stay you in all the plain; 
 escape to the mountains, lest you be consumed." 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 203 
 
 How eloquently, we may say, how appallingly, 
 have the vicissitudes of life been speaking to us during 
 the year that is departing I The veteran of fourscore 
 does not recollect such an another, so full of all the ills 
 to which flesh is heir. At many a fireside there is 
 deep distress ; many a Rachel sits weeping, and re- 
 fuses to be comforted ; and not a few, plunged from 
 plenty into difficulty, bewail the losses and the crosses 
 of life. The opening and the closing of this year will 
 be remembered by many, not for its domestic and 
 social enjoyments, but for the starless and troubled 
 sky underneath which they have mourned and wept. 
 But, Christians, your canopy is not the starry firma- 
 men, else you, too, might lament the absence of the 
 sun and the moon. Yours is the bright blue arch of 
 Paradise, where the Sun of Righteousness ever shines, 
 where the bright and morning star ever twinkles, and 
 where no clouds obscure, nor tempests roar. Act, 
 then, your part accordingly. Let the world, peevish 
 and wretched in the midst of its \dcissitudes, behold 
 in you a noble and commanding specimen of the 
 power of that faith, which makes you independent of 
 time, and thoroughly confident in eternity for your 
 chief and indestructible possessions. Be not afraid of 
 encompassing, neither despond before expected evils. 
 The storm will soon expend itself It may level in its 
 fury the mightiest structures of genius and industry; 
 it may tear up the mountains by the root, and fling 
 them into the sea, and all the waters thereof may 
 roar. Fear not, you are safe ; and your best posses- 
 sions are safe ; and your much-loved Christian friends 
 are safe — perfectly safe. Your all is insured in the 
 chancery above, and the King of Righteousness has 
 sworn an oath, that when you reach your majority, 
 you shall fully enjoy your inheritance. Then the 
 
204 MOUNT GILJJOA. 
 
 heavens and the earth are to pass away with a great 
 noise, but you will see the new Jerusalem appearing 
 as they fade from the view. Maintain your confi- 
 dence ; no panic can reach the treasury of God. Every 
 farthing will be paid you ; no thief can break through 
 and steal there ; all you get you will keep, and enjoy 
 forever. There you will pine under no disease ; en- 
 counter no death ; be re-united to the " brightest and 
 best of the sons of creation;" and in the bosom of 
 God you will live and be perfectly happy through all 
 eternity. 
 
 Believe this, ye men of God, and then go through 
 your present trials and duties, singing with heavenly 
 melody. '' Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, 
 neither shall fruit be in the vines ; the labor of the 
 olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat ; 
 the ilock shall be cut off from the fold, and there 
 shall be no herd in the stalls ; yet I will rejoice in 
 the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. The 
 Lord is my strength, and he will make my feet like 
 hinds' feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine 
 high places." 
 
 Believe this, also, ye that at present do groan in 
 the earthly house of your tabernacle, and yet despise 
 the consolations and supports with which the gospel 
 would supply you. Your earthly house, as well as 
 that of the saint, must be dissolved ; but O, how dif- 
 ferent the result ! You have not the blessed hope of 
 the " building of God, the house not made with hands, 
 eternal in the heavens." In this you groan, but with- 
 out any earnest desire to be clothed upon with thai 
 house wliich is from heaven ; consequently, not being 
 clothed, you shall be found naked. 
 
 Believe this, then, that if you seek first the king- 
 dom of God, every other needed blessing will be added 
 
MOUNT GILBOA. 205 
 
 to you ; and when you are called hence at death, you 
 will be received into everlasting habitations. 
 
 Believe not, and all is lost. Time and treasures 
 are lost below, and eternal life you can never enjoy 
 above. Do not forget that " their sorrows shall be 
 multiplied that hasten after another god ;" multiplied 
 amid all the vicissitudes of life, amid the terrors of a 
 godless death-bed, before the tribunal of a righteous 
 Judge, and throughout the ages of endless woe. 
 
MOUNT CARMEL, 
 
 THE FALL OF IDOLATRY. 
 PART I. 
 
 THE SITUATIOM AND APPEARANCE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Mount Carmel is in Palestine, and forms the 
 southern promontory of the bay of Acre, which lies 
 on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. It is one 
 of a range of hills which extends northwest from the 
 plain of Esdraelon. The extent of this range is about 
 six miles, and it is generally designated as Carmel. It 
 is about fifteen hundred feet high, and forms the only 
 great promontory upon the coast of Palestine. 
 
 The scenery on this mountain seems to have been 
 very picturesque. In his description of the spouse, 
 Solomon says, " Thine head upon thee is like Carmel ;" 
 alluding to the fine symmetry and beauty of its sum- 
 mit. Isaiah sings of the " excellency of Carmel," as 
 descriptive of the solitary places and the desert in the 
 times of the gospel ; and there are allusions to its 
 rich pasturage by the prophets Jeremiah and Amos. 
 Modern travellers tell us that it fully merits these 
 praises, and that the meaning of the word Carmel, 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 207 
 
 which is *' the country of vineyards and gardens," is 
 sustained by its beauty and fertility. "On its sum- 
 mit," we are told, "are pines and oaks, and farther 
 down, olives and laurel trees, everywhere plentifully 
 watered. It gives rise to a multitude of crystal brooks, 
 the largest of which is the so-called fountain of Elijah, 
 and they all hurry along, between banks thickly over- 
 grown with bushes, to the Kishon. Every species of 
 tillage succeeds here admirably under this mild and 
 cheerful sky. The prospect from the summit of the 
 mountain over the gulf of Acre and its fertile shores, 
 and over the blue heights of Lebanon, and the white 
 cape, is enchanting." " In front the view extends to 
 the distant horrizon, over the dark blue waters of the 
 Mediterranean; behind stretches the great plain of 
 Esdraelon, and the mountains of the Jordan and 
 Judea ; below, on the right hand, lies the little city of 
 Acre, diminished to a mere speck ; while in the far 
 distance beyond, the eye rests on the summits of 
 Lebanon, and turning to track the coast on the left 
 hand, takes in the ruins of Caesarea, the city of Herod 
 and the Roman sovereigns of Palestine." 
 
 In this mountain there are said to be nearly a 
 thousand caves or grottoes, and in one part about four 
 hundred of these are adjacent to each other, having 
 windows and places for sleeping below in the rock. 
 These caves have very narrow entrances ; only one 
 individual can enter at a time, and they are so crooked 
 that instantly you enter you disappear, unless closely 
 followed. This helps us to understand that passage 
 in Amos, where Jehovah says of those who endeavor 
 to escape his judgments, " though they hide them- 
 selves in the top of Carmel, I will search and take 
 them out thence." In ancient times, these caves 
 were the abodes of prophets. Elijah and Elisha 
 
208 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 often resorted to them. At present, a cave called 
 by the name of Elijah is shown by the monk who 
 attends upon a Moslem temple, now built near the 
 spot. On the summit was once a convent, the prop- 
 erty of the order called the Carmelite monks. This 
 structure, however, was destroyed by Addallah Pacha ; 
 but it has of late years, we regret to say, been rebuilt 
 on a somewhat imposing scale by the aid of contribu- 
 tions from Europe. The site of the building is sup- 
 posed to be on the spot on which Elijah offered sacrifice. 
 The finest of the caves in Carmel is that called "the 
 School of Eliaz." It is a well-hewn chamber, cut 
 entirely out of the rock. It is twenty paces long, 
 twelve broad, and fifteen to eighteen high. Pococke 
 declares it to be one of the finest he ever saw. 
 
 The history of this mountain is associated with one 
 of the most impressive and sublime scenes recorded 
 in the Old Testament scriptures. It was upon one of 
 its sides that the prophet Elijah and the prophets of 
 Baal met to try the grand question as to whether 
 Jehovah or Baal was God. The exact place where 
 the events narrated in the eighteenth chapter of the 
 first Book of Kings occurred, cannot be satisfactorily 
 determined, though there seems to be no doubt on the 
 minds of some who visit Carmel, that the slaughter of 
 the priests of Baal took place beside the river Kishon, 
 at the base of the mountain, and that the sacrifice 
 must have been made on that side of its summit which 
 overlooks the river Kishon and the plain of Jezreel. 
 Mr. Carne says, " There can be no illusion with respect 
 to the scene of the memorable descent of the fire from 
 heaven. When all Israel was gathered together unto 
 Carmel, it was clearly on this side the mountain, where 
 it descends gradually into the noble plain beneath. 
 The spot was finely chosen by the prophet for the 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 209 
 
 spectacle of his sacrifice, since the multitude of the 
 people coming from the region of Samaria might 
 stand with perfect convenience in the splendid and 
 open area of Esdraelon, which is here terminated at 
 the foot of Carmel. The declivity of the mountain, 
 its brink dark with woods, and its sides covered with 
 the richest pasture, looks over a vast extent of country 
 on every side. From the hills of Samaria, Cana, and 
 Gilboa the miracle might have been beheld. And to 
 the eager gaze of the Israelites on the plain, the 
 prophets of the groves, their useless altars, and the 
 avenging messenger of God, were as distinct as if 
 the scene had been acted at their feet." 
 
 With these brief notices of the topography of Car- 
 mel, we would now proceed to slcetch the interesting 
 meeting that was held upon it in the days of Ahab 
 king of Israel, between Elijah the Tishbite and the 
 prophets of Baal.^ 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE SCENE ON CARMEL. 
 
 IDOLATRY OF BAAL MINISTRY OF ELIJAH HIS PROPOSAL 
 
 TO AHAB CONCOURSE ON CARMEL FAILURE OF BAAL 
 
 TRIUMPH OF THE TISHBITE. 
 
 Israel had had many kings since Saul fell on Gil- 
 boa : some of them most unprincipled and despicable 
 men, but none more so than Ahab. The crowning 
 iniquity of this prince seems to have been his impor- 
 
 * 1 Kings xviii. 
 
210 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 tation of the idol called Baal, from the Sidonians, into 
 Israel. Baal or Bel signifies governor or ruler, and 
 was the name given in the east to the chief male idol 
 of the heathen. The female idol, corresponding in 
 importance to Baal, was called Ashtoreth, who was 
 represented by one or other of the heavenly bodies. 
 Jeremiah speaks of the " queen of heaven ;" and the 
 probability is that the moon was worshipped by the 
 Sidonians and Philistines under this title. Baal was 
 thought to be the most ancient god of the Canaanites, 
 and had many prophets and temples, where bloody 
 sacrifices were offered, and shameful rites observed in 
 his name. According to Jeremiah, these sacrifices 
 were sometimes human. Altars were erected to him 
 also on the tops of hill and houses, and in the groves, 
 where, on festival occasions, the most shocking abomi- 
 nations were perpetrated. Ahab had married Jezebel, 
 daughter of an idolatrous king ; and under her sway 
 the worship of this idol had become sinfully popular 
 in Israel. Four hundred and fifty priests served at 
 his altar, and to Ashtoreth nearly an equal number 
 were appointed. The judgments of Jehovah were, in 
 consequence, sent down upon the land. He who had 
 declared from Sinai, " Thou shalt have no other gods 
 before me," must needs arise and rebuke the abound- 
 ing iniquity. But " the iniquity" is under the patron- 
 age and protection of the king and queen ; and where 
 shall one be found brave enough to go up and assail 
 it on the throne ? He who has said, *' My glory will 
 I not give to another, neither my praise to graven 
 images," has his instruments always ready. Hence 
 it is written, " And Elijah the Tishbite, who was 
 of the inhabitants of Gilead, said unto Ahab, As 
 the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, there shall 
 not be dew nor rain these years, but according to my 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 211 
 
 word." Here was moral courage of a sublime order. 
 What was at stake ? Not only his own life, for 
 daring thus to reprimand royalty, but, what was of 
 more consequence, the honor of his God, if, perad- 
 venture, his prophecy concerning the rain should fail. 
 Bold, however, though it was, Elijah was safe in both 
 respects. 
 
 The curse of Elijah had now been on Ahab and his 
 people for nearly three years. No rain nor dew had 
 fallen, and famine, of necessity, ensued. The prophet, 
 meanwhile, had been hid for a season by the brook 
 Cherith, and latterly in Zarephath. He was now re- 
 manded to Ahab, who is represented as wandering up 
 and down the country searching for food, not to save 
 his subjects, but his horses and mules alive. At 
 length these two men meet ; that stern and fearless 
 seer, and that foolish and wicked tyrant meet. " Art 
 thou he," asks the insolent Ahab, " Art thou he that 
 troubleth Israel ?" Elijah denies the charge, and re- 
 torts upon the royal idolater. The contest is under- 
 stood to be, not between Elijah and Ahab, but between 
 Jehovah and Baal ; Jehovah being represented by the 
 prophet, and Baal by the king. The king puts him- 
 self forth as the champion of the idol, Elijah stands 
 up for the supremacy of Jehovah. How is the dispute 
 to be settled ? How is all Israel to be convinced that 
 the Lord, he, and he only, is God, and that Baal is 
 one of the deaf and dumb idols of the heathen ? This 
 is certainly a crisis, a very awful and portentous crisis ; 
 and similar to this, we may notice, is in all lands the 
 question of the gospel enterprise. That question is, 
 "Whether shall Jehovah or Baal be worshipped as the 
 true Deity ? When we send the gospel to idolaters, 
 and challenge their priests to come forth and make the 
 grand experiment as to who is right and who wrong 
 
212 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 in the creeds severally confessed, we feel the occasion 
 to be solemn and important. We watch the progress 
 of the grand combat between truth and error with 
 breathless attention, and wait the result in our closets, 
 and on our knees. Let us, in the scene before us, 
 approach such a trial of piety against impiety : neither 
 let us be afraid of the issue, for " who hath hardened 
 himself against God, and prospered ?" 
 
 What did Elijah propose ? It was that all Israel 
 should be convened at a place specified, Mount Carmel, 
 to be the judges between them, and that the four hun- 
 dred and fifty priests of Baal, and the four hundred 
 prophets of the groves, who ate at Jezebel's table, 
 should be brought there also, where he, the only repre- 
 sentative of the Most High, would be prepared to face 
 them without fear, and confound them without fail. 
 Ahab, thinking he should now obtain the mastery 
 over his austere reprover, and thereby exalt Baal be- 
 fore the people, agrees to the proposal. His mandate 
 circulates through Samaria. The appointed morning 
 dawns, and crowds of people are seen hurrying in all 
 directions across the plain of Esdraelon towards the 
 mountain. Public curiosity is excited, and, as it 
 happens still, when the controversy is upon religion, 
 multitudes, who care nothing about the merits of the 
 question, are eager to witness the trial of strength 
 between the parties. I think I see the descendants of 
 the patriarchs, the children of the men who aforetime 
 saw Sinai on fire, now stationed at the foot of Carmel. 
 I look in vain for any group friendly to the man of 
 God. I listen to their colloquy if I may catch one 
 sentence breathing a prayer for his success that day. 
 Alas ! " Fallen art thou, O Israel !" No man speaks 
 for Elijah ; they know nothing in yon motley crowd, 
 even of the sordid spirit that leads our modern gamb- 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 213 
 
 lers to stake large sums on " the hazard of the die." 
 The defeat of the Hebrew and the triumph of Ahab 
 are taken for granted, and they anticipate, with carnal 
 joy, the consequent debaucheries with which the vic- 
 tory must be celebrated. Ichabod is, indeed, written 
 upon Israel : " The glory has departed." It has de- 
 parted, but it is soon to return. 
 
 The sun is now far up in the east, casting his golden 
 rays over the mountains of Judea, and promising soon 
 to fall above the waters of the great sea from which 
 Carmel seems to " lift his awful form." The mur- 
 murings of impatience are heard, and fears perhaps are 
 entertained that Elijah's courage may fail. But hark ! 
 the borders of that vast assembly are suddenly agitated, 
 and every eye eagerly seeks out the cause. It is 
 Elijah, says one. No, said another, it is Ahab ! Then 
 was the air rent with their most loyal plaudits, and 
 every one, as they gaze upon the chivalrous monarch, 
 feels more and more assured that he is not the man to 
 venture where he has not well examined his ground. 
 Victory is again anticipated, and they raise up another 
 shout, as if victory were already his. But where is 
 Elijah ? Another stir at the outskirts attracts their 
 notice. Behold that Tishbite now ! they cry. No, 
 not yet ; these are the prophets of Baal ! If loyalty 
 called forth a shout that made the caves of Carmel 
 ring again, superstition now lifted up its impious voice 
 till the waters of the Kishon recoiled in their channel, 
 and the silence of Esdraelon became ten thousand 
 echoes. Carmel itself heard the idolatrous thunder, 
 and frowned from its beautiful summit upon the god- 
 less crowd beneath. These priests now take their 
 place, and await the coming of Elijah. Alas, for the 
 good old seer of Judah ! What chance has he against 
 so many ? Eight hundred and fifty priests, the king, 
 
214 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 and all the people of the kingdom, to one man — one 
 unbefriended, hated man ! Fearful odds ! The day- 
 is ours! shouted the multitude. Let us cast Elijah, 
 when he comes, from the top of Carmel to the depths 
 of the sea ! 
 
 But where is Elijah ? Will he come ? They fear 
 not ; he has turned coward, and Baal is now, beyond 
 controversy, God. Hush thy voice, O vain idolater ! 
 hearest thou not the footsteps of the prophet? Look 
 across the valley of Jezreel ; seest thou a man with a 
 mantle cast around his shoulders ? he comes this way ; 
 he comes with solemn step and slow ; now he nears 
 the mount ; the people separate, making a way for 
 him through the midst; he falters not, but is erect 
 and firm as truth itself; his eye is eloquent of thought, 
 and upon his pale face solemnity reposes. No wonder : 
 it is Israel whom he sees before him, not assembled, as 
 of old, on Jehovah's side, but marshalled to hurl him 
 from his throne, and fill it with an idol. No wonder : 
 on the issue of this day's experiment depends the re- 
 enthronement of God in Jeshurun, and he, a defence- 
 less Hebrew prophet, is responsible for that issue. 
 Without uttering a word, Elijah ascends the moun- 
 tain. The king, the priests, and the people follow. 
 He reaches a favorable spot on its side where the trial 
 should be visible from all directions, and then he waves 
 his hand for silence. Every sound is hushed, and a 
 deathlike stillness reigns. What a moment of thrilling 
 suspense ! He speaks ; let us hear him. His words 
 are as bold as ever, and his bearing as confident. 
 " How long halt ye between two opinions ? if the Lord 
 be God, follow him, but if Baal be God, then follow 
 him." He pauses for a minute, but gets no reply. 
 " The people answered him not a word." Either they 
 are impatient to hear more, or they are self-condemned 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 215 
 
 for that contemptible indecision of character of which 
 EHjah has accused them. He speaks again. How 
 affecting are his next words ! "I, even I, only remain 
 a prophet of Jehovah, but Baal's prophets are four 
 hundred and fifty men." Notwithstanding this great 
 disproportion, however, he expresses his willingness to 
 proceed. He does so, and proposes that Baal's priests 
 should first of all cut a bullock to pieces, and lay it on 
 the wood, but no fire under it ; that he should do the 
 same with his bullock ; that they should then retire 
 from their respective altars, and wait the issue ; " the 
 God," he said, " that answereth by fire, let him be 
 God." Nothing could be more reasonable ; and with- 
 out apparently consulting either the king or his priests, 
 the people answered and said, " It is well spoken." 
 
 Having then succeeded thus far in obtaining their 
 acquiescence, Elijah challenges the idolaters to begin. 
 They begin ; they cut their bullock to pieces ; the 
 pieces are laid on the wood, but no fire is permitted to 
 be carried near them. There is anxious expectation 
 for a period ; they look to the top of Carmel ; they 
 gaze towards the sea ; they survey Jezreel's Vale, but 
 no fire appears. What cry was that ? " O Baal, 
 hear us !" Ah I this is a cry of threefold iniquity ; it 
 is a cry of fear, of unbelief, of idolatry. What a cry 
 to be heard from an assembly of Hebrews ! Who 
 would ever have predicted such a scene within the 
 territories of the promised land ? The day, however, 
 is advancing ; and as time is valuable when the cause 
 of truth is weighed in the trembling balances, Elijah 
 goes up to the priests. What a spectacle meets his 
 viev/ ! In their rage at their own god for not sending 
 fire, they had leaped upon the altar and broken it 
 dowTi. The prophet's courage by this time is greatly 
 confirmed, and in words of bitter irony he thus ad- 
 
216 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 dresses them : " Cry aloud; for he is a god: either he 
 is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, 
 or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked." 
 Maddened by this satirical description of their favorite 
 idol, they begin to cut themselves v^^ith knives and 
 lances, till the blood gushes out. 
 
 The day drags on, and the sun is already gilding 
 the Mediterranean with his setting beams ; but no 
 answer is given, and no fire descends. They have had 
 a fair trial, from the morning even until the time of 
 the offering of the evening sacrifice. Surely none can 
 object to Elijah's being now permitted to make the 
 trial of his God. Haggard and bleeding, the infat- 
 uated priests retire from the spot ; calm, dignified, and 
 assured, the servant of Jehovah approaches it. He 
 commands the people to come nigh. They draw near. 
 In their presence he repairs the altar, takes twelve 
 stones, according to the number of the twelve tribes 
 of Israel, and having finished the necessary prepara- 
 tion, he puts the wood in order, cuts his bullock into 
 pieces, and lays it on the wood. Being all ready now 
 to bring the grand experiment to a close, the thought 
 strikes him, they may attribute it to trick ; so he com- 
 mands them to fill four barrels of water, and to pour 
 them on the sacrifice and on the wood. They obey 
 him. This is done a second and a third time, till the 
 water ran round about the altar, and the trench was 
 filled with water. Thus deluged, the consumption of 
 the flesh by fire would cause a deeper impression. 
 
 The hour of the evening offering has now come. At 
 that hour the Holy One of Israel must inflame his 
 own sacrifice by his own fire, as of old in the wilder- 
 ness. The Tishbite walks up to the altar, folds his 
 mantle more closely around him, and raises his eyes, 
 and hands, and heart to heaven. The ghastly features 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 217 
 
 of the priests are lit up with the premature hope of a 
 failure as complete as their own. They come a little 
 nearer, and nearer to the prophet, bat he heeds them 
 not ; his soul is in communion with God. The mul- 
 titude, now to some extent cast down from the proud 
 vaunting with which they had heralded the dawn, 
 watch with breathless interest the procedure. At last 
 silence is broken. Every ear is turned to the altar to 
 hear that prophet's prayer. And for what does he 
 pray ? Listen. "Lord God of Abraham, Isaac, and 
 of Israel, let it be known this day that thou art God 
 in Israel, and that I am thy servant, and that I have 
 done all these things at thy word. Hear me, O Lord, 
 hear me ; that this people may know that thou art 
 the Lord God, and that thou hast turned their heart 
 back again." With v»'hat emotions would that vast 
 assembly await the answer to tlie simple but truly 
 sublime petition ! No sooner had the last words es- 
 caped the prophet's lips, than down came the fire of 
 God, and the whole sacrifice was instantly burned up, 
 as if it had been chaff in the furnace. 
 
 The experiment has succeeded. Jehovah's solitary 
 prophet has triumphed. The people are now carried 
 round to the side of truth ; and, falling down on their 
 faces, they cry out, "The Lord, he is the God ; the 
 Lord, he is the God." The order being given by Eli- 
 jah, the whole of Baal's priests are seized, dragged 
 dow^n the mountain to the brook Kishon, and every 
 one of them put to death. How terribly and surely 
 will Jehovah vindicate his own honor and majesty ! 
 The besetting sin of Israel being thus instantly laid 
 aside, the judgment which it had imprecated on the 
 land is as quickly removed. Elijah bids Ahab get up 
 and eat and drink ; " for," he says, " there is a sound 
 of abundance of rain." 
 
 10 
 
218 MOUNT CAR.MKI.. 
 
 Such were the august and important scenes that 
 day witnessed on Carmel ; and the following lessons, 
 among many others, are thereby taught us. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE INSTRUCTIONS FROM CARMEL. 
 
 SIN AND CURSE OF IDOLATRY HOW ITS PROGRESS MAY BE 
 
 ARRESTED DIVINE BLESSING RESTS ON BELIEVING PRAYERS 
 
 AND EFFORTS DUTY OF BEING DECIDED IN RELIGION. 
 
 I. Idolatry is the sin and curse of mankind. — 
 An enlightened Christian considers idolatry to be 
 largely diffused in countries called religious, and to 
 be as obnoxious and impious a thing in them as in 
 heathen lands. He believes all sin to be idolatry, and 
 all sinners, by whatsoever name they may be other- 
 wise called, to be idolaters. What is sin but the alien- 
 ation of the heart from God, and the gift of that heart 
 to some darling lust? Before God it does not matter 
 whether the idol worshipped be nominally a deity or 
 really an impure desire. Whatever a man lusts after, 
 that is his idol : whatever a man does, in order to 
 gratify such lusts, that is his idolatry. The worship 
 of the true God consists in fearing him, and keeping 
 his commandments; such, in fact, makes up the whole 
 duty of man. If, then, God is not feared, and his 
 commandments are not kept, he is not worshipped. 
 According to this view, then, sin is idolatry, and idol- 
 atry is the sin and the curse of mankind. It is our 
 priginal estate. Thus are we born, and thus do we 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 219 
 
 live, till grace translates us from Satan to God ; and 
 if we refuse or resist grace, thus it is that we die. 
 The descriptions given in the Bible of our depraved 
 nature corroborate this account. The sinner is there 
 declared to live "without God in the world." " God 
 is not in all his thoughts." He is a " lover of pleas- 
 ure, more than a lover of God." "He hath said in 
 his heart. There is no God." The person who thus 
 excludes, God, who gives to the creature the heart that 
 is demanded by the Creator, and who permits the 
 spirit that now works in the children of disobedience 
 to be his ruler, must be an idolater. As, then, you 
 find idolatry wherever you find man, so everywhere you 
 find the curse of God. " Judgments," says scripture, 
 " are prepared for scorners ;" but we find his judg- 
 ments as fearfully extensive in Christian as in heathen 
 lands. The scorners then must be everywhere, at 
 home as well as abroad, in the churclies of Christian- 
 ity, as well as in the temples of heathenism. This 
 view of the case withdraws our attention from the de- 
 falcations of God's ancient people, to the considera- 
 tion of our own. Are not we similarly disposed? 
 Our business, treasures, children, amusements, may 
 at any time become our Baal. In the haunts of im- 
 piety, or in the recesses of earthly affection, or at the 
 marts of traffic, we may be said to build our altars on 
 his high places, there to sacrifice to him our activities 
 and thoughts, yea, our very souls. How true must 
 this be, when even the apostle John saw it necessary 
 to say to Christians, " Little children, keep yourselves 
 from idols !" 
 
 It is lamentable to think of idolatry of this kind 
 abounding among Christian professors. We are as- 
 tonished at the ancient Hebrews ; we are disposed to 
 regard them as ingrates, and to pronounce thern fools j 
 
220 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 but we should be careful lest in so doing we condemn 
 and stigmatize ourselves. We, too, are a peculiar peo- 
 ple. Every mean of grace is at our right hand. God 
 can do no more for our vineyard than he has done ; and 
 yet, on taking a cursory glance at the state of society 
 in many parts of Britain, it would not be easy to say 
 w^hether Jehovah or Baal was God. Do we well to be 
 angry because Jehovah is frowning ? Ought we not 
 rather to talvc the w^arnings of his displeasure w^hich 
 abound in these days of darkness, and forsake our idols ? 
 No rain for more than three years fell in Samaria be- 
 cause of Israel's homage to Baal. How marked and 
 alarming was such a token of Jehovah's jealousy ! but 
 it was long unheeded, and, consequently, famine and 
 its liorrors bestrode the land. 
 
 Are there no signs of God's being angry with our 
 country at this period of its history ? Temporal dis- 
 asters have never been so extensive in their range, 
 nor so ruinous in their effects. The food that sustains 
 us has been blighted ; thousands have perished from 
 want of bread, and from the noisome pestilence ; while 
 an appalling plague sits at our door, ready to enter 
 and execute its commission. Are these things to be 
 considered the proofs of God's complacency in us? 
 Are vv^e to sit down and fold our hands, and conclude 
 that his anger is turned away ? God forbid. Jehovah 
 is offended. He has looked on while Baal and Ash- 
 torcth have for many years been deified in our land ; 
 and now his forbearance seems to be giving way, so 
 that his divine jealousy may vindicate his glory. It 
 is certainly the duty of Christians to send over help 
 to the perishing in Macedonia. Christ's kingdom 
 must be extended, though many at home will not be- 
 lieve. But we ought also to regard with deep concern 
 the sins of our own land. We are bound, alike by 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 221 
 
 Christian patriotism and piety, to pray for the revival 
 of religion, and for times of refreshing from the pres- 
 ence of the Lord amongst ourselves. 
 
 Some whisper that our country has passed the 
 zenith of her power, and that her sun is now on the 
 decline. If it be so, it is the righteous punishment 
 of our unfaithfulness and ungodliness ; but perhaps it 
 is not so. If, then, such a country as this can be 
 saved by hope, let us cherish that hope, by casting 
 down our idols and returning to Jehovah. In that 
 case, if Britain repent in sackcloth and ashes, as did 
 Nineveh of old, he may be prevailed on to withdraw 
 these clouds. Our land may have before her, her 
 brightest days ; and they who now prophesy only evil, 
 may live to see abounding Wessedness. This consum- 
 mation, however, depends on an honest and practical 
 abnegation of that intense worldly-mindedness under 
 which, for these past years, her people seem to have 
 been speU-bound. May God in his mercy grant that 
 we may be awakened to repentance, and set upon 
 reformation, and that we shall all ere long be seen 
 returning to him, and saying, " Asshur shall not save 
 us ; we will not ride upon horses ; neither wiU we say 
 any more to the work of our hands. Ye are our gods : 
 for in thee the fatherless findeth mercy !" 
 
 II. The friends of religion should exert them- 
 selves TO stay the progress of sin, and avert 
 DIVINE JUDGMENTS. — Thc discipIcs of Jcsus Christ 
 have his sacred truth deposited in their hands ; and 
 he has made them responsible for its maintenance 
 and diffusion. For whatever they are made respon- 
 sible, they are made capable ; and if they refuse to 
 employ their capacities, they must incur his dis- 
 pleasure, and be subjected to chastisement. Then- 
 paucity of numbers at any time, and their seeming 
 
222 MOUNT CARMEL 
 
 weakness, effect no change in their obligations. Whe- 
 ther many or few, weak or strong, it is still in their 
 power, as it is ever their duty, to do what is enjoined 
 in the way of promoting their divine Master's cause. 
 
 Principles such as these have need to be studied in 
 times of defection from the truth ; and those who are 
 witnesses for that truth, should not shun to declare 
 them. When a cause is popular, and on the ascend- 
 ant, it gains around it crowds of patrons. When its 
 reverses come, their applause is hushed, and it is 
 abandoned. But when this cause of Christ falls upon 
 dark days, and when its friends are few, then is the 
 time that the voice of its advocates should be lifted up 
 like a trumpet. Danger to life and property may be 
 thus incurred, but incurred it must be ; for Christians 
 are enjoined to be " faithful to death," and to be ever 
 ready to " forsake all and follow Christ." The world, 
 it may be, counts these very unreasonable terms; 
 hence, it refuses to have anything to do with the 
 matter. The genuine Christian, however, counts all 
 things but loss to win salvation for himself, and make 
 known the glad tidings to others. The conditions 
 thereof are gladly accepted, and it is his desire honorably 
 to implement them all. These observations are illus- 
 trated on a grand scale in the lives of the apostles, and 
 many of the primitive Christians. At the dawn of the 
 Reformation they were luminously embodied in Wyk- 
 liffe, Luther, Zuinglius, and Knox, who stood against 
 the world for the truth's sake. All missionaries, in- 
 deed, in heathen lands, and every conscientious and 
 consistent Lot in the midst of a crooked generation, 
 act out these principles in their advocacy of the gospel 
 of Christ. 
 
 And what else did the Tishbite ? What a glorious 
 exemplification of such principles have we in the scene 
 
MOUNT CAtfMEL. 223 
 
 described between him and Ahab ! The cause of 
 truth was in the dust, and Baal was on his high 
 place. Jealous for the honor of Jehovah ; and grieved 
 at the heart for his countrymen, Elijah, though alone 
 and unpatronized, withstood the royal patron of idola- 
 try to the face ! He spake for Jehovah ; not in a cor- 
 ner, but in a crowd ; not in a whisper, but with a 
 loud and significant voice ; not in bland and studied 
 phraseology, such as suit the manners of a court, but 
 in stern and truthful denunciations, such as became 
 the man of God ; not with a multitude at his back, 
 ready to carry him through his enterprize, but with a 
 nation before him gnashing their teeth, and imprecat- 
 ing curses on his head! What cares Elijah? His 
 life is not his own. If God chooses to take it, good 
 and well ; if not, then let it be consecrated to his side. 
 What was the result ? Truth triumphed ; judgments 
 were averted. Thus, having had it put within his 
 power to arrest sin, and win a battle for his God, he 
 used his means and did what he could. No more was 
 asked of him ; no more is expected of any of us ; and 
 he did wondrously. A more momentous battle was 
 fought on Carmel than on Marathon or Waterloo ; 
 greater interests were at stake, and a far more splen- 
 did triumph was achieved. But what a contrast 
 otherwise ! On Carmel were thousands against one 
 man ; he was a poor prophet of the Lord ; but he had 
 faith, and he could pray, and he won the victory. 
 
 This teaches us what even one man can do in aid 
 of the gospel, and on the side of philanthropy. He is 
 a coward who will not stand to his side because num- 
 bers are against him. It does not follow that a ma- 
 jority is in the right ; upon the subject of religion it 
 often is not so. Read the great chapters of church 
 history, and you will find that truth has generally 
 
224 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 made her way to the throne agai-nst the hootings of 
 insensate rabbles, often led on by men whose craft 
 was endangered by her progress. As it has been, so 
 it is likely to be. Christians, you have it in your 
 power to stop the progress of sin. Having possession 
 of God's truth, you are bound to circulate it. You 
 have many opportunities of doing this, and of thereby 
 rebuking sin, in the support you may give to projects 
 for the suppression of vice, and the revival of religion, 
 its defence at home, and its promulgation abroad. 
 Near to you lie the materials for besieging the strong- 
 holds of Satan, and you have but to challenge the 
 scorner, and you will conquer. You must conquer. 
 What can stand long against the Bible, when projected 
 by skilful and vigorous faith against the feeble de- 
 fences of error ? What unsupported buttress of the 
 father of lies can long resist the force of a righteous 
 man's prayers ? What amount of exalted and exult- 
 ing evil can long remain before the dauntless use of 
 spiritual weapons by God's men of war ? Soon, at 
 home, and soon in distant lands, the p-teans of Chris- 
 tian victory over heathenism, would make the arches 
 above us resound, if every disciple of Christ were as 
 the prophet Elijah. After what we have seen him 
 effect, let no man despise the worth of mere individual 
 effort in the cause of the gospel. 
 
 But there is more. By thus laboring for the ascen- 
 dency of truth, the friends of religion may become the 
 true benefactors of their race ; they may avert the 
 divine judgments. When Elijah persuaded Israel to 
 abandon Baal, the bottles ef heaven were opened, and 
 the earth rejoiced in the refreshing rain. We recently 
 were visited with drought and dearth, consequently, 
 with famine, and disease, and dcatli. These were 
 our national judgments, and all traceable to our na- 
 
MOITNT CARMEL. 225 
 
 tional sins. The men among us, our Elijahs, who 
 could discern the signs of the times, betook themselves 
 to more activity in God's cause ; they convened the 
 multitudes to the scene of confession and prayer, and 
 the ear of God was filled with our cries. We had 
 power with him, and prevailed. He sent us deliver- 
 ance. Oh I it was not counsel from before the throne, 
 nor wisdom from the senate, nor grimace beside the 
 altar that did it. Jehovah did it : and he did it in 
 answer to the prayers of the saints, and because of the 
 contrition of the godly ; these prayers and that contri- 
 tion, having been oflered for acceptance on the grounds 
 of the all-sufficient atonement of Christ. Ay, and so 
 it was, sneer as infidelity may; fanaticism, though 
 the free-thinker call it ; religion run mad, though some 
 professors affect to think it. 
 
 We can do it again. Judgments are thickening 
 around us ; God is angry. The latter end may be 
 worse than the beginning of sorrows. Let us blow the 
 trumpet in Zion, and call on all men everywhere to 
 repent. If we succeed in persuading our fellow-men 
 to learn righteousness from these judgments, we are 
 true philanthropists. The heavens are no longer as 
 brass, nor the earth as iron. Prosperity returns to our 
 merchandize, to be henceforth more justly consecrated 
 to God ; threatening pestilences are driven from our 
 shores ; hostile nations are terror-stricken before our 
 majestic uprising, God putting the fear of Britain upon 
 all countries ; iniquity, as ashamed, hides her hideous 
 face ; and death, on his pale horse, gallops back again 
 to his own dismal place. 
 
 We can do it. Well, then, shall w^e do it ? Who 
 can answer nay ? Only let the Bible be more than 
 ever the man of our counsel ; prayer, secret and dom- 
 estic, more than ever our choice resort ; the precious 
 
 10^ 
 
226 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 Sabbaths more than ever strictly hallowed, and their 
 hours of rest more seriously guarded against secular 
 invasions ; only let the public ordinances of Christian- 
 ity be more numerously attended, less for show, and 
 more for spiritual good ; only let our substance, as God 
 has prospered us, be more liberally cast into God's 
 treasury, for the conversion of the world ; only let all 
 ministers of religion be more in earnest in their min- 
 istry, and all the people more candid, humble, and 
 prayerful in hearing ; only let the churches of every 
 denomination forget their minor differences in intense 
 concern for the major cause of Christ and his truth ; 
 and I believe the dark clouds that lower above our 
 land, and the darker ones that loom in the distance, 
 would speedily disappear, and the gladsome days of 
 peace, piety, and plenty would dawn upon a penitent 
 and a pardoned people. 
 
 But, alas ! these are not legislative measures ; they 
 do not smack of political ingenuity ; they come not 
 with the air and authority of worldly wisdom ; besides, 
 they are old-fashioned appliances ; their employment 
 is too easy, and their auxiliaries are too vulgar. What 
 has royalty, or what aristocracy, to do with repentings 
 and prayers as remedies for commercial panics and 
 national disasters? and what have the men of this 
 world to do with the severities of godly contrition and 
 the aspirations of heavenly faith ? Well, so they 
 reason, and hence they refuse to try the weapons of 
 our warfare. Let us beware, and not be cooUed by 
 their indifference, or intimidated by their ridicule. It 
 is our duty to repress sin, defend truth, and implore 
 the blessing from above ; and it may be that, though 
 unacknowledged at present, the destinies of our coun- 
 try may be seen hereafter, on history's honest page, 
 coming forth, in all their grandeur and importance, 
 
MOUNT CARMEL* 227 
 
 from the unostentatious piety of an age that haughtily 
 asked our Elijah, " Art thou he that troubleth Israel ?" 
 or, that in derision cried after him on whom that pro- 
 phet's mantle fell, '^ Go up, thou bald-head ; go up, 
 thou bald-head." 
 
 III. God avill aid efforts and answer prayers 
 
 FOR THE PROGRESS AND TRIUMPH OF TRUTH. JcSUS 
 
 Christ is the author and finisher of human redemption 
 — a work to which every other in the universe of God 
 is inferior. To Him, therefore, who glorified God in 
 rearing and perfecting it, all in heaven and on earth 
 are to be eternally subjected. Creation is given to 
 him, to use it as he lists for building up Zion. Provi- 
 dence is given to him, to carry forward by its means 
 the resolutions of the council of peace ; and it is as 
 our Mediator that he handles the reins of government 
 in both of these dominions, so as to make every crea- 
 ture and event conspire to advance the kingdom of 
 grace. It is evident, therefore, that his glory is insep- 
 arably associated with the one cause of gospel truth in 
 our sinful world. That glory is not promoted by his 
 omnipotent fiat, which may every moment be bringing 
 new worlds into existence, nor by the subjugation of 
 every created intelligence to his divine pleasure, nor 
 in the contributions of universal providences to the 
 praise of his uncollegiated sovereignty ; no ; that glory 
 of Jesus Christ, the Mediator King, is promoted by the 
 homage of creation and providence to redemption, by 
 the designs of God in the latter being progressively 
 wrought out in the dispensations and works of the 
 former. 
 
 The legitimate inference from such a truth is, that 
 the Head of the church must take an absorbing interest 
 in that by which his mediatorial glory is to be pro- 
 moted ; which means, that he will notice and bless 
 
228 MOUNT CARAIEL. 
 
 every effort made, and answer every prayer presented,- 
 for the prosperity of Zion. In his holy purposes to 
 build up mercy, he, as it were, disregards the multi- 
 plication of those gorgeous temples of creation which 
 display only his wisdom, benevolence, and power ; and 
 in his affectionate care to bring into his own presence 
 the children who are to be " the travail of his soul," he 
 seems to overlook the crowds of angels, and of other 
 innocent beings who need not this mercy, and there- 
 fore only celebrate the praises of his bounty. What 
 motive is this to effort and prayer amongst Christians ! 
 The hand that moves creation is outstretched for the 
 cause of gospel holiness on the earth ; the eye that 
 comprehends in a glance the vast regions of infinitude, 
 is fixed constantly on the apparently little Jiingdom of 
 grace, silently but surely working its way in our 
 world ; and that heart which gives pulsation to all 
 conscious existence, beats largely and strongly for the 
 revival and mastery of the truth, as it circulates from 
 him throughout the membership of his mystical body. 
 Why is it, then, that Christians, who have this 
 truth in their custody, and who were made Christians 
 that they might go and preach it to all the world ; 
 why is it that they are so backward to carry the war 
 of the gospel into the territories of Satan ? and why so 
 timid about their success for recovering the world? 
 Truth in itself is great, and must prevail ; but the 
 God of truth is greater than the truth, and he is on 
 our side. It is truth we are maintaining ; we may 
 therefore be confident in the intrinsic excellence of our 
 cause. Our leader into all truth is " the Spirit of 
 truth ;" and therefore we may without fainting pursue. 
 Our shield is the blessing of the God of truth ; and 
 therefore we cannot possibly be wounded in pressing 
 
MOUNT CAR. MEL. 229 
 
 forward to the mark to which He from on high is 
 calling us. 
 
 These considerations impart valae and dignity to 
 the humble means of the gospel enterprise. The 
 Bible may be disrespected as the composition of ami- 
 able but weak enthusiasts ; notwithstanding, its cir- 
 culation will put to flight the false religions. The 
 preaching of the gospel, which is foolishness in the 
 view of many, will, ere long, pull down the strong- 
 holds of Satan. The Christian pastor, prosecuting 
 meekly, but earnestly, his sublime vocation, may pass 
 unheeded through life's bustling colonnades, and die 
 unlamented by the minions of Mammon ; still, he has 
 sown that seed which, in other days, v/ill bring forth 
 the bread of life to famishing thousands ; and he has 
 excavated that field of spiritual wealth, from whose 
 mines shall be lifted the "pearl of great price," by 
 which " the great globe itself" is to be enriched and 
 beautified. The missionary enterprise may be toler- 
 ated as a project of innocent benevolence, or de- 
 nounced as a piece of splendid hallucination; before 
 its marches, however, and counter-marches, its sieges 
 and battles, philosophy shall retire into the shade, con- 
 fessing its incapacity to elevate the moral condition of 
 man, while every shrine of idolatry, and every dogma 
 of superstition w411 disappear, leaving the ground to be 
 occupied by the temples of Christianity, and the peo- 
 ple to be instructed by the oracles of God. Prayer to 
 (jod, personal or social, as a mean to give efficacy to 
 those weak things of the world which God hath chosen 
 to confound the things which are mighty, may be 
 hooted as impotent and drivelling; notwithstanding, 
 the effectual fervent prayers of the righteous will avail 
 to evangelize mankind. At the prayer meeting on 
 Carmel there was only one man, and he uttered only 
 
230 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 one short prayer. But how magnificent the result ! 
 Fire from heaven descended ; Baal fell ; Jehovah was 
 exalted ; Israel once more embraced truth, and im- 
 bibed life. 
 
 It is a trite saying that *' money is the sinews of 
 war." It may be so ; but it is not the sinews of the 
 gospel enterprise : prayers are these sinews. Money 
 is needed ; it must be had ; but prayers are still more 
 indispensable. Money contributed on the most muni- 
 ficent scale, cannot bring faith to, nor institute prayer 
 in the church, and without both, the world never rises 
 out of its darkness. But prayer can bring more faith 
 to Christians, and when their faith is increased, so 
 must their liberality. The Tishbite's prayer, without 
 any of Israel's money, brought Israel back to God ; 
 but all the wealth of Ahab and Jezebel could not 
 have withdrawn God's people from Baal, without the 
 prayer of Elijah. Christians, study Elijah's attitudes 
 on Carmel, when he prayed for fire and for rain. Can 
 you conceive of any position more useful, more sub- 
 lime ? Be advised to occupy a similar one for your- 
 selves. We do not bid you make any pilgrimage to 
 Carmel. Remain where you are ; but pray, like 
 Elijah, where you are ; and pray earnestly for the 
 cause of godliness in this wicked generation. 
 
 IV. Every man is bound to be decided in the 
 MATTER OF RELIGIOUS TRUTH. — All othcr qucstions may 
 remain uninvestigated and unsolved, and the soul 
 may be safe ; but if the question of the truth of revela- 
 tion be yet either a matter of unbelief, or of specula-^ 
 tive investigation, then the soul is in imminent dan- 
 ger. There is more peril, perhaps, in the halt between 
 the two opinions than in any other state of the mind, 
 upon the subject of religion. Hence the prophet called 
 the attention of Israel to the sin of their indecision. 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 231 
 
 It would seem that while they consented to worship 
 Baal, there was among them some hankering also 
 after the good old way of worshipping the Jehovah of 
 their fathers. Elijah represents this as a most con- 
 temptible state of mind, and urges them to come to a 
 decision at once, and either be idolaters out and out, 
 or else true and consistent followers of Jehovah. 
 
 And so would we now, in conclusion, urge it upon 
 you who, though nominally Christian, have not after 
 all made up your minds upon the subject of vital 
 truth. You are at present attempting an impossible 
 thing — the worship of Jehovah and Baal at the same 
 time. Now, remember what Christ said, '•' Ye cannot 
 serve God and Mammon." If you are using this 
 world as abusing it ; that is, if the great body of your 
 thoughts and activities are about this world ; then ye 
 are serving Mammon. You go about, now wearing 
 his gaudy livery, and now dragging his chains ; now 
 coaxed by his promises, false and vain, and now half 
 choked with his dust and dirt. Only continue a little 
 longer in his service, and you will soon reap in full the 
 wages he has not promised, disappointment here, and 
 misery hereafter. Your profession, we admit, is relig- 
 ious. You say you have made up your mind, and 
 you do follow Christ. But you say what is not true ; 
 by your every day conduct you are condemned. That 
 weary worldly life you lead, is certainly not the life of 
 faith in God ; and these pretty outward performances 
 before his altars, have just about as little to do with 
 true piety, as the tenant of the garnished sepulchre 
 has to do with the consciousness, beauty, and joys of 
 young life. Ah ! thoughtless men, think, say what 
 you please, but this awful truth stands against you, 
 that you are yet far from God. If you say. We have 
 taken up our abode in Christ, he replies, " I knoW thy 
 
232 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 works, and where thou dwellest ; even where Satan's 
 seat is." If you say, We beUeve " the Lord is God," 
 he will answer, "I know you, that you have not the 
 love of God in you." If you say, '' Other gods have 
 had dominion over us, but we now call upon thy 
 name," he will reply, "Jesus I know, and Paul I 
 know ; but who are ye ?" 
 
 It is surely more than time that ye were bringing 
 this weighty question to an issue. You have tampered 
 too long already with eternal truth ; you have sported 
 too long on the confines of light, without abandoning 
 the region of darkness ; you have provoked the Saviour 
 well nigh, it may be, to depart altogether from your 
 coasts, by holding communion with Belial, at th~e 
 same time that you tell him that your fellowship is 
 through him with the father. Oh, beware ! It is not 
 safe for the hypocrite and worldling to join themselves 
 to the assemblies of the sons of God, with all their 
 sins and indecisions strong upon and within them. 
 Remember the same fire that comes down to consume 
 the sacrifice of the unbeliever may fall in terrible 
 judgment upon the mocker. The blood of a prophet of 
 Baal has, ere this, been mingled with the sacrifice of a 
 man of God — appalling termination to a life avowedly 
 consecrated to the service of truth, but in reality sac- 
 rificed to the belief of a lie ! 
 
 Many, alas ! too many, professed Christians do not 
 at all appreciate what is said to them about the ad- 
 vantages and felicities of a decidedly religious state 
 The reason is, they will not let go their hold of the 
 world ; they refuse to step across the boundary that 
 separates the dominion of God from that of Satan ; 
 they consequently never taste one particle of the gos- 
 pel's fat things, and how then can they know that 
 God is good ? It is painful io contemplate the condi- 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 233 
 
 tion of some good moral men ; they are almost per- 
 suaded to be Christians ; they hover on the brink of 
 vital truth ; now they decide to take the blessed spring 
 forward into its outstretched arms ; but now the love 
 of the world exerts its power, and they fall back again 
 upon its treacherous bosom. Sometimes they are so 
 nearly resolved to make the trial, that you would al- 
 most pronounce upon their doing so ; but, in a twink- 
 ling, a return to Mammon quenches the desire, and all 
 again is cold and dead within their hearts. Thus they 
 live, often accusing religion, perhaps, as really deceit- 
 ful in its promises, and never conducting them to that 
 satisfactory state of mind which it professes to give 
 and maintain ; and thus they die. They die ! Where ? 
 In the halt between two opinions. They were not al- 
 together the world's, and now by the world they are 
 abandoned ; they were never God's, and now his gra- 
 cious face they shall never see ; victims of mere hesi- 
 tation, dupes of a vacillating policy, terrorists as re- 
 gards hell, compromisers as regards heaven, — they fall 
 and are forever lost ! 
 
MOUNT TABOR, 
 
 THE TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. 
 
 In entering upon the consideration of the subhine 
 scene of the Transfiguration of our blessed Lord, we 
 pass from Old Testament shadows to New Testament 
 reahties; from the Shekina as a type, to ''the only- 
 begotten of the Father," who is "the brightness of his 
 glory, and the express image of his person." 
 
 The " Desire of all nations had come." The vir- 
 gin's child was born. For more than thirty years he 
 had tabernacled among men. He had called around 
 him his chosen witnesses. They had often beheld his 
 glory in miracle and doctrine ; but the time of his de- 
 parture was at hand, and he must confirm the faith of 
 the apostles ; he must attach them immovably to him- 
 self and his gospel ; he must indelibly impress it upon 
 their minds, that he was indeed and in truth the Holy 
 One of God, concerning whom Moses, in the law, and 
 the prophets, did write. This he did in a most strik- 
 ing and memorable form. To add the testimony of 
 Moses and the prophets to his own, he summoned to 
 Tabor the two illustrious heads of the legal and pro- 
 phetical dispensations, and received from them their 
 several credentials. These were laid down at his feet, 
 and his sole headship, his mediatorial suflicicncy and 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 235 
 
 supremacy, were by them acknowledged. Although, 
 then, we now stand on the eve of the gospel dispensa- 
 tion, our conversation must for a little longer be with 
 two of the greatest men of the expiring economy ; 
 and though it be in a new form that we look upon him, 
 our adorations are still to be rendered to the same di- 
 vine Being who appeared in the bush at Horeb, and in 
 the fires of Sinai and Carmel. That meek and lowly- 
 looking man, Jesus of Nazareth, is none else than the 
 *' Jehovah" of the Old Testament economy; he is the 
 ^' Lord God of Abraham ;" he is the " Angel of the 
 Covenant." All along it has been his wont to make 
 use of the everlasting hills for discoveries of his ma- 
 jesty ; and when, in human form, he sojourns with 
 men on the earth, we see him frequently ascending 
 them, at one time making them his pulpit for preach- 
 ing, at another his closet for prayer, and at a third, as 
 in the scene before us, his Shekina for unveiling his 
 glory. Let us go, then, even unto Tabor, to behold 
 that glory, and worship him accordingly. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE SCENES ON TABOR. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BATTLE OF MOUNT TABOR NAPOLEON BO- 
 NAPARTE CHRIST AND THREE DISCIPLES ASCEND IT THE 
 
 TRANSFIGURATION ITS MYSTICAL SIGNIFICATIONS. 
 
 Tabor, upon the summit of which the scene to be 
 described is understood to have occurred, is situated 
 on the northeastern side of the great plain of Es- 
 
236 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 draelon, in Palestine, about two leagues southeast of 
 Nazareth. It is considered to be the highest mountain 
 in Lower Galilee, and rises about a thousand feet above 
 the level of the sea. Though surrounded by other 
 mountains on all sides, yet it is the only one that 
 stands entirely by itself It appears that on its sum- 
 mit are considerable ruins, the masonry of which is 
 traced to the time of the Romans. Some thmk that 
 these ruins must be the remains of the thick wall built 
 round the mountain by Josephus, in the Jewish war. 
 The view from the top is by every traveller described 
 as of extraordinary beauty and great extent. "The 
 path," says one, " wound around the mountain, and 
 gave us a view from all its difierent sides, every step 
 presenting something new, and more and more beauti- 
 ful, until all was completely forgotten, and lost in the 
 exceeding loveliness of the view. Stripped of every 
 association, and considered merely as an elevation 
 commanding a view of unknown valleys and moun- 
 tains, I never saw a mountain which, for beauty of 
 scene, better repaid the toil of ascending it." Each 
 feature in this magnificent prospect is said to be 
 exceedingly grand ; the eye and the mind are alike 
 delighted ; and by a combination of objects and asso- 
 ciations unusual to fallen man, earthly scenes which 
 more than satisfy the external sense, elevate the soul 
 to heavenly contemplations. 
 
 The upper plain of Tabor has at different times 
 been under cultivation ; but when from oppression or 
 fear abandoned by the cultivator, it becomes a tabic of 
 rich grass and wild flowers, which send forth a most 
 refreshing and luxurious odor. In summer, the dews 
 fall copiously on the mountain, and a strong wind 
 blows over it all day. Thick clouds rest upon its head 
 every morning, and do not disappear till noon. The 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 237 
 
 moTintain consists of limestone, and, as viewed from 
 the southwest, presents the form of a segment of a 
 sphere ; from the northwest it resembles a truncated 
 cone. Its sides are mostly covered with bushes, and 
 woods of oak trees, with a few pistachios of a beautiful 
 aspect, and affording a fine shade. The crest of Tabor 
 is table-land, of 600 or 700 yards in height from north 
 to south, and of about half as much across, and a flat 
 field of about an acre occurs at a level of some 20 or 
 25 feet lower than the eastern brow. 
 
 There is one circumstance appertaining to the 
 modern history of this sacred mountain to which we 
 may refer in passmg, as forming a striking contrast to 
 the solemn scene of which it was the witness nearly 
 two thousand years ago. The historian informs us 
 that the battle of Mount Tabor was fought in this 
 locality, nearly fifty years since, between the French 
 and the Turks. It was a sanguinary engagement, 
 ha\dng commenced in the morning, when the French 
 genera] Kleber marched his 3000 soldiers into the plain, 
 to encounter the Turkish army of 15,000 infantry and 
 12,000 splendid cavalry. While the battle raged, we 
 are told that a figure was seen standing on the top of 
 Tabor, keenly surveying the conflict on the plain be- 
 neath. This was Napoleon Bonaparte, a name in 
 many respects execrable, and at which the world has 
 often turned pale. It seems he made choice of this 
 elevation to watch his opportunity for a final and fatal 
 charge. When, then, the wearied Kleber was w^ell 
 nigh despairing, this extraordinary man descended from 
 the mountain, with only a single division of a small 
 army, and with only one piece of cannon, and rushing 
 to the rescue, completely put the Turks to flight ; 
 they were driven back towards the Jordan, where 
 Murat was waiting to receive them and to hew them 
 
238 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 to pieces. It is said that Murat declares that the 
 recollection of the transfiguration of the Redeemer on 
 the top of Tabor came upon him in the hottest of 
 the engagement, and that it nerved him with additional 
 courage. What an extraordinary perversion of a 
 scriptural reminiscence ! 
 
 The emperor, his generals, and their victories, are 
 passing away into forgetfulness, and their memories 
 will finally rot ; but the scriptural associations of that 
 mountain, and the plain from which it rises, will never 
 be forgotten. In respect of these things, let us now 
 sing with David, " O thou enemy, destructions are 
 come to a perpetual end, and thou hast destroyed 
 cities ; their memorial is perished with them. But 
 the Lord shall endure forever : he hath prepared his 
 throne for judgment." " Thy name, O Lord, endureth 
 forever ; and thy memorial, O Lord, throughout all 
 generations," But let us go away, with righteous 
 abhorrence, from the demon of war, and watch the 
 footsteps of the Prince of peace, on that evening when 
 he manifested forth his glory in the manner narrated 
 by the evangelist. ^'^ 
 
 According to his wont, our Lord had been engaged 
 during the day, let us suppose, in the neighboring vil- 
 lage of Nazareth, in works of benevolence, in argu- 
 mentation with his enemies, in the endurance of their 
 contradictions, and in the instruction of his disciples. 
 He looks wearied, and in need of rest ; but the Son 
 of man has not where to lay his head. He is hungry, 
 perhaps, and thirsty ; but there are no refreshments 
 at hand ; no friend is near to offer him a cup of cold 
 water. What shall he do ? It is now evening, and 
 the dark clouds obscure the distant hills, and veil Es- 
 
 ♦ Matt. xvii. 1—13. 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 239 
 
 draelon in gloom. All is silent in the city, and all are 
 sleeping in the plain. He watches the drowsiness of 
 nature, after labor, falling upon his twelve attendants, 
 and he leaves them to find repose where they could ; 
 but he quickly returns, and signifies to three of them 
 that they must arise and follow him. They do so ; as 
 it is the invariable disposition of all who love him to 
 go where he bids them, especially to follow when he 
 leads the way. But do they not inquire whither he 
 is taking them on a night so dark, and across a plain 
 so wild and inhospitable ? No, they do not. It is 
 theirs to acquiesce, and wait to hear an explanation ; 
 not impatiently to demand it. The Lord is unusually 
 quiet ; he is evidently under the solemnizing antici- 
 pation of some extraordinary occurrence. The three 
 discern this, and they do not intrude upon his musings. 
 Still, curiosity may be at work, and they may venture 
 to whisper among themselves what they will not re- 
 mark to him. 
 
 If from Nazareth they have come, they have now 
 walked fully six miles ; a long journey at such an 
 hour, and after such a day's fatigue ; but it is not easy 
 to fag when in the company of the Saviour, and when 
 hearing the sound of his footsteps before us. At length 
 a dark and immense object stands before them. What 
 can this be ? They approach it. It is a mountain ! 
 It is Tabor I The disciples watch the motions of their 
 Master ; surely they mistake ; he is not going to scale 
 such a steep hill, after such a long walk, and in such 
 a wearied state of body and mind, and expose both 
 himself and them to the dangers of an ascent in the 
 dark? Yes, he is; for it is written, "He bringeth 
 them up into an high mountain apart." Having 
 reached the spot on which the exercises of the evening 
 are to be observed, they notice that he retires a little 
 
240 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 from them, and kneels down to engage in prayer. 
 Some students of the oracles here think, that as he 
 was thus employed, the weakness of the flesh came 
 upon the disciples, and they fell asleep upon the grass. 
 Let us not blame them ; they were but men, and na- 
 ture was overcome. Besides, he had asigned them no 
 duty, and though they could not but admire his love 
 of devotion, they felt that to imitate him in everything 
 was impossible. If it be so that they did now sleep, 
 it is singular that afterwards, when in the garden of 
 Gethsemane he was agonized, these same men also 
 gave way to the same infirmity. The spirit may be 
 very willing, though the flesh be very weak. It is com- 
 fortable to us to reflect that " he knoweth our frame ; 
 he remembereth that we are dust." 
 
 How long he remained in prayer is not told ; but, 
 as he prayed, a very glorious answer to his petitions 
 was given. Suddenly the mountain top became the 
 scene of a brilliant illumination. Whereas all had 
 been enveloped in darkness, now all is light. What 
 can this be ? Has the sun arisen before his time, or 
 has some new constellation, like " his own star in the 
 east," appeared to honor the Lord of glory? No. 
 That light is not natural ; it is the transfiguration of 
 the Redeemer's body ; not any change in its substance, 
 but a change in its external appearance has taken 
 place. Let an eye-witness describe it: " His face did 
 shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as the 
 light." So white, says one evangelist, '' as no fuller on 
 earth can white them." This need not surprise those 
 who believe the Saviour to be " the imago of the in- 
 visible God ;" yea, even " the brightness of the Father's 
 glory." 
 
 But who are these conversing with him so familiarly 
 and so pleasantly ? Have the disciples arisen out of 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 241 
 
 their sleep and gone to join their Lord in prayer ? No ; 
 these are two inhabitants of the invisible word. If so, 
 are they angels who have been accustomed to be with 
 him in this grand manifestation of his glory, and who 
 are here to strengthen him for the work before him on 
 Calvary ? No ; these are men, 
 
 " Once like us with suffering tried, 
 But now with glory crowned." 
 
 The evangelist tells us that "they appeared in 
 glory ;" which means in glorified bodies ; in the same 
 kind of bodies that shall be given to all the saints in 
 the morning of the resurrection. That body is to be 
 exceedingly resplendent. It is evident that its lustre 
 must be so, when, notwithstanding the exceeding 
 glory of the person of Jesus at this time, these two 
 were discernible beside him. Let us endeavor to 
 recognize who they are. He who stands on the right 
 hand of the transfigured Jesus is Moses. What sad 
 scenes and vicissitudes have passed over Canaan and 
 Israel since we parted with him on Pisgah ! Then 
 and there he died, but his body was hid by the Lord. 
 Now for the first time does it re-appear ; but v/hether 
 it had been raised from the grave just this very even- 
 ing, and conveyed hither, or whether it had been asso- 
 ciated for a longer time with those of Enoch and 
 Elijah in heaven, we cannot tell. Here, however, so 
 much of the mystery is at last solved. 
 
 No man had been more highly honored in and by 
 the church than Moses. His authority was next to 
 supreme, and " no rival would be likely to subvert his 
 influence amongst the Jews." To him who had been 
 the penman of the Pentateuch ; the conqueror of 
 Pharaoh ; the legislator and the prophet of Israel, all 
 were willing to contribute their homage and support, 
 
 n 
 
242 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 How exceedingly fitting, then, to this crisis in the 
 church's history, is the summons given to this eminent 
 servant of God to appear on Tabor on such a night as 
 this ! Whatever the foolish people whom he had so 
 long to lead and tolerate, might think of him in prefer- 
 ence to Jesus, here is he himself, after he had been 
 dead fifteen hundred years, testifying to his Messiah- 
 ship, and laying down the dispensation, of which he 
 was the chief, at the feet of Mary's son. And why 
 should he hesitate ? That economy had served its 
 day ; it w^as but a shadow after all ; and who would 
 rejoice more than Moses himself in placing above it 
 the mighty substance of the truth as it is in Christ ? 
 
 But who is he that stands on the left of the Saviour ? 
 who is this ? It is Elijah ! There stands the Tish- 
 bite again ; the hero of Carmel is once more on the 
 tops of the mountains. Bat *'what doest thou here, 
 Elijah?" Where hast thou been these nine hundred 
 years ? What hast thou been doing since the day on 
 which the waters of Jordan and the hills of Judea saw 
 thy grand translation in the chariot of fire ? — the day 
 in the which thou didst, by a v/hirlwind, go up into 
 heaven ? Ah ! many Ahabs have made Israel to sin, 
 and many Baals have usurped the place of thy God, 
 since last we heard thy stern reprovals of abounding 
 iniquity ! Elijah is here for much the same reason as 
 Moses. He also had represented an important depart- 
 ment of the Jewish hierarchy. He was the chief of 
 the prophetical dispensation, and now appeared in the 
 room of every one of them, from the days of Enoch to 
 the days of Malachi. If the Jews clave to their law- 
 giver, they were also strongly attached to their pro- 
 phets ; and he could not expect much favor in their 
 eyes, who should aspire to being their superior. Well, 
 fiere is prophecy also bowing the knee to our Lord, 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 243 
 
 and acknowledging that he is the person to whom it 
 pointed, and that in him ancient predictions are al- 
 ready, or are yet to be accomplished. How exceed- 
 ingly appropriate, then, this selection from among the 
 ransomed of the Lord, of Moses and Elias ; who had, 
 of all ancient Jews, been most distinguished for religion 
 and usefulness, and who now united in giving honor to 
 Christ as the great High Priest of whom the one in 
 the law, and the other in the prophecy did write ! 
 
 But is there nothing more involved in their appear- 
 ance on Tabor than this ? We think there is. It is 
 admitted that the Shekina, that is, " the tabernacled 
 presence and residence of the Most High," was an 
 emblem of the Son of God ; it was the principal 
 theophany, or manifestation of the Deity, in Old Tes- 
 tament times. Might not this be the " flaming sword 
 which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree 
 pf life," after the expulsion of Adam and Eve from 
 Paradise ? Was not this the '' Angel of the Lord," 
 so often spoken of as appearing unto the patriarchs ? 
 Did not Moses, more than any of the sons of men, 
 frequently behold this Shekina, at first in the burning 
 bush, then on the top of Sinai, oft afterwards in the 
 pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by night, then in the 
 tabernacle, above the mercy seat? and, more especially, 
 was there not given to him, as a very distinguished 
 token of divine regard, an answer to his prayer, " I 
 beseech thee, show me thy glory ?" '' Thou canst not 
 see my face," said the Lord : " for there shall no man 
 see me, and live ; but thou shalt see my back parts." 
 Accordingly, Moses was placed in a clift of the rock, 
 on the top of Sinai, and "the Lord covered him with 
 his hand as he passed by before him, and proclaimed 
 the name of the Lord." In the case of Elijah, again, 
 he too had enjoyed interviews with the eternal Son, 
 
244 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 and had seen the mysterious fire come down from 
 heaven. On Horeb, he also had vouchsafed to him a 
 vision of a most sublime description. There, v^^hile he 
 lodged in the cave, '' the Lord passed by, and a great 
 and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in 
 pieces the rocks, before the Lord ; but the Lord was 
 not in the wind : and after the wind an earthquake ; 
 but the Lord was not in the earthquake: and after 
 the earthquake a fire ; but the Lord was not in the 
 fire : and after the fire a still small voice. And it 
 was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his 
 face in his mantle." 
 
 Thus, it appears that, in the days of their flesh, 
 both of these men had desired to see the glory of God, 
 the Shekina ; but they were favored only with such a 
 degree of this mysterious representative emblem as 
 their then frail condition could sustain. Now, how- 
 ever, that the " Angel of his presence" had been made 
 flesh, and was dwelling among men, and now that the 
 respective heads of law and prophecy were glorified 
 themselves, their earnest prayers were literally an- 
 swered. Each of them, in his mortal state, had been 
 a witness for the Lord, and in a manner peculiar to 
 themselves. Here, then, on Tabor were they privi- 
 leged to identify the New Testament Saviour with the 
 Old Testament Shekina ; teaching us that Christ was 
 not only transfigured in the presence, and for the in- 
 struction of his disciples, but in the presence, and for 
 the gratification of these two glorified men. Having 
 seen, long ago, the symbol, their eyes now recognized 
 the reality. Now they got an understanding such as 
 they never had before of the " Lord God, merciful and 
 gracious," and of " the still small voice," heard on the 
 occasions referred to. 
 
 These three glorious individuals, we are informed, 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 245 
 
 entered into conversation ; and of what do they speak ? 
 " Of the decease he should accomplish at Jerusalem.'* 
 What topic could be more appropriate ? The hour 
 was very near when that mysterious event was to 
 take place ; an hour big with the mightiest events. 
 Everything depended on it. The truth and honor 
 alike of Moses and EHjah, the salvation of a lost 
 world, the glory of Jehovah, depended on it. Why, 
 then, should not those who were so deeply implicated 
 in its accomplishment, appear at such a season, to 
 strengthen and encourage him to go forward ? Often 
 had he appeared to them, when he sojourned among 
 men, to support their fainting hearts, and now it falls 
 to them to cheer him on to the grand conclusion of 
 the whole matter. How singularly interesting is this ! 
 The angel of the Covenant condescending to take 
 countenance and aid from those whom he had em- 
 ployed as his instruments ! 
 
 Blessed Jesus ! we, too, would take thy yoke, and 
 learn of thee ; for truly thou art meek and lowly in 
 heart. We cannot too much extol the sovereign dis- 
 posal of thy life, when, before it was endangered, thou 
 couldst make it the topic of thy talk with two glorified 
 men ; from which we learn that thou hadst "power to 
 lay it down, and power to take it up again." We see 
 with joy, and we acknowledge with gratitude, that 
 what thou didst suffer for us, was suffered deliberately, 
 and that thy decease was a voluntary propitiation for 
 our sins. Amen ; for so it seemed good in thy sight. 
 
 But what have become of Peter, James, and John? 
 We left them asleep. It could not, however, have 
 been of long duration. The transactions of Tabor 
 must be witnessed, not only for their particular con- 
 firmation in the faith, but for the comfort of the whole 
 Christian church. So soon, then, as they were aroused 
 
246 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 from slumber, a glorious sight met their enraptured 
 vision. How lilve to the surprise of the believing soul 
 when it passes at death out of this shady scene into 
 the bright visions of the skies ! They had lain down 
 in thick darkness, and the last position in which they 
 had seen their Master was significant of his humilia- 
 tion and dependence. What a contrast now ! They 
 can scarce at first credit their wakefulness. There 
 stands the man whom their souls love, the same Jesus, 
 and yet how changed ! How passing lovely ! How 
 indescribably beautiful and glorious is that well-known 
 face ! Can it be he ? or are they in a dream ? They 
 look around, and down the mountain side. All there, 
 and across Esdraelon, is hid in midnight gloom ; and 
 yet when they turn towards the Redeemer, behold 
 what glory ! They must have been in some degree 
 stupefied, else Peter would not have burst out with 
 such a rapture as this, '' Lord, it is good for us to be 
 here ; let us make three tabernacles ; one for thee, and 
 one for Moses, and one for Elias." This is scarcely 
 the place for entering into any analysis of this strange 
 proposition. We only remark that it discovers his 
 singular knowledge of the identity of the persons 
 beside his Master. He had never seen either the one 
 or the other, and yet he knew both. There is but one 
 way of accounting for this ; the discerning was super- 
 natural ; it was given him from above. 
 
 Our Lord made no reply to Peter. There seems, 
 indeed, to have been no time for reply ; for instantly 
 on his uttering these words, down through the dark 
 canopy of heaven came a great and bright cloud and 
 overshadowed them all. Three men fell as dead to 
 the ground, and other three men awaited the cloud's 
 approach without a fear. How came it to be thus ? 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 247 
 
 The one half of the company on Tabor that night 
 were merely citizens of this earth ; none of them had 
 ever seen the invisible glory of Jehovah, and none of 
 them had tasted of death, or been the subjects of a 
 glorious translation. Now, it is written, that the 
 eternal Father was in that very cloud. To Moses 
 and Elijah this is no strange sight, they had seen it 
 often ; they were glorified men, and had seen it in the 
 sanctuary above. But no mere man can see God's 
 face and live. Hence, when our Lord comes, it is not 
 only our duty but our safety to hide our face in the 
 dust. 
 
 As the disciples lay prostrate on the ground, they 
 heard a voice out of the cloud. And what did it say ? 
 O, glorious intelligence ! O, good tidings of great joy ! 
 *' This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased; 
 hear ye him." On the word and assurance of that God 
 who cannot lie, we therefore know that the sufferer 
 on the cross was the eternal Son of God. Yes, Tabor, 
 thy resplendent lights illumine the passage of the 
 man of sorrows onwards to the darkness and horrors 
 of the cross, and thy divine voices drown the shoutings 
 and imprecations of the rabble at the foot of Calvary ! 
 We do not heed them. No sooner, then, had these 
 words been heard, than the disciples feel one touching 
 them. They start, and look up. It is Christ ; but 
 how changed again I The cloud is gone up ; the 
 light of the sun is away from his face and garments ; 
 and Moses and Elias are departed, never to re-appear 
 in this world, till the archangel's trumpet shall sound. 
 Seeing no man, save Jesus only, and hearing his 
 encouraging words, " Arise, and be not afraid," they 
 obey, and follow him down the steep of Tabor to the 
 valley. Such was the transfiguration of Christ on 
 
248 MOUJNT TABOR. 
 
 Tabor. The whole scene is vocal with eloquent and 
 impressive testimonies, to a few of which let as joy- 
 fully listen. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE TESTIMONIES OF TABOR. 
 
 JESUS THE SON OF GOD MESSIAH HARBINGER OF IMMOR- 
 TALITY CENTRE OF ATTRACTION TO HOLY BEINGS. 
 
 I. Tabor testifies that Jesus is the Son of 
 God. — Evidence of his personal relationship to Jeho- 
 vah was indispensable, and for the following reason : — 
 It was prophesied of old that the child born of the vir- 
 gin was to be the " mighty God ;" " Emmanuel, God 
 with us ;" and the angel, in intimating to Mary the 
 future birth of the Saviour, distinctly told her that her 
 son was to be called " the Son of God." To verify 
 these premonitions, Jehovah, on two separate occa- 
 sions, condescended to an audible proclamation of 
 their being fulfilled in Christ. He did so on the banks 
 of the Jordan, when the forerunner was baptizing him ; 
 and he did so on Tabor, when the glorified hierarchy 
 were worshipping him. What can be inferred from 
 all this, but that the Father attaches the highest im- 
 portance to the doctrine of the Sonship of our Saviour ? 
 This need not surprise us; for there is not another 
 doctrine in Christianity to be compared with it in 
 point of value. It is the basis of the whole gospel 
 structure ; the sun in the centre of its system ; the 
 alpha and the omega of its theology. Hence, to 
 understand Christianity aright, we must begin with 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 249 
 
 clear and simple ideas of the doctrine of Christ's per- 
 son, or of the hypostatical union in him of the human 
 and divine natures. Much, if not the whole of the 
 confused and cheerless notions that many have of the 
 Gospel, may be traced to their never having devoted 
 their minds to this great and weighty truth, with its 
 cognates. We are persuaded, that if the attention 
 were fu-st of all fixed upon this doctrine, and if distinct 
 apprehensions were formed of it, the remaining lessons 
 of Christianity, in all their amplitude and grandeur, 
 would be more easily acquired, and would be a much 
 more fertile source of comfort to the believing mind. 
 Since it is so, what reason have we to thank God that 
 there is such abundance of lucid and forcible testi- 
 mony upon that subject in the oracles I No dojibt 
 the doctrine taught may in itself be mysterious ; but. 
 as to what the doctrine is that is there taught, wo 
 cannot remain in doubt. 
 
 To ascertain the truth we have only to open the 
 Bible. Its pages are replete with evidence that the 
 Redeemer of men is allied to them by nature, and 
 also that he is partaker of the nature of God ; in other 
 words, that he is both God and man, in two distinct 
 natures, but in one person, and that this union is to 
 exist forever. Our Lord's claims of divinity were, 
 therefore, unequivocal, and his works corroborated the 
 truth of his words. It is not required in this exercise 
 that we quote the Scriptural proofs at any length. It 
 seems enough just to glance at the testimony borne by 
 Tabor, which is not the least among the thousands 
 of the Bible that bear upon the same topic. The voice 
 from the cloud said, " This is my beloved Son in 
 whom I am well pleased ; hear ye him." It is of im- 
 portance to notice the use made by the apostle Peter 
 of this divine testimony to the proper Deity or Son- 
 
 11=^ 
 
250 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 ship of Christ. That Messiah was to be the " Son of 
 the Highest," was a prophecy in ancient times ; but, 
 says Peter, ^' this voice which came from heaven we 
 heard when we were with him in the holy mount. 
 We have also a more sure word of prophecy ;" or, as 
 the original words should be rendered, " we have the 
 prophetical word made more sure."=^ How "made 
 more sure?" By the voice, of course, which they 
 heard from the excellent glory. If he is a Son, then 
 on Tabor his Father claims him. If his Father be 
 God, then what else can the Son of God be ? The 
 offspring of man is human, the Son of God is divine. 
 
 The application of this term, " Son of God," is 
 made to Jesus with significations widely different 
 from its application, in other Scriptures, to mere crea- 
 tures. It is not a mere official designation to intimate 
 his mediatorial relationship to Jehovah, but a mystical 
 revelation of divine filial relationship. No doubt it is 
 incomprehensible to us how a son, abstractly so con- 
 sidered, can be coeval and coequal with a father ; but 
 if we are to cast truth away on that ground, we may 
 very speedily make shipwreck of the most of our faith. 
 The fact of the Sonship is easily ascertained ; it is the 
 philosophy only of the fact that is incomprehensible. 
 The peculiar manner in which, all along in the Bible, 
 that language is applied to Jesus, teaches that it must 
 refer to something altogether more lofty and inscru- 
 table than the mere mediatorial connection. Perhaps 
 there is no stronger proof of this than what our Lord's 
 own words afford when conversing with the Jewish 
 rabbi ; and beautiful and consoling words they indeed 
 are in many other respects : " For God so loved the 
 world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that who- 
 
 * ' BiPatdrepov f TTp()<pr}TiKov Xoyov. 2 Pet. i. 19, 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 251 
 
 soever believeth in him should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life." 
 
 The apostle also, wTiting to the Hebrews concern- 
 ing the obedience and the sufferings of Christ, very 
 plainly holds forth his Sonship, not as belonging ex- 
 clusively to his mediatorial character, but primarily 
 to his original and underived glory as the eternal Son 
 of God. At the eighth verse of the fifth chapter he 
 thus writes : " Though he were a Son, yet learned he 
 obedience by the things which he suffered." Now, if 
 the Spirit of God intended to teach that his Sonship 
 was merely an official relation, a different form of 
 speech must have been employed. In virtue of his 
 voluntary engagement, as the surety of the better 
 covenant, and of the commandment of the Father, and 
 which he obeyed when he gave up his life a ransom 
 for many, it was necessary that he should obey, and 
 suffer, and " learn obedience by the things which he 
 suffered ;" '' for it became him for whom are all 
 things, and by whom are all things, in bringing 
 many sons unto glory, to make the Captain of their 
 salvation perfect through sufferings." Now, had he 
 been a son in the inferior sense, the truth would have 
 been much better expressed thus : '' because he was a 
 son, he learned obedience by the things which he suf- 
 fered." It is not so, however, in the Scripture. The 
 Holy Ghost says, '• though he were a Son," that is, 
 though he is a son, the Son of God, and from eternity 
 bearing to the Father this infinitely mysterious rela- 
 tion, necessarily above all law, and therefore under no 
 obligation to obey or to suffer, " yet learned he obe- 
 dience by the things which he suffered." This is the 
 grand proof and illustration of the love of Christ, 
 which passeth knowledge, and with which (the riches 
 of his love,) the result fully and delightfully corre- 
 
252 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 sponds. " And being made perfect," adds the apostle, 
 in the ninth verse, " he became the author of eternal 
 salvation unto all them that obey him." 
 
 Connecting, then, these Scriptures with the Father's 
 two declarations of the relationship of Christ to him, 
 we consider them as decidedly condemnatory of the 
 dogma that Christ's Sonship is a simple official desig- 
 nation. The attempt so to understand and explain it 
 takes away from us a very large and valuable amount 
 of the evidence for the supreme Deity of the Saviour. 
 As, then, we descend from this mountain, where his 
 relationship to the Eternal was declared, let us testify 
 to all who will hear, in the words of one of the wit- 
 nesses of that night's glory, " We beheld his glory, 
 the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full 
 of grace and truth." 
 
 II. Tabor testifies that Jesus is the Messiah. — 
 The Jews did not over-estimate the importance of 
 testing the claims of the son of Mary to the Messiah- 
 ship. Their sin lay not in seeking for evidence upon 
 this point, but in rejecting the evidence adduced. It 
 was sufficient to settle the question ; we might say 
 more than sufficient, only one cannot conceive of re- 
 dundancy in the dispensations of God. By a long 
 and divine course of training they had been taught to 
 look for the Shiloh, and it became them to examine 
 the pretensions of any one to be that personage ; the 
 more especially when we consider that our Lord him- 
 self spoke of the " false Christ" who should appear in 
 those days. There were different classes of evidence 
 led as proof of his Messiahship. The time of his ap- 
 pearance corresponded to what was the general belief 
 on the subject. All the circumstances of his birth, 
 birth-place, parentage, and early life, were in exact keep- 
 ing with the predictions that went before concerning 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 253 
 
 these things. The whole manner of his life, from the 
 cradle to the grave, was unique, consistent, and com- 
 prehensive, as regards all that was expected of him who 
 was to come in the name of the Highest to redeem his 
 people ; and over and above all, his splendid miracles 
 and divine teaching set the seal of Jehovah upon his 
 powerful credentials. Such proofs were in everybody's 
 hands, and ought to have commanded for him a uni- 
 versal and enthusiastic welcome. 
 
 We have reason to believe that more privileged per- 
 sons, who lived near to our Lord's person, and were 
 favored with his private friendship, received additional 
 evidence to this of his Messiah ship ; hence the com- 
 parative greatness of their faith, and the manifest 
 heartiness and sincerity of their devotedness to him. 
 Passing by the charms of his familiar intercourse, the 
 disclosures of amiable character, the development of the 
 touching sympathies of a sinless humanity among the 
 few to whom he unbosomed himself at home, the sus- 
 tained and harmonious embodiment in his every look, 
 word, and deed, of all he taught in public, and the in- 
 dulgences he would allow to propose questions for in- 
 formation, and guidance, and comfort — all of which 
 would unquestionably impress their minds with strong 
 persuasions of his divine commission ; passing these, 
 let us simply refer to the evidence from Tabor, where 
 he was transfigured. 
 
 The scene was only witnessed by three of his disci- 
 ples ; but this was a competent number. It was as 
 much as the law demanded to substantiate truth or 
 fact ; and the force of the testimony is not abated but 
 strengthened by the consideration of the witnesses 
 chosen. They were, perhaps, the most eminent of the 
 twelve, and the best fitted to be entrusted with such a 
 grand discovery. Peter was to be the foremost of 
 
254 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 them all in preaching the glorious gospel, both to Jews 
 and Gentiles, after that Christ was risen from the 
 dead. Destined, then, for such a distinguished place 
 in the apostolic college, it was fit that he should be on 
 Tabor. In a sense in which he did not mean it, " it 
 was good for him to be there." James, again, was to 
 be the foremost of them all in the ranks of martyrdom, 
 he being the first apostle who shed his blood in testify- 
 ing to the truth. It was therefore good for him also 
 to be there. And as for John, the beloved disciple, we 
 know how necessary his labors of love were in the in- 
 fancy of the church, to diffuse harmony among the fol- 
 lowers of the Lamb, and to denounce heresy among the 
 enemies of his cross. He was the youngest of his fel- 
 lows, but he lived to finish the volume of inspiration, 
 and then, it is conjectured, surrendered his life that the 
 gospel might not be frustrated. These three men bear 
 evidence to the transfiguration, and their testimony 
 must be received. 
 
 And who on receiving it can resist its force ? If he 
 who was thus irradiated with celestial glory — who was 
 thus attended by celestial inhabitants, once great and 
 useful among the ancient people of God, and concern- 
 ing whom the voice from the cloud, which was the 
 voice of God, so solemnly declared that he was God's 
 Son — if he is not Messiah, and if this be not proof 
 that he is so, who is he ? And when Messiah comes, 
 can he receive better testimony than this ? Let us 
 thank God that permission was given to these three 
 witnesses to tell to the world what they saw that 
 night. It must have cost them some self-restraint to 
 keep it, as they did, so long a secret, even from their 
 fellow-disciples ; but when the time came specified by 
 their Master for divulging the secret, how glad and 
 confident in their Lord would they become ; not per- 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 255 
 
 haps that any of them then doubted, but that this 
 afforded additional confirmation of the truths they 
 were now commanded to preach and to teach in every 
 nation. It has been recorded for our faith and comfort 
 in Christ ; and we only answer the ends of its revela- 
 tion when we meditate upon it as a proof that the son 
 of Mary is not only the Son of God, but the promised 
 Shiloh. It ought to be much reflected upon, in order 
 to increase our sense of its importance ; that if it 
 were so, that Jesus of Nazareth was not the Messiah, 
 then the redemption of the world is not secured, and 
 all our hopes for time and eternity are on a false foun- 
 dation. But the scenes on Tabor prove him to be the 
 very individual of whom Moses and the prophets did 
 write. As, then, we descend from its sacred summit, 
 let us say to one another, and proclaim to all around us, 
 as Andrew did to his brother Simon, " We have found 
 the Messias, which is, being interpreted, The Christ.'' 
 III. Tabor testifies that Jesus is the harbinger 
 
 OF LIFE AND IMMORTALITY. Thc diviuC purpOSO of Sal- 
 
 vation is declared by the apostle to have been made 
 " manifest by the appearing of our Saviour Jesus 
 Christ, who hath abolished death, and hath brought 
 life and immortality to light through the gospel." 
 This scripture clearly intimates that these truths were 
 previously in the dark, and that but for him, in the 
 dark they must have forever remained. That the 
 doctrine of the soul's immortality was hid previous to 
 revelation, is true. We admit there were theories 
 about it. The more enlightened and thoughtful of the 
 heathen sages speculated on the probability of it ; but 
 further than a conjecture, unaided reason never ven- 
 tured. The gospel let out the secret ; and there are 
 few positions from which that gospel is viewed, where 
 the obligations under which it has laid mankind are 
 
256 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 felt to be more weighty. Let us only remember that 
 the truth of our immortality remains, even though we 
 be ignorant of it ; that to die ignorant of it is certain 
 and eternal destruction to the soul; that the mere 
 fears that it may be immortal have never led men to 
 true piety, nor imparted to them true consolation ; 
 that the world w^as left for ages and generations to try 
 its own capacities for discovering such a truth, and 
 uniformly failed, even when coming nearest in its 
 guesses to the invaluable doctrine ; and that the proud- 
 est philosophical dogmas on the subject afford no 
 security to man as a fallen and guilty sinner ; let us 
 remember these things when we read the gospel, which 
 alone brings that grand truth to light. 
 
 Yes ! that gospel goes throughout the regions of 
 stupid superstition ; it goes up to the high places of 
 vaunting reason ; it goes down to the depths of gro- 
 velling infidelity, and finds man groping about in the 
 darlf , and miserably ignorant of his own blindness. It 
 then takes him kindly but firmly by the hand, and 
 leads him down from Baal's heights, away from rea- 
 son's groves, and up from the shambles of scepticism. 
 Somewhat loath, in the pride of his humbled intellect, 
 to be guided solely by this celestial teacher, he would 
 fain hang back a little, to give partial recognition to 
 the old blind guides he is commanded to abandon ; but 
 the gospel allows no compromise, and it forbids all 
 halting between two opinions. Determined to enter 
 man a pupil in the school of one called Christ Jesus, 
 it waits not and wearies not till he is sitting at the 
 Saviour's feet, " clothed, and in his right mind." 
 What a change will soon be produced upon him ! He 
 listens to that master. His cars are filled with strange 
 sounds, not only new to him, but full of exquisite 
 gladness. His attention is now secured. The teacher 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 257 
 
 sent from God proceeds with his lessons, unfolding 
 truth upon truth concerning God and futurity, man 
 and responsibility, Christ and salvation, life and immor- 
 tality. Witness the change upon the disciple now! 
 He has heard enough. His mind at first is in the 
 whirl of a mighty and overawing revolution. The 
 shadows of the night are fleeing fast away ; the terror- 
 ism of dreamy speculation is removed ; the spectres of 
 morbid fancy disappear ; and he finds his soul in the 
 midst of a great and shining light, almost too brilliant 
 at the first for its eye to gaze upon. His conjectures 
 have fled, and certainties take their place ; his doubts 
 are dead, and now he lives by faith ; his reason is 
 enlightened by revelation, and now falls down and 
 worships at the shrine of that " wisdom which is from 
 above." 
 
 The scene on Tabor is beautifully illustrative of this. 
 There stand two men, one of whom died fifteen hun- 
 dred years, and the other was translated nine hundred 
 years, before Christ. Certain it is, that when man 
 dies and leaves this world, he is still in existence ; he 
 lives somewhere in the universe of God, and is never 
 to .be annihilated. This doctrine is not taught merely 
 on the mountain before us ; it is practically illustrated. 
 These two glorious persons were once dwellers on the 
 earth ; this could not be denied. Centuries have 
 rolled away, and there they are again ; changed, it is 
 true, in most important respects, but their identity is 
 indisputable. That is Moses, the man of God, and 
 that other is Elijah, the prophet. Where they have 
 been all this long time, and what they have been 
 doing, we cannot tell ; but there they are now, stand- 
 ing on Tabor's summit, beside the Lord of glory, and 
 in eager and interested conversation with him, as still 
 living and intelligent beings. Does not Tabor, then, 
 
258 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 proclaim the immortality of thy soul, O man, O sinful 
 man ? It does. Arouse thee, arouse thee from thy 
 lethargy, and let not thy soul perish through unbelief! 
 
 But before we leave this theme, let us look once 
 more at these celestial visitors : it is long since we 
 beheld them : their stay with us is to be short ; let us 
 make the best of it. True, they tell us that the soul 
 is immortal ; but they add to this a most interesting 
 piece of intelligence, namely, that the body as well 
 as the soul is to live forever. Moses died, and was 
 buried by the Lord, even by him at whose side he now 
 stands. It is therefore evident that by the Son of God 
 his body has been raised from the gi*ave; for there it 
 is, and again inhabited by his now glorified spirit. 
 That is the body once sown in corruption, now raised 
 in incorruption ; once sown in dishonor, now raised in 
 glory ; once sown in weakness, now raised in power ; 
 once sown a natural body, now raised a spiritual body ! 
 Yes ! in yon resplendent saint is already accomplished 
 the saying that is written, " Death is swallowed up in 
 victory." Let Tabor, then, take up the harp and sing 
 to us, in the language of an ancient prophet, '' Thy 
 dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall 
 they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust : 
 for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall 
 cast out the dead." Neither, my friends, let us be 
 silent on such an occasion, but, as we leave this mag- 
 nificent exhibition, let us re-echo these strains in the 
 shout of faith, "O death! where is thy sting? O 
 grave ! where is thy victory ? Thanks be unto God, 
 who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ." 
 
 IV. Tabor testifies that jesus is the centre 
 
 OF ATTRACTION TO ALL IN HEAVEN, AND THEMEDIUM BY 
 WHICH THEY BECOME ACQUAINTED WITH ONE ANOTHER. 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 259 
 
 On the summit of this mountain appeared '' the 
 first and the last, the wisest and the best of beings," 
 the eternal Father. And who attracts Jehovah to 
 this spot ? — Jesus Christ, his own Son, and the 
 Saviour of sinners ! What love must the Father 
 have to such a Son I what delight in his work, and 
 what confidence in his faithfulness ! To no created 
 intelligence could Jesus be an object of such deep 
 interest as he was to him who sent him. It was his 
 Father's glory he was seeking in the recovery of that 
 Father's lost children. Hence, all along, from the 
 cradle to the cross, was our Saviour uninterruptedly 
 attended by the ever-blessed Jehovah. At any period 
 of his weary life, Messiah could say with truth, " I 
 am not alone, because the Father is with me." If it 
 was so, when the accomplishment of the work given 
 him to do was yet future, surely it is so still, now that 
 that work is finished, and finished to the entire satis- 
 faction, not only of infinite wisdom, but of infinite 
 love. On the cross, to serve the mysterious ends of 
 God's inscrutable purposes, the Father forsook his 
 darling Son ; but it was only for a very little while ; 
 for now, on the same throne, they sit together in 
 heavenly places, Jehovah beside Jesus, and Jesus 
 beside Jehovah. The attractions are mutual, and in 
 either case transcendently glorious. It is an infinite 
 love for the Father that governs this proximity of the 
 Son to him, and it is an infinite satisfaction and delight 
 in the Son that draws the Father to that august temple, 
 where his only-begotten receives the worship of the 
 ransomed, and administers the affairs of the universe. 
 But the same truth, with obvious modifications, 
 may be affirmed of all the holy intelligences of the 
 upper sanctuary. The appearance of Moses and Elijah 
 on Tabor, tells us of the interest which the inhabitants 
 
260 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 above take in the author of their redemption, and in 
 the finisher of their faith. The commission given to 
 these two glorified beings to attend upon the Redeemer 
 on this evening would no doubt be joyfully responded 
 to, and speedily would they wing their flight from 
 the heights of Zion to the top of Tabor. Many a 
 glorious sun, and moon, and planet, they might require 
 to pass on their way to our earth, every one of them 
 surpassing in created grandeur, and perhaps in moral 
 and religious attractions too, the fallen world to which 
 they were bound. But they looked not to the right 
 hand nor to the left, and though wooed by the exquisite 
 beauties of the Creator's power through which they 
 travelled, they felt no inclination to halt by the way. 
 To the old habitation of men, where they had been 
 born, and where they had served God in their genera- 
 tion, they hied them without arrestment of thought 
 or relaxation of speed. To be once more on that earth ; 
 to be on a mountain top ; to behold again some display 
 of Jehovah's glory ; and above all, to see what they 
 had never seen, and to adore as they never had done, 
 the incarnate Son of God, who was about to verify 
 all their ancient predictions, and thus secure the salva- 
 tion of sinners ; these, these were motives which so 
 wrapt up their souls in intense eagerness, as to make 
 them forget that there were any other worlds than 
 ours, and any other mountains on its surface than 
 Tabor, where the grand transfiguration was to take 
 place. 
 
 Now, this speed of heart and soul towards Christ 
 is a beautiful representation of what goes on at this 
 moment in heaven. From all regions of the celestial 
 country do they hasten to pay him divine honors. 
 And this they do, not only because he is the King of 
 that country, but because he is their Saviour. They 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 261 
 
 are universally and perpetually attracted to him, not 
 merely to worship him, but to see him whom their 
 souls love. Devotion and love are their wings ; and 
 it is inconceivable with what velocity, on such wings, 
 they are carried into the presence of such a friend. 
 On similar pinions, indeed, though somewhat clogged 
 with the heavy dews of this Boeotian clime, do all his 
 lovers here fly to him, that he may cover them with 
 his own feathers, and ultimately raise and enfold them 
 in his own bosom. But the most ethereal saintship 
 in the church militant bears no comparison with the 
 perfected holiness of the heavenly choirs now surround- 
 ing the throne of God. Above and around that 
 throne they flock, in tens of thousands, by night and 
 by day. They never weary of gazing upon him ; they 
 never cease ascribing praises to him ; and they are 
 ever ready to take the wings of the morning and fly 
 to the uttermost of his magnificent universe, on his 
 errands of love, of mercy, or of judgment. What 
 ardor ! — what zeal ! — what enraptured love beam from 
 every eye ! — what swelling, gorgeous music isssues 
 from every harp ! — and what intense and uninter- 
 rupted worship rises from all the happy and pure 
 '' spirits of the just made perfect !" 
 
 The matter of celestial praises explains the reason 
 of all this multitudinous flow of love and song towards 
 the Lamb that sits upon the throne : " Thou art 
 worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: 
 for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by 
 thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, 
 and nation ; and hast made us unto our God kings 
 and priests : and we shall reign on the earth." On 
 the earth they fled to him to hide them in his grace. 
 In heaven they fly to him to share with him his glory ; 
 and no sooner are they there, than he places them all 
 
262 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 on the same throne with himself. There are four and 
 twenty seats upon that throne, capable of accommodat- 
 ing the whole ransomed of the Lord, and they shall 
 be all occupied. But who are these bright and beauti- 
 ful beings sitting on the circles beyond, singing as 
 loudly as the others, but veiling their faces with their 
 wmgs ? These are the angels, who are also attracted 
 by their Lord's glory to their Lord's throne, but who 
 claim no superior right over these brethren who are ar- 
 rayed in the white robes which are washed in his blood. 
 They are not jealous nor envious, though a second 
 place is assigned them ; and though they are silent 
 while the song itself is sung, they join — ^they all join 
 — in the grand chorus, "Worthy is the Lamb that 
 was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, 
 and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing I" 
 
 Thus to Jesus do angelic and glorified human intel- 
 ligences all flock, in admiring and adoring multitudes. 
 They are ever beside him, and he is as the sun in the 
 midst of them, every one of them reflecting the glory 
 that radiates from his divine person. What a sub- 
 lime region, then, must that be which has the " image 
 of the invisible God " for its centre, the whole of these 
 pure and happy saints whom he has redeemed, for its 
 diverging radii, and for its grand circumference the 
 angelic orders ! What a combination of all that is 
 godlike in wisdom, and holiness, and joy! What a 
 concentration of the essentials of that glory which is 
 poured from the throne of the Eternal throughout all 
 the wide range of his marvellous works! Blessed 
 spot in creation's loftiest scale ! when shall we bo 
 drawn up to thy light ? when shall we be embosomed 
 in thy bliss ? O, when shall we hide in thy splendors 
 our own divinely reflected, but minor effulgences? 
 Haste, happy period ! and, meanwhile, let us wait 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 263 
 
 without murmuring his coming who has said, for our 
 comfort, " Behold, I come quickly." 
 
 From these cheering truths we may gather, that the 
 heavenly inhabitants recognize and are acquainted 
 with one another. If they were to live apart, and were 
 never to meet, it might not be so ; but as they are 
 all irresistibly attracted to the Redeemer, and dwell 
 in his immediate presence, they necessarily associate, 
 and no doubt learn from his lips what is interesting 
 in their several histories. On Tabor there was instant 
 recognition, on the part of the three disciples, of Moses 
 and Elias ; and if in their mortal tabernacle they 
 were enabled to make this discovery, surely, when we 
 enter heaven with our faculties of discernment per- 
 fected, we shall be at no loss to know those especially 
 in whom we feel the deepest interest. We shall find 
 oar way, first of all, immediately to the Saviour. 
 Our natural affections at present are not safe judges 
 as to what will be our first and strongest desire when 
 we die. The inconsolable Rachel may think that 
 when she has Paradise opened to her view, the first 
 object she will look for will be her darling child ; and 
 so may we all conclude concerning those dear relatives 
 who long ago bade us farewell. But such ideas, how- 
 ever natural, are founded on a misconception, We 
 have seen our children, our parents, and our friends, 
 and we think most readily of them in our realizations 
 of future reunions. But, then, we have not as yet 
 seen the Redeemer himself, consequently we have no 
 idea of the exceeding fascinations of his beauty. The 
 moment he is beheld, every other desire and every 
 other recollection will be absorbed in the enraptured 
 vision of him, to whom we shall then feel ourselves 
 indebted for all the glory that surrounds us. But 
 though it be so, there will also be the gratification of 
 
264 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 our perfected natural desires. It will be, indeed, the 
 delight of the Saviour himself to bring those together 
 in heaven vi^ho were dear to one another on earth. He 
 will not, on that account, fear any abatement of their 
 supreme love for him. He will know that this kind- 
 ness on his part must the more increase it. 
 
 That the saints shall know one another in heaven, 
 is an idea favored by the passage under review. Our 
 Lord's own words, too, corroborate it : " And they 
 shall come from the east, and from the west, and from 
 the north, and from the south, and shall sit down wifh 
 Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob, in the king- 
 dom of heaven." In this scripture these three are 
 mentioned, to intimate that they will be known as 
 Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in heaven. But why these 
 three alone ? Does not the same reason exist for the 
 recognition of other illustrious servants of God ? And 
 if it be made out that certain of the saints are to be 
 known, why may we not conclude that the power of 
 personal recognition will be universal ? We are told, 
 besides, that the twelve apostles will be recognized sit- 
 ting on their twelve thrones, and will receive the glory 
 due to their rank, and their services in the church. 
 
 There can be no doubt but that there will be de- 
 grees of glory in heaven, and that they who have con- 
 verted many souls to God will have greater honor paid 
 to them, and will be stationed as brighter stars in the 
 celestial galaxy. This arrangement, however, does 
 not interfere with the privilege which all will enjoy in 
 common, of recommencing a communion of love and 
 friendship which was begun on earth, and interrupted 
 for a season at death — not that we shall there be in 
 every sense as to relationship as we are here ; for it is 
 probable that family bonds may not be felt there as 
 they are at present. There may be nothing in the 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 265 
 
 parent, in the child, in the husband, or in the wife, 
 exactly to correspond with those sympathies that co- 
 exist in such relationships now. Still there is much 
 to support the idea that all the pure affections of our 
 nature, which here underwent the process of sanctifi- 
 cation, will be consecutively exercised in heaven upon 
 the same objects that attracted them on earth. The 
 parental affections, for instance, are not economical 
 simply, they are natural ; they are bound up in our 
 human constitution ; they are essential to it ; and as 
 these affections would have been exercised perpetually, 
 had Adam and Eve kept their first estate, we may 
 argue, that they will, in some measure, find vent 
 when we are in possession of Paradise restored. There 
 will, certainly, be some very important and extensive 
 differences ; but many of the original elements of our 
 natural faculties in such connections, will partake of 
 no other change than what is indispensable from per- 
 fection in holiness. 
 
 12 
 
MOUNT OLIVET, 
 
 THE AGONY OF THE REDEEMER. 
 
 Though the life of Christ maintained what may 
 De termed (only, however, when compared with itself) 
 a usual or ordinary course, the devout student dis- 
 covers in it several extraordinary, or, as they may be 
 considered, mystical passages. In these, there is a 
 manifest introduction or conjunction of supernatural 
 agencies, which do not appear in its common routine. 
 It is observable also, that in these passages there is a 
 very striking juxtaposition of painful and humiliating 
 with consoling and glorifying circumstances ; a sort 
 of antithesis of events dark and appalling with others 
 transcendently luminous and sublime. For example, 
 his baptism, wherein we behold the heavens opened, 
 and the Spirit descending upon him, and where the 
 voice from " the excellent glory" proclaims him to be 
 the Son of God, is immediately conjoined with his 
 temptation in the wilderness, where the spirit of dark- 
 ness assails and torments him. On Tabor, we behold 
 him in all the splendors of transfiguration ; now we 
 are to witness him in the agony and blood of Gethse- 
 piane ; and at last the tortures and death of Calvary 
 ^re exchanged for the celestial concomitants of his as- 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 267 
 
 cension into heaven. In these three extraordinary 
 combinations of light and darkness, humiliation and 
 exaltation, weakness and strength, apparent desertion 
 and supernatural acknowledgment, we find the day 
 of his adversity set over against the day of his pros- 
 perity. The one, inclusive of the dismal class of 
 events, indicates his mediatorial submissiveness ; and 
 the other, unveiling his divine glory, demonstrates the 
 eternal Father's love to and complacency in him, to- 
 gether with his faithfulness to those covenant engage- 
 ments, on the ground of which that Son undertook 
 thus to become the surety of sinners. The transfigu- 
 ration and agony of Christ, evidently constituting one 
 of those couplets to which we have referred, ought to 
 be considered consecutively. Our Lord himself seems 
 to have made this conjunction of them in his own 
 mmd, from the selection of the same witnesses to 
 both events. Having, then, been with him on Ta- 
 bor, let us now go forth with the Man of sorrows to 
 Olivet. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PRECURSORS OF THE AGONY. 
 
 THE UPPER ROOM THE LORD's SUPPER KEDRON VALLEY 
 
 OF JEHOSHAPHAT OLIVET GETHSEMANE. 
 
 Our blessed Lord had entered Jerusalem on the 
 afternoon preceding his crucifixion with his disciples. 
 In an upper room he had observed the feast of the 
 Passover. In the act of observing he had authorita- 
 
268 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 tively alluded it, and substituted the Lord's Supper — 
 the design of which was to memorialize his sacrifice 
 of atonement, till he should come the second time, to 
 judge the world. He had indicated, at the same time, 
 that one of his disciples should betray him ; and, 
 nothing daunted, the traitor had already left the room 
 to perpetrate his execrable purpose. Immediately 
 after supper, observing the grief of the eleven, because 
 of his plain intimations that he would ere long be 
 taken from them, he delivered his farewell consola- 
 tions, as we have them recorded in those precious 
 chapters, the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth of the 
 Gospel according to John. When he had finished this 
 exquisitely beautiful address, he offered up the interces- 
 sory prayer which we find in the seventeenth chapter ; 
 and having, in conclusion, engaged with the disciples 
 in singing an hymn, " they went out unto the mount 
 of Olives." 
 
 How astonishing is all this ! It was the last night 
 he was to spend with them on earth. He was on the 
 very threshold of tremendously important and agoniz- 
 ing work. Already " the pains of hell had gat hold" 
 of him ; the deadly shades of Gethsemane and Cal- 
 vary were gathering thick and fast around his amiable 
 soul. That law, that good and holy law of God which 
 he never had broken, whose promulgation from Sinai 
 had been accompanied with such astonishing signals 
 of the majesty of the Lawgiver, was hastening to visit 
 upon him, as the sinner's surety, its horrible penalty. 
 Jehovah himself was coming ! The Saviour heard his 
 voice in the garden, not as the guilty first Adam did, 
 hiding himself among the bowers of Eden, but with 
 solemn purpose to go forth and meet him there, with 
 all the consequences of such an interview clearly ap- 
 prehended, Yet here, amid his chosen witnesses, is 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 269 
 
 he calmly engaged in comforting their hearts, and in 
 inspiriting them with the exercises of devotion. Surely 
 to the work he now '' sets his face like a flint." His 
 *' love is strong as death." '' Bless the Lord, O my 
 soul !" 
 
 Having descended the stairs of the house where he 
 had been thus engaged, he took the road that led from 
 the city to the mount of Olives. The eleven followed 
 him. The sun by this time must have gone down 
 over the hills of Judea ; its last tints were gilding the 
 towers of the city of David, and the stu- and hum of 
 Jerusalem might be gradually dying away. On leav- 
 ing the city, they came to the brook Kedron, which 
 they must cross. In the hundred and tenth psalm, 
 which is Messianic, it is predicted of the Saviour, 
 that '' he shall drink of the brook in the way ; there- 
 fore shall he lift up the head." These words primarily 
 refer to David's passage over Kedron, when, at the 
 time of the rebellion of Absalom, " he went up by the 
 ascent of mount Olivet, and wept as he went up, and 
 had his head covered." It is therefore interesting now 
 to witness David's Lord crossing the same stream, and 
 going up the same eminence, full also of grief. In 
 applying the last verse of this psalm to Christ, we learn 
 his inflexible purpose, at all risks, to allow '' the things 
 concerning him to have an end." We are not told 
 whether, like his illustrious type, Jesus did at this 
 time refresh himself from the brook ; still, the coinci- 
 dence is remarkable. Having then traversed the dark 
 and shady vale, by some understood to be the valley 
 of Jehoshaphat, through which this stream ran, they 
 held on their way to Olivet. The dismal appearance 
 of the valley was no doubt partially relieved by the 
 gentle light of the harvest moon — the passover being 
 always celebrated when the moon was at her full. 
 
270 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 Before they reached the garden, which occupied part 
 of the level space between Kedron and the foot of the 
 mount, our Lord entered into conversation with his 
 disciples. He intimated to them that they would all 
 forsake him ; but, with amazing generosity and con- 
 descension, trysted them to meet with him after his 
 resurrection, naming the place where the reunion 
 should be effected. " After I am risen again," he 
 said, *' I will go before you into Galilee." 
 
 Shortly after this, they arrived at Gethsemane. 
 And here let us pause to admire and praise him. 
 Often had he traversed this same road, sometimes 
 alone, and at others, as now, with his disciples. The 
 evangelist tells us that " it was his custom to resort 
 thither" with them, that he might recruit his spirit in 
 meditation and prayer after the fatigue of a day de- 
 voted to the work which his Father had given him to 
 do. On all former occasions, however, he had imme- 
 diately before his mind refreshing communion with 
 that Father, whose smiles induced him to leave the 
 infidel throng of the city, to luxuriate for a season in 
 the joys of their reciprocal love. But now had arrived 
 " the hour and the power of darkness." The road is 
 the same. Kedron's brook, swelled by the melting of 
 the mountain snows, as before, gurgles, and foams, 
 and hurries down its troubled stream. The moon 
 diffuses, as of old, her silver light over the vale, and 
 brings out in mild relief the undulating hills, where 
 humble shepherds nightly watch their flocks; the 
 cedar trees rear their laden branches to the sky ; the 
 lights in the habitations of Zion are receding froni their 
 view, and the scene of agony is at hand. The man 
 Christ Jesus is also the same, though not the same the 
 exercises before him. He goes as a lamb to the slaugh- 
 ter ; and if he opens his mouth, it is not to speak of 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 271 
 
 escape, not to bargain for the aid of his disciples, not 
 to complain of the treatment he was soon to receive 
 from them, but to warn, encourage, and comfort them, 
 when they should be scattered as sheep without a 
 shepherd. 
 
 What fortitude is this ! He might have remained 
 in the city ; he needs not choose the resort of which 
 Judas knew. His life is his own, and he has power 
 to keep it, as well as to lay it down ; but onward he 
 moves. He has " drunk of the brook by the way, 
 and therefore shall he lift up the head." All this he 
 did freely, all voluntarily. He saw the dismal end 
 from the beginning. It was a way of his own seek- 
 ing; and perhaps it was to familiarize his mind with 
 the locality, and to embolden him for the appalling 
 scenes of this night, that to this garden he so often 
 retreated for devotion. Never, we believe, for one 
 wakeful moment, did he hide this agony from his 
 mind. *' I have a baptism to be baptized with ; and 
 how am I straitened till it be accomplished !" Here 
 Jesus was " more than a mere martyr ;" for here, 
 most composedly, he goes up to the endurance of suf- 
 ferings, which impart, by comparison, insignificance 
 to all the passion of which man can be the victim. 
 All this was self-imposed ; absolutely he needed it not, 
 nor his Father, nor the law. He, and the Father, and 
 the law, m.ight have been all glorified in the everlast- 
 ing punishment of sin ; but, that the sinner might be 
 saved, he must needs expose himself to the penalty of 
 that law, and the righteous anger of that Father. 
 
 The mount of Olives, to which he thus wended his 
 way, lies immediately to the east of Jerusalem. It 
 consists of a range of four mountains, with summits 
 of unequal altitude. The loftiest of these rises from 
 the scene of our Saviour's agony, the garden of Geth- 
 
272 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 semane ; and, whether correct or not, is the one from 
 which it is supposed he also ascended to glory. We 
 are told, that about half way up is a ruined monas- 
 tery, built on the spot where Jesus sat and wept over 
 the city. It seems that the olive still grows there, 
 and as spontaneously yields its fruit as in the days of 
 David and our Lord. The view from the summit is 
 said to be very grand, combining more interesting ob- 
 jects than any in the world : the valley of Jehoshaphat, 
 the garden of Gethsemane, the city of Jerusalem, the 
 plains of Jericho, the valley of the Jordan, and the 
 Dead Sea. There is on the top a wretched village, 
 inhabited by Arabs; and in the centre of this is 
 erected a small octagonal building, marking the spot 
 from which our Lord actually arose into heaven. The 
 monks say that the print of his foot is still to be seen. 
 This print is in the rock, enclosed by an oblong border 
 of marble ; and pilgrims may at any time be seen 
 taking wax impressions of the holy footstep. But all 
 such superstitious curiosities must give way to our 
 solemn review of the mystery of Gethsemane, where 
 the agony was endured.* 
 
 Gethsemane literally signifies " oil-press," or " the 
 valley of fatness;" and such, some think, was the 
 name given to a garden in that locality, belonging to a 
 farmer, who had allowed the Saviour and his disciples 
 the privilege of stepping aside into it, as they passed 
 and repassed from Jerusalem and the village of Beth- 
 any. This name was given to the garden because of 
 its abundant fertility. It is conjectured that it lay 
 between two of those hills referred to as constituting 
 the range called the mount of Olives. The place 
 where it is thought the agony was suffered is still 
 shown to modern travellers, who tell us that it is 
 
 ♦ Matt. xxvi. 36— 4G; Luke xxii. 39— IG. 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 273 
 
 about fifty paces square, and enclosed by a wall of no 
 great height, formed of rough loose stones. " Eight 
 very ancient trees now occupy this enclosure, some of 
 which are of very large size, and all exhibit symptoms 
 of decay, indicative of their great age. The garden is 
 the property of one of the monastic establishments, 
 and much care is taken to preserve the old trees from 
 destruction." 
 
 So soon, then, as our Lord and his disciples arrived 
 at this garden, he selected three of them to accompany 
 him within the walls. The other eight remained out- 
 side. He said to them, '' Sit ye here, while I go and 
 pray yonder." He did not conceal from them what he 
 was about to do, though he did not choose that they 
 should all witness what he was about to suffer. Three 
 of them only were qualified for such a spectacle. 
 These were Peter, James, and John. Had the rest 
 been admitted, they might have taken offence, and 
 formed suspicions of the Sonship and Messiahship of 
 Jesus ; hence the kindness, as well as wisdom, of keep- 
 ing them on the outside. The favored three, however, 
 could be trusted. They had seen him transfigured, 
 and might therefore be favored with the more awful 
 sight of him agonized. Even from them, however, 
 a portion of this night's tragedy was concealed, for we 
 are told that " he withdrew from them about a stone's 
 cast." This distance, considering that it was night, 
 and that he was concealed among the thick foliage of 
 the garden, formed a complete separation between him 
 and them. But they were permitted to see enough 
 to bear their personal testimony to an event in which 
 the church of God has ever taken a most profound 
 interest. Let us now shortly review the mystery of 
 the agony itself. 
 
274 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE NATURE AND CONCOMITANTS OP THE 
 AGONY. 
 
 SUPERNATURAL SPIRITUAL SPECIAL CONTINUED THE 
 
 PRAYER THE CUP THE BLOODY SWEAT THE ANGEL. 
 
 The earliest indication of the agony is thus described 
 by the evangelist: "He began to be sorrowful, and 
 very heavy;" or, as it has been rendered, "he began 
 to be in great dejection, amazement, and anguish of 
 mind ;" which may signify that, at this moment, his 
 mind was " penetrated with the most lively and press- 
 ing sorrow, a sorrow having the most shocking mix- 
 ture of terror and amazement, which broke in upon 
 him from every side with such violence that, humanly 
 speaking, escape from it was impossible." Dr. More 
 truly observes, " that Christ's continued resolution in 
 the midst of these agonies and supernatural horrors, 
 was the most heroic that can be imagined, and far 
 superior to valor in single combat ; where, in the one 
 case, the spirit is raised by natural indignation, and in 
 the other, by the pomp of war, the sound of martial 
 music, and the example of fellow-soldiers." 
 
 Before retiring, that he might be alone during the 
 severest pressure of this conflict, he uttered these af- 
 fecting words in the hearing of his three witnesses ; 
 " My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." 
 This language is generally expressive of the nature of 
 his agony, and more particularly of what it shortly 
 afterwards became, when he was alone. It was then 
 intensely bitter, even as the pains of death ; and ex» 
 tensively bitter, as reaching up to the very article of 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 275 
 
 his death. Of what nature, then, was this agony of 
 the blessed Jesus ? 
 
 His agony was supernatural. — There was no nat- 
 ural cause to which it could be traced. For all that 
 the eye of sense could discern, there was no such 
 change in the mere circumstances of the Saviour as 
 to warrant the use of such language. The disciples 
 had often seen him in circumstances far more oppres- 
 sive, far more likely to cast him down, and draw from 
 him the most mournful lamentations, and yet he had 
 never till now so expressed himself. Besides, con- 
 sidering his character for fortitude, patience, and 
 magnanimity in suffering, we are shut up to the 
 conclusion, that as on former occasions he had not 
 given utterance to his spiritual distresses, so, on the 
 present one, the cause should be regarded as most ex- 
 traordinary — as, indeed, supernatural. Had it been 
 an ordinary or natural cause, he would now, as for- 
 merly, have possessed his soul in patience and tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 His agony was spiritual. — This idea corroborates 
 the former. It was sorrow in the mind or soul, and 
 it was there alone, altogether exclusive of any cor- 
 poreal pain- " My soul," said he, '' is sorrowful." No 
 doubt, by the day's labors, and, as we may conjecture, 
 from the very chilliness of the evening, his body might 
 be sensible of discomfort ; but it is not of the body he 
 speaks. All mere bodily torture he would have borne 
 without a murmur, as the sequel proved ; but it was 
 internal anguish ; it was the tossing into fearful tem- 
 pest of every faculty of his mighty intellect ; it was 
 the wringing with grief of every affection of his ami- 
 able heart ; it was the thorough penetration of heart 
 and soul and mind with the barbed arrows of an 
 agony, which, peradventure, not even upon Calvary 
 
276 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 was surpassed in intensity and amount. " It was not," 
 as a pious prelate has observed, "it was not the body- 
 that suffered now ; the pain of body is but as the body 
 of pain ; the anguish of the soul is as the soul of an- 
 guish." 
 
 His agony was special. — For all that we can tell, 
 he may have had other seasons wherein his soul had 
 sorrow of a similar kind, and of supernatural origin. 
 But in this garden there was a speciality about it, 
 both as to kind and degree. He had been a man of 
 sorrows all along. He was the man of sorrows here 
 and now. Here and now he was as it were sorrow it- 
 self; a living impersonation of grief — not the mere 
 chalice into which the wormwood might be put ; not 
 the mere vessel against which angry waters might be 
 dashed ; not the martyr upon whom hellish ingenuity 
 might expend its roughest tortures — ^but an actual, a 
 living, an intelligent, and, however mysterious, an in- 
 nocent embodiment of all that is agonizing within the 
 compass of intellectual or spiritual passion. We are 
 told that the tribulations of the righteous are many ; 
 but we are also told that their consolations abound. 
 Their peaceful spirits can look out upon the heaving 
 earth and the roaring waters, assured that their God 
 will be to them a refuge from every storm. Hence, 
 secure within the bosom of divine benevolence, they can 
 sing with joy, while all nature may be groaning with 
 distress. In this agony of our Lord, however, there 
 were shaking, swelling, and astounding elements, with- 
 out one perceptible admixture of comfort; and this 
 gave to it a speciality. Whatever it was, there was 
 certainly at this hour cast upon him a concentration 
 of bitterness, hitherto unparalleled, even in his life, 
 and which, we believe, will remain an eternal secret 
 in his own breast. 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 2i7 
 
 His agony was prolonged. — His former griefs had 
 been intermittent. Moments if not hours of ease had 
 been allowed to him from the strife of tongues, and the 
 malignities of men and devils. Though sometimes he 
 had not where to lay his head, at others he found shel- 
 ter and repose in Bethany. But in this garden, an 
 agony commenced which lasted on, as some read the 
 passage, to the very hour of his decease. His soul 
 was " exceeding sorrowful, even up to death," or, up 
 to the time of death. There is some reason to believe 
 that from this moment he had to endure the hiding of 
 his Father's face, and that the terrific struggle that 
 followed upon this, lasted till he gave up the ghost. 
 If so, what a Saviour has man ! We are apt to think 
 that the passion of Christ reached its acme just as he 
 was about to expire, and that it was not till then that 
 his Father forsook him ; and that then, so horrible to 
 him was this element in the cup, he dismissed his 
 spirit to seek and find that Father, again to rest under 
 the shadow of his wings. But if we are justified in 
 the view referred to, that he suffered the forsaking of 
 his Father from Gethsemane onwards to Calvary, how 
 poor and inadequate are our conceptions of his patience, 
 courage, and love ! During the intervening hours of 
 such suffering he opened not his mouth to complain, 
 till at length, as if incapable to support it any longer 
 in silence, he astonished the heavens and the earth 
 with the memorable exclamation, " My God, my God, 
 why hast thou forsaken me ?" 
 
 In the narration of this scene there is one most re- 
 markable passage. We are told that, after cautioning 
 the three disciples that they were not to follow him, 
 but to continue in \^gilance and prayer, '' he went 
 forward a little, and was withdrawn from them about 
 a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and fell upon his 
 
278 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 face on the gi'ound, and prayed that if it were possi- 
 ble the hour might pass from him. And he said, 
 Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee. O 
 my Father, if it be possible, take away this cup, and 
 let it pass from me : nevertheless, not what I will, but 
 what thou wilt." It is not easy to give a satisfactory 
 explanation of these mysterious words. It is evident 
 that such was now his sense of that sorrow which was 
 to be unto death, that it was proper that no human 
 eye should witness it, and that he must pray in order 
 to his bearing it. First of all, it appeared to be neces- 
 sary that he should be alone, hence he was withdrawn 
 from the three. Had they seen their Lord prostrated 
 on the earth, had they heard such prayers as he then 
 offered up, '' with strong crying and tears," they might 
 have fled from the spot, and the church must then have 
 been deprived of their testimony as eye and ear wit- 
 nesses. Perhaps their sleeping during the agony was 
 permitted, that they might not hear his groans, nor be 
 prompted, by curiosity or afTection, to pry into the 
 scene. A portion of the sorrow they must have seen, 
 and a part of the prayers they must have heard ; but 
 the bulk of the agony, both in its conflict and cries, 
 was by them unobserved. In addition to this, it may 
 be noticed, that his retirement was proper, that he 
 might be strengthened to sufTer by fervent prayer. 
 But what can be said of that prayer ; for we are told 
 that at three several times he offered it up, and pressed 
 it upon God? " Extreme anguish," it has been said, 
 *' naturally produces recurrence to the one theme which 
 gives it being and intensity ;" and this repetition of 
 Christ's prayer in Gethsemane has been thus ac- 
 counted for. 
 
 The emphasis which our Lord places upon " this 
 cup," calls for particular notice. It is manifest that it 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 279 
 
 can refer only to a certain portion of the sufferings, 
 which he was now, and up to the hour of death, to 
 endure. We cannot suppose that in so expressing 
 himself he petitioned for entire relief from the sacrifice 
 of atonement to which he had been devoted. "A cup 
 is a figure of speech, which denotes not the whole, but 
 only a limited quantity of the liquor which it may 
 contain ; as it is the custom of the father of a family, 
 or master of a feast, to send to his children or guests 
 a cup only of such liquor as he designed for them, 
 but not the entire quantity." Dr. Doddridge upon this 
 passage remarks : "To suppose that our Lord here 
 prays for entire relief, is utterly inconsistent with that 
 steady constancy he always showed, and with that 
 lively turn with which he seems to disoAvn such a 
 prayer. It appears much safer to expound it as Sir 
 Matthew Hale does, as relating to the terror and 
 severity of the combat in which he was now actually 
 engaged. 
 
 Now, in thus praying for a mere abatement of some 
 of the pangs of that dark hour, there is nothing 
 whatever derogatory to his character. He was man 
 as well as God ; and if he had a will peculiar to 
 the divine, so he must have had a will peculiar to the 
 human nature, otherwise he could not have been a 
 perfect human being. " Hereupon," says the judicious 
 Hooker, '' the church hath of old condemned Mono- 
 thelites as heretics, for holding that Christ had but 
 one will." But even upon this interpretation, we are 
 not to found any idea that Christ's will was now in 
 opposition to God's, or that he would have preferred 
 to have been relieved of his obligations. As a man 
 he was now the "distracted subject" of some most 
 mysterious conflict, some new element of grief was, for 
 the first time, superinduced on his spirit, which he 
 
280 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 .specifies as " this cup ;" and may it not be that from 
 this particular draught he, for the moment, was de- 
 sirous to be saved, and even that only if it were pos- 
 sible ; that is, agreeable to the will of the Father ? 
 The threefold repetition of this wish indicates the 
 dreadful nature of that draught ; and if, as we have 
 hinted, the hiding of his Father's face from him was 
 the chief constituent of his sorrow up to death, we 
 may cease wondering at his anxiety to have " that cup" 
 passed from him. That Father's countenance had 
 from all eternity been beheld by him, and in its smiles 
 he had ever rejoiced. That Father's approbation had 
 likewise been all along his strength and encourage- 
 ment ; and when it became necessary that he should 
 see the veiling of the one, and feel the withdrawment 
 of the other, a new and almost intolerable burden was 
 imposed upon him. Dr. Bennet here appropriately re- 
 marks, that this prayer of Christ " may convince us 
 that his sufferings were real ; that his sense of pain 
 was exquisite ; that he had all the natural aversion to 
 suffering ; that it is innocent to seek exemption from 
 pain; that there was an impossibility of our being 
 saved without the Redeemer's sufTerings ; and that 
 this cup was therefore administered to him by the 
 Father's hand." 
 
 In the narrative of these awful transactions, there 
 is one description of his passion which, though it de- 
 monstrates its intensity, wraps up the entire scene 
 in "darkness that may be felt:" "And, being in an 
 agony, he prayed more earnestly : and his sweat was 
 as it were great drops of blood falling down to the 
 ground." We do not stay to inquire whether these 
 were drops of actual blood, forced by mental anguish 
 from the pores of his body, or only drops of perspira- 
 tion large and clammy, as drops of blood are. By 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 281 
 
 either exposition, we are taught that the mental and 
 spiritual exercises of our Redeemer must at the time 
 have been almost intolerable, and such as to drain his 
 very bodily structure of its animal subsistence. We 
 see no reason why it may not be explained as being a 
 sweat of actual blood. Such a phenomenon has been 
 asserted by certain writers as not only possible, but as 
 really to have taken place. Aristotle, and Diodorus 
 Siculus both mention bloody sweats as resulting from 
 extreme inward anguish. 
 
 It seems to have been at this crisis that a celestial 
 being appeared on the spot. " There appeared," says 
 the gospel, " an angel unto him from heaven, strength- 
 ening him." It .is conjectured, and with some likeli- 
 hood of accuracy, that this was Gabriel, the archangel. 
 Jesus had been indebted to angels before this. They 
 assisted him in his temptation ; and now one of them 
 comes to wait upon him in his agony. How strange 
 to Gabriel would be such a spectacle ! But with the 
 secrets of God he had nothing to do, and he sought 
 not to intermeddle here beyond fulfilling his commis- 
 sion. It has been supposed that Satan was in Geth- 
 semane on this occasion, making a last effort to pre- 
 vent the accomplishment of ancient prophecies. If so, 
 here also was a good angel standing by the side of 
 Him of whom Moses, in the law, and the prophets 
 did write. By his presence and support he carried 
 Jesus through the trial. And if it be so that the 
 bright sun of God's smile went down over Messiah's 
 soul at this hour, and left him under the thickest 
 eclipse by which intelligence and consciousness can 
 be enveloped, it discovers, after all, that there was, 
 notwithstanding, left to him at least one sensible 
 token of that Father's complacency. He would cer- 
 tainly know, that but for that Father's mandate, 
 
282 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 Gabriel would not have presumed to appear in Geth- 
 semane. Behold in this, O Christian, the pledge of 
 thine own safety, even in thick spiritual darkness I 
 If thou mournest an absent God ; if thou seekest for 
 him whom thy soul lovest, on the right hand and on 
 the left, behind and before, saying, " He is not there ; 
 I cannot find him," be assured that thine angel, who 
 has the charge of thee, shall be sent to bear thee up ; 
 and if the angel of God be near, the God of the angel 
 caimot be far away. 
 
 But in what form did this angel assist the Saviour ? 
 It is said he was '^strengthening him." The very 
 sight of Gabriel would be strength to Jesus. He 
 knew him to be the servant of the most high God, and 
 that he would not, even in this scene of humiliation 
 and suffering, refuse to obey the command given to 
 him and all the angels at the birth of the Messiah, 
 *' Let all the angels worship him." There was, no 
 doubt, mystic work on foot, of which Gabriel knew 
 nothing ; but his appearance would assure the sufferer 
 that if hell was in motion, so also was heaven ; and 
 none knew better than the Son of God what power 
 even one good spirit can wield over the legions of 
 Tophet. It is likely, however, that this angel did 
 more than console the spirit of the agonized man. 
 That dear Lord, under the force of his passion, was 
 dashed to the very earth. Yes, the marred face of 
 Mary's son embraced the soil of Gethsemane ! Three 
 times did he fall, and three times did he rise. Three 
 times did he visit his sleeping disciples, and gently 
 rebuked them, and three times did he stagger back to 
 the bloody conflict of prayer. And why should we 
 not believe that on all these occasions this angel 
 stretched forth his arms, lifted up the Man of sorrows 
 from the ground, assisted him in his goings to and 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 283 
 
 from his disciples, and presented his sympathizing 
 bosom, on which the aching head might lean ? Was 
 it not prophesied of him, " He shall give his angels 
 charge concerning thee ; and in their hands they shall 
 bear thee up ?" But to the causes of this incompre- 
 hensible suffering, it now becomes us to give our 
 attention. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE CAUSES OF THE AGONY. 
 
 HIS father's will NOT CONSCIOUS GUILT NOR FEAR OF 
 
 SUFFERING NOR DISTRUST OF GOD NOR MISGIVINGS 
 
 ABOUT THE ISSUE BUT DUEL WITH SATAN EXPECTATIONS 
 
 OF PROPHETS THE PENALTY OF LAW THE ATONEMENT 
 
 FOR SIN. 
 
 Before looking into the particulars of this mysteri- 
 ous subject, it may be noticed, that in an important 
 sense the agony of Christ may be regarded as one of 
 the Father's own works : ^' It pleased the Lord to 
 bruise him ; he hath put him to grief." It was the 
 Father's will that this cup should not pass from him 
 till he drank it. Now, God never works without a 
 design, never even in creation and providence, most 
 certainly never in redemption. To the great God, 
 then, as the representative of the Trinity, are we, in 
 an important sense, to trace the work done in this gar- 
 den ; and his design in it, we must believe, was sub- 
 stantially the same with that which he kept in view 
 in the entire humiliation of his Son, namely, the re- 
 quirement of satisfaction to his law and justice from 
 
284 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 the sinner's substitute. No doubt it was owing to the 
 heartlessness and treachery of blood-thirsty men that 
 the Prince of life was delivered up, and with wicked 
 hands slain ; so that secondary causes come into view 
 when accounting for his sufferings and death ; still, 
 by himself we are taught that, in allowing these his 
 enemies to siege, condemn, and crucify him, he was 
 at the same time " going as it had been determined, 
 while woe was unto that man by whom he was be- 
 trayed." Secondary causes, however, are not appa- 
 rent in Gethsemane's work. On Calvary they are 
 shockingly evident; but in the garden he literally 
 treads the wine-press of his Father's wrath " alone." 
 This very consideration leads us up, without the inter- 
 vention of a single instrumentality, to God, the great 
 primary cause of all. Having laid down this premise, 
 let us now inquire into the causes of these agonies, as 
 recognized, handled, and applied by the eternal Father, 
 in obedience to the pure dictates of his sovereign and 
 infinite love for sinners of mankind. We shall first 
 specify some things that were not causes, in any 
 sense, of the Redeemer's agony. 
 
 1. The agony was not occasioned by any conscious- 
 ness of guilt on our Saviour's mind. He was " holy, 
 harmless, and undefiled, separate from sinners." His 
 very enemies being witnesses, he was an innocent 
 and a just person. The cause of suffering to him, 
 therefore, could not be intrinsic, but extrinsic. Con- 
 nected with sin, and associated with guilt, he certainly 
 was ; there being a sense in which it was said, " he 
 was made sin." " Terrible effects among men," it 
 has been said, " have been produced by the lashes and 
 stings of a guilty conscience.; from this they have 
 been in an agony ; their souls have been pierced 
 through with many sorrows ; and even the cold and 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 285 
 
 clammy perspiration has bedewed their face, and moist- 
 ened their very raiment." But such was not, and 
 could not be, the cause of the bloody sweat of Jesus. 
 
 2. The agony is not to be ascribed, as Socinians 
 have done, to a natural horror at and fear of the 
 bodily suiTerings which were before him. No doubt, 
 the indignities and cruelties that he knew awaited 
 him within a few hours, were fitted to fill him with 
 loathing, and even with fear. But to suppose that 
 this mere loathing and fear could occasion such agony, 
 is to assign to him a lower position in the scale of 
 natural and moral fortitude than many of his own 
 martyred servants have honorably occupied. It cer- 
 tainly suits the godless system of Socinus, in which 
 the doctrine of an atonement for sin holds no place, 
 to account for the agony by ascribing it to a natural 
 horror at suffering and pain ; though, even upon this 
 principle of interpretation, one of the numerous and 
 gross inconsistencies of that system appears. All that 
 the Socinian can see in or make of Jesus Christ, 
 amounts only to an exemplification in' him of the 
 virtues which dignify and the graces that adorn hu- 
 manity ; but where upon this showing was there any 
 exemplification worthy of being imitated? To the 
 Socinian eye there appears nothing in Gethsemane 
 but what tends to lower the character of the sufferer. 
 His conduct there is a failure, a decided failure ; his 
 courage gives way in the moment and at the post 
 of danger, where honor is generally supposed to be ; 
 his weakness is powerfully apparent, and his glory lies 
 in the dust. Christ, in his sufferings and death, 
 merely an example ! If it be so, so far as Gethsemane 
 is concerned, many a Christian has outstripped his 
 Lord. Ay, many a heathen has, with more heroism, 
 met and triumphed over the menaces of torture and 
 
286 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 death. It has been suggested, that though '^ death by 
 crucifixion was a very painful one, yet its shameful 
 and stigmatized character was that which made it such 
 an object of detestation." Death by burning, or by 
 other diabolical methods which cruelty has devised, is 
 thought to be more intolerable to man ; and yet to 
 such-like deaths many of Jesus' friends have been 
 called, and they have obeyed the summons without 
 terror of body, palor of countenance, or any other sem- 
 blance of mental revulsion or terror. Away, then, 
 with this contemptible and incongruous method of 
 accounting for the behavior of our Lord, as if he, the 
 great example, indeed, to the world, of all that is he- 
 roic in action and magnanimous in faith, could have 
 faltered or been affrighted in positions where ancient 
 chivalry has crusaded to admiration, and where the 
 crown of Christian martyrdom has been often won ! 
 
 3. And as not to the fears of mere bodily pain, so 
 not to any distrust of the support or faithfulness of 
 his Father can this agony be traced. It is written, 
 *' This man trusted in God, and he heard and delivered 
 him." " The angel of the Lord encamped" round about 
 him, as the pledge of that Father's pleasure in him, 
 even in this night of gloom and terror. Never, for 
 one moment, did the Saviour's confidence in the al- 
 liances of heaven become weak. In his duel with 
 Satan he had trusted, and God had helped ; and now, 
 in his agony, he maintained that trust entire, and 
 <' was heard in that he feared." In every stage of his 
 mediatorial service, his mind was sustained by the 
 most perfect consciousness, that as it was his Father's 
 work he was doing, and his Father's glory he was 
 seeking, so throughout he would be favored with divine 
 support; peradventure, not always, as not now in the 
 garden, with an equal effulgence of light, but sub- 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 287 
 
 stantially both now and to the end, with the sustenta- 
 tion of that Father's hand. 
 
 4. From all which it must follow, that neither can 
 his agony be traced to any distrust in his own capacity 
 to finish the work which had been given him to do. 
 He believed that the result of his sufferings would be 
 God's glory in the salvation of sinners, and he knew 
 that he would accomplish both. He had counted the 
 cost before he began to build the temple ; he had 
 secured the charges before he ventured upon the war- 
 fare. This being the case, he must, from the very 
 beginning, have been possessed with the thorough 
 persuasion that victory awaited him. It was respect 
 unto the recompense of reward that moved Moses to 
 esteem the reproach of Christ greater riches than the 
 treasures of Egypt ; and it was for the joy that was 
 set before him that Jesus " endured the cross, despis- 
 ing the shame." Dark, then, as was this hour, we 
 cannot suppose that he had lost all recollection, or 
 that he had ceased to realize the approaching glory, 
 the glory promised to him as the Father's elect, and 
 as the church's head. Even when prostrate on the 
 earth, and when the chilling dews of eve were falling, 
 and when every pore of his tortured frame gave forth 
 its blood, and when the few drowsy friends near him 
 were sunk in sleep, and when the agony of his soul 
 wrung from him, again and again, those heart-rending 
 prayers, and when already he might feel the stealthy 
 tread of the traitor's foot in Kedron's vale, and already 
 see in the distance the flitting lights of the torches, 
 and already hear the suppressed chuckling of revenge 
 about to spring on its victim : even in this most deso- 
 late condition, and with the horrible death of the cross 
 before him, God's Son clearly and firmly embraced the 
 glorious end of it all : and though for a time the joy 
 
288 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 of that end was wrung out of his mind, yet his faith, 
 his absolute, unfaltering, and unclouded faith, that 
 such an end would be gained, never shifted its place, 
 nor lowered its head ; never bedizened its eye, nor 
 relaxed its godlike grasp of covenant truth and cove- 
 nant glory. 
 
 What, then, could it be that so tumultuously agitated 
 the usually tranquil soul of our kinsman Redeemer ? 
 A general reply to this question is all that shall be 
 attempted. The Saviour, anticipating this struggle, 
 had, on this same evening, characterized it in a two- 
 fold way : " The prince of this world cometh ;" and, 
 ^' Father, the hour is come." From the former of these 
 it appears, that in his agony he had a conflict with 
 Satan, the precise nature, however, of which has not 
 been revealed. It is not likely that it was of the same 
 kind as his " temptation." Signally baffled on this 
 ground, the adversary would not try it a second time. 
 Peradventure, on this awful occasion, he would rouse 
 himself to a last and dreadful effort, knowing or fear- 
 ing that the hour was at hand when the seed of the 
 woman was to bruise his head. We may suppose 
 that Satan was by this time apprized of the peculiar 
 death to which Jesus was to be subjected, and that his 
 sufferings previously, as well as the death itself, had 
 all been the theme of prophecy. It might now, then, 
 be his object to falsify prophecy, by an attempt to 
 destroy the fortitude of Jesus, and frighten him from 
 his purpose to save sinners by a propitiatory decease. 
 In furtherence of this, he might project diabolical sug- 
 gestions into the pure mind of the Saviour, which 
 might exert all the more appalling influence, that every 
 element in that region of holy thought was essentially 
 antagonist to them. The prince of this world did 
 come to him ; but Jesus could and did say with per» 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 289 
 
 feet truth, '' he hath nothing in me ;" that is, no weak- 
 ness, no depravity, upon which he can successfully act. 
 Hence, while his attempts agonized, or caused a com- 
 motion in the soul of Jesus, they were utterly abortive. 
 But there was more than this. In his intercessory 
 prayer he had said, '' Father, the hour is come." Yes ; 
 and such an hour never before had come, either in 
 providence or grace. At this hour that Father ex- 
 pected that the prophecies should be verified, and the 
 types fulfilled. Ancient seers and typical personages 
 might now overlook their mysterious champion, to be- 
 hold his wonderful vindication of their truth and honor. 
 When we consider, then, the number and importance 
 of these predictions, and the multifarious peculiarities 
 of these types, and the unsullied majesty of that God, 
 we need not be surprised if, within the soul of him at 
 whom they all looked, and from whom they all exacted 
 obedience, there began to be exceeding great conflict, 
 beneath which, for a season, it appears as if over- 
 whelmed. Truly, it was a tremendous undertaking 
 for one man, and he a man of sorrows, to substantiate 
 all that Moses in the law had shadowed forth, and to 
 accomplish, to their minutest iota, all that major and 
 mmor prophets had written. As the angel or head of 
 the Old Testament dispensation, he himself had reared 
 the entire structure, had inspired every Roly man of 
 God, and had led forth the covenant of his Father, 
 whether under Adamic, Abrahamic, or Mosaic econo- 
 mies, from the garden of Eden down to the garden of 
 Gethsemane. He must now, therefore, be true to 
 himself, as well as to those whom he had thus em- 
 ployed to foreshadow the great atonement of sin which 
 was now to be made, and true to that God also who, 
 at sundry times and in divers manners, had spoken 
 concerning it to the world. At this hour, then, came 
 
 13 
 
290 .MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 upon him all these claims of bygone ages ; and hence 
 the dreadful conviction by which he was agonized, that 
 now or never the honor of heaven was to be preserved 
 inviolate, and the redemption of perishing mankind 
 secured. 
 
 What, then, was now expected of him? What was 
 it that was now essential to the maintenance of the 
 divine honor, and the happiness of the human soul ? 
 The reply is easy — His obedience unto death, even 
 the death of the cross. In other words, it was now 
 expected of him that he would " make his soul an of- 
 fering for sin." But, to be made a sin-offering, to his 
 soul sin must of course be imputed ; and then, if sin 
 must be imputed, the whole penalty of the broken law 
 must be exacted. The hour then had come when that 
 penalty was to be exacted. He knew that it was to be 
 exacted almost immediately ; therefore did he com- 
 mand his soul to arise and drink that cup. His soul 
 heard the order, and arose, though in agony, to obey. 
 Perhaps never till this hour was the full view of the 
 abominable nature of sin presented to that reasonable 
 soul ; never till now might the infinite heinousness of 
 human guilt be scanned by his unclouded intellect; 
 never till now might the ineffable horror of the wrath 
 of an offended God, and that God his Father, seize 
 upon his tender, trusting, loving spirit ; never till now 
 might he allow himself to realize the h eighth, and 
 depth, and length and breadth, of the satisfaction 
 which law and justice demanded from a guilty sinner's 
 surety. If so, then let it be considered that sin in 
 any form, degree, or relationship, when presented to 
 the view of perfect purity, must be tlie object of its 
 detestation. Did not the angels desert Paradise when 
 sin took possession of it ? Did not even an earthly 
 isaint excjaim, '' He that worketh deceit shall not dwell 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 291 
 
 within my house ; he that telleth lies shall not dwell 
 in my sight ?" Here, however, was the Son of the 
 Highest, the child of the Holiest, having nothing in 
 him with which the devil could concert, voluntarily 
 awaiting and challenging his most malignant assaults. 
 Here he was, mysteriously connected with sin, that 
 evil and bitter thing which his soul hated — ay, liter- 
 ally bearing sin, and bearing it too upon a soul of 
 absolute perfection in holiness. Here was the Lamb 
 of God, not only charged with " sins not his own," 
 but suffering, through its horrible extent, their dread- 
 ful penalty ; for " he was wounded for our transgres- 
 sions, he was bruised for our iniquities : the chastise- 
 ment of our peace was upon him ; and with his stripes 
 we are healed." 
 
 Upon such topics it were both pleasant and profita- 
 ble to enlarge ; but we must now hearken to a few of 
 those serious cautions and lessons which descend to us 
 from this memorable spot on Olivet. 
 
 PART lY. 
 
 THE COUNSELS OF OLIVET. 
 
 MALIGNITY OF SIN REDEEMING LOVE CONFIDENCE IN THE 
 
 ATONEMENT GRATITUDE TO CHRIST UNBELIEF. 
 
 I. Gethsemane proclaims the malignity and evil 
 OF SIN. — ^No trivial matter could that be, which occa- 
 sioned such a storm in the soul of Emmanuel. Death, 
 and all the other woes that have come upon our world, 
 tell loudly against sin ; but the sufferings of the Sav- 
 
292 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 iour at this hour proclaim the same truth with a far 
 more awful emphasis, Sinners ! go to Gethsemane, 
 and study what sin is in itself, and what are its neces- 
 sary fruits. The world's gaudy scenes are not the 
 proper schools out of which to take lessons on such a 
 theme. There the truth is concealed from your 
 minds, and you are made to believe a lie. The imbe- 
 cile strictures, too, of a merely ethical philosophy are 
 not much better as instructors on such a topic. Some 
 little excuses are there ventured on for poor human 
 nature, and the hideousness of immorality is some- 
 times veiled behind the charities of a morbid forbear- 
 ance. But there can be no mistakes upon sin from 
 the lessons of this garden. After what has been de- 
 clared from such an oracle, we are bound to believe 
 that the scriptural accounts of it are all truthful ; not 
 exaggerated fancies, but sober and correct descriptions, 
 such as fully justify God in his denunciations of it, in 
 his punishment of it, and in the mysterious method he 
 adopted to save its human victims from its appalling 
 results. 
 
 II. Gethsemane proclaims the power of redeem- 
 ing LOVE. — Mere philanthropy could not have sus- 
 tained such a shock. Yea, the combined benevolence 
 of angels would have failed in this struggle ! But the 
 love of Christ was equal to its endurance, not only 
 because it was perfectly sincere, and intensely ardent, 
 (for this alone must have been inadequate,) but be- 
 cause it was divine love — yes, divine love for sinners 
 was the main prop of the man Christ Jesus when he 
 was passing through this ordeal. This love bore him 
 upwards and onwards, as all the billows rolled over 
 him, till he reached the haven of his Father's bosom, 
 which received his spirit. Not one of the angry 
 waters could quench that love. It was strong as 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 293 
 
 death. He who can analyze the mixture of the cup 
 which our Saviour here drank, and not resolve all into 
 the most transcendent and incomprehensible love for 
 man, must either be grossly infidel, or wickedly indif- 
 ferent. That man is greatly to be pitied who can 
 listen to the cries, and witness the tears and blood of 
 Christ on this night, and not retire to his chamber 
 more thoroughly disgusted than ever with sin, and 
 more enchanted than ever with the Saviour from it. 
 III. Gethsemane proclaims the duty of joyful 
 
 CONFIDENCE IN THE ATONEMENT. BcHeVer, this is of 
 
 course your duty. Surely you cannot question your 
 personal interest in these agonies. The griefs borne 
 there were yours ; the sorrows carried there were 
 yours; and these griefs and sorrows were occasioned 
 by your sins. This is true, and what follows? It 
 follows that your sins can never rise up against you ; 
 your curse is exhausted; it spent its fury on your 
 Surety. Let this then, henceforth, be your address 
 to Christ : Lord Jesus, from this moment I cast from 
 me all doubts as to my personal safety now, as to my 
 eternal happiness hereafter ; and if at any time of 
 infirmity, fears for my soul should rush in to vex me, 
 I will remember the night when thy soul was exceed- 
 ing sorrowful, even unto death ; and even to my own 
 death I will essay to preserve my own soul exceeding 
 joyful in thy love. Yes, Lord, whatever may have 
 been the number or aggravation of my sins, though I 
 may have been a sinner of deeper dye than ever trod 
 this earth, I will now, by thy grace, banish from me 
 the terrors of the law ; I will quail no more before the 
 baring of God's holy arm, or the sheen and sharpness 
 of his sword. For, when I look upon thee, my God, 
 my kinsman Redeemer, at the hour and amid the 
 powers of darkness, I am assured that the law has 
 
294 MOUNT OLIVET. 
 
 been satisfied, that the divine arm has dealt its dead- 
 liest stroke, and that the sword of inflexible justice 
 must now be sheathed, since it had such an awaken- 
 ing against the man that was God's fellow. Believer, 
 you commit no presumptuous sin in thus assuring 
 your heart in Christ before God ; only hold fast your 
 confidence, and let none take it from you, and thus 
 all will be well with thy soul — at present in Christian 
 conflict, in a short time in combat with the King of 
 Terrors — at the great tribunal of God when you come 
 to judgment, and throughout eternity in the presence 
 of God and the Lamb. 
 
 IV. Gethsemane proclaims the duty of ardent 
 GRATITUDE TO THE Saviour. — All who havc bccn 
 washed from their sins in his blood will readily ad- 
 mit, that prompt devotement of themselves to him and 
 his cause forever, is the very least return that they 
 can make to him. Can you realize such a scene as 
 took place this night, and, after associating your own 
 sins with it, refuse to acknowledge that now " ye are 
 not," cannot, ought not to be "your own?" That 
 agony on the mount of Olives bought you for the suf- 
 ferer. On the cross, it is true, the price was given in 
 full ; but even here, as much was advanced as should 
 dispose you promptly to surrender all you are, and all 
 you possess, to him, and to him alone. It is enough 
 to bring the blush to the cheek, enough to suffuse the 
 heart with shame, to think how coolly and miserly 
 some professors can sit down and calculate, not how 
 much, but how little they can do for or give to Jesus. 
 What an ado, what a murmuring, what a scheming, 
 what an evading, what a compromising, do we often 
 witness concerning the duty of sacrificing our flesh, 
 and giving our substance to Christ ! It might almost 
 be inferred, from the nice and minute arithmetic which 
 
Mount olivet. 295 
 
 some Christians employ to rule them in their dona- 
 tions, that the obligations were all on Christ's part, 
 that we had already acted out the character of the 
 generous ; and that for him to exact one farthing, one 
 self-denial, one nonconformity to this world in addi- 
 tion, amounts to extortion, and ought to be resisted. 
 Believer in Christ Jesus ! make this cry to heaven : 
 O merciful God ! keep back thy servant from sordid 
 avarice, from selfish indulgences, and from sinful ex- 
 travagances, so that with a free heart, clean hands, 
 and consecrated gold, I may vindicate my state as a 
 forgiven debtor, and make clear my character as an 
 heir of God, and a joint-heir with Christ. 
 
 Men and brethren, and all ye who fear God, be 
 persuaded that there is at least one thing which it is 
 impossible for you to do : you can never do too much 
 for the sufferer in Gethsemane ; for after you have 
 done all, and given all on earth, yea, even after myri- 
 ads of ages have revolved over you in heaven, you 
 must still be infinitely distant from that imaginary 
 point where you can say, I owe him no more — all my 
 debts to him are paid. These debts can never be 
 paid, either by yourselves or by any substitutes ; be- 
 cause every breath you draw, and every moment of 
 holy joy you have in Paradise, only add to the account 
 against you for more gratitude and more service. 
 What a pity, then, that Christians should calculate 
 their obligations to Christ in unfavorable positions — 
 in their counting-houses, for example, or places of ex- 
 change, or beside their farms, or over their merchan- 
 dize ! Ah, this is the cruel system that has hitherto 
 kept Christian liberality a dwarf If men would but 
 sum up their accounts when meditating on Olivet or 
 Calvary, when realizing the splendors of a celestial 
 existence whicli they hope for, or the horrors of the 
 
296 MOUNT OLIVETi 
 
 hell from which they would flee, from tliat day and 
 hour Christian liberality would become, as it is cer- 
 tain, we hope, at no distant period, to become, a giant. 
 May God hasten it ! 
 
 Does the unbelieving sinner inquire, Have I any 
 interest in these agonies ? We joyfully reply, You 
 have — most assuredly you have — God be thanked, 
 you have ! There is not a grander or more honorable 
 position than that which the Christian minister occu- 
 pies, when, from a gospel high place, he makes, in the 
 room of God, a full and free offer of salvation to all 
 who will accept of it, through the mediatorial sacrifice 
 of Christ. This position, with Gethsemane so near, 
 we hesitate not to assume ; and to you, trembling and 
 guilty — or even to you w4io, though guilty, do not 
 yet tremble, is it boldly proclaimed, that for you, and 
 for all mankind, there is enough and to spare in the 
 propitiatory agonies of Christ. If, then, you perish, 
 it cannot be from any deficiency in his agony, or 
 shortcoming in his obligation. Be assured, God is 
 sincere in calling on you, as he does at this time, to 
 repentance and faith — smcere in telling you of a 
 Saviour for the chief of sinners, and in swearing by 
 his own great name that he has no pleasure in your 
 death. If you perish, it must be owing to your own 
 unbelief of God's sincerity and Christ's sufficiency ; 
 entirely owing to your contempt of the only name, 
 and the only foundation given among men whereupon 
 and whereby they can be saved. If you perish, it 
 must be because you refuse to identify yourselves with 
 the blood of the garden and of the cross, and, by ap- 
 propriating faith, to make that blood your own. O ! 
 be entreated to believe that the sufTerins^s of the Lamb 
 of God were of the nature of that penalty under 
 which you at this moment lie, and under which you 
 
MOUNT OLIVET. 297 
 
 must lie, till you go up to God and tell him that you 
 accept of his Son as your righteousness. Do this ; 
 do it now, do it in prayerful dependence ; do it with 
 all your heart, and, as the Lord liveth, it shall be well 
 with your souls. But what if you will not do this ? 
 Why, then, there is no alternative : perish you must ; 
 having rejected Christ, " there remaineth no more 
 sacrifice for sin.'* 
 
 13* 
 
MOUNT ZION, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE PUBLIC WORSHIP OF GOD. 
 
 The very name " mount Zion," awakens most in- 
 teresting emotions in the hearts of the people of God. 
 It is associated with the history of some of the most 
 illustrious men, and of many of the most remarkable 
 events, connected with the Hebrew church and state ; 
 and it is employed in scripture to describe the present 
 character, as well as the future condition of the church 
 of God in that country which is an heavenly. 
 
 With regard to the mountain itself, strictly so 
 called, little requires to be told. In describing the 
 position of mount Moriah, we stated that it was one 
 of three rising grounds on which the city of Jerusalem 
 was built, and that the other two were designated 
 mount Acra, and mount Zion. On Moriah the temple 
 of Solomon was situated ; on Acra many of the prin- 
 cipal streets of the city were built; and on mount 
 Zion were erected the chief buildings belonging to the 
 kings and nobles of Judea. Here were the " bulwarks, 
 palaces, and towers," which the psalmist extols. Zion 
 may be said to have been the heart and strength of 
 Jerusalem. Situated on the heights of the southern 
 extremity, it was seen towering over all the rest. It 
 
MuUxNT ZION. 299 
 
 is sometimes called the " city of David," chiefly be- 
 cause he resided in it. The palace of the king was 
 there. For this reason, perhaps, the entire city was 
 sometimes designated Zion. 
 
 Of the literal mount Zion there are now no remains. 
 The bare eminence may still be seen, but its "palaces 
 and towers" are gone. It was prophesied that ''Zion 
 sJiall be ploughed as a field, and Jerusalem shall be- 
 come heaps." This prediction has been accomplished 
 many centuries ago. Because of the treatment given 
 by the Jews to the Saviour, their holy city was doomed 
 to destruction. Titus Vespasian was the instrument 
 in God's hand for inflicting this dreadful judgment J 
 and now the grass of the field may be seen waving 
 where the city of David once reared its magnificent 
 turrets ; the heathen are walking in the streets of 
 Jerusalem ; the Turk has built his mosque on Moriah, 
 and the city of God is now '' the forsaken of God." 
 Whether the time shall come when its ruined walls 
 shall be actually rebuilt, when the lineal seed of 
 Abraham shall take possession of its gates, and its 
 temple shall once more receive within its sacred walls 
 the tribes of the Lord, is scarcely worthy of inquiry. 
 Events of far higher moment are in the womb of 
 Providence, with regard to the progress and triumphs 
 of the church ; and it is of greater importance to 
 hasten on the period when the whole earth shall be 
 filled with his knowledge, than to define the seasons 
 of any particular people's advancement from unbelief 
 to Christ, from the world to the church. 
 
 It is our purpose, in treating of mount Zion, to con- 
 sider, first of all, the subject of public worship, as that 
 ordinance seems to be indicated in the religious festi- 
 vals of the Jews held annually in Jerusalem;* and 
 
 ♦ Psalm Ixv. 1. 
 
300 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 then, in a separate and concluding prelection, to take 
 a view of mount Zion above, or the church in her state 
 of perfection and triumph. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE PUBLIC WORSHIP OF GOD. 
 
 PUBLIC WORSHIP A DIVINE ORDINANCE OLD TESTAMENT 
 
 TIMES PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 It has been remarked that the religion of Nature 
 does not expressly enjoin the public worship of Jeho- 
 vah. Reason, however, though by no means an in- 
 fallible guide in matters of faith and duty, seems to 
 point to it as incumbent upon the intelligent crea- 
 tures of God ; and the discovery of faint resemblances 
 of it among the heathen corroborates the idea, that 
 to assemble for such sacred purpose is, to a certain 
 extent, natural to men. It has been often urged, and 
 most properly, we think, as one of the proofs of the 
 moral obligation of the Sabbath, that among all peo- 
 ple, barbarous and civilized, pagan or Christian, one 
 day in the seven has, from time immemorial, been set 
 apart for the performance of religious rites. Hesiod, 
 Homer, and Callimachus, in their writings, characterize 
 the seventh day as holy;* and other ancient authori- 
 ties tell us that " the seventh day was a festival of 
 every nation,"! " a day which all mankind celebrate."! 
 So far, then, from superstition putting her veto on the 
 
 * * E/?J')/io»/ Upov nyap.' Hesiod. t Philo. 
 
 X Theophilus of Antioch. 
 
MOUNT ZION. 30t 
 
 practice, it is singular enough that even by her influ- 
 ence, blinded and impure as she is, great multitudes 
 of deceived devotees have, in all ages, been drawn to 
 worship together before her slirines, often dragged as 
 besotted slaves at her chariot- wheels, and not unfre- 
 quently sacrificed upon her Moloch altars. In despotic 
 countries, too, where liberty is but moderately, if in 
 any degree allowed, public meetings for religious ser- 
 vices have not only been tolerated, but authorized, 
 while gatherings of the people for any other object 
 have been sternly interdicted, and, when attempted, 
 often cruelly put down. Those who are accustomed 
 to read the narratives of intelligent travellers, must be 
 aware of the enthusiasm wherewith the vain Chinese, 
 whether Confucians, or Taouists, or Buddhists, wait 
 upon the worship of their false deities ; and of the 
 fanatical ardor which impels multitudes of Hindoos 
 to swell the festival processions of Bramah, Vishna, 
 and Siva. Into whatsoever region, indeed, enlightened 
 curiosity has wandered, from the more civilized com- 
 munities of Europe, to the heathens of Polynesia, 
 striking illustrations of this practice have not been 
 awanting. While, however, these semblances of the 
 duty are interesting, as indirect hints of its being 
 congenial even with the dictates of reason, our views 
 regarding its sacred character must be regulated by 
 express revelation ; and here we can be at no loss to 
 ascertain the divine mind. 
 
 Till men began to multiply upon the face of the 
 earth, it is not to be expected that we should have, in 
 the Old Testament Scriptures, any express references 
 to the duty of public worship ; hence the silence of the 
 Bible upon the subject at the time of, and subsequent 
 to, the fall of man. We can scarce doubt, however, 
 that wherever God has had a people, and whenever 
 
302 MOUNT 2I0N. 
 
 Opportunities were afforded them, they have not been 
 backward to assemble themselves together, to " speak 
 of the glory of his kingdom, and talk of his power." 
 Preaching, we know, has ever been a part of public 
 worship ; and there can be no doubt that this was an 
 exercise in which Noah was often engaged when the 
 ark was building. No sooner had the waters of the 
 flood subsided, than we find this interesting patriarch 
 gathering his household together while they, comprising 
 the whole of the human race on the earth, united in 
 offering sacrifices to Jehovah. Up to the period of the 
 Christian era, sacrifices always formed an important 
 element in worship. Abraham erected altars where- 
 ever he sojourned, and, for himself and family, pre- 
 sented offerings to Jehovah. In such practices he was 
 followed by his descendants, Isaac and Jacob ; but 
 Scripture does not inform us whether or not the Israel- 
 ites, during the period of their bondage in Egypt, per- 
 formed the duties of patriarchal piety. 
 
 There is, indeed, reason to fear, that under the 
 spirit-depressing bondage to w^hich the Israelites were 
 for so Jong time subjected, they allowed their own 
 peculiar religious rites to fall into desuetude, and, per- 
 adventure, insensibly and sinfully imbibed the spirit 
 of that idolatry which abounded on every hand. De- 
 generated, however, as the state of religion among 
 them was at the time of Moses being raised up, there 
 was evidently a revival of godliness under his remark- 
 able ministry. A proof of this will be found in the 
 request they tendered to Pharaoh, to permit them to 
 go three days' journey into the wilderness, that they 
 might sacrifice unto the Lord their God. When their 
 emancipation was at length effected by the " right 
 hand" of God, and after they had passed in safety 
 tlirough the Red Sea, we have then one of the most 
 
MOUNT ZION. 303 
 
 impressive instances of public worship that can well be 
 conceived. It is written, " Then sang Moses and the 
 children of Israel this song unto the Lord, and spake, 
 saying, I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath tri- 
 umphed gloriously : the horse and his rider hath he 
 thrown into the sea." There are so many elements 
 of sacred grandeur and sublimity about the whole of 
 this scene, that we are strongly tempted to dwell for 
 a little upon the reflections which it suggests ; but 
 we must refrain, only remarking, that it is highly 
 probable, that from this time forward the Hebrews 
 did not neglect opportunities to repeat the song which 
 had first burst from their wondering hearts when they 
 " saw the Egyptians dead upon the sea-shore." Ere 
 long, the law was given from Sinai, and then the 
 whole arrangements and statutes of their economy 
 were fully detailed, in which, especially, the extraor- 
 dinary occasions for public worship occupied a con- 
 spicuous place. It is not necessary here to allude to 
 these, farther than to state that, independent altogether 
 of whatsoever acts of worship might be performed by 
 them under the ministry of their district priests, or 
 under the regulations of the Sanhedrim, when syna- 
 gogues came to be frequented, there were three dif- 
 ferent times in the year when all the males of Israel 
 were commanded to go up and worship before Jehovah 
 at Jerusalem ; these were the feasts of passover, pente- 
 cost, and tabernacles. 
 
 It is alike pleasant and profitable, when searching 
 the scriptures, to notice the very significant hints of 
 this custom of worshipping God in public during the 
 periods subsequent to the ministry of Moses. For 
 example, it was provided in the law that two silver 
 trumpets were to be blown, to call, at the proper 
 times, the assembly of the congrcigration to the door 
 
304 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 of the tabernacle. We are told also, that when en- 
 gaged at the tinie of the evening sacrifice in weep- 
 ing, and mourning, and confessing the sins of the 
 people, before the house of God, " there assembled 
 unto Ezra out of Israel a very great congregation of 
 men, and women, and children : for the people wept 
 very sore." And on another occasion it is written, 
 that when the " book of the law" of Moses was to be 
 read, " Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the 
 people, for he was above all the people, and when he 
 opened it, all the people stood up ; and Ezra blessed 
 the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered 
 Amen, amen, with lifting up their hands, and they 
 bowed their heads, and worshipped the Lord, with 
 their faces to the ground." And who has not heard 
 of the devotional character of David, and of his 
 regular habit of going up to "worship the Lord, 
 towards his holy temple?" His beautiful psahns 
 abound with allusions to the duty ; and in the writings 
 of the prophets, there are here and there to be found 
 distinct references to the worship of the sanctuary. 
 When, in the mysteries of Providence, Israel was 
 taken captive to far distant lands, deeper poignancy 
 seems to have been imparted to their sorrows, as by 
 the rivers of Babylon they sat down and wept, re- 
 membering the songs they had sung together within 
 the courts of God's house at Jerusalem ; and one re- 
 deeming feature of the degenerate times in which the 
 prophet Malachi lived was, that " then they that feared 
 the Lord spake often one to another : and the Lord 
 hearkened, and heard it ; and a book of remembrance 
 was written before him for them that feared the Lord, 
 and that thought upon his name." 
 
 In reviewing the Christian dispensation, it seems 
 almost unnecessary to say, that whatever abrogations 
 
MOUNT ZION. 305 
 
 were made as to the ceremonial and judicial depart- 
 ments of the former economy, the spirit and substance 
 of religious worship were retained. Public worship 
 was not abolished. On the contrary, it was expressly 
 legislated for, and provision was made for its celebra- 
 tion by the Head of the church. Ere he left the world, 
 he instituted the gospel ministry, with instructions to 
 the apostles that they should preach the gospel, and 
 be, in general, stewards over the household of faith. 
 He, by his example, as well as by his precept, did, 
 after his resurrection, set apart the first day of the 
 week for the duties of the sanctuary : and it was when 
 on that day the disciples were assembled, that the in- 
 fluences of the Holy Ghost were poured out upon the 
 infant Christian church. Moreover, all the necessary 
 rules for the regulation, maintenance, and extension 
 of the gospel kingdom are specified and enjoined, and 
 these generally imply the assembhng of God's people 
 for public worship. The promise of the presence and 
 blessing of the Saviour is specially directed to the 
 meetings of the saints in his name. The very nature 
 of the two symbolic ordinances of Christianity, Bap- 
 tism and the Lord's Supper, implies publicity in their 
 observance ; and indeed the design of their institution 
 would be lost if they were otherwise than publicly sol- 
 emnized. On the other hand, the Acts of the Apostles, 
 which to the church stand in the place of direct author- 
 ity from the Saviour himself, clearly illustrate, and 
 most unequivocally enjoin the duty. " Let us con- 
 sider one another," says Paul, " to provoke unto love, 
 and to good works : not forsaking the assembling of 
 ourselves together, as the manner of some is " 
 
 A superficial acquaintance with the history of what 
 may be called primitive Christianity, must convince 
 us how regularly and courageously this sacred duty 
 
306 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 was observed and perpetuated. " All Christians," says 
 Mosheim, " were unanimous in setting apart the first 
 day of the week, on which the triumphant Saviour 
 arose from the dead, for the solemn celebration of pub- 
 lic worship. This pious custom, which was derived 
 from the example of the church at Jerusalem, was 
 founded upon the express appointment of the apostles, 
 who consecrated that day to the same purpose, and 
 was observed universally throughout all the Christian 
 churches, as appears from the united testimonies of 
 the most creditable writers."* " Let us no more Sab- 
 batise," says Ignatius, who was a companion of the 
 apostles; '' let us keep the Lord's-day, on which our 
 Life arose." " On the day called Sunday," writes 
 Justyn Martyr, who lived in the second century, " is 
 an assembly of all who live in the city or country ; 
 and the memoirs of the apostles and writings of the 
 prophets are read." And Ireneeus, the disciple of Poly- 
 carp, who was a disciple of John, corroborates the tes- 
 timony of all the fathers. " Every one of us Christ- 
 ians," says he, " keep the Sabbath, meditating in the 
 law, and rejoicing in the works of the Lord." Now, 
 these uninspired, but well-authenticated statements be- 
 come exceedingly interesting to the pious mind, when 
 associated with the lofty spirit of enterprise, and the 
 fearless fortitude wherewith the righteous, in these 
 dark and bloody times, maintained a regular observ- 
 ance of this duty. 
 
 At that period, it was not so good and pleasant, as 
 it has been since, for " brethren to dwell together in 
 unity." The Roman law not only frowned upon, but 
 peremptorily interdicted Christian assemblies. Trajan 
 was not the only autocrat who anathematized the 
 public worship of their God ; nor was Pliny the only 
 
 * Mosheim, Cent. I. Chap. iv. Sec. iv. 
 
MOUNT ZION. 307 
 
 sycophant that liberall}^ interpreted the imperial edict 
 to scatter them to the winds. Notwithstanding, they 
 braved the rage of their enemies, and met together, 
 sometimes even at the midnight hour, till the crowing 
 of the cock warned them of the re-opening of the san- 
 guinary amphitheatre. These were days when Chris- 
 tianity was indeed a reality. The testimonies of saints 
 had then to be given amid the tragedies of martyrdom. 
 Let us never cease to acknowledge our debt of grati- 
 tude to those who thus earnestly contended for the 
 faith. 
 
 Having thus ascertained the divine appointment of 
 the ordinance, let us now inquire into its peculiar 
 beauties.* 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF PUBLIC WORSHIP. 
 
 MORAL SITUATION DESIGN SEASON EXERCISES 
 
 DISPOSITIONS. 
 
 Beauty has been defined to be that quality in visible 
 objects in consequence of which their colors and forms 
 are agreeable to the human mind. The strictly philo- 
 sophical meaning of the term, however, is not always 
 adhered to. It is often extended to objects perceptible 
 by other senses than that of sight, and not unfre- 
 quently to the productions of the human mind ; to a 
 powerful argument, for instance, or an eloquent pero- 
 ration, or a piece of fine poetry, or to appropriate and 
 
 ♦ Psalm xlviii. 
 
308 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 striking figures. This term is also transferred to the 
 scenes and services of the sanctuary, where a sense of 
 what is strictly spiritual may be said to predominate 
 over other objects only physically or intellectually 
 beautiful. It were an easy matter to go over all that 
 appertains to the public ordinances of our faith, and 
 characterize all as beautiful. A few cursory allusions, 
 however, must suffice. 
 
 Of the architectural beauties of those buildings 
 wherein the worship of God may be publicly cele- 
 brated we are not called upon to speak. It is upon 
 the moral and religious aspects of the ordinance that 
 we ought to meditate. These are its chief attractions 
 to the saint ; the charms that at first arrested his at- 
 tention, and that multiply their fascinations around 
 him the longer he stands within the gates of Jerusalem. 
 But for these, indeed, it must have been obsolete long 
 ago. The church, the world, both are indebted to 
 these ; for, despite of every opposition from the earth, 
 or from beneath the earth, public worship remains unto 
 this day, one of the grand mediums by which man 
 draws near to God, and God holds fellowship with 
 man. Who that meditates on the scriptural references 
 to the subject can fail to notice the eloquent tributes 
 that are, not lavishly, but justly paid to its peculiar 
 beauties ? When the inspired penmen advert to them, 
 they can scarcely restrain their enthusiastic applause 
 of the courts of the living God ; nor will the cordiality 
 wherewith the pious disciple of Jesus goes up to his 
 humble sanctuary, suffer by comparison with the at- 
 tachment of the devout Jew to the holy hill of Zion. 
 The ordinance may be seen from different positions ; 
 and according as it is viewed through the telescope of 
 faith from each of these, its several beauties become 
 apparent. I shall humbly attempt to move this moral, 
 
MOUNT ZION. 309 
 
 this sacred panorama before your eyes, conscious that 
 with the great features of the picture you have been 
 long familiar, but trusting to your ardent attachment 
 to the subject, that another exhibition of its charms 
 will neither surfeit nor fatigue your minds. 
 
 1. In the view of the saint the situation of the ordi- 
 nance is beautiful. This praise, you are aware, was 
 given to ancient Zion, '' Beautiful for situation, the joy 
 of the whole earth, is mount Zion." Again, it is writ- 
 ten, " Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath 
 shined." The temple, in the days of our Saviour, had 
 one gate which was called " Beautiful." But this or- 
 dinance, in all its departments, is worthy of this praise, 
 and perhaps in no view is it more deserving of it, than 
 with respect to its situation. What is it ? God has 
 let it down from heaven, and placed it in the midst 
 of a thoughtless, godless world. It is " the true taber- 
 nacle which the Lord pitched, and not man." Not 
 more bleak and barren was the wilderness, in the midst 
 of which the first tabernacle was reared, than ls the 
 moral desolateness of the scene by which the gospel 
 temple is surrounded. Though it had no intrinsic 
 beauties, it would become beautiful from contrast. 
 The wisdom of the philosopher is set off to finer ad- 
 vantao^e when taken alonof with the imbecile efforts of 
 the illiterate ; the skill of the architect is more evident 
 when his work is compared with some ruder struc- 
 ture ; the solitary oasis appears more verdant from the 
 sterility of the Sahara on whose arid sands it reposes ; 
 the lofty mountain has a higher altitude the more level 
 and extensive the plain is where it is fixed ; and the 
 piety of the good man diffuses a brighter halo, the 
 more iniquitous the sphere is in which he moves. 
 
 Contrariwise, objects of inferiority become even more 
 so, when contrasted with others of greater importance. 
 
310 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 Ugliness is more offensive when set beside beauty ; in- 
 firmity looks weaker still in the presence of the athletic ; 
 and duplicity is never so much detested as when opposed 
 to uprightness and sincerity. Who does not dislike 
 the weed the more, that it grows in the same bed with 
 the tulip ? and are not the shades of twilight more 
 gloomy after a day of brilliant sunshine ? It is just so 
 with the ordinance of public worship as to its situation. 
 No natural beauties, no moral grandeur, extrinsic to 
 itself, may encompass it, but it is on that account all 
 the lovelier an object. Is there no beauty in the mere 
 situation of the hospital which is contiguous to the 
 mansions of the diseased and the dying ; or of the house 
 of refuge which invites the orphan and the wanderer 
 within its gates ; or of the lighthouse which gives warn- 
 ing in the darlcness of night to the bewildered pilot ; or 
 of the educational seminary which affords the means 
 of useful instruction to the rising and circumjacent 
 generation ? These things gather much beauty from 
 their mere juxtaposition to the objects for whose bene- 
 fit they have been raised ; and so does the ordinance 
 of public worship. It is set up in the midst of a world 
 lying in wickedness, where the people are all blind, 
 miserable, wretched, ignorant, and naked, and to all 
 their diversified characters and necessities does it im- 
 part seasonable and suitable relief Better situated it 
 could not be for poor lost sinners. It is near to every 
 one of them ; it is accessible to all ; and all are invited 
 to engage in its service, and to become partakers of its 
 blessings. 
 
 2. In the view of the saint the design contemplated 
 by this ordinance is also beautiful. For what purpose 
 is the command issued, " Lift up your heads, O ye 
 gates ; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors ?" Are 
 the people summoned together to deliberate on secu- 
 
MOUNT ZIOX. 311 
 
 larities ? Is this the gathering of a multitude whose 
 superficial minds are to be " pleased with a trifle, or 
 tickled with a straw;" through whose wide throats 
 hosannahs may be poured to-day, and curses to-mor- 
 row ? Are the people marshalled to go down to the 
 battle field and imbrue their hands in human gore ? 
 Far, far indeed, are such designs from the conventions 
 of the saints. They meet, but not to conspire for the 
 pitiful profits of avarice ; the tables of the money- 
 changers are not within the porches, nor are the seats 
 of them that buy and sell. The command to " open 
 to God the gates of righteousness," is issued with a 
 higher and holier design. The design is twofold ; it 
 is a design precisely of the same nature with that for 
 which man was at first created, " to glorify God, and 
 to enjoy him forever." This design is not served by 
 the mere closet and domestic piety of the saints ; for 
 this ordinance contemplates the lifting up to the view 
 of the inconsiderate and perishing world the great 
 truth that there is a God, and that this God all are 
 bound to acknowledge and worship. Wherever, then, 
 it is righteously observed, it may be said of the wor- 
 shippers, as God said of the Jews long ago, '' Ye are 
 my witnesses, saith the Lord, that I am God." While 
 his glory is thus manifested in the public adoration 
 of the people, the other portion of the design is of 
 necessity secured. If God be glorified, man is bene- 
 fited by it. He is by these means, as a sinful and 
 unhappy being, brought constantly up to the bread of 
 life, to the water of life, and to the word of life ; and 
 thus anew refreshed and cheered, he goes on from 
 strength to strength, till he appears before God in 
 Zion above. 
 
 3. In the view of the saint, the season for the ob- 
 servance of the ordinance is also beautiful. '' To every 
 
312 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 thing," says Solomon, " there is a season, and a time 
 to every purpose under the heaven." "What is it that 
 is not beautiful in its season, from the verdure of 
 spring, to the luxuriance of summer ; from the golden 
 tints of autumn, to the snows and frosts of winter ; 
 from the setting to the rising of the sun; from the 
 merry prattling of infancy, to the exhilarating buoy- 
 ancy of youth ; from the sobriety of manhood, to the 
 almond-tree that flourishes on the head of old age ; 
 from the tears that sympathy sheds in the house of 
 mourning to the hearty joy she expresses with them 
 that rejoice? Everything is indeed beautiful in its 
 season, and so is the public worship of God. 
 
 The season appointed for it is the first day of every 
 week. Not that it may not be observed occasionally 
 on other days ; but that, as '' this is the day which the 
 Lord hath made," so it is especially becoming in us to 
 " rejoice and be glad in it." How beautiful are the 
 w^orks of creation I Yon brilliant orb, yon lovely moon, 
 yon twinkling stars ! this earth in all its ruins, how 
 beautiful still ! every herb, and plant, and flower ! 
 every rock, and hill, and vale ! — all, all are beautiful 
 beyond compare ! If it be so, then is it not most 
 comely that on the very day when the august Creator 
 began to call the fabric out of chaos, men should meet 
 to "extol his mighty acts?" How beautiful is the 
 scheme of redemption ! how profound in wisdom I how 
 inflexible in justice ! how unspotted in holiness ! how 
 omnipotent in power ! how perfect in faithfulness ! how 
 benignant in love ! and how rich in mercy does God 
 appear in that work ! Can there, then, be a more fit- 
 ting season for its commemoration than on that day 
 when it was triumphantly completed in the resurrec- 
 tion of our blessed Lord from the dead ? Assuredly 
 not. 
 
MOUNT ZION. 313 
 
 4. In the view of the saint, the peculiar exercises 
 of the ordinance are also beautiful. These consist in 
 praising and praying to God, in exhibiting the doctrines 
 of his Son's cross, and celebrating the symbolic institu- 
 tions of Christianity. And where will you hear music 
 so beautiful as the music of the sanctuary ? Connois- 
 seur harmonists may extol the famous overtures of 
 Handel and Mozart, but to the well-tuned heart of 
 the believer, the praises of God, as sung by his adopt- 
 ed children, are more thrilling and sublime. These 
 are melodies which, to devout minds, excel in pov/er 
 and pathos, and exercise a more soothing and concord- 
 ant influence than could be brought from out 
 
 '•'The swelling organ that lifts the rising soul.' 
 
 As to the exercise of prayer, we ask if there is not a 
 moral beauty, almost unequalled by any other service 
 in the sanctuary, in the prostration of adoring men 
 before the throne of God ? There is scarcely a lovely 
 feature in the Christian character which does not shine 
 conspicuously from such an attitude, whether it be 
 Humility, veiling her face with her wings — or Grati- 
 tude, telling over and over again the story of her obli- 
 gations — or Penitence, striking on her breast, and sit- 
 ting in dust and ashes — or Faith, embracing with 
 firmness the pledge of the covenant — or Hopp, lifting 
 up her hands and her eyes to the heavens, where her 
 anchor is fixed — or Charity, circling her golden chain 
 around the group, binding each to one another as 
 brethren, and all to God as their common parent ! 
 
 The place where Jehovah's honor is said to dwell is 
 
 called " the house of prayer ;" but this is a designation 
 
 that repels, rather than attracts, the thoughtless world. 
 
 Prayer is, of all religious exercises, that in which it 
 
 14 
 
314 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 sees the least beauty that it should be desired. And 
 yet, to the eye of piety, how graceful is the suppliant's 
 attitude I How lovely the expression of his counte- 
 nance ! how eloquent the strain of his petition ! It is 
 when he prays in faith and fervency that he approaches 
 nearest to the description given of his Lord : he is 
 then " altogether lovely." He may be a great man ; 
 but he is never so exalted in the eye of God as when 
 he is on his knees. " Behold, he prays !" is higher 
 commendation than if it were. Behold, he reigns ! He 
 may be a rich man ; but he is not so influential in dis- 
 tributing opulence as in supplication. "Behold, he 
 prays !" is a certificate of wealth better than charters 
 and dispositions of property. He may be a learned 
 man ; but he is never so wise in cultivating his mind 
 as when he submits it to the influence of the " Father 
 of Lights." " Behold, he prays !" is expressive of more 
 genuine wisdom than had all the ancients. 
 
 Prayer is strength and beauty combined. And when 
 is the good man so powerful as when he enlists celestial 
 alliances on his side ? Prayer is holiness and beauty 
 combined. And when is he so pure as when he draws 
 near to God, and God draws near to him ? Prayer is 
 felicity and beauty combined. And when is he so happy 
 as when, in the presence of the Redeemer, tlie burdens 
 fall from his back, the tears are wiped from his face, 
 the emptiness is filled to an overflow, and the spirit that 
 was heavy is made to soar upwards as on eagle's wings ? 
 If there is happiness in security, he has it here ; for 
 here he is within the strong tower. If there is happi- 
 ness at home, he has it here ; for he is with Him who 
 has been the dwelling-place of his people in all genera- 
 tions. If there is happiness in plenty, he has it here ; 
 here he is with Him in whom dwelleth all the fulness 
 of the Godhead bodily. If there js happiqess in hope, 
 
MOUNT ZION. 815 
 
 he has it here ; for he realizes now, if ever, his peculiar 
 interest in that atonement from which he is soon to 
 step into heaven. Strictly speaking, these may not 
 constitute the philosophical elements of mere beauty ; 
 but as God regards them, and as man is the delighted 
 subject of them, beautiful beyond compare they un- 
 doubtedly are, else they could not be so attractive to 
 Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. Is 
 there not a beauty in the artless request which a favor- 
 ite child breathes in the ear of a fond parent ? Or 
 rather, is there not a combination of beauties, such as 
 the unaffected expression of dependence, the absence 
 of all fear, the presence of love, and the power of filial 
 confidence ? Now, in the prayer of one righteous man, 
 much more in the prayers of an assembly of righteous 
 men, all these lovely features are seen in holier and 
 grander development. Jehovah rejoices over them at 
 such a moment, and only awaits their uprising to sur- 
 prise them with an exceeding abundance ; yea, with 
 more than they were able to ask or think. 
 
 As to the '' preaching of the word," which forms so 
 important an element in this ordinance, we ask what 
 system of truth is to be compared with that which the 
 Christian pastor teaches ? and what mode of teaching 
 is so simple, and so splendidly efficient ? The moral 
 beauty of the Christian pulpit is unmatched. The 
 microscopic eye of the natural man may not discern 
 the exquisitely delicate and powerful operations of its 
 spiritual mechanism ; unsanctified genius may be more 
 easily gratified by the prelections of the class-room, the 
 eloquence of the senate, or the sophistry of the bar ; 
 and a morbid sentimentalism may prefer browsing upon 
 the pretty shrubs and succulent leaves wliich bloom in 
 the fairy gardens of fancy ; but the Christian pulpit is 
 the vice-regal throne of God, from which descend to 
 
316 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 erring mortals, now the thunders and lightnings of his 
 law, now '' the still small voice" of his mercy in Jesus 
 Christ, and now, and ever and anon, his most melting 
 and earnest entreaties that the " wicked would forsake 
 his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts," and, 
 in short, that all the ends of the earth should look unto 
 him, and be saved. True, man is the teacher ; " the 
 treasure is put into earthen vessels," and men, guilty 
 men are the taught ; but it is God himself that " gives 
 increase." He makes " the foolishness of preaching" 
 the wisdom of God, and the power of God unto salva- 
 tion. Oh ! '' how beautiful upon the mountains are the 
 feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth 
 peace ; that bringeth good tidings of good, that pubhsh- 
 eth salvation ; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth I" 
 On the Palatine hill the temple of Apollo was built 
 by Augustus, and here the Roman people were invited 
 to listen to the recitals of favorite works by their popu- 
 lar authors. This was thought a beautiful spectacle ; 
 but does it not, and every spectacle of a kindred nature, 
 dwindle into insignificance, compared with the preach- 
 ing of Christ and him crucified, by the heralds of the 
 cross, from the towers of Zion ? And as to the cele- 
 bration of the sacraments, what may we not affirm ? 
 BUndness, indeed, has happened to the man who sees 
 no beauty in the approach to God's altar of an affec- 
 tionate parent to dedicate his offspring to Jehovah, and 
 to implore that as its body is sprinkled with water, so 
 its immortal soul may be washed in the blood of atone- 
 ment. And there must be more than blindness, there 
 must be hardness of heart, about him who can contem- 
 plate the communion of saints over the symbols of the 
 Redeemer's sacrifice, and not discover that this, in deed 
 and in truth, is the public worship of our redeeming 
 God '' in the beauties of holiness." 
 
MOUNT ZION. 317 
 
 All these exercises are sometimes performed at one 
 assembly, when the occasion becomes emphatically im- 
 pressive ; but in any of them, taken apart and viewed 
 by itself, much beauty, many riches may be discovered : 
 
 " The pulpy acorn, ere it swells, contains 
 The oak's vast branches in its milky veins : 
 Grain within grain successive harvests dwell, 
 And boundless forests slumber in a shell."* 
 
 Thus sung the poet when he anticipated the pro- 
 ductiveness of an insignificant looking seed, and in 
 similar strains may Christian hope celebrate the ex- 
 ceeding treasures that are embosomed in the ordinance 
 of the public worship of Jehovah. 
 
 5. And, finally, in view of the saint, the disposi- 
 tions which this ordinance calls into exercise are also 
 beautiful. Hence, far hence are banished, not only 
 *' the. lusts that war against the soul," but every tem- 
 per and sentiment unworthy the man, and inconsistent 
 for the Christian to cherish. Here, if anywhere, will 
 be found the ^'fear of the Lord," which is said to be 
 the " beginning of wisdom." Here is to be seen Ado- 
 ration, with God in her heart, the cross in her hand, 
 and heaven in her eye. Here Praise waits for Jeho- 
 vah, and raises the loud hosannah, emulous of seraphic 
 music. Here Devotion, with reverend hand, kindles 
 her sacred fires, and prepares her sweetest incense. 
 Here Meekness awaits an invitation to take her place 
 among the sister graces, '' afraid to go forward lest she 
 should go wrong." Here are heard the heavy sobs of 
 weeping Contrition, proving that "Beauty's tears are 
 lovelier than her smiles." Here are not, or ought not 
 to be, pride, or haughtiness, or any earthly distinction. 
 " The rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord 
 
 * Dr. Darwin's " Botanic Garden." 
 
318 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 is the maker of them all." Oblivious of the differ- 
 ences which the laws and the customs of society have 
 ordained, Humility presides over the scene, and, 
 "thoughtless of beauty, she is beauty's self" Here, 
 in short, appear, in all the radiance of their celestial 
 origin. Faith, Hope, and Charity, a glorious triumvi- 
 rate, harmonious in their concert, and diffusing har- 
 mony among all the gifts of the Spirit ; their influence 
 is "as the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that de- 
 scended upon the mountains of Zion." All the dis- 
 positions, indeed, called up to the service of the sanc- 
 tuary, or awakened into exercise in the house of God 
 by his Holy Spirit, are just the sanctifying aflections 
 of the heirs of immortality, rising up in cheerful obe- 
 dience to the startling summons of the Most High, 
 " Awake, awake ; put on thy strength, O Zion ; put 
 on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city : 
 for henceforth there shall no more come into thee the 
 uncircumcised and the unclean." 
 
 But we must now, and very cursorily, glance at the 
 substantial benefits that accompany and flow from 
 this beautiful institute.^ 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE BLESSINGS OF PUBLIC WORSHIP. 
 
 PERSONAL DOMESTIC SOCIAL NATIONAL UNIVERSAL. 
 
 All the sons and daughters of Zion will admit, that 
 advantages of the highest class are connected with the 
 
 ♦ Psalm Ixxxvii. 5. 
 
MOUNT ZION, 319 
 
 ordinances of public Christianity ; and if not all, cer- 
 tainly the great proportion of genuine Christians will 
 be ready to acknowledge that to these ordinances they 
 were indebted for those serious impressions which, pro- 
 duced by the Spirit of God through the preaching of 
 the word, attracted them first to the Saviour, and ever 
 since have bound them, in faith and love, to him and 
 to his cause. I shall therefore only remark, generally, 
 that public worship secures personal, domestic, social, 
 national, and universal blessings. 
 
 It secures personal blessings, inasmuch as it is, for 
 the most part, in the house of prayer that the sinner 
 is converted to God : for of Zion it is said, ^' This man 
 and that man was born in her ;" and inasmuch also, 
 as there the saint is made to grow in grace ; there he 
 increases in knowledge, faith, and holiness ; there he 
 gets his supplies of spiritual strength, encouragement, 
 and consolations ; and there, in short, he is made 
 "meet for the inheritance of the saints in light." 
 
 It secures domestic blessings, inasmuch as by means 
 of it the parent is enabled to nurture up his family in 
 the admonition of the Lord ; to encompass them at 
 least once a week with the sacred influences of temple 
 worship ; by means of this, to augment and empower 
 his own authority over them, to secure their cordial 
 attention to the culture of personal piety ; and thus 
 most materially to promote the concord of all within 
 the family circle, and, by and by, to introduce them 
 into society, prepared for its duties, and in a measure 
 protected against its temptations. 
 
 It secures social blessings, inasmuch as that which 
 tends to improve the individual and the domestic char- 
 acter must of necessity be productive of many bless- 
 ings to society at large. As the family is made up of 
 individuals, and as the peace and prosperity of the 
 
320 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 family as such just depend upon the influence which 
 religious principle exerts upon its constituent members, 
 so it is with society. Society is made up of individ- 
 uals, and of individual families ; and its advancement 
 in all that is morally good, in all that is justly blissful 
 to the social state, in all that is honorably conservative 
 of the principles of the social compact, and in all the 
 plans and pursuits by which it may be enriched and ex- 
 alted, must of course keep pace with the measure and 
 the nature of these religious impressions, by which per- 
 sons and families are controlled, moved, and regulated. 
 
 It secures national blessmgs, inasmuch as its grand 
 moral lessons, its sublime moral example, its pervad- 
 ing moral authorities, all acting and reacting upon so- 
 ciety, in its social, domestic, and personal integrants — 
 all munificently dispensing an immense variety of 
 temporal and spiritual blessings — all conspiring to 
 thrust out from amongst us the vitiating and disgust- 
 ing elements of sin, and all decidedly helping forward 
 the cause of truth and righteousness — must, of neces- 
 sity, exalt and bless every people to whom the institu- 
 tion is sacred. All this amount of divine control and 
 spiritual treasure, which stands connected with public 
 worship in our land, cannot fail to promote its great 
 interests, and to command, for all its institutions and 
 people, advantages precious in their relations to this 
 life, but inconceivably more so, when viewed beside the 
 life that is to come. 
 
 It secures universal blessings. Under this idea it 
 were alike easy and pleasant to extend the illustration, 
 and demonstrate the blessedness of public worship in 
 the holy influences which emanate from its various 
 spheres, and stretch themselves, not only from the in- 
 dividual to the family, not only from the family to 
 society, and not only from society to the nation, but 
 
MOUNT ZION. 321 
 
 from the nation to the world ; but, though the theme 
 be inviting, we must refrain, only remarking — that the 
 evangelization of the world depends upon the church's 
 constancy in the ordinances of public Christianity. 
 What is Zion but the church of God holding forth the 
 word of life to a world lying in darkness ? What is 
 Zion but the pillar and the ground of truth ? Hence 
 Zion is greatly preferred of Jehovah either to pious 
 persons or pious families. The truth of God is no 
 doubt sacredly enshrined in every sanctified soul, mani- 
 fested in every religious life, and extended by every 
 genuine believer. But no individual Christian, how- 
 ever excellent he be, is the sole or exclusive depository 
 of that truth. Truth would survive the death of in- 
 dividual saints and of individual saintly families, but 
 truth could not survive the destruction of Zion or 
 public worship. Its life, its diffusion, its triumphs, 
 are all bound up with the existence of the church in 
 its collective capacity. The public assemblies of the 
 saints have, as it were, the truth among them, and 
 their public worship is as one central altar around 
 which their united affections, energies, and prayers, 
 are gathered. And why ? Because there, in the holy 
 ark beneath the mercy-seat, lie not only the tables of 
 the law, but the records of the everlasting covenant. 
 Not in Hindoo temples, not on heathen shrines, not in 
 godless oracles, not in philosophy, or schools, or colleges, 
 will truth be found, but alone within the gates of Zion. 
 Within these gates truth, and truth alone, is pro- 
 fessed ; all other systems of religion are but '' refuges 
 of lies." Within these gates truth is revealed by the 
 teaching of the Spirit, through the preaching of the 
 word ; within these gates truth is defended against the 
 attacks of infidelity, the inroads of a sensual world, 
 and the arrows of all evil powers and principalities ; 
 
 14* 
 
322 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 and within these gates measures are concocted, and 
 agencies employed, for subjugating the whole world, 
 down to the end of time, to the kingdom of our God, 
 and of his Christ. 
 
 Let us, then, rejoice in the ordinance of public wor- 
 ship, and do all in our power to honor and maintain 
 it ; and let this, among many others, be our encourage- 
 ment, that while such a safeguard remains in our land, 
 the cause of God is safe. Like the little vessel tossed 
 (Ml the Galilean lake, that cause has been often cast 
 on stormy tides, but as yet it has never been wrecked. 
 He who is the God of Zion sits in the midst as the 
 pilot of the vessel ; and though sometimes he may seem 
 asleep, still it is enough that he is in the ark. All will 
 be well, all will be safely guided to the haven of secu- 
 rity and rest. Innumerable, in past ages, have been 
 his providential interpositions, in order that while an- 
 cient empires were breaking up, and new dynasties 
 were rearing, and when the wild revolutions of unset- 
 tled multitudes were overthrowing the established or- 
 der of things, the church, bought with His own blood, 
 might be carried safely and gloriously through all such 
 turmoils, up towards the eminence he had himself 
 chosen for her, and onwards to the victories he had 
 determined she should achieve. " The hill of God is 
 as the hill of Bashan ; an high hill, as the hill of Ba- 
 shan. Why leap ye, ye high hills? this is the hill 
 which God desire th to dwell in ; yea, the Lord will 
 dwell in it forever." 
 
 The peculiar signs of the present times call loudly 
 on all sections of the Christian church to stand forth, 
 not merely to testify for, but to protect Christian in- 
 stitutions. There is certainly danger threatened to 
 the ark of God, as well as the safety of the common- 
 wealth. There are shakings in chijrches as well as in 
 
MOUNT ZION. 323 
 
 nations, which may cause fools in both to learn wis- 
 dom, as they make wise and good men reflective and 
 prayerful. Truly there are reasons why men should 
 both fear and tremble. Before our eye is the dark 
 proscenium to some " strange work" of God. Per- 
 adventure divine justice rises to be avenged on those 
 nations that have forsaken him. And shall Great 
 Britain escape ? Let us reflect on the former judg- 
 ments of privileged kingdoms. Let us remember that 
 even Israel was cast away ; that a period came in his 
 history when he was blind to the signs of the times; 
 and before his eyes were opened the Romans had 
 sacked his city, undermined his temple, and butch- 
 ered his children. Let us remember that the Goth 
 and the Vandal overran the huge empire of the 
 CaBsars, and utterly dismembered " the Niobe of na- 
 tions ;" and that the unprincipled master spirit of an 
 age scarcely closed upon us, lived to see that mighty 
 fabric fall, which his fearful ambition had upreared. 
 Britain is in the zenith of her glory ! Her armies 
 have spread terror over the earth, and her navies have 
 subdued the pride of potentates. Her treasures lie in 
 glittering heaps to tempt the avarice of despotism ; 
 and her cities proclaim afar the rising splendor of her 
 sun. Science has made choice of her to rear a death- 
 less fame out of the deep, stern intellect of her sons. 
 Art has laid the foundations of his monument within 
 her rocky bed, to perpetuate the achievements of his 
 mighty ingenuity ; while Literature assists both Art 
 and Science to stamp upon the favored spot a splendid 
 immortality. Such now is Britain ; but will she so 
 continue ; and how long ? Heaven only knows. For 
 all that we can tell, the hour may come when desola- 
 tion shall blot out every memory of the past, and 
 when, in the convulsive agonies of an ending era, her 
 
324 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 very name may perish amid the conflagration that 
 brings her glory to the dust. 
 
 If our country would escape from these menacing 
 judgments, she must flee to the ark of God. The re- 
 ligion of the cross is her only, as it will be her sure de- 
 fence. And in order to win her over to this, the grand 
 palladium of her best and dearest treasure, the church 
 of God must be up and doing. By our prayers and 
 exertions, we must labor to give the ascendancy to pure 
 and undefiled religion. Our stand must be made upon 
 the truths of the Bible ; and all our movements must 
 be guided by their spirit, and directed to secure their 
 extension and influence. And if it should please God 
 to bless our exertions, and to answer our prayers, then 
 may we hope that the dark cloud now hanging over us 
 may pass away, and instead of judgments, mercy may 
 descend to revive and quicken us in the midst of the 
 years. 
 
 By all, then, that is awful in the voice of God, which 
 has been heard in the economies of far back ages, as 
 well as in that of modern periods of the church's his- 
 tory; by all that is persuasive in that voice which 
 speaks in the still and gentle accents of the New Tes- 
 tament oracle ; by all that is affecting in that voice 
 which descends from the altars where cur fathers wor- 
 shipped ; by all that is solemn in that voice which 
 comes through the flames, and flows towards us with 
 the blood of martyrdom ; and by all that is terrible and 
 appalling in that voice which issues from the shores of 
 Christless, Sabbathless, churchless lands ; by considera- 
 tions such as these, we would, in concluding, beseech 
 you who are called by the holy name of Christ, " to 
 present .your bodies a living sacrifice, holy and accept- 
 able unto God, which is your reasonable service," every 
 Sabbath within the wails of his temple. O ! let it 
 
MOUNT ZION. 325 
 
 never be said that superstition can convene her tens of 
 thousands to bow the knee to Baal ; that Paganism 
 can gather her worshippers from all the ends of the 
 east, and drag them over burning sands to pay their 
 vows to monstrous images ; that infidelity can secure 
 to itself the thronged audience, only to be destroyed 
 by its venom ; that the temples of fashion, and the re- 
 sorts of pleasure can be nightly crowded by deluded 
 mortals who, in the giddy maze, are losing the realities 
 of life to grapple with the shadow of death ; that fanat- 
 icism can perform her wild and ofttimes disgusting 
 dramas before her numerous victims, now delirious with 
 her poison, and now writhing beneath her scorpion lash ; 
 and that the arena where this world's politics are dis- 
 cussed, can at all times depend upon its multitudes of 
 gaping, gasconading enthusiasts ; — let not these things 
 be said, while Piety is left to weep over her deserted 
 altars and desecrated shrines ; while Reason, illumined 
 and sanctified by Christianity, in vain associates with 
 Religion to tempt you within the gates of Jerusalem ; 
 and while the free and elevated genius of the gospel 
 fails to inspire you with that zeal for its sacred inter- 
 ests, which even heathenism can enkindle, and with 
 that reverence for its ark and covenant which is not 
 awanting where the temples are dedicated to idols, 
 where the priests are besotted with sensuality, and 
 where the oracles are so many mouths of the father of 
 lies I 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN, 
 
 THE HOME OF THE RIGHTEOUS 
 
 The aids of geography, and the descriptions of travel- 
 lers, have been our guides in pointing out the localities 
 and peculiarities of the Mountains already ascended. 
 But we have now conrie to "mount Zion, and unto 
 the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem," 
 where the principles of geography are inapplicable, and 
 from which no traveller has ever returned to tell us 
 either where it is, or what are its distinguishing feat- 
 ures.^' Moses and Elijah, as we have seen, once re- 
 appeared in this old world after centuries of beatified 
 existence in heaven, but they told us nothing whatever 
 of the secrets of this happy home ; all we know of their 
 discourse is, that it related to the decease which the 
 Saviour should accomplish at Jerusalem. The apostle 
 Paul was " caught up to the third heaven," and saw 
 and heard many wonderful things; but the seal of 
 secrecy was stamped upon his lips, so that on his re- 
 turn to the earth he maintained an unbroken silence, 
 declaring that " it was not lawful for a man to utter" 
 what he had been privileged to see and hear. In form- 
 ing our ideas, therefore, of heaven, we must be guided 
 
 * Rev. iv. 1 ; Heb. xii. 22. 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 327 
 
 solely by the general hints of Scripture, and more espe- 
 cially by the figurative descriptions of the apostle John, 
 who in apocalyptic vision had revealed to him, by the 
 Spirit of God, some of those glorious sights of the future 
 state of blessedness, from which we are to draw our in- 
 ferences of its nature and enjoyments. The visions of 
 the beloved apostle are, however, not to be literally or 
 strictly understood. To what extent many of them 
 may be found to be actually true, no man knoweth ; 
 but we are only at liberty to use them as conveying 
 to our minds great abstract truths upon the subject of 
 the glorified life of saintship. By the humble use of 
 these we acquire all needful knowledge for our present 
 condition, and for inspiring us with ardent wishes to 
 find our souls at death on that mount Zion where " the 
 Lamb stands." Having, then, already walked round 
 about the earthly Zion, and considered some of her 
 palaces and towers, let us, with all becoming diffidence, 
 now ascend by faith, and in the light of revelation, to 
 the city which is an heavenly, and meditate for a sea- 
 son amid its unparalleled glories. Into such an exer- 
 cise let us beware of admitting any earthly or pre- 
 sumptuous sentiments. Here, if anywhere, we are 
 upon holy ground, and now, if ever, we ought to put 
 off our shoes from our feet ; and may it be our earnest 
 desire that, while we thus muse, the fire of holy aspira- 
 tions after celestial blessedness may burn within us ! 
 In prosecuting the subject we shall, first of all, make 
 a few general observations on the future state of bless- 
 
328 
 
 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE FUTURE STATE OF BLESSEDNESS. 
 
 THE PLACE ITSELF CHRISt's FATHEr's HOUSE PURGATORY. 
 
 Our knowledge of a future state is derived from the 
 Bible. Reason, on this point, does nothing but form 
 conjectures. That there is an innate longing after im- 
 mortality in man, is true ; but the mere desire for it 
 does not prove that the soul is immortal. On this to 
 us most interesting subject, revelation substitutes cer- 
 tainty for probability. It is especially the glory of the 
 gospel, that in it Jesus Christ brings life and immor- 
 tality to light. And not only is the doctrine clearly 
 revealed, but in the scriptures there are many minute, 
 though, withal, figurative descriptions of the very place 
 in the other world where that immortality is to 
 be enjoyed. There is no such topographical descrip- 
 tion certainly, as entitles us to say precisely in whaj; 
 particular region of the universe of God heaven is to 
 be found ; but we have enough to justify the belief 
 that there is such a place, and that it possesses those 
 inalienable privileges which are indicated by the mode 
 of reference to them employed by the holy penmen. 
 
 The belief of the actual existence of such a glori- 
 ous locality exerts a most beneficial influence on the 
 mind, and it must on that account be exceedingly use- 
 ful to have the evidences of it clearly ascertained. 
 There is perhaps no truth more directly instrumental 
 in sanctifying the soul than this, that a rest remains for 
 the people of God ; hence they who cherish such a hope 
 are enjoined and expected to purify themselves, even 
 as Christ is pure, It does not necessarily take from 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 329 
 
 the force of this truth, as a sanctifying eiement in the 
 hand of the Holy Spirit, that we have no precise inti- 
 mation of the very spot where heaven is to be found. 
 Divine faith does not feel itself at all hampered or 
 confined from the absence of such specific informa- 
 tion. As far as his delightful meditations on heaven 
 are concerned, it does not much matter to the believer 
 whether he conceives of his celestial house as far, far 
 away in some awfully remote region of the universe of 
 his God, or as constructed so near to him as, that if 
 his eyes were opened, he would, like the servant of the 
 prophet of old, see himself surrounded with the inhab- 
 itants of the invisible world. It is enough to know, 
 that wherever it be situated, heaven is, and must be, 
 where Christ reigns, and where he is continually re- 
 ceiving the adorations of celestial beings. We know 
 that in his human nature he left this world ; we infer 
 therefore that he still wears it, and that it is visible in 
 some fortunate and blissful abode. We also know that 
 there are saints in heaven, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, 
 whose bodies are made like unto Christ's glorious body 
 and that those also who rose from their graves after 
 Christ's resurrection, are all with him. Though per- 
 fected in glory, still their bodies require space in which 
 to live, and move, and have their being ; and the re- 
 gion of space occupied by them is what we designate 
 Heaven. 
 
 Nothing so much tends to sweeten to the Christian 
 the idea of death, as to associate with it the idea of 
 heaven, into which at death he is immediately received ; 
 and nothing so powerfully recommends the idea of 
 heaven to us, as to think of it under those homely 
 figures which our Lord himself employed, when direct- 
 ing the attention of his disciples to it. He had been 
 there. He was indeed the divine proprietor, and was 
 
830 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 therefore qualified to adapt his account of it not only 
 to what he knew was, in the abstract, perfectly true 
 respecting its nature and blessedness, but to the modes 
 of thinking and feeling on such a solenm theme, which 
 might be appropriate to the sanctified condition of his 
 people in this world. Thus, when comforting his dis- 
 ciples, in the prospect of his leaving them, he does not 
 indulge himself in any of those grand and imposing 
 metaphors, which are employed in some parts of 
 the Book of Revelation, to describe the splendors of 
 that place. The figure of speech used on that occa- 
 sion is exquisitely simple, but touching and eloquent.* 
 He tells them that his Father has a " a house," a 
 house of '' many mansions ;" that he is " going away" 
 to stay there ; that when he is there, he will "prepare 
 a place" in that house for them ; that when he has 
 prepared it, he will come and announce to them that 
 all is ready for their reception ; that he will then carry 
 them along with him to the spacious dwelling ; and 
 that there he and they will live together through un- 
 ending ages. 
 
 Such is a summary of the rich, though homely 
 ideas, suggested by this metaphor. Let the devout 
 mind take up with these ideas ; let them be seriously 
 pondered in all their different bearings on the felicities 
 of which our natures are capable, and after which we 
 have strong innate longings, and the result must be 
 satisfactory ; yea, very likely, it will be most delight- 
 ful. Far be it from us to hint even, that there is any- 
 thing approaching to extravagant painting in those 
 more gorgeous allusions to the Paradisaical state which 
 we have in other scriptures ; these are certainly very 
 sublime, and they elevate the soul ; but they are, for 
 what we may call the ordinary purposes of cheering 
 
 ♦ John xiv. 2. 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 331 
 
 the hearts of God's people in the prospect of eternity, 
 not absolutely necessary, and perhaps too resplendent, 
 too dazzling for the weak vision of the saints in this 
 lower world. It certainly is becoming in the Lord of 
 heaven, when he speaks of his own kingdom and pal- 
 ace, to employ such phraseology as will suggest the 
 idea of unparalleled glory ; and when we, in our med- 
 itations, approach the august theme of that promised 
 rest, it must be for edification that we have our minds 
 sometimes overawed in the presence of its imposing 
 grandeur. But the meek and lowly Saviour knew 
 that with the glittering arrays of regal pomp, his sim- 
 ple-minded disciples were but little, if at all acquainted ; 
 therefore, when desiring to compose their troubled 
 hearts with some idea of heaven, he uses the plain and 
 ordinary simile of a house ; in other words, of a home, 
 a father's home, where there would be security, abund- 
 ance, and perpetuity of bliss ; where their unpretend- 
 ing views would never be abashed by disclosures of 
 unapproachable dignities, and where their affectionate 
 natures would be constantly gratified by the pleasing 
 intercourses of domesticated life. 
 
 Of the endearments of home every bosom is cogni- 
 zant ; and perhaps there is not another metaphor which 
 so happily combines in it all that is essentially peace- 
 ful, and all that is sacredly venerated. You will find 
 ten thousand hearts that will leap for very joy, when 
 an appeal is made to the associations of a father's 
 house ; you will find comparatively few upon whom 
 the reference to courts, and crowns, and palaces, would 
 have any such effect. All our knowledge of such high 
 earthly places disposes us rather to think of them as 
 either invaded by the maxims and practices of impiety, 
 or pervaded by restless discontent and envy. Hence 
 the kindness, as well as the wisdom of the Saviour's 
 
332 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 mode of teaching his disciples to think of heaven as his 
 " Father's house." 
 
 We have said that, at the period of their death, be- 
 lievers are immediately received into this house. By 
 this we mean, that they are no sooner dead in one 
 sense, than they are glorified in another. Instantly on 
 the soul's leaving the body does it occupy its mansion 
 in Christ's Father's house. In other words, there is no 
 intermediate place of existence. If a man dies in 
 Christ Jesus, he goes to Christ Jesus at once. If he 
 dies in his sins, he goes immediately to " his own 
 place." In opposition to this view, the Papists plead 
 for a purgatory, the name they give to that interme- 
 diate place into which the souls of departed men go 
 after death. But the very reason assigned for the 
 necessity of such a consignment of the soul, is suffi- 
 cient to divest the doctrine of all claim to our regards. 
 They commit the soul to purgatory, that it may re- 
 ceive some kind of final punishment or discipline, pre- 
 vious to its reception into heaven, or that it may be 
 purged of all its remanent corruptions, which it were 
 not lawful to carry into heaven. 
 
 Here is a contrivance which you will at once ob- 
 serve contradicts many scriptures, but especially which 
 goes far to destroy the efficacy of our Lord's propitia- 
 tory sacrifice. There must surely be something de- 
 fective both in the atoning work of Christ, and in the 
 sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit, when, after death, 
 priests and people must say masses, and contribute 
 sums of money to the church, before God's people can 
 get to heaven. "What a degrading view does such an 
 idea give us of the whole mediatorial service, and espe- 
 cially of the faithfulness and love of the Father ! Upon 
 the supposition of such an intermediate place of purga- 
 tion, to which, by some unsanctified laws of spiritual 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 333 
 
 quarantine, the happy spirits of the saints are con- 
 veyed, and where they must abide, as in lazaretto, till 
 the certifications of their readiness to enter heaven are 
 made by some cunning and avaricious priests — upon 
 such a supposition, their possession of heaven is after all 
 hazardous. They may never see it. They are at the 
 mercy of their surviving friends, who may be so wicked 
 as never to pray for their safe passage out of purgatory, 
 or so sordid as never to pay what the Catholic church 
 demands as the fare of carrying souls from the purify- 
 ing fires of purgatory into the light and peace of Para- 
 dise. Besides, the prayers of the priests may be given 
 or withheld, may be cold or fervent, just as the parties 
 are more or less disposed to be generous in their pecu- 
 niary gifts. The whole, indeed, is a monstrous con- 
 struction of the man of sin to increase his spiritual 
 despotism, and enrich his secular treasury. The won- 
 der is, that so many thousands and millions of rational 
 beings should allow themselves to be so easily deceived, 
 and so openly robbed. 
 
 Let us be thankful that we have not been so taught 
 Christ. Our faith in this matter is subject to his rev- 
 elation ; for the traditions and commandments of men 
 we have no manner of reverence. Our common Chris- 
 tian belief upon this subject is expressed in such pas- 
 sages as the following : " Lord, remember me," prayed 
 the thief on the cross, '' when thou comest into thy 
 kingdom." " To-day," replied the Redeemer, '' shalt 
 thou be with me in Paradise." " I have a desire to 
 depart," said Paul, '' and be with Christ, which is far 
 better ;" and again, " We are confident and willing 
 rather to be absent from the body, and to be present 
 with the Lord." In beautiful harmony with these 
 doctrinal revelations is the prayer of the protomartyr 
 Stephen. We are told that, just as his spirit was de- 
 
334 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 parting, the heavens were opened to him, and he saw 
 Jesus standing at the right hand of God, and that he 
 thus prayed, " Lord Jesus, receive my spirit ;" a prayer, 
 from which we must infer, that it was the persuasion 
 of this eminent saint that, instantly on his death, his 
 spirit would be with Christ, at the right hand of God. 
 Let us now meditate on the nature of the future 
 state of blessedness, or on the glorious privileges to be 
 enjoyed there. 
 
 PART IL 
 
 THE PRIVILEGES OF HEAVEN. 
 
 PERFECTION IN KNOWLEDGE HOLINESS HAPPINESS. 
 
 I. In heaven we shall have perfect knowledge. 
 — Here we " see through a glass darkly." Here " we 
 know in part, and we prophesy in part." These texts 
 describe the present state of our acquaintance, not so 
 much with mere earthly sciences, as with the grander 
 classes of truth which affect our moral and religious 
 destinies. When we rejoice in the prospect of the re- 
 moval of our present veils of ignorance, we should take 
 care that it is not a mere intellectual gratification that 
 we expect in heaven, wherein we shall intuitively, 
 or by easy and quick deductions, grasp mighty truths 
 appertaining to physical and abstract philosophies. 
 There is something more exalted than mere mind or 
 intellect in heaven. There is love ; and the love of the 
 mind to God — to God, who is love. We are rational 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 335 
 
 beings, and God is the wisest of beings ; but we will 
 not be attracted to him there so much by affinity in 
 reason or mind as by the power of love. Hence our 
 most intense passion will be the love of knowing God 
 himself. He is an infinite excellence, and will afford, 
 through all eternity, an inexhaustible subject of study 
 to the saints. On entering heaven, therefore, they will 
 be perfected in the knowledge of God, only thus far, 
 that all the clouds which at present obscure what of 
 his glory may by holy beings be seen, shall be removed. 
 The successive discoveries of that glory shall be made 
 as the ages of eternity roll onwards ; though, ever as 
 they roll, must there be a sense in which the celestial 
 student may revive and utter his mundane adoration : 
 *' Verily, thou art a God that hidest thyself !" It must 
 ever continue to be " the glory of God to conceal a 
 thing," and ever the duty and delight of saints " to 
 search out a matter," even when abiding in Christ's 
 Father's house. 
 
 Farther, all that is necessary for their comfort in 
 heaven will be made known to them there. They 
 shall have no doubts or fears in reference to any sub- 
 ject whatever, either connected with their own, or with 
 the interests of others. Not one particle of that igno- 
 rance which enters more or less into every species of 
 infidelity is to be found in heaven ; and so plainly and 
 satisfactorily will all the ways of God to man on earth 
 be explained, that over the remembrance even of their 
 most bitter adversities they will raise their loudest and 
 heartiest songs of gratitude. To our present ignorance 
 of the close connection subsisting between providence 
 and grace, between the events of our lot and the life 
 of our souls, may be traced the gloom and melancholy 
 which affliction carries in its train. But in heaven 
 we shall see these connections : we shall have a vision 
 
336 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 of God's mode of linking our then beatified state with 
 these vicissitudes of time. The revolutions of all the 
 larger and smaller wheels in the system of Providence, 
 by which were produced the mightiest, and to us most 
 resplendent results, will be seen as clearly and fully 
 as we now follow out the simplest mechanical pro- 
 cesses. In a word, we shall have in heaven no improper 
 ideas upon any subject whatever ; our minds will never 
 be pre-occupied by what subsequent study is to dis- 
 card ; and though perpetually adding to our stores of 
 sublime information, we shall never lose what has been 
 already attained. It may be prop(ir for a saint on earth 
 to forget "the things that are behind," that he may 
 all the sooner '• reach forth to those things which are 
 before." This is a consequence of his imperfect 
 knowledge; it is because he does not "count himself 
 to have apprehended." But a saint in heaven, though 
 illimitable fields and unfathomable oceans of truth ever 
 lie before him, never requires to obliterate the past to 
 facilitate his progress. In this respect he has " already 
 attained," and is already "perfect;" therefore, remem- 
 bering all the things that are behind, he is at the same 
 time continually treasuring up more and more invalu- 
 able intellectual and spiritual stores. So perfect, in- 
 deed, are his attainments in glory, that one saint, 
 speaking by inspiration for all the rest, says, " For 
 now we see through a glass, darkly ; but then face to 
 face ; now I know in part ; but then shall I know even 
 as also I am known." 
 
 11. In heaven we shall have perfect holiness. — 
 In the Book of Revelation heaven is called " the holy 
 Jerusalem ;" concerning which city it is affirmed that 
 " there shall in no wise enter into it anything that 
 defile tb, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, nor 
 maketh a lie." An apostle also enjoins us to " follow 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 337 
 
 holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord ;" 
 and our blessed Redeemer repeatedly assures us that 
 " unless a man be born again, of water and of the 
 Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven." 
 The life of a believer, then, must necessarily be a 
 perfecting of holiness " in the fear of the Lord," or a 
 growing assimilation to the divine image, accompa- 
 nied with hearty obedience to this commandment : 
 " Sanctify yourselves, and be ye holy : for I am the 
 Lord your God." As the final result of the whole 
 preparatory process here, we are assured that at death 
 the Saviour shall present us to his Father, "a glorious 
 church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing," 
 but " holy, and without blemish." 
 
 The souls of believers, then, are, from these scrip- 
 tures, evidently made perfect in holiness when they 
 enter heaven. This is a prerequisite to their presence 
 in, and enjoyment of heaven. It is a prerequisite to 
 their actual presence in it. Had they one spot or 
 wrinkle left they should never pass through its blessed 
 portals ; and, even on the supposition of their getting 
 within its walls, that spot and that wrinkle would 
 completely incapacitate them from enjoying it. There 
 would be no need for external force to drive them out 
 again ; they, themselves, by internal consciousness of 
 unfitness for the place, and of dislike to all in it and 
 about it, would speedily seek other and more congenial 
 resorts. In order, then, to be made capable of enjoy- 
 ino^ it, the saints are made perfectly holy on entering 
 it. Whatever may be their imperfections up to the 
 article of death ; whatever erroneous viev^s they may 
 have then, either of God, of heaven, or of themselves ; 
 whatever infirmity of temper or disposition may be 
 found cleaving to them ; that moment they die, away, 
 far and forever away from their emancipated souls flee 
 
y38 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 all the remnants of their fall. All the faculties of 
 their mind reach maturity, and resume their proper 
 place in relation to the law of God ; all their affections 
 are at once properly adjusted and centred on Him who 
 demands the heart of every creature, and who never 
 fully gets that demand from saints till they are glori- 
 fied. By the burden of sin here, the souls of his peo- 
 ple are ever to some degree oppressed ; hence they 
 cannot fly away far hence and be with Christ. But 
 when their souls become sinless, they take wings at 
 once, and of their own accord they hie them off to 
 God's right hand. 
 
 The glorified spirit knows its own home ; and though 
 now we may speculate as to the whereabouts of Para- 
 dise, we cease to do so when we are absent from the 
 body. Then, by the holy instinctiveness of our per- 
 fection, we at once take the direction of heaven, and 
 instantly we lie in the bosom of Redeeming Love. 
 We sometimes gratify ourselves with the thought, 
 that our souls at death will not feel at all abashed, as 
 if in a strange state, or ignorant of the way upward ; 
 and that we shall be favored with the presence and 
 guidance of angels in our passage through the heavens 
 to the heaven of heavens. It may be so that we shall 
 be thus escorted to our Father's house ; but methinks 
 a ransomed spirit would find its way to such a home 
 without any attendant whatever. The very perfection 
 of its holiness, binding it as it does to the heart of 
 Jesus, and fascinating it towards Him from whom all 
 holiness flows, would draw it directly into his blessed 
 and adorable presence. It is here, in this cold, damp, 
 dismal clime, that the believer feels himself at a loss 
 sometimes to know the way. Here only it is that ho 
 ever feels himself a stranger and foreigner. When he 
 dies, all these feelings die with him. He is made 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 339 
 
 perfect in holiness ; consequently, he is at no loss 
 what to do, where to go, or how to travel. So true 
 is this, that holiness perfected is instantaneous with 
 Jesus beheld and adored. 
 
 What a beautiful place, then, must heaven be ! 
 There is no sin in it ; not a particle, not a shade of 
 sin will be found there. Everything there will be 
 holy as God is holy. All the skies will be cloudless ; 
 all the mansions will be complete ; all the people will 
 be pure ; all the minds and all the morals will per- 
 fectly and brilliantly reflect the image of the Holy 
 One ; all the songs and all the services will have on 
 them and in them " Holiness to the Lord," not in 
 golden letters, but in the deep, ardent, and overawing 
 emotions of consummate devotion. Hence, far hence 
 are banished all feelings that jar with the glorified 
 brotherhood. No selfish interests can obtrude, no angry 
 passions can arise, no difference of opinions can inter- 
 rupt the steady, stately flow of heaven's high harmo- 
 nies. Hence, far, far hence are the influences of Sa- 
 tan. He can never enter here, nor any of his emissa- 
 ries of evil. The " beauties of holiness" in God, and 
 the reflection of these in the saints, are the fortifica- 
 tions of heaven. These are walls which devils cannot 
 scale. Not only, then, are all holy, but holy all shall 
 forever abide. Henceforth, in the presence of the Holy 
 One of Israel, and collegiated with holy angels, they 
 shall dwell together iir the perfect consciousness that 
 in their future history the scenes of the first Eden 
 shall never be re-illustrated ; that they shall neither 
 sin any more, nor suffer any more ; for the days of 
 their sinning are ended. 
 
 ni. In heaven we shall have perfect happi- 
 ness. — Nothing else can be expected from a state of 
 perfect knowledge and holiness. These are the two 
 
340 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 great elements in the peace and joy of believing. We 
 come on earth to know Christ as "of God, made unto 
 us righteousness," and also " sanctification ;" hence we 
 have peace with God, and purity within. In heaven 
 we attain to the perfection of our appreciation and en- 
 joyment of Christ, and to the perfection of our holi- 
 ness through his blood and Spirit ; hence, also, our 
 consummated happiness there. It is the design of 
 the gospel to restore man to God ; that is, to the image 
 and friendship of God, both of which he lost in the 
 fall ; that is, by sin he lost the knowledge of God, 
 and by sin he lost the favor of God. These two 
 losses constituted him a wretched and miserable being. 
 Things must, therefore, remain with him as they are, 
 unless he avail himself of the gospel proposals. If he 
 believes in the mediatorial work of Christ, then he is 
 placed on the sure and certain way of a re-establish- 
 ment in innocence and comfort ; and when he dies, be 
 finds himself re-conformed to God's image, and re- 
 installed into God's love. He is, therefore, perfectly 
 happy again. He needs no more than this to fill him 
 with celestial joy. From this moment he is not, and 
 cannot be, in any sense, subject to the consequences 
 of sin. We do not say he is as happy now as if he 
 never had sinned ; but we say, that it may be he is 
 happier. For now, not only does all the primeval joy 
 of conscious holiness, as a rational creature of God, 
 come back upon him in its full* strength, but added to 
 this, he feels himself the glorified subject of God's 
 wonderful mercy in Christ Jesus. Again is he a holy 
 creature ; but now he is holy as one of the " ran- 
 somed of the Lord." Surely, then, if even on earth 
 the mere hope of mercy made him so happy amid all 
 the imperfections and trials of time, in heaven the full 
 possession of life, glory, and immortality, in the pres- 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 341 
 
 ence of God and the Lamb, must perfect his blessed- 
 ness. 
 
 In describing that blesedness, the scriptures use a 
 great number of figures. Some of these present us 
 with a negative, and others with a positive view of the 
 subject. In the class of negative descriptions, we 
 find that there is to be in heaven exemption, total and 
 forever, from all manner of evil. '' God shall wipe 
 away all tears from their eyes ; and there shall be no 
 more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall 
 there be any more pain: for the former things are 
 passed away." " And there shall be no more curse." 
 " And there shall be no night there." " They shall 
 hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; neither shall 
 the sun light on them, nor any heat." 
 
 These beautiful passages intimate to us, that in 
 heaven anything in the shape or of the nature of evil 
 or suffering is impossible. However needful tribula- 
 tion may be for militant saintship, for saintship trium- 
 phant it is useless. Tears and toils in the lot of good 
 men here serve out their design when death separates 
 soul and body ; hence the emphasis of the account 
 given of the celestial inhabitants : •' These are they 
 which have come out of great tribulation ;" let it be 
 noted, they have " come out of," and are never more 
 to be in tribulation. What wise or merciful purpose 
 could tribulation serve now ? If it kept them humble 
 and patient; if it wrought out of them all earthly- 
 mindedness, and constantly augmented their spiritual- 
 ity ; if it refined them so purely that they became, at 
 death, fully meet for the inheritance above ; what good 
 object could it promote in heaven ? None whatever. 
 To afflict them still, after all their chastisements on 
 earth, would indicate either imperfection in the work 
 
342 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 of mediation, or wanton cruelty and injustice in the 
 Almighty. 
 
 But the idea is profane: ''all tears are wiped 
 AWAY." Did they weep on earth over their sins, espe- 
 cially over their ingratitude to that dear Lord who had 
 bought them with his blood ? Such tears cannot flow 
 now; for they are not only sinless, but they know 
 that it is impossible for them ever again to sin. Did 
 rivers of waters run down their cheeks when they saw 
 the law of God dishonored by abounding iniquity? 
 Such rivers cannot flow now ; for their eyes witness 
 nothing in heaven but what is glorifying to God. Did 
 the desolations of adversity send them to their soli- 
 tudes, to weep over ruined fortunes and empty barn- 
 yards ? Such tears they cannot shed in Eden ; for 
 no storm ever gathers in its clime, and no treasure once 
 possessed there can be either pilfered or consumed. 
 Did they sometimes weep when staggering under the 
 dark menaces of future poverty to themselves and chil- 
 dren, when realizing the terrors of calamities which 
 might never come ? Such tears they cannot weep in 
 a land where they have the divine assurance that they 
 shall never want, and that no evil of any kind, through 
 all eternity, shall ever approach them. Did they weep 
 over the cold and heartless repulses of men once con- 
 sidered their friends ? In heaven they shall never form 
 an acquaintance which shall not be ripened into friend- 
 ship, and never possess a friend who shall not continue 
 so forever. 
 
 Did they weep over their dead ? Ay, and bitter, 
 bitter tears these were, the most burning, perhaps, 
 that ever welled up from the sacred and secret emotions 
 of their natures. In Christ's Father's house they shall 
 never so weep again. "Why? Because there the 
 mother again clasps her beautiful babes to her bosom, 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 343 
 
 all resplendent in the glory of that Saviour who car- 
 ried them in his arms thither. There, she who was 
 the solitary widow, and who for long had to tread the 
 melancholy path of immaculate sorrow for the husband 
 of her heart, and who perhaps had to accept of life's 
 coldest conditions to secure for herself and orphans 
 a piece of bread — there, she finds the desire of her 
 eyes ; and, in garments of white, they together walk 
 the streets of the heavenly city. There the orphan, 
 the poor, shivering, timid orphan, who stood over a 
 father's and a mother's grave or ere he knew or could 
 appreciate such a loss, and who struggled on unbe- 
 friended through the battles and the breezes of this 
 selfish world, at length beholds and luxuriates in pa- 
 rental love. There the kind friends, the useful bene- 
 factors, the choice counsellors, to whom we have been 
 indebted during our pilgrim passage for many com- 
 forts and precious aids, and whose departure from 
 us to the world of spirits has made earth more gloomy, 
 and life less joyous, shall again be met, and again en- 
 joyed. In a word, all the blessed dead who have died 
 in the Lord there meet again, and meet to part no 
 more. 
 
 Did they weep over the hidings of their Father's 
 face, and vex themselves sorely because they some- 
 times sought him and could not find him? Such 
 tears they shall not shed again ; for spiritual darkness 
 cannot exist where God is seen face to face, and where 
 the Sun of Righteousness never goes down. Did 
 they, in fine, sometimes weep for very joy, when sud- 
 den deliverances were vouchsafed from dreaded deaths 
 and impending griefs, or when fountains of unex- 
 pected mercies were opened upon them ? In heaven 
 it shall never so be. They shall not weep there, 
 even though the joy be unspeakable and full of glory. 
 
344 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 The falling of a single tear tells that there is a little 
 infirmity about the region of the heart ; some small 
 fissure in the earthen vessel by whioli the over-bur- 
 dened spirit seeks a momentary relief In Paradise, 
 however, the soul is equal to all the joy with which it 
 may be filled, and will enlarge its capacities for the 
 inletting of an uninterrupted and ever-swelling stream 
 of divine and eternal blessedness. 
 
 But we spake of a class of blessings in heaven which 
 are of a positive character, and which do not so much 
 consist in exemption from evil as in the actual posses- 
 sion of the richest treasures which our Saviour can 
 bestow. To such a theme who can do justice ? We 
 do not attempt it. It may just be noticed in closing 
 the illustration, that whatever is requisite to cany for- 
 ward the grand designs of redeeming love upon the 
 glorified subjects of redeeming mercy, will be largely 
 and constantly supplied. Happiness then will consist 
 not merely in their consciousness of the absence of all 
 sin and sorrow, but in the presence and enjoyment of 
 all things and all beings who can contribute to their 
 exquisite delectation. It were easy here to speak of 
 the raptures of a saint who finds himself in the very 
 presence of God ; folded in the very arms that were 
 once nailed to the cross for him ; in the society of the 
 angels, to him a new and valuable friendship ; and in 
 circles of dearly beloved relatives, singing the song of 
 Moses and the Lamb. But it seems enough to men- 
 tion, that in heaven saints shall actually see the Saviour. 
 " They shall see his face," is revealed as one of the joys 
 of Paradise ; and, surely, no other joy will compare 
 with it. At present we may feel as if it would make 
 us happier to see there some whom we knew here ; 
 but it will not be so. Perfect love will seek first for 
 Him who shed his blood for simiers ; and it would be no 
 
MOUNT ZIOi\ IN HEAVEN. 345 
 
 drawback to perfect happiness there, though the saint 
 should never see any face but His own. All other sights 
 will be pleasant because His face has been first seen. 
 
 But, after all, why should we tarry in our descrip- 
 tions of such a state, upon the conceptions of fancy 
 and the appropriateness of language ? for, it is written, 
 "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have en- 
 tered into the heart of man, the things which God hath 
 prepared for them that love him." Let us then be- 
 lieve in the sublime truth that such a state is abso- 
 lutely certain to every good man, and that if he will 
 but possess his soul in patience for a very little, he will 
 speedily be in the very midst of celestial bliss. When 
 there, he shall have plenty of everything that can per- 
 fectly rejoice him ; plenty of light from God and the 
 Lamb, who are the light thereof; plenty of nourish- 
 ment from the tree of life, the very leaves of which are 
 for the healing of the nations ; plenty of society ; plenty 
 of love ; plenty of distinguished service ; plenty of en- 
 nobling and satisfying study ; and plenty of true glory 
 and honor. There all the days of his mourning are 
 ended ; and there an existence of unending purity, 
 utility, and peace, begins. 
 
 PART in. 
 
 THE VOICE FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 In bringing these discourses on the Mountains of the 
 Bible to a conclusion, it seems peculiarly appropriate 
 that the appeal should come direct from above to such 
 gospel hearers as are as yet far from the kingdom of 
 
 15* 
 
346 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 heaven. From the summits of Sinai and Zion such 
 men have been already addressed. They have heard 
 the law — they have heard the gospel. Let them now 
 hear that merciful and exalted High Priest who sits 
 on mount Zion above, and who, from his glorious throne, 
 issues to them this remarkable declaration : " Verily, 
 verily, I say unto you, Except a man be born again, 
 he cannot see the kingdom of God." O, weighty 
 words ! O, solemn voice I Listen, ye that forget 
 God, to the doctrine herein taught. It is a very simple 
 one, but its importance you cannot overestimate. It 
 is this : To be happy after death, you must be made 
 holy before it : '' you must be born again." 
 
 And what is implied in being born again ? It means 
 that your whole nature must be changed by the Spirit 
 of God ; you must be regenerated or created anew 
 unto good works ; your hearts must be purified by 
 faith ; your flesh must be crucified, with its afTections 
 and lusts ; you must believe on the name of the Son 
 of God. And why is it that you have not as yet 
 undergone such a change as this ? Taking the best 
 view of your case, you have, peradventure, been de- 
 pending on the means of grace to produce it ; you have 
 been settling down on your lees, and, it may be, taking 
 it for granted that your Christian profession places you 
 in a Christian state. If it be so, it is more than time 
 that you opened your eyes to the truth. The means 
 of grace must be used, but not absolutely trusted to 
 as the regenerators of the soul. The Holy Ghost is 
 the regenerator : " not by might, nor by power, but by 
 my Spirit, saith the Lord." It is indeed proper to 
 submit to the teaching of the Christian ministry ; but 
 neither that, nor Christian ordinances in full, can exert 
 divine influence. It is a thought alike humiliating to 
 the teacher and the taught, that no man ever converted 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 347 
 
 his own soul or the soul of his fellow-creatures. To 
 the siege of the natural man may be carried the most 
 brilliant talents ; demonstrations clear as axioms may- 
 be submitted ; treatises acute and unanswerable may 
 be read and assented to ; Persuasion may lavish her 
 stores of melting entreaty ; Terror may unveil the 
 agonies she reserves for the wicked ; Justice may 
 brandish her flaming sword ; Mercy may raise her be- 
 seeching voice ; Pity may drop her solicitous tears ; 
 Love may unlock her affections, sweeten her embraces, 
 and press her claims ; but if this be all, the sinner 
 will remain wrapped up in the silence and sulleimess 
 of spiritual death ; for it is written, that " no man 
 can say that Jesus is the Christ, but by the Holy 
 Ghost." 
 
 Such is, unquestionably, the doctrine of the Bible ; 
 and such, still, is the voice from heaven to man. To 
 the unconverted, then, let that voice sound an alarm. 
 The new birth is from above. Be persuaded to look 
 to the Divine Spirit for such a change ; and while you 
 cease not to avail yourselves of every instituted help, 
 direct your waiting eyes to heaven itself fo¥ the bless- 
 ing that makes these effectual to your salvation. Dis- 
 regarding, as you have done, the necessity of the in- 
 fluences of the Holy Ghost, you may cease to wonder 
 that the gospel has not as yet been made to you the 
 " power of God, and the wisdom of God." 
 
 But it may be that you have known this great 
 Bible doctrine, and that you have been perverting it. 
 Too many, alas ! do so, to their ruin. Sinner, have 
 you sheltered yourself under the cavil, that if con- 
 version be the work of God's Spirit then you are not 
 responsible for remaining in unregeneracy ? If so, 
 suffer the word of exhortation. We do not hesitate 
 to declare that it is your duty, notwithstanding, to 
 
348 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 secure your being born again, in order to enter at last 
 the kingdom of heaven. Yes, this is your duty. God 
 says to you, "Work out your own salvation, with fear 
 and trembling : for it is God which worketh in you, 
 both to will and to do of his good pleasure." " Re- 
 pent, and be converted." " And this is his command- 
 ment. That we should believe on the name of his Son 
 Jesus Christ." "We do not say that such passages 
 enjoin upon you that you are to convert your own 
 souls, but that it is your duty sincerely to aim at this, 
 in the use of God's appointed means, and in depend- 
 ence on the promise of the Spirit to render them suc- 
 cessful. Taking the appropriate scriptures together, it 
 is clearly taught in the word of God that unrenewed 
 men must work, but not irrespective of the divine aid. 
 Hence, at the last day, the wicked shall be condemned, 
 not because they could not, but because they would 
 not thus work. For the influence that begets the 
 change, you are not responsible, but for the proper 
 handling of the instrumentalities appointed for that 
 end, you certainly are. What, for instance, hinders 
 any man within reach of the gospel from going to hear 
 that gospel preached, from reading the word of God, 
 from addressing God on his knees often in prayer, or 
 from using any of the ordinary means of spiritual in- 
 struction ? There are no impediments, in general, in 
 the way. Every man is just as free and able to use 
 these with such a view, as he is to go about his lawful 
 avocations, or prosecute to a successful termination 
 any scheme of his own, upon principles and with aids 
 proper to its accomplishment. While, then, God has 
 established a connection between the sincere use of 
 these means and your regeneration, and has promised 
 to make the one effectual to the other, it is your duty, 
 in this way, to seek after your new birth ; and you 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 349 
 
 neglect it at the peril of being charged at last with 
 refusing to be converted. 
 
 If any are still disposed to prosecute this perilous 
 cavil, we would direct their attention to the case of 
 the man who was commanded, though a paralytic, to 
 arise and walk. When he was laid dowTi at Christ's 
 feet he was physically powerless. Had he excused 
 himself from the attempt, by pleading incapacity, he 
 would have remained uncured. But he heard the 
 order, and considering that he had no right to call its 
 practicability in question, he proceeded to obey it. 
 He was cured. In the act of obedience, he received 
 power from above. The sinner has his lesson before 
 him here. Admitting his own unworthiness and in- 
 ability, let him nevertheless believe God to be sincere, 
 and, taking him at his word, let him diligently work, 
 and the end is as certain; he will be "made a new 
 creature ;" he will be put in the way to gain eternal 
 life ; he will be brought to the feet of Christ. 
 
 The objection under review is an infidel one, and 
 rests upon a principle which those that use it in things 
 spiritual never think of acting upon in things tem- 
 poral. It is equally true that the labor of the hus- 
 bandman cannot command the fruitfuhiess of the earth. 
 God's blessing alone can do this. It is equally true 
 that, under alarming illness, no medicine has intrinsic 
 power to arrest disease and confirm health. God's 
 blessing does this too. But whoever on this account 
 would neglect the tilling and draining of the fields, or 
 the scattering of the seed, or the use of the wholesome 
 remedy? And if not in minor matters would sane 
 men so act, why, in the weighty matters of salvation 
 and eternity, do they thus stultify and destroy them- 
 selves? We have only to remind God of his gracious 
 promise of the Spirit, and to be very diligent in the 
 
350 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 use of the means of conversion, and we shall succeed ; 
 we do not say how soon, but in God's own time. His 
 delaying to send down the divine afflatus to quicken 
 our hearts ought not to discourage us. God will as- 
 suredly be found of every one that thus seeketh him ; 
 '' for the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at 
 the end it shall speak, and not lie : though it tarry, 
 wait for it ; because it wdll surely come, it will not 
 tarry." 
 
 Let the unconverted ponder these serious truths, 
 and decide accordingly. They cannot decide too soon, 
 for of one thing they may be assured, that they shall 
 never enter heaven as they are. They must be born 
 again. Do any ask, where is the necessity for this 
 change? With our reply let us close our remon- 
 strances, and may the blessing of the Spirit accom- 
 pany them ! 
 
 No human being can be made holy till ha is re- 
 generated. Unless he is holy, he cannot see God. To 
 see God is to be in heaven ; therefore, to be glorified, 
 he must first of all be regenerated and sanctified. 
 Who are these that are already in heaven ? " These 
 are they who have come out of great tribulation, and 
 have washed their robes, and made them white in the 
 blood of the Lamb." 
 
 But, sinner, the saints are not only holy, they are 
 eminently useful beings. Assuredly they are not idle 
 in Christ's Father's house ; " they rest not day and 
 night, saying. Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, 
 which was, and is, and is to come." Now, in such 
 exercises, how could a sinful spirit engage ? It would 
 oppose every feeling of its nature ; especially would it 
 jar against that selfishness which is the most power- 
 ful principle of its depravity. It would be at a loss 
 what to do with itself in such society as it would fin»] 
 
MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 351 
 
 there, where benevolence and love are the reigning 
 and universal virtues. To the general good all selfish 
 interests are subjected. Such a spirit would there- 
 fore find itself alone, miserably alone in heaven, hav- 
 ing none to sympathize, none to associate with him. 
 The pure spirits of that holy clime would desert him, 
 abhor him ; and, in due time, he would be compelled 
 to leave these hallowed mansions, and seek other re- 
 gions congenial with his unsanctified nature. 
 
 Seeing, then, that men who would be happy after 
 death must be regenerated, and made progressively 
 holy before they die, O ! " what manner of persons 
 ought ye to be in all holy conversation and godliness ; 
 looking for, and hasting unto the coming of the day 
 of God ?" Be entreated to '' give diligence to make 
 your calling and election sure." Let the principal 
 business of life be preparation for eternity ; and in 
 the course of that preparation never forget these two 
 things : first, that to be saved, you must believe in the 
 Lord Jesus Christ ; and, secondly, to believe in him, 
 you must come to the Holy Ghost, and earnestly im- 
 plore his gracious aids. " Faith is the gift of God." 
 You have but to ask, and you will receive both that 
 Spirit and that faith ; for, says our Lord, "If ye then, 
 being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your 
 children, how much more shall your Father who is in 
 heaven give good things to them that ask him ?" Hear, 
 then, the voice from heaven : ''Ye must be born 
 AGAIN." " Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from 
 the dead, and Christ shall give thee light." O, be 
 persuaded, without farther procrastination, to accept 
 of God's great salvation ! Think of the shortness of 
 time, and of the evil days that draw nigh. Remem- 
 ber that where the tree falls there it lies. Arise and 
 record this as your holy purpose: I will go to the 
 
352 MOUNT ZION IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Father, and say, " I have sinned against heaven, and 
 against thee ;" I will go to the Son, and say, '' Have 
 mercy upon me, thou son of David ;" and I will go to 
 the Spirit, and say, " Sanctify me through thy truth, 
 thy word is truth." Do this, and do it now, and then 
 the best robe will be brought forth and put upon you ; 
 Redeeming Love will embrace you in her arms : and 
 the entrance of God's word will give you light, and 
 guide you safely home to the heavenly Jerusalem. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 The mountains of the Bible : their 
 
 Princeton Theological Semmary-Speer Library 
 
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