t 
 
Glass 
 Book. 
 
 !'8S!.8 
 
DISCOURSES 
 
 CHIEFLY ON 
 
 ({7. 
 
 DEVOTIONAL SUBJECTS, 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 Rev. NEWCOME CAPPE. 
 
 To which are Prefixed 
 
 MEMOIRS OF HIS LIFE, 
 
 By CATHARINE CAPPE. 
 
 WITH AN APPENDIX, 
 
 CONTAINING A SERMON PREACHED AT THE INTERMENT OF THE 
 AUTHOR, BY THE LATE REV. WILLIAM WOOD. 
 
 He being dead yet speaketh." 
 
 From 
 
 the second English Edition. 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WELLS AND LILLY. 
 
 
 1818. 
 
 
 * 
 
■« 
 
 
 \%\t 
 
 D 
 
TO THE CONGREGATION 
 
 OF PROTESTANT DISSENTERS 
 
 In St. Saviourgate, — York. 
 
 MY FRIENDS, 
 
 X AM persuaded that I could not render you 
 a more acceptable service than by publishing a 
 selection of Sermons, which, some of you will 
 remember to have heard with delight, and which 
 all of you, I doubt not, will peruse with interest, 
 and, as I hope, with lasting advantage. 
 
 To you, in a more especial manner, your late 
 honoured Pastor yet speaks. — He conjures you 
 to be indeed " a peculiar people zealous of good 
 works;" not distinguished so much from others, 
 by difference of speculative opinion, as by strict 
 integrity of principle, by candour towards all ; by 
 that charity, " which suffereth long and is kind;" 
 by the exemplary purity of your hearts, and the 
 active usefulness of your lives. — He exhorts you 
 to aspire after perfect holiness — not alone for your 
 own sakes, but that in you, " the truth as it is in 
 Jesus," may shine forth and be glorified. 
 
 My friends ! when we look back upon the 
 years that are gone, and reflect upon the many 
 
ir DEDICATION. 
 
 neglected opportunities of greater improvement, 
 that are for ever fled away with them; surely 
 we must be seriously solicitous to "strengthen the 
 things which remain." We are still a favoured 
 people ; and though I am not permitted to speak 
 of the talents, the virtues, and other eminent en- 
 dowments of our present Minister, your own 
 hearts will testify; and with them I rest the ap- 
 peal. 
 
 Possessed of such advantages, ought we to re* 
 main " even as others ?" Let us, my friends, be 
 studious to abound more and more in every good 
 word and work. Let us live, as those ought to 
 live, who are hereafter to render an account, so 
 that when "the days of the years of our pilgri- 
 mage are over," we may celebrate an eternal 
 triumph over sin, and sorrow, and infirmity, and 
 be found worthy to join in "the song of Moses 
 the servant of God, and in the song of the Lamb," 
 for ever and ever ! 
 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 CATHARINE CAPPE, 
 
 York, May 22, 1805, 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 It has always been my wish to select some of Mr. Cappe's 
 Sermons for publication. Proceeding from the heart, I 
 have thought they would reach the heart; and Ihave in- 
 dulged the pleasing hope that there are those who would 
 not only read them with interest, but who would seriously 
 endeavour to imbibe the principles, and to feel the senti- 
 ments of piety they contain, and strive daily, like the 
 Preacher, to approach nearer, and still nearer, towards 
 Christian perfection. In this hope I may be deceived ; 
 but it has cheered many a lonely hour, and having so 
 strongly felt its influence, I should not have done my duty 
 if I had neglected to adopt the mode of conduct, suggest- 
 ed by it. 
 
 I am not, however, so visionary as to imagine, that the 
 sentiments of the publick respecting the merit of these 
 Sermons, or even the sentiments of persons whose turn of 
 mind may be somewhat congenial, should keep pace with 
 my own. I well know, that striking and elevating as are 
 the views they exhibit of the power and goodness of God, 
 and of the unspeakable importance of cultivating right af- 
 fections towards him — animated and pathetick as is the 
 strain of feeling with which they abound, they cannot be 
 associated in the minds of others with the impressive man- 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 ner, the persuasive tones, the simple piety, which so ex- 
 ceedingly increase their interest with those who heard the 
 Preacher, and who loved him, and which to their minds so 
 forcibly recall his image, that scarcely can they persuade 
 themselves, he is not still speaking ! I should think, how- 
 ever, that independent of every thing extrinsick, they must 
 have sufficient internal merit to recommend them. It is 
 true, indeed, that a spirit of devotion is not the spirit of 
 the times ; yet some persons surely there are, who wish 
 to discriminate accurately between sterling piety, which 
 leads to every thing great, and noble, and consolatory, and 
 that wild enthusiasm which erringly assumes its honoured 
 name — some, who would wish to keep strictly within the 
 boundary, beyond which pleasure, even innocent pleasure 
 assumes a different character — to persons such as these, 
 the Sermons here presented to them, cannot be without 
 their value. 
 
 The Prayers are added by the Editor ; although taken from 
 Mr. Cappe's, yet as their present connexion and arrange- 
 ment could not be his, any defects in these respects, if such 
 there are, cannot attach to him. 
 
 In the Memoirs annexed to this volume, there are con- 
 siderable additions made to those which were prefixed to 
 the Critical Dissertations published in 1802, and the long 
 quotations then given from the Sermons preached by Mr. 
 Cappe on his recovery from a nervous fever in 1782, also 
 from those on the love of God, are here wholly omitted, as 
 the Discourses themselves form a part of this selection. 
 The Editor has availed herself of Mr. Wood's kind per- 
 mission to annex the Sermon preached by him at the fune- 
 ral of the deceased, as a powerful independent testimony 
 of the talents and virtues she has endeavoured to por- 
 tray. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 1 have great pleasure in bringing forward a second 
 edition of (he following Sermons, first published in 1805, 
 and which have been long out of print. They have been 
 frequently inquired for, which I consider as a consolatory 
 proof that the spirit of pure and genuine devotion has still 
 its sincere votaries, however it may be hidden from the 
 philosopher, who seeks for the solution of every great and 
 appalling event in the mere operation of secondary causes; 
 — from the warriour, who rests for success on. his sanguinary 
 sword ; — or from him who places his chief happiness in 
 the fleeting unsubstantial enjoyments of the present hour. 
 — As a proof that there are many, especially in the calm 
 still walks of life, apart from the toils of ambition and the 
 direful conflicts of contending nations, who do not exclude 
 the great Ruler of the Universe from " all their thoughts ;" 
 who consider his favour as the only true riches, and " who 
 seek it with their whole heart" — not indeed in a pertina- 
 cious attachment to any particular system of theological 
 speculation, but in a sincere desire of being conformed to 
 the likeness of Him who was appointed to bring in "an 
 everlasting righteousness ;" of Iiim who continually went 
 about doiug good, and who did always those things that 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 were most pleasing to his heavenly Father — to his God 
 and to our God ! 
 
 On a careful perusal of these Sermons with a view 
 to their republication, after the lapse of eleven years, 
 my mind is so powerfully impressed by their superiour 
 excellence, that I cannot refrain from dwelling for a 
 few moments on a subject so near my heart, indecorous, 
 as any eulogium on my part may be deemed. I should 
 however restrain myself from this indulgence, could any 
 impropriety of mine at all affect the memory of their 
 revered author ; or if I did not cherish a latent hope, 
 that by thus dilating upon their great merit, the casual 
 reader might be induced to peruse them with more at- 
 tention, and might consequently reap from the perusal 
 more lasting benefit. 
 
 The three first Discourses on Faith cannot but be 
 deemed highly useful, not merely as forcibly pointing 
 out the great importance of this salutary principle in 
 the daily intercourse and general conduct of human life, 
 but as leading to a just discrimination between such of 
 its objects as reason suggests and approves, and those of a 
 blind credulity, a wild enthusiasm, or an abject, debasing 
 superstition. 
 
 Respecting those which follow on "undue anxiety," 
 and "on the duty of joining thanksgiving with prayer," 
 we may confidently ask, where is the heart of ordi- 
 nary sensibility which in its progress through life, in 
 many a painful hour of anticipated misfortune or of pain- 
 ful suspense, has not stood in need of the cheering conso- 
 lations they so powerfully recommend and so effectually 
 impart ? 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 Of the extreme importance of those Discourses which 
 treat on the obligation and reasonableness of the love of 
 God; on the constant care and diligence required to 
 keep it alive ; on the incompatibility of the love of plea- 
 sure with the love of God, and on the characteristicks 
 of those, who are governed by the love of pleasure, all 
 must be fully aware who are in the habit of attending 
 to the current of events, or of observing what daily 
 passes around them. But as the generality are far 
 from being of this description, the testimony of one 
 who has had the ample experience of a longer life than 
 was anciently attributed to man by the shepherd king of 
 antiquity, must not be withheld. How many instances 
 could she adduce from her own observation, were this the 
 proper place for it, of the truth and unspeakable impor- 
 tance of the genuine Christian principles which these Dis- 
 courses so forcibly inculcate ! — To the serious attention of 
 younger readers, who are just entering on the eventful 
 career of human life, she would particularly recommend 
 them ; ardently wishing, that at a period when lasting im- 
 pressions are most easily made, they may learn to be upon 
 their guard respecting the opinions they adopt, and the 
 consequent habits they form. But let them not rest 
 on her feeble testimony, nor even on the powerful rea- 
 soning of the Christian preacher. — May the lamentable 
 destruction of all moral and religious principle, and the 
 total degradation of a great neighbouring nation, by the 
 immoderate, never-ending pursuit of pleasure, operate as 
 a more tremendous warning, and raising in a louder tone 
 its terrifick voice, more forcibly compel the awful convic- 
 tion ! 
 
 The Editor may be pardoned if, as a female, she should 
 take a peculiar interest in the Sermons which dilate on the 
 
x PREFACE. 
 
 singular honour conferred on Mary of Magdala and her 
 sorrowing companions, by their divine Master, in his ap- 
 pearing first to them after his glorious resurrection : A 
 decisive proof surely, that in however degrading a light 
 the sex may have been considered in days of great igno- 
 rance and moral depravity, and are even yet regarded on 
 some of the finest portions of the globe, they are not so 
 estimated in the sight of God ; — that, in the Christian code, 
 there is no distinction of persons ; but, of which ever sex, 
 or of whatever country or climate, those who fear him and 
 work righteousness, shall assuredly be accepted of him. 
 What a stimulus this, to those happy females who bear 
 the Christian name, to be continually making progress 
 in every mental, moral, and religious attainment ! 
 
 Nor are those reflections less valuable that take their 
 rise in the three following Discourses, from the contem- 
 plation of the tomb of Jesus; whether as tending to the 
 confirmation of our Christian faith, to the improvement of 
 our Christian temper, or to the increase of our love to 
 Christ. 
 
 The very severe illness of the Author in the year 1782, 
 gave occasion, as is mentioned in the prefixed Memoir, to 
 that interesting development of the state of his mind during 
 its severe pressure, and after his happy deliverance from 
 it, so impressively detailed in the three Discourses on the 
 use and improvement to be derived from such afflicting 
 dispensations. They have been read with peculiar sym- 
 pathy, both on this and on the other side the Atlantick, 
 and the Editor has had the satisfaction of hearing, have 
 been the source of great consolation to many an afflicted 
 spirit. 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 On the four Discourses exclusively devotional, the Edi- 
 tor refrains from dilating. To a mind fully capable of 
 duly appreciating the delicacy, truth, and beauty of the 
 senliraents Ihey express, it would be wholly unnecessary, 
 and to readers of a contrary description, who are princi- 
 pally occupied in pursuits of ambition, of gain, or of plea- 
 sure, it would be to address tbem in an unknown language, 
 and consequently would be quite unavailing. 
 
 The Editor makes no apology for subjoining the excel- 
 lent Sermon of the late Mr. Wood, to this, as to the 
 former edition. Little was it apprehended on the last day 
 of the eighteenth century when Mr. Wood delivered his 
 able impressive Discourse, that in the short space of eight 
 years and three months, his sorrowing friend, Mr. Well- 
 beloved, should be called upon to perform the like pain- 
 ful office at his funeral ! But such is the life of man ! 
 — and so true it is, that his life is "even as a vapour 
 which appeareth for a little time and soon vanisheth away I"* 
 
 * Mr- Wood was a man of uncommon talents, and all his compo- 
 sitions were marked by an originality of thought, and a comprehensive 
 view of his subject, which rendered them peculiarly striking. He 
 published very little, and consequently was not generally known 
 or duly appreciated by the publick. His friend Mr. Wellbeloved, 
 who was one of the few that knew him well, incorporated a very 
 useful analysis of some of his manuscript compositions which he was 
 permitted to peruse, in an interesting Memoir written the year after 
 Mr. Wood's decease. This Memoir like the subject of it, has not 
 obtained the celebrity to which its merit, had it got into extensive 
 circulation, must have procured for it : and this is the more to be 
 regretted, as it contains a general outline of Mr. Wood's mode of 
 instructing his pupils, who were females, in various branches of 
 literature and science, exhibiting a striking specimen of the superiour 
 comprehension of his mind, and of the masterly view he took of his 
 subject, and which might therefore be rendered extremely useful to 
 many others engaged in similar studies. 
 
 York, June 14, 1816. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Dedication iii 
 
 P>v*ace V 
 
 Preface to the Second Edition vii 
 
 Life of the Rey. Newcome Cappe xvii 
 
 DISCOURSES. 
 
 DISCOURSE I. 
 
 On Faith in general, and Religious Faith in particular .... 85 
 
 DISCOURSE II. 
 
 Faith a Reasonable Principle i .... 94 
 
 DISCOURSE III. 
 
 Faith a Desirable and Important Principle 106 
 
 DISCOURSE IV. 
 
 The Unreasonableness and Folly of undue Anxiety 117 
 
 DISCOURSE V. 
 
 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving with Prayer, in Time of 
 Affliction 127 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 DISCOURSE VI. 
 
 Part II. — On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving with Prayer, in 
 Time of Affliction 137 
 
 DISCOURSE VII. 
 
 Man, the Property of God . . 148 
 
 DISCOURSE VIII. 
 
 On the Obligation, the Importance, and the Reasonableness of the 
 Love of God 161 
 
 DISCOURSE IX. 
 
 On the Care and Diligence required to preserve and keep alive 
 the Love of God 174 
 
 DISCOURSE X. 
 On the Incompatibility of the Love of Pleasure, with the Love of 
 God 186 
 
 DISCOURSE XL 
 
 Part II. — On the Incompatibility of the Love of Pleasure, with 
 the Love of God 198 
 
 DISCOURSE XII. 
 
 Characteristicks of those who are governed by the Love of Pleasure 21 1 
 
 DISCOURSE XIII. 
 
 Part II. — Characteristicks of those who are governed by the 
 Love of Pleasure 223 
 
 DISCOURSE XIV. 
 
 On the Appearance of Christ, after his Resurrection, to Mary 
 Magdalene 236 
 
CONTENTS. *v 
 
 DISCOURSE XV. 
 Part II.— On the Appearance of Christ after his Resurrection, to 
 Mary Magdalene 248 
 
 DISCOURSE XVI. 
 
 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, as tending to confirm our Faith 
 in the Christian Doctrine 263 
 
 DISCOURSE XVII. 
 
 Part II. — Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, tending to improve 
 the Christian Temper 276 
 
 DISCOURSE XVIII. 
 
 Part 111. — Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, tending to improve 
 the Christian Temper 286 
 
 DISCOURSE XIX. 
 
 David's Morning Hymn of Praise 299 
 
 DISCOURSE XX. 
 
 Part II. — On the glory of God, as displayed by the Heavenly 
 Luminaries 313 
 
 DISCOURSE XXI. 
 
 Part III. — On the glory of God, as manifested in the Heavenly 
 Luminaries 326 
 
 DISCOURSE XXII. 
 
 On the Use and improvement to be derived from Severe Illness 339 
 
 DISCOURSE XXIII. 
 
 Part II. — On the Use and Improvement to be derived from Se- 
 vere Illness 351 
 
xri CONTENTS. 
 
 DISCOURSE XXIV. 
 
 Part III.— On the Use and Improvement to be derived from Se- 
 vere Illness . . 362 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A Sermon by the Rev. William Wood, after the Interment of the 
 Author 375 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.* 
 
 Memoirs of persons who were eminent for 
 talents, learning, virtue, and piety, cannot fail 
 of being interesting to all who feel any solici- 
 tude about their own improvement, any wish 
 to attain that degree of excellence, to which, 
 even in this imperfect state, this dawn of intel- 
 lectual life, the human mind has in numerous 
 instances been found capable of arriving. It 
 is with the ardent wish of stimulating others, 
 " to strive after things that are excellent," 
 that the editor of the following discourses re- 
 publishes with some additions, what, on a 
 former occasion she had laid before the pub- 
 lick respecting the character of the preacher : 
 to gain celebrity to his memory, were she 
 equal to the attempt, would not be an object 
 of her desire : When living, he sought not 
 the praise of men ; and now, if he were 
 conscious of what is passing in this lower 
 world, their praise or neglect would be to 
 
 * Memoirs of Mr. Cappe were originally prefixed by the Editor to two 
 volumes of his Critical Dissertations ; but as it is hoped that a volu.ne 
 of Devotional Sermons may interest many who will never see 'he 
 former publication, she has ventured to prefix them, with some addi- 
 tions, to the present, 
 
 C 
 
xviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 him a matter of no moment ; — less than the 
 shadow of a shade. 
 
 INewcome Cappe, the eldest of six children, 
 three of whom died in their infancy, was born 
 at Leeds, in Yorkshire, February the % 1st, 
 1732-3. His father, the Eev. Joseph Cappe, 
 many years minister of the dissenting congre- 
 gation at Mill-hill Chapel in that town, was a 
 person of great learning, liberality, and piety ; 
 eminently skilled in the oriental languages, 
 and highly popular in the discharge of his 
 ministerial functions. It was his custom 
 to preach without notes for many years, owing 
 to the following circumstance: Happening 
 one day, on a visit to a distant congregation, 
 to forget his sermon, he was obliged to deliver 
 it from memory, and finding that he succeed- 
 ed in the effort, although he continued always 
 to pre-compose his sermons, he never after- 
 wards committed them to paper : hence at 
 his death scarcely any vestiges of them re- 
 mained, except what were engraven on the 
 hearts of a numerous, an attentive, and an 
 affectionate congregation. 
 
 A striking proof of the high veneration in 
 which he was held, has accidentally fallen 
 into my hands, A respectable member of 
 his congregation, who had taken notes of 
 some of his sermons, and afterwards tran- 
 scribed them for his own use, gave evening 
 lectures from them many years after his 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xix 
 
 death ; some of which are now before me, 
 and are prefaced in the following remark- 
 able manner : " If, in the course of my 
 reading, any thing occurs that may fall be- 
 neath that true greatness and dignity of 
 sentiment, with which that worthy gentleman, 
 the Reverend Joseph Cappe, used to deliver 
 his sermons, you will please to keep this one 
 thing in your thoughts, that what I read was 
 transcribed from characters, and only design- 
 ed for private use." He married the daughter, 
 and one of the coheiresses, of Mr. Newcome 
 of Waddington, in Lincolnshire, a gentleman 
 of considerable property, and great respec- 
 tability of character. Their son showed early 
 marks of that genius, and extraordinary appli- 
 cation to study, which afterwards marked his 
 character : at six years of age, he had made 
 considerable progress in the Latin language ; 
 and while he was yet very young, he was so 
 attentive an hearer of the preaching of his 
 reverend father, that he was frequently asked 
 by him on a Sunday morning, where his dis- 
 course the preceding Sunday had been dis- 
 continued ; it being his practice, as it was 
 afterwards that of his son, to continue the in- 
 vestigation of the same subject through a 
 long series of discourses. 
 
 The immediate subject of these memoirs, 
 at this period, was in the habit of rising at 
 four in the morning, that he might read 
 his lessons, undisturbed by the family. This 
 
xx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 he did in winter by the kitchen fire, which, 
 in that part of the country, it is customary 
 to keep in all night ; and when summer 
 approached, and the weather allowed, it was 
 his delight to take his book for the same pur- 
 pose, and sit among the ruins of Kirkstall 
 Abbey, situated about three miles from Leeds, 
 on the banks of the river Aire. The pic- 
 turesque scenery which he there enjoyed, 
 aided by the impressive solemnity of the 
 surrounding objects, contributed, no doubt, 
 to cultivate and improve that fine taste for the 
 beauties of nature, that high relish for the 
 grand and sublime, which formed ever after 
 a distinguished part of his character, and of 
 which, it is apprehended, many instances 
 will appear in the following discourses : Sce- 
 nery like this it was ever his delight to con- 
 template ; and to rise "from Mature, up to 
 Nature's God." 
 
 His excellent father died of a fever at the 
 age of forty-eight ; an event which made 
 an impression on his son's mind, never after- 
 wards to be effaced. It was suggested to 
 Mrs. Cappe, soon after this afflictive stroke, 
 by a particular friend, that the uncommon 
 talents, and extraordinary diligence of her 
 son, then in his sixteenth year, would un- 
 doubtedly procure him the patronage of Br. 
 Seeker, at that time bishop of Oxford, and 
 rector of St. James's, (afterwards archbishop 
 of Canterbury,) if he were introduced to him , 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxi 
 
 which, it was urged, could easily be accom- 
 plished ; a connexion already subsisting be- 
 tween the two families, in consequence of an 
 inter-marriage. On this subject she consult- 
 ed her son ; but although not insensible to 
 the splendour of the prospect which might 
 by this means have opened upon him, he did 
 not hesitate to decline the proposal, knowing 
 that the bishop's patronage could not be obtain- 
 ed without conforming to the establishment ; 
 a step which he believed would be inimical 
 to that unfettered research into religious 
 truth, which, even then, was a pursuit more 
 congenial to his mind, than objects of ambi- 
 tion, or worldly aggrandisement. He was 
 placed by his mother, in the same year, 
 (i748.) with Mr. afterwards Dr. Aikin, at 
 Kibworth in Leicestershire, where he remain- 
 ed one year ; a period on which he always 
 looked back with peculiar satisfaction. Here 
 he began, in earnest, that intellectual career 
 in which he so much delighted : he had a 
 high respect for his tutor, by whom he was 
 much distinguished, and had great pleasure 
 in observing many early indications of those 
 talents in Mrs. Barbauld, the daughter of 
 Dr. Aikin, then four years of age, which have 
 since obtained the general suffrage. The 
 reader may not be displeased with the follow- 
 ing specimen. 
 
 The tutor and his pupil conversing during 
 a morning's walk on the subject of the pas- 
 
xxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 sions, they were called to dinner before the 
 conversation ended. When they were seat- 
 ed, the doctor continued the subject : " You 
 see, therefore, sir, that joy, accurately defin- 
 ed, cannot have place in a state of perfect 
 felicity ; for joy, supposes an accession of 
 happiness." " I think you are mistaken, pa- 
 pa," exclaimed a little voice from the oppo- 
 site side of the table : " Why do you think so, 
 Lsetitia ?" " Because, papa, in the chapter I 
 read to you this morning in the Testament, 
 it is said, There is more joy in heaven over 
 one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety- 
 nine just persons that need no repentance." 
 
 From Kibworth, Mr. Cappe was removed 
 to Northampton, where he continued to make 
 great progress in literature, under the cele- 
 brated Dr. Doddridge ; of which the writer of 
 these memoirs, occupied in the melancholy 
 employment of reviewing a box of letters, 
 written many of them by departed friends, 
 accidentally met with the following testimony, 
 in a letter to Mrs. Cappe, then residing at 
 Leeds, dated Northampton, June 8, 1750. 
 
 " Dear Madam, 
 
 " It is highly fit, that when my much es- 
 teemed pupil and friend returns to you, to 
 spend the vacation at home, he should bear 
 along with him that testimonial to his excel- 
 lent character, and exemplary behaviour, 
 which he has so long deserved. T therefore* 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxiii 
 
 •beg leave to assure you, that I cannot recol- 
 lect I ever had a pupil under my care, whose 
 genius and capacity exceeded his, and few 
 have equalled him in a close and steady appli- 
 cation to business. His distinguished talents 
 have been adorned with the modesty of his 
 behaviour and sweetness of his temper ; and 
 he has still conducted himself, so as to pre- 
 serve the Christian character, and to encour- 
 age my hopes of eminent usefulness under 
 the ministerial. I cannot but congratulate 
 you, dear madam, on the agreeable prospect 
 you have in him, and most earnestly pray, 
 that God may spare his life and yours, and so 
 establish the health of both, that you may 
 long see him very useful in the church, and 
 may see the life of the worthy father, continu- 
 ed in that of the son. 
 
 " P. Doddridge." 
 
 During the three years Mr. Cappe spent at 
 Northampton, some doubts arose in his mind 
 respecting the evidences of Christianity ; and 
 feeling it impossible to engage in the ministry, 
 if these doubts should continue, he determin- 
 ed to investigate the subject in the most im- 
 partial manner. For this purpose he read 
 carefully the writings of the French and En- 
 glish deists, weighing, as he went along, their 
 several objections, the greater part of which 
 appeared to him to be levelled, not against 
 the Christianity of the scriptures, although 
 these writers might conceive them so to be. 
 
xxiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 but against the additions and corruptions 
 which in the lapse of ages have, from time to 
 time, been added to it. How often have I 
 heard him rejoice and triumph in the final re- 
 sult ! a firm persuasion, never afterwards sha- 
 ken, that the gospel of Christ is indeed the 
 truth of God ! It struck his mind, however, 
 even then, and he was afterwards fully confirm- 
 ed in the opinion, that its great value consisted, 
 not in any set of metaphysical doctrines, but 
 in a plain exhibition of important facts, by 
 means of which, to adopt the highly figurative, 
 but strikingly energetick language of an Apos- 
 tle, " We are begotten again to a lively hope, 
 by the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ 
 from the dead ;" that " as he lives, so we shall 
 live also :" an exhibition fully adequate to sup- 
 ply the most powerful motives " to perfect ho- 
 liness, in the fear, and love of God." 
 
 During the time he spent at Northampton, 
 Mr. Cappe composed a short-hand for himself, 
 on principles wholly dissimilar to those gene- 
 rally in use, and remarkable for its neatness 
 and brevity. This short-hand he afterwards 
 constantly used: he made a grammar of it; 
 but not having taught it to any of his pupils, 
 it is probable that the far greater part (if not 
 the whole) of his valuable labours would 
 have been lost after his decease, had he not 
 latterly been prevailed upon to dictate from 
 it to a transcriber. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xx* 
 
 The high opinion which Dr. Doddridge 
 had formed of the talents, disposition, and 
 attainments of his pupil, was still farther 
 evinced by him in the summer of 17.51, a 
 little before the time when it was expedient, 
 on account of his own declining state of 
 health, to try the efficacy of a warmer climate. 
 Having been desired to recommend an assist- 
 ant preacher to the celebrated Dr. Chandler, 
 at the Old Jewry in Loiulon, he fixed upon 
 Mr. Cappe, then only in his nineteenth year, 
 and recommended him so strongly, that he 
 was invited to accept the situation, one of 
 the greatest respectability and importance 
 amongst the dissenters. This offer, it was 
 imagined, could not be withstood ; but the la- 
 borious student, who did not so highly appre- 
 ciate his own attainments, had set his heart 
 upon going to Glasgow, where the late excel- 
 lent Dr, Leechman then filled the theological 
 chair ; where there was at that time a constel- 
 lation of eminent men, and where he hoped 
 to render himself better qualified for the im- 
 portant discharge of ministerial duties, than 
 it was likely he ever might be, if he engaged 
 in them prematurely Soon after this, Dr. 
 Doddridge went to Bristol, and from thence 
 to Lisbon, where he died of a consumption 
 in November following, universally beloved 
 and lamented. Mr. Cappe remained at North- 
 ampton during the remainder of the session, 
 under Mr. Samuel Clarke ; and, in the year 
 
 B 
 
xxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 1752, his desire of removing to Glasgow was 
 gratified. 
 
 A person wlio is at all in the habit of 
 " marking the current of events," can scarce- 
 ly avoid here making a moment's pause. — 
 That a youth of an ingenuous reflecting mind, 
 who had been carefully educated by such a 
 father, should not accede to the proposition of 
 patting himself under patronage which must 
 have been followed by a total dereliction of 
 early principle, is not very wonderful. But, 
 when an offer was made of a situation highly 
 flattering and advantageous, which required 
 no such sacrifice, how pure and ardent must 
 have been that thirst after knowledge which 
 could lead to the rejection of it ! — Yet, upon 
 this single circumstance, did all the future 
 events of Mr. Cappe's life depend. Had he 
 gone at so early a period to have been the 
 assistant minister with Dr. Chandler, to a 
 London congregation, who can say, after such 
 an introduction, to what celebrity he might 
 afterwards have attained ? But the motives 
 for his refusal being upright, it was never, 
 whilst he lived, the subject of a moment's 
 regret that lie did not accept the situation : 
 and now, having finished his course well, 
 ^what a subject of thankfulness will it for ever 
 be, that the station allotted him by Provi- 
 dence, and acquiesced in with his own free 
 and cheerful consent ; whatever, at the time, 
 were its privations, its trials and its cliffi- 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxvii 
 
 culties, should have been no other than pre- 
 cisely what it was ! — For who, on looking 
 back on a tempestuous sea, full of rocks and 
 quicksands, which they have passed success- 
 fully, would not revere and bless the pilot by 
 whose wisdom and care they had been con- 
 ducted in safety, by whatever course, " unto 
 their desired haven !" 
 
 It is remarkable, that although Mr. Cappe 
 spent three years at Northampton, distant 
 only sixty-six miles from the metropolis, 
 which, in common with other young men, he 
 wished to visit ; stimulated also, as I have 
 often heard him say, by an ardent desire of 
 hearing the celebrated Dr. Sherlock, and of 
 witnessing the inimitable talents of the no less 
 celebrated Garrick, both at that time in the 
 zenith of their fame ; yet he never once made 
 an excursion to London. He had previously 
 formed a determined resolution, that no temp- 
 tation should lead him to relax his studies ; 
 and lie also considered it as a duty he owed 
 his mother, and remaining brother and sister, 
 (who at the death of their father were not left 
 in affluence,) to persevere, as he had begun, 
 in a plan of the strictest economy. 
 
 At Glasgow Mr. Cappe continued three 
 years, pursuing his studies with such unre- 
 mitting ardour, that he seldom allowed him- 
 self more than four or five hours sleep, in the 
 twenty-four, A consumption had nearly been 
 
x-xviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 the consequence, from which he was preserv- 
 ed, under the blessing of Providence, by the 
 friendly care and judicious treatment of the 
 great Dr. Cullen, then a professor in that col- 
 lege. Happy in the successful career of in- 
 tellectual pursuits ; in the cordial esteem of 
 Dr. Leechman, principal of the college ; in 
 the society of many amiable and ingenious 
 fellow-students, a few of whom still survive ; 
 in the friendship of the different professors, 
 the late Dr. Adam Smith, Dr. Moore, (esteem- 
 ed the most eminent Greek scholar in Eu- 
 rope,) and the late Dr. Black, notwithstanding 
 the pressure of an habitual head-ache, the 
 days and weeks flew rapidly away. And 
 here, one cannot but remark, that if to a mind 
 thus constituted, the pleasure arising from in- 
 tellectual and virtuous progress be so exqui- 
 site, even in this present state of imperfection 
 and infirmity, what must be the triumph, (to 
 quote a passage from some of his manuscript 
 sermons on Christian perfection, now before 
 me,) when we are arrived in those nobler 
 mansions of our Father's house, " where our 
 acquisitions shall be made, if not without exer- 
 tion, yet without painful exertion, with ease 
 and with delight ; where there shall be no 
 mixture of evil with our good, of errour with 
 our knowledge, of discontent with our satis- 
 faction, but all our virtues and all our enjoy- 
 ments shall be for ever pure, for ever lively ; 
 fearing no decline, experiencing no languor, 
 but proceeding, w ithout interruption and with- 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxix 
 
 wit allay, nearer and still nearer to the bless- 
 edness and holiness of God." * 
 
 The reader of sensibility will forgive me 
 for inserting the following extract from the 
 letter of a venerable minister of the gospel 
 yet living, the fellow student, and intimate 
 friend of Mr. Cappe, both at Northampton and 
 Glasgow, after receiving a copy of his Me- 
 moirs in August, 1802.f 
 
 66 1, opened the parcel with reverence, and 
 held its sacred contents to my view with an 
 awe peculiar to such occasions. But when I 
 traced the many thoughts it suggested of for- 
 mer times and occurrences, when my friend 
 and I walked together in our youthful and col- 
 lege days, not only without one anxiety or 
 painful care, but, I will say to you, without 
 one sinful indulgence, even for a moment ; 
 happy in the cultivation of useful knowledge, 
 and of every virtuous and pious disposition ; 
 you will readily conceive how the image of 
 my loved companion renovated my delight- 
 ful feelings. — How it led me from walk to 
 walk, and poured occurrences one after another 
 upon my joyful recollection. And I am 
 thankful to say, that even now, in my 75tli 
 year, I not only clearly review, but deeply 
 
 * The Sermons from which this extract was taken, form part 
 of a volume chieflv on practical subjects, published by the Editor in 
 181,5. 
 
 f The late Rev. Mf. Urvvick of Clapham. 
 
xxx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 feel my own sensations. Ours was then, and 
 always continued to be, a religion that lifted 
 the heart to God ; that spread moral senti- 
 ments over the whole mind, and moral virtues 
 over the whole life. Supported by the divine 
 doctrine and promises of the gospel, our reli- 
 gion disdained and defied every temptation to 
 immorality the world could put before us. — I 
 
 do not mean by all this to boast." "But I 
 
 could not forbear writing the above, on this 
 pressing occasion, in honour of my deceased 
 friend, and brother, and in order to express 
 my thankfulness for the benefit of a sound 
 and good education ; for being taught, even 
 from childhood, amidst all the diversity of 
 speculative opinions, and in due depreciation 
 of them, to attend to the practical religion of 
 the heart and life, as the one thing needful." 
 
 " 1 love retrospection, especially when I 
 
 can take it with a virtuous and religious fel- 
 low traveller, who lived with me in former 
 
 times." " My friend and I entertained no 
 
 doubt of recognizing each other in a future 
 state."- — " The dead are not perished, we 
 were accustomed to say to each other as we 
 conversed in our chambers, or walked in the 
 fields ; they must live for ever, and thus we 
 usually closed our discussions, about the world 
 
 to come." " This hope still remains, we 
 
 were intimate and cordial friends at North- 
 ampton, we were as much or more so at Glas- 
 gow, and 1 trust we shall be most of all so in 
 a much better and more exalted state, where 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxi 
 
 every good thing, both moral and intellectual, 
 will be improving for ever." 
 
 Here we cannot but remark, that, if we 
 may trust the united testimony of these virtu- 
 ous and amiable fellow students, and why 
 should they wish to deceive us ? they had 
 even in their youthful days abundantly more 
 true enjoyment, than the unprincipled pur- 
 suers of licentious pleasure. And should 
 such a character, in spite of his criminal ex- 
 cesses, attain, like the writer of the above, to 
 the advanced age of threescore and fifteen 
 years, and accident throw in his way the me- 
 moirs of a wretched partaker in his youthful 
 crimes, the seducer of unwary innocence, who 
 had brought down, it may be, many a hoary 
 head, with sorrow to the grave — with what 
 sensations would the narrative be perused ? 
 Would they sooth and cheer his own rapid 
 descent, to " the dark and narrow house ?" Is 
 he lost to all sense of moral feeling ? Harden- 
 ed in the ways of wickedness, has his mind 
 become reconciled to the gloomy and abject 
 hope of annihilation ? But what, if the perad- 
 venture should occur to him, that death may 
 not so terminate, that he and his abandoned 
 companions may meet again ? Would any one 
 wish to inflict, upon his bitterest enemy, a 
 punishment more severe, than the mere hor- 
 rour of such a possibility ? 
 
 Mr. Cappe left Glasgow in May, 1*789 ; and 
 in the November following, on the death of 
 
xxxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Mr. Root, was chosen co-pastor with Mr. Ho~ 
 tham of the dissenting chapel in St. Saviour- 
 gate, York ; and, on the death of Mr. Hotham, 
 the beginning of the ensuing year, (May £6, 
 1756,) he was ordained sole pastor ; in which 
 situation he ever afterwards remained. Of 
 his talents as a preacher, his ardent desire 
 that his hearers might not only understand 
 the principles of their religion, but feel its 
 power upon their hearts, and exemplify its 
 efficacy to others, in the holiness of their lives, 
 the reader will be enabled to form some esti- 
 mate from the volume of Sermons now before 
 him. 
 
 His first publication, a sermon preached in 
 November, 1757, on the victory of Rosbach, 
 gained by the great Frederick of Prussia, hap- 
 pening to coincide with the national feelings 
 of that day, was received with an enthusiasm 
 seldom equalled. It was taken up by the lead- 
 ing political characters, and passed through 
 thirteen editions with great rapidity. Some 
 of these editions were instantly bought by 
 persons of the first eminence, and sold at re- 
 duced prices at their own expense, in order to 
 promote the general circulation. The late 
 John Lee, Esq. then of Lincoln's Inn, and 
 afterwards attorney-general, during the admi- 
 nistration of lord Rockingham, in a letter now 
 before me, passes the highest encomiums on 
 this discourse, which he says was the univer- 
 sal topick of conversation and of praise ; and 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxiii 
 
 then adds : " Of the multitude of readers that 
 London lias afforded you, and several of taste 
 and ingenuity I have known, not one of them 
 has been sparing of the highest praise they 
 could he stow ; and you will not be offended 
 with the compliment of lord Ligonier, who, 
 after reading it last Sunday, said, he thought 
 Mr. Cappe preached as well as the king of 
 Prussia fought." 
 
 Of the manner of this sermon, I shall give 
 the following short specimen : " It is Provi- 
 dence that displays to us the most astonish- 
 ing, the grandest, and the fairest views of 
 the divine perfections : It is providence that 
 pleads, with the most powerful persuasion, 
 the cause of virtue and religion : It is provi- 
 dence that enlivens us in the praise of God, 
 that banishes all fear from our love of him, 
 and all doubt from our confidence in his go- 
 vernment. The giddy overlook her ; the busy 
 are deaf unto her voice. Kappy he, who, 
 sometimes retiring from the throng and the 
 noise of life, stands as it were at a distance, 
 an undisturbed spectator of its events. He 
 sees the hand of God moving and directing 
 the vast machine. He hears the voice of 
 providence, like that which John in vision 
 heard, as the voice of a great multitude, and 
 as the voice of many waters, and as the voice 
 of many thunderings, saying Vlleluia, for 
 the Lord God Almighty and All-gracious 
 reigneth." 
 
 E 
 
xxxiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Celebrity like tins might well have intoxi- 
 cated the mind of a young author ; that it 
 did not, in this instance, produce any such 
 consequence, the reader may probably be pre- 
 pared to expect. So far, indeed, in the mid- 
 dle and later periods of life, was Mr. Cappe 
 from thinking or speaking of this sermon 
 with pleasure, that he never called it by any 
 other denomination, than that of my folly. 
 His mind was sensibly pained with the re- 
 flexion, that in a moment of youthful ardour, 
 he should have appeared as an advocate for 
 employing the sword in defence of religious 
 truth : being fully persuaded that true Chris- 
 tianity is wholly inimical to such an appeal ; 
 that its genuine conquests are those of the 
 heart ; and that " the wrath of man worketh 
 not the righteousness of God." 
 
 In October 1759, Mr. Cappe married the 
 eldest daughter of Mr. William Turner, mer- 
 chant in Hull : in whose amiable society he 
 passed thirteen years of much happiness, 
 although tried by many disappointments and 
 heavy afflictions. Among these were some 
 considerable pecuniary losses, occasioned by 
 the failure in trade of two near relatives ; their 
 subsequent sickness, and death, under his 
 own roof; the loss of two infant children; 
 and, last of all, the declining state of Mrs. 
 Cappe's health. She lingered more than two 
 years, and then died of a consumption, in the 
 
LIFE OK THE AUTHOR. xxxv 
 
 spring of 1773, leaving* him with six young 
 children. 
 
 Of the temper of mind with which he sus- 
 tained these afflictions, the most honourable, 
 and, to the eye of friendship, the most sooth- 
 ing testimony remains, in a series of dis- 
 courses, from which three are selected in this 
 volume, and which were composed by him 
 when, under their severest pressure, from the 
 exhortation of the Apostle Paul to his Phi- 
 lippian converts, then suffering under perse- 
 cution : " Be careful for nothing, but in every 
 thing, by prayer and supplication, with thanks- 
 giving, let your requests be made known unto 
 God." 
 
 During this period also, Mr. Cappe incur- 
 red the loss of the Rev. Edward Sandercock ; 
 a friend whom he highly esteemed ; whose 
 amiable and enlightened mind gave peculiar 
 interest to the social hour ; and whose kind 
 assistance, in his weekly ministerial labours, 
 saved him many an exertion, which frequent 
 indisposition, or family misfortune, would 
 have rendered oppressive. 
 
 This gentleman died in January 1770, in 
 the sixty-ninth year of his age. The last 
 tribute of respect and affection was paid by 
 his friend, in an address spoken at his grave, 
 and in a sermon delivered afterwards to a very 
 numerous audience ; both of which were pub- 
 
xxxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lished by general desire, but are now out of 
 print.* From the address, I shall give the 
 following extract. 
 
 * Of the last moments of this excellent person, I meet with the 
 following account in Mr. Cappe's handwriting, in a pocketbook : 
 " Having thought that I saw in him the symptoms of instant death, I 
 sat down at the head of the bed, and for some minutes expected every 
 breath to be his last : perceiving, however, that he grew rather bet- 
 ter, I administered to him a little of his cordial, and he presently 
 revived, so far as to call to me on my sitting down again, — * Mr. Cap- 
 ped I rose, and answered, -Sir?' He looked as if he would say 
 something: finding that he did not, I asked, ' Would you have a little 
 more of your cordial ?' ' No.' — I waited some time, in expectation 
 that he would speak to me, and then asked, ' Would you have any 
 thing else ?' 'No.' — I waited still some time, persuaded that he had 
 something to utter ; but fearing that it might slip from him, after a 
 little pause, I asked, ' What would you have, sir ?' ' My good friend, 
 farewell.' I could stand no longer ; but by and by, finding him 
 attempting to speak again, I rose, and stood leaning over him . he 
 seemed to be pleased with the attention that was given to him, and 
 said to me, in a broken voice, and interrupted sentences, * I am now 
 satisfied that in these scenes of death there is nothing irreconcileable 
 with the moral perceptions, (meaning, undoubtedly,) perfections of 
 God — I suffer — I have many consolations — I hope I shall have patience 
 to the end — the end is not far.' He prayed to God to bless me, my 
 children, and all my family. He then recommended Mrs. Sandercock 
 and all her friends to God ; and immediately afterwards, addressing 
 himself to me, desired she might know that he was very thankful for 
 all her kindness to him ; and expressed his hope that she would consi- 
 der it as what she owed in gratitude to God, to bear a short separa- 
 tion with resignation and cheerfulness, for she had still many mercies 
 to be thankful for. ' Now,' said he, ' my good friend, you may sit 
 down : if it were not for this oppression, I could sleep.' He did fall 
 asleep almost immediately, and slept for a considerable time with 
 great tranquillity." 
 
 A neat marble monument was erected to his memory in the chapel 
 in St. Saviourgate, in York, by his widow. The inscription, written 
 by Mr. Cappe, is as follows : 
 
 To the memory 
 
 Of the Reverend Edward Sandercock, 
 
 An able and faithful Minister of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Devoted to his Master's service, 
 
 He pursued it, and delighted in it, 
 
 Till he died. 
 
 Let this monumental Marble remind those who heard him, 
 
 How his private virtues illustrated and enforced his publick teachings ; 
 
 And ecgage them to be followers of him, 
 
 As he was of Christ. 
 
 Two volumes of sermons written by this gentleman> were after- 
 wards published by Mr. Cappe. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxvii 
 
 " To the earth we have committed all that 
 was earthly of a Christian brother, of a faith- 
 ful minister, of a much esteemed and well-be- 
 loved friend. There we have left, in that 
 land of silence, and forgetfulness, all that re- 
 mains in this world, of one, concerning whom, 
 your heart-felt grief, on this occasion, testifies 
 that you numbered him among the wisest, 
 the worthiest, the most devout, the most 
 friendly, and the most amiable of mankind. 
 How different in this day; from those happy 
 days, gone to return no more, when with him 
 we were accustomed to take sweet counsel 
 together, and walked to this house of God in 
 company ! How different is this season, from 
 those happy seasons, gone to return no more, 
 when his devotion animated our devotions 
 here, and his lips distilled wisdom ! How dif- 
 ferent the dead, from the living friend ! How 
 different this house of God, which once was 
 his exceeding joy, from the house that he now 
 inhabiteth ! Yet that, my friends, is the house 
 appointed for all the living. There, you, by 
 and by, must make your bed. Great as the 
 difference is between the living and the dead, 
 that change must pass on you. There is a 
 day, at what distance no man knows, but 
 every man will acknowledge that it may be 
 very near, when our places shall be vacant, 
 both in God's house, and in our own ; when 
 the tears of friendship shall bedew our clay- 
 cold bodies ; when our funeral shall pass 
 along the streets ; and the gazing multitude 
 
xxxviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 shall be gathered round our open graves. 
 What think you of these scenes ? Is there 
 nothing serious in them ? Is there nothing 
 important after them ? Are you ready for 
 them ? Are you fit for death ? Are you pre- 
 pared for judgment ? Are you provided for 
 eternity ? Is it certain that you are ? — From 
 my heart I rejoice with you, for death cannot 
 hurt, though he lay his hand on you to-night. 
 Kay, it would be better with you than it is, if 
 you were sleeping by our faithful friend. The 
 living may apostatize from the paths of vir- 
 tue ; but to those who are dead in Christ, who 
 have continued patient in well-doing to the 
 end, all that heaven means, and all that God 
 has promised, is secure. Watch and pray, 
 be faithful and devout, preserve your virtue, 
 dispatch your work, improve your talents, for 
 blessed are those servants whom their Lord 
 when he cometh shall find watching." 
 
 In the year 1771, a literary club was insti- 
 tuted in York, of which Mr. Cappe was the 
 planner, if not the first proposer, and which 
 was kept up nearly twenty years. It consist- 
 ed originally of seven members, Dr. Swains- 
 ton, the Rev. Dr. Allanson, chaplain to the 
 House of Commons, the Rev Mr. Howlett, 
 the Rev. Mr. Tillard, rector of Wirksworth in 
 Derbyshire, George Lloyd, Esq, Mr. John 
 Hotham, nephew of the late minister, and 
 Mr. Cappe : Dr. Hunter, Henry Goodricke, 
 Esq. Dr. White, and Mr. Cappe's eldest son, 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxix 
 
 were afterwards admitted members. The 
 number was limited to nine ; and as vacancies 
 happened, the places were supplied. 
 
 The members of the club met in rotation 
 at each others' houses, every Wednesday at 
 five o'clock ; when, according to the rules they 
 had agreed upon, a given subject was dis- 
 cussed ; which must have been proposed and 
 approved the preceding Wednesday, and en- 
 tered in a book kept for the purpose. The 
 discussion was to be conducted in the way of 
 inquiry, rather than debate ; every member 
 to contribute whatever might be his informa- 
 tion or discovery respecting it, to the gene- 
 ral stock of knowledge. They had no other 
 refreshment than coffee and tea ; and the club 
 broke up precisely at nine o'clock. 
 
 I shall select a few r of the questions propos- 
 ed by Mr. Cappe, as a specimen. 
 
 " What judgment ought to be formed of 
 the conduct of Abauchas, in the story told of 
 him towards the end of Lucian's Texaris ?" 
 
 "What are the rights of man over the ani- 
 mal creation, and what the principles by which 
 they are limited ?" 
 
 " The senses of taste and smell ; their con- 
 nexion ; and the final causes of both." 
 
xl LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 "The human stature, its varieties, the li- 
 mits of those varieties, and the efficient and 
 final causes, of those varieties, and of their 
 limitations." 
 
 " The discovery of the polarity of the mag- 
 net, and the fruits and consequences of that 
 discovery." 
 
 " The influence of diet, considered in re- 
 spect of quantity as well as quality of the 
 food, both upon the hodily constitution, and 
 the mental powers and dispositions." 
 
 " The influence of a great and growing 
 capital on the manners and prosperity of a 
 nation." 
 
 " The origin of sea-salt\ and the uses of 
 it." 
 
 " The powers and pleasures of imagina- 
 tion. Do they not decline in the progress of 
 life ? And of that decline, what are the effi- 
 cient and final causes ?" 
 
 "The character of Mahomet: Was he a 
 fanatick, or an impostor ?" 
 
 " The true sense of Aristotle's definition of 
 the end of tragedy." 
 
 " The art of writing ; the modes, materials, 
 and instruments of it ; and the consequences 
 of this invention." 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xli 
 
 " The annual changes that take place in 
 some species of the animal creation ; their 
 efficient and final causes." 
 
 " Contagion of diseases : Its nature, extent, 
 efficient, and final causes." 
 
 " Lavater's physiognomy." 
 
 " The infancy of mankind compared with 
 that of other animals." 
 
 " Different modes of disposing of the dead 
 bodies of mankind." 
 
 " Comparative merits of natural and civil 
 history, considered as two distinct sources of 
 entertainment and improvement." 
 
 " The connexion between the colour of 
 vegetable bodies and other sensible qualities ; 
 and the dependence of both on light." 
 
 " English juries." 
 
 " The proper subjects of musick." 
 
 " What advantages are derived or may be 
 derived to man from the faculties of the 
 brute creation ?" 
 
 " Variety of seasons, compared with the 
 uniformity of them, in respect to the in- 
 
xlii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 fluence of each on the health, the comfort, 
 and the talents of mankind." 
 
 " Comparison of the denal and duodenal 
 arithmetick." 
 
 "Migration of fishes." 
 
 " The mode of inflicting capital punish- 
 ments." 
 
 " The condition of old people, in respect 
 of sight, before the discovery of dioptrick 
 glasses." 
 
 " Is it consistent with good policy to per- 
 mit the perpetual and unlimited accumulation 
 of charitable donations and bequests ?" 
 
 " Culinary salt, the origin, the use, and the 
 need of it to men and other animals." 
 
 " In what respects are the indications of 
 nature to be the rule of human conduct, and 
 how are these indications to be discovered 
 and interpreted ?" 
 
 "Of the real use of the knowledge of 
 medals, and other such monuments of anti- 
 quity." 
 
 The close of the year 1773 was rendered 
 peculiarly interesting to the writer of these 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xliii 
 
 memoirs, by the resignation of the vicarage 
 of Catterick, in Yorkshire, on motives purely 
 conscientious, by her highly-honoured and 
 esteemed friend, the Rev. Theophilus Lind- 
 sey, the successor of her father in that bene- 
 fice. Of that gentleman, so well known to 
 the world, and happily still living, it may not 
 be permitted her to speak ;* but that such a 
 character, in circumstances of peculiar dif- 
 ficulty and distress ; distress, of which no one 
 who is not acquainted with all the circum- 
 stances whence it arose, and who was not 
 present during the scene, can form an ade- 
 quate idea : that such a character should have 
 been rudely attacked, at such a time, in the 
 publick papers, is an instance of human de- 
 pravity hardly to be credited. But what is 
 too malignant for a bigot, without piety, to 
 attempt ? 
 
 The attack was made, by a dignitary of the 
 church, t in the York Chronicle of January 28, 
 1774, under the signature of " Erasmus." 
 This attack, illiberal and abusive in the ex- 
 treme, was repelled, in a very spirited and 
 masterly way, by Mr Cappe, who showed on 
 this, and on a few other occasions, that, when 
 
 * The above was written in the year 1&05. This highly ve- 
 nerated friend exchanged his earthly tabernacle for a heavenly in- 
 heritance, in November 1808, and a very interesting memoir of 
 him was published by Mr. Belsham, of Essex Street, in 1812. — 
 Editor. 
 
 f The late Dr. Cooper, rector of Kirbywhiske, and arch-deacon of 
 York. 
 
xli? LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 powerfully excited in defence of integrity and 
 truth, he did not less excel on subjects that 
 led to controversy, than in other compositions 
 better suited to his habits and his taste. His 
 first reply was signed " A Lover of Good 
 Men," and introduced by the following quo- 
 tation from some printed sermons of Dr. 
 Cooper's, taken as a motto : " An alacrity in 
 calumniating, is one of those abominable 
 qualities which the devil himself possesses 
 in an eminent degree ; he is called the ad- 
 versary, the hater, the accuser of the breth- 
 ren." Discourses by William Cooper, M. A. 
 1766, p. 80. So high was the esteem in 
 which Mr. Lindsey was universally held, and 
 so general the indignation excited by this vi- 
 rulent attack, that no less than four different 
 replies to it, from different pens, under the 
 signatures of " A Layman," " A Parishioner," 
 " Pro Amico," and "Martin," appeared in the 
 Chronicle of the following week. There was 
 also a paper signed " Philo Erasmus," meant 
 as a reply to the " Lover of good Men;" in 
 which the writer, (Erasmus himself,) deno- 
 minates his unknown antagonist "a doughty 
 champion," who, he tells the editor, " is hor- 
 ridly encumbered with his heavy armour." 
 The signature of " doughty champion," there- 
 fore, was humourously adopted by Mr. Cappe, 
 in his subsequent replies to " Philo Eras- 
 mus," "Timothy quick eye," and " Bucer," 
 the signatures of Dr. Cooper. A variety of 
 other writers, many of them persons un- 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xlv 
 
 known, came forward, on the defensive, in 
 the course of the controversy, under the va- 
 rious signatures of " Apicius secundus," " Da- 
 vid Simple," " Emlyn junior," " Admonitor," 
 ; ' Biblicus," " Thomas Stave, the parish 
 clerk," " Disconsolate Mark," " One of the 
 People," ^c. ^c. The " doughty champion," 
 however, continued to hold the first place, 
 and " Erasmus" was at length completely 
 driven off the field, beyond the possibility of 
 return.* 
 
 It was on this occasion, that the writer of 
 these memoirs became first acquainted with 
 the subject of them, and that the foundation 
 was laid of that friendship, which although 
 death may interrupt, it cannot destroy ; and 
 which, she humbly trusts, will be renewed 
 and perfected, where u there shall be no more 
 death, neither sorrow nor tears," and " where 
 God himself shall be for ever present." 
 
 During this year, (1774,) Mr. Cappe was 
 afflicted by a distressing and alarming com- 
 plaint. For some months every object ap- 
 peared double, which obliged him to wear 
 
 spectacles, with one of the glasses darkened ; 
 
 ■ % 
 
 * Towards the conclusion of the controversy, the following- epigram 
 was sent to the editor of the newspaper by an unknown hand : 
 
 44 Sore beaten and bruised, hear, the Doctor cries out, 
 What means all this rage, all this riot and rout? 
 What offence at Erasmus, that down he must fall, 
 Examine, you'll find, he said— Nothing at all." 
 
xlvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 he persevered, however, in his ministerial and 
 other labours ; although it may well be ima- 
 gined that the exertion was not easy. 
 
 In the August of 1776, he had the afflic- 
 tion of burying his mother, who died in this 
 city, in the seventy-sixth year of her age : 
 she was a person of great virtue, and exem- 
 plary pie ty. After this event, his sister came 
 to live with him ; and to her kind attention, 
 and affectionate care, his young family were 
 under the greatest obligation. 
 
 Early in the year 1777, Mr. Cappe publish- 
 ed a sermon, preached on the 13th of the 
 preceding December ; a day set apart for a 
 general fast, during the American war. This 
 sermon, not being equally in unison with the 
 national prejudices of the day, was not fitted, 
 like that on the victory of the king of Prus- 
 sia, to become the theme of general praise : 
 But, in the judgment of the truly discerning, 
 it raised his character, as a preacher, to the 
 first eminence. It quickly went through two 
 editions ; and the highest encomiums were 
 passed upon it by men of great celebrity. In 
 a letter now before me, dated April 28, 4 777, 
 Mr. Lee speaks of this sermon in the follow- 
 ing terms : " Sir George Savile, happening to 
 call on me a fortnight since, on a Sunday 
 morning, 1 showed him your sermon, and read 
 him several parts of it. He was delighted 
 beyond measure with it, insisted on taking it 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xlrii 
 
 away with him, and expressed some astonish- 
 ment that he had not before heard a great 
 deal of it : I have seen him frequently since, 
 and he has never failed repeating his admira- 
 tion, in terms that do him and you equal ho- 
 nour. He sent to Johnson for seven or eight 
 copies, but none are to be had ; and he was 
 strongly disposed to take a liberty with you, 
 by giving orders to print a new edition of it. 
 without your knowledge. He has shown my 
 copy to many eminent men, particularly to 
 Mr, Burke, who dining with me the other day, 
 told me that he concurred in sir George's 
 opinion of the performance. It has been 
 read by many in the house of commons ; and 
 last night the duke of Portland sent me a 
 card, to desire I would give him an opportuni- 
 ty of reading it. I had no other but that 
 which you were so obliging as to send me ; 
 but I borrowed one of Mr. Lindsey, and sent 
 it to his grace, who, I since find, had such a 
 taste of part of it from sir George Savile, as 
 gave him an eager longing for the rest. Per- 
 haps this may produce no other consequence 
 than that of introducing you to the acquain- 
 tance of sir G. Savile, whose company, I think, 
 you will like, and exciting a desire in some 
 other eminent men, who will find it more 
 difficult to come at you than he will, unless 
 next year you will do me the favour to visit 
 us here, which I much wish." 
 
 As this sermon has long been out of print, 
 and as some of mv readers mav be gratified 
 
xlviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 by seeing a specimen of what was so highly 
 praised by these eminent persons, I shall 
 subjoin the following extracts. 
 
 " If to be christians in nam£ would sup- 
 port our hope, there were little need ot this 
 day's humiliations : But if to give success to 
 our prayers it be needful that we be chris- 
 tians indeed and in truth, however you may 
 speak peace to your own souls, I know no 
 warrant to justify your security and confi- 
 dence : For, tell me, though we rank among 
 the first of christian countries, is the charac- 
 ter of this country christian ? To what could 
 you appeal in support of that assertion ? 
 
 " Would you allege in proof of it, that we, 
 have learnt to call the vilest vices by the soft- 
 est names ? that intemperance is exalted into 
 sociality ; lewdness, into gayety ; adultery, 
 into gallantry ; profaneness and obscenity, 
 into vivacity and spirit ; frivolousness, into 
 fashionableness, and hypocrisy into politeness ? 
 Would you produce in proof of it that we 
 have learnt to call the noblest virtues by the 
 most ignominious appellations ? that devotion, 
 is enthusiasm ; that conscientiousness, is scru- 
 pulosity ; that integrity, is obstinacy ; that 
 non-conformity to fashionable though unrea- 
 sonable opinions, and to polite though im- 
 moral practices, is superstition, weakness, and 
 preciseness ? Are these the proofs of our 
 Christianity ? 
 
LIFE OP THE AUTHOR. xli* 
 
 " Will you go into our streets and tlience 
 collect the evidences of intemperance, sensu- 
 ality, and profaneness, which will not fail 
 very soon to meet you there ?*— Will you go 
 into the scenes of mercantile and commercial 
 life, and thence collect the selfish projects, 
 the ordinary deceptions, the authorized frauds, 
 the systematick over-reachings which tradi- 
 tion, not reason, which custom, not religion, 
 have sanctified ? will you thence collect the 
 instances of those who, hastening to be rich, 
 have fallen into divers snares ; who, impa- 
 tient of poverty, of mediocrity, of inferiour 
 affluence, through the instigation of avarice 
 or ambition, have from day to day adventur- 
 ed, and at length accomplished, the ruin of 
 many other families as well as of their own ? 
 — Will you go into the scenes of publick en- 
 tertainment, and there, in the most innocent 
 of such scenes, observe a sight conspicuous 
 indeed to the serious eye, the ministers of 
 luxury and vanity, the panders of an out- 
 rageous appetite for pleasure, more punctual- 
 ly met, more freely attended, and, almost 
 beyond credit, more liberally rewarded than 
 the ministers of virtue, the instructers of 
 youth, and the dispensers of the bread of life ? 
 
 * What a source of consolation would it not have been to the au- 
 thor, could he have foreseen the strenuous exertions of the liberal 
 friends and supporters of those two most noble sister institutions, 
 the British and Foreign Bible, and School Societies, so effectual in 
 their tendency to prevent these enormities ! Assuredly he would 
 have felt and acknowledged with holy triumph, " this is the Lord's 
 doing, and it is marvellous in our eves." — Editor. 
 
! LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Will you change the scenes of publick enter- 
 tainment for the scenes of publick devotion, 
 will you there collect the giddy crowds who 
 go thither for no better purposes than those 
 which carry them to every other concourse ? 
 will you there collect the formalist whose re- 
 ligion rests in the hearing of the word and the 
 praying of the prayer ? — Will you quit these 
 publick scenes for scenes more retired and 
 domestick ? will you thence collect the unin- 
 teresting, insipid, unedifying conversation ? 
 will you there observe how fast time flows, 
 and how folly flows as fast ? will you observe 
 how seldom the bounds of innocence are 
 kept; how commonly such assemblies are 
 erected into uncandid and iniquitous tribu- 
 nals, where the practices, the manners, the 
 customs, the conduct of others, as innocent as 
 our own, are tried by our own prejudices, and 
 bv that test condemned ; where the affairs of 
 others occupy an officious concern, while our 
 own most important affairs, both in compa- 
 ny and in solitude, are neglected ; in such 
 scenes will you observe how often some ab- 
 sent character is sacrificed to pride, to self- 
 conceit, to malignity and ill-will. — -From these 
 less publick, will you go into still more pri- 
 vate scenes of life ? will you inquire into the 
 government of servants ; into the education of 
 children: will you produce me some evidence 
 of our Christianity from these ? — If servants 
 serve their masters, what care is there wheth- 
 er they serve God or not ? if children are ac- 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. li 
 
 eomplished, what care is there whether they 
 be good ? 
 
 " Education is not formed against the world, 
 but for it ; not to arm us against temptations, 
 but to betray us to them. — To live, to shine, 
 these are the objects of education, which sel- 
 dom rises higher, in one half of the world, 
 than the attainment of some mechanick or some 
 liberal art ; and in the other half, than the acqui- 
 sition of external accomplishments. To live 
 well,unblameably, laudably, andusefully ; to be 
 adorned with the true beauty of universal unaf- 
 fected virtue ; to shine in the solid glories of pure 
 and unde filed religion, is this the object of the 
 many ? their object for themselves ? their ob- 
 ject for their children ? — Are the houses of 
 their fathers to the rising generation the 
 schools of piety, of self-government, of so- 
 ber-mindedness ? Alas, here it is that they 
 first learn to neglect their Creator, and to ne- 
 glect their souls. Here it is that they first 
 imbibe the principles of frivolism, of vanity, 
 of extravagance. Here it is that they learn to 
 make amusement the end of life. Here it is 
 that they early receive those impressions, and 
 acquire those habits which preclude the pos- 
 sibility of acquiring a taste for real pleasure, 
 and a capacity of solid worth. Here it is 
 that they learn to seek for happiness from 
 abroad, to go abroad in quest of it, and to fetch 
 it in, as they expect, from every thing that 
 
lii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 smiles and glitters in the eye of vain imagi- 
 nation. Here it is that they learn to admire 
 what is not admirable, to love what is not 
 lovely, to dread what is not dreadful, to place 
 the point of honour where it cannot stand, to 
 laugh at those things which are not ridiculous, 
 to make light of that which is very serious, and 
 to trifle with those things that are dangerous 
 as flrebands, arrows, and death/' 
 
 At the time when Mr. Lee's letter was 
 written which I have quoted above, he was 
 become the leading counsel on the northern 
 circuit, and was considered as being in the 
 high road to the first preferments. His invi- 
 tation to his friend, to visit the metropolis, 
 was constantly repeated by him every year, 
 accompanied by inducements the most flatter- 
 ing ; but he never could draw him thither. This 
 might in part be owing to Mr. Cappe's situa- 
 tion, being left with a young family, to whom 
 he was tenderly attached, and whose welfare 
 claimed from him unceasing attention ; to his 
 having engaged in the education of a few pu- 
 pils ;■ and to his ministerial connexion in this 
 city, from the duties of which he never ab- 
 sented himself without great reluctance. A 
 cause, however, no less powerful, might pro- 
 bably be found, in his own peculiar turn of 
 mind. Reserved, modest, unambitious, his 
 first solicitude was faithfully to discharge 
 every duty, and his greatest pleasure to me- 
 ditate on the works and on the word of God. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. liii 
 
 Eminently skilled in the classick writers of 
 Greece and Rome, in the Hebrew, and in the 
 Hellenistick Greek, it was his supreme de- 
 light to study the scriptures in their original 
 languages : to consider the modes, customs, 
 principles, and prejudices which prevailed 
 when the gospel was first preached : the ac- 
 tual state, both of the Jewish and heathen 
 world, at the time when the several books of 
 the New Testament were written : the effects 
 which were manifestly produced upon the 
 minds of all, by the continuance of miraculous 
 powers among the first believers, until the de- 
 struction of the Jewish polity ; and the appeal 
 which was constantly made by these writers 
 to this fact : to contemplate the character, the 
 situation, the views, and the phraseology, both 
 of the friends and enemies of the gospel : to 
 enter into the sublime ideas, and to imbibe 
 the heavenly temper of its Author: carefully 
 to compare scripture with scripture : and from 
 these various sources to endeavour everj day 
 to gain more and more accurate knowledge of 
 the sacred writings, and a more just and com- 
 prehensive view of the goverment and provi- 
 dence of God. 
 
 The only excursion in which for many 
 years he indulged himself, was an annual visit 
 to his friend Mr. Constable, of Wassand, near 
 Beverley, with whom he ever continued in 
 habits of the strictest intimacy and friendship 
 from the vear 1762. when thev were first in- 
 
Jiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 troduced to the acquaintance of each other, 
 by their common friend, Sir Wadsworth 
 Busk, late attorney-general in the Isle of 
 Man. 
 
 I know not whether it was immediately 
 after the publication of the fast sermon in 
 1777, that a correspondence commenced with 
 Mr. Burke ; but I know that for some time 
 Mr. Cappe did correspond with him, although 
 I have not been able to find any of his let- 
 ters. Mr. Cappe corresponded very fre- 
 quently with the late Dr. Priestley, from 
 the year 1761 to 1785 ; likewise regularly, 
 for some years, with Mr. Lindsey ; and oc- 
 casionally with the late archdeacon Black- 
 burne, Mr. Turner of Wakefield, Dr. Leech- 
 man of Glasgow, Dr. Adam Smith, Dr. Black, 
 Dr. Kippis, the late Mr. Walker of Manches- 
 ter, Dr. Toulmin, Dr. Disney, Mr. Wood of 
 Leeds, Mr. Turner of Newcastle, and many 
 other eminent characters. 
 
 I find, from a great number of letters, 
 now in my possession, that during the time 
 of Dr. Priestley's residence at Warrington, 
 at Leeds, and with the marquis of Lans- 
 downe, he submitted several of his publica- 
 tions to the judgment and correction of Mr. 
 Cappe ; but after that period, they had not 
 much communication. In a letter now be- 
 fore me, dated London, March £3d, 1774, Dr. 
 P. says — " I am most exceedingly concerned 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. to 
 
 to hear of the alarming symptom you men- 
 tion,* and am sorry that my work f should 
 be in your hands so very unseasonably, though 
 I value your remarks so much that I would 
 rather wait half a year than proceed without 
 them. I am so truly sensible of your supe- 
 riour judgment on these things, that there 
 is hardly a hint that you have suggested, 
 which I have not adopted in what is yet print- 
 ed of the Institutes." 
 
 In one of his last letters from Birming- 
 ham, dated March, 1784, at the beginning of 
 Dr. Priestley's controversy with Bp. Horsley, 
 he expresses himself in the following man- 
 ner : " Dr. Horsley, 1 hear, is preparing a 
 reply, and will, I believe, soon have it in the 
 press — I wish you were a little nearer to me ; 
 I want just such a regulator and guide as you 
 would be to me in this business. You are too 
 far off to be consulted on emergencies." 
 
 These two short quotations, among many 
 others that might be selected, bear ample 
 testimony to the humility of this eminent and 
 extraordinary person, and also to the high 
 opinion he entertained of him who is the sub- 
 ject of these memoirs. 
 
 Although Mr. Cappe's disposition and pur- 
 suits led to the love of privacy and retire - 
 
 * See page xlv. 
 
 f Institutes of Natural and Revealed Religion 
 
Ivi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 tnent, there was nothing in it gloomy or unso- 
 cial. He was, on the contrary, uniformly 
 cheerful ; and his talents for conversation, 
 where he met with persons whose turn of 
 mind was at all congenial, were of the first 
 order. He was particularly fond of young 
 children ; of observing their little actions, 
 their playfulness and simplicity, and would 
 even mix in their infantile sports, the source 
 of so much innocent enjoyment. I have often 
 heard him remark, that if arguments were 
 wanting of the infinite benevolence of God, 
 they might be found in the variety and multi- 
 plied enjoyments of that early period. What 
 pity, would he say, that forms so fair, should 
 ever, in their progress through life, be despoil- 
 ed of their loveliness, by the baneful influence 
 of bad example, perverted sentiment, unhal- 
 lowed passion, and vicious pursuit ! 
 
 He published two more fast sermons during 
 the American war, in the years 1780 and 
 1781 ; a third also was published in the 
 year 1795, which he had composed and preach- 
 ed in the year 1783, and which is especially 
 remarkable for the striking coincidence of 
 our national situation at those two periods. Of 
 these fast sermons, Mr. Wood lias given the 
 following just, comprehensive, and beautiful 
 outline, in memoirs of Mr. Cappe, originally 
 prefixed to the excellent funeral sermon pub- 
 lished by himself at the time, and now re- 
 published, by his permission, in this volume. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Jvii 
 
 " The first of these sermons is a strong and 
 indignant invective against the vices of the 
 times, in which the preacher delivers his sen- 
 timents with great freedom on the origin of 
 that unhappy contest, the spirit manifested in 
 the prosecution of it, and the general charac- 
 ter of its abettors. He surveyed from a dis- 
 tance, in his retirement, the degeneracy of all 
 ranks of men ; of persons in publick office ; 
 of the clergy ; of the army ; of professing 
 christians as well as of unbelievers ; of the 
 serious and regular, as well as of the gay and 
 dissipated ; and, through an optical anomaly, 
 not uncommon to the mental eye, saw them, 
 perhaps, in somewhat more than their full 
 magnitude ; at least, he felt them with a keen- 
 ness, and spake of them with a severity, of 
 which he would not have been capable, had 
 he been accustomed to mingle with them, 
 and take a nearer view. So true is it, that we 
 cannot preserve the perfect quickness of our 
 moral sensibility, but by keeping as carefully 
 aloof from a familiar and close survey, as from 
 the actual practice of vice." 
 
 " In the second, he takes a milder tone, but 
 at the same time displays with dignity and 
 force, ' the temptations and dangers incident 
 in time of war, to the host that goes forth, to 
 the power that sends them out, and to the 
 people in whose behalf they are sent.' " 
 
 H 
 
lviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 "In the third, wearied with the contem- 
 plation of vice and misery, he seeks for con- 
 solation and support, in the pleasing reflec- 
 tion, that as the Lord God omnipotent reign- 
 eth, ' all has been, is, and must be well,' In 
 this discourse we discover the germ of the 
 principles which are more fully developed 
 in those on the providence and government 
 of God."* 
 
 " In the fourth he sinks again into de- 
 spondence, and laments in a strain of tender 
 compassion, the continued insensibility, luxu- 
 ry, and profaneness, which threw a dark 
 shade over the publick manners, and threaten- 
 ed the infliction of still severer judgments." 
 
 From the first of these fast sermons, I 
 have given a pretty copious extract. The se- 
 cond, preached in the year 1782, contains an 
 accurate delineation of the evils incident both 
 to governours and the governed by a state of 
 war, whatever may be its final issue, whether 
 prosperous or adverse. It strikingly points 
 out the unlawfulness of war when protracted 
 longer than is necessary for self-defence, and 
 ascertains with great precision the conduct 
 which statesmen ought to pursue, whether in 
 respect of enemies or subjects. From the 
 third, I shall give the following short extract, 
 both as a specimen of the extensive views, 
 
 * First published in the year 1795, and a second edition in 1811. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Jix 
 
 taken in the first place, of the universal go- 
 vernment and providence of God ; and se- 
 condly, of the powerful persuasives to sheath 
 the sword which cannot but present them- 
 selves to the real and contemplative chris- 
 tian. 
 
 " In every thing to give thanks, to rejoice 
 ever m ore, are christian precepts, and chris- 
 tian principles can enable us to keep them. 
 To the man who is accustomed to look at 
 this life in the light that eternity reflects 
 upon it, and to regard the present scene as 
 his school of education for an interminable 
 being, in any other light how diminutive are 
 all human things ! An empire is an atom, 
 and an age a moment. In the fates of indi- 
 viduals, with respect to their pleasures, wealth, 
 or fame ; in the fates of nations, with respect 
 to their interests, prosperity, and glory, there 
 can be nothing that should check his joy in 
 the consideration that, in whatever names of 
 power and majesty mortals may array them- 
 selves, the throne of empire is really filled 
 by the ever-living God. In every circum- 
 stance, whether of publick or of private life, 
 he and all men can do their duty, can main- 
 tain their dignity, can keep good conscience 
 and good hope ; pain, sickness, poverty can- 
 not hinder this ; the battle, the conflagration, 
 the tyrant cannot hinder this ; and, as to the 
 rest, the intention is kind, and the issue good, 
 and a few short days will bring him to that 
 
Ix LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 transporting moment, beyond which pain, in- 
 justice, folly, imperfection cannot follow him, 
 and to that happy land whose inhabitants are 
 all righteous. 
 
 " If a patriot-king, the benefit of whose 
 virtues extends but to a few provinces, and 
 lasts but for a few years, is, at all times, a 
 blessing so devoutly to be wished for, what a 
 subject of triumph and rejoicing is it that 
 this kingdom and that kingdom, this world 
 and every world are governed hy a Parent- 
 God ! That King of kings can never forfeit 
 his right to your allegiance, can never alien- 
 ate your affections from him, can never vacate 
 the throne on which he sits, or create in you 
 a wish that he should vacate it : out of his 
 dominions, out of his protection, out of his 
 blessing you cannot be ; living, dying, dead, 
 reviving, you are his subjects and he is your 
 God. Rejoice then in the Lord, O ye right- 
 eous, for praise is comely for the upright. 
 
 "...,. .If these things cannot touch you," 
 (namely, that in the sight of God all men are 
 brethren) " look before you to that quiet grave 
 whither, by and by, with you, all the actors on 
 this tumultuous scene will be withdrawn, 
 where the monarch will have found his no- 
 thingness, and his armies felt their impo- 
 tence ; where the bubbles, motes, and sha- 
 dows that now excite such mighty agitations, 
 shall make no impression on you ; where 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixi 
 
 your hearts, become cold to every earthly in- 
 terest, shall at length be still, and enemies, 
 their enmity extinguished, shall sleep, beside 
 each other, in security and peace. 
 
 " If this cannot humanize you, look to that 
 high tribunal, where the ambitious ruler shall 
 be ashamed, at last, of the low pursuits, the 
 petty trifles, and the glow-worm glories that 
 seduced him ; where the sanguinary hero 
 shall shudder at the blood he once shed with- 
 out remorse, and where no warriour shall jus- 
 tify himself, but the patriot whose sword was 
 the weapon of defence, and the protection of 
 the injured and oppressed. 
 
 " If this cannot move you to discard your pre- 
 judices, to curb your selfishness, to abash your 
 passions, reciprocally to embrace as friends 
 and to love as brethren, think again, and yield 
 yourselves to the benignant influences of the 
 thought, that the hour cometh, when, the im- 
 perfections of human governments being abo- 
 lished, and the interfering interests of morta- 
 lity annihilated, in the city of the living God, 
 all the sincere, though misguided, children of 
 his family, out of every nation, tongue, and 
 kindred, even the generations that have fallen 
 by each other's swords, looking back on the 
 events, in which, perhaps, they saw nothing 
 wise, and felt nothing kind, shall be heard 
 throughout all that wide-stretched region, as 
 the voice of a great multitude, and as the 
 
Ixii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 voice of many waters, and as the voice of 
 mighty thunderings, exulting together in the 
 government of God, and calling on each other 
 to be glad, and to rejoice, and to give honour 
 to him, saying, Alleluia, for the Lord God 
 Omnipotent is King. — Amen. Alleluia." 
 
 These fast sermons procured him the re- 
 spect of many eminent persons ; among 
 others, his friendship was sought by Charles 
 Polhill, esq. of Chepstead Place, in Kent ; 
 and a passage from one of them was quoted 
 by Mr. Erskine, on the famous trial of Payne. 
 
 In the summer of 1782, Mr. Cappe was 
 attacked by the influenza. He had several 
 relapses, and in the November following was 
 siezed with a fever, from which his recovery 
 was not expected, and in consequence of which 
 he was confined to his room, and bed, seve- 
 ral weeks. In this fever he was attended 
 with the greatest kindness and assiduity by 
 his two medical friends in this city, the late 
 Dr. Swainston and the late Dr. Hunter, and 
 by his eldest son, who sat up with him nine 
 nights in succession. 
 
 It was his constant custom to mark care- 
 fully the current of events in order to ex- 
 tract from them such important reflections as 
 might be useful to himself or others ; and 
 having now risen as it were from the margin 
 of the grave, on his happy return to his mi- 
 nisterial labours, after an absence of eleven 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixiii 
 
 weeks, he gladly seized the occasion, in a 
 manner peculiarly his own, of showing forth 
 the goodness of God, when he wounds as well 
 as when he heals. These sermons form the 
 concluding part of this volume. 
 
 Mr. Cappe had long been solicited to make 
 a selection of psalms, corrected by himself for 
 publick worship. In the year 1785, he com- 
 plied with this request, and the selection was 
 published in 1786. It was adopted by his 
 own congregation in this city, by that of Mr. 
 Wood of Leeds, Mr. Turner of Newcastle, 
 and some others ; but as it was not advertised 
 in any of the publick papers, it could not be 
 noticed by the periodical prints, and conse- 
 quently was never much known. The prin- 
 ciples on which this selection of psalms were 
 made, are stated in the preface ; of which the 
 leading ones are, accuracy of sentiment, and 
 care to avoid all such peculiarities of opinion 
 as might prevent any conscientious christian 
 from joining in the use of them.* To these 
 
 * I shall give a specimen of this in the 32d psalm of the first 
 book, from the version of Dr. Watts, of the 17th psalm of David; 
 in which, among lesser alterations, the last stanza is so constructed, 
 that it may be used by all Christians, whatever may be their pecu- 
 liar opinions respecting the period when a future life shall com- 
 mence, whether immediately on the termination of the presrnt 
 scene, or not until a general judgment. 
 
 PSALM XXXII. 
 
 Christian Resignation and Hope. 
 
 Lord I am thine, and thou wilt prove. 
 My faith, my patience, and my love : 
 
Ixiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 psalms is prefixed an explication of some 
 scriptural terms, and phrases which occur in 
 them. 
 
 In the February of 1788, the writer of these 
 memoirs became a member of Mr. Cappe's 
 family: As he had not at this time any pu- 
 pils, and from that and other causes, having 
 more leisure than formerly, he was prevailed 
 upon, after some time, by his newly-acquired 
 amanuensis, to dictate now and then for half 
 an hour, when fatigued with more laborious 
 occupation, from his corrected short-hand, 
 with a view to publication. His general state 
 of health had suffered extremely from too 
 great mental exertion, although he had always 
 taken horse-exercise whenever the weather 
 
 What e'er the trial, I'll complain 
 Of nought thy wisdom shall ordain. 
 
 What sinners value I resign ; 
 Lord, 'tis enough that thou art mine : 
 I shall behold thee face to face, 
 And stand complete in righteousness. 
 
 This life's a dream, a transient show ; 
 The eternal world to which I go, 
 Hath joys substantial and sincere, 
 When shall I wake and find me there ? 
 
 glorious hour ! O blest abode ! 
 
 1 shall be near, and like my God ! 
 And flesh and sin no more controul 
 The sacred pleasures of the soul. 
 
 The change will come : this active mind 
 To earth's dark scenes no more confin'd, 
 Shall burst the chains with glad surprise. 
 And in the Saviour's image rise. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixr 
 
 would permit ; but even in these rides his 
 mind was still actively employed ; in them, 
 many of his sermons were, in great measure, 
 composed. The study of the scriptures, as 
 already mentioned, was ever his supreme de- 
 light. For more than forty years he never 
 went any where unaccompanied by a pocket 
 Greek Testament, in which it was his custom 
 to mark down hints, as they occurred to him, 
 of whatever might strike his mind, as merit- 
 ing farther consideration, upon pieces of card, 
 or small slips of paper, or upon a slate table ; 
 these hints were from time to time examined, 
 and at length formed into a rough draft. He 
 then dismissed that particular subject for 
 some time from his mind, in order that he 
 might apply to it anew with more vigour and 
 effect ; and it was not till after he had fully 
 weighed every, the most minute circum- 
 stance, in all its bearings and connexions, 
 that the dissertation was transcribed a third 
 time correctly in short-hand. Considering 
 the gospel as of the highest importance to 
 the happiness of man, both here and here- 
 after, it is literally true, that he experienced 
 more delight of heart in the elucidation of an 
 obscure passage, in removing a difficulty, or 
 reconciling an apparent contradiction, than 
 he would have done, if put in possession of 
 every thing which the children of this world 
 consider as most desirable. " Rejoice with 
 me," he would often say, when coming from 
 his study with brightened looks, and a more 
 
lxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 highly animated countenance, " for I think F 
 hare discovered the true meaning of a pas- 
 sage, which 1 never understood before !" 
 
 Much, however, as he delighted in critical 
 research, subjects of this sort were seldom 
 the topicks of his publick teaching. Holiness 
 of heart, and life, he considered as of first im- 
 portance ; and to the attainment and cultiva- 
 tion of these, his discourses in the pulpit, of 
 which the few that are given in this volume 
 are a fair specimen, were principally direct- 
 ed. 
 
 In the February of 1791, Mr. Cappe's 
 resignation and fortitude was put to a most 
 severe trial, by the death of his eldest son, 
 Dr. Joseph Cappe ; an instance of whose filial 
 piety has been already mentioned. He had 
 studied medicine in London and Edinburgh, 
 had taken his degree at Leyden, and had fix- 
 ed his residence in this city a few months 
 before his death. He was a young man of 
 great virtue, peculiarly eminent for accuracy 
 and distinctness of perception, soundness of 
 judgment, and solidity of mind. He possessed 
 extensive knowledge, adorned by a lively ima- 
 gination ; and had been the confidential com- 
 panion and friend of his honoured father, 
 under the pressure of many a domestick sor- 
 row, in which his brothers and sisters were 
 too young, at the time, to participate. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixvii 
 
 It fell to the lot of the writer of these me- 
 moirs, to acquaint Mr. Cappe with this most 
 afflictive event. It was in the morning, he- 
 fore he had risen : — " Leave me a moment," 
 he said, " if you please ;" and in less than 
 half an hour, he dressed himself, came down 
 stairs, and calling the family as usual to 
 morning prayer, he poured out his soul in the 
 presence of his Maker, in a strain of humble 
 confidence, and of pious resignation, never to 
 be forgotten. He endured on this occasion 
 every thing that the acutest sensibility, and 
 the most ardent affection for the son he had 
 lost, could inflict ; yet his fortitude never for- 
 sook him : it supported him even to the grave 
 of his beloved son, where he himself perform- 
 ed the funeral service three days after, late in 
 the evening, accompanied only by the neces- 
 sary attendants. This painful effort the writer 
 of these memoirs would gladly have prevent- 
 ed ; " I received him from God," was his 
 answer, ;i and to him I must resign him." So 
 composed was his mind after this trying ser- 
 vice, and so attentive was he, even in circum- 
 stances like these, to the feelings of others, 
 that apprehending her mother, then much in 
 years, might suffer from her anxiety on his 
 account, he sent his clerk to inform her im- 
 mediately after the whole was over, that he 
 was very well. 
 
 It has been already mentioned, that it was 
 the habit of Mr. Cappe, to mark carefully the 
 
Ixviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 current of events, and to extract from them 
 such reflections, as might he useful to himself 
 or others. 
 
 I shall make a few extracts from two dis- 
 courses, preached by him, on hearing of tjie 
 early death of a young gentleman of consider- 
 able hopes and expectations, who had been 
 his pupil, and was well known to many in his 
 congregation, on the following text : — " What 
 is your life ? It is even as a vapour, it appear- 
 eth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." 
 How far the animation of the preacher could 
 give interest to a subject, which however im- 
 portant, is so familiar to us, (for we all know 
 that life is often short, and that it is always 
 uncertain,) the reader will be able in some 
 measure, from these extracts, to appreciate. 
 
 After an appropriate introduction, and an 
 animated address to the testimony of the 
 aged, even in respect of their experience of 
 the shortness of life, he thus proceeds : " Ask 
 them to look back upon the scenes through 
 which they have passed, upon the years which 
 the}^ have spent ; entreat them to tell you in 
 what light they see them ; attend unto their 
 answer, for with the aged there is wisdom. 
 What is it they reply? They confirm the 
 oracle of God ; the weaver's shuttle, they say, 
 is not more swift ; the shooting star is not 
 more momentary, evanescent, and unreal.",... 
 " Some of you may consult your children, in- 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixix 
 
 stead of advising with jour fathers ; and all of 
 you, I believe, may ask your brethren, if the 
 time be not very short. The registers of the 
 dead are not unfaithful ; they cannot err ; 
 they are not interested ; consult the registers 
 of the dead. Look upon the tombs, are their 
 inhabitants all old ? No, not all; many? No, 
 not many; the aged are a thinly scattered 
 number. Infants there are, who have been 
 born to weep and die ; babes there are, who 
 in all their sportive innocence, have gone down 
 into the grave ; youths there are, who in their 
 gayest hours, and amidst the most pleasurable 
 scenes, have been recalletl to lie down in 
 darkness, and the dust. Numbers too there 
 are, who in the pride of manhood, the matu- 
 rity of life, in the full career of business and 
 of hope, have been eased of all their anxie- 
 ties, and defeated of all their expectations, 
 and fast bound in the fetters of death. — 
 The young lie thick as dew-drops on the 
 ground ; here and there only do we find a 
 monument erected unto years and wisdom ; 
 we wonder when we find it, and yet this our 
 wonder does not cure us of our security and 
 confidence. ".../•' Perhaps, even now, the scythe 
 of time is lifted up to cut down those who 
 little think of it, who are expecting the de- 
 parture of their friends, or preparing to con- 
 vey their fathers to the tomb." "To-mor- 
 row, that idol deity in which the world have 
 agreed to place their trust ; to-morrow, that 
 hair-spun thread, on which they hang the 
 
Ixx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 weighty concerments of eternity, what is to- 
 morrow ? No part of our possessions, no part 
 of our inheritance ; it is a part in the great 
 chain of duration, but perhaps no part of our 
 present being. Clear and bright, and steady 
 as it shines to-day, some sudden blast may 
 blow out the lamp of life ; and to-morrow 
 may hare conveyed us into other company, 
 and settled us in other scenes. ' Boast not,' 
 my friends, ' of to-morrow,' till you have un- 
 rolled the book of fate, and learnt what to- 
 day shall bring forth." " Last night, it is 
 
 probable, many a gay youth threw himself 
 upon the bed, whence he shall arise no more ; 
 and many a busy head reposed itself on that 
 pillow, where it shall sleep on now, and take 
 its rest. How sad and serious are many now, 
 who but last night were giddy, thoughtless, 
 presumptuous, and vain ; how terrible has this 
 to-morrow proved to many, who but yester- 
 day said unto themselves that it was yet soon 
 enough to repent and be converted ? ' Thou 
 fool, this night shall thy soul be required of 
 thee,' was a short, a severe, and yet a gracious 
 
 warning." " In every breeze that blows, 
 
 there is a flight of human fates ; in every 
 breath we breathe, we may drink in the dead- 
 ly poison ; every hour we stand in jeopardy, 
 then ' verily every man at his best estate, is 
 altogether vanity.' In every walk we take, 
 death treads upon our steps ; he watches us 
 in our retirements, he follows us in our busi- 
 ness, he mingles with the angels that stand 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. lxxi 
 
 round our beds ; in that very moment, when 
 our hearts are most attached to the world ; 
 in that very moment when we are least ap- 
 prehensive of our fate, then the tyrant springs 
 upon his prey, rejoicing to add unto his na- 
 tive horrours, the accessory terrours of sur- 
 prise. ' In the midst of life, we are in death ;' 
 in the bloom of life, we are in danger of some 
 fatal blight ; in the highest health, we may 
 be nearest to some mortal malady. What 
 then is your life ? Is it not a fleeting cloud, 
 an evaporating smoke, an exploding meteor, 
 a painted bubble ? Break the bubble must ; 
 in its greatest beauty it will break, and it may 
 break ere night." 
 
 Of the uses to be made of these reflections 
 on the shortness and uncertainty of life, he 
 
 thus speaks: " If life be so short, and so 
 
 uncertain, then ought we not to be prodigal of 
 time ?....When you can arrest the passing mo- 
 ments, then you may abuse them ; when you 
 can say that you have finished the work of 
 life, then you may amuse yourselves. Of our 
 honour we are jealous, of our wealth we are 
 parsimonious, of our labour we are frugal, 
 but our time we waste upon the follies, we 
 waste it on the pleasures, we waste it on the 
 cares of this life ; we give it unto every one 
 that asks it of us ; nor are we sensible of our 
 extravagance, perhaps, till the world cannot 
 purchase us another hour. Time was given 
 us, that we might buy with it the blessings of 
 
Ixxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 eternity ; as the revenue comes in, we expend 
 it on the vanities of this world ; and when we 
 should enter on that glorious inheritance, we 
 find ourselves poor, and miserable, and blind, 
 and naked."* 
 
 During the summer of the year 1790, Mr. 
 Cappe had had many threatnings of a para- 
 lytick attack, but the awful blow was suspend- 
 ed until the 2d of May, 1791; a morning 
 ever to be remembered by the writer of these 
 memoirs, when this friend of her heart, to 
 whose great and fine qualities she was perhaps 
 too ardently attached, was suddenly seized 
 with a dreadful stroke of the palsy! He had 
 taken a ride to a neighbouring village to bap- 
 tize a child, and the morning being fine, had 
 afterwards prolonged his ride, when suddenly, 
 in a sandy lane, finding his head extremely 
 uncomfortable, he threw 7 himself from his 
 
 * I was much struck and affected by reading a volume of Poems 
 published by Dr. Aikin in 1803, written by the late Henry IVJoore, a 
 fellow student of Mr. Cappe's at Northampton. The strain of senti- 
 ment that generally runs through them is so much in the manner of 
 Mr. Cappe, that I could have supposed them to have been written by 
 himself. How strongly, for instance, did the following passage in the 
 Ode to Contentment bring his image to my mind ! 
 
 Divine Contentment ! still be nigh 
 
 To cheer me with thy placid eye. 
 While thro' this fleeting Life's short various day 
 A humble Pilgrim here I plod my way, 
 May no ambitious dreams delude my mind, 
 Impatience hence be far — and far be Pride ; 
 Whate'er my lot, on Heav'n's kind care reclin'd, 
 Be Piety my comfort — Faith my guide. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. kxiii 
 
 horse, and was found almost immediately after, 
 by a neighbouring gentleman, the faithful 
 animal standing by him, as if conscious of 
 his master's situation. The circumstance of 
 the deep sand in the lane, preserved him 
 from being injured by the fall ; but his life, 
 notwithstanding, was despaired of for many 
 weeks. At length, it pleased the Almighty 
 in some measure to restore him ; but although 
 he continued afterwards to read and to com- 
 pose occasionally, yet he was never able again 
 to resume his ministerial labours. 
 
 In the summer of 1792, he was so far re- 
 covered, as to make a visit, accompanied by 
 myself, to his old friend Mr. Lee, (at Stain- 
 drop, in the county of Durham,) then in a 
 very declining state of health, but still in full 
 possession of his extraordinary conversation- 
 al talents. We were met there by Mr. Con- 
 stable of Was sand ; and, by a singular coin- 
 cidence of circumstances, by Sir Wadsworth 
 Buske also, at that time resident in the Isle of 
 Man, Sir W. Buske did not know that his 
 two other friends were at Staindrop ; but be- 
 ing at Harrogate, and wishing to visit Sir. Lee, 
 his arrival was unexpectedly announced one 
 morning at breakfast, just after' it had been 
 remarked by Mrs. Lee, that the three old 
 friends wanted only the addition of Sir Wads- 
 worth Buske ; to complete their happiness ! 
 
 k 
 
Ixxiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 On the 7th of April, in the year 1793, Mr. 
 Cappe had a second par aly tick seizure, which, 
 although it affected him differently, was not 
 less severe than the first, and by which his 
 life was again for many weeks in the most 
 imminent danger ; and from this he never so 
 far recovered as to be able to walk without 
 considerable assistance, or to speak without 
 difficulty and pain. In circumstances like 
 these, it might seem to many, that his life 
 was no longer desirable ; but these saw only 
 how much was lost ; they did not know in how 
 many ways he could still administer to the 
 comfort and happiness of others ; and how 
 ample were the stores of enjoyment and of 
 hope, that remained to himself. He could 
 still instruct, by exemplifying, in practice, the 
 efficacy of those divine precepts of resigna- 
 tion and fortitude, which, in theory, he had so 
 often and so ably taught ; and those who lov- 
 ed him had still the consolation of endeavour- 
 ing to lighten his burdens, and of anticipat- 
 ing his wishes. The powers of recollection 
 were still spared him, and they brought with 
 them the constant testimony of a life well 
 spent. Although he could no longer labori- 
 ously explore, and endeavour to bring to light 
 the treasures of knowledge that lie hidden 
 in the sacred volume, its precepts, its conso- 
 lations, and its hopes, were engraven on his 
 heart, and of these, disease did not deprive 
 him. Tt was even still permitted him to la- 
 bour in the vineyard of his honoured Master, 
 
LIFE OF THK AUTHOR. \xjlv 
 
 by dictating from his short-hand papers to an 
 amanuensis, who could have no pleasure in 
 this world equal to the effort of contributing 
 to his happiness, and of being instrumental 
 to the preservation of papers which she deem- 
 ed so inestimable. Some hours in almost 
 every day, for nearly nine years, were dedicat- 
 ed to this employment, to which all others 
 were made to give way ; and so ample were 
 the stores from which these treasures were 
 drawn, that although many volumes have been 
 transcribed, together with an harmony and 
 notes on the whole New Testament, many 
 more remain locked up in an unintelligible 
 short-hand. Among these the editor regrets 
 principally, his notes upon Dr. Hartley's Ob- 
 servations on Man ; a work which Mr. Cappe 
 had closely studied, and estimated very high- 
 ly, and of which it was his intention to have 
 published a new edition. These notes, which 
 are extremely numerous, unfortunately had 
 not advanced beyond a short-hand rough draft, 
 which was to have been again revised, and 
 many of them are written with a pencil, which 
 made the reading of them attended with dif- 
 ficulty ; so that he was never equal to the la- 
 bour of doing it, and of correcting, arranging, 
 and re-transcribing. 
 
 It is well known, during the period of which 
 we are speaking, that infidelity was not only 
 professed openly in a neighbouring nation, but 
 that in this country also, if it did not avow it" 
 
lxxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 self in terms quite so direct, Christianity was 
 treated by many writers of sufficient celebri- 
 ty, with studied neglect.* Painfully impress- 
 ed by these circumstances, I adverted to the 
 apprehensions they excited, as I was tran- 
 scribing the reasons assigned by Mr. Cappe, 
 to believe even from present appearances, that 
 Christianity would finally prevail ; and asked 
 him if it might not be well to intermingle 
 some reflections on events then taking place ?f 
 " By no means," he replied, " depend upon it, 
 these are only passing clouds, not worth the 
 
 * This fashionable mode of treating Christianity by a certain class 
 of writers, or rather of passing it over in profound silence, is thus 
 well adverted to, by an able female writer of the present day. — 
 "Avowed attacks upon revelation are more easily resisted, because 
 the malignity is advertised. But who suspects the destruction which 
 lurks under the harmless or instructive names, of General History, 
 Natural History, Travels, Voyages, Lives, Encyclopedias, Criticism, 
 and Romances ? Who will deny that many of these works contain 
 much admirable matter; brilliant passages, important facts, just de- 
 scriptions, faithful pictures of nature, and valuable illustrations of 
 science ? But while ' the dead fly lies at the bottom,' the whole will 
 exhale a corrupt and pestilential stench." Mrs. Hannah lore's 
 Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education, Vol. I, pages 
 31, 32. 
 
 f One of the passages alluded to, is as follows. Having enumerat- 
 ed some of the difficulties which the gospel had to encounter on its 
 first promulgation, and of the probabilities at that time against its 
 success, y\r. Cappe observes. " In the circumstances of the gospel 
 now, there are no such reasons to apprehend its extinction, or con- 
 finement." (viz. to an obscure province, like Judea.) "The increas- 
 ing facility and extent of human intercourse, the growing comprehen- 
 sion of the human understanding; the improved liberality of luiman 
 sentiments ; the wide distribution of the gospel records ; the acknow- 
 ledged excellence of the gospel morality; the advancing separation 
 of the corruptions that had been intermingled with it from the truth 
 as V is in Jesus ; the debates that have arisen concerning its eviden- 
 ces and its doctrines, which have been the means of placing them 
 in the clearest light, and fixing them upon their true foundation; all 
 these things conspire to suggest and to support the assured hope, that 
 the gates of death never shall prevail against the word of Jesus." 
 Dissertations, Vol, I, pages 126, 127. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixxvii 
 
 notice." And indeed it is remarkable, that 
 the unanimity of his mind was never for a 
 moment disturbed by them, for he well knew 
 on whom lie had believed ; and may 1 not 
 here be allowed to remark, that already, even 
 in the short interval of seven years, these 
 " passing clouds" are beginning to vanish 
 away ? The substitution of philosophy, falsely 
 so called, (for genuine philosophy is her stead- 
 fast friend) in place of Christianity, has not 
 produced all the glorious effects that were 
 predicted of its advent, — The inhabitants of 
 a neighbouring nation are not become of all 
 others, the most enlightened, the most free, 
 or the most happy ;* and if it lias failed in 
 this Avorld, where its laurels avowedly were 
 to be reaped, it will not be affirmed that it 
 has any indemnification to offer in the con- 
 templation of another, in which it professes 
 not to believe, and for which it is altogether 
 unprepared. 
 
 Among the pleasures of which Mr. Cappe 
 was never wholly deprived, those must be 
 reckoned which resulted from the contem- 
 plation of the works, as well as of the word of 
 God. Although unable to walk, or to ride 
 
 * II this were true in the year 1805, what shall we say of the state 
 of that iDiserable country at the present day 1816? Let the foreign 
 armies that live upon her plains ; — the total loss of all serious 
 thought and moral principle in the hulk of her people ;— the wretch- 
 ed debasing superstition of her rulers and pharisaieal priesthood; — 
 tog^er with the cruel sword of persecution drawn in its defence, 
 bearing their united testimony to her complete degradation, give 
 the answer. — Editor. 
 
Ixxviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 on horseback, he was drawn in a little car- 
 riage, when the weather would permit, in the 
 open air, where he could enjoy the pleasures 
 of spring, and watch the progress of vegeta- 
 tion. Still he could admire the glories of 
 a setting sun, in the contemplation of which 
 he had ever had the greatest pleasure ; enjoy 
 the fragrance of the evening breeze ; gaze 
 with calm delight on the vaulted canopy of 
 heaven, studded with innumerable worlds ; 
 and join with Milton in his elevated hymn of 
 praise — 
 
 " These are thy wond'rous works, 
 Parent ol* good : thus wond'rous fair, 
 Thyself how wond'rous then !" 
 
 - To say that he never discovered any fret- 
 fulness ; that he never once repined at the 
 dispensations of Providence ; that he never 
 once regretted the powers he had lost ; (al- 
 though he was fully sensible of their loss, " I 
 once knew a little,'' he was accustomed to 
 say !) would be to fall very short of a true 
 representation of his actual state of mind, 
 which was always composed, serene, and 
 cheerful, and on which was constantly impress- 
 ed a sense of gratitude, of thankfulness, and 
 of praise. 
 
 In him surely we see an example supply- 
 ing the most powerful incentive, even were 
 this world only concerned, to the diligent cul- 
 tivation, and faithful improvement of our seve- 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixrix 
 
 ral talents, whatever they may he. Had the 
 early days of the character under contempla- 
 tion been consumed, we will not say in vice, 
 but in the pursuit of those objects which the 
 men of this world seek after, of pleasure, of 
 ambition, or of gain, would such have been 
 his resources in the day of trial ? Would such 
 have been the hope, that, amidst the storm 
 and tempest, can repose, with full security, 
 on the " Rock of Ages ?" So true it is, that 
 " to the upright there ariseth light in the 
 darkness :" So true it is, generally speak- 
 ing, even in respect of what relates to the 
 present scene, that " whatsoever a man sow- 
 eth, that shall he also reap !" 
 
 Among his many remaining comforts, Mr. 
 Cappe always reckoned in the foremost rank, 
 the having met with a colleague,* in whom 
 he early discovered an ardent love of truth, 
 especially of religious truth ; talents equal to 
 its development, and dispositions the most 
 amiable. He felt for him a truly paternal af- 
 fection ; often did he please himself with anti- 
 cipating what he believed would be his future 
 eminence : and he always looked forward to 
 him as his successor in his ministerial office 
 in this city, with singular complacency and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 In the night of the lGth of September, 1799. 
 Mr. Cappe had a third paralytick attack : 
 
 The Rer. Charles Wellbeloved. 
 
lxxx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 which, although it did not, like the two fore- 
 going, seem to threaten immediate dissolution, 
 yet so greatly impaired his remaining bodily 
 powers, so affected his articulation, and weak- 
 ened his whole frame, that we were obliged, 
 in a great measure, ever after to lay aside the 
 occupation of transcribing, which hitd hither- 
 to been the source of so much pleasure and 
 consolation. Still, however, his resignation, 
 his fortitude, and his cheerfulness remained. 
 That what had happened to him was the will 
 of his heavenly Father, was ground sufficient 
 not of acquiescence merely, but of firm per- 
 suasion, that it was the best that could have 
 been, both for himself and others. Even his 
 countenance lost nothing of its wonted com- 
 posure and benignity : he was prevailed upon, 
 after this, to have his picture taken, which 
 fortunately bears a strong likeness : and now 
 that the original is no longer present, it is 
 soothing to the sorrowing mind, to be able, by 
 this means, to call to its remembrance in a 
 more vivid form, the piety, resignation, and 
 benevolence that was ever depicted in the 
 living prototype. 
 
 Mr. Scott of Amwell was one of his fa- 
 vourite poets, and the " Elegy on the Ap- 
 proach of Winter," his favourite piece. With 
 what pleasure did lie quote the following stan- 
 zas, where the poet, speaking of contentment, 
 says, 
 
LltfU; U* VtitL AUTHUK. IJWK1 
 
 11 She finds in winter many a view to please ; 
 The morning landscape fringed with frost-work gay, 
 The sun at noon seen through the leafless trees, 
 The clear calm ether at the close of day : 
 She bids, for all, our grateful praise arise, 
 To Him, whose mandate spake the world to form : 
 Gave Spring's gay bloom, and Summer's cheerful skies, 
 And Autumn's corn-clad field, and Winter's sounding storm.*' 
 
 Within the last few months of his life, his 
 sight failed exceedingly. "I believe I shall 
 be quite blind," he often said to me ; and 
 on my replying, " I hope not," his answer 
 constantly was, " I have neither hope nor 
 fear upon the subject, and do not you fear. I 
 mention it," he continued, w merely as a fact, 
 not as a subject of regret." 
 
 About the middle of December, 1800, he 
 appeared to hare' caught cold, but it was not 
 attended by any symptoms that created much 
 unusual alarm. His breathing, indeed, when 
 in a recumbent posture, was difficult, but it 
 had frequently been so ever since his last 
 paralytick attack. On Monday the 22d, a 
 gentleman called upon him, whom he had not 
 seen for many years : and beins* forcibly struck 
 and affected b} r his extreme feebleness, he 
 said to him, " What great alterations, sir, have 
 taken place since we last met!" i; It is true," 
 he replied, "great alterations have taken place, 
 yet. I assure you, 1 never was happier in my 
 life ;" and he then enumerated the many 
 blessings he still possessed. At night he 
 
lxxxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 had a shivering fit, after which he sunk- rapid- 
 ly ; and, about two o'clock, on the morning of 
 the 24th of December, without a groan or a 
 sigh, he ended his earthly pilgrimage. He 
 appeared to be perfectly sensible to the last, 
 and filly conscious of his own situation ; thank- 
 ed every one, repeatedly, for their attention 
 to him, and several times added something 
 more, which it was evident, from his manner, 
 was of the consolatory kind to his sorrowing 
 attendants ; but his articulation was so im- 
 perfect, that it could not be understood. 
 
 If the reader of these memoirs has ever 
 possessed such a friend, and has experienced 
 what it is to see his plate vacant, he will then 
 comprehend what are the feelings of the wri- 
 ter of them ! To such an one, how inestima- 
 ble are the hopes, the promises of the gospel ! 
 Well did our blessed Lord understand their 
 unspeakable value, when, in one of his beau- 
 tifully prophetick parables, anticipating the 
 future fates of the gospel, he compares it to 
 a pearl of great price, which, being found by 
 a merchantman, he went and sold all that he 
 had, to purchase it!— "The gospel lives, 
 though the preachers of the gospel die. In 
 that there is no change, the everlasting gos- 
 pel is its name. No vicissitudes of private 
 life, no civil tumults, no publick revolutions, 
 can injure or endanger it. What a consola- 
 tion ! It has comforted our departed friends. 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. lxxxiii 
 
 When we are dead, it will comfort our sur- 
 viving relatives. It will guide the living, and 
 sustain the dying, till that glorious period of 
 the Divine Administration shall arrive, when 
 sin, and pain, and death, shall be no more."* 
 Amen. Alleluia ! 
 
 York, May 19, 1805. 
 
 Mr. Cappe's Sermon on the death of Mr. Sandercock, 1770. 
 
DISCOURSE I. 
 
 ON FAlTtt IN GENERAL, AND RELIGIOUS FAITH 
 IN PARTICULAR. 
 
 Hebrews xi. 1. 
 
 Now Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of 
 things unseen. 
 
 r aith in general is any kind of persuasion, proceed- 
 ing from testimony concerning any thing whatever* 
 that is not the immediate object of our own con- 
 sciousness, or of our own senses. • Whatever truths 
 we hold upon the evidence of sense or consciousness* 
 or by necessary consequences legitimately deduced* 
 these truths we know : on the other hand, whatever 
 truths we derive from any other source ; be it from 
 the relation of others, or by rational deductions from 
 their depositions, these truths we believe. The re- 
 sult of the former principles, is knowledge ; the ef- 
 fect of the latter, faith. Religious knowledge is 
 very seldom distinguished from religious faith ; and 
 for the ordinary purposes of life, in the regulation 
 of our temper, and the direction of our conduct, 
 there is no need of such distinctions. In fact, the 
 far greater and more interesting part of our religious 
 principles is derived from Faith ; yet such is the 
 degree of evidence resulting from the testimony of 
 Christ and his Apostles, respecting those truths 
 which we receive through them, that our faith in 
 these, approaches as near as may be unto know- 
 ledge. 
 
 I 
 
86 On Faith in general, and 
 
 Religous Faith is properly that conviction con- 
 cerning past, future, or unseen things, relating to 
 God, his will, his counsels, or his providence, which 
 is produced in us, by the testimony ot prophets 
 whom he hath sent and authorized. 
 
 This it is in respect to its nature and its origin ; 
 and in respect to its effects, the Apostle tells us, that 
 " it is the substance of things hoped for, the evi- 
 dence of things unseen." Though the version be 
 somewhat obscure, yet the original is sufficiently 
 perspicuous, but the terms of it are of such a nature, 
 that without circumlocution it would have been im- 
 possible perhaps to have expressed the sense of the 
 passage more perfectly than in the words of the text. 
 It is not however, so properly a philosophical defi- 
 nition of Faith, as, according to the manner of this- 
 Apostle, a rhetorical encomium on it. " Faith," 
 says he, " is that act of the mind, which makes things 
 hoped for, to be ; it is that principle which places 
 things unseen, in a clear, convincing, and affecting 
 light. It gives to future things a reality in respect 
 to us, which if we were devoid of this principle, 
 however certain in themselves, they would not have." 
 And having said so much of Faith, he goes on to 
 enlarge his affirmation, and to amplify the excel- 
 lence of his subject, by extending what he had al- 
 ready affirmed concerning the objects of hope, to 
 whatever things which are not in themselves the ob- 
 jects of our senses, whether past, present, or to 
 come. 
 
 Faith is the great principle of the Christian life, 
 for it is in every sense true, that the Christian walks 
 bv faith and not by sight; he is neither governed 
 by the things of this present world, nor does he yet 
 see all the things which are the objects of his prin- 
 
Religious Faitk in particular. 8<~ 
 
 eipal attention, affection, and pursuit. The wise 
 and good, under the patriarchal, and Jewish dispen- 
 sations, walked by faith; and accordingly the Apos- 
 tle goes on to celebrate the faith of Abel, Enoch, 
 Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and 
 others ; characters in preceding ages, whose virtues 
 had adorned the times and dispensations under 
 which they lived.* 
 
 Even in the Gentile world, which had no other 
 notion of invisible and future things, than what was 
 derived from the light of nature, aided perhaps by 
 the remains of primitive tradition, those who re- 
 strained their appetites and passions respecting sen- 
 sible things, and present interests, from a reverence 
 *>f an unseen law-giver and observer of their conduct ; 
 from the fear of an invisible judge; from the hope 
 that by this means heaven would be rendered pro- 
 pitious to them; however obscure, imperfect, or even 
 unjust their ideas, either of the divine nature, provi- 
 dence, or of that future world, might be ; these per- 
 sons, notwithstanding, walked by Faith. 
 
 Faith in Christ, is a firm persuasion that what- 
 ever he hath declared is true, and this is the great 
 difference between the faith of Christians and the 
 faith of others: — That the Faith of Christians, if it 
 be founded on the word of God and correspond to 
 the truth as it is in Jesus, is more extensive, purer, 
 and more lively ; that it embraces a greater number 
 of interesting and important truths, concerning un- 
 
 * The cultivation of this important principle is not merely in itself 
 a virtue as a proof of our trust and confidence in the promises of God, 
 but becomes eventually the parent of many other virtues, by its pow- 
 erful tendency to enlarge and spiritualize the human mind ; by teach- 
 ins it to contemplate our present actions in their future consequences, 
 and thus firmly to withstand the influence of those delusive seduc- 
 tions, which, without its aid, would so often make shipwreck oi good 
 conscience, of respectability, of hope, and of happiness! — Editor. 
 
88 On Faith in general, and 
 
 seen, past, and future things; and that, although it 
 must in some instances be attended with obscurity, 
 because the objects it embraces are but in part re- 
 vealed, yet that it is not in any instance debased 
 witherrour; and also, that being supported by a 
 much stronger evidence, it is naturally more produc- 
 tive of all good fruit, and is a steadier, as well as a 
 more active principle of conduct. 
 
 Faith changes the fugitive and visionary nature of 
 things unseen, whether past, present, or to come, in- 
 to something more fixed and more substantial : it 
 transports us back into the past, and interests us in 
 the events of a thousand ages that had elapsed be- 
 fore we were called into being. It gives us to be- 
 hold that important moment, when the Lord spake 
 and it was done ; when he commanded, and all things 
 stood fast; and fills our souls with those delightful 
 sentiments of wonder, reverence, and love, that 
 would have seized them, had we been present when 
 this glorious universe, at his command, burst into 
 existence ; when the morning stars sang together, 
 and the first born sons of God shouted aloud for 
 joy. Faith displays before our eyes the secret go- 
 vernment of God, and shows us how uncontrolable 
 he is, how wise, how just, and how kind in all his 
 dispensations, whether of the natural, the civil, or 
 the moral world. Faith sets before us that most 
 consolatory and delightful scene, the great and good 
 Father of all continually superintending all his 
 works, watching over e\eiy creature he has made, 
 interested even for the falling sparrow, and counting 
 the very hairs of the human head ! 
 
 We see him adorning even this scene of disci- 
 pline with innumerable beauties ; blessing even this 
 childhood of our being with innumerable entertain- 
 
Religious Faith in particular. 89 
 
 inents and delights ; dispensing to us our condition 
 during the little period of our sojourning on earth, 
 with all the tenderness and all the liberality that 
 consists with our safe arrival in that better world 
 to which we go, and with our interests in that un- 
 changeable and everlasting state. We see this holy 
 God, even when clouds and darkness are round 
 about him, still smiling through the cloud upon his 
 faithful children, lifting up the light of his counte- 
 nance upon them, and preparing to reward them 
 with a crown of life. Faith shows us this almighty 
 Monarch, to purify the iniquity of the world, break- 
 ing up the fountains of the deep, and opening the 
 windows of heaven. Faith shows us this Avenger 
 of unrighteousness bringing down a fiery tempest 
 on the cities of the plain : Faith shovis us this Hope 
 and Confidence of his people, dividing the waters of 
 the sea to preserve the armies of Israel, and instant- 
 ly bringing back the waters that he had divided, 
 for the destruction of Pharaoh and his host. 
 
 By Faith we see this God and Father of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, in sending Abraham from his 
 country and his father's house; in changing the in- 
 tended death of Joseph into servitude in Egypt; 
 in visiting the fruitful country of Canaan with fa- 
 mine ; in settling the house of Jacob in the land of 
 Eg\pt; in multiplying his posterity in that settle- 
 ment; in subjecting them to the tyranny of cruel 
 and oppressive princes; in preserving Moses to be 
 their deliverer ; in the plagues by him inflicted to 
 obtain for them the deliverance they sought ; in the 
 law that was given them at Sinai ; in the peculiar 
 constitution under which they were at last settled in 
 the promised land; in all the revolutions of the 
 Jewish state ; in their prosperities and their afflic- 
 tions - ? in their independence and their servitude ; 
 
90 On Faith in general, and 
 
 in the various fates of many powerful kingdoms 
 with which they were occasionally connected : — in 
 all these events we see by Faith the God and 
 Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, rewarding the 
 virtues and chastising the vices both of individuals 
 and of nations ; exhibiting the most striking evi- 
 dence that he ruleth in the kingdom of men ; dis- 
 playing an example of his moral government ; and 
 making straight the way for the gospel of his Son 
 to have free course and be glorified. 
 
 By Faith we hear the great Arbiter of events, 
 who sees the end from the beginning, one while to 
 reclaim the nations from their iniquities, warning 
 them of the evils with which he is about to visit 
 them ; and another while, to support and comfort 
 his repenting people in their troubles, revealing to 
 them the deliverances he is about to accomplish for 
 them; and all along from period to period, through 
 a long succession of ages and generations, promis- 
 ing in plainer and still plainer terms, and describing 
 in clearer and still clearer characters, that illus- 
 trious personage who should spread the knowledge 
 of God, even unto the ends of the earth; who 
 should put an end to sin, bring in an everlasting 
 righteousness, and erect a kingdom that should 
 never cease. 
 
 Faith introduces us into the fields of Bethlehem, 
 opens our ears unto the Angels' anthem, and dis- 
 plays before us all the wonderful events that accom- 
 panied the birth of this prince of peace. By Faith 
 we are present at the gracious words that proceed- 
 ed out of his mouth ; we hear the divine discourses 
 that he addressed unto the multitude, and are ad- 
 mitted to that more intimate communion that he held 
 with his immediate disciples. By Faith we behold 
 
Religious Faith in particular. 91 
 
 the sick reviving at his touch ; the lame leaping at 
 his word ; the blind gazing with astonishment at 
 that powerful friend by whom they had legained 
 their sight; and the dead rising from their graves 
 to bless the Abolisher of death. By Faith we see 
 him tried, condemned, and crucified ; dying, in the 
 exercise of the divinest virtue, a malefactor's death 
 upon the cross. By Faith we see him sleeping in 
 the tomb, rising from the dead according to his own 
 prediction, satisfying the doubts of his disciples and 
 ascending in their presence, as he said he should do, 
 to his Father and their Father, to his God and their 
 God. 
 
 By Faith we see the angelick guard, that attend- 
 ed our ascending Lord, and hear the promise which 
 they left to the disciples, ;t this same Jesus who is 
 taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in 
 like manner, as he was seen to go thither." Faith 
 opens to us the eternal gates, draws back the 
 veil that separates between earth # and heaven, 
 and extends our prospect far beyond the re- 
 gion of the shadow of death ; brings us into the 
 city of the living God ; shows us there the blessed 
 Jesus, for his obedience unto death, crowned with 
 glory and honour, and seated at the right hand of 
 the majesty on high. She shows us there, the in- 
 numerable company of Angels, the spirits of just 
 men made perfect, settled in the presence of our hea- 
 venly Father; and enables us, imperfectly it is true, 
 but in some degree enables us, to anticipate the 
 happiness of so blessed a communion. Faith has 
 the power to bring forward that future happiness to 
 make glad the present hour. As Faith penetrates 
 into that which is within the veil whither the fore- 
 runner is for us entered, so before her eye also, 
 hell is naked, and destruction has no covering. 
 
02 On Faith in general, and 
 
 Through Faith we may even now enjoy that 
 happy day, when by the power of the gospel, peace, 
 and truth, and virtue prevailing throughout the 
 world, shall spread their blessed influences from one 
 end of the earth to the other. — By Faith we antici- 
 pate the glorious period when the great destroyer, 
 Death, himself shall be destroyed. Through Faith 
 we can already feel somewhat of that ecstatick tri- 
 umph that will seize us, when waking from the bed 
 of death, we shall behold the face of God in right- 
 eousness, and at length be satisfied with his perfect 
 likeness. 
 
 Such are the forepast scenes that Faith brings 
 bark to us; such are the invisible transactions that 
 Faith discovers to us; such are the great futurities 
 that it places in a distinct and striking view. Does 
 the Apostle say too much of faith ? is he too lavish 
 in its praise ? is he too sanguine in commending it ? 
 If such things, so deeply interesting to us, have 
 been, and are, and are to be, things which our sen- 
 ses cannot reach, who would not be thankful for 
 being made capable of that principle by which they 
 are revealed unto us ? who would not be thankful 
 that we are not left to dark, and dubious, and vague 
 conjectures concerning subjects so important as the 
 origin, and government, and end of all things ? that 
 we are not bewildering ourselves in wild imagina- 
 tions, nor fleeting from uncertainty to uncertainty ? 
 
 Let us then use the privileges that we praise; 
 while we bless him for those clear discoveries and 
 overpowering evidences that have so well defined, 
 and so firmly fixed, our conceptions of invisible and 
 future things, let us live as they ought to live, who 
 know that they came out of the hands of God, that 
 they are the subjects of his government, and are 
 going hence to his tribunal. 
 
Religions Faith in particular. 93 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord God Almighty, we believe that from thee 
 we derived our being, with all its powers, its com- 
 forts, and its hopes ; we believe that we continually 
 act in thy presence, and under thy inspection, "who 
 art acquainted with all our ways;" we believe that 
 we are accountable unto thee for all our conduct, 
 and that the day is coming, when thou shalt judge 
 the world in righteousness, and when all shall receive 
 according to their deeds. 
 
 We lament before thee, heavenly Father, that 
 this our most holy faith has in times past produced 
 no greater influence on our affections and our con- 
 versation. In time to come may it bring forth fruits 
 meet unto repentance ! IVlay we be more thankful 
 unto thee from whose bounty all our blessings flow, 
 and more resigned unto thy will, without whom not 
 an atom changes its place throughout the boundless 
 universe ! In all our conduct may we behave as 
 seeing thee who art invisible. May we admit no- 
 thing into our hearts that we could desire to conceal 
 from thy all penetrating eye; nothing into our con- 
 duct of which we shall have cause to be ashamed 
 at thy righteous tribunal ! 4C The life that we now 
 Jive in the flesh, may it be by the faith of the son 
 of God," and may we add unto our faith virtue, 
 to virtue knowledge, to knowledge temperance, to 
 temperance patience, to patience godliness, to god- 
 liness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kind- 
 ness charity, that these things being in us and 
 abounding, we may not be barren or unfruitful in 
 the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour, but may 
 in all things adorn the sacred doctrine we protess, 
 
DISCOURSE II. 
 
 FAITH A REASONABLE PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Hebrews xi. 1. 
 
 Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of 
 things unseen. 
 
 Faith is a reasonable principle. There is nothing 
 dark, mysterious, or unintelligible in it ; nothing for 
 which he who values himself most upon the character 
 of reason, has any cause to be ashamed. It is not 
 an enthusiastick principle that first gives being to 
 dreams and visions, and then supports itself upon 
 imaginations of its own creating. It is not a super- 
 natural impression proceeding from the immediate 
 agency of God, capriciously bestowed where he 
 pleases to bestow it, and denied where he wills it to 
 be denied. It is not an inexplicable feeling of 
 we know not what, conceived we know not how, 
 and cherished we know not why : it is not the 
 persuasion of any tiling, whether good or evil, 
 concerning either ourselves or any other being, 
 taken up without reason, and maintained upon 
 principles that may not be duly specified and ex- 
 plained : it is jiot any sudden irradiation of the 
 mind, proceeding from whatever cause ; for Faith 
 is not more the especial gift of God, than Sight ; it 
 is equally the natural and necessary result of the 
 principles that compose the human frame. — To 
 an eye duly formed, present any object of the visi- 
 
Faith a reasonable principle. 95 
 
 ble world, and it is seen : to a mind attentive and 
 undepraved, propose the evidence concerning any 
 truth that respects the world invisible, concerning 
 either distant objects, past transactions, or events 
 yet to come, and in proportion to the strength of 
 that evidence, it is believed. Whatever persuasion is 
 taken up against evidence or without it, is blind 
 presumption, or romantick imagination, and not 
 Faith. 
 
 Faith is as much the effect of evidence, as sight is 
 the effect of sensible impression ; nor is the one 
 more absolutely dependent on its cause, or more 
 closely connected with it, than the other. It is a 
 law of our nature, that in such and such circum- 
 stances, we shall see ; and it is as much a law of 
 our nature, that in such and such circumstances, we 
 shall believe. If we will be judging of such visible 
 things as are beyond the sphere of clear and dis- 
 tinct vision, no man would call these presumptuous 
 fancies, however strongly we might be attached to 
 them, sight ; and in like manner, if we would be 
 judging of things invisible, to which the light of 
 evidence does not reach, no man should call these 
 visions of imagination, Faith : they are both of them 
 the reveries of a capricious or disordered mind ; a 
 partial frenzy, which only requires to be extended 
 to a greater multitude of objects, to render the 
 perversion of our understandings both manifest 
 and deplorable. — What sight is in the natural world, 
 with respect to things visible and present, Faith is 
 in the spiritual world, with respect to things absent 
 and invisible : to believe, on sufficient evidence, is 
 as natural as to perceive ; and in thus believing, 
 there is nothing more unreasonable, inexplicable, 
 or indefensible, than in seeing with our open 
 eyes the prospect that presents itself before us. 
 
90 Faith </ reasonable principle. 
 
 Faith then is a principle no more peculiar to 
 religion in general, than it is peculiar to the Christian 
 religion in particular. Even those, who most alTect 
 to treat it with ridicule and contempt in the disciples 
 of Christ, are themselves obliged, and they are 
 satisfied with the obligation, to act upon it every 
 day and vwcvy hour of their lives : it is the very 
 principle which, in the ordinary affairs of life, 
 regulates and governs hy far the greater part of 
 their thoughts, their affections, and their conduct. 
 
 Do they really know every thing that they think 
 they know, in their domestic k, their Commercial) 
 or their civil concerns and occupations? Let them 
 examine those; things of which they have the 
 firmest persuasion, as they think the most infallible 
 certainty, and they will find very few of them that 
 are objects of sense or consciousness : they are not 
 known, they are only believed. 
 
 Do they know, that the food to which they are 
 sat down is sale and salutary ? or do they refuse 
 to partake; of what they have not with their own 
 hands prepaied, for fear of disgracing the character 
 of reason ? — Do they know that the medicine admin- 
 istered to them in sickness, is composed of useful 
 or innocent ingredients ? do they know that these 
 are faithfully prepared, and judiciously combined ? 
 or, for fear of doing an unreasonable thing, for fear 
 of exposing themselves to ridicule or censure, do 
 they refuse to take it till they have carefully exa- 
 mined the; composition, and have themselves been 
 witness of the effects, in experiments on othors ? 
 
 They sit down at night, planning schemes of 
 business or of pleasure for the morrow ; laying 
 themselves, it may be, under obligations and engage* 
 
faith a reasonable principle. 9< 
 
 tncnts for a long time to come : Do they see the sun 
 hastening to bring back the returning day ? do thej 
 know thai the scythe of death is jet far distant 
 from them ? are they certain what a day may bring 
 forth ? can they see through the darkness of the 
 night, what shall be on the morrow ? — Does any 
 iniii deny obedience to the civil powers because 
 he has never seen them ? Does the tradesman act 
 unreasonably in preparing his merchandise before 
 he sees the buyer coming ? Is it any mark of weak- 
 ness or of fully in him, that he buys, with no better 
 security that he shall sell again, than what he may 
 know in general respecting the wauls, the disposi- 
 tions, and the customs of mankind ? Is it any thing 
 ridiculous for the merchant to send orders to distant 
 countries, for commodities which he has been only 
 told, by those who have only heard, and who perhaps 
 are themselves interested in making the declaration, 
 that such commodities are produced there ? Must 
 he go himself to the ends of the earth, before ho 
 can with any degree of reason transmit his merchan- 
 dise; into these countries, because he has jio other 
 persuasion but what testimony has created in him, 
 that there; are agents there, who may be trusted to 
 transact his business, and inhabitants to consume, 
 or use what he may send ihithei ? Must the hus- 
 bandman try his seed, before he can be justified in 
 sowing it, and lose a season in experiments upon its 
 fruitfulness, before he can reasonably venture on the 
 expectation oi' a harvest from it ? 
 
 In all these, and in a thousand other instances, 
 Faith is the principle upon which men resolve 
 and act; then; is no other principle that has so 
 constant and extensive an influence upon them. 
 You cannot even go to a place where you have 
 never been, but it is by Faith you go thither. You 
 
98 Faith a reasonable principle. 
 
 cannot seek a person you have never seen, but it 
 is by Faith you seek him : the most trivial and 
 most important actions of our Jives are almost all 
 equally dependent on it. 
 
 Even our moral conduct, in the most serious 
 and the most momentous instances, rests on Faith 
 as its foundation. For if Faith be an unreasonable 
 principle of action, if it be not a sufficient ground 
 to go upon, then it is most undoubtedly an unrea- 
 sonable and unjustifiable thing, for any man to 
 entertain the sentiments of filial affection, or fraternal 
 love. If we disgrace our nature, when we act 
 upon the principle of faith and yield to the evidence 
 of testimony, then is it a disgrace to nature, for any 
 man to honour and obey another, as his parent ; we 
 do ourselves injustice when we own ourselves to be 
 their children who call us such, and we are guilty, if 
 not of a crime, yet at least of an absurdity, when 
 we cultivate a peculiar tenderness towards any who 
 were born before us, under the idea that it is a 
 sister or a brother for whom we cultivate this re- 
 spect, and lo whom, on account of this connexion, it 
 is due from us. 
 
 Sense and experience is confined within very 
 narrow limits. The objects to which our know- 
 ledge can extend are very few ; when the sphere 
 of our affection and activity go beyond these, it is 
 Faith, not knowledge, that carries out our views, 
 our passions, and pursuits ; it is Faith that directs, 
 supports, and animates them. He who should 
 resolve that his practice should go no farther than 
 his knowledge, that he would believe nothing ; that 
 he would suffer no desires to rise in his heart, and 
 no actions to proceed from him, but upon the con- 
 viction of his own experience, would in effect resolve 
 
Faith a reasonable principle, 99 
 
 to lead a life so extremely ridiculous and uncomfort- 
 able, that it ought to be reckoned among its best 
 circumstances, that if he kept his resolution, his life 
 would in all probability be very short. 
 
 Almost all the affairs of life are transacted upon 
 the evidence of testimony and under the influence 
 of Faith ; and yet mankind, in all the reproaches 
 they have thrown one upon another, never thought 
 that upon this account they could upbraid, or be 
 upbraided. Even the most licentious ridiculer of 
 this principle, never dreamed that he was charge- 
 able with weakness and absurdity for the influence 
 that he allowed it to have over him, and would 
 have joined as heartily in exposing him who to- 
 tally disowned it in the affairs of this world, as him 
 who abounded in it, in respect to the concerns of 
 another. 
 
 It is in matters of religion only that Faith is so 
 weak, ridiculous, and absurd ; for there, instead 
 of gratifying our irregular inclinations, it reproves 
 them ; it calls away the attention of mankind from 
 this present world ; it would moderate their attach- 
 ment to it, and their expectation from it, and would 
 engage them in the pursuit of the invisible and 
 future things of another world ; things in themselves 
 indeed more important, but not so well suited to 
 the taste of the ambitious, the sensual, or the car- 
 nal mind. But does the dislike of them destroy 
 their reality ? Does it annihilate the evidence of 
 these things ? Is it the less certain that they are, 
 or that they will be, because the men of this world 
 are less willing to believe them ? Does the reason- 
 ableness of Faith diminish, as the importance of its 
 objects rises ? Is it reasonable to act upon it in 
 respect of this present life, and not in respect of 
 
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Am rtmummmkh primciph. 
 
 n this instance to be satisfied 
 
 - -. :/- r : r : z . "■ z : 
 
 to apprehend that we may 
 or deceived. A very light 
 it to keep as upon oar guard 
 I evil. I ected. and rea- 
 
 sonably expected, that it should do so. And on the 
 other hand, it is mnversally acknowledged, that for 
 a vast advantage, oar cares and labours should be 
 hazarded on a small assurance. The most circum- 
 spect and severest reason wifl readily allow, that if 
 there be indeed mmy evidence of a future everlasting 
 world, which shall succeed the present short and 
 transitory scene, where all shall receive according to 
 their works, whatever were the means and condi- 
 tions of avoiding the evils and obtaining the blessings 
 of sudi a state, the infinite importance of the ob 
 would in fact, to a mmd well constituted and ticde- 
 praved, and upon every mmd ought in all reason to 
 make up what might be wanting in the evidence to 
 complete the certainty of the evidence of such a 
 state, and to gfre it all its ionuence upon our hearts 
 and conduct. This effect it ought to produce, what- 
 ever might be the terms of inheriting tins expec 
 happiness ; but if these terms are nothing more than 
 rict avoidance of the i which prudence 
 
 would forbtd even in consideration of the present 
 world, what shall we say of the wisdom of those 
 who aflect to despise, or neglect zod to 
 
 them? 
 
 7 ~ z - z : : :. - :iz : -\ '. \ \ z : -'.- \\\\ \ z r -. ■<-. \ . ^ r. - . :'- 
 ficaent to illustrate, as well as to evince the proposi- 
 tion laid down, that Faith is a reasonable principle. 
 these I would subjoin the following remark?. 
 which are clearly dednctble from the subject 
 
Faith a reasonable principle. 
 
 I. Sine* Faith is a reasonable principle, we have 
 no cause to be ashamed of it. Does anv man make 
 it the subject of ridicule re will be no difficulty 
 
 in convincing others at least, if not himself, that he 
 is more ridiculous than the Christian believer : for 
 while he fancies that he walks by Bight, he is reallv 
 governed bv a Faith that much gi 
 
 credulity. 
 
 "- [f Faith in general be a reasonable principle, 
 how much more reasonable is the Christian's faith ? 
 He derives his belief of invisible and future things 
 from authority the most unquestionable ; warran: 
 not only by all the evidence that suppor: ith 
 
 of other men, but moreover bj i o- 
 
 phecv and miracle. H.r ::. :h requires no 
 
 more than theirs, no more than reason 
 in. and it produces much better authority for the de- 
 mands it makes. 
 
 3. It mav not be improper to observe, that ;. 
 ever natural and e distinction between faith 
 and reason, yet it ou^ht not to be made without 
 some caution and restriction. A ^reat part ot 
 what we ordinarily call reason, is indeed faith ; and 
 
 tfa is itself an act of reason. To believe upon suffi- 
 cient testimony, is one among many other charac 
 teristicks of reason and nteUigenc 
 
 4. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we should 
 take care that we call nothing ur. ole by that 
 name, lest ue bring a : i upon a principle 
 that is so natural, and m - ..!. and so impor: 
 
 to the happiness mau. A> :,ot evi- 
 dence lo justify it, is soaaptioo, it 
 mav be called bv anv not Faith. 
 Let us sift our opinions concert.-: ^le, 
 ether p. 
 
104 Faith a reasonable principle. 
 
 so far separate the chaff from the wheat, as to give 
 the name of Faith, to nothing that has not the sup- 
 port of argument. 
 
 5. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we need not 
 be suspicious of any means that are proposed to 
 confirm us in it : can we be too well established in 
 what is just and right ? And lastly, 
 
 6. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we need 
 not be afraid of pursuing it through all its conse- 
 quences. Nothing but what is right can come of 
 what is reasonable ; it must be diverted from its 
 natural course, or corrupted by some foreign inter- 
 mixture, before it can dictate or induce to what is 
 wrong. If our Faith be the pure result of evidence, 
 it will give us comfort, and do us honour, to show it 
 in our works. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Holy, holy, holy Lord God Almighty, who art, 
 
 and wast, and art to come. Glory and honour and 
 
 thanks be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and 
 
 who liveth for ever and ever ! Thou art worthy, O 
 
 Lord, to receive glory and honour and power, for 
 
 thou hast created all things, and of thy good pleasure 
 
 they are and were created. The invisible things of 
 
 God from the creation of the world are clearly seen, 
 
 being understood by the things that are made, even 
 
 the Maker's eternal power and godhead, so that 
 
 they are without excuse, who having such discoveries 
 
 of God, and such evidences that he is the former of 
 
 their bodies, and the father of their spirits, and the 
 
 author of their enjoyments, glorify him not as God, 
 
 and are not thankful. May our faith be that holy 
 
Faith a reasonable princijrte. 105 
 
 active principle that purifies the heart, that works 
 by love, and overcomes the present world. May 
 the word of Christ dwell richly in us with all wis- 
 dom ; may we be led to a more perfect acquaintance 
 with the truth as it is in Jesus, and by that truth 
 may we be sanctified. As we draw nearer unto 
 heaven, may we become more heavenly-minded, 
 more assimilated to those pure and holy spirits that 
 reside there, and more meet to partake with them 
 in their employments and their happiness. While 
 we are in the world in well doing, and in the exercise 
 of a firm and lively faith, we would humbly com- 
 mend the keeping of our souls and the disposal of 
 all our affairs unto thee. 
 
 May we not be governed by things seen and tem- 
 poral, but by a just regard to those that are unseen 
 and everlasting ; and may that Faith which is the 
 substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of 
 things not seen, preserve us that we yield not to 
 the temptations to which we are exposed, and ani- 
 mate us so resolutely to resist the world, when the 
 things of the world would either deter or allure us 
 from our duty, that finally we may come oft* more 
 than conquerors through him who loved us. 
 
DISCOURSE III. 
 
 FAITH A DESIRABLE AND IMPORTANT 
 PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Hebrews xi. 1. 
 
 Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things 
 
 unseen. 
 
 Faith is that principle through which we appre- 
 hend the existence of invisible things, whether past, 
 present, or future, or which stands instead of the 
 perception of such things, as in our present circum- 
 stances, or with our present powers, cannot be 
 perceived. It is therefore a most desirable and 
 important principle, because it is suited to the wants 
 and imperfections of the human mind. 
 
 If the human mind were not so constituted, as 
 to rely upon testimony when it is not attended with 
 suspicious circumstances, that is, to be capable of 
 Faith, the experience of former ages would have 
 been of small advantage to their successors. In 
 many instances we should have been deprived of 
 those improvements which we now assume as the 
 foundation of our own ; and the generations of 
 mankind, which are now from age to age extend- 
 ing their improvements, would, like the succes- 
 sive generations of the inferiour creatures, have 
 borne a great resemblance to each other. Each 
 generation would have had just such a portion of 
 
Faith a desirable and important principle. 107 
 
 knowledge respecting the world in which they liv- 
 ed, of the nature they possest, and of the laws by 
 which both were respectively governed, as might 
 result from their own observation, and very little 
 more. Besides, the curiosity of the human mind 
 concerning things to come, is so great and power- 
 ful, that it has in all ages and in all countries en- 
 gaged the weak and credulous, and sometimes, 
 even those who were in reputation for wisdom and 
 honour, in the most absurd practices, in order to 
 arrive at some knowledge of them. Is it not then 
 desirable, is it not important to the peace and com- 
 fort of mankind, that all vain imaginations, and 
 groundless conjectures, and perplexing doubts con- 
 cerning future things should be banished from their 
 mind, by receiving and entertaining the just impres- 
 sions to be derived from credible information con- 
 cerning such of them as it is most important for us 
 to be acquainted with ? accompanied with an assu- 
 rance, upon the same authority, that no other futu- 
 rities can by any means whatever be discovered by 
 us ? 
 
 It is nothing improbable that there may be a vast 
 variety of events to come, in which we have the 
 greatest interest ; and the very possibility that it may 
 be so, renders it a desirable circumstance that we 
 should be well instructed and rationally persuaded 
 concerning what we are to expect. We are to die, 
 and rise again, and be judged. The certainty of 
 these events depends not at all upon our persuasion 
 concerning them : though we had wrought ourselves 
 into the most confident assurance that these things 
 should never come to pass, the decree of the Al- 
 mighty would not thereby be altered. No man can 
 doubt that, being mortal, it is important for him to 
 believe that he shall die : can it then be less impor- 
 
108 Faith a desirable 
 
 tant, is it less momentous, that the moral subjects of 
 God's kingdom should believe that they are account- 
 able to him for all their conduct? Is it desirable 
 that the faithful Christian should have no knowledge 
 of the glories and felicities to which he is hereafter 
 to be promoted? That he should carefully defend 
 himself against all hope from a world to come, 
 and should treat the most credible testimony con- 
 cerning it as the dreams and fictions of a seducing 
 imagination? Is it desirable that the sinner should 
 have no suspicion of the dreadful sentence that is to 
 be pronounced upon him ; that he should carelessly 
 overlook, or industriously shun, or obstinately re- 
 sist, whatever might lead him to such an expecta- 
 tion ? that he should treat it as a vain alarm, the 
 suggestion of groundless terrour, the creature of a 
 timid and disordered fancy ? If this is not desir- 
 able, then is Faith a most salutary and important 
 principle. Again, 
 
 Faith is a desirable and important principle, as it 
 introduces us to a fund of the most delightful enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Every thing is desirable that is a source of true 
 pleasure ; every thing is important that contributes 
 to the best enjoyment even of this present Iif2. — 
 When we best enjoy the circumstances in which 
 God hath placed us, our views of life are most com- 
 fortable to ourselves, and most honourable to its 
 Author; our sense of obligation to him is more live- 
 ly, and our obedience to his laws more cheerful. 
 Then too, when we best enjoy our own circumstan- 
 ces, we shall be best enjoyed by those about us; 
 and our services will be most freely and most effec- 
 tually extended towards them also. It is not there- 
 fore unimportant to consult, in any instance, the 
 
and important principle. 109 
 
 comfort of our present being; it is desirable, not 
 only for itself, but also for its effects and consequen- 
 ces : if therefore Faith had nothing else to recom- 
 mend it, but, that being in itself reasonable, it ad- 
 ministers to our entertainment and delight, it must 
 be owned to be a desirable and important principle. 
 
 Setting aside every other consideration but that 
 of pleasure, of agreeable and comfortable contem- 
 plation to employ the leisure and to soothe the cares 
 of life, would it be desirable to change conditions, if 
 we could do it, with him who knows nothing of an 
 unseen world, nothing of the great scheme of Pro- 
 vidence, nothing of the primeval history, and no- 
 thing of the future fates of men ? Would we wish 
 that our pleasures should, like his, be contracted 
 within what eye can see, ear can hear, and hand 
 can reach ? — Would we choose that all the sweet, 
 the awful, the magnificent, and interesting scenes 
 that Faith reveals to us, should for ever be blotted 
 out from the thoughts and imaginations of our 
 hearts ? Were it desirable that our souls should 
 never more be suspended in astonishment, or elevat- 
 ed into joy, or melted into tenderness by the great 
 and important objects that Faith presents to our 
 view? Whose is, or rather perhaps the question 
 ought to be, whose might be, the happier life ; ours, 
 to whom these things are discovered by the light of 
 Faith, if knowing them we attend to them and feel 
 their due influence, or his, to whom nothing is re- 
 vealed but the immediate objects of his sense, — from 
 whom all the future scenes of the divine govern- 
 ment, and every object of the world invisible, are 
 concealed in clouds and darkness ? 
 
 4 
 
110 Faith a desirable 
 
 Is it pleasant to have the mind extended to the ut- 
 most stretch of its capacities, raised into important 
 expectation, or suspended in astonishment and reve- 
 rence ? It is : and what is there more capable 
 of exciting these sentiments of wonder and delight 
 than the contemplation of an universe rising into 
 being at the word of God, taking all its infinite 
 vicissitudes and changes from his command; by him 
 conducted through innumerable revolutions, during 
 an immense series of countless ages and genera- 
 tions ? What is there more capable of exciting 
 these pleasing sentiments, than to compare together 
 the primeval state, the present condition, and the 
 possible catastrophe of this world ? to contemplate 
 that important day when God spake and it was done, 
 through all its various consequences, to that solemn 
 moment when he shall speak again, and the hea- 
 vens shall melt away, and the earth and all that is 
 therein shall be burnt up, and new heavens and a 
 new earth shall arise from that prolifick flame ? 
 
 Is there no more entertainment to an intelligent 
 spectator, no more consolation to a heart of sensibi- 
 lity in beholding the universe as an eternal monu- 
 ment of the greatness and the goodness of its Ma- 
 ker, than in contemplating it merely as a great 
 and vast object, ignorant of its origin and depen- 
 dence ? than in wandering in the doubtful maze of a 
 vain imagination, fluctuating from uncertainty to un- 
 certainty concerning it? Is it more comfortable, is 
 it more delightful, to look upon the universe as a ves- 
 sel without a governour, driven we know not whi- 
 ther, by we know not what, subject in all its parts 
 to perpetual accidents and unexpected revolutions, 
 which its wisest and most powerful inhabitants can 
 neither control nor regulate ; than to consider it as 
 being under the direction of an able and skilful 
 
and important principle. Ill 
 
 pilot, whose counsels, though we cannot in every 
 instance fathom them, are nevertheless, in every in- 
 stance, wise and kind ? — of a govcrnour, who guides 
 and governs all events, and causes all the various 
 vicissitudes and revolutions we behold, to work to- 
 gether for the highest and most lasting good ? 
 Which is the most comfortable thought, whether 
 we regard ourselves or others ? which is the most 
 delightful and elevating contemplation ? 
 
 In the past transactions of divine providence, how 
 interesting and delightful is it to contemplate the il- 
 lustration of this great and momentous truth, the uni- 
 versal providence and government of God, whether 
 as it respects families, individuals, or nations? Shall 
 I adduce as an example, that cruel combination, 
 when the sons of Jacob saw, but did not feel, the 
 anguish of a brother's soul, and heard, but repent- 
 ed not, when a brother sued to them for mercy ? 
 Need I tell you what the father felt, and thought, 
 and said, or describe to you the sentiments with 
 which the son looked back unto his father's house, 
 and forward to a long captivity ? Do you need to 
 have the sequel of this story told you ? That un- 
 righteous imprisonment, that unexpected exaltation, 
 that tender interview, that astonishing discovery, or 
 those pleasing, approvable and salutary emotions 
 they excited ? Do you require to be informed, that 
 the hand of God was in all this ? Or, while you see 
 his secret providence overruling the jealousies and 
 vices, as well as the sufferings of some, in such man- 
 ner as to issue in the benefit of all ; accomplishing 
 their settlement in that very country, where, in con- 
 sequence of the progress that art and knowledge 
 had previously made there, they might be instruct- 
 ed and improved; a country of general resort; and 
 
112 Faith a desirable 
 
 on that account, as well as on many others, the most 
 proper theatre for the display of that mighty hand, 
 and outstretched arm, hy which the sovereignty of 
 the God of Israel should be demonstrated ; while 
 you see the secret providence of God in that very 
 event, of which Jacob said, that it would bring down 
 his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, providing 
 at once for the preservation of that family, for the 
 peace and policy of a great empire, for the most 
 publick and effectual rebuke of idolatry and super- 
 stition, and for the most proper circumstances of 
 erecting Israel into a peculiar people, who should 
 preserve and spread the knowledge of the true God ; 
 while you see the hand of God in this event, at the 
 time when it came to pass, apparently an accidental 
 thing, a mere domestick occurrence, pursuing such 
 various ends, promoting such important purposes, 
 and bestowing such great and extensive benefits, 
 does it give no pleasure to your hearts ? Does it 
 awaken there no pious admiration, no sweet compo- 
 sure in the character, no sacred triumph in the go- 
 vernment of God ?— so excellent in counsel, so won- 
 derful in working; in all his ways as gracious as he 
 is great, abundant in mercy, and glorious in holi- 
 ness, even when clouds and darkness intercept from 
 us the irradiations of that glory !— Does it excite in 
 you no sentiments of joyful sympathy and congratu- 
 lation towards the subjects of so wise, and power- 
 ful, and beneficent a King ? Does it not encourage 
 you to trust in God ? Does it create in you nothing 
 of that delightful tranquillity, that results from the 
 conviction, that you and your affairs are in his hands, 
 and from the devout resignation of all your interests 
 to him ? 
 
 In all these transactions how different were the 
 views of Jacob and his children from the views of 
 
 
and important principle. 113 
 
 God ? Their judgments and sentiments respecting 
 them, were formed only by the things that were 
 seen and present with them : how different an 
 aspect do they now assume to us, who see their im- 
 portance as a part of the great plan of providence ; 
 whose views, in reflecting on them, approach so 
 much nearer to the views of divine providence in 
 conducting these events, and who see so much more, 
 than they could discover, of the great ends and ob- 
 jects which they were intended and calculated to 
 produce ? — How pleasant is it, by the light of Faith, 
 to compare these different views together, to pursue 
 the contemplations which that comparison suggests, 
 and to cultivate and indulge the affections they call 
 forth ? 
 
 When we carry forward our thoughts unto futu- 
 rity, we are compelled to believe, that there is a 
 day, not very distant, which shall be marked by 
 our funerals, when our bodies shall be sealed up in 
 the grave. Should we anticipate that day with 
 greater pleasure, if we believed that the pains and 
 weaknesses which usually lead thither, would be 
 our last sensations ? If we believed, that when once 
 the dust to which we were going had received us, 
 we should know and be known no more for ever ? 
 Could we think with greater pleasure of retiring 
 out of this world, if we were ignorant, if we were 
 dubious, whether there were any other scene of be- 
 ing to succeed it ? Would the vale of death exhibit 
 to us a more pleasing prospect, if it did not open in- 
 to another and a more important world ? Could we 
 go with greater satisfaction to lay our pious parents, 
 our worthy friends, or our virtuous children in the 
 grave, if we thought that we had then bid adieu to 
 them for ever ? Could we stand with so much sere- 
 nity by the death-bed of the just, if we dared not to 
 
114 Faith a desirable 
 
 encourage our imaginations in following them into 
 nobler life, and to a better world, where ten thou- 
 sand times ten thousand happy spirits are rejoicing 
 in the friendship of their Maker, and whose number 
 it may be is every moment receiving new accessions? 
 if we knew nothing of the new Jerusalem, of God, 
 of Christ, and the innumerable company of angels, 
 to which all just men, when they have left this flesh- 
 ly tabernacle, shall be for ever united ? 
 
 No, my friends : — it is Faith to which we owe the 
 most cordial consolations, under the heaviest pres- 
 sures of mortality : it is Faith to which we are in- 
 debted for our sublimest pleasures ; for it is Faith 
 that discovers to us our virtuous predecessors exalt- 
 ed into all the happiness we could desire for them. 
 It is Faith that teaches us to look upon this life, no- 
 ble as is the rank we hold in the present world, and 
 great as are the blessings we enjoy in it, as nothing 
 more than the seed-time of human being, the school 
 of our education, the childhood of our existence; 
 and it is Faith that enables us to antedate the hap- 
 piness of that better state, where our labours shall 
 be recompensed by the noblest harvest, and our 
 nature shall arrive at it& full maturity and perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 Are these the pleasures and the consolations that 
 arise from Faith ? Is it not then a most desirable 
 and important principle ? Regarding only the com- 
 forts and enjoyments of this present state, what 
 other source of consolation or of pleasure can you 
 find that deserves to be brought into comparison 
 with it ? — The eternity to come ! what an interest- 
 ing discovery ! how sweet ! how consolatory ! how 
 full of heartfelt satisfaction ! — To find ourselves 
 with all the virtuous friends we have ever loved on 
 
and important principle. 115 
 
 earth, with all the faithful servants of God who 
 have gone before us, redeemed from the power of 
 sin and death, refined from every imperfection, ex- 
 alted above every evil, and for ever settled in the 
 presence of God ! how transporting the expecta- 
 tion ! 
 
 Take care, Christian, that thy faith be something 
 more than a principle of pleasure ; let it so influence 
 the whole of thy conduct, that finally thou mayest 
 obtain an abundant entrance into that better world, 
 where, though Love shall for ever live, yet Faith 
 and Hope, having answered the important purposes 
 for which they were given, shall give place to cer- 
 tainty and happiness. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Worthy art thou, O Lord God Almighty, to re- 
 ceive the profoundest adorations, and the most per- 
 fect services of all thine intelligent creation ! — 
 From thy good pleasure all things derive their be- 
 ing ; by thy wisdom they were originally disposed 
 in that harmonious order in which we now behold 
 them ; and it is by thy decree that they retain it. 
 Thy providence it is that ordereth all events, and 
 we have the most comfortable assurance, that all 
 things shall work together for good to those who 
 love thee and obey thee. 
 
 We bless thy name, that by endowing us with 
 the principles of reason and of faith, thou hast made 
 us capable of knowing whence all our comforts flow. 
 We adore thee as the fountain of life and blessed- 
 ness, we thank thee for all the happiness we see 
 around us, and for the large share that we ourselves 
 
116 Faith a desirable and important principle. 
 
 have had in the general felicity. But above all we 
 praise and magnify thy name for the glorious pros- 
 pects and transporting expectations which Faith 
 opens to our view. As children of the light and of 
 the day, may our conversation be in Heaven ; may 
 our character and conduct be always such as be- 
 comes the citizens of the New Jerusalem, and mem- 
 bers of that glorious community that is composed of 
 the innumerable company of Angels, and all the 
 spirits of the just made perfect, and Jesus the Medi- 
 ator of the New Covenant, and God the Judge of 
 all ! As we wish, when the days of the years of our 
 pilgrimage are over, to be received to dwell with 
 them where they are, may we steadily adhere to 
 those principles of piety, and purity, and charity, 
 which constitute their happiness and glory ; and 
 may the hope of this blessed union, support, and 
 comfort, and rejoice our spirits under all the labours 
 and trials of this present state. 
 
DISCOURSE IV. 
 
 THE UNREASONABLENESS AND FOLLY OF 
 UNDUE ANXIETY. 
 
 Philippians iv. 6. 
 Be careful for nothing. 
 
 We are made with a capacity of extending our 
 thoughts into futurity. i\imost all our occupations 
 have some respect to what is yet to come, and 
 every hour has some influence upon all the hours 
 that come after it. We know this by experience ; 
 and such is our propensity to look beyond the 
 present, that it is impossible we should not frequent- 
 ly be figuring to ourselves, what it may be leading 
 on. Hence, as, on the one hand, we are apt to flat- 
 ter ourselves with vain and groundless hopes, which 
 in the end must frequently betray us into the bitter- 
 est disappointments ; so on the other hand, in other 
 circumstances, we are apt to afflict ourselves with 
 cares and anxieties no less vain and groundless, by 
 the anticipation of distresses, with which the provi- 
 dence of God perhaps did not mean to exercise us ; 
 or, if he did, never meant that they should torment 
 us before their time. It is against such anxieties 
 and cares, that the apostle would guard us in the 
 text; not against the exercise, but against the abuse 
 and misapplication of that capacity which God has 
 implanted in us, of apprehending the future conse- 
 quences of present things ; against the abuse of 
 
 5 
 
118 The Unreasonableness and Folly 
 
 that propensity to which he has determined us, to 
 descry them, if it can be, from afar. 
 
 That we should be able to apprehend what will 
 be the consequences of our conduct, and that we 
 should pay a serious regard to them, is necessary 
 to the faithful discharge of our duty: if we neglect 
 to consider these things, we shall be betrayed into 
 perpetual offences against virtue, as well as against 
 prudence ; against God, and against our own souls. 
 Hope and fear are both of them natural passions, 
 implanted in our frame by that Almighty hand by 
 which we are so fearfully and wonderfully made ; 
 they cannot, and if they could, they ought not, to 
 be rooted out. But the objects of hope and fear are 
 future things ; each of them a species of care about 
 futurities ; and while these cares are restrained 
 within proper bounds, we are neither required nor 
 permitted to cast them off. These passions were 
 designed, the one to beguile our labours, to ani- 
 mate our preseverance, and to sweeten the work of 
 life ; the other, to put us upon our guard against 
 approaching evils, to lead us to such measures, as, 
 according to the views of human prudence, in hum- 
 ble dependence upon the blessing and the provi- 
 dence of God, may be most effectual for our 
 !>reservation or deliverance. While our cares about 
 uturity are directed solely to this end, far from 
 being guilty, they are innocent ; they are more than 
 innocent, they are virtuous. Such cares about fu- 
 turity, religion means not to censure or discour- 
 age : she approves of, she commends all attentions 
 to the futurities of life that may have any in- 
 fluence to promote our future virtue, or our future 
 comfort, — if they interfere not with the grateful 
 sense, and the just acknowledgment of the mercies 
 that attend us in the present hour, and withdraw us 
 
of undue Anxiety. 119 
 
 not from the duties which in that season are in- 
 cumbent on us, — nor disqualify us for the proper 
 improvement of the talents which at that time are 
 passing through our hands. They are the cares 
 that stretch themselves out into futurity, to fetch 
 multiplied and imaginary evils thence to increase 
 and aggravate the distresses that are present ; the 
 cares that antedate approaching evils, and add them 
 to the sorrows of the passing day; the cares that, 
 in anticipating afflictions which probably are at 
 hand, overlook the mercies with which a gracious 
 providence will intermingle them ; the cares that 
 look upon afflictions only on the gloomy side ; which 
 love to sit brooding over a melancholy and dis- 
 tressing scene ; which forget, that the counsels of 
 God, though unsearchable, are not unkind ; and 
 that though clouds and darkness are round about 
 him, judgment and mercy are the supporters of his 
 throne : — Cares, that tend to hard thoughts of God 
 and Providence, that cool our admiration of the 
 divine perfections, and damp our love of God ; cares, 
 that tempt us, if we durst, to wish that our affairs 
 were in our own disposal, and that would urge us, 
 if we could, to reverse the decrees of Heaven ; 
 cares, that generate impatience and ingratitude, 
 that induce a gloomy and complaining spirit; that 
 render us inattentive to our obligations, or disquali- 
 fy us to discharge them in the most acceptable 
 manner : — Cares, which are inconsistent with a live- 
 ly faith in the providence of God, or a sincere con- 
 cern to recommend ourselves to his blessing, which 
 are as anxious, as if he cared not for us, as irre- 
 ligious and indevout, as if all our interests depended 
 on ourselves ; cares about this mortal body and 
 this present world, which exclude the more im- 
 portant cares that relate to the prosperity of the soul 
 and the interests of eternity. These are the cares 
 
120 The Unreasonableness and Folly 
 
 that religion frowns upon, that the Apostle has for- 
 bidden, and which our own consciences, the mo- 
 ment we reflect upon them, must condemn. " Be 
 careful for nothing," says the Apostle, " but in 
 every thing by prayer and supplication with thanks- 
 giving, let your requests be made known unto 
 God." 
 
 It is obvious, on the most inattentive considera- 
 tion, that the cares which are here forbidden, are 
 such as do not vent themselves in acts of prayer 
 and supplication; such as do not lead us unto God 
 with a becoming sense of our dependence on him, 
 and with humble hope in his mercy. They are 
 such cares as throw the mind into tumultuous agi- 
 tation, and impatient restlessness : for immediately 
 after our text, the Apostle adds, " take the advice I 
 here offer you," and •' the peace of God* which 
 passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts 
 and minds, through Christ Jesus." Such cares, it 
 is evident, ought by all means to be discouraged 
 and repressed ; and if we have any regard either to 
 our duty or our interest, we shall keep our hearts 
 with all diligence, that they obtain no admission 
 there : For, 
 
 In the first place, they can do no good ; the 
 course of providence will proceed, be we willing or 
 unwilling; acquiescent or reluctant, we must bear 
 the will of God. Afraid, or not afraid, the evils 
 that are appointed us, will come upon us : solici- 
 tous, or not solicitous to escape it, whatever gall 
 the hand of God has mingled in our cup, must be 
 drank by us, even to the last drop. Do you see 
 any pressing evil drawing near you? apply all the 
 means that prudence recommends, and duty will 
 permit, to repel, or to escape it; apply them in 
 
of undue Anxiety. 121 
 
 dependence upon God's pleasure and concurrence, 
 frura whom all means and instruments derive their 
 power, efficacy, and success; and who will not fail 
 to grant you the deliverance which thus you seek, 
 if that deliverance be good for you. And when 
 you have done this, what more is there that you 
 would do? what more is there that you can do? 
 All your anxieties and cares cannot change the 
 councils of God ; all your reluctance and opposition 
 can make no alteration in his purposes; and if they 
 could be changed, it is not your disobedience 
 that is likely to make any change in them for the 
 better. 
 
 In the second place, the cares of which we speak, 
 as they can do no good, so they must do much 
 harm. They will hurt ourselves. By this means 
 we run to meet the afflictions that await us, and so 
 are in distress longer than God meant we should 
 be. By this means we create to ourselves troubles 
 which Divine Providence had not appointed for us, 
 and are miserable in the anticipation of things that 
 shall never be. By this means we injure the health 
 of our bodies, and impair the fortitude of our minds; 
 we prepare ourselves to be utterly overwhelmed 
 by the calamities which we cannot avoid ; we in- 
 capacitate ourselves for the duties of those circum- 
 stances into which God is leading us, and the just 
 improvement of the talents he is about to put into 
 our hands ; and at the same time, set ourselves out 
 of the reach of those comforts with which he 
 meant to cheer and uphold us, when the visita- 
 tions that we dread shall come. — But this is not 
 all. It is the testimony of universal experience, 
 in respect to all calamities in general, that they 
 are ordinarily more terrible in prospect than in 
 presence; more insupportable in the apprehen- 
 
122 The Unreasonableness and Folly 
 
 sions of imagination, than we find them when in 
 reality we feel their pressure; by our cares and 
 anxieties therefore about ills to come, we suffer, 
 not only longer continuance of affliction, but a 
 more dreadful evil than Providence had prepared 
 for us. 
 
 Christian, what aileth thee ? Adversity has made 
 a visit to thy tabernacle; affliction has cast her 
 clouds upon thy dwelling; and sitting there, thou 
 art often ruminating what will be the end of these 
 things. Christian, take care that no undutiful 
 anxieties arise ; that nothing inconsistent with thy 
 faith and hope find admission into thy heart. Is 
 not the evil of the day, sufficient to the day ? Is it 
 needful to bring other accessory evils, which might 
 perhaps have never come ? The visitations of God 
 shall not overpower thee; take heed that thy own 
 imprudence do not.— -But thou art saying, perhaps, 
 " How can I bear the loss of this comfort ? how 
 can I bear the destruction of that hope ?" Who told 
 thee that that comfort should be lost ? who told 
 thee that that hope should be destroyed ? — Thy 
 comforts may be threatened, and yet not cut down ; 
 thy hopes may be blighted for a season, and yet 
 not destroyed ; the delights of thine eyes may be 
 sick, and yet that sickness may not be unto death ; 
 the desires of thine heart may all be brought to the 
 borders of the grave, and yet all may be remanded 
 thence. Secret things belong unto the Lord, who 
 knoweth what mercies are in store for thee : but if 
 it should be as thy fears suggest, yet let not thy 
 virtue die before thy blessings. It will be some 
 consolation in such trials if they come, that thou 
 knowest thou hast all the security that thy sin- 
 cerest consecration of them unto God, and thy 
 steadiest resolution to improve and to form them to 
 
of undue Anxiety, 123 
 
 his glory, can procure thee. Thou hast not made 
 shipwreck of Faith and a good conscience ; assure 
 thyself, that according to thy afflictions shall thy 
 consolations be ; all things shall work together for 
 good to those who love God, and as thy day is, so 
 shall be thy strength. 
 
 But even this is not all ; anxieties and cares not 
 only antedate and aggravate affliction, they will 
 hurt our consciences when we come to look back 
 upon them, and in the mean time they w r ill displease 
 our Maker, and bring down upon us, it may be, the 
 very evils that create our cares, from which had 
 our hearts been more resigned, and our temper less 
 impatient, the arm of God in due time might have 
 delivered us. His mercies, it is probable, are dis- 
 pensed according to our meetness to receive them : 
 this indeed, in the present state of discipline, is not 
 the only rule, but most certainly it does enter into 
 those considerations on which the counsels of the 
 divine mind are formed, and ought therefore to be 
 remembered by us in all the prayers that we ad- 
 dress unto him, and in all the expectations that we 
 build upon his mercy. — Consider these things, Chris- 
 tian ; in every hour of sorrow think on them, re- 
 press thy cares, and let thy soul return unto its rest. 
 
 Let us remember, moreover, that these anxie- 
 ties and solicitudes set a bad example. It cannot 
 well happen but that in our afflictions, others too 
 must be afflicted, and our dejections will deject 
 them; our diffidence and anxiety may communicate 
 its contagion to their hearts, and we may in some 
 measure have their guilt to answer for, as well as 
 our own. They will hurt our religion too; they 
 will disgrace our Christian profession. Unbelievers 
 may triumph in our weakness as an argument of 
 
124 The Unreasonableness and Folly 
 
 the impotence of our religion — what is a Christian 
 more than other men, or what in his Faith more ex- 
 cellent or more useful, than our infidelity ? 
 
 So vain are the cares that religion requires us to 
 cast off, so mischievous the anxieties she condemns ; 
 they take away from us our comforts while yet we 
 might enjoy them; they hurry us into distresses 
 while yet we might decline them ; they protract the 
 continuance of our afflictions; they multiply the 
 number of our sorrows, and they aggravate the 
 degree of our sufferings; they make the present 
 wretched for no other reason, but because it is 
 possible the future may be so; they hurt both our 
 bodies and our souls ; they injure our friends as 
 well as ourselves ; they disqualify us to receive the 
 comforts which Providence ever intermingles with 
 its most afflictive dispensations ; and incapacitate us 
 to discharge the duties, not only of the circum- 
 stances in which we at present are, but of those 
 which will be required of us when they arrive. In- 
 terfering with the discharge of duty, they are them- 
 selves undutiful and irreligious; they add sin to 
 sorrow. 
 
 But let not the faithful Christian infer from hence, 
 that all painful forethoughts are criminal anxieties; 
 God distinguishes between infirmities and sins: let 
 the Christian learn for his own comfort to distin- 
 guish between them too. If he knows, that he 
 would not, if he could, reverse one decree of God, 
 however painful and distressing to him; if he 
 knows, that he would not, if he could, accomplish 
 his most darling hope at the expense of the divine ap- 
 probation ; if he knows, that he would not, if he 
 could, save his most precious blessing by forfeiting 
 his Maker's friendship ; let him be assured that God 
 
of undue Anxiely. 125 
 
 remembers his frame, and expects not that he should 
 put off his nature. God will compassionate his frail- 
 ties; he will overlook the starting tear, and forgive 
 the involuntary sigh. Let him make it his endea- 
 vour to be " careful for nothing," and God will ap- 
 prove and bless him. Let him in every thing by prayer 
 and supplication, with thanksgiving, make known his 
 requests unto God, and he may hope, that, " the 
 peace of God, which passeth understanding, shall 
 keep his heart and mind through Christ Jesus. *' 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord God Almighty, thou art the creator of 
 the ends of the earth, who faintest not, neither art 
 weary. Thou madest us, and not we ourselves, we 
 are thy people and the sheep of thy pasture, thou 
 formedst our bodies out of the dust of the earth, 
 thou breathedst into them the breath of life, and 
 thine inspiration hath given us understanding. This 
 life we know is a changeable and imperfect scene, 
 in which all our comforts and delights are exposed 
 to perpetual danger. May no anxiety respecting the 
 future interfere with our thankfulness for present 
 blessings, or at all impede our alacrity, diligence, and 
 zeal in thy service. May our hearts be fixed, trust- 
 ing in thee, who will not suffer us to want the 
 strength that is needful to our day. Encouraged 
 by all that we see around us of thine infinite good- 
 ness, — by our own experience of thy past care and 
 kindness, we would in well doing commit all our 
 future interests unto thee ; we would dismiss all 
 anxiety and care, and would cast our burdens on 
 the Lord, resigned unto his will, and rejoicing in 
 his fatherly protection. 
 
 6 
 
126 The Unreasonableness and Folly, &c. 
 
 In whatever state we are, may we therewith be 
 content: May it be our only solicitude, to discharge, 
 in the most acceptable manner, all the duties of 
 every circumstance into which thy providence may 
 lead us ; and though the fig tree should not blossom, 
 nor fruit be in the vine, though the labour of the 
 olive should fail, and the fields should yield no meat; 
 though the flock should be cut off from the fold, and 
 there be no herd in the stall ; though this world's 
 comforts should entirely fail, supported by the testi- 
 mony of our conscience, and the exceeding great and 
 precious promises of God, may we still rejoice 
 in the Lord for ever, and joy in the God of our 
 salvation ! 
 
DISCOURSE V. 
 
 ON THE DUTY OF JOINING THANKSGIVING 
 WITH PRAYER IN TIME OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 PART I 
 
 Philippians iv. 6. 
 
 In every thing by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, 
 make known your requests unto God. 
 
 Prayer is the natural language of fear and trouble; 
 while they know no change, it often happens, that 
 men fear not God — afflictions send them to him. 
 When dangers and distresses have convinced 
 them of their own weakness, and of the vanity of 
 all human aid, then they cry unto the Lord to 
 give them help from trouble ; they are no longer 
 able to resist the conviction of their absolute de- 
 pendence upon him ; no longer willing to dispute 
 the propriety of addressing themselves to him; 
 no longer capable of stifling the propensities of 
 nature, or of restraining the homage that they owe to 
 the great Maker and Ruler of the world, in times 
 of trouble, then, prayer to God is as natural as it 
 is right : But who can sing the songs of praise 
 under the clouds of sorrow, and amidst the waters 
 of affliction ? What connexion is there between 
 thanksgiving and distress ? What could move the 
 
128 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 apostle to inculcate this duty upon those that are 
 in trouble ? When we are delivered out of trouble, 
 thanksgiving is undoubtedly of especial obligation ; 
 and prayer and supplication, while our troubles 
 last; but why is it required of us to mingle thanks- 
 giving with our prayers in the day of our afflic- 
 tion ? A multitude of reasons will suggest them- 
 selves to any one who will seriously consider the 
 question ; give me leave, briefly, to mention a 
 few. 
 
 I. We may observe, in general, that afflictions 
 are not evils. Let me not be mistaken; I mean 
 not to deny that nature shrinks from them ; I 
 mean not to insinuate, that we can by any means 
 render ourselves insensible to pain and sorrow ; 
 I speak not of the present pressure of affliction, 
 but with respect to the future consequences of 
 present suffering; with respect to the moral in- 
 fluences of adversity, with respect to the fair and 
 the abundant fruits of holiness and happiness 
 which by faith, and patience, and diligence, it 
 may be made to yield. I speak with regard to 
 the whole, both of our condition and our existence ; 
 and when it is asserted that afflictions are not 
 evils, it is meant, that without them we should 
 have less comfort in this present scene of things; 
 or, fewer advantages in our power with respect 
 to that eternal state which is soon to succeed it : 
 they do, or at least, if it is not our own fault, they 
 may, advance our interests upon the whole, and 
 therefore are not upon the whole, evils. There 
 is no evil being that has any thing to do in the go- 
 vernment of the world ; it is ruled by the God 
 of love. Our sharpest pains, our severest anguish, 
 are not the cruelties of a malignant principle, 
 they are not the barbarous sport of an insensible 
 and wanton mind. They are not blown to us by 
 
with Prayer in the Time of Affliction. 129 
 
 the wind of chance, nor borne down upon us by 
 the torrent of an unintelligent and irresistible 
 destiny : they are the gracious visitations of our 
 heavenly Father, without whom, not a sparrow 
 falleth to the ground, nor a hair from the human 
 head. We call them evils, and yet they come 
 from the pure and incorruptible fountain of all 
 good ; and it is with the kindest intention that 
 they are sent to us. Did we see with the eyes of 
 God, we should call them all blessings ; for they 
 are all alike capable of being converted by us to 
 our interest, and all alike intended to do us good. 
 If any confidence can be placed in the clearest 
 deductions of reason, this is an indubitable con- 
 sequence of the absolute independence and infi- 
 nite perfection of God. The word of God is as 
 clear and full as we could wish it, on a point of 
 such mighty moment to our tranquillity and com- 
 fort. How often are we told there, that nothing 
 happens to us but by his appointment — that there 
 is no evil — nothing that we blindly call so, but of 
 his creating; that he has no pleasure, either in 
 the destruction, or the distresses of his creatures ; 
 that he does not willingly afflict or grieve the chil- 
 dren of men ; that he chastens them, not for his 
 own pleasure, but for their profit, that they 
 may be made partakers of his holiness ? How 
 often are we taught that the sufferings of life are 
 not the tokens of divine wrath, but the testi- 
 monies of God's paternal attention and compas- 
 sion ? That the trials of adversity, the various ca- 
 lamities with which we are visited, are calculated 
 to promote our virtue, to improve our comfort, to 
 secure our best interest, and to enlarge our hea- 
 venly inheritance. — The light affliction of this tran- 
 sitory world, which is but for a moment, worketh 
 out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight 
 of glory. 
 
130 On the Duty of joining Thansgiving 
 
 If such then be the nature of afflictions; if such 
 be the principle from which they come; if such be 
 their genuine tendency, and such the advantages 
 they put into our hands, have we no reason to give 
 thanks for them? Difficult it may be, but unrea- 
 sonable it is not. 
 
 No man can be at a loss to say, which hath the 
 greater obligation to his father, the child that is 
 suffered, without discipline or culture, to grow up 
 in ignorance and folly, the slave of humour, appe- 
 tite, and passion ; or, the child whose prejudices are 
 carefully corrected, whose follies are properly re- 
 buked, whose faults are mercifully and calmly, yet 
 steadily and uniformly chastised, and who is instruct- 
 ed, or assisted to instruct himself, in whatever is of 
 most importance to the interests of his future life ; 
 and it is not to be doubted, that when they have 
 each attained to maturity of judgment, and acquir- 
 ed experience in human things, the one will lament 
 the blind indulgence that permitted him without in- 
 terruption to enjoy himself according to his own 
 will, and the other will rejoice in the hardships to 
 which he was inured, and will estimate even the se- 
 verities that excited no gratitude at the time, among 
 the truest arguments of parental tenderness and 
 love. — This whole life, in respect to the whole of 
 our existence, is a scene of discipline and education ; 
 have we not reason to rejoice in the superintendence 
 of our heavenly Father? If we were left without 
 the instructions and admonitions, without the cor- 
 rectives and corroborations of adversity, then would 
 he not deal with us as sons. 
 
 But, to put the discipline of this life as it affects 
 the interests of the next, out of the account ; to 
 consider only the enjoyment of our present be- 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction, 131 
 
 ing ; it might bear a doubt, whether such sufferings 
 as ordinarily fall to the lot of men, together with 
 the supports, the consolations, the deliverances that 
 are ordinarily granted them, do not make, or put 
 it in our power to make, even this present state a 
 more desirable and more comfortable scene, than if 
 every species of adversity were absolutely excluded 
 from it. There is a joy in deliverance, that exists 
 not in uninterrupted security : there is a delight in 
 the restoration of a comfort, which for a time has 
 been either totally or in part suspended, that is not 
 to be found in the continued possession of it. There 
 are a multitude of soothing satisfactions that are pe- 
 culiar to the hour of trouble. While we reflect on 
 the blessings that remain, they are the more en- 
 deared to us ; when we experience the efficacy of 
 those supports with which God has furnished us, how 
 sweet are our reflections on the tenderness of our 
 heavenly Father, who never leaves us, nor forsakes 
 us; who forgetteth not how frail we are; and who, 
 in the midst of judgment, remembers mercy ! 
 
 What joy is it to the Christian, (and all men may 
 attain the Christian temper) what joy is it to reflect 
 that his trials have not overcome his faith, nor ex- 
 tinguished his devotion, nor diminished his alacrity 
 in the service of his Maker ? What joy is it that 
 he bears, or strives to bear, his burdens, with a de- 
 cent composure, and that he improves, or labours to 
 improve them with all fidelity and diligence ? Into 
 what tenderness does not sorrow melt the heart of 
 friendship? What unusual and delightful accep- 
 tableness does it not impart to all its services ? 
 W r hat stability and firmness does it not for ever add 
 unto the union ? 
 
 These things, if we attend to them, may suffice 
 to satisfy us, that with respect even to the enjoy- 
 
132 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 ment of the present life, it is no undesirable thing 
 that we should sometimes receive the visits of ad- 
 versity. It is not the child that is indulged in all 
 his wishes, that best enjoys even the season of his 
 tutelage and childhood; neither is it the man who 
 never knows the discipline of adversity, that best 
 enjoys this scene of human education. The salu- 
 tary severities that occasionally restrain the per- 
 verseness of the child, or that correct the preju- 
 dices, compose the dissipation and improve the sen- 
 sibility of the man, contribute each in its place to 
 enlarge their capacity of happiness. — What impro- 
 priety then is there in the Apostle's counsel ? To 
 our prayers to God in the day of trouble and dan- 
 ger, why should we not add our thanksgivings? 
 
 I will not ask the sinner if he has no cause to be 
 thankful for the afflictions that recall him from his 
 wanderings, and cure him of his levity, and bring 
 him back to God.* Let me ask the Christian, who 
 may perhaps think that he stands less in need of 
 such distasteful dispensations, if there be no cause 
 for thankfulness in circumstances, that may enliven 
 his conviction of his own weakness and insufficiency, 
 and of his absolute dependence upon God? In cir- 
 cumstances that most feelingly demonstrate to him 
 the importance of the divine favour, and the vanity 
 
 * The following lines were written by the late eminently pious 
 Dr. Doddridge, on the tombstone of a young man, who died in con- 
 sequence of a broken leg, and whose life, previous to that accident, 
 had been very intemperate. They are inserted by the Editor, not 
 for the beauty of the poetry, but as the record of an interesting fact, 
 and for the justness of the sentiment. 
 
 In life's gay prime a thousand joys I sought, 
 
 But heaven and an immortal soul forgot ; 
 
 In riper years, Affliction's smarting rod, 
 
 And pains and wounds, taught me to know my God j 
 
 I bless'd the change with my expiring breath, 
 
 And life ascrib'd to that which wrought my death. 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 133 
 
 of all human things? In circumstances that mo9t 
 powerfully incline him to serious thought and sin- 
 cere devotion ; that melt his heart into all the sweet 
 and amiable sympathies of Christian charity and 
 love; that clothe him more gracefully than ever, in 
 humility ; that engage him in the most accurate ex- 
 amination of his heart and conduct, and that quick- 
 en the sentiments of penitence, and strengthen his 
 resolutions of obedience? — In such circumstances, 
 Christian, is there nothing for which thou sbouldst 
 give thanks? — These advantages, affliction offers 
 thee; these uses thou mayest make of it; whilst 
 thou prayest to God, then, that he would give thee 
 grace so to improve them, shouldst thou not give 
 thanks, that thou hast them in thy hands so to be 
 improved ? 
 
 2. In our afflictions it becomes us to unite thanks- 
 givings with our prayers, for another reason also, 
 viz. that our sufferings are not so great as our de- 
 merit. — Sinner, perhaps thou art afflicted ; trouble 
 after trouble hath laid hold upon thee; deep and 
 various are thy distresses, and thou art. ready to cry 
 out, " come and see, was ever sorrow like unto my 
 sorrow ?" From my heart I pity thee, and I pray 
 God that in the end it may prove good for thee that 
 thou art so afflicted. I am ready to admit all that 
 thou canst think of the weight of what God hath 
 laid upon thee. Yet consider for a moment, and 
 thou must admit, that notwithstanding all, thou hast 
 reason to rejoice and to give thanks. — Thou art 
 a living man, and for the living there is hope: the 
 day of grace is not over, the gates of mercy are 
 not shut — thy eternal interests are not yet desperate. 
 Surely it is a privilege to be owned with the warm- 
 est gratitude, that thou art yet in a state of disci- 
 pline and hope. — How dreadful had been thy situa- 
 
 7 
 
134 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 tion, if justice had already summoned thee to her 
 awful tribunal, and had pronounced the irrevocable 
 
 loom r 
 
 It is no unworthy or unuseful exercise of our 
 understanding, to contemplate the various charac- 
 ters and circumstances of mankind, and to consider the 
 influence, which in fact they have, or in reason ought 
 to have upon each other. But after all, our most 
 urgent business is at home. Christians, what think 
 ye of yourselves ? what think ye of your own suf- 
 fering? what have you thought, what should ye 
 think, of your afflictions ? You have not, 1 would 
 hope, so unjust an idea of the present state, so over- 
 weening an idea of your own merit, as to conceive, 
 that the most perfect sincerity in your obedience to 
 the law of God, your most diligent and strenuous en- 
 deavours to fulfil all righteousness, either will, or 
 ought to exempt you from afflictions. You pray to 
 be delivered, but you pray more earnestly to be 
 supported, and to be led to the just improvement 
 of them; and with these your humble supplications, 
 you offer up thanksgivings, not less sincere and 
 cordial, that in the midst of judgment God remem- 
 bers mercy. — What, you say, had been my con- 
 dition, if it had been determined by my merit? 
 If for every instance in which I had forgotten God, 
 he had forgotten me and my concerns; if for every 
 duty I had neglected, he had subtracted but one from 
 my comforts and enjoyments; — if, for every devia- 
 tion I have made from the way of his command- 
 ments, his chastisements had come upon me ; my 
 hopes had been extinguished; my comforts had 
 been exhausted, and my miseries had been already 
 insupportable. How precious are his thoughts unto 
 me! how great is the sum of them! It is true, I 
 have been happier; but while I can hope in God 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction, 135 
 
 that he will extend his compassion to me, and can 
 rejoice in his benignity that he has not chastened 
 me according to my demerit, but according to his 
 own goodness, I am not unhappy still. Thy mer- 
 cy, O my God, appears in every dispensation of 
 thy providence. The prosperities thou bestowest 
 on me demand my gratitude, for I am not worthy 
 of them ; I am not even worthy to be chastened 
 with so much tenderness and pity. 
 
 Such, in regard to the dispensations of divine 
 Providence, are the sentiments of every heart that 
 is truly Christian. — In this manner does the Chris- 
 tian own his obligation in all things to give thanks. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord God Almighty, thou art greatly to be 
 feared, and to be had in reverence of all them that 
 come nigh unto thee, for thou seest not as man 
 seeth, neither art thy ways like our ways. Into this 
 world we know we are sent as into a school of dis- 
 cipline and education ; notwithstanding therefore 
 all the difficulties and trials we may meet with, 
 some of which may try our faith and patience to the 
 uttermost, may this be at all times our support and 
 consolation, that the Lord God omnipotent reign- 
 eth; that he will never leave us if we forsake not 
 him ; that our strength shall be proportioned to 
 our day ; that if w ? e love him, all things shall work 
 together for our good according to his promise ; 
 and that if we obey him, we shall finally, and for 
 ou.^ht we know speedily be received into that better 
 world, the great object of our wishes and our hopes, 
 where we shall obtain the reward of our faith and 
 patience, in pure, unspeakable, and unchangeable 
 felicity. 
 
136 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving, &c. 
 
 Seeing we have this transporting expectation in 
 us, may we hold out unto the end. Enable us, 
 God, to occupy all our talents with fidelity and dili- 
 gence ; to sustain all our trials with fortitude and 
 constancy, till we see him, whom having not seen 
 we love, and hear that blessed sentence — well done 
 good and faithful servants, enter ye into the joy of 
 your Lord, 
 
DISCOURSE VI. 
 
 ON THE DUTY OF JOINING THANKSGIVING WITH 
 PRAYER IN TIME OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Philippians iv. 6. 
 
 In every thing by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiviug. make 
 known your requests unto God. 
 
 In the hour of trouble it becomes us to unite 
 thanksgiving with our prayers, because, let our 
 condition be what it may, it is not so afflictive as it 
 might have been. 
 
 In every sorrow that you have ever yet expe- 
 rienced, it would be very easy for you to imagine 
 what would have greatly aggravated and embit- 
 tered it. There were still some powers of your 
 nature, there were still some circumstances of your 
 situation, which the arrows of adversity had not 
 reached. — If you were poor, perhaps you were in 
 health; if you were sick, perhaps you did not want 
 what might procure you wherewith to mitigate and 
 remove your sicknesses. If your bodies were dis- 
 eased, your minds were not disordered, you were 
 still possessed of your rational and moral powers; 
 and though your bodily diseases were many, you 
 
138 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 were not exercised with all the pains and sicknesses 
 that might have been combined together ; it is 
 probable you might have recollected among your 
 friends, perhaps you might have found within your 
 neighbourhood, those that were at that very time 
 proved with more. If your friends were in trouble, 
 yet it was only some, not all of them ; you per- 
 haps were not afflicted, but in their affliction : if 
 you were in trouble, they perhaps were not afflicted 
 but in yours. You were not incapacitated for per- 
 forming the offices of friendship for them, nor 
 they withheld from rendering the like services to 
 you. 
 
 If your troubles were of such a nature as to ad- 
 mit of human consolation and relief, it is probable 
 that they befel you in a scene, and at a time, when 
 such aids and comforts might be obtained : If, of 
 such a nature they were not, and the whole burden 
 must have been borne by yourself alone, it is very 
 probable you can call to remembrance those sea- 
 sons and conjunctures of your life, those states of 
 mind, of body, or of circumstances which formerly 
 yon have experienced, in which it was possible 
 you might have been placed again, wherein the 
 troubles that oppressed you would have borne 
 upon you much more heavily, and have affected 
 you with much keener and more insupportable 
 distress. 
 
 If your anguish has been very sharp, it has not 
 been very tedious ; if your sorrow has been of 
 some continuance, it has not been without inter- 
 vals of comfort and enjoyment, and perhaps all 
 along it has been very tolerable. If the afflictions 
 which you have feared have overtaken you, yet 
 you feared them perhaps sometime before you 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 139 
 
 felt them, and when they came, though you 
 found them very painful, yet not so distressing as 
 you feared. They might have embittered life 
 much sooner, they might have embittered it much 
 more. 
 
 You are injured in your property, you feel it 
 sensibly, those who are dependent on you feel it ; 
 but say, is there nothing still remaining to you, of 
 which you might be unjustl) deprived ? — You are 
 injured in your honour, misrepresented, calumniat- 
 ed, and traduced by some means or other; by 
 unjust suspicion, by uncandid interpretation, by 
 malignant slander, you have suffered in the esteem 
 of men ; in the friendship of those who were n?ost 
 tenderly affected towards you, and thus, much 
 of the comfort of your life has been destroyed ; it 
 may be so, but would it not have been a severer 
 trial, if you had deserved such calumnies ? Would 
 it not have pained you more to have been conscious 
 that such detractions, though unkind, were not un- 
 just ? Have you been degraded as low as possible 
 in the opinion of mankind ? Have the enemies of 
 your repose done you all the mischief they might 
 have done. 
 
 By the instability of human things, by the 
 changeableness of human disposition, or by the 
 stroke of death perhaps, you have lost a relative 
 or a friend ; not one perhaps, but more ; they are 
 no longer to be found in this world ; or, if they 
 be, through the vicissitudes to which this world is 
 subject, some, whom you counted among its most 
 valuable blessings, are to you as if they were not. 
 It may be so ; but are there none that might be 
 added to the number? It is true these are the 
 richest treasures of this present state* but have all 
 
140 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 your riches made themselves wings and fled away ? 
 Has there been no succession in the circle of 
 your connexions? Is there no reason to expect 
 there may be ? Are there none remaining to you 
 of all that have long occupied your most pleasing 
 cares, tendered you the most substantial services, 
 and furnished you with your most delightful enter- 
 tainment ? There are very few, even of those who 
 have reached the extremest date of human life, that 
 can make a complaint like this ; very few on whose 
 connexions time and chance have made such dread- 
 ful depredations, that they have none in whom they 
 can trust to sweeten what remains of life, and to 
 lay them in a descent grave ; and while this is not 
 our condition, it is not so deplorable as it might 
 have been. 
 
 In every scene of affliction, in every hour of 
 trouble, there is something for which we may, 
 something for which, if we would be faithful to our 
 duty, we must give thanks. — My friends, there is 
 no condition of human life that we ever have ex- 
 perienced, or ever shall, from which some consola- 
 tions, still left us, might not have been withdrawn ; 
 to which some sorrow might not have been added ; 
 in which some circumstances might not have been 
 altered for the worse. 
 
 In the second place, it becomes us, in our afflic- 
 tions, to unite thanksgiving with our supplication, 
 because our afflictions, in this life, never are so great, 
 but that they admit of consolation. 
 
 Diseases both of body and mind, are in very many 
 instances capable of being cured by proper applica- 
 tions ; and even in those instances where they prove 
 incurable, the anguish of them, ordinarily at least, is 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 141 
 
 capable of being mitigated ; and such is the benig- 
 nity of God, that both in the material and spiritual 
 worlds he hath furnished us with a variety 0/ reme- 
 dies and lenitives for the various pains and distress- 
 es to which we are liable. It is a law of our nature 
 that reflects the greatest honour on the Author of it, 
 and calls upon us for perpetual gratitude, that in 
 many cases, the longer we suffer, the lighter our 
 sufferings become. If our pleasures please us less 
 when they are become habitual, this is abundantly 
 made up to us in the counterpart of the appointment 
 — that our distresses distress us less, as we become 
 inured to them. 
 
 Prayer is another of the comforts of which we 
 may avail ourselves in our afflictions ; it is a comfort 
 which God extends to us, and which he means, which 
 he expects, which he requires us to take. To our 
 dutiful endeavours to sustain our sorrows, we may 
 add our pious supplications for support, and comfort, 
 and relief; and having done this, we cannot, in any 
 circumstances, however distressing, be devoid of 
 hope. Hope is the great cordial of human life. It 
 must mingle with our most prosperous circumstan- 
 ces, or the enjoyment of them will be but very dull, 
 and languid, and imperfect : Without hope, the ad- 
 versities of life, even in the lightest instances, would 
 sit heavily on our hearts; and on the contrary, our 
 most grievous sufferings yield in some measure to 
 its cheering influences. In our worst condition, we 
 are not without hope that the day is coming when 
 it may be better with us ; our pains may cease, our 
 fears may vanish ; our difficulties mayfind a period 
 at last; by and by our tears may be dried up, and 
 our wounded hearts be healed. — If no other hope 
 remain to us, yet we know that ere long we shall 
 arrive at those peaceful mansions, where the weary 
 
 8 
 
142 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 are at rest. Our troubles will at least cease there. 
 Death will compose our fears and take away our 
 pains. We shall groan no more in that land of sk 
 lence. When that placid slumber steals upon us, 
 every grief will be forgotten. Though no bright 
 interval should gild the remainder of the day, when 
 once the sun of life is set, the night we know will be 
 still and easy ; we shall rest then, if not before ; 
 and if our state be such, that we find no inter- 
 mission of our anguish, that night is probably not 
 far off. 
 
 These hopes, Christians, nothing can take from 
 us : we have no pains that are immortal. The 
 storms of life must drive us to the haven whither we 
 are steering. Let us keep our good character, and we 
 cannot miss our port. When sorrows press upon us, 
 it is a sweet reflection, a thought that soothes the 
 anguish of our hearts, that by and by we shall shut 
 our eyes on all that troubles us, and lay ourselves 
 down, to be disturbed no more. — But how much 
 sweeter, how much more soothing is the thought, 
 of what mighty power, Christians, have you not 
 often found it to cheer you in a dark and painful 
 hour, that when we are retired from this world's 
 troubles, we shall be received to that where no 
 tribulations come ; to pure, and endless, and in- 
 conceivable felicity ? This hope is indeed an anchor 
 of the soul, sure and steadfast ; the consolation it 
 contains is unspeakable. The vale of death is peace- 
 ful, the world to which it leads, is glorious and hap- 
 py. — Happy man whose inheritance is there ! Why 
 will not all men be so happy ? Happy he, whose 
 hope can anticipate his arrival there ! He is well 
 prepared for all the calamities of life ; he can never 
 want a cordial to support him under them; he has 
 reason, and will ordinarily have the disposition too, 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 143 
 
 to rejoice evermore. He cannot guard himself, and 
 he knows that God neither should nor will defend 
 him from the common calamities of life, but whatever 
 may happen, nothing can come without his own 
 consent, that shall destroy his eternal interests. 
 These consolations, some of them we must have, all 
 of them we may have, in every hour of trouble, and 
 through every hour of life. Say, then, was the 
 Apostle wrong ? was he unacquainted with the con- 
 dition, was he inattentive to the circumstances of 
 mankind? is the advice impracticable, is the com- 
 mand unreasonable, that in our afflictions we should 
 give thanks? Much matter for thanksgiving we can 
 never fail to have. If then we offer not the sacrifice 
 of gratitude together with our prayers to heaven, 
 we withhold from God the glory due unto his name, 
 and we may do an injury to our own souls; for I 
 must just mention in the third place, 
 
 That by cultivating and cherishing that tem- 
 per of mind, which will lead us to intermin- 
 gle thanksgivings with our prayers, we shall re- 
 commend ourselves to the divine favour, in re- 
 spect to the wants, and pains, and fears that are 
 present with us. 
 
 Will God look with an equally propitious eye, 
 on the thankful and on the unthankful ? To forget 
 the mercies that we have, is this the way to obtain 
 the mercies that we want ? Shall new mercies be 
 bestowed upon that man, who shows in his present 
 conduct that he will forget them as soon as new 
 troubles shall arise? Shall new mercies be withheld, 
 by the Father of mercies, from that man whose pre- 
 sent conduct gives the best security, that whatever 
 is bestowed upon him, uneffaced by time or sorrow, 
 shall be had in everlasting remembrance ? Which 
 
144 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 manifests the best disposition to improve the bless- 
 ing that he asks; on which could you rely most 
 confidently, that he would employ your bounty in a 
 manner honourable to himself and acceptable to 
 you, the man who forgets what you have already 
 done for him, or he, who, with true humility and 
 gratitude, acknowledges your former kindnesses, 
 whilst he is soliciting your future favours? — You 
 cannot for a moment hesitate how the question 
 should be answered. Hear then the Apostle's 
 counsel, be grateful for the past, if you would be 
 happy in the future, and mingle thanksgiving with 
 your prayers, if ye mean that your prayers should 
 be regarded, 
 
 In the fourth place. — Our prayers and supplica- 
 tions in the day of our adversity, ought to be ac- 
 companied with thanksgiving, because present 
 troubles do not annihilate former mercies. 
 
 If you have lost a blessing, you have had one ; 
 it may be, that you have had it long : it may be, 
 that the time you have been happy in the possession 
 of it, is much longer than the time for which you 
 will be afflicted by its loss. It is now taken from you, 
 but the value of the blessing is not hereby dimin- 
 ished ; the period during which you were indulged 
 by it, is not hereby shortened ; the enjoyment was 
 as real as the loss, 
 
 Has sickness seized you ? there is room for 
 thankfulness that you know the difference between 
 a state of sickness and a state of health.* — Have 
 you lost a friend ? You had a friend to lose. Have 
 you lost, unjustly lost, your esteem and credit in the 
 world ? It is true, notwithstanding, that for a time 
 you enjoyed the good opinion of the world, and 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 145 
 
 your obligations unto God who crave you to enjoy 
 it for that period, are in this respect unaltered and 
 unalterable. You cannot, it is true, thank God for 
 a blessing he has taken from you; but it is your 
 duty, even when it is not permitted you to retain it, 
 it is still your duty to give thanks to him that vou 
 had that blessing once, and that it was not taken 
 from you sooner. There was a portion of your 
 life that was happier than it would have been with- 
 out it ; ought you not then to bless him for the 
 past, while you implore his pity on the present ? — 
 Does it not become you, while you beseech him to 
 comfort you under the loss, to thank him that he 
 blessed you with the enjoyment. — I said, but per- 
 haps I ought not to have said, that you cannot 
 thank God for a blessing which he has taken from 
 you; for methinks, if reason have that authority 
 which she ought to have over your affections, you 
 will be able, even after you have lost the comforts 
 in which you delighted most, in some measure to re- 
 enjoy the pleasures that they gave you. Though 
 the blessing be gone, your memory is not gone 
 with it ; and whilst this remains, you may avail 
 yourself of its aid to supply the absence of the com- 
 fort you have lost, by bringing back into the pre- 
 sent, the enjoyments of the past. To a mind that 
 is properly affected, it gives less pain than pleasure 
 in sickness, to recollect the season of health ; in 
 poverty, the time of our affluence ; in our separa- 
 tion from our friends, the period of our communion; 
 in our adversity, of whatever kind, the day of our 
 prosperity. Thus we may in a manner perpetuate 
 our enjoyments, and with them our gratitude ; the 
 pleasure may not be so pure and lively, but it is by 
 no means unreal. Our blessings may administer to 
 our comfort, even after we are deprived of them ; 
 the present may be made more happy by the re- 
 
146 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 
 
 membrance of the past. The perverseness of man- 
 kind, it is true, very often employs their recollection 
 to increase their misery : they may use it for a bet- 
 ter purpose ; and is not this a state of mind, after 
 which it is desirable for ourselves and dutiful to- 
 wards God, that we should carefully aspire ? But, 
 
 We may add finally, That our comforts, though 
 dead, are in very many instances not absolutely lost 
 to us : they still live in their influences and their 
 consequences. All our past enjoyments, though the 
 immediate instruments or sources of them be no 
 more, have each had their efficacy in the great 
 chain of Providence, have each contributed their 
 share to form the present conjuncture of our cir- 
 cumstances, and to give their present aspect to our 
 affairs. Affluent if you have been, you have de- 
 rived some benefits from that affluence that remain 
 with you in your poverty : and if any man has had 
 a kind, a wise and pious friend, though it may not 
 be in his power perhaps to specify them, he must 
 have derived some benefits from that friendship that 
 will live with him, long after that friend is dead ; 
 and it may be, long after he is dead himself. The 
 same might be said of many other blessings once 
 enjoyed and then lost again; ought we not then, 
 though we have lost them, to give thanks ? 
 
 So good was the Apostle's counsel, so wise are 
 they that keep it. " In all things, therefore, by 
 prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving let 
 your requests be made known unto God; and 
 the peace of God, which passeth all understand- 
 ing, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ 
 Jesus." 
 
with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 14T 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Almighty and most merciful Father — This 
 world we know is a changeable and imperfect 
 scene, in which all our comforts and delights are 
 subject to perpetual danger ; may we rejoice there- 
 fore as though we rejoiced not, and weep as though 
 we wept not, knowing that the fashion thereof soon 
 passeth away. May we never be weary or faint in 
 our minds, but may we run with patience and alacri- 
 ty the race that is set before us. 
 
 As we call ourselves the disciples of Christ, may 
 we habitually exercise and assiduously cultivate, 
 that spirit of ardent piety, that entire devotedness 
 to thy will, which so eminently distinguished and 
 adorned his character. May the power of thy glo- 
 rious gospel to impart the truest dignity, and the 
 noblest consolations to the human mind, from day 
 to day be manifest in our temper and in our con- 
 duct ; in every good disposition, and in all worthy 
 conduct, may we continue and abound still more and 
 more : in all things by prayer and supplication, 
 with thanksgiving, may we make known our re- 
 quests unto thee ; and do thou, O merciful Father, 
 uphold, and support us, and keep us from falling, 
 till we be presented faultless before the presence of 
 thy glory with exceeding joy. 
 
DISCOURSE VII. 
 
 MAN, THE PROPERTY OF GOD, 
 
 Psalm cxix. 94. 
 Lord I am thine, gave me. 
 
 These are the words of the King of Israel, address- 
 ed to the supreme King of kings ; and although 
 in one sense they might with perfect justice be 
 adopted by every creature he has made, yet there 
 are other senses in which they could properly be 
 applied by none but those happy persons, who 
 could safely appeal to God for the uprightness of 
 their hearts, and the integrity of their conversation. 
 The true Christian, he, who to faith unfeigned, has 
 added a sincere and improving holiness, may adopt 
 them in their full extent. As proceeding from such 
 a character, we shall consider them at present, and 
 shall show, in the first place, what they may be 
 understood to signify, and afterwards briefly point 
 out, the useful purposes to which they may be 
 applied. 
 
 Lord, says the good man, I am thine ; which may 
 signify, 
 
 First, I am thy creature, thou madest me, and 
 not 1 myself. Vvhen I look back through a few 
 years that are elapsed, I presently arrive at that 
 period, when as yet I had not a being. I cannot 
 
il/rtw, the Property of God. 149 
 
 own the instruments of my existence for its cause 
 and origin ; for how should they, who are unac- 
 quainted with the human structure, who cannot 
 themselves boast an independent being, who know 
 not what my spirit is, and are even incapable of 
 imitating my outward form, how should they breathe 
 into me the breath of life, or of what inspiration 
 are they possessed, by which to give me under- 
 standing ? 
 
 But, as there is no other mortal to whom I can 
 ascribe my being, so neither can I be persuaded 
 that I exist through any blind necessity of nature; 
 I understand not what that assertion means ; I leave 
 it to those who are capable of doing it, to account 
 for intelligence, without a designing cause. I know r 
 very well what my own conceptions are, when I 
 say that I was created by some superiour power, 
 by some invisible intelligence. 
 
 When I observe how fearfully and wonderfully I 
 am made, when I contemplate the structure of my 
 body, and the economy of my mind, I discern such 
 illustrious proofs of power, wisdom, and goodness, 
 as mark me for the workmanship of a nobler 
 artist, and bid me look to heaven for the maker 
 of my frame. — When 1 consider how much I am 
 dependent on the world around me, when I re- 
 flect how my various powers are accommodated to 
 its various objects, when I see how amply it is 
 furnished with every thing necessary to supply my 
 wants, and to promote my comfort, I cannot but 
 conclude, that he who made the world, made me 
 also ; that the Creator of the heavens and the earth, 
 is the Father also of the human race. Lord 1 am 
 thine, thou madest me. 
 
 9 
 
150 Man, the Property of God, 
 
 Secondly, These words may likewise express 
 another sentiment, viz. As I am thy creature, so 
 also am I thy charge ; made by thy hands, by thy 
 hands I am supported. As my life was originally 
 the gift of God, so it is his providence that con- 
 tinues and sustains it. When I look into the world 
 around me, I see the vacant places of many a dear 
 companion of my infancy and childhood ; my fa- 
 thers, where are they ? my brethren and my friends, 
 are they all living now ? They who came before 
 me, are gone before me; and of multitudes that 
 came with me into life, many have long ago taken 
 up their residence, in that dark and silent house 
 which is appointed for all the living. Who has 
 made me to differ from another? Why am I among 
 the living, and not among the dead? Why was I 
 not long ago cut off from all farther capacity of 
 usefulness and possibility of improvement ? Whence 
 is it, that amidst so many dying lamps, my lamp 
 is burning still? Whence is it, that I yet have it in 
 my power to grow in grace and to make ampler 
 preparations for eternity ? Is it through any innate 
 vigour of my own ? is it the effect of my own pru- 
 dence, the result of my own care ? Alas, I am weak 
 and frail and impotent as others, as unable to re- 
 deem myself, as to redeem my brother frcm the 
 grave. 1 am totally ignorant by what means to 
 prolong my being, and cannot even promise myself 
 the completion of the hour that is now begun. — 
 No, blessed God, I am thine ; thy charge ; thy 
 care ; in thy favour is my life ; it is thy food that 
 feeds me; it is thine air by which I am refreshed; 
 it is thy blessing on my industry that supplies me 
 with all things needful and convenient for me; it 
 is thine arm on which I lean ; it is thy shield by 
 which I am encompassed. A thousand dangers 
 hover round my head, and the seeds of a thousand 
 
Man, the Properly of God. 1^1 
 
 mortal maladies are within me ; amidst such infinity 
 of deaths, who but God could have preserved me ? 
 It is having obtained help from God, that 1 continue 
 hitherto! 
 
 Thirdly: Lord, says the good man, I am thine, 
 the creature of thy power, the charge of thy provi- 
 dence; I also am thy subject. When I look into 
 what lies below me in the rank of being, I observe 
 that all things fulfil the purposes and obey the or- 
 dinances of God. I see that his will is done by the 
 animal creation, the earth, and the heavens. But 
 they obey him unconscious of their obedience ; they 
 know not whose they are, and whom they serve. I 
 find within me a nobler principle; I know my mas- 
 ter, and I know his law. Mine is a conscious, vo- 
 luntary service. The things that are seen reveal 
 to me " the Maker's eternal power and domin- 
 ion ;" and the frame of nature, and the course of 
 providence, instruct me concerning his character and 
 government. All things, both around and within 
 me, convince me of my absolute dependence upon 
 God; and the native, uncorrupted sentiments of my 
 own heart, appear to me invested with the power 
 and authority of a law from the Father of my 
 spirit. Something there is within this breast of 
 mine, that assures me I am not accountable to my- 
 self alone ; that I am not only to answer for my con- 
 duct to my fellow creatures of mankind, but that I 
 am amenable to a higher tribunal. I feel within me 
 unconquerable forebodings of future happiness or 
 misery : these I am necessitated to regard, as the 
 sanctions of the law of God. While I am good 
 and do good, my hopes of happiness are lively ; when 
 I fail in duty, my hopes languish, and my apprehen- 
 sions rise. Yes, blessed be God ! I know his 
 name ; his law is not hidden from me, and my obli- 
 
152 Man, the Property of God. 
 
 gations to obey him are complete. His gospel bath 
 confirmed what his finger hath engraven on my 
 heart I own him for m/ Father and my God, and 
 I do homage to him as my Lord and King. Sub- 
 ject I am to parents, masters, and rulers, but my 
 obedience to them is an act of obedience also to 
 God ; and I am accountable to him for the reverence 
 in which I hold those, whom his providence hath set 
 over me. But my subjection to earthly Lords, is 
 limited and mutable; they may abuse their authori- 
 ty, and then my obligations of subjection are annul- 
 led ; as they change, my allegiance changes, and 
 perishes, as they perish ; but the t Krone of God is 
 for ever, and his dominion endureth throughout all 
 generations. No injunctions of an earthly master 
 can absolve me from the duties that I owe unto him; 
 no changes of my being can relax my obligations 
 unto God ; living, dying, dead, reviving, I am his 
 subject, and must be so for ever. 
 
 Fourthly : Lord, says the good man, I am thine, 
 thy creature, thy care, thy subject; yea more, I am 
 thy property. Let him dispose of me as he pleas- 
 eth, shall he not do what he will with his own? 
 u The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; 
 the world, and they that dwell therein ; for he hath 
 founded it upon the seas, and established it upon 
 the floods/' I take possession of a portion of his 
 earth; I take possession of the inferiour creatures; 
 mine I call them; 1 dispose of them according to 
 my pleasure, and never once suspect myself of in- 
 justice or impertinence. What right have I to them 
 which God has not, in an infinitely juster sense, to 
 me ? Do I preserve and support them ? Did I 
 make and fashion them ? Was it my word or power 
 that brought them into being? Is not the same 
 great God our common Maker and supporter, and 
 
Man, the Property of God. 153 
 
 therefore our common owner and proprietor ? Yes, 
 Lord, 1 am thine. 
 
 In the fifth place : Lord, says the good man, I 
 am thine, not only by the necessity of nature, by 
 the inevitable circumstances of my being, but thine 
 also, by voluntary choice, and deliberate agree- 
 ment. 
 
 It depended not on myself whether I would be 
 thy creature, thy care, thy subject, and thy pro- 
 perty ; these 1 was before I was capable of knowing 
 it; these I am, and these I must be. But, bless- 
 ed be God, there is something dependent on my- 
 self, by which I may testify my reverence of his 
 
 glory, and my gratitude for his benefits. The 
 
 cheerfulness of my homage cannot be a matter of 
 necessity ; the joy of my obedience, cannot be ex- 
 torted. This I have of my own to offer unto God, 
 "to delight myself in him and in his law:" it de- 
 pends upon myself, that he who must of necessity 
 be my ruler, should of choice also be my Lord : his 
 creature 1 am, but it rests upon my own determina- 
 tion, whether 1 will revere him as my Maker : the 
 care of his providence 1 am, but it remains in my 
 own breast whether I will gratefully acknowledge 
 his beneficence : among his subjects 1 am, but it 
 must be ray own deed to live faithful to my alle- 
 giance : his property 1 am, he may dispose of me 
 as he pleaseth, but it must be my own to rejoice in 
 such an owner: to acquiesce in his dispensations, 
 to triumph in his government, and to devote myself 
 to his service ; this must be my own. 
 
 Take me then, great God, take me into the num- 
 ber of thy people, own me for a free, a voluntary, 
 and a cheerful servant, for all 1 have, and all i am, 
 
164 Man, the Property of God* 
 
 is thine. The world I know is a fallacious flatter- 
 er ; sin is an oppressive tyrant; the service of the 
 flesh is infamy and bondage ; the service of God is 
 perfect freedom, and in keeping his command- 
 ments there is great reward. How happy am I, 
 that I have a heart to give him for his benefits ! 
 How do I rejoice in this privilege of my nature, 
 that I can serve him with my whole soul, that my 
 obedience may proceed from choice, not compul- 
 sion ! How does ray spirit triumph in the Lord, 
 that among all the competitors for the duty and 
 affection of mankind, I can despise every interfering 
 claimant, and resign myself wholly unto him who 
 made me ? Who can plead a better title to me ? 
 who will provide for me a better portion ? who will 
 cherish me with such tender mercy? Unworthy 
 indeed I am, great God, but though unworthy, I am 
 not insincere, far be from me the liar's tongue, and 
 the hypocrite's pretence : it is, thou knowest it is, 
 my desire and joy to do, and bear thy will. O 
 that thou wouldst enkindle in me a zeal that never 
 should grow cold in thy service, and strengthen 
 me with a strength that should never languish or 
 decay ! Joyful is the expectation, and truly blessed 
 is the hope, that the day is coming, when I shall 
 have done with the avocations and incumbrances 
 of mortality ; that the day is coming, when I shall 
 see thee face to face, and serve thee, as I wish to 
 serve thee, with unwearied activity and unspeak- 
 able delight ! Often, O thou all knowing God, often 
 hast thou heard me in the exultation of my grati- 
 tude crying out, Who have I in heaven but thee, 
 and what is there upon earth that I can desire in 
 comparison of thee ? Often hast thou heard me, 
 from the depths of affliction, and in the anguish of 
 my spirit, professing thee to be my trust and confi- 
 dence, my only portion and my only hope. Often 
 
Man, the Property of God. lb:> 
 
 hast thou seen me, numbering myself among thy 
 people, owning those obligations which no duty can 
 repay, and taking up those resolutions which eter- 
 nity only can absolve ! These sentiments I would 
 cherish, these engagements 1 would ratify. I am 
 not my own, but the property of God, and I would 
 be his for ever. 
 
 In the sixth and last place, I would observe, that 
 the good man may adopt the language of the Psalm- 
 ist iii yet another sense, herein appealing to the 
 Condescension and to the promises of God that he 
 will accept, and keep, and save all those who sin- 
 cerely and diligently obey him. " Ye shall be to 
 me a people," saith he, and "*I will be to you a 
 God." " Come out from among the children of im- 
 penitence and unbelief, and I wili be to you a father, 
 and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the 
 Lord almighty." " To godliness belong all the pro- 
 mises of this life, and of that which is to come." 
 " In it all the promises of God are sure and certain ;" 
 Then saith the Christian, Lord I am thine, thou, the 
 maker of my frame, art my Father and my God; 
 all that is included in thy favour, is my portion and 
 my right, such hath thy promise made it; humbly 
 do I appeal to thee for the sincerity of my repent- 
 ance, of my faith, and duty, and with equal humility 
 would I claim of thee what thou hast most graciously 
 condescended to propose to me. Often have I bless- 
 ed thee, that my virtuous friends would own me ; I 
 have often blessed thee, that those who could con- 
 tribute to my comfort in any form, would own me; 
 often have I blessed thee, that my pious parents 
 would call me theirs ; but if thou, great God, wilt 
 own me, if thou wilt call me thine, if thou wilt adopt 
 me into thy family, and write my name in the book of 
 lif}. after this, what have 1 to fear ? and beyond this, 
 what have I to wish ? 
 
156 Man, the Property of God. 
 
 Having thus illustrated the words of the text, and 
 considered it as expressing the sentiments of the 
 good man's heart, it remains now that I should inti- 
 mate some useful purposes to which it may be appli- 
 ed. In the first place, 
 
 1. If we be the property of God, how highly 
 reasonable is it, that we should study and obey 
 his will. J J 
 
 You honour and obey your parents, and herein 
 you do well. If any man feed, and clothe, and pro- 
 vide for you, you are modest, humble, grateful, and 
 herein you do well. You are submissive, respectful, 
 and faithful, to those who are set over you in au- 
 thority, and herein you deserve our imitation and 
 our praise. If any man deposit his property in your 
 hands, you would dread the very thought of violat- 
 ing your trust, or of injuring your brother, and 
 herein you prove yourself faithful and just. Re- 
 member then, that you are the creatures, the de- 
 pendents, the subjects, the property of God ; let 
 your sentiments and conduct towards others, respect- 
 ing each of these relations, instruct you in the senti- 
 ments and conduct which you ought to maintain 
 towards the great Lord and ruler of the world. But 
 more particularly, 
 
 Secondly, If you be the property of God, you 
 have the highest reason to be thankful to him 
 for every comfort, and to be resigned under every 
 affliction. 
 
 Had you been possessed of an independent being, 
 had you been strictly and properly your own, had it 
 been of your own accord that you had received the 
 benefits, and become the subjects, and owned your- 
 
l\Ian, the Property of God. 15? 
 
 selves the property of God, you might then have 
 pleaded that it was not an absolute, but a conditional 
 engagement : you might then have received his 
 bounties, as what were in justice due to you, and 
 murmured against every thing that was unaccept- 
 able in your circumstances, as a violation of the trea- 
 ty you had made with God : but, if you be his with- 
 out any merit in becoming such ; if you be his to do 
 with you whatever seemeth to him good ; if you 
 have no claim of right on your Creator, how highly 
 does this consideration enhance your obligations to 
 him for every comfort of your existence? How inde- 
 cent, how impious, how unnatural is it to murmur at 
 any thing which he may appoint ! 
 
 In the third place, If ye be God's, not only by the 
 necessity of nature, but by your own deliberate 
 choice and your own voluntary engagements, con- 
 sider how highly it behoves you to be steady to your 
 choice, and faithful to your vows. If you suspect 
 that you have determined rashly, think again : con- 
 sider whether you can find a better master, or en- 
 gage yourselves in a more gainful service. Remem- 
 ber that it were better for you never to have known 
 the way of righteousness, than after having known 
 it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered 
 unto you; and tremble, lest to the guilt of profane- 
 ness and of rebellion, you add the accessory guilt of 
 perfidy and falsehood. 
 
 In the fourth and last place, If we be God's, if 
 owning him for our lawgiver and our judge, he 
 owns us for his people, and his children, how solid 
 is the ground on which our hopes are built, and 
 how secure our happiness ! Whatever comes to 
 us, comes to us for our good, for it comes to us 
 from an almighty friend, who knows our state, 
 10 
 
158 Man, the Property of God. 
 
 and tenderly regards our interests. Though there 
 may be some things in our condition which are 
 not for the present joyous, but grievous, yet if we 
 be God's, God is ours, and if God be ours, what 
 security can we want of an ample indemnification 
 in futurity ? Afflictions are very tolerable when 
 they are not the ministers of wrath ; and prospe- 
 rity is doubly acceptable when we can receive it 
 as the testimony of divine favour. The men of 
 the world are apt to boast themselves of their fe- 
 licity, but if they now prefer the world to God, 
 the time will come, when they will praise the 
 Christian's choice. Their pleasures will decline, 
 his will be improving ; their hopes will vanish 
 away, his will be more than realized ; their confi- 
 dence will fail them, but the Christian rests upon 
 the rock of ages. In the time of apprehension 
 and of fear, in the hour of trouble and affliction, 
 in the moment of death, in the solemnities of 
 judgment, they will want, what the world cannot 
 give its votaries ; and what God only can bestow. 
 In these trying seasons, when every thing about 
 those who are without God, is dark, and gloomy, 
 and distressing, the Christian, supported by his 
 conscience, and encouraged by the divine pro- 
 mises, can derive light and comfort from the rela- 
 tion that he bears to him in whose hands are the 
 fates of every living thing. When all subluna- 
 ry comforts have taken their flight, when human 
 friendships can no longer avail, the hope of the 
 Christian remains uninjured, for in this world he 
 placed not his happiness : — he had long fixed it 
 there, where true joys only are to be found, whi- 
 ther he is now going to reap that glorious harvest, 
 the gracious reward of his faith, patience, and 
 obedience ; for he knows who it is that hath said, 
 " be faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown 
 of life." 
 
Man, the Property of God. 159 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord we are thine by ten thousand ties, 
 for thou art our Father, the Author of our being, 
 with all its powers, its comforts, and its hopes. 
 By our own choice also we are thine, for whom 
 have we in heaven but thee, and what is there 
 upon earth that we can reasonably desire in com- 
 parison of thee ? Thy favour is our life, we will 
 seek it with our whole hearts ; and we thank 
 thee for the comfortable assurances thou hast 
 given, that even by us, unworthy as we are, thy 
 favour and thy friendship may be obtained; for 
 u the righteous Lord loveth righteousness, though 
 he be angry with the wicked every day :" " The 
 Lord God is a sun and a shield, and no good 
 thing will he withhold from them that walk up- 
 rightly." O that our hearts were directed always, 
 to keep all thy statutes, then should we never 
 be ashamed, distressed, or dejected in thy pre- 
 sence, when we had respect unto all thy com- 
 mandments ! 
 
 There is a day, we trust, approaching, the hope 
 and prospect of which is the support and triumph 
 of our souls; there is a day, we trust, approach- 
 ing, when all they that have continued faithful 
 unto death, shall have done with sin, and sorrow, 
 and infirmity, and satisfied with thy perfect like- 
 ness, shall be for ever happy in thine heavenly 
 presence ! In the meantime, O God, let thy grace 
 be sufficient for us ; confirm us in all our holy 
 resolutions ; establish us in the steady government 
 of our own hearts and minds; raise us into such 
 
160 Man, the Property of God. 
 
 superiority to the short-lived pleasures of this 
 present scene, that we may never be seduced by 
 them from our allegiance unto thee. — While we 
 live, may we live unto the Lord ; when we die, 
 may we die unto the Lord ; in life, in death, 
 and to eternity, may we be thine, henceforth, and 
 for ever. 
 
DISCOURSE VIII 
 
 ON THE OBLIGATION, THE IMPORTANCE, AND 
 
 THE REASONABLENESS OF THE LOVE 
 
 OF GOD. 
 
 Mark xii. 30, 3J. 
 
 Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all 
 thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength, this is 
 the first commandment ; and the second is like unto it, namely 
 this, thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other 
 commandment greater than these. 
 
 In the history of our Lord we read, that as he was 
 teaching in the temple at Jerusalem, one of the 
 Scribes, having heard him reasoning with the Sad- 
 ducees, and perceiving that he had answered them 
 well, was so highly pleased that he had put to si- 
 lence these adversaries of the Pharisees, to whose 
 sect he himself belonged, that he was desirous to 
 make a further trial concerning his knowledge of 
 the law, hoping probably that what Jesus might 
 reply to the question he was about to propose to 
 him, would be equally favourable to his own opin- 
 ion, and as humiliating to those, who differed from 
 him. With these views he addressed Jesus as fol- 
 lows : " Rabbi, which is the first commandment of 
 all ? ?1 alluding, it is probable, to the divisions that 
 subsisted among the Jews concerning this subject; 
 some giving the chief place to the law of circum- 
 
162 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 
 
 cision ; others to the law of sacrifices; others 
 again to some other part of their ceremonial ap- 
 pointments ; and some few, in the number of which 
 it seems was this lawyer himself, giving to the mo- 
 ral precepts the preference justly their due, and 
 considering all these contentions as vain and frivo- 
 lous, while justice, mercy, and faith, were over- 
 looked and disregarded. The answer of our Lord 
 in the text, fully accorded to the expectation of the 
 Scribe; and the historian goes on to relate, that he 
 replied, " Master, thou hast said the truth, for 
 there is one God, and there is none other but he : 
 and to love him with all the heart, and with all the 
 understanding, and with all the strength, and to 
 love his neighbour as himself, is more than all burnt- 
 offerings and sacrifices." 
 
 Such was the sense of Moses, whose words are 
 quoted by our Lord, such also was the sense of 
 Christ himself, and such, as appears from the re- 
 ply that the lawyer made to him, are the natural 
 convictions of the human heart, concerning the ob- 
 ligation, the importance, and the excellency of the 
 love of God. Religion is the one thing needful, 
 and the love of God is the first great principle of reli- 
 gion, the place of which nothing can supply, and 
 for the want of which nothing can atone. Love is 
 the very spirit of Christianity; it is the affection 
 that* breathes in every page of the gospel, it dis- 
 tinguished the temper of its Author, and is by him 
 given as the characteristick of his followers. It is 
 the affection which Christianity has placed above 
 faith and hope, which she delights to honour, which 
 she labours to inculcate, which she represents as 
 the parent root of all other virtuous affections, as 
 the fountain of peace in this world, and a title to 
 happiness, in that which is to come. 
 
the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 168 
 
 The two great objects of Christian love, are, 
 God and man ; our Creator and our brethren. God, 
 as the source of all excellence and happiness ; and 
 men, as they are formed in his image, the creatures 
 of his power, and the children of his family. 
 
 It is on the first of these topicks, namely, the 
 love of God, that I mean to dwell at present; I 
 shall therefore place before you some observations 
 relating to the causes of this affection, and the 
 foundations on which it stands, or the considera- 
 tions whence it flows ; or, in other words, endea- 
 vour to show you, why we do, and ought to love 
 God. 
 
 In the first place, The unspotted purity, the im- 
 partial justice, the inviolable truth, the invariable 
 fidelity, and the disinterested benignity of God, do 
 most righteously challenge the pure and ardent love 
 of all his intelligent creation. The heart that un- 
 derstands what these things are, and is capable of 
 contemplating these attributes of deity, must be 
 sunk into deep depravity, if, beholding the almighty 
 Father arrayed in all the beauties of holiness, re- 
 joicing in his works, disposing all things accord- 
 ing to the weight and measure of wisdom and of 
 equity, and ruling all things with equal impartiality 
 and tenderness, it does not feel itself elevated with 
 a sacred joy, in so sublime a contemplation ; if it 
 does not find itself kindled into the devout affec- 
 tions of reverence and love. A heart duly pene- 
 trated with these views of the divine perfections, 
 will necessarily conceive these sentiments, and feel- 
 ing their blessedness, will wish to prolong them in 
 itself for ever ; and to communicate them, as well 
 for their own sakes, as for their Creator's glory, to 
 every other heart within its reach and influence* 
 But to proceed, 
 
164 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 
 
 In the second place; We ought to love God fof 
 the happiness enjoyed by others, as well as for 
 those blessings in which we ourselves are partakers-— 
 not only for his perfections as they reside in himself, 
 but on account of their operations as they are bene- 
 ficently exerted towards others. 
 
 The human heart is not naturally, and till it be 
 perverted, cannot become uninterested in the hap- 
 piness of others. Their miseries instantly awaken 
 our compassion, and if a false self-interest has 
 not laid us open to the influence of jealousy and 
 envy, the sight of their happiness is a consider- 
 able addition to our own. We love the patriot, 
 or the sage, the publick benefactor, who has con- 
 tributed to augment the sum of human happiness, 
 however distant the age or country in which he 
 lived, although we ourselves can have reaped 
 no benefit from his exertions. The affection he 
 bare unto the human species at large, gives him 
 an interest in our hearts, and we think ourselves 
 indebted to him for the benefits he conferred on 
 those who were no otherwise related to us, than 
 by the similitude of their nature, their character, or 
 circumstances. Those scenes of happiness, which 
 we never shall experience, which we never shall be- 
 hold, fill our hearts nevertheless with pleasure and 
 delight. By that power of sympathy, implanted in 
 our breasts, by the wise and gracious Author of our 
 frame, we not only may, but unless we are become 
 miserably depraved, we must, in some measure, 
 enjoy that happiness which we conceive to be en- 
 joyed by every other human being. We therefore, 
 most reasonably, and most naturally, consider our- 
 selves as partaking in their obligations, and look 
 upon ourselves as bound to go along with them in 
 their gratitude. If they be unmindful of their ob- 
 
the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 165 
 
 ligations, we are so much more impressed with the 
 goodness of their benefactor, who deserved not 
 their ingratitude ; if they be duly sensible to his 
 beneficence, we approve their characters ; our love 
 to them increases our love to him who does them 
 good, and we go along with them in all the just and 
 ardent expressions of their gratitude. As soon as 
 any man becomes capable of contemplating the hap- 
 piness of others with indifference, and ceases to 
 take any interest in their welfare, so soon he be- 
 comes an object of disapprobation and of censure, 
 not only unto others, but also to his own mind. If 
 such then be the uncorrupted, and approved sentiments 
 of the human heart, with respect to the happiness of 
 others; if it thus hold itself under obligation to 
 regard the benefactor of a single family, a town, or 
 a province, as a benefactor to itself; apply this prin- 
 ciple to the great universal benefactor, and say, 
 with what sentiments of love, veneration, and de- 
 light, your hearts ought to embrace him. 
 
 Is it needful to illustrate this proposition ? to un- 
 fold the considerations on which it rests ? — Reflect 
 then, with regard to the comfort of the human race, 
 how divine mercy, having endured from everlasting, 
 promises to endure unto everlasting still : consider, 
 how partial evil conduces to general felicity ; how 
 the temporary sufferings of individuals, often prove 
 the means of greater happiness both to themselves 
 and others ; how they flow from that very same 
 constitution of things whence all their blessings 
 spring : observe, what heartfelt satisfactions, and in- 
 effable delights, proceed from the consciousness of 
 virtue: and, when you have collected all these 
 things together, then say, if as a father pitieth his 
 children, the Lord pitieth not them that fear him ? 
 Add to this, the benignity that appears in the con- 
 
 11 
 
166 0/1 the Obligation, the Importance, and 
 
 stitution of the world, how the sinner is invited to 
 repentance in the dispensation of divine grace; add 
 together all that this world gives in possession, 
 and in hope ; to temporal, add spiritual blessings, 
 and then say, if it be not reasonable, if it be not 
 their indispensable duty, that men should praise the 
 Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works 
 unto the children of men ? 
 
 In the frame of nature, in the course of provi- 
 dence, in the productions of the earth, in the vi- 
 cissitudes of the seasons, in the fruits of industry, in the 
 advantages of commerce ; in the good will and 
 good offices of mankind ; in the comforts of domes- 
 tick life, in the blessings of friendship, of civil and 
 political society, in the power of habit, in the joy 
 of possession, in the anticipation of hope ; in these, 
 and in many other instances that might be distinctly 
 enumerated, the most liberal supplies are granted 
 us, not only for the comfort, but for the delight and 
 entertainment of our lives. Look upon the earth, 
 and behold with what beauty the goodness of God 
 has adorned the place of our habitation -, consider 
 how the same general laws of nature, and the same 
 general course of providence prevails throughout 
 every region and every climate of the world ; dis- 
 
 pensing with liberal hand the common benefits o 
 
 life to men of every language, and of every coun 
 try : consider further, that the most importan 
 blessings are the most common, those which an 
 most necessary to all, withheld from none ; and then 
 say, if the tender mercies of God be not over al 
 his works ? 
 
 i 
 
 While every object we behold bears testimonj 
 to every sense, that God is love ; while all arounc 
 us from every region of the earth, the voice of joy 
 
the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 167 
 
 if not of gratitude, is ascending to the throne of 
 the most high, owe we nothing unto God that he 
 has spread so fair a scene of happiness before our 
 eyes ? Owe we nothing unto God that he has pro- 
 vided so various, extensive, and satisfactory an en- 
 tertainment for our sympathy and good will ? Are 
 the pleasures of benevolence, the only pleasures 
 that we do not feel ? the only joys that are unable 
 to awaken our gratitude and love. 
 
 In the third place, We ought to love God on our 
 own account; on account of the numerous and im- 
 portant blessings for which we ourselves are indebt- 
 ed to him. Let us, each of us, examine strictly the 
 circumstances of our present situation, try to enu- 
 merate the various mercies we enjoy, and we shall 
 find their number swell far beyond what those who 
 have not been accustomed to such an inquiry, could 
 suspect or imagine. 
 
 Self-love, in every degree of it, is neither an un- 
 just nor an unamiable affection. It is then only, 
 when it degenerates into a base self-interest, which 
 would serve itself at the expense of others, that it 
 becomes the object of indignation or of censure : 
 while it is merely confined to what respects our own 
 real interests, and neither neglects nor interferes 
 with the interests of others, it is natural in its opera- 
 tions, reasonable in itself, and deserving of appro- 
 bation. Of self-love, it is the necessary conse- 
 quence, that we should love those, by whom we are 
 beloved. If any one contribute to the gratification 
 of our wishes, for the very same reason that we 
 desire these wishes to be gratified, we love him who 
 gratifies them. If any person do us good, for the 
 very same reason, that we love ourselves, and de- 
 light in our enjoyments, we love and delight in 
 
163 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 
 
 that person: if then we know God, and attend to 
 this important truth, that not a being in the universe 
 possesses any power but what was originally de- 
 rived from him, and is even during every succeeding 
 moment supplied from that eternal fountain ; if we 
 reflect, that, by whatever means we become pos- 
 sessed of them, all the blessings we enjoy, do, in 
 very deed, come down from "the father of lights;" 
 from God, 6k the only giver of every good, and of 
 every perfect gift;" if we know assuredly, that our 
 capacities of enjoyment, as well as the various bles- 
 sings which are the subjects of them, proceed from 
 God; what reason have we not to delight our- 
 selves in him, and in his laws, and to embrace him 
 with the chief and first affection of our hearts ? It 
 is because we have obtained help of God, that we 
 continue hitherto ; it is under the shadow of his 
 wings, that we dwell in safety. The daily sup- 
 plies of life proceed from his unwearied bounty; ail 
 the comforts that we have in ourselves, or in our 
 friends, flow from the God of all consolation. 
 
 He has but to speak the word, yea, he has but 
 to withdraw his arm, and our resources fail us, our 
 hopes are blasted, and our blessings vanish. It is 
 but for a few particles of matter to change their 
 disposition, and they are changed as easily as the 
 dust is scattered by the wind; it is but for such a 
 change to take place, and we, or ours, go down in 
 a moment, to the grave. They have but to take 
 another turn, and more terrible calamities may 
 overwhelm us ; our tranquillity, or that of our 
 friends, may be converted into horrour ; our ease, 
 into agony ; the lamp of reason may be utterly 
 extinguished; the wildest imaginations may riot in 
 our minds, the most distressful thoughts may seize 
 
the Reasonableness of the Love of God, 169 
 
 them, and abide with them; and even all the joys 
 of a good conscience, as well as the light of an im- 
 proved understanding, may be totally overborne. 
 
 And owe you nothing then to his guardian care, 
 who with more than a parent's tenderness watches 
 over, defends, and preserves you from these, and 
 a thousand other evils ? Owe you nothing to that 
 liberal hand, without which )ou had not been fed 
 from day to day, and without which, your habi- 
 tation every night might prove your grave ? 
 
 Compare, my friends, your blessings with your 
 merit; did he owe it to your obedience to love 
 you thus ? Did he owe it to your services to make 
 such liberal provision for your comfort? What 
 says your heart ? what does your conscience say ? 
 Do they require it of you to distinguish your be- 
 nefactors, in proportion as you have been distin- 
 guished by them in their good affections and good 
 offices ? and will your heart and your conscience 
 hold you guiltless, if your first, your supreme — I 
 was going to have said, your sole benefactor, have 
 no place in your affections?" 
 
 Go then and give unto your mortal friends, the 
 love that is justly their due ; render unto your 
 patrons and benefactors the gratitude they may 
 reasonably expect from you ; repay your parents, 
 with an affection, as sincere and tender, as that 
 with which they have nourished and cherished 
 you ; but remember, that they and all their kind- 
 ness were the gift of God ; that to him you are 
 indebted for every pleasurable sentiment, every 
 sensation of delight and joy ; and then declare, if 
 it be not a duty of indispensable obligation, to keep 
 his statutes, to obey his commandments, and to 
 
170 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 
 
 love him with all jour heart, and soul, and mind, 
 and strength ? 
 
 These reflections it were easy to amplify and 
 enlarge, but enough, it is hoped has been advanc- 
 ed to convince you, that the love of God is not a 
 blind inexplicable principle, proceeding we know 
 not whence, and tending we know not whither, 
 and consisting in we know not what ; it is not an 
 unaccountable attraction ; it is not an unenlighten- 
 ed glow of heart; it is not the overflowing of a 
 sensual joy ; it is not the ecstacy of a mysterious 
 devotion ; it is nothing above the capacity of all 
 men to understand, or above the power of all men 
 to attain; nothing contrary to, or surpassing hu- 
 man nature : it needs not to hide itself for fear of 
 disgrace, for it has no connexion with the perver- 
 sion of any human principle ; but, on the contrary, 
 it is in the depraved heart alone that it cannot sub- 
 sist : it has no dependence on ignorance or dark- 
 ness; on the contrary, it is only from true and im- 
 portant knowledge that it can proceed. 
 
 The love of God is one of the most natural op^ 
 erations of the human heart, the most obvious and 
 self-approved direction of its sentiments; for it is 
 to admire, what is perceived to be truly admira- 
 ble ; to esteem, what is infinitely worthy to be es- 
 teemed ; and to cherish in our hearts with com- 
 placency and delight, the idea of what confessedly 
 deserves our supreme affection: it is, to cultivate 
 a grateful sense of kindness that exceeds our 
 tenderest thoughts, and of beneficence that passeth 
 knowledge. — To be devoid of the love of God, not 
 only betrays an unnatural opposition to the dic- 
 tates of self-love, and of charity ; but also to that 
 other powerful and amiable principle, by whatever 
 
the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 171 
 
 name you call it, which recommends all moral good- 
 ness to our hearts. It implies a strange insensibility 
 to our own happiness, to the happiness of our 
 brethren, and to the noblest obligations ; a criminal 
 prostitution of our affections, and a perverseness 
 and inconsistency of character, alike wretched, de- 
 plorable, and guilty. 
 
 If then, my friends, there be in you any spark of 
 that nature, which God gave you, unextinguished ; 
 if there be in you any characters and principles of 
 reason; if there yet remains in you a wish to ap- 
 prove yourselves to conscience, and to enjoy the 
 approbation of your own minds; maintain the 
 noble privilege of your species, for man only, among 
 all the inhabitants of this world, is capable of 
 loving God. Maintain the honour of your charac- 
 ter; it shines most illustriously in the honour you 
 render to your Maker. Reasonable and moral 
 beings you were made, you were formed with 
 principles that might assimilate you to God ; that 
 might direct your thoughts and affections towards 
 heaven, and the great King of heaven : the prin- 
 ciples that God implanted in you, tend to unite 
 your hearts to him, to preserve you from corrup- 
 tion, to purify you from pollution, to raise you to 
 the honour of unblemished righteousness; to pre- 
 pare you for the happiness of loving him, and of 
 being beloved by him, and for the immortal glories 
 of his presence. 
 
 This, O man, is the dignity for which thy nature 
 is intended, and which is prepared for it of God. 
 Suffer not this honour to be tarnished, or to die 
 away ; suffer not this glory to sink from shame to 
 shame, till at last, in the complete depravity of thy 
 soul, the love of God be utterly extinguished ; but 
 
172 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 
 
 cherish, with unwearied care, every principle that 
 leads to so glorious a distinction ; to so just, so bless- 
 ed an affection. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Worthy art thou, O Lord, to receive salvation, 
 and blessing, and praise, for all things are thine; 
 thou madest them in perfect wisdom, and thou 
 rulest them in perfect love. The eyes of all wait 
 upon thee, and thou givest them their meat in clue 
 season; thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the 
 desires of every living thing. We, the creatures of 
 thy power, and the dependents of thy providence, 
 feel and acknowledge ourselves bound by ten 
 thousand obligations, to fear, to love, to serve, and 
 to honour thee ; to inquire into thy mind and will, 
 with care, and diligence, and to keep thy precepts 
 with alacrity and zeal. Lord, when we meditate 
 upon thy kindnesses and benefits, which have been 
 ever growing, with the growing moments of our 
 being, and at the same time reflect upon the cold- 
 ness of our devout affections; on the languor, the 
 reluctance, and the manifold imperfections of our 
 obedience ; when we compare thy mercies which 
 never fail, with that goodness of ours, which is as 
 the morning cloud and the early dew, that soon 
 passeth away, we are ashamed and confounded in 
 thy presence, and what can we say unto thee, O 
 thou observer of men ? — Our unworthiness cannot 
 be unknown to thee, for whither could we go from 
 thy spirit, or whither could we flee from thy pre- 
 sence? What night is there so dark, or what shades 
 of death so deep, as to hide our transgressions from 
 thine all-pervading eye ! 
 
the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 173 
 
 Thou knowest every sentiment and purpose of 
 our souls : if thou seest that we are duly humbled 
 under the sense of our past insensibility and ingra- 
 titude, help thou our infirmities, and enable us 
 henceforth to serve thee with a zeal, bearing some 
 proportion to the extent of our obligations, and to 
 love thee with all our heart, and soul, and mind, 
 and strength. 
 
 12 
 
DISCOURSE IX. 
 
 ON THE CARE AND DILIGENCE REQUIRED TO 
 
 PRESERVE, AND KEEP ALIVE THE 
 
 EOVE OF GOD. 
 
 JUDE 21. 
 
 Keep yourselves in the love of God. 
 
 Reasonable as it is in itself, and most important to 
 our own happiness and to the preservation of our 
 virtue, that we should love the Lord our God, with 
 all our heart, and mind, and strength, the text plainly 
 implies, that there may be some difficulty in pre- 
 serving and cultivating this divine affection. It may 
 be useful therefore to inquire, from what causes this 
 difficulty proceeds, and by what means and methods 
 it may best be overcome. And here we may ob- 
 serve, that, 
 
 The habit of attending to things visible and invisi- 
 ble, and of pursuing them as important objects of our 
 wishes and desires, in proportion to the vigour it 
 may add to the influence of such objects on our 
 hearts, will, in the same proportion, diminish the 
 influence of such as are purely spiritual ; these, from 
 their very nature, are ever wont to escape the no- 
 tice of the mind, and even, when our attention to 
 them is once awakened, without great care and dili- 
 gence, they easily,and almost withoutourobservation 
 slide out of it again. The impressions of external 
 things, which are constantly operating upon us, even 
 
On the Care and Diligence required, &c, 1T5 
 
 if they are not the objects of our most ardent pur- 
 suit, presently displace the impressions of such ob- 
 jects, as require the exertion of our attention and 
 resolution to apprehend and retain them in view : it 
 is only therefore, by a deep and continued attention, 
 that any vivid affections concerning spiritual objects 
 can be kept alive in our hearts. That attention 
 however, to a mind not long habituated to it, is a 
 painful and laborious effort. Again, 
 
 The very means by which the love of God must 
 make its impression, are themselves capable of ex- 
 cluding it from our hearts, and instead of leading us 
 to him, of engrossing our affection and attention to 
 themselves. The works of God, the laws and 
 events of providence, and even the word of God 
 itself, are all capable of exciting in us many different 
 sentiments, besides the love of him; sentiments that 
 have no connexion with it ; and that, in some instan- 
 ces, are even repugnant to it. 
 
 We may gaze upon the works of nature, and be 
 highly entertained with the views that they exhibit 
 to us ; we may attend to the course of providence, 
 and be deeply affected by the various scenes through 
 which we pass ; we may have the word of God every 
 morning and every evening in our hands, and yet, for 
 all this, the love of God may be a stranger to our 
 hearts — a stranger there it will be, if, whilst we are 
 conversing with his word, his providence, and his 
 works, we have it not in our intention and desire to 
 conceive and to cultivate this affection. Each of 
 them present a variety of objects in every scene that 
 they set before us, capable of exciting a variety of 
 affections: and unless, whilst we contemplate this 
 variety, our attention be particularly and expressly 
 directed to the display manifested by them of those 
 attributes of God, which render him the object of 
 
176 On the Care and Diligence required 
 
 our admiration and love, our minds will be divert- 
 ed from one object to another, and distracted by 
 a succession of very different impressions and af- 
 fections. 
 
 To love God, we must have lively apprehensions 
 of his excellencies, and to attain these, our attention 
 must not spend itself on those sensible and external 
 things which comprehend the notices of them ; it 
 must not be wasted on the mirror, it must look upon 
 the image it contains ; it must not be diverted by 
 any foreign object, but fixed and regulated by the 
 sincere desire, and the express intention to possess 
 our hearts with the love of God. And, after all, to 
 whatever degree of vivacity this affection may be 
 raised by the power of serious contemplation, it will 
 quickly need to be revived again. It is a plant too 
 delicate not to stand in need of constant and unwea- 
 ried tendance, and perhaps, with all our care, it may 
 be impossible in this world that it should at all times 
 be preserved in equal health and vigour. Yet, the 
 influence of the love of God upon our temper and 
 conduct, may be, and ought to be habitual. To 
 render them habitual however, it is necessary that 
 the impressions of the divine excellencies should from 
 time to time be renewed upon our hearts; that the 
 affection should from time to time be rekindled 
 there, and that the intervals of renewing and rekind- 
 ling these impressions and affections, should not be 
 too distant 
 
 Though the effects of any sentiment upon our 
 temper and conduct may remain after the senti- 
 ment itself has subsided in our hearts, yet these 
 effects will be impaired by the power of time alone; 
 and the succession of other sentiments will assist 
 the power of time to impair them. The influ- 
 
to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 177 
 
 ences of any affection whatever, which survive the 
 affection itself, will.be in proportion, not only to 
 the vivacity in which the affection is conceived, 
 but also to the frequency with which it is cherished 
 and revived. 
 
 They who are best acquainted with the love of 
 God, in whose hearts it is most familiar, and over 
 whose lives it has most power, can tell you, how 
 much this sentiment, and the salutaiy influences of 
 it, are liable to suffer from the cares of this world ; 
 even from the necessary avocations and the indispen- 
 sable business of life. They can tell you, how this 
 affection needs to be refreshed from day to day, by 
 serious conversation with the works, the providence, 
 and the word of God. They can tell you, what 
 power it derives by withdrawing from the cares and 
 influences of the world, to attend upon the ordinan- 
 ces of religion ; and they can tell you too, how ne- 
 cessary a devout and habitual attendance is, not only 
 to its improvement, but even to its preservation. 
 With all their solicitude and care, they do not boast 
 of its vivacity and power; they regret the interrup- 
 tions that it often suffers, and the weakness in which 
 it often languishes: their comfort is, that God 
 knows their frame and their condition, that they 
 can appeal to him for their sincerity, and trust his 
 mercy as to their imperfection. If, then, we are 
 really desirous that the love of God should retain 
 its due influence, we must, in the first place, exert a 
 constant vigilance to guard against the various un- 
 friendly influences of the many different objects by 
 which we are surrounded, and of the various occu- 
 pations in which we are necessarily engaged. But 
 this is not all; for, 
 
 In the second place, it is of the utmost impor- 
 tance that we should sedulously endeavour to re- 
 
178 On the Care and Diligence required 
 
 press every evil inclination, and to preserve our 
 souls an unpolluted temple for the residence of 
 the living God. And to this end, we must labour 
 to employ our thoughts in such salutary medita- 
 tions, as, by convincing us of the baseness, the 
 malignity, the ignominy, and the wretchedness of 
 sin, shall establish us in the perfect detestation 
 of it; as well as in that wholesome self-discipline 
 that may reduce every rebellious passion, and re- 
 store those principles, in which our likeness unto 
 God consists, to their just authority in our hearts; 
 not, however, suspending any of those religious 
 exercises, the immediate tendency of which is to 
 awaken in us the sentiments of divine love, until 
 this object be completely accomplished; for, if 
 by any means, the love of God can be lighted up, 
 and kept alive within our hearts, it will be found 
 one of the most powerful instruments to rescue 
 us from the bondage of evil habit, to fortify us 
 against the power of temptation, and to establish 
 Us in the glorious liberty of the children of God. 
 It is not therefore, either necessary, or advisable, 
 that we should neglect to cultivate this blessed 
 principle till all inconsistent principles be remov- 
 ed ; but, as the prevalence of iniquity will obstruct 
 the progress of the love of God, and render even 
 the preservation of it extremely difficult, it will be 
 our wisdom to call in every other principle and 
 exercise of our understandings and our hearts, that 
 may succour and befriend it. And in this view, 
 the fear of God may co-operate, and be made sub- 
 servient to establish and improve the love of God. 
 For, when we consider him, not only as hating 
 iniquity, but as preparing the scourge of chas- 
 tisement even in this world, for all unrighteous- 
 ness; and contemplate the approach of that awful 
 day which shall consign the ungodly and sinner 
 
to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 179 
 
 to wrath, tribulation, and despair in that which 
 is to come; we are furnished with additional aids, 
 to effect an easier and speedier reformation of 
 whatever is wrong in our temper and conduct. 
 
 Many bonds of union might be traced between 
 these two greatest and most active principles of 
 religion. What has been said, however, may suf- 
 fice to show, that whatever tends to break our at- 
 tachment unto vice, of whatever kind ; whatever 
 tends to restrain our inordinate desires; whatever 
 tends to abash our evil inclinations, does at the 
 same time tend to promote the power, and to fa- 
 cilitate the operations of divine love, in the conflict 
 which it must necessarily maintain, if it be pure and 
 genuine, against every thing that is inconsistent 
 with truth and virtue. 
 
 But, in the third arid last place; it is of especial 
 importance if we be seriously desirous of preserv- 
 ing and cultivating the love of God, to beware 
 of an earthly mind. We cannot serve God and 
 Mammon. 
 
 To the worldly-minded man, gain is godliness ; 
 it so busily engages his thoughts, so perfectly sa- 
 tisfies his low desires and narrow wishes, that he 
 perceives no need, and perhaps can scarcely con- 
 ceive an idea of any happiness beyond this, or be- 
 sides it. By what means shall such a groveling 
 spirit be raised to just conceptions, and delight- 
 ful sentiments of God ? What can such a man 
 discern to allure his thoughts or engage his affec- 
 tions in that liberality, that overflowing goodness 
 of the Almighty, which, whilst it admonishes him 
 that it is more blessed to give than to receive, re- 
 bukes, at the same time, with so much severity* 
 
180 On the Care and Diligence required 
 
 his own principles and temper ? As far indeed 
 as he is interested in this liberality, and actually 
 benefited by it, he may possibly conceive something 
 like the sentiments of religious gratitude and joy ; 
 yet. if you consider how natural it is for such a cha- 
 racter to be wholly engrossed by what he already 
 has, or wishes to obtain ; to regard all he possesses, 
 merely as the fruit of his own ingenuity, care, or 
 industry, you will not readily suspect him of so 
 much infidelity to the idol deity he worships, as 
 either ardently or frequently to lift up his soul unto 
 Him, who is the great and sole giver of every good, 
 and every perfect gift. 
 
 The love of God, like the word of God, can 
 neither thrive nor live among the weeds of world- 
 liness ; though the seed be sown, though it begin 
 to vegetate and open, yet the soil is too shallow 
 for it to strike root ; it will be devoured by the 
 vultures of earthly passions, or scorched and 
 withered by the heat of base, ungovernable, and 
 envious desires. If then, so base a principle as 
 that of worldliness has got root within our hearts, 
 let us pluck it up with unrelenting indignation. If 
 our hearts are happily uninfected by it, sensible of 
 its infamy, of its danger, and irreconcileable incon- 
 sistency with the nobler principles of our uncor- 
 rupted nature, and our Christian calling, with the 
 love of God, and all those great and glorious and 
 blest affections that accompany it, that flow from it, 
 and are nourished by it; sensible of its inconsisten- 
 cy with all that can adorn our characters on earth, 
 or prepare our souls for heaven; let us keep our 
 hearts with all diligence ; let us walk circumspect- 
 ly, lest we fall into the snares of this world ; let us 
 walk vigilantly, lest by its seducing blandishments, 
 it insinuate itself into our affections ; let us study to 
 
io preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 181 
 
 attain just notions of its value in itself, and of its 
 importance unto us. 
 
 Are the possessions of the world, the posses- 
 sions of the soul ? Do they infallibly carry with 
 them comfort and delight ? Are they capable of 
 being enjoyed in all the circumstances, do they re- 
 main unaltered through all the vicissitudes of life ? 
 Are they stable and secure ; proof against all dan- 
 gers, subject to no violence, liable to no change or 
 revolution? While they soothe one principle of 
 our nature, do they no violence or injury to any 
 other ? While they flatter, do they never wound 
 us ? While they gratify, do they never mortify our 
 souls ? While they smile and promise fair, do they 
 never disappoint us with sudden frowns, and be- 
 tray us into vain distresses? Are they as desirable 
 for their consequences, as for themselves? Whilst 
 they possess the mind, exclude they not thence any 
 other valuable enjoyment ? Are they attainable by 
 all ? Are one man's acquisitions of them, no ob- 
 struction to the interests of another, no cause of 
 discontent, no object of jealousy or envy ? These, 
 my brethren, are properties that by no means be- 
 long to this world, its possessions, and felicities; 
 they are, for the most part, the noble, and the pre- 
 cious characteristicks of those good affections, of 
 that approving conscience, of those spiritual joys 
 and celestial treasures, which alone are worthy of 
 the warm desires and pursuit of a moral and im- 
 mortal being ; in which, true riches and honour alone 
 consist, and without which, whatever else you have, 
 and whatever else you are, you can neither be hap- 
 py, safe, nor easy. 
 
 What a portion is this world's goods, for a mo- 
 ral, an intellectual, and an immortal being, made 
 
 13 
 
182 On the Care and Diligence required 
 
 in the Divine Image, and capable of partaking in 
 the glories of a Divine Nature ! What folly does 
 it argue, what a wretched choice, what an abject 
 taste, to take up our rest on earth, when the gates 
 of heaven are thrown open to us ! To content 
 ourselves with a low, an insincere, and short-lived 
 happiness, when pure, sublime, and everlasting joys 
 are set before us ! What a wretch is that, who can 
 delight to grovel with the insect in the dust, when 
 with Angels he might soar into the presence, and 
 aspire unto the friendship of his Maker ! How un- 
 worthy is he even of that happiness which this world 
 can give, who is capable of resting in it as his end, 
 the completion of his wishes, and the satisfaction of 
 his desires ! 
 
 But what is the happiness that this world can 
 give ? Can it defend us from disasters ? Can it pro- 
 tect us from diseases ? Can it preserve our hearts 
 from grief, our eyes from tears, or our feet from 
 falling? Can it prolong our comforts ? Can it mul- 
 tiply our days ? Can it redeem ourselves or our 
 friends from death ? Can it soothe the king of ter- 
 rours; or mitigate the agonies of dying ? Can it 
 deliver us from the bondage of iniquity ; cleanse us 
 from the pollutions of guilt; or ease our burdened 
 consciences ? Can it restore, or sanctify the mind 
 that we have depraved ? Can it purchase for us a 
 favourable issue in the day of final retribution, and 
 insure to us an honourable portion, and happy set- 
 tlement in the unchangeable and eternal world ? If 
 not, wherefore is it so high in our esteem ? If it 
 be so weak, and impotent, and vain, if it have so 
 little influence on our most momentous interests, 
 both in this life, and in another, why does it lie 
 so close unto our hearts? Why should it light up 
 such keen desires, and create such invincible at- 
 tachments ? When my conscience is oppressed with 
 
I 
 
 to preserve, and keep alive (he Love of God. 183 
 
 uilt; when I am alarmed with the apprehension of a 
 uture reckoning, what is the world to me ? What 
 comfort, or what hope can it administer? When my 
 conscience bears testimony to my integrity and virtue ; 
 when my hopes of a future recompense are just and 
 lively — what is the world to me ? What need I from 
 it ? What want I of its consolations ? When my heart 
 is torn with grief, or oppressed with melancholy ; 
 when my limbs are racked with pain, or my bod) lan- 
 guishing in sickness, what is the world to me ? That 
 my habitation is splendid, that my roof is gilded, 
 that my dependents are not a few, and my treasure 
 not a little, does this afford me any mitigation of my 
 anguish ? When the period of life has overtaken 
 me, and the awful messenger of death has read me 
 the summons of my departure out of it» what is 
 the world to me ? When 1 lie upon a dying bed, 
 watching my ebbing life, expecting every breath 
 to be my last, and waiting for that solemn moment, 
 when the world invisible shall open on my soul, 
 what is this world to me ? 
 
 Anticipate that solemn moment ; it will be with 
 you in reality ere long. Place yourselves on the 
 verge of time, imagine that your course is finished, 
 that your glass is run out ; and from the margin of 
 eternity, look at the approaching and at the reced- 
 ing world : how vast, how sudden, how inexpres- 
 sible a change in your conceptions and affections! 
 how much is the one world magnified; the other, 
 how much diminished in your view ! Arrived at 
 such a period, things seen and temporal, all that 
 we possessed, and all that we wished for upon 
 earth, shrink into vanity and nothing: things spiri- 
 tual and invisible, all that we esteemed so lightly, 
 and neglected so unreasonably in the moral and 
 eternal worlds, swell into infinite importance, and 
 appear to us all in all. How insignificant are the 
 
184 On the Care and Diligence required 
 
 possessions that lately were so much prized, and 
 in which we so much vaunted ! How cool and lan- 
 guid the desires that lately were so fervent and so 
 restless ! How indifferent our regards to this world, 
 which lately were so cordial and sincere ! 
 
 Why am I so enamoured of a vapour, that ap- 
 peareth but for a little while ; of a vapour, on 
 which before it perisheth, my eyes may be for ever 
 closed ? A stranger and pilgrim upon earth, why 
 should my treasures and my heart be fixed, where 
 my days are as a shadow, gliding hastily, constant- 
 ly, and incessantly away? Hurried as I am down 
 the stream of time, shall I set my heart on the fad- 
 ing flowers, that grow upon its banks ? No, I must 
 not be so injurious to myself; I must not be so un- 
 grateful to my Maker. The creature must not 
 hold the Creators place in my esteem. The world 
 must not banish God from my heart. Eternity 
 must not be sacrificed to the little interests of 
 time. 
 
 Cease then, thou momentary world ! cease, ye 
 seducing vanities, flatter us no more with your 
 glowing colours, and seductive smiles. Peace, 
 ye disturbers of our rest! Peace, ye vain imagina- 
 tions, why are you so busily employed to give the 
 world a false importance, to set it forth in falla- 
 cious visions, to divert our souls from God, and to 
 rob our Creator of our hearts ? Let the living God 
 be our portion and our stay ; let heaven be our 
 home and aim; let us not despise, yet let us not 
 overvalue this present world ; let us bless our Ma- 
 ker for its comforts, while we pray to him to pre- 
 serve us from its snares. " Love not the world, 
 neither the things that are in the world. If any 
 man love the world, the love of the father is not 
 in him ; for all that is in the world, the lust of the 
 
to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 185 
 
 flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is 
 not of the father, but is of the world ; and the 
 world passeth away and the lusts thereof, but he 
 that doeth the will of God, abideth for ever." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who 
 art, and who wast, and who art to come ! From 
 everlasting to everlasting thou art God, the same 
 yesterday, to-day, and for ever ! Surrounded as 
 we are by ten thousand objects that continually so- 
 licit our attention, interrupt our progress in spi- 
 ritual attainments, and call our affections off from 
 thee, enable us, we humbly beseech thee, to be 
 ever on our guard, that they gain not the dominion 
 over us; that they overcome not that love to thee, 
 which ought ever to be the ruling principle, and 
 which constitutes at once, our duty and our happi- 
 ness ! 
 
 The time we know is short, and uncertain as 
 well as short, may we therefore use the world as 
 not abusing it, knowing that the fashion thereof 
 soon passeth away. — All flesh is as grass, and all 
 the beauty thereof, as the flower of the grass, — 
 the grass withereth and the flower fadeth, but the 
 goodness of God abideth for ever. While we con- 
 tinue steadfast in his covenant, we are persuaded 
 that nothing shall ever separate us from the love 
 which God hath to us — O may nothing ever cool 
 our love to thee, or at all abate our diligence, zeal, 
 and alacrity in thy service ! The life that we now 
 live in the flesh, may it be by the faith of the son 
 of God ; thereby may we finally overcome the 
 world, and be presented faultless before the throne 
 of thy glory, with exceeding joy. 
 
DISCOURSE X. 
 
 ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF THE LOVE OF 
 PLEASURE, WITH THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 II. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, ill. 4. 
 
 Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
 
 Devotion is by no means the characteristick of the 
 age. The love of pleasure is one of its most strik- 
 ing features; it has infected every rank of life; it 
 discovers itself upon every occasion ; we meet with 
 evidences of it in every district and in every street. 
 Even though the general manners were not advanc- 
 ed so far, in nominal refinement, but in real depra- 
 vation, as that men were already become lovers of 
 pleasure, more than lovers of God ; yet, whoever 
 is acquainted with the allurements of pleasure, and 
 the sediicibility of man, could not be absolutely free 
 from apprehension, that when once the love of plea- 
 sure is become the fashion of the times, it will con- 
 tinue and even prevail, in despite of the most vi- 
 gorous efforts of the friends of virtue and religion, 
 to subdue or to restrain it, till its pernicious conse- 
 quences, by inducing general calamity, have fully 
 demonstrated how mischievous and ruinous a princi- 
 ple it is. In such conjunctures, though we cannot 
 
On the Incompatibility of the Love, &c. 187 
 
 turn the torrent, we may perhaps do something to 
 contract its ruinous effects — we ourselves at least 
 may step aside out of its course, and may have the 
 power, perhaps, of taking some that we love along 
 with us. 
 
 In the following Discourse therefore, it is my in- 
 tention to show you, that there is a real opposition 
 between the love of pleasure and the love of God. 
 But before we enter upon this topick, it may be ne- 
 cessary to observe, 
 
 In the first place, That we mean not to affirm 
 this concerning every species of pleasure ; and, 
 
 In the second, To point out some of the causes 
 which have unavoidably occasioned considerable 
 confusion both in our ideas and language upon this 
 and similar subjects. And 
 
 First, We mean not to affirm this concerning 
 every species of pleasure; because the greater our 
 sensibility to moral pleasures, and the higher our 
 delight in them, the more lively and the more pow- 
 erful will be our love of God. Neither would we 
 affirm it concerning every degree of the love of plea- 
 sure, in any meaning of the term; because the love 
 of pleasure is a natural principle, made necessary 
 by the great and beneficent Author of our frame, 
 not only to our well being, but even to our exist- 
 ence. All our affections are implanted in us by the 
 Author of nature, and are then only vicious, when 
 they are perverted to those objects to which he has 
 not directed them ; or, when their degree, either 
 through excess or defect, corresponds not with the 
 measure of those qualities in any object by which 
 they are respectively excited : and it is only in some 
 
188 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 or other of these circumstances, that they become 
 sinful and inconsistent with one another. While 
 every passion of our hearts is directed to its pro- 
 per object, and continues in its just degree, so Jong 
 the gratification of them is practicable and consist* 
 ent ; they encroach not upon each other, and none 
 of them are either criminal or disgraceful. 
 
 But, in the second place, it happens, that although 
 we have names for many of our affections, signifi- 
 cant of their general nature, significant also of 
 the affection in its excess or its defect ; yet, in very 
 few instances are we provided with different terms 
 whereby to distinguish it when indifferent, neither 
 laudable nor blameable, from the same affection in 
 its excess, in which, it is in one way criminal, or in 
 its defect, in which it is criminal in another way. 
 Pride, and anger, are two censurable passions : the 
 one being the excess of that affection that is natu- 
 rally excited by the consideration of what is wor- 
 thy in ourselves ; the other, the excess of that af- 
 fection, which insults necessarily awaken. But, for 
 these affections, in their general nature, in which 
 they are indifferent ; or in their defect, in which 
 they are faulty, we have no appropriate terms. If 
 we would speak of them accurately and usefully, 
 we must describe them in several terms, and care- 
 fully distinguish them from pride and anger, which 
 are the names only of the excess. 
 
 From this narrowness of language arises much 
 confusion in our ideas, giving birth to many pre- 
 judices, which, in their effects may be hurtful to 
 the comfort, and even to the good conduct of life; 
 and hence it becomes necessary, to attend closely, 
 and distinguish accurately, when either the nature, 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 189 
 
 or the obligations of man, are the subjects of our 
 meditation or discourse. 
 
 For that affection, or rather for that class of af- 
 fections which we comprehend under the deno- 
 mination of the love of pleasure, we have only this 
 single term to signify its general nature; we have 
 no names to distinguish it according to the different 
 objects it embraces, nor even to express its exces- 
 ses or defects. Unless we enter into a particular 
 description of them, we have nothing but this gene- 
 ral term by which to express all these various senti- 
 ments, and all their different degrees* But it is 
 obvious, that with regard to some objects of delight, 
 our love of pleasure cannot be criminally weak, 
 although in regard to others, it may he blameably 
 defective ; in respect to some sources of delight, it 
 is not probable, it is not perhaps possible, that it 
 should run into excesses, in respect of others, it is 
 very prone so to do; and there is hardly any class of 
 pleasures, in respect of which there is not some de- 
 gree of affection that is innocent, because natural 
 and unavoidable : hence it follows, that what is true 
 of any one thing, which we call the love of plea- 
 sure, is by no means true of all that we mean at 
 any time by that name. 
 
 The pleasures spoken of by the Apostle, be- 
 tween which and the love of God we proposed to 
 show you that there is a real opposition, are those 
 which we derive from sensible and external objects. 
 In respect of these, there are two different species 
 of the love of pleasure, which although, in the 
 higher ranks of life especially, are often combined, 
 may however, subsist apart, and when they do, they 
 constitute two different characters; the one pur- 
 sues the gratifications of a vain imagination, and 
 
 14 
 
190 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 forms the character of the giddy and the gay ; the 
 other, the gratification of the inferiour appetites, 
 and forms the character of the carnal and debauch- 
 ed. The hearts of the one, are in scenes of dissi- 
 pation and amusement, and there is their sove- 
 reign enjoyment ; the delight and desires of the 
 other, are in scenes of sensual indulgence, in ma- 
 king or enjoying the provision they have made, 
 "for the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof." 
 
 It is not difficult to perceive, that there is a real 
 opposition between either of these species of the 
 love of pleasure and the love of God ; for in the 
 first place, it is obvious, 
 
 That it is the natural effect of both, to divert the 
 attention of the mind from those discoveries of God, 
 out of which the love of him must take its rise. 
 
 The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 earth is full of the riches of the Lord; "Day unto 
 day uttereth speech, and night unto night teacheth 
 us," how worthy he is of our affection. The se- 
 date and thoughtful will receive these lessons, they 
 will feel their influence, and will rejoice from clay to 
 day in the benignity of their Maker. God deals with 
 his creatures according to the faculties he has given 
 them. We may know him if we search after him, 
 but the discoveries he makes of himself, are neither 
 of such a nature, nor made in such a manner, as to 
 force their way into a mind indifferent to this divine 
 knowledge; they will not obtrude themselves upon 
 us, while our hearts and thoughts are employed 
 upon other objects, and engrossed by very different 
 pursuits. Our religious affections depend upon our 
 religious knowledge; and both, on our attention and 
 endeavours to obtain them. The excellencies of an 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 191 
 
 unknown God can make no impression on our 
 hearts; neither can the knowledge of God be ac- 
 quired, or improved, in scenes of vanity and dis- 
 sipation, or amidst the ferment of licentious plea- 
 sures, and irregular desires. A mind, inflamed by 
 the expectation, or intoxicated by the enjoyment of 
 sensual pleasure, hears nothing that either Nature 
 or Providence deposes concerning God, their au- 
 thor. Their calm, still voice, must be listened to, in 
 order to be heard ; and attended to, in order to be 
 understood. 
 
 It is not when the heart is captivated by the frivo- 
 lous amusements, or when the eye is dazzled with 
 "the pride of life," that we can see, or are disposed 
 to see the manifestations of the glory of God. So 
 long as our views are attracted by the glare of world- 
 ly vanities, or centred on the object of some sensual 
 desire, the discoveries of God's glory, however obvi- 
 ous, and however clear, will elude our observation; 
 they will be to us as if they were not. If the current 
 of our affections be directed towards sensible objects, 
 and the force of habit have once fixed them in that 
 channel, it will carry all our thoughts along with 
 it, and will leave us little inclination, and indeed 
 little power, to employ our attention upon any 
 thing, that has not some obvious relation to those 
 scenes and objects in which we have our principal 
 delight. It avails not that our general apprehen- 
 sions of God, his character and government, may 
 be just. General apprehensions are always too 
 languid and obscure to awaken the affections of the 
 heart. It is only by a serious and continued atten- 
 tion to the particular displays of the perfections of 
 God, that the correspondent sentiments can be ex- 
 cited in our breasts: while our attention is engross- 
 ed by other objects, whatever we may know of him 
 in general, our love to him will not rise. 
 
192 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 In the second place, There is a real inconsisten- 
 cy between that love of pleasure which the Apos- 
 tle censures, and the love of God, in as much as it 
 has a natural tendency to render our hearts insensi* 
 ble to those excellencies of the divine nature, which 
 are the causes and the objects of that affection, 
 which we call the love of God. 
 
 It is one natural effect of religious truth, where- 
 ever it is clearly discerned, and cordially embrac- 
 ed, to increase our sensibility to moral excellence, 
 to raise our ideas of the importance of moral 
 worth ; whilst, on the contrary, the school of plea- 
 sure has never been recommended as a school of 
 moral sensibility. It has often been lamented, that, 
 hy the enchantments of pleasure, the finer feelings 
 of the human heart, its attachment unto moral ex- 
 cellence, its thirst after true glory, its admiration 
 of whatever things are "just, true, pure, lovely, 
 venerable, and of good report," have not only 
 been enfeebled, but suspended, and not only sus- 
 pended for a season, but sometimes laid asleep for 
 ever. But our love of God depends upon the mo- 
 ral sensibility of our hearts, for it must arise out of 
 our perception of the moral excellencies of his cha- 
 racter. In his eternity, he is awful ; in his omnipo- 
 tence,fhe is tremendous ; it is in the moral glories of 
 his character, that God is the object of our esteem, 
 our veneration, and our love. It is his purity, his 
 equity, his veracity, his fidelity, his love of virtue, 
 his abhorrence of unrighteousness ; his attention 
 to the wants, his condescension to the frailties of 
 his creatures, his tender mercies, and his liberal 
 beneficence which extends itself to all his works; 
 these are the perfections that we love in God, and 
 in proportion to our sensibility to the excellence of 
 these perfections, will be the vivacity of the love 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 193 
 
 we bear him. If we discern nothing excellent in 
 these, we shall discern nothing excellent in God, ex- 
 cept those attributes of independence and of pow- 
 er, which, separated from his moral glories, would 
 render him an object of terrour, rather than of 
 love. If our hearts are become so callous that 
 these moral beauties can make no impression on 
 them, the love of God can have no admittance 
 there. 
 
 What think you, Christians, is not levity an 
 enemy to piety ? Can the love of God maintain it- 
 self in a life of unceasing dissipation? Is it in a 
 round of frivolous amusements, is it in the crowd of 
 ostentatious vanities, that the taste for moral digni- 
 ty is to be acquired ? Is it hither you would send us 
 to improve and cultivate our relish of moral beauty 
 and of spiritual excellence ? The mind that is capa- 
 ble of prostituting its affections to those vain and 
 trivial things, is that mind capable of any deep im- 
 pressions from the moral excellencies of its Maker? 
 — Is that mind capable of so nobie and so elevated 
 an affection as the love of God ? Can the soul that 
 dotes upon the gayeties and splendours of the 
 world ; that aspires to no higher happiness, than 
 what they can bestow ; that centres all its wishes 
 and pursuits on these, can that little soul expand 
 itself to admit the influences of its Creator's glo- 
 ries ? 
 
 But if this be true of that species of the love 
 of pleasure which constitutes the character of the 
 giddy and the gay, what shall we say of the car- 
 nal mind ? — Look into the frame of the human 
 heart — Look into the world, and you will presently 
 be convinced of the destructive influences of volup- 
 tuousness and sensuality, to deprave our principles, 
 
194 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 to impair our powers, and to lay waste all the beau- 
 ties and honours of the mind. Whence is it, that the 
 men of pleasure are usually as licentious in their 
 principles, as they are libertine in their conduct ? Is 
 it not that, whatever tends to enliven or preserve 
 their moral sensibility, tends to show them to them- 
 selves in an unacceptable light ? mixes the gall of 
 bitterness with their pleasures, and must be shunned 
 by them at whatever expense ? Is it not that, what- 
 ever, on the contrary, tends to deaden or destroy 
 this sensibility to moral worth, cooperates with 
 their love of pleasure, which has itself the same ten- 
 dency, and encourages them to walk u in the ways of 
 their hearts, and in the sight of their eyes ?" 
 
 To love God, is to delight in him ; but what de- 
 light can he take in God, whose chosen friends, the 
 companions of his unworthy pleasures, are the 
 meanest and most detestable of mankind ? What 
 delight can he take in God, whose soul is so much 
 engrossed, one while by the pursuit and the antici- 
 pation, another while by the enjoyment of the basest 
 gratifications, that God perhaps is not in all his 
 thoughts ? W r hat delight can he take in God, who 
 has fixed his portion and his happiness in licentious 
 pleasure ? Divested of the understanding that dis- 
 cerns justly between the things that differ, divested 
 of the freedom that prefers those that are most ex- 
 cellent, unable to raise his thoughts to the contem- 
 plation of the Deity ; at least unable to relish so 
 refined and so sublime a pleasure, can a wretch like 
 this have delight in God ? Hardened into such 
 insensibility to every thing that is worthy and 
 excellent, to every thing, that honourably distin- 
 guishes the nature, and which dignifies the soul of 
 man, what love can such a heart conceive for the pure^ 
 the holy, the spiritual excellencies of God ? What 
 joy will he entertain in the contemplation of the 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 195 
 
 divine government, so full of mercy and of love ; or 
 what affection will he, whose heart is contracted 
 within the narrow sphere of its own meanest inte- 
 rests, what affection will he conceive towards that 
 God, whose glory and whose praise it is, that ' his 
 tender mercies are over all his works?' Sensuality 
 is a gulf of bottomless perdition, where every thing 
 noble, respectable, and excellent is lost. It renders 
 us inattentive and insensible to those excellencies, 
 and the displays of those excellencies of his, whence 
 the love of God proceeds. It would be almost 
 as reasonable to look for this amiable principle in 
 the abodes of hopeless misery, as to seek for it in 
 the corruptions of the carnal mind. The carnal 
 mind is the grave of reason, of virtue, of devotion, 
 of honour, of happiness, and of hope ; it is the dis- 
 grace and the curse of man; it is both the enemy 
 and the abhorrence of his Maker. If you are asham- 
 ed of reason and of conscience; if you wish to bid 
 adieu to all that is great, and good, and celestial, 
 and divine; if you have no satisfaction in those sub- 
 limer powers of your frame, by which being like to 
 God, you might approach him, and enjoy his favour, 
 bury them in the abyss of sensual indigencies, that 
 you may abandon yourselves without restraint to 
 the dictates of the carnal mind. But remember, 
 licentious Sinner, remember, that once buried there, 
 they may revive no more ; once dead, and their 
 death sealed by they determined profligacy and im- 
 penitence, they are dead forever; the sacred senti- 
 ments of virtue will live no more within thy breast; 
 the flames of divine love will animate thy soul no 
 more. All is over with thee as to heaven and eter- 
 nity, and the few short hours that remain of mortal 
 life, will add little to thy pleasure, but much to thy 
 dishonour : and when this world has resigned thee, 
 where wilt thou be found? To whom wilt thou 
 
196 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 repair for comfort ? Whither wilt thou betake thy- 
 self? — To heaven? Alas, there dwells that God 
 with whom, in the day of thy probation, thou didst 
 live at enmity: There dwell those holy spirits who 
 seek their happiness in the divine favour, and give 
 up all their powers to the influence of his excellen- 
 cies, and the fulfilment of his will : These, in truth, 
 are the only mansions of light, and life, and joy ; but 
 there nothing enters that defiieth ; all is spotless 
 purity, and ardent love. 
 
 Beware, my friends, beware ye of the carnal mind; 
 ; it is enmity,' saith the Apostle, ' against God;' the 
 completion of it is miserably fatal ; its excesses 
 are dreadfully dangerous ; every degree of it wars 
 against the soul, invades its peace, destroys its com- 
 fort, and threatens to dispossess it of those divine 
 affections which it is its duty, its honour, and its hap- 
 piness to entertain. Like all other vicious habits, it 
 begins, perhaps, insensibly, and proceeds by degrees 
 to its completion : the first approaches, therefore, 
 towards it, ought to excite your fear, and employ 
 your vigilance. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Almighty and most righteous God ! Thou 
 art great, and greatly to be feared, and to be had in 
 reverence of all those that come nigh unto thee. 
 Ever mindful of the snares and dangers by which we 
 are surrounded, of the allurements of pleasure, and of 
 our own manifold infirmities, — may we be enabled to 
 keep our hearts with all diligence, that nothing may 
 ever find admittance there, that will not bear the 
 eye of God. Pardon, we beseech thee, whatever 
 thou mayest have seen amiss hitherto, in our temper 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 197 
 
 or our conduct, and may it henceforth be our invaria- 
 ble resolution, that, whatever others do, we will 
 serve the Lord. 
 
 Sanctify us throughout in every principle of our 
 nature. May we not be conformed to this world, 
 ensnared by its licentious principles, or seduced by 
 its fleeting and unhallowed pleasures; but may thy 
 grace, which brings salvation, teach us, denying all 
 ungodliness, and worldly lusts, to live soberly, right- 
 eously, and piously, looking for that blessed hope, 
 and the glorious appearing of the great God, and 
 our Saviour Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us, 
 that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify 
 to himself a peculiar people zealous of good works. 
 May we ever keep it in remembrance, that if we 
 hold out unto the end, our day of recompense will be 
 proportionably glorious and happy, and by the pa- 
 tient continuance in well doing, may we seek for 
 glory, honour, and immortality, till we have obtained 
 the crown of life. 
 
 15 
 
DISCOURSE XI. 
 
 ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF THE LOVE OF 
 PLEASURE, WITH THE LOVE OF GOD 
 
 PART II. 
 
 11. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, 1U. 4. 
 
 Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
 
 The heart of man is contracted or dilated accord- 
 ing to the objects on which its affections are em- 
 ployed. Are they mean and trivial ? Great, and 
 noble, and important objects may present themselves 
 before it, but they will leave no impressions there. 
 Are the objects great, and noble, and important, to 
 which the stream of its affections has been ordinarily 
 and habitually directed ? whatever objects do not 
 answer to this character, though they may make 
 some faint and transient impressions, will solicit the 
 dominion of it in vain. It is not from the giddy and 
 the gay; it is not from the vain and the dissipated, 
 from those who are devoted to the frivolous pastimes, 
 or the glaring pageantry of life ; it is not from these 
 that we expect any great achievements in the serious 
 affairs even of this world ; we reckon, and experi- 
 ence justifies that account, that they are incapable 
 of conducting them; we expect to find, and experi- 
 ence ordinarily justifies the expectation, that they 
 are incapable of being properly impressed by them. 
 
On the Incompatibility of the Love, &c. 109 
 
 It is not in a heart like this, that you look for any 
 great degree, or any wise exertions of parental 
 tenderness, of filial affection, or of faithful friendship. 
 This is not the character in which you would wish 
 to clothe either your fathers, or your children, or 
 your friends; and wherefore ? what reason can you 
 give for that reluctance to conceive of those with 
 whom you are thus connected, under such a cha- 
 racter, but the persuasion which experience of hu- 
 man nature and of human life, has wrought in you, 
 that levity consists not with any just sensibility of 
 spirit ? 
 
 It is a very serious truth, to which the attention 
 of this age should be perpetually called, that levity, 
 as well as sensuality, may superinduce an impe- 
 netrable callousness upon the human heart; and 
 in time, through the power of habit, may render 
 it absolutely unimpressible by the weightiest and 
 most interesting objects in the universe. It should 
 be reminded also, that the love of pleasure, from 
 which both these affections spring, is a cpntagious 
 passion, the principle subsists in every heart, is 
 inseparable from human nature, and may easily 
 be kindled into an undue degree of ardour. Its 
 excesses easily communicate themselves from heart 
 to heart; the fire runs and spreads and diffuses 
 itself far and wide. — Alas, you need not look far 
 into the world, to see the exemplification of this 
 melancholy truth ! Of you, my friends, I would hope 
 that, to engage you to beware of so pestilent a 
 principle, 1 need not to urge you, with any other 
 argument than this single consideration, that you 
 cannot reconcile the love of pleasure with the love 
 of God. If, to be conformed to this world, be in- 
 consistent with your conformity to the image of the 
 son of God, you will not suffer yourselves to be 
 
200 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 carried down by the tide, either of prevailing vices, 
 or of fashionable vanities. You know that, upon 
 your conformity to his image depends the dignity of 
 your character, your peace of mind, your hope in 
 God while you live in this present world, and your 
 safety also and happiness, in that eternal world to 
 which you are going ; " for, if any man have not 
 the spirit of Christ, he is none of his." — -On your 
 love to God, you know, depends his love to you ; 
 whoso honoureth me, saith God, I will honour, 
 but whoso despiseth me, shall himself be lightly es- 
 teemed. 
 
 And can you, Christians, can you, to the love of 
 pleasure, sacrifice the love of God? If the maxims, 
 the manners, and pursuits that prevail around 
 you, are injurious to this sacred principle, you will 
 step aside out of the stream in which it would be 
 extinguished. The pleasures of sin, you well 
 know, are but for a very short season, and for 
 these, surely, you will not relinquish your hope 
 and expectation from his mercy, which endureth for 
 ever! 
 
 It is no pleasing prospect to be a spectator of 
 the vices and follies of men, but it is a much bet- 
 ter state than to be a partaker in them. Who 
 would not choose to stand, though it were alone, 
 upon the rock of ages, loving God, and beloved by 
 him, than to plunge into the downward current of 
 licentious pleasures and unprofitable vanities, al- 
 though thousands of all that the world calls great 
 and honourable were embarked upon it, and in- 
 vited him to join them ? If therefore it appears to 
 you, that the love of pleasure is inconsistent with 
 the love of God, in any degree inconsistent with 
 the subsistence, the establishment, or the growth 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 201 
 
 of this heavenly affection, the character of the text 
 will not be your character ; whatever becomes of 
 the love of pleasure, you will hold fast your love 
 to God. If you must deny yourselves, it will be 
 in the meaner, rather than in the nobler affections 
 of your nature ; you will disdain a life of plea- 
 sure, if you cannot find it in living unto God. But, 
 even this sacrifice, small as it would be in compari- 
 son, will not in ordinary cases be rendered neces- 
 sary ; for, 
 
 It is to the honour of true religion, that it is a 
 reasonable service; that it requires of us no rigo- 
 rous austerities, or superstitious mortifications; that 
 while the service of vice is absolutely incompatible 
 with the gratification of all our natural principles, 
 and requires the sacrifice of the best, to the in- 
 dulgence of the meaner passions, Religion provides 
 for the gratification of them all. By the proper 
 regulation of their objects and their measures, she 
 reconciles their interfering interests; and it is by 
 the observance of her precepts alone, that they 
 can be made harmonious and consistent. To gra- 
 tify one vicious passion, it must often happen, that 
 another vicious passion must be mortified : the be- 
 nefit and pleasure of every vice, so far as there is 
 any benefit or pleasure in them, cannot be com- 
 bined together: but all the virtues harmonize per- 
 fectly with each other, and with religious plea- 
 sures; may live together in the same heart; and 
 do not, necessarily, exclude from it any one inno- 
 cent enjoyment. 
 
 Where the love of God is the sovereign princi- 
 ple, the love of pleasure may have its sweetest 
 gratifications ; but, where the love of pleasure is 
 the sovereign principle, there, the love of God must 
 
202 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 languish and decline. Where the question is, how 
 may I recommend myself to God ? where his ap- 
 probation is made the great end of life; there, 
 whatever he hath given us the capacity and the 
 opportunity of enjoying, with innocence and pru- 
 dence, will naturally be embraced by us, as an 
 agreeable, at least, if not a laudable concurrence 
 with the kind intentions of our Maker, and the 
 friendly invitations of his providence. But, where 
 the only question is, in what can 1 indulge my- 
 self? where amusement and enjoyment is propos- 
 ed as the great end of life, there, the love of God, 
 if it could be supposed that there was a capacity 
 of relishing devotional enjoyments, is an object, by 
 no means sufficiently obvious and sensible to be 
 taken into the account of happiness; it is of too 
 remote and refined a nature to be sought after 
 by the sensual, for the sake of the pleasure it 
 affords. 
 
 Will the carnal mind exert itself to make invi- 
 sible and spiritual things the objects of its de- 
 liberate contemplation ? will that which it re- 
 lishes in the works of God, lead on the carnal 
 mind to the perception and the adoration of his 
 moral glories ? Will these be the chosen subject 
 of its thoughts ; and to cherish the sentiments 
 that belong to them, its desire and delight ? Can 
 the carnal mind conceive a purpose so remote from 
 its habits and its pleasures? Will it willingly, will 
 it seriously, will it frequently employ itself in the 
 creation, in the providence, and in the oracles of 
 God, with the intention to excite and to enliven its 
 affection towards him ? If its Creator's excellencies 
 can indeed excite any good affections in it, will it 
 watch over the affections they have excited, that 
 they may not in its intercourse with other things 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 203 
 
 be extinguished or die away? Will the carnal 
 mind be jealous, lest, in its familiarity with sensible 
 and external things, it should contract an indisposi- 
 tion towards religious sentiments and affections, or 
 an inability of conceiving them with vivacity and 
 readiness ? Will it therefore often be returning to 
 those religious meditations and devotions, which 
 have power to renew the impressions when they are 
 decaying, to revive the love of God when it is lan- 
 guishing, and to keep our hearts as sensible as they 
 ought to be, to spiritual, moral, and eternal things ? 
 Will the carnal mind have these solicitudes, and 
 employ these means from time to time to perpetu- 
 ate upon it the influence of the love of God ? If 
 you cannot believe this, neither can you doubt, 
 that there is a real inconsistency between this spe- 
 cies of the love of pleasure, and the love of God ; 
 for without the exercise of such solicitudes, and the 
 application of such means, even in the mind that is 
 not carnal, the love of God cannot be maintained in 
 any tolerable measures of vivacity and power. 
 Again, 
 
 If such solicitude, care, and attention, be need- 
 ful to maintain and cultivate this divine affection, 
 can it flourish, can it live in the hearts of the giddy 
 and the gay ? Will they, to whom thought is 
 fatigue, who fly from amusement to amusement to 
 save themselves from their own minds ; will they 
 be induced, will they be able, to abstract their 
 thoughts from visible and external things ; to fix 
 them on God who is a spirit, whom no man hath 
 seen or can see, and all whose excellencies are spi- 
 ritually discerned ? — But what need have we to 
 reason on the subject? Did ever any one expect 
 to find a man of pleasure at his devotions? delight- 
 ing in the opportunity of retiring to his closet; pleas- 
 ed to indulge the sacred sentiments of religion, and 
 
204 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 assiduously cultivating the love cf God ? Is it the 
 men of pleasure that crowd our religious assem- 
 blies? Is it the men of pleasure that adorn our 
 sanctuaries with a truly decent and serious demea- 
 nour? with an appearance that betrays no con- 
 straint, no uneasiness, no impatient dissatisfaction, 
 or indifference ? Is it the men of pleasure that 
 sanctify the day of God ? — But it .is not necessary 
 in behalf of the doctrine I maintain, to multiply these 
 inquiries; even with themselves I may lodge the 
 appeal : it is no part of their pride that they are 
 religious ; this is a character that they are more apt 
 to deride than to affect; they do not, ordinarily, even 
 pretend to be devout.— Yet, my friends, suffer not 
 yourselves to be deceived ; let no man conclude that 
 because he hath not fully arrived at the open con- 
 tempt or even at the total neglect of religion and 
 religious ordinances, that therefore he is not a lover 
 of pleasure, more than a lover of God. True re- 
 ligion cannot subsist with the love of pleasure, but 
 the form of godliness may consist with and encourage 
 it. The offices of devotion, both publick and 
 private, may be performed, may be regularly and 
 habitually performed from very different motives, 
 and for very different ends. To nourish the spirit 
 of devotion, to promote the love of God, they can- 
 not be performed, where the love of pleasure is the 
 ruling principle ; — to deceive the world, to deceive 
 the persons themselves, they may. Try your de- 
 votions, do you mean to be really religious, or to ap- 
 pear so ? In reflecting on them, do you consider the 
 fruits of genuine piety that have arisen out of them ; 
 or, are you more disposed to attend to the merit you 
 think there is in them ; and under the consideration 
 of this merit, to excuse or to connive at those indul- 
 gences, of which yo\t have at least some suspicion 
 that they are not right ? If it be so, your piety is 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 203 
 
 irreligion, and however unwilling you may be to be- 
 lieve it, however averse to have others think so, you 
 are indeed lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of 
 God. 
 
 But to return, You are saying to yourselves, per- 
 haps, that your pleasures are none of them forbid- 
 den pleasures, and that you need not to be warned 
 against the practices of which you are not guilty. 
 Indeed, my friends, I would gladly hope, that to 
 warn you against pleasures that are decidedly licen- 
 tious, to exhort you to beware of criminal indulgen- 
 ces, whether of appetite or imagination, would be 
 superfluous and impertinent. You, I would willingly 
 persuade myself, have not so learned Christ — You 
 are too well acquainted with his doctrine concerning 
 the conditions of acceptance with your Maker, to 
 think of reconciling the hope of future happiness, 
 w r ith the indulgence, either of the " lust of the flesh, 
 or the lusts of the eye, or of the pride of life" in any 
 forbidden instance, or by any forbidden means. But 
 is it unknown to you, that no man suddenly becomes 
 abandoned ? Is it unknown to you, that vice 
 steals into the heart by imperceptible degrees, and 
 acquires her dominion over us in such manner and 
 by such means as may be least alarming ? Is it un- 
 known to you, that she allures our approaches to- 
 wards her, first by one step, in which considered 
 in itself there may be nothing blameable, and after- 
 wards by another, which compared with the former 
 may be very little different from it, till, at length, 
 by differences so minute that they escape our notice, 
 or perhaps even encourage our advances, she ac- 
 complishes the greatest revolutions in our character, 
 and alters it from good, to less good, from less good 
 to evil, from evil, downwards through its various 
 stages, till we arrive at last at the most abandoned ? 
 
 16 
 
206 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 Is this, my friends, unknown to you ? — Are you so 
 ignorant of the deceitfulness of sin, of the power 
 of habit, and the influence of example, as, that in an 
 age when the love of pleasure seems to be continu- 
 ally gaining ground upon the love of God, the cau- 
 tion to beware of it should be deemed superfluous ? 
 It cannot be. Vice ever lays hold on some natural 
 propensity to bring us into her power ; a good rea- 
 son surely why we should keep an attentive eye 
 and a steady rein upon these principles of our 
 frame that are most seducible, and the more steady, 
 and the more attentive, in proportion as external 
 circumstances favour their undue increase, or en- 
 courage and facilitate their corruption. 
 
 If there be, as you have seen there is, a real 
 opposition between the love of pleasure and the 
 love of God, it behoves us at every time and in every 
 scene, to set a guard upon this principle ; but, in a 
 scene and at a time in which almost every thing 
 around us, tends to induce, to inflame, and to em- 
 bolden this principle, it behoves us to be doubly 
 vigilant and resolute to restrain its wanderings, and 
 to check its growth. 
 
 I will suppose, if you will have it so, that you 
 neither are guilty, nor in danger of becoming guilty, 
 of any such voluptuous indulgences, as, considered 
 singly, and in themselves, are criminal ; yet you 
 have no reason to conclude from this, that in respect 
 to the love of pleasure, either your temper or your 
 conduct is what it ought to be. Though none of 
 your pleasurable gratifications, considered singly, 
 be criminal either in their nature or in their degree, 
 yet, notwithstanding this, your character may still 
 be exceedingly inexcusable and unworthy. Jt is 
 not merely the criminal gratifications of this passion 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 2,07 
 
 that are inconsistent with the love of God, it can- 
 not consist with even a prevailing taste for pleasure. 
 Where the desire and the pursuit of pleasure have 
 formed and fixed the habits of the mind, there, in 
 that mind, there is no room for the love of God. 
 Sensuality and levity of spirit, though they should 
 be so restricted, by regard to credit, or to interest, 
 or by any other principle, as never to break out 
 into any flagrant violations of the law of God, are, 
 nevertheless, where they constitute the temper of 
 the heart, irreconcilable enemies to the genuine love 
 of God. — Do not then, my friends, soothe your- 
 selves with the thought, that your pleasures are 
 neither of the basest nature, nor indulged to an ex- 
 travagant degree ; consider what your temper is ; 
 what are your prevailing affections ; what are your 
 habitual pursuits ? Is pleasure, not spiritual or 
 moral, but worldly pleasure of some species or other, 
 the idea that first meets you in these several in- 
 quiries ? — You are not then uninterested in any ad- 
 monition that warns you to beware of the love of 
 pleasure. Do not flatter yourselves with the reflec- 
 tion, that carnality or levity is not your appropriate 
 character. 
 
 A prevailing taste for the gayeties of the world; 
 for its entertainments and amusements, though they 
 be fashionable; for its games and pastimes, though 
 they be much practised, if not in every instance 
 equally ruinous, yet is as really incompatible with 
 the genuine sentiments of devotion, and with the 
 principles of pure and undefined Religion, as that 
 carnal mind which you pronounce to be highly ig- 
 nominious, and the enjoyments and pursuits of which, 
 it may be, are cordially despised by you, or perhaps 
 even held in absolute abhorrence. 
 
208 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 
 
 Would you then wish to Jove God ? Do you 
 acknowledge this to be the subject o( the first and 
 
 freat commandment? Do you own it, for what in- 
 eed it is, the fundamental principle of ali practical 
 Religion ? Do you believe, that they who love not 
 God, have nothing to hope for from his friend- 
 ship ? Beware of the love of pleasure ? it has a 
 natural tendency to deprive you of the purest plea- 
 sures of the present life, and at the same time to 
 disqualify you for the sublimer happiness of the life 
 that is to come. 
 
 What will be the pleasures of the world when 
 you are arrived at that hour, beyond which you can 
 stay no longer in it ? Such an hour you know will 
 come, and you do not know how soon. What think 
 you will be the reflections of the carnal mind o;i its 
 sensualities, when death is pulling down the fleshly 
 tabernacle, and the soul is starting forth into the 
 invisible and spiritual world? When it is going into 
 the presence, when it is going to the judgment seat 
 of God, will its sensualities stand instead of piety ? 
 will a life devoted to the pleasures of this world, 
 stand instead of a life devoted to the service of God ? 
 Will the vain, the giddy, and the gay, they whose 
 happiness consists in the amusements of the world, 
 and the entertainments of a roving and capricious 
 imagination ; will they be happy when all the amuse- 
 ments of the world, when all their wonted enter- 
 tainments, when flesh and heart, and every earthly 
 consolation fails them ? Will they bring their gaye- 
 ty along with them into that serious hour ? Will 
 their levity attend them through the vale of death, 
 and carry them with comfort through the solemni- 
 ties of judgment ? Will it recommend them to the 
 friendship of their Maker ? Will it entitle them to a 
 blessed immortality ? Will it qualify them for the 
 
Pleasure, with the Love of God. 209 
 
 business and the happiness of heaven, that, with a gay 
 unthinking heart, they passed through life, delighted 
 with its vanities, unimpressed by its importance, 
 inattentive to its business, and careless of its end ? 
 Will it cheer them in the solemn season of their dis- 
 solution, that in spite of every admonition to bring 
 them unto serious thought, and to engage them in the 
 proper business of life, their insensibility, giddiness, 
 and levity, had still maintained itself uncorrected ? 
 Will these be sweet reflections, capable of soothing 
 their departing pangs, capable of enlivening the 
 gloom of death ? Will they then feel no w T ant of the 
 sentiments and hopes of piety? Will they then suf- 
 fer nothing, for having permitted the vanities of this 
 life to exclude ihe Author of their being from their 
 hearts? Whose will be the most tranquil death- 
 bed ? Whose will be the most pleasurable immor- 
 tality ? His, whose probationary period has been 
 wasted on the gayeties and follies of life, or, his, 
 who devoted it to the exercise, to the culture, and 
 the obedience of the love of God? The man who 
 loves this world, will leave this world with reluc- 
 tance and with terrour. The man who loves God, 
 will go to the God he loves, with pleasure and with 
 joy. In the grave, there is no provision for the 
 flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof; in the grave, there 
 are no objects to entertain a vain imagination. 
 What the men of pleasure call pleasure, suffers 
 many interruptions from the inevitable afflictions 
 of life, and has a certain end, when life ends; and 
 here the immortal fruits of it begin, bitter and 
 distasteful fruits ! — But the love of God is a source 
 of pure and stable satisfaction which afflictions 
 need not interrupt, which death cannot end, which 
 the life to come will prolong, improve, immortalize, 
 and perfect. 
 
210 On the Incompatibility of the Love, &c. 
 
 Beware then of the love of pleasure ; take heed 
 lest it seduce, deceive, and destroy you. Keep 
 your hearts with all diligence, since out of them 
 are the issues of life. Your affections cannot be 
 more worthily fixed than upon him who implanted 
 them within you. — " My son," saith God, " give me 
 thy heart;" " Thou stialt love the Lord thy God," 
 saith the Son of God, " with all thy heart, and soul, 
 and ; strength this is the first and great command- 
 ment." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Almighty and most righteous Father — Who 
 can understand his errours, cleanse thou us from 
 secret faults; keep back thy servants also from 
 presumptuous sins, let them not have dominion over 
 us, then shall we be upright before thee, and in- 
 nocent from the great transgression. Enable us, we 
 humbly beseech thee, to be ever on our guard, re- 
 solutely to withstand the first approaches of what- 
 ever would alienate our affections from thee, or at 
 all impede our diligence, zeal, and alacrity in thy 
 service ! 
 
 We thank thee that thou hast given us a law, ex- 
 emplified in the life of our blessed Lord, to be a 
 light unto our feet and a lamp unto our paths. 
 May it sink deep into our hearts, ever maintain- 
 ing the dominion there, till at length, through thine 
 infinite mercy, we arrive in the land of everlasting 
 uprightness : — there, may we celebrate an eternal 
 triumph over sin, and sorrow, and infirmity, and 
 satisfied with thy likeness, be for ever happy in thy 
 heavenly presence ! 
 
DISCOURSE XII. 
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF THOSE, WHO ARE GO 
 VERNED BY THE LOVE OF PLEASURE. 
 
 II. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, ill. 4. 
 
 Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
 
 Having already endeavoured to evince that there 
 is a real opposition between that love of pleasure 
 condemned by our Apostle, and the love of God ; 
 the importance of the subject seems to require, in 
 order to assist you in the great duty of self examina- 
 tion, that we should specify some marks or signa- 
 tures of that character, in which the love of pleasure 
 so fatally prevails. Those marks of it which are 
 most obvious, we shall merely enumerate, dilating 
 upon such only, as may not at first sight appear to 
 be so directly opposed to the love of God. 
 
 If, then, to gratify your love of pleasure, you vio- 
 late the commands of God : — If, through the influ- 
 ence of the same principle, you neglect to do what 
 he requires of you : — If, in gratifying your love of 
 pleasure, you disqualify yourselves for the practice 
 of your duty ; you most assuredly fall under the 
 censure of the text. — Moreover, 
 
 If, though your pleasures are not a violation of the 
 law of God, though they do not exclude it from your 
 
212 Characteristicks of those who are 
 
 regard, nor disqualify you for jour duty ; yet, if you 
 believe that they are unlawful, and pursue them 
 still; or, if you believe that the measures in which 
 you are accustomed to indulge yourselves in them 
 are unlawful ; or, that the means is so by which you 
 obtain that indulgence, and stiil persist to proceed 
 such lengths, and to seek it by such means ; it is 
 not easy to discover, how you can elude the change, 
 of being lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
 Again, 
 
 If, though you are not quite certain, yet if you 
 suspect that your pleasures are unlawful ; or that 
 the length to which you pursue them is so ; or that 
 the means by which you seek after them is unlawful; 
 and yet, uninfluenced by this suspicion, you neither 
 change your conduct, nor satisfy yourselves concern- 
 ing it, you are lovers of pleasure, more than lovers 
 of God. 
 
 But, passing these observations, as being so obvi- 
 ous as to require only to be stated to obtain general 
 assent, we now proceed to those remarks, on which 
 we proposed to dilate, in order more powerfully to 
 prove their validity. And first, 
 
 If through the love of pleasure you neglect the 
 business of life, you cannot doubt about your charac- 
 ter, for the business of life is a part of the work 
 which God hath given you to do; and if you loved 
 the master above every other object, with all your 
 heart, and soul, and mind, and strength, could you 
 indulge any such extravagant desires after the vain 
 amusements or the sensual enjoyments of the world, 
 as should tempt you to neglect his work ? Wherever 
 true ideas of the business of life are entertained, 
 that business will not, from any motive, be neg- 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 213 
 
 lected, so long as the heart is governed by the love 
 of God. 
 
 Look around you, take a serious survey of human 
 life, observe the necessities to which man is subject, 
 the labours to which he is compelled, the sufferings 
 to which he is exposed, the obligations by which he 
 is bound, and from which he cannot by any argu- 
 ments persuade himself that he is released ; consider 
 what the conduct is to which he is prompted, and 
 what are the issues of conforming to the impulses of 
 nature, or of conscience, or of resisting them, and 
 then say, what you think of this present state ; is ft a 
 scene of pleasure, or a school of discipline ? — Was it 
 meant for a state of idleness, dissipation, and self- 
 indulgence ? or, is our term of life a term of service, 
 in which it is expected that we should be diligent in 
 business, faithful to our own best interests, and 
 useful unto all who are within the reach of our 
 beneficence ? Were we sent into this world to enjoy 
 its pleasures, or to improve its opportunities ? Are 
 our powers and faculties proportioned only to our 
 present state, and incapable of being exalted into 
 any thing above it ? Is the gratification of sensual 
 appetite, or of a vain imagination, the great end and 
 object of our existence ? Is this in every man's 
 power ? Would any man approve himself, if he 
 aimed at nothing more excellent than this ? Is this 
 the end to which every other thing is to be made 
 subservient? — to which every other interest is to be 
 sacrificed ? Does it import us nothing what we have 
 done in this world, and what character we have 
 formed when we go out of it, provided we have 
 been amused, and entertained, and gratified, during 
 our stay in it ? W r as it the primary intention of God, 
 in sending us into this world, that we should give 
 the rein to every importunate desire, or that we 
 
 17 
 
214 Characteristicks of those, who are 
 
 should be formed to virtue ? Which of these is it 
 that he recommends to us as the first object of our 
 endeavours and pursuits, and in which of these 
 views is it that he requires our cooperation ? If the 
 object of God, in sending us into this world, was 
 our complete enjoyment of it, how comes it to pass, 
 that this object is not, never has been^ and probably 
 never will be attained in any one instance ? If it 
 was not his chief intention to form us to virtue, to 
 all good habits, and to all moral excellence, whence 
 comes it to pass, that there is no state, no circum- 
 stance, no single occurrence of the present life, that 
 is not capable of being applied by us to the improve- 
 ment of our own characters ? If it cannot be believ- 
 ed, that in making man, and administering to him 
 his various circumstances, it was the ultimate design 
 of God, that he should spend a few short years in 
 pleasure ; then it follows, that he has some business 
 in this world ; that every man's peculiar business lies 
 in that sphere in which the providence of God has 
 appointed him to move, and that the proper business 
 of his station, is, in truth, the work of God. — And 
 can any man love God and neglect that work, to 
 gratify himself? 
 
 If the magistrate were pursuing his pleasures, 
 while the injured and oppressed were imploring in 
 vain for justice at his gates; if the parents of a family 
 were pursuing their pleasures, whilst their children 
 wanted bread, or, although they should be provided 
 with the necessaries of life, whilst they needed to be 
 formed to useful knowledge, to prudent and virtuous 
 habits ; whilst they were in want of example to 
 encourage, as well as of precept to direct ihem ; 
 what would you think of these parents, or of that 
 magistrate ? If any man, indifferent about his tem- 
 per, his conduct, his usefulness, and the prosperity 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 215 
 
 of his own soul, should desert the proper business 
 of his station to go in quest of entertainment ; if 
 this were a constant habit, if this were a frequent 
 practice, what would you think of that man ? Could 
 jou believe that the love of God dwelt in him ? 
 that this was his ruling principle ; that he loved 
 the work which God hath given him to do? You 
 could not hesitate in making the contrary decision. 
 You could not for a moment doubt but that this 
 man, that magistrate, and those parents, were lovers 
 of pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
 
 But there are some, perhaps, who will be ready 
 to allege, that they have no business, no appropri- 
 ate work. If it be so, their circumstances must be 
 very singular, and exceedingly deplorable. If you 
 have no work, you have no talents, you have no ex- 
 ternal possessions by which any living creature can 
 be benefited; you have no knowledge which may 
 be serviceable either to yourselves or others, and 
 you are incapable of attaining to such knowledge, 
 or of acquiring such possessions ; you have no facul- 
 ties that can be improved ; none that can be useful- 
 ly applied ; your reason is extinct, your moral life 
 is at an end, and your character is sealed up unto 
 the great day of account. — But how consist these 
 things with the ability to make this an apology for 
 having made a business of pleasure ? What, though 
 it be not necessary that you should labour for your 
 own support, or for the support of those who are 
 dependent onyou, are there none to be found who 
 stand in need of your relief, your consolation, or your 
 assistance? Are there none who want admonition, 
 to whom your instruction might be useful, your 
 counsels acceptable? Are there none who might be 
 the better for such encouragement as you could 
 give them ; who would be thankful for any testi- 
 
216 Characteristicks of those, who are 
 
 mony of your esteem and friendship ? Are there 
 none whose spirits you might cheer, whose hearts 
 you might revive, whose darkness you might en- 
 lighten, whose troubles you might mitigate, whose 
 happiness you might augment, whose follies you 
 might restrain, whose virtues you might animate, 
 whose labours you might alleviate, whose usefulness 
 you might extend ? In such a world as this, can you 
 look around you, and not meet with objects and op- 
 portunities to find employment for you beneficence ? 
 You cannot go far, if your eyes be not so intent 
 upon pleasure, that you see or observe them not, 
 before they will rise up and present themselves unto 
 you. 
 
 But, let the supposition (improbable, or rather 
 impossible as it is) be admitted, that there is no- 
 thing wanting, nothing due from you to others ; is 
 there nothing wanting, nothing due unto yourselves ? 
 have you no work to be done at home ? is every thin 
 within your own breasts in that exact order in whic 
 it ought to be ? is every thing there in such perfec- 
 tion as it might be ? If you think so, you will have 
 enough to do to undeceive yourselves, and to acquire 
 a just acquaintance with your obligations and your 
 character: — if you think otherwise, with what coun- 
 tenance can you plead, though it were to your own 
 heart only, that there remained nothing to be done 
 by you in this world, but to pursue your pleasures 
 and amusements? If you have been accustomed to 
 conceive, that they who have no need of worldly 
 occupation to procure for themselves the means of 
 subsistence, are at liberty to give themselves up to 
 the pursuit of any pleasures, that are not in them- 
 selves infamous and criminal, it will require no little 
 time, and no little pains to correct so false and dan- 
 gerous an idea of human life, and human obligations. 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 21 7 
 
 There is no living man, if he has not survived his 
 reason and his conscience, to whom there remains 
 not some work, some duty, some indispensable duty, 
 to be done. Is it then any argument of your love 
 to God, that you neglect that duty, that your lives 
 are devoted to pleasure, that you live carelessly, 
 that you are lovers of your ownselves ? 
 
 In the second place, If the love of pleasure so far 
 prevails, as to render you discontented with the 
 condition and circumstances that God hath assigned 
 you, although the pleasures in themselves are all 
 lawful pleasures, just in their means, and moderate 
 in their measure, as well as innocent in their na- 
 ture, you are lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of 
 God. 
 
 But, it may be asked, can the love of pleasure, 
 can a lively relish of the world and its enjoyments, 
 produce fruits so austere and ungrateful, as the sen- 
 timents of fretfulness and discontent ? Can such 
 vexatious passions find admittance and entertain- 
 ment in the heart, where the love of pleasure 
 reigns ? — Why, tell me Christians, do the men of 
 pleasure always seem perfectly contented with their 
 condition ? — A cheerful complacency in appointed 
 circumstances, a patient acquiescence in the lot as- 
 signed, are these the inseparable concomitants of the 
 love of pleasure ? are these in general the charac- 
 teristicks of the men of pleasure ? Look into the 
 world ; is the continual endeavour, the eager strug- 
 gle, the various, and oftentimes the dishonourable 
 expedients that are employed to enlarge their cir- 
 cumstances, that they may give a looser rein unto 
 their pleasures, are these the symptoms of a heart 
 contented and at ease, acquiescing in its circumstan- 
 ces, and well pleased with its condition ? If it were 
 
218 Character isticks of those, who are 
 
 not for the love of pleasure, " the lusts of the flesh, 
 the lusts of the eve, and the pride of life," should 
 we see so much of that restless and aspiring spirit 
 which urges all the various orders of men to press 
 upwards into the ranks of those who stand above 
 them? which animates them so constantly to watch 
 every opportunity, use every interest, and employ 
 every art to extend their influence, improve their 
 figure, and enlarge their possessions ? What is it 
 that excites this keen desire, that prompts these 
 strenuous endeavours ? What is it that gives such 
 vivacity to their admiration, or their wishes, when 
 they look up to the condition of those who stand 
 higher in the world ? Has the love of pleasure no 
 share in the production of these effects ? if other 
 causes do concur, yet is not this the very root of the 
 evil ? Is it not the indulgence of themselves, the 
 more perfect, the more extensive, or the more ele- 
 gant gratification of their appetites, or of their 
 imaginations, that these men aspire after, in their 
 eager strife to enlarge their worldly circumstances? 
 Is it not this that makes them regard with envy 
 every superiour condition, and that renders them 
 uneasy in their own ? Confine your desires within 
 the limits that reason and religion have prescribed, 
 and there will be little danger that your hearts 
 should ever become a prey to the corrosive senti- 
 ments of envy and discontent. But, let the love 
 of pleasure usurp the dominion ; give the reigns to 
 this pernicious principle ; let appetite or imagination 
 govern you, and it probably will not be long that 
 your hearts will remain contented with your condi- 
 tion ; your ability must be great indeed, to satisfy 
 the demands of such insatiable and capricious go- 
 vernours : — it will not then be enough, that, in your 
 frame, both the animal and angelick natures are 
 united ; it wili not be enough that your Creator hath 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 219 
 
 spread around you innumerable scenes of comfort 
 and of joy. When once you have departed from 
 the line of nature, and transgressed the bounds of 
 reason, another blessing and another may be added, 
 your insatiable desires will not be satisfied, till no- 
 thing more be left that can be given, till they have 
 stripped every other being in the universe of its 
 possessions, and placed you on the throne of the 
 most high. — Vain man ! whilst devoted to the ser- 
 vice of such masters, canst thou be at peace, re- 
 signed to thy situation, thinking well of it, as that 
 which divine wisdom hath made choice of for thy 
 good ? or, whilst impiously arraigning the appoint- 
 ments of his providence, canst thou pretend that 
 the love of God is the ruling affection of thy heart ? 
 — Is not a cheerful complacency in the circum- 
 stances in which God hath placed us, among the 
 certain fruits of that blessed affection ? 
 
 Tell me, ye who are discontented with your 
 condition, whence that discontentment springs ? In- 
 quire into the causes of it ; in different instances, 
 these may be different; but in every instance, I am 
 well persuaded, this one great reason will occur, 
 
 you are not governed by the love of God. When 
 
 is it, Christians, that this divine affection is least 
 lively and least active ? Is it not when you have 
 been giving way to such reflections on the present 
 state of man, or on your own particular circum- 
 stances, as have encouraged the sentiments of dis- 
 content to take possession of your hearts? When 
 is it that your hearts are most susceptible of the 
 love of God? Is it not at those happy seasons, when 
 you see most clearly what reason you have to be 
 satisfied with this present state, and with your own 
 particular allotment in it ? and if this be so, what 
 doubt can there remain, that there is a natural and 
 necessary connexion between the love of God on 
 
220 Characteristicks of those, who are 
 
 the one hand, and a contented acquiescence in our 
 circumstances, on the other ? — " My God, though I 
 know a little, yet am I greatly ignorant of the 
 connexions, that I, and that every thing that re- 
 spects me has, with that mighty system of beings, 
 in the midst of which I find myself. I am igno- 
 rant of the consequences which my present circum- 
 stances may produce, but in this I am very happy, 
 that none of all these things are unknown to thee, 
 and I am well persuaded, that the God whom I 
 serve, is love. Dark and narrow as my views are, 
 what an enemy might I, yea what an enemy must 
 I have been to those I love, and to myself, had I 
 been the disposer of my own circumstances? — I re- 
 joice that they are not of my own choosing, but of 
 thine. It may happen, it does happen, that there 
 are those things in them, which, for the present, 
 are not joyous but grievous; yet this, my God, can- 
 not prevent my complacency in thine appointments, 
 nor cool my affection unto thee ! Whatever may be 
 the first impressions of thy dispensations towards 
 me, I am well persuaded that the fruits and con- 
 sequences of them are intended for good ; that they 
 may be good, and will be good, to myself, and to 
 all who are connected with me. I rejoice there- 
 fore, O my God, in all thy appointments; I envy 
 no other station ; my wishes stray not, and they 
 shall not stray beyond thy will ; for I know that 
 what thou appointest to me is best." 
 
 Is not this, my friends, the genuine language of 
 the love of God ? You know it is ; but how diffe- 
 rent from this is the language and sentiment of dis- 
 satisfaction and discontent? — " Thy sovereignty, 
 Lord, I must acknowledge ; I dare not dispute thy 
 title to dispose of me and my affairs. But how 
 many things there are, that would be good for me. 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 221 
 
 which thou hast denied ! And how many things do 
 I labour under, from which it would be kind in 
 thee to deliver me without delay ! Thou hast en- 
 abled me to discern between the things that differ, 
 and inclined me to prefer those that are most ex- 
 cellent ; give me then the powers that correspond 
 with this ability, or, let thy power and providence 
 be directed according to my wishes and desires." — 
 Is not this the natural language of discontent ? You 
 do not think it too highly coloured ; you do not 
 think I have done that character an injury ; but 
 would it not be an injury to impute such senti- 
 ments to the love of God ? — Attend to the cha- 
 racter of your Lord and Master, in whom the 
 sentiments of love to his heavenly Father, though 
 so lively and fervent, were not more sincere or more 
 powerful, than his resignation to the will of God, 
 and his complacency in the divine appointments. 
 " The cup that my Father hath given me, shall I 
 not drink it ? — Thy will, not mine be done !" — If 
 such were the language of his soul in circumstances 
 of the deepest distress, and acutest suffering, what 
 then, Christians, ought to be yours ? Does it not 
 follow, that since contentment with our condition 
 is the natural effect of the sentiments and affections 
 that we owe unto God, the author of our frame, and 
 the disposer of our circumstances ; if, through the 
 influence of any principle whatever, we become dis- 
 contented with what we are and have, the love of 
 God has not so much power over us, as that prin- 
 ciple ? and if the principle from which our dis- 
 content proceeds, be the love of pleasure, then are 
 we lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of God ? 
 
 18 
 
222 Character (sticks of those, who are, &c. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Deeply sensible of the importance of thy favour, 
 O thou Almighty and ever living God, we would be 
 anxiously solicitous to keep ourselves at the great- 
 est distance from any of those scenes, pursuits, or 
 engagements which might alienate our affections 
 from thee, or at all impair our diligence, zeal, and 
 alacrity, in performing the work which thou hast 
 given us to do ! Warned by the gracious admoni- 
 tions of thy holy word, may we flee from the wrath 
 that is to come ; and animated by the exceeding 
 
 freat and precious promises it contains, may it 
 enceforth be our supreme solicitude to perfect 
 holiness, in thy fear ! In all piety to thee our God, 
 in all charity to man, in the good government of our 
 own hearts and minds, in purity, in patience, in 
 meekness and humility, in contentment, and in all 
 the graces and virtues that compose the Christian 
 spirit, may we continue and abound still more and 
 more. 
 
 In the day of our prosperity we will rejoice in 
 thee, as the Author of all our comforts and our 
 hopes — we will bless and praise thee with a pure 
 heart fervently ! — In the day of adversity, we will 
 consider; we will humbly inquire what may be 
 the intention of thy visitations towards us.- — We will 
 meditate on thy loving kindnesses which have been 
 ever of old ; we will call to mind our former delive- 
 rances ; and though our hearts should be cast down, 
 and our souls disquieted within us, still will we 
 hope in God, assuredly trusting that we shall yet 
 praise him, who is the health of our countenance 
 and our God ! 
 
DISCOURSE XIII. 
 
 CHARACTERISTICKS OF THOSE, WHO ARE GO 
 VERNED BY THE LOVE OF PLEASURE. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 II. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, 111. 4. 
 
 Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
 
 In order to assist the serious inquirer, really desirous 
 of forming a just estimate of his own character, we 
 endeavoured in a former Discourse to point out 
 some of those marks or signatures of that love of 
 pleasure which is inconsistent with the love of God : 
 and we now proceed, in the first place, to a short 
 examination of what are called the instrumental 
 duties of religion, their nature and object ; and 
 secondly to show, that if these are neglected for 
 the sake of pleasure, another argument hence arises, 
 that in us the love of pleasure is stronger than the 
 love of God. 
 
 The instrumental duties of religion then are 
 those, upon which the formalist, who is more 
 concerned about the credit of his piety than the 
 truth of it, lays the greatest stress ; and which he, 
 who affects a superiour greatness and freedom of 
 mind, exempt from vulgar prejudices and super- 
 stitions, is very apt to depreciate and despise. 
 
224 Ckaracteristicks of those, who are 
 
 They are those duties by which we may be im- 
 proved in religious knowledge, by which the 
 spirit and temper of real piety is assisted and pro- 
 moted ; by which we are confirmed in virtuous 
 resolutions, encouraged to cultivate good affec- 
 tions, and excited to persevere and abound in all 
 good works. A good heart and life, being the es- 
 sentials of religion, the primary object of all religious 
 dispensations; — of all religious ceremonies and insti- 
 tutions; for this reason, all those religious services 
 and institutions, which contribute to this end, to 
 sanctify the hearts and lives of men, are denominated 
 instrumental duties. They are not duties of the 
 highest order, and in whatever instances both can- 
 not be discharged, instrumental duties must give 
 way to those more important obligations to which 
 they look as their object and end. However, though 
 not duties of the highest order, they are duties not- 
 withstanding; and the obligations to observe them 
 remain in full force, whenever those that are superi- 
 our do not exclusively require our attention. 
 
 But it is not merely for their tendency and influ- 
 ence that the obligation of these duties is derived ; 
 we are bound to observe them, it is true, because 
 they tend to raise us to the perfection of our nature, 
 and to promote the great end of our existence ; but, 
 though they had no such tendency that we could 
 perceive, would any man affirm that we were at liber- 
 ty, as we might choose, to worship God, or to neg- 
 lect him; to converse with the word of God, or to 
 reject it ? and to attend on the institutions of reli- 
 gion, or to forsake them ? Can the heart, which is 
 as it ought to be, under the power of those good 
 affections in which true holiness consists, can that 
 heart neglect the institutions of religion, forget the 
 word of God, or forbear the worship of its Maker ? 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 225 
 
 A just attention to the instrumental duties of religion, 
 is a natural and irrestrainable expression of real, 
 genuine, and substantial godliness ; nor are there 
 any of its duties that are not, in their general nature 
 at least, in themselves obligatory. As on the one 
 hand, there is not an instance in the higher order of 
 duties, but, while it is in the highest degree obligato- 
 ry in itself, is at the same time also an instrumental 
 duty in respect of others which must be combined 
 with it to make a perfect human character; so, 
 neither on the other hand, are there any instances 
 among the duties of inferiour order, but, while 
 they are instrumental in respect of other duties, are 
 at the same time obligatory in themselves. — The 
 love of God is a duty of the highest order, the obli- 
 gations to which can never in any instance be super- 
 seded ; and yet the love of God may with great 
 propriety be considered as an instrumental duty, 
 in respect to the love we owe to all his creatures; 
 for, does not the love of the Father tend to ex- 
 cite, and cherish, and enliven, our affection to his 
 children ? 
 
 So again, the love of our neighbour, which is 
 itself a duty of the highest order, the obligation 
 to which cannot be dissolved, may it not also with 
 very great propriety be considered as an instru- 
 mental duty, in respect to the love of God ? for does 
 not the love of his creation tend to enkindle our 
 devout affections towards the Creator ? The greater 
 interest we have in the welfare of his subjects, will 
 not our joy in his government, and our admiration of 
 his character, be the greater? The higher our de- 
 light in the happiness which they enjoy, the more 
 lively will be our affection unto him, from whom it 
 comes. In like manner, of those that are distingished 
 as instrumental duties of religion, there is scarcely 
 
226 Charaderisticks of those, who are 
 
 one that is not obligatory in itself, abstracting from 
 all consideration of its influence and of its tendencies: 
 there is not one, but what is either the genuine re- 
 sult, and the natural concomitant of those good 
 affections, in which true holiness consists ; or is 
 bound upon us by the express authority of God ; or 
 is a tribute of reverence and honour that would be 
 due from us to him, even though, in respect either 
 of our character or our happiness, we had no inte- 
 rest in paying it. They tend indeed to make us 
 better men, but were it true, that in other respects 
 we could arrive at the same degree of excellence, to 
 which a just attention to these duties would pro- 
 mote us, yet, without a just attention to them, our 
 characters would not be faultless and complete. 
 Though praises and thanksgivings ; though adora- 
 tions, supplications, and confessions; though a fre- 
 quent and reverent attention to the discoveries 
 which God hath made unto us, of himself, his go- 
 vernment, and purposes, had no efficacy in them to im- 
 prove our hearts and minds ; to form us to the divine 
 likeness; to quicken us in all the duties of this pre- 
 sent life, and to promote our meetness for the spiri- 
 tual enjoyments of a better life to come ; they would, 
 notwithstanding, remain for ever, as long as our cir- 
 cumstances and relations are the same, a decent, 
 reasonable, and indispensable acknowledgment of 
 God's excellencies and mercies; and of our own 
 guilt, weakness, and dependence. 
 
 If, then, the instrumental duties of religion have 
 the authority of God, and, at the same time, their 
 own innate reasonableness, as well as great utility, 
 to recommend them, who would depreciate the 
 instrumental duties of religion ? The number to 
 which they have been vainly multiplied ; the 
 foreign circumstances with which they have been 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 227 
 
 presumptuously combined ; the extravagance with 
 which they have been magnified ; the unwar- 
 rantable confidence which the superstitious have 
 been taught to place in them ; and the unrea- 
 sonable expectations from them which they have 
 been encouraged to entertain, have contributed, 
 it may be, to sink them too low in the esteem 
 of many, who, in other respects think more liberal- 
 ly, and upon the whole perhaps, more justly, of re- 
 ligion. 
 
 The name also by which they have been distin- 
 guished, may probably be another cause of the 
 injustice that has been done them : they have been 
 regarded as merely instrumental, as deriving all 
 their value from the end to which they lead, and 
 all their obligation from the obligation of that end ; 
 and on these principles, in the endeavour to obtain 
 for true religion a perfect triumph over superstition, 
 they have been denied the honour which is justly 
 their due, and degraded into the class of those 
 things, which, abstracted from their connexions and 
 influences, are in themselves of no real worth ; 
 whereas in fact, as you have already seen, if, what 
 are called the instrumental duties of religion, are in 
 one view the means of holiness, they are, in another 
 view, a part of true holiness itself. 
 
 But, suppose it were the fact, that the instru- 
 mental duties of religion were nothing more than 
 the appropriate means of acquiring, maintaining, 
 and improving, that temper and character in 
 which God delighteth, and which he hath re- 
 quired of us as the condition of bis friendship 
 and acceptance ; admitting this, can the man 
 whom pleasure calls away from the observance 
 of them, be really governed by the love of God? 
 
228 Char act eristicks of those, who are 
 
 or, if pleasure does not call him from them, yet 
 if it be suffered to disqualify him for the accep- 
 table and the profitable discharge of these duties, 
 is that man governed by the love of God ? If he 
 love God he would desire to be like God, he would 
 be solicitous to please him, he would seek his favour 
 with his whole heart. Without holiness, no man 
 can see God ; without holiness, no man can be like 
 God; without holiness, no man can please God; 
 if he love God, who is glorious in holiness, he will 
 love holiness itself; if he aspire after the divine fa- 
 vour, he will follow after holiness ; and following 
 after holiness, as his chief desire, and his highe&t 
 interest, could he be tempted to neglect the means 
 that must bring him thither ? Anxious about the end, 
 would he neglect the means ? Would he be unsoli- 
 citous to employ the means of attaining to this ex- 
 cellence, or to employ them in such manner as should 
 promise the most ample success ? Whatever may 
 be the cause of this neglect, is most evidently the 
 object which he prefers to God. If pleasure be 
 the cause, pleasure is that object ; and the man, on 
 whom pleasure can prevail, to neglect the instrumen- 
 tal duties of religion, is a lover of pleasure, more 
 than a lover of God. If he be not satisfied with 
 this evidence of so unacceptable a truth, it is pro- 
 bable that it will not be very long before he will 
 have other evidences ; for it is not likely, that the 
 man who is at present guilty of neglecting the in- 
 strumental duties of religion, if he persevere in that 
 neglect, will continue to persevere in those ways 
 of wisdom to which they lead. The pleasures 
 which have now sufficient power to persuade him 
 to forsake the means, will, ere long, have sufficient 
 power to render him indifferent about the end. 
 
 If you neglect the means of acquiring knowledge, 
 no man expects that you will ever become wise ; if 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 229 
 
 you neglect the means of acquiring wealth, no man 
 expects that you will ever be rich : if, in this world 
 of dangers, you neglect the means of preserving 
 health, it cannot be hoped that you will preserve it 
 long; neither can it be hoped, in this world of snares 
 and temptations, that you will preserve your virtue 
 long, if you neglect the instrumental duties of re- 
 ligion. — What think you of the inference that may 
 reasonably be made from that neglect at present ? 
 how like you the prospect it affords, in respect to 
 the time to come ? 
 
 In the morning, when the good man is at his de- 
 votions, where are you ? Surely you do not begin 
 the day with sensuality or vanity; from morning 
 until night you do not devote it unto pleasure. No, 
 it begins at feast, with business. With what business ? 
 with such as has the enlargement of your worldly- 
 pleasures for its object, and the hope and anticipa- 
 tion of that enlargement for the solace of its la- 
 bours? If the day begin thus, how does it end ? 
 in unedifying company, in vain amusements, in licen- 
 tious entertainments? or, if perchance your narrow- 
 ness of fortune has debarred you from these plea- 
 sures, does it terminate in fretful, envious, and re- 
 gretful thoughts about them ? Are these the avoca- 
 tions that keep you from your devotions ? or, if 
 they have not absolutely this power, do they send 
 you to your closets in a state of such dissipation, 
 insensibility, and dulness, as to convert a scene, so 
 capable of yielding you the sublimest enjoyments, 
 and the most important benefits, into a tedious, irk- 
 some, and unprofitable ceremony ? If it be so with 
 you, what think ye of yourselves? — are ye Chris- 
 tians indeed, or in name only ? imitators of Christ 
 in reality, or merely in profession ? lovers of God, 
 or lovers of pleasure more ? 
 
 19 
 
230 Characteristicks of those, who are 
 
 While the good man, retired from the world, is 
 conversing with those oracles of God that are able 
 to make him wise unto salvation, with what are 
 you conversing ? what is it that employs your lei- 
 sure ? what is it that amuses your retirements ? Is 
 it the oracles of human folly? the oracles of mo- 
 dern licentiousness ? Those vain and trifling pro- 
 ductions of a vain and trifling age, whose best effect 
 is to amuse the passing hour, but whose influence 
 stops not there, since they seldom fail to suggest the 
 most unjust ideas of human life, and of Divine Pro- 
 vidence, and to awaken the most dangerous, if not 
 the most criminal affections of the human heart; is 
 it so with you? Are these the entertainments that, 
 from day to day, are robbing your immortal spirits 
 of the bread of life ? the, entertainments that keep 
 the word of God out of your hand ? the entertain- 
 ments that concur with your secular employments 
 to leave you no time to form your souls to the 
 relish of spiritual enjoyments? What think ye 
 of yourselves ? are you as reasonable as you affect 
 to be ? as much Christians as you would be thought 
 to be ? are you lovers of God, or lovers of pleasure 
 more ? 
 
 Sometimes, it may be, you do retire from the 
 world, and in that retirement, it may happen, that 
 you have nothing to employ you more agreeably* 
 than your own thoughts. On what is it that they 
 fix themselves ? what is it that directs and governs 
 them ? do they ever glance upon your own charac- 
 ter? if they do, do they ever dwell there? Are 
 they guided by reason, or imagination ? are they 
 steered by any serious purpose of amendment or 
 advantage, or merely committed to the gales of fan- 
 cy for the present purpose of amusement, and turn- 
 ed adrift to go wherever inclination carries them? 
 Are they employed in recalling, in anticipating, in 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 231 
 
 picturing some scene of external pleasure, or world- 
 ly entertainment? Are these the thoughts that pre- 
 clude the stud) of jour real characters from jour 
 attention, and hide you from the observation of jour 
 own minds? Are these the thoughts that engross 
 the sacred moments which ought to be employed in 
 communing with jour hearts, in considering jour 
 ways, in rectifying what is amiss in them, and in 
 confirming what is right? Is this the case with jou ? 
 what think je of jourselves? is the favour of God 
 jour supreme concern ? is the likeness of God the 
 chief object of jour solicitude ? are jou lovers of 
 God, or lovers of pleasure more ? 
 
 You are not among the number of those who 
 make the daj of God a daj of pleasure, who rest 
 from the works of this world, for no other end, than 
 to devote themselves to its amusements. When I 
 look for jou in this house of God, there are not 
 manj of jou whom I am accustomed to find want- 
 ing here. But think, my friends, what are the dis- 
 positions with which you come hither ? Do you 
 come with your minds fatigued, or your thoughts 
 dissipated, by your last night's pleasures and amuse- 
 ments? or with your hearts full of the entertain- 
 ments you are to return to on the morrow? While 
 you stand here as worshippers of God, are your 
 hearts really worshipping some idol of worldly plea- 
 sure? While you sit here, as God's people sitteth, 
 apparently attending to the dispensing of his word, 
 are your thoughts roving into other scenes, and in 
 quest of such entertainment as shall enable you to 
 support the tedious hours that you spend here ? 
 When you go hence, do you reckon the duties of 
 the day discharged, and instead of consecrating the 
 remainder to reflection and devotion, do you give it 
 unto pleasure ? Do you come hither to atone, as 
 
232 Characteristicks of those, who are 
 
 you imagine, for a custom with which you are not 
 perfectly satisfied, and to which you could not 
 otherwise reconcile your minds of postponing all 
 thoughts of God oh every other day, to every 
 other object? Do you come hither not to be edi- 
 fied, but amused ? Do you come hither with no 
 higher wish than to be entertained for the time 
 you spend here ? If you find that you must in- 
 deed answer in the affirmative to any of these in- 
 terrogatories, let me prevail with you, for once, to 
 keep the answer of your consciences in view, and, 
 when you go hence, to ask yourselves, in the re- 
 tirements of this day, another question, viz. Are 
 yoii really godly, or do you only wear the form of 
 godliness ? Are you lovers of God, or lovers of 
 pleasure more ? 
 
 My friends, you have much to do with God ; 
 yourselves and every thing in which you have any 
 interest, are absolutely in his hands. You have far 
 more important transactions with him that any that 
 you are conscious of in this world ; it will not be 
 very long before the youngest of this audience will 
 find it so. The time will come, I could tell the day 
 beyond which it will not be deferred, but the day 
 before which it will not come, I cannot tell; the 
 time will come, when you will find this world van- 
 ishing away, and another opening upon you, this 
 world of trial ending for ever unto you, and a sense 
 of everlasting recompense commencing. You know 
 as well as I do, would to God that you would let 
 the idea sink deep into your hearts, that the round 
 of this world's pleasures will not last for ever. The 
 rose will fade, the eyes grow dim, and the heart 
 grow faint, and all that is of this world become in- 
 capable of administering, even a momentary cordial 
 or amusement. You know as well as I do, would 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 233 
 
 to God that you would let the thought take pos- 
 session of your souls ! that the time will come 
 when the warmest appetites will be cold, when 
 the acutest senses will be dull, when the liveliest 
 fancy will be languid, when the giddiest sinner will 
 be serious, and the drowsiest conscience awake. 
 The time will come, of which your preachers have 
 so often Warned you, when your bodies shall be un- 
 distinguishable from the dust that flies before the 
 wind, and when that dust shall have as much in- 
 terest in the gayeties and sensualities of those upon 
 whom it falls, as you ! Long before that time ar- 
 rives, the day may come upon you, when, on a 
 dying bed, while you watch for the moment that is 
 to stop that beating heart, you shall look back 
 upon the life that you have spent, and forward in- 
 to the eternity that is to receive you. In that 
 awful season, whence will you derive your com- 
 fort ? to whom will you apply yourselves — to plea- 
 sure, or to God? I have seen devotion triumph in 
 the arms of death, but you need not wait until that 
 awful period, to be perfectly persuaded, that plea- 
 sure cannot triumph there. It is not the remem- 
 brance, that you have loved pleasure more than 
 God, that can give you confidence when you are 
 entering into his presence : it is not this conviction 
 that can comfort your attending friends : if you love 
 them, if you love your own souls, let God have 
 your first attentions, let your duty regulate your 
 pleasures. 
 
 The considerations that have been addressed to 
 you, are considerations by which you ought to be 
 impressed — you think so yourselves. Some of you, 
 perhaps, are impressed by them. Cherish the im- 
 pression. No artifice has been employed to fix any 
 false impression on you. It is the simple truth that 
 
234 Characteristicks of those, who are 
 
 has been set before you, you will find it to have 
 been such, ere long. Carry the ideas, carry the 
 sentiments that have been suggested to you, into 
 every scene of pleasure into which you go; that 
 you may never at any time be affected by such 
 scenes, otherwise than you ought to be affected ; 
 that your pleasures may never be of any other 
 kind, or of any other measure, of repetition, or con- 
 currence, than is innocent and laudable; but being 
 perfectly consistent with the spirit of devotion, and 
 with all that the Lord your God requires of you, 
 while you live may be pursued without remorse or 
 suspicion, and, when you die, reflected on without 
 apprehension or regret. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord God Almighty — we would not dare 
 to come into thy presence, or to cast ourselves at 
 thy footstool, but in the exercise of reverence and 
 godly fear. When we stand before our Maker, we 
 would be clothed with humility, and sunk into the 
 deepest sentiments of self abasement. Thine eye 
 penetrates into the inmost recesses of the soul, thou 
 searchest the heart, and triest the reins of thy 
 worshippers, even the heavens are not clean in thy 
 sight, and thou chargest thine Angels with folly. 
 What then is man, that thou shouldst be mindful 
 of him, or what the son of man, that he should hope 
 for thine acceptance of his services ? We do not 
 hope, by any services of ours, however serious, de- 
 vout, or faithful, to add any thing unto thee, for 
 thou, O Lord, art infinitely exalted above all adora- 
 tion, blessing, and praise ! Our desire and hope is, 
 that by these means we may attain to thy likeness 
 and thy favour ; and, that, by our attendance on the 
 
governed by the Love of Pleasure. 235 
 
 ordinances of thine earthly courts, we may be quali- 
 fied for the services of that nobler temple into which 
 nothing enters that defiles! This thou hast encour- 
 aged us to expect from our devout approaches to 
 thee, and aspiring after these blessings, which we 
 esteem as our highest privilege, we thank thee 
 that it is permitted us to pour out our hearts be- 
 fore thee. 
 
 May no allurements of this world ever tempt us 
 to forsake or to neglect the assembling of ourselves 
 together in acts of religious worship ; and may it 
 be ever our sincere desire and steady resolution to 
 bring forth fruits meet unto repentance ; meet for 
 the invaluable privileges which in the gospel we 
 enjoy; and do thou, O God, strengthen us with 
 strength in our souls, prosper our endeavours to 
 walk worthy of the Lord, unto all well pleasing, 
 and to stand in all thy statutes and thine ordinances 
 blameless. 
 
DISCOURSE XIV. 
 
 ON THE APPEARANCE OF CHRIST, AFTER HIS 
 RESURRECTION, TO MARY MAGDALENE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 John xx. 11 17. 
 
 But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping : and as she wept 
 she stooped down and looked into the sepulchre, 12. And seeth two 
 Angels in white, sitting the one at the head, and the other at the 
 feet, where the body of Jesus had lain : 13. And they said unto her, 
 why weepest thou ? She said unto them, because they have taken 
 away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him. 14. 
 And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw 
 Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. 15. Jesus said unto 
 her, Woman, why weepest thou ? Whom seekest thou ? She, sup- 
 posing him to have been the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou 
 have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will 
 take him away. 16. Jesus said unto her, Mary! She turned her- 
 self and said unto him, Rabboni ! Which is to say, Master. 
 
 These words we find in the history of Christ's re- 
 surrection. However marvellous that event was in 
 itself, yet the circumstances in which it is describ- 
 ed are so natural and probable, and the narration of 
 it so plain and simple, that these things will avail 
 more to procure it the attention and the belief of 
 every reasonable mind, than a thousand artificial 
 difficulties or sophistical objections to undermine 
 
On the Appearance of Christ, &c. 23f 
 
 its credibility. As this part of the history is not the 
 least beautiful, and as it appears neither barren of 
 serious reflection, nor incapable of moral application, 
 I have chosen it for the subject of these Discourses. 
 Let us, therefore, review it more particularly, open- 
 ing the ideas, and intermingling such observations, as 
 may tend at the same time to fix and enliven our 
 conceptions of the fact; to illustrate the sense and 
 sentiments of the passage, or to point out the uses 
 to which it may be applied. 
 
 Two days had now passed since those pious wo- 
 men, who followed Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem, 
 had attended the mournful scene of his crucifixion, 
 and had left the body of their Lord in the Arima- 
 thean's tomb. The sabbath interrupted those tes- 
 timonies of respect, which they owed to the re- 
 mains of a friend so highly honoured, and so much 
 beloved. When the sabbath was elapsed, and it 
 was now lawful for them to proceed in their pre- 
 parations to embalm the body, early in the follow- 
 ing morning, Mary Magdalene, with the other wo- 
 men, repaired to the Sepulchre. They saw the stone 
 taken away from the door of the sepulchre, and they 
 found that the body was not there. Perplexed at 
 this discovery, Mary, returning to Peter and John, 
 they hastened with her to the Sepulchre. After 
 they had satisfied themselves of the truth of her 
 report, they believed the fact to be as she had said, 
 that the body was conveyed to some other place. 
 They thought it, probably, a vain attempt to make 
 any further search, and, disconsolate and afflicted, 
 returned to their own homes. 
 
 Mary's zeal, however, could not so rest satisfied. 
 Pondering in her heart, what accident could have 
 happened to her Lord, Marv stood weeping by the 
 
 20 
 
238 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 tomb. Distracted amidst a thousand perplexing 
 thoughts, her imagination was unable to fix itself 
 on any. She began, perhaps, to question whether 
 her senses might not have misinformed her; she 
 hoped, she wished, she was almost ready to be- 
 lieve, that her Lord might still be there. Her tears 
 were yet flowing, and her heart unsettled, when, to 
 satisfy herself, she looked once more into the Se- 
 pulchre. She found not indeed her Lord, but she 
 saw there those celestial Spirits that had ministered 
 unto him. Jesus had risen from the grave, accord- 
 ing to his prediction. 
 
 His disciples seem not to have had the least ex- 
 pectation of an event like this, and bewildered by 
 their wrong conceptions concerning the nature of 
 the Messiah's kingdom, they were unprepared to 
 receive the intelligence. These celestial spirits 
 therefore remained here, to receive the visit which 
 the women meant unto their Lord, to explain to 
 them how it came to pass that their Master was not 
 there, to procure a serious regard to his resurrec- 
 tion by the impressive solemnity of this testimony, 
 and to suggest to their minds, or to recall to their 
 remembrance, such considerations as might confirm 
 their faith in it, and, through their report, facilitate 
 the assent of their brethren. 
 
 These observations are justified by the discourse 
 that passed between the angels and the women, dur- 
 ing Mary's absence, whilst she was returning to 
 the N city to inform the disciples that the Sepulchre 
 had been opened, and that the body had been con- 
 veyed away. 
 
 By whatever means, or for whatever reasons 
 these illustrious Ministers had been unobserved by 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 239 
 
 Peter and John, they concealed not themselves from 
 so disconsolate a mourner as Mary. Had she look- 
 ed again into the tomb, and seen nothing there but 
 the grave clothes of her Lord, when afterwards 
 she was suddenly addressed by him, her surprize 
 perhaps might have overpowered her, or her doubt 
 and despair might have been so confirmed, that she 
 would have been incapable of giving credit to her 
 senses, and would have treated the salutation of 
 her Master as a vain apparition, the illusive creature 
 of her own imagination. These courteous stran- 
 gers therefore, kindly revealed themselves to her, 
 they seemed to take a friendly part in her distress, 
 and compassionately asked her, Woman, why weep- 
 est thou ? Because, said she, in the fulness of her 
 heart, in all the artless simplicity of sorrow, be- 
 cause they have taken away my Lord, and I know 
 not where they have laid him 
 
 Did Mary imagine, that the Arimathean had 
 prevented her in those last sad testimonies of re- 
 gard, that she meant to her deceased Lord ? Did 
 she fancy that he had already done the last kind 
 offices to the lifeless body, and conveyed it to 
 some other mansion in the house of death, where 
 it might for ever lodge, forgotten and undis- 
 turbed ? Or, is it more probable that she painted 
 to herself, that precious corpse, consecrated as 
 it was by the pure, the good, the pious spirit, by 
 which it had so lately been animated, exposed, to 
 the malicious insults of insatiable persecutors ? 
 or abandoned in some unfrequented solitude, neg- 
 lected and unknown ? Whatever were the par- 
 ticular conceptions which dictated these words, 
 it is plain that they were exceedingly distressful; 
 for, no sooner had she mentioned the cause of her 
 affliction than she turned herself, it might be, to con* 
 
240 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 ceal the excess of her grief. Jesus was behind her, 
 but she knew not that it was he. Blinded by her 
 tears, or overwhelmed by her sorrow, she at first 
 knew not either his appearance or his voice. She 
 took him for the keeper of the garden; she thought 
 no one needed to ask her why she wept, or whom 
 she sought; tell me, Sir, said she, if thou hast borne 
 him hence, where thou hast laid him, and I will take 
 him away.* Christ, not untouched with the feeling 
 of her infirmities, is no longer able to sustain the trial 
 of her affection. He saw her anguish, and said to 
 her, in a voice that carried deep conviction and com- 
 fort to her heart, " Mary I" — 4 Look at me Mary, 
 dost thou not know thy Lord ? I see the sincerity 
 and zeal of thy affection, and thou, Mary, hast the 
 honour of being the first eye-witness, that he who 
 was dead is alive again, and lives for evermore !' 
 
 It has generally been supposed, but it is undoubt- 
 edly anerrour, that the Mary who wept at the tomb 
 of Jesus, was the once licentious Mary who had shed 
 tears of penitence on his feet.t Mary Magdalene, 
 on the contrary, as appears from the scripture ac- 
 
 * There is a singular beauty in this abrupt address of Mary. — She 
 enters into no explanation respecting the person she sought. So 
 entirely was her mind absorbed by one great overwhelming idea— by 
 the excess of her grief and the destruction of all her hopes, that she 
 could not conceive the possibility of any one mistaking the cause A 
 very striking proof surely, among innumerable others, of the perfect 
 authenticity of the narrative. — Editor. 
 
 f The learned and excellent Dr. Lardner addressed a pamphlet in 
 the year 1753 to the benevolent Mr. Hanway, who, however worthy, 
 was not a Scripture Critick. ou the impropriety in the thing itself, as 
 well as on the injustice done to the memory of this excellent person by 
 hi* intention of calling the house to be erected, for the reception of 
 penitent prostitutes, " a Magdelene House." In this pamphlet the 
 subject is thoroughly examined, and it is proved beyond the possibility 
 of a doubt, that Mary Magdalene is always mentioned by the sacred 
 writers with the greatest respect, After a very minute and accurate 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 241 
 
 count of her, was a woman of respectable character, 
 and of distinguished rank, and a principal supporter 
 of Christ in his travels. We are expressly told, 
 however, that she had been a demoniack, that is, a 
 lunatick, and that she had been healed by the hand of 
 Jesus. 
 
 What was her gratitude we have seen, so fervent, 
 and lively, that it scarcely can, although in reason it 
 surely ought, to be exceeded by theirs, in whom his 
 gospel has healed the deadlier maladies of the mind. 
 Abstracted from the consideration of the particular 
 obligation which she owed to Jesus, Mary's attach- 
 ment to him appears in every view of it, respectable 
 and amiable : — let us ask ourselves, would such sen- 
 timents of love and veneration add less grace to our 
 characters? Would they be less amiable and respec- 
 table in us ? Let the answer of our consciences 
 determine our conduct. 
 
 I would now suggest a few thoughts on the causes, 
 and therefore on the reasonableness of Mary's joy in 
 the discovery that was made to her, that her Lord 
 was risen from the dead. 
 
 1st. The resurrection of Christ was a subject of 
 rejoicing to her, because it was the restoration of a 
 
 examination of the subject, Dr. Lardner proceeds as follows ; " Let us 
 now sum up the evidence. Mary of Magdala was a woman of distinc- 
 tion, and very easy in her worldly circumstances. For a while she had 
 laboured under some bodily indisposition, which our Lord miraculously 
 healed. For which benefit she was ever after very thankful. So far 
 as we know, her conduct was always regular, and free from censure. 
 And we may reasonably believe, that after her acquaintance with our 
 Saviour, it was edifying and exemplary. I conceive of her as a woman 
 of fine understanding, and known virtue, and discretion, with a dignity 
 of behaviour becoming her age, her wisdom, and her high station." 
 Editor. 
 
242 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 most respectable and amiable friend, highly honoured 
 and affectionately beloved by her. In Mary's mind, 
 the light of reason had been obscured, perhaps near- 
 ly extinguished. As he went about doing good, Jesus 
 met this unhappy maniack. She was a proper subject 
 on whom to exert the miraculous power, which, in 
 confirmation of his mission from on high, he was 
 enabled to exercise : he saw, pitied, and healed her. 
 Her heart was not ungrateful ; she knew the value 
 of the gift of reason; she was not insensible to the 
 deplorable situation of those, in whom it is enfeebled 
 or bewildered : she felt her obligations to God the 
 gracious author, and to Christ, the kind and com- 
 passionate instrument of her deliverance. 
 
 From the sacred history it appears that she had no 
 occupation, and no family to attach her to any special 
 residence ; that her years had already given her a 
 title to respect, and that her circumstances were not 
 only easy, but even affluent, Very naturally there- 
 fore, very innocently, and very laudably, and without 
 the infringement or neglect of any social duty, from 
 the moment of her recovery, she seems to have de- 
 voted herself to a faithful attendance upon him, to 
 whom she owed the resurrection of her intellectual 
 and moral life. Thus, as he travelled from city to 
 city, in execution of the high commission which God 
 had given him, to bear witness of the truth, she lost 
 no opportunity of hearing the lessons which he had 
 enabled her to understand, or of administering to 
 his support and comfort as his circumstances might 
 require. In this frequent intercourse, what an infi- 
 nite variety of events must have been daily multiply- 
 ing the evidences of his divine authority ! what dis- 
 coveries of his transcendent excellence to magnify 
 her respect, and to increase her veneration for Jesus ! 
 Thus knowing him, and thus obliged to him, what 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 243 
 
 must have been the feelings of her heart when she 
 heard that he was condemned ; when she saw him 
 crucified ; when she attended his entombment; when 
 she came to embalm his body, and found it removed, 
 whither, and by whom, she knew not! 
 
 Have you ever seen the wise, the good, the friend- 
 ly, those to whose councils and beneficence you had 
 owed substantial and numerous obligations ; to whom 
 you had long been united in the bonds of sincere, 
 affectionate, and respectful friendship; have you ever 
 seen them, have you ever bid adieu to them, as you 
 saw them lying on the very margin of the grave? — 
 When you had given them your last kind wishes, 
 and your last lingering look, have you suddenly 
 been called back, to receive them as it were, alive 
 from the dead ? What your hearts, at that moment, 
 conceived and dictated, may help you to form some 
 faint ideas of the pious joy that agitated the heart 
 of Mary ? yet, though from the grave itself you had 
 literally received such a friend, unless your obliga- 
 tions had been equal to her obligations, and your 
 friend equal unto her friend, your sentiments, how- 
 ever alike in kind, could not, in degree, have been 
 equal unto hers. 
 
 2d. The resurrection of Christ was a subject of 
 rejoicing unto Mary, in as much as it was to her, and 
 not to her only, but to the whole world, the restora- 
 tion of a wise, a kind, and faithful insti ucter. 
 
 Mary knew how to value such a blessing. The 
 times in which she lived, rendered such a blessing 
 particularly valuable. The Scribes, " taught not 
 with authority ;" the Pharisees "said, and did not;" 
 they " bound heavy burdens" on their disciples ; their 
 characters corresponded not with their requisitions. 
 
244 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 They knew little of the religion of reason ; they un- 
 derstood not their own scriptures ; they inculcated 
 " for divine commandments, the traditions of men." 
 In the lessons of such teachers, Mary must often have 
 regretted the want of light and energy ; and how 
 happy must she have thought herself, how ardently 
 must she have rejoiced, for the sake of others, as 
 well as on her own account, that in Jesus she had 
 found a religious teacher, concerning whom it was 
 strictly true, what the officers and the chief priests 
 had affirmed, that never " man spake like this man." 
 To see this light of the world extinguished ; the im- 
 provement which her own character and comfort 
 might have derived from his services, for ever at 
 an end ; all the hopes which from his ministry she 
 had formed in behalf of truth and virtue, and of 
 every human interest extinct for ever : crucified by 
 the world which he loved, which he blest, which 
 he enlightened, which he prayed for, which he guided 
 by his example, as well as by his counsels; what 
 hope, what interest was buried, — in Mary's view for 
 ever buried, in the tomb of Jesus! Breakup that 
 tomb, set the captive free, give him back again unto 
 the world, and how joyful is the revolution ! The 
 clouds that hung upon the sepulchre of Joseph were 
 dark indeed and lowering, but the darker they were, 
 so much brighter was the scene which the morning 
 of the third day opened, and the livelier the joys 
 that it enkindled within Mary's heart. — That day, 
 by anticipation, renewed to her the edification and 
 the comfort, which heretofore she had so often ex- 
 perienced, in attending on the discources of her Lord. 
 That day gave renewed life to the hopes, which the 
 crucifixion of Christ had extinguished, that this friend 
 of hers, would also, in respect of all their most im- 
 portant interests, be a great and lasting benefit to 
 the whole human race. 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 2-15 
 
 What a transport ! how just the ground on 
 which it stood ! how reasonable any elevation to 
 which it might have risen, that this light of the 
 world, the wisest counsellor, the best informed, 
 and best authenticated instructor,- the safest, most 
 amiable, and most animating Exemplar of mankind, 
 having lost his life, unjustly, by the hands of wicked 
 men, should have regained it speedily by the power 
 of God, and have returned (as in Mary's apprehen- 
 sion at the moment assuredly he had returned) to 
 renewed intercourse with the world, to bless them 
 probably for a long, certainly for an indefinite sea- 
 son, with his preaching and example. To a mind 
 
 which had been taught by Jesus the value of a life 
 to come ; to a heart, which had learnt from him, to 
 take a cordial interest in the welfare of all his breth- 
 ren; what joy to hail his return from the realms 
 where death had confined him, to give incontroverti- 
 ble evidence, that death is not the end of man, and 
 that the way of duty is likewise the way to make 
 even death a blessing ? 
 
 If our hearts are impressed as they ought to be, 
 we shall sympathize with Mary's joy on this occa- 
 sion ; and although we know, what she did not 
 at first know, that the resurrection of Christ from 
 the dead was not designed to prolong his residence 
 in this world, yet shall we rejoice and give thanks, 
 that his renewed life, though for no long continu- 
 ance on earth, was the means of qualifying his 
 disciples for the ministry to which they were ap- 
 pointed, and (considering the consequences of that 
 qualification) the means also of protracting the 
 benefits of his ministry to this, and through this, 
 
 to the latest generations. If then, in Mary's 
 
 friendship we see any thing respectable and amia- 
 ble ; and, however dark the intervening scenes^ 
 
 21 
 
246 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 any thing in its final issue, desirable and happy, let 
 us take care that our friendships be only with 
 the wise and good. 
 
 Again, if in the interest which Mary took in 
 the information and good conduct of mankind there 
 appears to be any thing respectable and amiable, 
 we must of course believe that herein she is not 
 unworthy of our imitation. It is easy to rejoice 
 in the good instructions that are given to the world, 
 and in the good examples that are set before it; 
 but this will not discharge our duty : So far as 
 God hath qualified us for it, such instructions must 
 be given in our own persons to those who want 
 and will receive them, and such examples must 
 be exhibited to all men, in our own temper, and 
 in our own lives. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Happy are our eyes for they see, and hap- 
 py are our ears for they hear, what Kings and 
 Prophets desired to see, yet saw not, and to hear, 
 yet did not hear them ! We rejoice in God, that 
 he, who at sundry times and in divers manners, 
 spake unto the Fathers in times past by the Pro- 
 phets, hath spoken unto us in latter days by his 
 Son, whom he hath made heir of all things, and 
 placed at the right hand of the Majesty on high. If 
 the word spoken by Angels was steadfast, and 
 every transgression and disobedience received a 
 just recompense of reward, how shall we escape 
 if we neglect so great salvation, which at first 
 began to be spoken by the Lord, and was con- 
 firmed unto us by them that heard him, God 
 also bearing them witness with signs, and won- 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 247 
 
 ders, and divers miracles, and gifts of the holy 
 Spirit. 
 
 O righteous Father, let it not be our condemna- 
 tion that light is come into the world, but that we 
 have loved darkness rather than light because our 
 deeds are evil. May our faith be a lively operative 
 principle, purifying our hearts, working by love, and 
 enabling us so to overcome this present world, that 
 finally we may be presented faultless before the 
 presence of thy glory with exceeding joy ! 
 
 To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and 
 majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. 
 Amen. 
 
DISCOURSE XV. 
 
 ON THE APPEARANCE OF CHRIST, AFTER HIS 
 RESURRECTION, TO MARY MAGDALENE. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 John xx. 11 17. 
 
 But Mary stood without at the Sepulchre weeping, &c. 
 
 In the progress of our Discourse concerning the 
 causes of joy in the resurrection of our Lord, that 
 might naturally present themselves to the mind of 
 Mary, we come now to observe in 
 
 The third place, That the resurrection of Christ 
 was not only the restoration of a most respectable 
 and amiable friend, highly honoured and affec- 
 tionately beloved by her ; the restoration also of 
 a wise, a kind, and faithful instructer; but the dis- 
 covery of this resurrection was itself a favour to 
 Mary, and accompanied with such circumstances 
 as were extremely friendly, and very honourable 
 to her. 
 
 To a mourner such as Mary, it had been a great 
 privilege, if, from some just conceptions of what 
 her Lord had taught, if from any thing contain- 
 ed in the Jewish Scriptures or conveyed to her 
 
On the Appearance of Christ, &c. 249 
 
 through credible tradition, or deduced from the ob- 
 servations, sentiments, and reasonings of her own 
 mind, she had been enabled to establish herself in 
 the firm persuasion that a friend whom she so high- 
 ly respected, and to whom she was so much obliged, 
 having finished his course of duty, had obtained his 
 recompense of reward. It would have been a great 
 privilege, if by any means, Providence had enabled 
 her to think so well of the condition after death, 
 of those who were gone before her, as to antici- 
 pate the renovation of her virtuous friendships with 
 her virtuous predecessors, when her own course 
 should have been run. This conviction had been 
 an unspeakable blessing, and to have arrived at it 
 must have filled her heart with joy and gladness. 
 But, to have seen her risen Lord, to have conversed 
 with him, if but for a few days, for a few hours, 
 for a few moments; to have heard the voice of 
 Jesus, when he had triumphed over death, though 
 it had been in the tone of gentle reproof, accom- 
 panied by the same air of countenance with which 
 he said to Thomas, " be not faithless but believing :" 
 though Mary had heard nothing from her Lord but 
 the language of rebuke, that she had been seeking 
 for the living among the dead, that she had not be- 
 lieved his repeated predictions concerning his re- 
 surrection, or had not understood what the rising 
 from the dead should mean ; yet, as in the case of 
 Thomas even such language of rebuke must have 
 wrought conviction, that conviction alone would 
 have enkindled gratitude and joy. But what great- 
 er gratitude, what livelier joy, what a variety and 
 multitude of pleasurable sentiments, that gentle 
 air, that kind and penetrating tone of former friend- 
 ship, which, while it showed that he was himself 
 alive again, showed that his friendship also was 
 living still; and instantly called up in Mary's mind 
 
250 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 the meekness and wisdom, as well as the authority 
 with which he taught ; the energy, as well as kind- 
 ness of his beneficence, and the obligations that 
 she owed to him as her instructer and deliverer;* 
 
 At the sight of that well known countenance, at 
 the sound of that well known voice, what a multi- 
 tude of pleasing recollections must have rushed 
 into her mind ! — 4 His looks upon the cross, how 
 full of pain and anguish ; in Joseph's tomb, how 
 pale and ghastly ; now, what life, what ease, what 
 sweetness, what dignity is there in them ! — How 
 piercing were the accenls in which he cried " my 
 God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me !" — 
 Now, how soothing, how cheerful, how reviving is 
 his voice ! — How much like himself is this Son of 
 God ! — Immortal now, yet still meek, and lowly, 
 kind, and condescending, as he ever was !— It is his 
 own air, and manner, and expression ; it is that 
 heavenly teacher, whose wisdom and whose charac- 
 ter I have so much admired and reverenced; and 
 on whose counsels and instructions I have so often 
 hung with unspeakable satisfaction and delight ! It 
 is that amiable friend, I know him well, I remember 
 the transporting moment, the gracious countenance? 
 and the powerful voice, when he composed my dis- 
 tracted mind, and restored me to myself." 
 
 * From many circumstances in her history incidentally related, it 
 appears that Mary possessed a mind generous, enlightened, and dis- 
 interested ; far superiour to that servile poverty of spirit which im- 
 plicitly follows the multitude, and which instigated the anxious in- 
 quiry, " Have any of the Pharisees and Rulers believed on him ?" 
 She saw the transcendent excellence of her Lord through the guise of 
 extreme poverty, and the imposing shadow of contumely and reproach. 
 She saw, and in company with her other female associates, bore her 
 noble testimony, during the agonizing journey to Golgotha, at the foot 
 of the cross — and even when all hope was destroyed, at the tomb 
 wherein his body was laid ! — tlpiTOR. 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 251 
 
 It is very natural that ideas, such as these, should 
 crowd into the mind of Mary, to confirm her faith, 
 and to elevate her joy ; not clothed indeed in words, 
 as in order to exhibit them to you it was now ne- 
 cessary they should be exhibited, perhaps, not 
 even formed into orderly and distinct conceptions; 
 but, whatever pleasing sentiments were connected 
 in her heart with the appearance and the voice of 
 Jesus, they would instantly, at the same moment, 
 as by the touch of lightning, be rekindled there; 
 and, if one can at all enter into her feelings, or con- 
 ceive the effect of the situation upon her mind, they 
 must have been sentiments, which, if the time would 
 have admitted, and the agitation of her mind allowed, 
 would have vented themselves in some such lan- 
 guage as that in which they have been now re- 
 presented. 
 
 The sentiments, however, that have been here 
 ascribed to Mary, should not be considered merely 
 as matter of conjecture, for, if the history be at- 
 tended to, we must be inclined to believe, that in 
 fact she was thus affected, and that such affections 
 and such feelings were at this time really existing in 
 her mind. Her reply to Jesus, discovering himself 
 to her, was Rabboni, which, says the Evangelist, is 
 to say, Master ! Our version has not given precise- 
 ly and unambiguously the import of the Evange- 
 list's interpretation; for the term he uses, signifies 
 Teacher; and those who are versed in such litera- 
 ture well know, that the term itself, together with 
 that by which the Evangelist explains it, strictly and 
 literally signifies, My great Instructer. She does 
 not signify her recognition of Jesus, as in ordinary 
 circumstances would have been most natural, by the 
 simple enunciation of his name; she does not mere- 
 ly cry out, My Lord : that appellation, though ex- 
 
252 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 pressive of respect, and of some relation that she 
 bore to him, was too vague and general a term to 
 suit the vigour of her impressions; too feeble and 
 inadequate to satisfy the fulness of her mind. It 
 was in his office of a Divine Instructer, that she 
 had been used to attend upon and contemplate him; 
 it was in this relation that she found those features 
 that had continually cherished and improved her 
 esteem, and which had justified and confirmed her 
 attachment. This, therefore, was the compella- 
 tion which her mind instantly suggested — 'Great 
 Teacher,' was her language, ; with whom no other 
 teacher, however eminent and excellent, ought 
 ever to be compared.' The very terms then in 
 which she recognized Jesus, in my apprehension, 
 make it perfectly clear, that, on the . moment of 
 his discovering himself to her, a multitude of pleas- 
 ing recollections, like those we have endeavoured to 
 describe, did actually rush into her mind, not 
 merely to confirm the conviction of her senses, 
 but to fill her mind with "all peace, and joy in be- 
 lieving." 
 
 Again, the kindness of this discovery to Mary, 
 did not alone consist in the irresistible evidence 
 which it afforded of her Master's resurrection; for, 
 the moment that her mind recovered from its first 
 agitation, and was at leisure to reflect upon the 
 steps by which she had arrived at complete con- 
 viction, her gratitude and joy must have received 
 new accessions from the tender caution with which 
 so transporting a discovery was made to her; — 
 that it was not sudden, abrupt, and hasty, but, as 
 far as was needful, progressive, gradual, and with 
 preparation. 
 
 When, from the Sepulchre, where she had been 
 weeping, Mary turned herself from the Angel ; 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 253 
 
 Jesus showed himself to her, but so circumstanced, 
 that she should not recollect him. Considering the 
 nature of Mary's errour, who took the person by 
 whom she was addressed, for the gardener, and 
 comparing this first address with the manner in 
 which Jesus always addressed his mother, and with 
 that subsequent address, in which he perfectly dis- 
 covered himself, it may seem, perhaps, that he was 
 concealed from her, as by other circumstances, so, 
 in part at least, by something unusually distant and 
 respectful in the manner of his accosting her. "Wo- 
 man," said he, " why weepest thou ?" These words, 
 though they did not discover the speaker, prepar- 
 ed for the discovery. Mary, believing him to be 
 the gardener, and suspecting he had taken away 
 the body from the Sepulchre, would naturally fix 
 her eyes upon his countenance, and whilst she at- 
 tentively looked at him, must she not have traced 
 there the features of her Lord ? Despairing indeed as 
 her state of mind then was, and still incredulous about 
 his resurrection, it would not be the idea of identity or 
 sameness, butof similitude only, that wouldfirst strike 
 her. When, from perceiving in the person, to whom 
 she was speaking, some resemblance of her Lord, she 
 was beginning to suspect that it might be himself; 
 Jesus kindly converted that suspicion into certainty, 
 and spake to her in a manner that left no doubt 
 upon her mind, that it was indeed her Deliverer, her 
 Instructer, and her Friend. The instant transition 
 from a state of mind, totally occupied and deeply 
 impressed with the idea that her Lord was irrecove- 
 rably dead, to a state of indubitable persuasion that 
 he was certainly alive again, might have been a 
 change too great to have been supported. The abrupt 
 and instantaneous discovery of himself, might have 
 overpowered a very tender heart, and a very feeble 
 frame. In Mary's case, the agitation occasioned by 
 22 
 
254 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 so violent an impression, might have renewed the 
 derangement of her ideas, and brought back a total 
 alienation of mind. To Mary then, how striking 
 and engaging must this tenderness have been, and 
 when once she had become capable of reflecting 
 upon it, what an improvement of her joy in the 
 conviction, that her Lord was risen from the dead ! 
 
 But this is not all; the discovery was not only 
 thus kind to Mary, kind in itself, in its nature, in its 
 manner, and in its circumstances — in other respects 
 also it was singularly kind, and highly honourable. 
 Mary and her associates forsook not their dying 
 Lord. They staid by the cross, till the tragedy 
 was over. They were the last to leave the Sepul- 
 chre at his entombment, they were the first to re- 
 visit it when the sabbath was ended, and " when 
 therefore Jesus was risen," says St. Mark, "he 
 appeared first to Mary Magdalene." The firmness 
 of her faith, the boldness of her avowal of it, the 
 steadiness of her attachment, the zeal of her affec- 
 tion, the importance and disinterestedness of her 
 services, all of them the result of that power which 
 had been exerted to restore her from the most de- 
 plorable condition of insanity, and her gratitude for 
 this kind exertion of that power, merited, as it 
 seems, this honourable distinction. Could Mary 
 perceive that she was thus distinguished, and not 
 rejoice in it ? could Mary receive from Jesus the 
 message which he sent by her to his Apostles, and 
 not know that none of them had yet seen him alive 
 after his passion ? 
 
 To whom is it that we first communicate our good 
 tidings of great joy ? is it not to those whom we re- 
 spect and love? In making the first discovery of 
 himself to Mary, what a testimony did Jesus bear 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 255 
 
 to Mary's merit, and to his own sense of it ! I would 
 ask again, To whom is it that we first communicate 
 good tidings, is it not to those of whom we are per- 
 suaded, that they love and respect us ? is it not to 
 those who will turn the joyful tidings we communi- 
 cate, to the best account for all who have any inter- 
 est in them ? What a testimony did Jesus herein 
 bear to the benignity and liberality of Mary's sen- 
 timents, and to her delight in every good word and 
 work ! Who, and what are they, whom we employ 
 in kind and honourable errands, but those of whom 
 we are persuaded that they will execute them with- 
 out envy, and will not themselves be envied, for the 
 distinction that has been conferred upon them by 
 those to whom they are sent ? 
 
 How honourable then was the commission with 
 which she was entrusted to Mary's candour, and 
 to Mary's sympathy, as well as to the candour and 
 sympathy of the Apostles ? how honourable is this 
 testimony on the one hand to the equity of their 
 sentiments, and on the other, to the respectability of 
 her character and her title to the estimation in which 
 they held her ? 
 
 W r hen Isaiah, foretelling the deliverance of the 
 Jews from the Babylonish captivity, describes the 
 watchmen, discovering from their watch-towers afar 
 off upon the mountains, the messenger that was 
 bringing from Assyria the glad tidings of salvation, 
 he represents the watchmen as admiring and almost 
 envying the messenger, and the messenger, as ex- 
 ulting in the errand upon which he comes. 
 
 How beautiful, say they, upon the mountains, 
 
 Are the feet of that joyful messenger, of him that announceth peace, 
 
 Of that joyful messenger of good tidings, of him that announceth salvation, 
 
 And that sayeth unto Sion, thy God reigneth ! 
 
2.5Q On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 You feel, I am persuaded, how natural are the sen- 
 timents of the watchmen and the messenger, how 
 closely connected with, and how perfectly suitable 
 to their situation. Had you descried a messenger 
 bringing the good tidings of the deliverance of 
 your captive countrymen, you would have admired 
 and rejoiced in his alacrity ; and if yourselves had 
 been entrusted with the message, the like exultation 
 and alacrity would have distinguished you. But 
 what had that messenger to announce that can be 
 compared with the joyful tidings that Mary had to 
 reveal ? Is the restoration of the remains of a cap- 
 tive nation, to be compared with the pledge of hu- 
 man immortality? Is the deliverance of one people 
 out of the hands of their enemies, to be compared 
 with the demonstration of all men's triumph over 
 death? Of which good news would you rather have 
 been the messenger ? In which of these felicities 
 would you have preferred to take your share ? 
 
 To convey to friends the joyful tidings of the 
 resurrection of a common friend, what heart would 
 not spring forward to so delightful, so acceptable a 
 service ? — To carry such tidings to disappointed 
 disconsolate, and despairing friends, what zeal and 
 alacrity must not this have added to the embassy ? — 
 But, if the message involved in it also, glad tidings 
 of great joy to all people, what tongue can express 
 the exultation to which it must have given rise? — 
 To a generous mind the errand must have been as 
 delightful, as it was important; and the employ- 
 ment, in itself a subject of the purest joy, must 
 have formed a great and unspeakable obligation to 
 the Employer, — It was a testimony of respect, it 
 was an act of kindness, it was an occasion given to 
 excite, to exercise, and to improve, both in herself 
 and others, the sweetest and most ennobling affec- 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 25 7 
 
 tions of the human heart. What a subject this, of 
 thankfulness and joy ! great enough, as it seems 
 to me, to have been felt sensibly, even amidst all 
 those other lively sentiments, that the conviction of 
 her Master's resurrection must have enkindled in 
 her heart. 
 
 But this is not all the grace and honour which 
 this discovery of himself, and the circumstances of 
 this discovery to Mar}, comprehends in it; for it 
 remains still to be added, that these favours and 
 these honours were conferred upon her, in the pre- 
 sence of many friends and associates whom, she es- 
 teemed and loved, and by whom she was recipro- 
 cally respected. 
 
 It appears to be a fact, clearly deducible from 
 an attentive consideration of the various narratives 
 of the four Evangelists, that when Jesus revealed 
 himself to her, Mary was not alone. She was at- 
 tended to the sepulchre, in her way thither, and 
 from it also, by those honourable women, who, in 
 his last journey, as well as formerly, had accom- 
 panied our Lord from Galilee to Jerusalem; who 
 had been present at his crucifixion and his burial, 
 and had carefully observed, where, and how the 
 body was entombed. 
 
 It is probable that there subsisted among these 
 pious followeis of their Master, many tender ties 
 of friendship and attachment. In their daily in- 
 tercourse, many mutual kindnesses must have been 
 perpetually circulating among them, by which means 
 they would be formed to the readiest sympathy 
 with the pains and pleasures of each other; and, 
 in the presence of their Lord at least, would have 
 enjoyed much edifying conversation. But, besides 
 
258 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 all these, and many other causes of esteem and af- 
 fection, they were " all one in Christ:" their at- 
 tachment to their common Lord, cemented more 
 closely their attachment to each other, and the 
 respect he showed to all, rendered them all recipro- 
 cally more respectable. 
 
 To be distinguished by such a personage, in the 
 presence of such friends, so affectionately beloved, 
 and so amiable ; so respectfully esteemed, and so 
 respectable ; was no trifling distinction, no ordinary 
 favour, no common honour : I was going to have 
 said, the language of it was, " many daughters 
 have done virtuously, yet thou hast excelled them 
 all," but I feel myself something checked in that 
 idea, yet not altogether precluded from such an in- 
 terpretation of the text,*by the consideration, that 
 they were partakers, as well as witnesses, of the 
 favours that were conferred on Mary. 
 
 From John it appears indeed, that Mary was 
 particularly addressed, but from Matthew it is as 
 manifest that the whole company also were ad- 
 dressed by him. In revealing himself to Mary 
 therefore, Jesus revealed himself to all who were 
 within hearing of the conversation, and in the er- 
 rand that was particularly prescribed to her, it was 
 signified to all that they were to accompany her. 
 To have had the favour she received, conferred, 
 though not in the presence of those she esteemed 
 and loved, had been just matter of rejoicing: to 
 have received .distinction in their sight, in which 
 they could in no degree have participated, might, 
 no doubt, have been matter of rejoicing still : but 
 to a heart of generous sensibility^ this would have 
 been a diminished favour. Surely it must have im- 
 proved her joy and gratitude, that, though on this 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 259 
 
 occasion distinguished, she was not greatly nor in- 
 vidiously distinguished^and that the honour done in 
 particular to herself, was a very small account in 
 comparison of that by which all her associates were 
 equally distinguished. 
 
 To be singularly distinguished in an honourable 
 society where all deserve distinction, while, in one 
 view it is an honour of the highest kind, in an- 
 other, is far less acceptable, far less desirable, and 
 far less joyful, than to stand as near, as is consis- 
 tent with any sort of distinction, on a level with 
 those whom we feel to be as worthy of our esteem, 
 as we can conceive ourselves to be of theirs. To 
 be the principal, and only just the principal, on 
 such an occasion, and in such an embassy, was a 
 far more acceptable distinction than to have engros- 
 sed the honour of it wholly, or to have stood very 
 high above those who were admitted to some par- 
 ticipation of the honour. How beautifully does 
 this consideration display the wisdom, the delicacy, 
 and the benignity of Jesus ! While at the same 
 time, giving greater purity to Mary's exultation, 
 and therefore more approveableness to her own 
 feelings, and adding also a more perfect sympathy 
 with more perfect pleasure in the breasts of her 
 associates and friends, what an elevation must it 
 have given to her triumphs, what livelier emotions 
 under the recent impressions of the scene, and how 
 much more heartfelt and more permanent satisfac- 
 tion in her subsequent reflections on them ! 
 
 From what has been suggested in this and the 
 foregoing Discourse, it is obvious to remark, 
 
 In the first place. That it is not a formal, care- 
 less, or cursory perusal of the sacred history, that 
 
280 On the Appearance of Christ, after 
 
 can discover to us all its beauties, or let in its just 
 impressions to our hearts. This can be attained 
 only by attentive meditation, and reiterated reflec- 
 tion on the scenes and circumstances of the events, 
 and on the feelings and language of the agents. 
 Without this, many of the beauties of the sacred 
 story will lie hidden from us, and therefore, many 
 things that might have confirmed our faith, and 
 through that, our virtue, as well as many things 
 that might have exercised the good affections of 
 our hearts, will remain undiscovered. 
 
 Secondly. To reflect upon Mary's faith may con- 
 tribute to confirm and enliven ours. We believe 
 that death is not the end of man, and it is well that 
 we believe it, it is weli for ourselves, and for all 
 who live with us; it is for their comfort, and for 
 our comfort; and though it be greatly for our in- 
 terest, it is nevertheless for the credit of our under- 
 standings also, that we believe it. Reason intimates 
 this truth, Christianity asserts it, and in Christ, 
 shown alive after his passion, we have an argument 
 from fact, a specimen of human fates. As it is for 
 the credit of our understandings, for the support of 
 our minds under affliction, and the melioration of 
 our character at all times, that we should receive 
 this joyful doctrine, it is of the first importance that 
 our faith in it should never decline or waver. It 
 is our prudence therefore, and our duty also, often 
 to renew the ground on which our faith is support- 
 ed, and to avail ourselves of every fact, and ot 
 every consideration, to establish and enliven it. 
 
 Of this nature, if I mistake not, we shall find the 
 conviction that was produced in the mind of Mai v. 
 It was not a conviction that she expected ; it was 
 not a conviction for which she had prepared her- 
 
his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 261 
 
 self; It was not a conviction for which the previous 
 circumstances had disposed her mind; her preju- 
 dices were all on the other side ; her feelings were 
 the most unfavourable, and the very entrance of any 
 such idea into her mind was powerfully precluded. 
 She had been seeking for the body in the sepul- 
 chre, she was perplexed that it was not to be found 
 there ; she had prepared wherewith to perform the 
 last sad offices of respect to a deceased friend, and 
 she conceived that some one had anticipated her in 
 these services, or had put it beyond her power to 
 perform them, and she was weeping, in all the 
 anguish of disappointment. She did not recollect 
 Jesus when she saw him ; she did not recollect 
 him, even when he spoke to her : how powerful 
 then must have been the impression, how irresisti- 
 ble the evidence, to overcome all this indisposi- 
 tion to receive it ; to convert such darkness into 
 light; such incredulity, into firm and lively faith; 
 and such despondent melancholy, into joy and 
 triumph ! 
 
 How firm is the testimony of such a witness? 
 With how much comfort and satisfaction may we 
 rely upon it ! In her conviction surely, there is pow- 
 er enough to compose any doubts of ours, and to 
 engage us to rejoice in her report, as " a faithful 
 saying, and worthy of all acceptation." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, who of his abundant mercy by the 
 resurrection of his Son from the dead, hath begot- 
 ten us again unto a lively hope of an inheritance 
 
 23 
 
262 On the Appearance of Christ, &c. 
 
 incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, 
 reserved in Heaven for us ! 
 
 Enable us, O merciful Father, so to walk, as he 
 also walked. Being risen with Christ, may we set 
 our affections not on things below, but on things 
 above. While we are in the world, may we be 
 the lights of the world ; may w r e live an ornament 
 to the reasonable nature, and a credit to that holy 
 name by which we are called. And whenever 
 thou shalt see good to remove us from the pre- 
 sent scene, may it appear to all, by our patience 
 and submission, by our tranquillity and composure, 
 by our readiness to go hence and to be with 
 Christ, that true religion can impart consolation, 
 above the reach of time, and chance, and death. 
 
 Finally, O God, having approved ourselves 
 through all the changes of this world thy faithful 
 servants and obedient children, in the next may we 
 be received into those blissful mansions, whither 
 Christ as our forerunner is already entered; and 
 where all the wise and worthy, of all ages and 
 generations, of all nations, tongues, and kindreds, 
 shall be for ever settled in thy heavenly presence ! 
 Amen. 
 
DISCOURSE XVI. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, AS 
 
 TENDING TO CONFIRM OUR FAITH IN 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE. 
 
 Matthew xxviii. 6. 
 Come and see the place where the Lord lay. 
 
 To the serious and well instructed Christian the 
 tomb of Jesus is a very interesting and edifyin 
 theme of contemplation ; and if the Infidel woul 
 attend the place where Jesus lay, such considera- 
 tions could not fail to suggest themselves even to him, 
 as might create a doubt at least, concerning the rea- 
 sonableness of his unbelief. 
 
 The words of the text were spoken by an angel 
 who attended the sepulchre of Jesus, to the women 
 who came thither early in the morning after the 
 sabbath, to complete the embalming, which, on ac- 
 count of its approach, had been left unfinished. 
 The women were amazed to find the sepulchre un- 
 sealed ; they were perplexed when they found not 
 the body; they dreamt not of a resurrection, for as 
 yet they understood not the scriptures, which said 
 that Jesus must rise from the dead. 
 
 In the following Discourses, we shall not confine 
 ourselves to those objects merely, to which the ce- 
 
264 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesits. 
 
 lestial messenger particularly invited the attention 
 of the persons he addressed, but taking a wider 
 scope, shall divide the meditations, that present them- 
 selves, into two different classes, comprising under the 
 first, such as have a tendency to confirm our faith in 
 the christian doctrine ; and under the second, such 
 as have a tendency to awaken or enliven those good 
 affections that constitute and adorn the Christian 
 temper. 
 
 Under the first head let us inquire, what were 
 the peculiar circumstances in the place where Jesus 
 lay, to confirm our faith in him and in his gospel ; 
 and here it may be useful to consider, 
 
 Where the sepulchre was situated ; 
 Of what materials it was composed ; 
 To whom it belonged ; and 
 What was deposited within it ? 
 
 Each of these considerations will suggest some 
 reflections of powerful efficacy to confirm our faith 
 in Christ, either by justifying our dependence upon 
 the writers of his life, and the credit that we attach 
 to the history of his resurrection ; or, by displaying 
 to us a part of that minute and wonderful attention, 
 with which the providence of God disposed the vari- 
 ous circumstances of his death, so as to produce 
 complete conviction, that " the Lord is risen indeed," 
 and thus declared to be " the Son of God, with 
 power." 
 
 First If it be asked, Where was the place in 
 which the Lord lay ? The apostle John gives the 
 following answer. " In the place where he was 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 265 
 
 crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a 
 new sepulchre, there they laid Jesus therefore, be- 
 cause of the Jews' preparation day, for the sepulchre 
 was nigh at hand." 
 
 It may seem strange that in a scene of pleasure, 
 in a garden, its owner should have placed a memen- 
 to, which is so wont to strike a damp upon all human 
 pleasures, and to check our joy amidst the most 
 innocent and rational amusements. But, inconsis- 
 tent as this may generally be found with the man- 
 ners of the modern and the western world ; unna- 
 tural as it may appear, at any time, or in any coun- 
 try, to have placed a sepulchre in a garden, this 
 circumstance is so far from adding any thing to the 
 incredibility of the marvellous relation in which it 
 stands, that it rather tends to render it the more 
 credible ; as it is perfectly agreeable to the pre- 
 vailing customs of the time and of the country, con- 
 cerning which the evangelical historian speaks. 
 
 The Jews were not allowed to build sepulchres 
 in their cities, lest the living might accidentally 
 contract such pollution from the dead, as should 
 disqualify them for the worship of the Sanctuary. 
 It was required that their burying places should be 
 at least two thousand cubits from their cities, and 
 the sepulchre in which Jesus lay, was still further 
 distant. And, as they were not allowed to build 
 their sepulchres in any of their towns, so neither in 
 Jerusalem were they even permitted to lay out their 
 gardens, it is an old tradition which the Jewish 
 writers have themselves preserved from the time of 
 Christ, and even from an earlier period, that in Je- 
 rusalem no gardens were permitted, except a very 
 few, which they specify, and which they tell us had 
 remained undisturbed from the days of the ancient 
 
266 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, 
 
 prophets, viz. the gardens of Roses. The reason 
 of the prohibition is not so evident as the fact ; 
 whether it proceeded from some superstitious pre- 
 judice, or from political considerations, does not ap- 
 pear ; for it is merely remarked bj the Jews, as a 
 peculiarity belonging to the holy city. 
 
 Their own historian, who relates the destruction 
 of Jerusalem, has observed, that Titus, the Roman 
 general, found great difficulty, and was exposed to 
 extreme danger in his approaches to take a view of 
 the city, from the ditches that had been dug, and 
 the fences that had been raised to divide the gardens 
 which occupied a considerable space in the territory 
 that lay round it. Since then, every citizen of Je- 
 rusalem, if he wished to have a garden, must have 
 it without the walls, and must also have his burial 
 place at a distance, it was convenient, not to say 
 necessary, to have them in the same place. In a 
 Jewish garden, therefore, it was reasonable to ex- 
 pect a sepulchre; and such was the distance of 
 the cross from the walls of the city, that in the 
 neighbourhood of the cross, it was reasonable to 
 expect a garden. 
 
 It is an essential character of a true history, 
 that even every incidental circumstance of the nar- 
 nation, however repugnant to those of earlier or 
 later times, should be perfectly correspondent to 
 the characters, the laws, the maxims, and the cus- 
 toms, of those that are the subject of it. And 
 wherever this correspondence is invariably main- 
 tained, through the whole of a long and minute 
 detail, it is an indication which may most reasona- 
 bly be relied upon, that it is the work, if not of an 
 eye-witness, yet of one who lived very near the 
 times and the scenes in which he wrote. Nothing 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 267 
 
 is more easy than to preserve this correspondence 
 when the writer's pen is governed by recent well 
 known facts, and when he has no other intention 
 than to describe the things he relates, as they actually 
 took place; and nothing is more difficult, when im- 
 agination guides the pen, and the intention is to pro- 
 cure credit to things of its own creating. In the 
 one case, so little thought is required, that an honest 
 mind cannot easily mistake ; in the other case, so 
 extensive a knowledge, so particular and so labo- 
 rious an attention is necessary, that even the great- 
 est abilities seldom succeed ; in some instance or 
 other, the attention will fail, and the illusion betray 
 itself. Throughout the whole of the gospel history 
 however, various as are the scenes, the characters, 
 the customs, and the manners, that are either large- 
 ly and expressly described, or occasionally and ob- 
 liquely alluded to, not one such example can be 
 found ; they always appear in exact conformity with 
 the representations of other unconnected and ap- 
 proved writers of like antiquity ; and lor this rea- 
 son alone, the gospel history is worthy of the most 
 perfect credit, for it must have been written by per- 
 sons well acquainted with the various facts that are 
 delineated, and who were conversant among the 
 scenes, the customs, and the characters they de- 
 scribe. 
 
 The place of the sepulchre wherein our Lord was 
 laid, is one of the many instances, which, however 
 improbable at first view, upon due consideration 
 give great credibility to the history in which they 
 occur, and which, taken altogether, will preclude 
 from the serious and candid mind every suspicion 
 of its truth. It is a circumstance which a writer, 
 who had not written upon the spot, and from fact, 
 would hardly have conceived ; and which an impos- 
 
268 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesns. 
 
 tor, who had written from imagination only, most 
 certainly would not have thought of. Though it 
 was not ordinarily allowed to entomb the dead with* 
 in the precincts of the holy city, yet, as a peculiar 
 honour to the family of David, the Kings of that 
 house were buried there. If the Evangelist, who 
 was a Jew, and who could not be ignorant of this 
 fact, had not been relating an actual event, but con- 
 triving a seducing story, it would have been most 
 natural, by some means or other, (of which a variety 
 could not have failed to occur to a man capable 
 of inventing the other parts of the narrative) to 
 have lodged the body of this King of Israel, the 
 Lord of David, a descendant of that Royal House, 
 even more illustrious than its founder, in the sepul- 
 chre of David. This is a burial place for the hero 
 of the storv, which would have insinuated itself into 
 the imagination of a deceiver, rather than an unfin- 
 ished sepulchre in a neighbouring garden. But the 
 fact is, that it was nothing but the truth which the 
 Evangelist recorded. He did not draw the circum- 
 stances from his own invention, nor mould them ac- 
 cording to his fancy, he related them simply as they 
 actually were. 
 
 As every part of a true story must cohere with 
 all the rest, and every following incident arise out 
 of those that preceded, so there were the most co- 
 gent reasons why our Lord should be laid where he 
 actually was deposited, rather than in any other 
 place, for it was "nigh at hand :V and hence arises 
 another consideration to confirm our faith in him, 
 and our attachment to his cause as the cause of 
 heaven. A prediction had been uttered by him, 
 in the most publick manner, concerning the time 
 of his continuance under the power of death, and 
 this prediction had been expressed on different oc- 
 
Reflections on the l^omb of Jesus* 269 
 
 easions, in different forms. At one time our Lord 
 had said that he should be put to death, and that on 
 " the third day he should rise again ;" at another 
 time, that " the Son of Man should be three days in 
 the heart of the earth." It is evident that these two 
 prophecies could not be made consistent with each 
 other, unless he were buried on the salne day he 
 died ; this then was absolutely necessary to the 
 fulfilment of the prophecy. Now according to the 
 Jewish computation of time, one day ended, as the 
 next began, at six in the evening ; but so much of 
 the day had elapsed on which our Lord was crucifi- 
 ed, before he was actually dead, that there remain- 
 ed no time to be wasted. Before six he must be 
 interred, and four was now approaching when he 
 died. Divine Providence was not miraculously to 
 interfere with the kind and pious sentiments of his 
 friends, who, having conceived no hope of his resur- 
 rection, could not think of burying him without the 
 usual testimonies of affection to the dead. That 
 they had not time to accomplish all they wished to 
 do, and what was customary to be done, is evident 
 from this, that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, 
 who had seen the body wrapped up in spices by Jo- 
 seph and Nicodemus before they laid it in the se- 
 pulchre, according to the custom of the Jews, never- 
 theless came thither early in the morning of the 
 next day but one, with other preparations for the 
 embalment. Had there been no repository for the 
 dead so near, or had a sepulchre been chosen at a 
 greater distance, it is probable that the tenderness 
 of his friends for their deceased Master, would have 
 defeated the predictions of their living Lord : unless 
 embalmed, though in an imperfect manner, they 
 would not have buried him, and if longer time must 
 have been spent in his conveyance to a more distant 
 grave, he could not have been lodged there betore 
 the day on which he died was over. 
 
 24 
 
270 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 But, by what means should they be urged to the 
 necessary despatch, in contradiction to the feelings of 
 friends so warmly attached to their Master by the 
 deepest and tenderest sentiments of respect and 
 affection ? It was appointed by that God, who is ex- 
 cellent in counsel and abundant in means, that his 
 beloved Son should expire on the eve of the Jewish 
 Sabbath. The day following it had been unlawful 
 either to inter, to embalm, or to make any kind of 
 preparation for the funeral ; by this means, there- 
 fore, Divine Wisdom made it impossible for them 
 not to do what was necessary, in order to verify the 
 prediction of our Lord. But even this would not 
 have been sufficient to ensure its accomplishment, if 
 the body must of necessity have been conveyed to 
 some considerable distance from the cross. It was 
 necessary, therefore, that to an approaching Sabbath, 
 there should be added an adjoining tomb. 
 
 In the expedition used by this disciple, it is clear 
 that they had no intention to provide for the verifying 
 of these prophecies ; for, although they were more 
 than once repeated, it is observed in the course of 
 the narration, that the disciples understood them 
 not, that they were afraid to inquire of their Mas- 
 ter, that they comprehended not his predictions, 
 either of his previous sufferings, his death, or the 
 resurrection that should follow. It was only when 
 the events actually took place, by which these decla- 
 rations were fulfilled, that they apprehended their 
 true meaning. So far from expecting a resurrection, 
 they did not believe that he would die ; and it is evi- 
 dent from the dejection, the despair, and the terrour 
 into which they were thrown, when he actually did 
 expire, that an event like this, was not " in all their 
 thoughts." 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 27 1 
 
 The disciples then, in the haste made by them 
 to deposit their Lord in the nearest tomb, had no 
 sort of intention to render the accomplishment of 
 his former predictions possible. They were the 
 voluntary, yet unconscious instruments in the hands 
 of God, whose secret, yet real and all powerful 
 providence, without the least suspicion of the 
 Agents employed, had prepared the series of events 
 to accomplish the great and important ends propos- 
 ed. "It is the Lord's doing, and is marvellous in 
 our eyes !" 
 
 In the second place, St. Matthew tells us that Jo- 
 seph of Arimathea laid the body in a new tomb 
 which was hewn out in the rock. 
 
 Does this appear a tedious and expensive method 
 of forming a family burial place, and therefore cre- 
 ate some hesitation about the fact? Let us remem- 
 ber that it appears from the history of the demo- 
 niack of Gadara, of whom it is said, ' that he came 
 out of the tombs,' and that ' he abode in the tombs,' 
 that the Jewish sepulchres were such as modern 
 travellers have represented them ; spacious vaults 
 in the neighbourhood of their cities, hewn out of 
 the rocks, in the sides of which they cut out the 
 cells where the dead were deposited, and there 
 closed up. Sarah was buried in the excavation of 
 a rock at Hebron ; the sepulchres of the house of 
 David were of the same nature. In Isaiah's days, 
 sepulchres were hewn out on high, and these final 
 abodes, especially when intended for the rich and 
 the great, were graven for them in a rock. The 
 tomb of Lazarus was a cell hollowed out, in a na- 
 tural or artificial cave. Such it seems in general, 
 were the sepulchres of the Jews, in their own coun- 
 try, from the earliest, even to the latest times. 
 
272 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 But though it had not been the custom of the 
 Jews, to provide such receptacles for their dead, 
 it would still have remained probable that the se- 
 pulchre in which Jesus lay was of this kind, for it 
 was near the spot where he was crucified ; and this 
 single circumstance gives a degree of probability 
 to what is said concerning it. Though, in itself, it 
 had been a thing exceedingly improbable, that a 
 family burial place should be hewn out of the solid 
 rock, yet it is most natural to believe that a family 
 burial place, in such a situation, must have been 
 of this kind. If it were near the cross, it was upon 
 a rocky hill, for such was Goigotha, where the cross 
 of Jesus was erected ; the soil of which had not 
 depth enough to receive a subterranean building; 
 in the sides of which an excavation would easily be 
 made, and to the top of which, materials for any 
 other kind of sepulchre, could not very easily have 
 been conveyed. 
 
 But this is not all the evidence that the kind of 
 sepulchre in which Christ was laid, suggests, to 
 justify and confirm our faith. There was necessari- 
 ly no entrance, no possibility of gaining admittance 
 but by the mouth, at which the guard of those who 
 had murdered him, were placed. No sooner had 
 the report of his resurrection spread abroad, than 
 it was answered by another, industriously procur- 
 ed, and sedulously propagated by his enemies, 
 that the resurrection was a mere fiction of his 
 friends, who had come by night and stolen him away. 
 Had they then dug through the solid rock ? The 
 rock was as entire as ever, and there was no other 
 passage to be found. Was the pretended sleep 
 of the Roman soldiers so sound, that the removal 
 of the stone did not awake them ? Were the timid 
 disciples become so courageous in the interval of a 
 very few hours, that the attempt did not appal them ? 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 273 
 
 Yet to the avowal of such improbabilities were 
 the Priests and Pharisees reduced, by the very 
 nature of the sepulchre wherein the body was de- 
 posited. 
 
 Again, To whom belonged the sepulchre in which 
 
 Jesus lay ? 
 
 It belonged to Joseph, a rich and honourable 
 counsellor. It was prophecied of the Messiah, that 
 he should make his grave with the rich in his death. 
 We have seen that his friends were compelled by 
 the hour at which he died, to deposit him in the 
 nearest sepulchre ; and we may observe, that by 
 the very same means, provision was made by the 
 providence of God, for the fulfilment of this other 
 prophecy also. It is probable that he was not in- 
 tended to cjpitinue in this grave. It was taken, 
 because they were obliged to take it for a tempo- 
 rary repository; and it is most likely that if the 
 sabbath had not approached so very near, he had 
 never been deposited there at all ; for it appears 
 from some circumstances in the narration, that the 
 sepulchre was not only new, but as yet unfinished. 
 
 Again, it is not observed by St. John without 
 design, that in this sepulchre " never man was 
 yet laid." If none but Jesus ever went into it, none 
 but himself could proceed from it. This single cir- 
 cumstance, even although the body had undergone 
 some considerable change by the temporary inter- 
 ruption of life, would sufficiently have ascertained 
 the identity of the person, and precluded every 
 doubt, whether the man that rose, was the very 
 man who was crucified and buried there. Had it 
 not been for the circumstance of the sepulchre being 
 a new one, the adversaries of Christ might have 
 admitted the reality of his resurrection, but have 
 
274 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 denied the consequences which the Christians drew 
 from it. — Overlooking the predictions of our Lord, 
 or, denying their reality, they might have urged ; 
 6 Did ever any man infer concerning him, who re- 
 vived on being let down into Elijah's sepulchre, 
 that therefore, all he said was true ? — Did any man 
 infer from thence that he was the Son of God ?' 
 ' The premises,' such cavillers might have assert- 
 ed, 4 did not support any such inference : the fact 
 had been* that some illustrious prophet, like Elijah, 
 had been interred in Joseph's sepulchre, and that 
 Christ, when he was deposited there, had impinged 
 against the relicks of that prophet, and revived.' 
 Such might have been the insinuations of the priests 
 and rulers, and such was their influence with the 
 people, that their insinuations might have gained 
 credit. In a new sepulchre however, where never 
 man had yet been laid, no relicks of a prophet could 
 possibly be found. This circumstance therefore, 
 was by no means insignificant, and the mention of it 
 completes the argument. 
 
 Christians, you need not fear for the gospel you 
 love, it is of God, and the power of man cannot 
 overthrow it. No human artifice or violence can 
 effect its extirpation. Even the gates of hell shall 
 not prevail against it. It may be injured by the 
 superstition and licentiousness of its professors as 
 much, nay more, than by the ridicule and virulence 
 of its opposers. — Obstructed or oppressed it may 
 be, but it never can be extinguished or overcome. 
 This divine seed which our heavenly Father hath 
 planted, is indestructable and immortal ; though it 
 may not always thrive and grow according to your 
 wishes and your prayers, though the tares with 
 which it is intermingled may suppress and threaten 
 to destroy it, you may trust in God that it shall be 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 275 
 
 preserved for ever. It is written in the decrees of 
 heaven, it is promised in the gospel prophecies ; 
 the word of God faileth not; whatever seems to be 
 defeating the accomplishment of its predictions, will 
 eventually be overcome. The years are bringing 
 on that glorious period, when the gospel shall be 
 acknowledged by every tongue, and glorified in 
 every life. — Christ was dead, and is alive again, and 
 lives for evermore ! 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Almighty and most merciful Father, we offer 
 unto thee our most devout praise and thanksgiving, 
 that thou hast vouchsafed unto us of this distant 
 day such abundant evidence of the resurrection of 
 thy Son from the dead ! We thank thee for the 
 numerous attestations that have been given to this 
 glorious and consolatory truth. Hasten, we humbly 
 beseech thee, the approach of that blessed period, 
 when all who partake with us in the same common 
 nature, and in the common bounties of thy provi- 
 dence, may become partakers also, in the invaluable 
 blessings of thy Son's gospel. 
 
 Seeing that our blessed Lord is indeed risen 
 from the dead, and that if we obey him, because he 
 lives, we shall live also, may we mortify our affec- 
 tions which are on the earth, and put on that spiri- 
 tual mind, which is life and peace. Enable us, O 
 God, uniformly to maintain that superiority to all 
 the trifles of this transitory state which becomes 
 those who are called to glory, honour, and immor- 
 tality, who are destined for the associates of the 
 noblest spirits in the universe, who hope to live for 
 ever where Jesus lives, in thy heavenly presence. 
 
DISCOURSE XVII. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, TEND- 
 ING TO IMPROVE THE CHRISTIAN TEMPER. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Matthew xxviii. 6. 
 Come see the place were the Lord lay. 
 
 We purposed to divide our reflections upon the 
 Tomb of Jesus into two great classes ; arranging 
 under the first, such as have a tendency to enliven 
 and confirm our faith ; and under the second, such 
 as have a more immediate tendency to awaken and 
 improve those good affections, that constitute the 
 Christian temper, and adorn it. The first of these 
 divisions being already finished, we proceed now to 
 the second ; and here also we purpose to separate 
 our reflections into two classes ; placing in the 
 first, those that arise from the consideration that 
 Jesus was deposited in the grave ; and in the se- 
 cond, those that arise from the consideration that 
 he did not continue to lie there. 
 
 In the first place, to send our thoughts into the 
 
 f)lace where Jesus lay, will help to cool our love of 
 ife, and our fond attachment to this present world. 
 Why do we cling so closely to a scene in which 
 we cannot stay ? why do we rejoice so ardently in 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 277 
 
 a flower which the noon-day sun may wither, which 
 the evening blast will certainly destroy ? Why do 
 we expect so much from a vapour, which appeareth 
 for a little time, and then vanisheth away ? Why 
 are we so warm in our affections towards a state, 
 where our sweetest draughts are not unmixed with 
 the gall of bitterness; out of which, when our 
 hopes and joys are most lively, we may suddenly 
 be remanded ; and in which, although this night 
 were fixed for our departure, we may suffer, what 
 would make that little interval appear long ? 
 
 How short was the interval between the pass- 
 over celebrated by Jesus in such sweet communion 
 with his friends, — and that grave, which they be- 
 dewed with their tears ? His hours were not many, 
 but we cannot say so of his pains ! What bodily 
 anguish, what mental sorrow, did he not, in that 
 short time, experience ? — You know the story of 
 Gethsemane; you remember the treacherous disci- 
 ple ; you are no strangers to the malice of the 
 Jewish Council ; to the mockery of Herod's Sol- 
 diers, or to the injustice of Pilate's sentence. — Vou 
 well know, that neither the insults of the heathen 
 soldiery, nor the tortures inflicted by the cruel 
 scourge, could appease the fury of his countrymen ; 
 Jesus looked on them, and Pilate spake to them, 
 in vain. What did he feel when they cursed them- 
 selves that they might gratify their malice with his 
 death? "Crucify him, Crucify him," was the dread- 
 ful cry: "let his blood be on us and on our chil- 
 dren !" When that shout ascended to heaven from 
 thousands of his countrymen, how, think ye, did 
 Jesus look ? what, think ye, did he feel ? — If the 
 spear had entered his heart whilst life yet remain- 
 ed, it had not inflicted so sharp a wound ! 
 
 25 
 
278 Reflect Ions on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 You know what crucifixion means — jou can never 
 forget the tragedy of Golgotha. Insulted by his 
 cruel murderers, forsaken by his affrighted follow- 
 ers ; one friend unable to sustain the mournful spec- 
 tacle, yet unable to turn away from it ; standing by 
 his mother, crucified herself in the crucifixion of her 
 Son ! These were the sights he saw when lifted 
 upon the cross, and these the agonies in which he 
 died. These were the steps by which the Son of 
 God went down into the chambers of death ; through 
 this series of sorrow, he entered into Joseph's tomb, 
 — Into the grave, you too must enter, for it is the 
 house appointed for all the living ; and though you 
 descend not there through the violence of wicked 
 men, you will probably descend through the vio- 
 lence of keen diseases, and the tears of tender 
 friends. No innocence of character, no usefulness 
 of life, can redeem you from the grave, nor delay 
 your arrival there, nor procure you warning of your 
 death, nor defend you from affliction till it comes. 
 We may trust our virtue to ensure to us the friend- 
 ship of God, but, so long as there are evil passions 
 in the world, the tomb of Jesus will admonish us, 
 that we cannot trust it to preserve us from the en- 
 mity of men. We may trust our virtue to make all 
 things work together for our good, but we cannot 
 trust it to preserve us from every thing, which for 
 the present, we must call evil. There are no means 
 by which we can certainly attain the happiness of 
 this world, and when we have obtained it, there are 
 no means by which we can be assured that it will 
 continue long. 
 
 Since then we cannot stay in this world, or, if we 
 could stay, have no power to make its comforts per- 
 manent, or even of assuring ourselves that our con- 
 dition in it shall be easv ; since we live with the 
 
Refections on the Tomb of Jesus. 279 
 
 scythe of death continually suspended over us, and 
 know that "time and chance happeneth unto all," how 
 absurd is it to be extravagantly fond of this life, how 
 prudent, to be continually aspiring to a better ? — In 
 the world to come there are no faithless friends, no 
 dangerous enemies, no false accusers, no unrighteous 
 judges ; in the world to come, there are no suffering 
 relatives, no treacherous pleasures, no painful dis- 
 cipline nor unwelcome changes. In that world 
 there are no weeping eyes, no swelling hearts, no 
 dying agonies : in that world there is nothing to cre- 
 ate either apprehension or regret ; for there, virtue is 
 not tried, but crowned. 
 
 Whatever comforts you may meet with in the 
 way thither, receive them thankfully, and enjoy them 
 cheerfully ; it becomes, it behoves you so to do. But 
 beware, my friends, that they do not seduce you 
 from your duty. Beware, that for their sakes, you 
 do no make yourselves unworthy of eternal life. 
 Remember, Christians, that your citizenship is in 
 heaven ; that you are strangers and pilgrims upon 
 earth, and this world has no value to be compared 
 with that, which it derives from the advantages it 
 supplies, to fit yourselves for a better. 
 
 Secondly, If we send our thoughts into the tomb 
 where Jesus lay, they can hardly return from 
 thence, without bringing something to reconcile us 
 to the troubles of this present life. That tomb, sug- 
 gests enough to moderate our expectations from the 
 present world, and our attachment to it, without 
 either depressing or disturbing our minds; without 
 either exciting our anxieties about its future scenes, 
 or rendering us impatient under the present. Above 
 the world we ought to be, yet not discontented with 
 it; ready for the glorious change we expect; re- 
 
280 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus* 
 
 joicing in hope of so blessed a translation, yet, all 
 the days of our appointed time, in patient waiting, 
 until our change come. If it be a good reason why 
 our delights should not rise too high, that flow- 
 ery as the path may be, the road will soon turn 
 down into the vale of death, it surely is as good 
 an argument why we should not be disturbed by the 
 rugged and thorny passages of life, that at last, 
 when we are quite weary, we shall lie down and 
 take our rest. 
 
 In Joseph's tomb, how sweet is the sleep of Je- 
 sus ! There is nothing in that peaceful retreat to 
 trouble him. His pains were acute, but they over- 
 powered him at last — he was weary of his suffer- 
 ings, and now he is at rest. Now, there is no 
 anguish in his countenance, and there never will 
 be more. How placid is that slumber! He feels 
 no more the cruel scourge ; he has forgotten the 
 accursed tree. Ye priests and rulers, ye cannot 
 wake him to renew your persecutions. Terrour 
 has no more horrid spectacles to set before him. 
 Pain has no more darts to throw, and death's last 
 blow is struck. Peter, he thinks no more of thy 
 denial ; even the infidelity of Judas disturbs him 
 not. This peaceful sleep is not for a moment in- 
 terrupted by the remembrance, either of insulting 
 enemies, or forsaking friends. 
 
 John may come hither now to weep over his 
 friend, without afflicting him ; and here, Mary, thou 
 mayst sit down, and lean over that beloved Son, 
 and pour out all thy griefs into his bosom, for it 
 cannot hurt him now. What is it to him that his 
 body was so cruelly torn and mangled ? what is 
 it to him that by cruel hands he was crucified and 
 slain ? — No more will it be to thee, my Soul, when 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 281 
 
 a few short days are over, that thou art grievous- 
 ly afflicted now, or that still severer troubles are 
 awaiting thee ! 
 
 When a wicked world distresses thee, remember, 
 Christian, that thou shalt presently retire, where 
 the wicked cease from troubling. When the cares 
 of life press heavy on thee, look forward to that 
 calm retreat where all anxieties are composed. 
 When adversity approaches thee, maintain thy 
 courage, Christian; tell her, that there is, at no 
 great distance, an asylum whither she cannot come. 
 When the pains of death lay hold on thee, remem- 
 ber that thy grave will be easier than thy bed : a 
 dying Christian may find comfort in the thought, 
 that they cannot last long. His slumbers in that 
 land of silence will be as calm and easy as his Mas- 
 ter's were ; and, in the mean time, whatever suf- 
 ferings may await him, he has this best of conso- 
 lations, that they are not the tokens of God's dis- 
 pleasure ; not the ministers of a vindictive judge to 
 announce to him the approach of more tremendous 
 sufferings, but the discipline of a tender parent, to 
 work out for him " a far more exceeding and eter- 
 nal weight of glory." 
 
 If indeed, the calamities of life were the evidences 
 of God's rejection, who could abide his visitations ? 
 Jesus was never dearer to him than when he cried, 
 " my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" — 
 He never had more confidence in the friendship of 
 God than when in his last words, amidst all the re- 
 proach and agonies of the cross, be said, " Father, 
 into thy hands I commend my spirit !" 
 
 Christians, you may retain your confidence in 
 God, even when he may appear to have forsaken 
 
282 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 you, even when your good conscience is the only 
 comfort that remains; when all your circumstances 
 are full of trouble, and all your sensations full of 
 pain, you may still call him your God : he will 
 answer to that faithful compellation, he will not leave 
 you without the strength you need, or withhold 
 from you the recompense for which you long. 
 
 Thirdly, Whilst we turn our thoughts upon the 
 place where Jesus lay, it is hardly possible that we 
 should forget the fickleness of human favour. It 
 may be lost without any fault of ours, and cannot 
 be retained with certainty by our most assiduous 
 endeavours to deserve it. It was the fury of the 
 multitude that brought Jesus to his grave. Only 
 h\e days before, that very multitude brought him 
 in triumph to the temple — " Hosannah to the Son of 
 David ; blessed is he that cometh in the name of the 
 Lord:" — now what a change! "Away with this 
 Man, crucify him, crucify him!" "Release to us 
 Barabbas !" What had Jesus done, that a murde- 
 rer should be preferred before him ? Jesus was^ what 
 he ever had been ; holy, harmless, and undefiled ; — 
 how iniquitous would it have been, from his dis- 
 grace, to have inferred his guilt. Let us then not 
 judge of characters by so precarious and dange- 
 rous a rule, as the esteem which they either may 
 possess or have possessed in the world. Let us 
 contemn the littleness of courting popular ap- 
 plause. 
 
 How light a soul is that, which can be lifted up 
 by the breath of man ! Who would be so credulous 
 as to lean upon the wind ? or so weak as to grieve, 
 because it may chance to blow against him ? Let 
 us do our duty whatever be the event; and trust 
 the master whom we serve, with our credit and es- 
 
Reflections of the Tomb of Jesus. 233 
 
 teem. From the praise of men, let us appeal to 
 the praise of him who made them ; his favour is 
 our life, and although we should lose our life in 
 seeking and maintaining his favour, it is not folly, it 
 is not rashness, for his loving kindness is even bet- 
 ter than life. 
 
 God cannot die nor change ; but you cannot af- 
 firm this of your earthly friends. You cannot affirm 
 that there is any certain method either of obtaining 
 human friendship or of preserving it. To be good, 
 and to do good, is the most promising expedient, 
 and yet even this is by no means infallible. But 
 the friendship of God we may by this means cer- 
 tainly obtain ; and by this means it may be infalli- 
 bly preserved. His friendship will comfort us in 
 the want of all other friendships, it will help us in 
 that solemn hour when all other friendships fail. 
 Moreover, in the mean time, if we have the favour 
 of God, he has human favour at his disposal, for all 
 hearts are in his hands : he will prolong to us our 
 friendships if it be good for us to enjoy them ; and 
 if our doings please the Lord, he has the power, 
 and when it will not injure us, he will have the dis- 
 position also, to " cause even our enemies to be at 
 peace with us." 
 
 Fourthly, If we think where Jesus lay, if, intend- 
 ing to be the better for our meditations, and not 
 merely to indulge ourselves in vain speculations, we 
 employ them on the Son of God entombed in Jo- 
 seph's sepulchre, it is very natural that by this 
 means our love to God should be improved. Jesus 
 gave himself according to the will of God, even 
 the Father, that he might take us out of this pre- 
 sent evil world: that, by the influence of his exam- 
 ple, carried to the last perfection, and by the power 
 
284 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus* 
 
 of his doctrine established on the strongest evi- 
 dence, he might deliver us from the prevailing 
 carelessness and impenitence of the world, and en- 
 gage us " by patient continuance in well doing, to 
 seek for glory, honour, and immortality." God com- 
 manded, he obeyed. To his obedience we owe a 
 debt which we never can repay. Is there nothing 
 due to the authority that he so highly respected ? It 
 was his obedience to God, in the service of our 
 souls, that brought him, through the pains of cru- 
 cifixion, to the grave. For you, Christ gave him- 
 self; you own the value of the gift, and celebrate 
 the beneficence of the giver. For you, God gave 
 his Son ; in that gift did he make no sacrifice ? 
 Was there no evidence of divine compassion and 
 benevolence in a gift like this? — I here speak of 
 the great and ever blessed God, in the language 
 and with the sentiments of men ; but for this I have 
 his own authority, for he has himself reasoned, 
 from our feelings, to his own conduct. " Can a wo- 
 man forget her sucking child, that she should not 
 have compassion on the infant of her womb? Yea 
 they may forget, yet will not I forget thee, Sion. 
 How shall I give thee up, Ephraim ? Israel, how 
 shall I deliver thee ? How shall I make you as Ad- 
 mah and as Zeboim ? My heart is turned within me, 
 and my repentings are kindled together." Did 
 God love Ephraim and Israel, whose sins required 
 to be chastened, better than he loved the meek and 
 the holy Jesus ? 
 
 What then will you render unto God for this his 
 unspeakable gift? Obey the Son of God, who for 
 his obedience unto death, is crowned with glory 
 and honour ; and fulfilling the conditions of them, 
 trust ye in the promises of God : for, " if he spar- 
 ed not his Son, but delivered him up for us all. 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 28j 
 
 how," saith the Apostle, " shall he not with him, 
 also, freely give us all things ?" 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord God Almighty ! As we call ourselves the 
 disciples of thy beloved Son, may we verify our 
 holy profession by our growing conformity to his 
 example ! Like him it be our meat and drink to do 
 thy will, and grant, that by meditating on the Tomb 
 of Jesus, the world may be crucified to us, and we 
 unto the world. 
 
 The friendship of man is as the morning cloud, 
 or as the early dew, that soon passeth away. — Raise 
 us, we beseech thee, into such superiority to that 
 censure or applause of men, which would deter or 
 seduce us from the path of duty, that no tempta- 
 tion which the world can offer, may ever shake our 
 constancy in thy service, or at all abate our love to 
 thee ! Looking unto Jesus the leader and finisher of 
 the faith, who for the joy that was set before him 
 endured the cross, despising the shame, and is sat 
 down at the right hand of the throne of God, may 
 we not be weary nor faint in our minds, but may we 
 run with patience and alacrity the race that is set 
 before us ! 
 
 26 
 
DISCOURSE XVIII 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, TEND- 
 ING TO IMPROVE THE CHRISTIAN TEMPER. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Matthew xxviii. 6. 
 Come see the place where the Lord lay. 
 
 When we send our thoughts into the Tomb of Je- 
 sus, and there image to ourselves that light of the 
 world extinguished, that friend of man, that servant 
 of the most high God, whose joy it was, from morn- 
 ing until night to be doing good, cut off from all 
 usefulness, and cruelly disabled from pursuing it, 
 what heart is not fired with indignation against 
 those wicked hands by whom he was crucified and 
 slain ? What! nail him to the cross, who bare your 
 burdens, who pitied your infirmities* who taught 
 you the most important knowledge, who conversed 
 among you with the most engaging sweetness, who 
 fed you in the wilderness, who healed your sick- 
 nesses, and who raised your dead ? Unfeeling mul- 
 titude, who could urge with so much clamour, a de- 
 mand, at once so ungrateful, so cruel, and unjust ! 
 Ye Priests and Rulers, is this the spirit of your re- 
 ligion and your laws ? Do they give encouragement 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 287 
 
 unto evil doers, and afford no sanctuary unto those 
 who do well ? — Do they connive at the spirit of li- 
 centiousness and cruelty, and afford not so much as 
 a toleration unto truth and virtue ? — Pilate, if thou 
 hadst obeyed the dictates of thy conscience, though 
 thou mightest not have saved thy prisoner, and must, 
 perhaps, have lost thy life, thou wouldst not have 
 lost thy peace ! But thy crime is light, in compari- 
 son of theirs. Over a more tumultuous people, a 
 more irreligious priesthood, and a more lawless ge- 
 neration, thou couldst not have been appointed go- 
 venour. 
 
 But come, my heart, forgive them, for the Lord 
 forgave them; pity them, for he pitied them ! They 
 were men, they were our brethren, they were 
 among those, to whom, by our Lord's express com- 
 mand, repentance and remission of sins were first 
 preached, after he was risen from the dead. Some 
 of them, many of them did repent. They were 
 pricked to the heart when Peter spake to them of 
 their crimes. They received the doctrine of him, 
 whom they had persecuted unto death ; they became 
 the steadfast professors and the zealous preachers of 
 his gospel, and were honoured with the gifts of the 
 holy spirit. 
 
 Perhaps, when repentance began to be preached 
 at Jerusalem, that very Priest who first proposed to 
 lie in wait for Jesus, that very man who first stipulat- 
 ed with the traitor Judas for his price ; that very 
 witness who deposed against him what was neither 
 criminal nor true ; that very ruler, who was foremost 
 to declare him worthy of death; these, perhaps, 
 when repentance began to be preached at Jerusa- 
 lem in the name of Jesus, were the first to hear, 
 and to repent. This, however, is most certain, that 
 
238 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 through their hands, some of whom had a dreadful 
 share in this bloody tragedy, we have received the 
 gospel. The first subjects of it were converted 
 from among the enemies of its author ; and the day 
 is coming, when, as we hope, when, as we believe, 
 many who invoked his blood upon themselves and 
 upon their children, shall stand with us at the right 
 hand of the son of man. 
 
 Let us continue steadfast in the faith, that is 
 justified by such witnesses ; let us adore the cle- 
 mency that can pardon such guilt, and turn our 
 indignation from the murderers of Jesus, against 
 the prejudices that misled, and the vices that cor- 
 rupted them. Let us beware of those prejudices 
 that would alienate us from the truth ; and of those 
 vices, that would make the truth our enemy ! 
 
 What was it that deprived so many of the Jews 
 of the benefits they might have derived from the 
 preaching of our Lord ? What was it that deprived 
 him of the honours that were due to him as their 
 Messiah, as their promised and expected King ? — 
 He was of Nazareth, an obscure and poor town of 
 Galilee, whence nothing good could come; he affect- 
 ed no worldly pomp, and he promised no worldly 
 blessings ! — If Jesus had employed his power of 
 working miracles, to aggrandize his country, and to 
 gratify his followers with wealth and power, they 
 would have adored him : Because he promised no 
 such happiness to his friends ; because his doctrine 
 reproved, instead of encouraging, their worldly ex- 
 pectations ; because they had nothing to expect 
 from him in this world, they agreed that he should 
 not continue in it. Their woridliness caused his 
 death ; it rendered them insensible to the excel- 
 lence of his doctrine, unimpressible by the virtues 
 of his character, incapable of restraint, even by those 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus* 289 
 
 awful miracles, which amply testified, that God was 
 with him. 
 
 The love of this world was the death of Je- 
 sus; this was the evil passion that instigated the 
 cruel resentment of the priests and rulers, that 
 prompted Judas to betray, and that prevailed on 
 Pilate to desert him. 
 
 Judas loved the world ; he was impatient to pos- 
 sess more of its enjoyments ; if his master were ever 
 to assume a kingdom, it must be, he thought, when 
 his life was in the power of his enemies ; and if Jesus 
 had no kingdom to assume, Judas would at least be a 
 gainer by the price of his infidelity. Pilate loved the 
 world ; if he could have borne the resentment of the 
 Jews; if he durst have put his honour and his life 
 upon the issue of a trial before Caesar, he would 
 not have condemned the guiltless. From the love 
 of the world arise almost all the mischiefs of human 
 life ; the hatred, the jealousy, the animosities, the 
 cruelties, the injuries, and oppressions, that, from 
 time to time, disturb the peace of families, of neigh- 
 bourhoods, of societies, and of kingdoms. 
 
 Let not such a passion strike its root into your 
 hearts; for you know not of what benefits it may 
 deprive, or into what crimes it may betray you. It 
 may prevent your reception of the truth; it may 
 render you disobedient to its dictates ; it may stir 
 you up to enmitj against its advocates; it may cause 
 you to " deny the Lord who bought you," to betray 
 the interests of truth and virtue, to " crucify unto 
 yourselves the Son of God afresh, and to put him 
 unto open shame." 
 
 Christians, consider what you are doing, when 
 you make the world, and the things of the world, 
 
290 
 
 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, 
 
 whether it be its esteem, its pleasures, or its inte- 
 rest, essential to your peace ! — what you are doing 
 when you are indulging keen desires after them, or 
 permitting your delight in these things^ to grow 
 upon your hearts. You are encouraging and strength- 
 ening those dangerous passions which betrayed the 
 Jews into all the guilt of having despised and reject- 
 ed the most important gift of heaven, and, finally, of 
 having murdered the holy one of God ! 
 
 When the world is spreading before you its al- 
 lurements, send your thoughts into the place where 
 Jesus lay. Tell the world, 4 You crucified my 
 Lord ;' ask the world ' would you destroy my soul ? 
 That I may have more of your vain amusements, of 
 your unsubstantial honours, of your sensual entertain- 
 ments, your precarious possessions, than virtue can 
 command, or innocence will permit, shall I disgrace 
 the christian character ? Shall I cause the name of 
 Christ to be blasphemed ? Shall I destroy my hopes 
 in that city " which hath foundations, whose builder 
 and maker is God ?" — I am a Citizen of Heaven; 
 my treasures, my real treasures, are in that world 
 where my eternity must be spent, and the fashion 
 of which passeth not away. Avaunt ye seducing 
 vanities; be at rest ye worldly passions; I have 
 learnt from him who was slain by you, to know the 
 enemies that war against my soul. I am going 
 whither he is gone, as fast as the wings of time can 
 convey me ; speedily, I shall have no more concern 
 in this world, than my master had while he slept in 
 Joseph's tomb. I will keep my eyes upon my cru- 
 cified Lord : — the reproach of Christ, is greater 
 treasure than the riches of the world. — J have sworn 
 fidelity to Jesus, as the Captain of my salvation, and 
 " the life that I now live in the flesh, must be by the 
 faith of the Son of God." ' 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 29 
 
 When, Christians, when will ye believe, that ti 
 be carnally minded is death ? When will ye believ* 
 that the honour of the gospel and the interests c 
 your own souls are dependent upon the spiritualit 
 of your hearts, and the purity of your minds ? Hon 
 long will ye continue unashamed to call yourselve 
 the friends of Jesus, whilst ye remain the enemies c 
 his cross, " by minding earthly things ? ,? — There i 
 but one unambiguous proof of your friendship t 
 him ; but one undeceitful principle on which yo 
 may expect his friendship ; namely, your abhorrenc 
 of the vices he condemned, and your delight in a 
 the virtues that he practised. 
 
 In the fifth place — To turn our meditations to ou 
 Lord deposited in Joseph's tomb, will natural] 
 increase our esteem and love of him. Virtue i 
 in every circumstance, an amiable object, but nev€ 
 more amiable than when in distress. When th 
 tear stands trembling in her eye, and the groan th* 
 distends her heart is withheld from breaking forth 
 then it is, that she draws out all our soul towarc 
 her. In her honour and prosperity we love hei 
 in her affliction and disgrace, we love her with 
 tenderer affection. To that fortitude which cannc 
 be overcome, to that fidelity which cannot be shakei 
 we look up with reverence and admiration. In th 
 very countenance of patience, meekness, and resi^ 
 nation, there are the sweetest and most powerfi 
 attractions. If it be for our sakes that virtue is di 
 tressed, if she suffer in our cause, what is there wan 
 ing to confirm her right to our esteem and love ?- 
 Christians ! surely one look into the grave of J< 
 sus, might cure you of that coldness and indifK 
 rence, with which, at sometimes it may be, yo 
 are wont to regard him. Can any one reflect, b 
 what a road, and with what a temper, he passe 
 
292 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesiis. 
 
 through the valley of death into the mansions of the 
 dead, and maintain a cold indifference towards him ? 
 What a heart must that be, in which a scene like 
 this cannot raise the sentiments of admiration, es- 
 teem, and tenderness, or, in which, those senti- 
 ments, in the contemplation of such a scene, can be 
 repressed ? 
 
 What was it that brought your Lord, thus dis- 
 honoured to the grave ? Did they fix him to the 
 fatal tree that he might go about to do them good 
 no more ? Did they send him to this land of silence, 
 that they might hear from him the glad tidings of for- 
 giveness, and of eternal life, no more ? Christians ! 
 that cross would never have been stained with the 
 blood of Jesus, if the world had not been defiled 
 with guilt ; that sepulchre never would have held 
 his lifeless body, if men had not broken the law of 
 God. Ruin was before them if they returned not 
 to their obedience, and Jesus died, to bring them 
 unto God. He died, that our hopes of mercy might 
 revive ; he died, that having lived to God in this 
 world, we might, for ever, live with him in a better. 
 He died, that according to the promise of his father, 
 he might become the author of eternal life unto aH 
 those who obey him. 
 
 Was he condemned at the bar of Pilate, that 
 we might not be condemned at the bar of God ? 
 Did he despise all this shame, that we might not be 
 overcome by the temptations of the world ? Chris- 
 tians, you are to live for ever — what then do ye 
 not owe unto him who hath abolished death ? The 
 love of Christ is essential to the character of a Chris- 
 tian — beware, that by your indifference towards 
 him, ye render not yourselves unworthy of that 
 holy name by which ye are called ! 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 29^1 
 
 Hitherto our reflections on the sepulchre of Jo- 
 seph have taken their rise from the consideration 
 that the Son of God was deposited within it. 1 
 would now suggest, in conclusion, a practical re- 
 mark or two, founded upon another reflection, 
 viz. that he did not continue to lie there. — " He is 
 not here," said the angel, "for he is risen, as he said." 
 
 How adorable is God, how wonderful in work- 
 ing, how excellent in counsel, how abundant in 
 means ! He speaks, and it is done. Although we 
 were entombed in the bowels of the earth; though 
 rocks and hills were heaped upon our graves, and 
 legions of soldiers employed to prevent all ap- 
 proach ; one angel, with a divine commission, one 
 command from the mouth of God, would dis- 
 perse the guard, and rend the rocks, and heal the 
 wounds of death, and raise the dead to immortality ! 
 
 Had you been sitting in the sepulchre of Jesus 
 when the fortieth hour from his crucifixion was ex- 
 piring, you would have seen the Lord, dead, cold, 
 and unimpressible as the rock he lay upon, and all 
 things around him, the guard who watched there 
 excepted, still as the midnight calm : — the next mo- 
 ment would have shown you, the earth trembling, 
 the Angel of the Lord coming down from Heaven, 
 the sepulchre burst open, the guard confounded, 
 and Jesus going forth invested with immortal life ! 
 In a moment the spirit took possession of the body 
 whence it had retired ; in a moment that heart was 
 healed which the spear had pierced, and that coun- 
 tenance, late so pale and deathly, illumined with 
 all the wisdom and all the virtue, which it was 
 ever wont to express. 
 
 " How marvellous are the works of God ! He 
 is great, and his name is great in might ; who in 
 
 27 
 
294 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 the Heavens can be compared unto the Lord, who 
 among the sons of the mighty can be likened unto our 
 God?" He is pursuing his designs, even when he 
 seems to have forgotten them, and is carrying on 
 his purposes by the very means that are employed 
 to defeat them. The Jews did not interrupt his 
 counsels when they laid Jesus in the grave. From 
 that sepulchre, where all the hopes of his despond- 
 ing disciples were entombed, the deliverer of Is- 
 rael came forth, invested with supreme power, and 
 aided, through the death he had endured, to send 
 salvation to the ends of the earth. The ways of 
 God are not as our ways, neither are his thoughts 
 as our thoughts! 
 
 In the sixth place— When we look into the tomb 
 of Jesus, and see that he is not there, we are una- 
 voidably reminded of Zophar's observation, that 
 " the triumph of the wicked is short." Triumph, 
 indeed, for a time, they may ; the enemies of Jesus 
 triumphed when they saw him conveyed to the si- 
 lent tomb. They persecuted him, till they destroy- 
 ed him ; they took away his mortal life, but to do 
 more, was beyond their power; they could not pre- 
 vent his resurrection ; and the glories and felicities to 
 which he rose were as far above their reach, as be- 
 yond their comprehension. 
 
 Christians, be not envious when you see the 
 prosperity of the wicked ; it is not long that they 
 will triumph over you : keep the road you have 
 wisely chosen ; a few fleeting days will bring you to 
 the land where all men shall receive according to 
 their works. 
 
 Sinners, consider your condition ; you are op- 
 posing his righteous will, against whom all opposi- 
 
Reflections ow the Tomb of Jesus. 295 
 
 tion is vain. Happy, as you may be, in the sun- 
 shine of prosperity, even then, your happiness is 
 not to be compared with that of the genuine Chris- 
 tian, although clouds and darkness may oversha- 
 dow his dwelling! The path of the just is as the 
 morning light which shineth more and more, until 
 ali his hopes and wishes are accomplished, in the 
 glories of the perfect day; the way of the wicked 
 is like the evening shades, enlivened it may be for 
 a while by the varied colours of a setting sun, but 
 which deepen and still deepen on the traveller as 
 he proceeds, till at length, finding no road to the 
 shelter which he wants, and stumbling at he knows 
 not what, he is suddenly involved in all the horrours 
 of midnight, cold, and darkness. 
 
 If there be any thing concerning which we can 
 certainly be assured that it is an irreversible de- 
 cree of God, it is this, which, from early times, he 
 has again and again committed to his ministers and 
 messengers. " Say ye to the righteous, that it shall 
 be well with him, for he shall eat of the fruit of 
 his doings ; but wo unto the wicked, for it shall 
 be ill with him, for the reward of his hands shall 
 be given him.'" It is the doctrine of the law, it is 
 the doctrine of the prophets,and it is the doctrine of 
 the gospel also.— Do you allege, sinners, that al- 
 though you be not righteous, yet you are not wretch- 
 ed ? Alas ! your prosperity, instead of fostering your 
 presumption, should alarm your apprehension. 
 When the husbandman has cast the seed into his 
 ground, does he hastily conclude, because the har- 
 vest comes not immediately, that it never will ar- 
 rive ? or, if he sow tares in his field, does he vainly 
 expect, that wheat will be the produce ? 
 
 Tell me, sinner, what rule of the divine conduct, 
 what maxim of the divine government was ever vio- 
 
296 Reflections on (he Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 lated ? In what instance has the counsel of the Al- 
 mighty been successfully opposed ? It is the decree 
 of God that we should come into this world, weak, 
 helpless, and ignorant; dependent for everything 
 on the care and kindness of our progenitors ; was 
 ever any man born otherwise? It is the decree of 
 God that no man shall take up his lasting abode in 
 this world ; has ever any man discovered the means 
 . of acting in opposition to this decree, and of mak- 
 ing himself a permanent settlement here below ? It 
 is the decree of God, that according as is the con- 
 duct of our early life, such shall be the habits and 
 character of our future years ; can any man spend 
 his childhood and youth in dissipation, indolence, 
 vice, and folly, and, in his following years have no 
 ignorance whereof to be ashamed, no habits of 
 idleness and sensuality, wherewith to reproach him- 
 self? 
 
 By divine appointment, by the connexions which 
 God has unalterably established, the futurities of the 
 coming world, depend as certainly upon the conduct 
 of this present life, as the futurities of this world 
 depend upon its preceding periods. — You might as 
 well hope to grow wise in the school of folly, vir- 
 tuous in the school of vice, or to be made immortal 
 by the deadliest poison, as to attain happiness by 
 disobeying the commands of God. That you shall 
 be judged hereafter, is as much a condition of your 
 existence here, as that you shall die. And do you 
 know what judgment is ? It is the just accommoda- 
 tion of your circumstances to your character, ac- 
 cording to the measure of your merit or your guilt. 
 The very same connexion that the Creator and Ru- 
 ler of the universe has inseparably established, be- 
 tween any other cause and its natural effects, be- 
 tween any other condition and its correspondent con- 
 sequences, the same has he established between ho- 
 liness and happiness. If you have not yet experi- 
 
Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 297 
 
 enced, that sin produces sorrow, it is because this is 
 only your seed time, and that the time of harvest is 
 not yet come. As easily may you build a house 
 upon the surface of the ocean, as attempt to lay 
 the foundation of true and durable enjoyment in 
 the contempt of God's counsels, and the disobedi- 
 ence of his laws. 
 
 In the last place — To look into the tomb where 
 Jesus lay, to employ our thoughts on the se- 
 pulchre from which he arose, has a natural tenden- 
 cy to confirm and encourage the joys and hopes of 
 virtue. 
 
 Christians, there is a sense in which you may 
 adopt the language of the Psalmist, " I have set the 
 Lord always before me ; because he is at my right 
 hand I shall not be moved." Yes, Christians, you 
 may take up the Apostle's triumph. If you breathe 
 his spirit, you may enjoy his transport ; " Blessed 
 be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 who, of his abundant mercy, by the resurrection of 
 his Son from the dead, hath begotten us again unto 
 a lively hope of an inheritance incorruptible, unde- 
 filed, and that fadeth not away." "Because he 
 lives, ye shall live also." Let us truly enjoy our 
 lives in devoting them unto God — let us trust him, 
 who gave our blessed Lord the victory over death, to 
 befriend us also, in the dying hour. 
 
 We will take the comfort suggested by the 
 empty sepulchre of him, by whose name we are 
 called ; we will take it for our departed friends ; 
 we will take it for our dying selves. In the Hea- 
 venly World we shall find our pious fathers, and 
 thither our pious children shall hereafter repair. In 
 that glorious morning when we shall have got this 
 
298 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 
 
 conflict over, we shall tell the king of terr ours, that 
 the victory is ours! 
 
 " Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stead- 
 fast, immovable, always abounding in the work of 
 the Lord, for as much as ye know that your labour 
 shall not be in vain, in the Lord." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who can 
 understand his errours ? cleanse thou us from secret 
 faults, keep back thy servants also from presump- 
 tuous sins, let them not have dominion over us. 
 Deliver us from that carnal mind which is enmity 
 against thee, and from that love of this world which 
 so fatally opposes itself to every thing which is 
 truly excellent. 
 
 Blessed be thy name that thou hast laid help for 
 us, on one, who is able to save unto the uttermost 
 all those who come unto thee by him ! In the gos- 
 pel dispensation, in the doctrine of Jesus Christ our 
 Lord, in his obedience unto death, and his exalta- 
 tion to a kingdom, thou hast furnished us with all 
 desirable advantages to deliver us from the domin- 
 ion of sin, or to preserve us from it. May the love 
 of Christ constrain us to live not unto ourselves, 
 but unto him. May we approve ourselves his faith- 
 ful subjects by a conscientious obedience to his 
 laws, by a growing resemblance to his character, 
 and by our sincere concern to preserve the peace, 
 and to promote the interests of his kingdom. What- 
 soever things are just, true, pure, lovely, venera- 
 ble, and of good report, if there be any virtue, if 
 there be any praise, on these things may we medi- 
 tate, and in these things may we ever be studious 
 to excel. 
 
DISCOURSE XIX. 
 
 DAVID r S MORNING HYMN OF PRAISE, 
 
 Psalm xix. 1....7. 
 
 1. The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament show- 
 eth his haudy work. 2. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night 
 unto night showeth knowledge. 3. There is no speech nor lan- 
 guage, where their voice is not heard. 4. Their sound is gone out 
 through all the earth, and their words to the ends of the world : in 
 them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun : 5. Who is as a bridegroom 
 coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a strong man to run a race. 
 6. His going forth is from the end of the heaven ; and his circuit 
 unto the ends of it : and there is nothing hid from the heat 
 thereof. 
 
 It has been objected that the celebrated Author 
 of this Ode, and of many other exquisitely beauti- 
 ful devotional pieces, was not made a better man by 
 his devotion, that his moral conduct was not im- 
 proved by it, and that his memory, in one fatal in- 
 stance at least, is stigmatized by crimes of the deep- 
 est die. That in that instance he was deplorably 
 deficient in the virtues of self-government ; that one 
 unhappy deviation from the paths of rectitude, in 
 his case, as in that of a thousand others, led on to 
 another, and to another, still more flagrant and 
 atrocious; that being raised to the pinnacle of hu- 
 man greatness, the power he thought he possessed 
 of extricating himself from the ignominy of his 
 vices, supplied an additional temptation, which he 
 
tiOO David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 
 
 had not the resolution to withstand, no one surely 
 will deny : let his example be held up as an awful 
 proof of the seducibie nature of the human heart, 
 and " let him who standeth, take heed lest he fall." 
 
 But, does it follow from the inefficacy of David's 
 piety, on some particular occasions, to overcome 
 the fatal effects of headstrong passion, that there- 
 fore, respecting the whole of his character, it was 
 of no avail ? Contrast with this the many virtues 
 by which he was distinguished, his fortitude, his 
 magnanimity, his ardent zeal for the prosperity and 
 happiness of his people. Contrast with this is 
 deep repentance, when the Prophet of God awak- 
 ened his sleeping conscience, by the beautiful para- 
 ble of the one Ewe Lamb. Can any one read 
 the heart-rending strains of deep contrition in his 
 penitential Psalms, and entertain a doubt that his 
 piety did not exceedingly meliorate and improve 
 his character ? 
 
 But it is not our design at present to weigh in the 
 balance, the faults and the virtues of this eminent 
 person. His virtues surely we may safely imitate, 
 notwithstanding the dark shades by which they 
 were sometimes overcast. Like him, when we 
 awake in the morning, enabled to return with re- 
 newed cheerfulness and vigour to the several duties 
 of our respective stations, we also may humble 
 ourselves before the presence of God. Like him, 
 at morning, at evening, at noon and at midnight, 
 may we pour out our praises and thanksgivings. 
 Like him, we may begin and end the day with 
 some serious inquiry into our own hearts and lives; 
 with some devout reflections on the mercy and 
 providence of God, or some pious meditation on his 
 works or in his law. When other duties of more 
 
IUwUs Menu** Hymm of Fwwim. 
 
 :z'.r i: , : -, :i r.z: ::? 
 they were bis, so these also should be 
 
 and delight : and bj these tmi 
 ma j endeavour to attain that sensibility of heart 
 
 , - 
 c-:: .;•. e ;:'G:c. :_:.•: e.ev::.;: r: :-v; - ;; 
 
 : 
 
 aod by which he stand s 
 ished amoosr the sons of 
 
 
 sou! ^rtA-.r.;-^ ;.:: ■..:- in;-: :'= 
 wards that God, whose onriif 
 omnipotence be acknow 
 that he was alone, walking in 
 hill of Sioa : meditating on ti 
 
 the gkrre \Tith which 
 
 surrounded, r ?ject h< 
 
 devotion, afforded bim new oi 
 and of praise, and seeme . 
 greatness and the goodnc?- 
 
 ^tnally K 
 are perpetually preserved 
 
 e shades of night were probable now pin "ti n g 
 a way, aod the dawn of daj beginning to display 
 
 \ ascendent beauties : all nature with h nw ietf 
 
 risen as it were from the dead; and 
 
 as darkness drew aside her curtatu from the world, 
 
 .d with the glorious sight, he indulged the 
 rapture it inspired \n the genuine spin: -tion. 
 
302 David's Morning Hymn of Praise, 
 
 AH the happiness he beheld, he referred to the first 
 great source of good ; all the power which was 
 displayed before him, he ascribed to the divine en- 
 ergy and operation ; and all the wisdom discove- 
 rable in the constitution of nature and the various 
 dependences and connexions of its principles, he 
 imputed to the great original, by whose word the 
 worlds were formed, and who made them all, in 
 number, weight, and measure. 
 
 Here, as in a mirror, he beheld the face of his 
 Creator; he considered every expression of con- 
 tentment or of gladness displayed in the animal 
 creation, as a hymn of praise and of thanksgiving 
 to the Almighty, and every being that he looked 
 upon, as a pillar erected to his honour. The whole 
 fabrick of the universe seemed as one mighty monu- 
 ment, raised to perpetuate the conviction of his ex- 
 istence, his universal government, and the remem- 
 brance of his transcendent excellence. * How as- 
 tonishing,' would he exclaim, ' are the degrees of 
 excellence I can observe between the reptile that 
 crawls beneath my feet, and that vital, rational, im- 
 mortal image of God himself, that animates this 
 clay-built body ! No power of mine, raised as I am 
 to the pinnacle of human greatness, could make a 
 pile of grass, or even create the smallest particle of 
 matter. The secret energy that sustains so won- 
 derfully this various fabrick, that feeds these vital 
 powers, that directs, combines, and actuates their 
 operations ; that prolongs them from time to time, 
 that renews them in their respective seasons, and 
 that carries them through their successive changes 
 to their appointed periods, surpasses all my con- 
 ceptions, and eludes my most diligent inquiries. O 
 God, the more I am conversant with thy works, the 
 more arguments do I gather of thy perfect skill, of 
 
David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 303 
 
 thine infinite wisdom; the more instances do I col- 
 lect of thy boundless goodness ; the greater convic- 
 tion do I feel of my incapacity to fathom the depth 
 of thy counsels, and of my total inability to show 
 forth all thy praise ! How manifold are thy works, 
 in wisdom hast thou made them all ; all thy crea- 
 tures praise thee ; the earth is full of thy riches, and 
 so also is that great and wide sea, the emblem of thine 
 own immensity, where my views are lost, and my 
 prospects are unbounded!' 
 
 Whilst thus the thoughts of the Psalmist were 
 ranging through the earth, and gathering from every 
 object that met his eye, some fragrant instance of 
 praise and of thanksgiving ; whilst thus, in a manner 
 perfectly becoming the intellectual and moral nature, 
 he was presenting his morning sacrifice, the sun arose 
 — he turned to behold that glorious luminary, and 
 struck with its majestick splendour, his thoughts 
 were instantly transferred from earth to heaven. 
 His heart already glowing with sentiments of piety, 
 the whole current of his affections set so strongly 
 towards God, that it could not be impeded or divert- 
 ed, but bearing forwards, and carrying every thing 
 along with it, augmented by every object that it met 
 with, he proceeded in the same strain of thought, 
 and the same spirit of devotion, to adopt the lan- 
 guage of the text. ' Nor is thy bounty, O God, 
 confined to the earth on which we dwell ; nor are 
 thy perfections written alone on the dust of the 
 ground, or merely enstamped upon every animal 
 that treads there. — That azure canopy which is 
 stretched out above, with all the shining ornaments 
 that distinguish it, an infinitely greater, and an in- 
 finitely nobler fabrick, acknowledges the same 
 original, and derives alike its splendours, and its 
 existence, from our God.' " Of old did he lay the 
 
304 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 
 
 foundations of the earth, and the heavens also are 
 the work of his hands." ' While things terrestrial 
 are so loud and so harmonious in his praise, celes- 
 tial things are neither silent nor unintelligible. Ask 
 them, if the splendours with which they shine be 
 their own ? Make reason their interpreter, and they 
 answer, No.' ki The heavens declare the glory of God, 
 and the firmament showeth his handy work.'" 8 Look 
 upon the firmament, was it always thus arrayed ? — 
 No; to the eye of reason, to the judicious and dis- 
 cerning mind, there appear those marks of deriva- 
 tion and dependence which condemn the worshipper 
 of the celestial luminaries ; which demonstrate that 
 they also arc creatures of the same power, that made 
 the earth and its inhabitants : so similar in all its 
 laws, so closely connected with them in all its inte- 
 rests, we are not permitted to ascribe to them any 
 higher honour, than that of being the heralds of our 
 Creator's praise.' 
 
 " The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 firmament showeth his handy work. Day unto day 
 uttereth speech, and night unto night, showeth 
 knowledge." fc It is not in one place or aspect of 
 the heavens only, that the glory of God is revealed: 
 the noon day splendour displays indeed that uncre- 
 ated and eternal source of light, in which there is no 
 darkness at all ; but it is not less clearly, nor less 
 abundantly manifested in the more numerous, though 
 more distant suns, which we see burning in the mid- 
 night firmament.' 
 
 4 Not merely once has this glorious host displayed 
 itself in the cause of religion and of God. Once to 
 have beheld the starry firmament ; once to have 
 seen the sun " rejoicing in his strength;" to have 
 enjoyed one cheerful day, to have waked through 
 
David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 305 
 
 one awful night, though from henceforth the amaz- 
 ing vision had never more been exhibited to our 
 sight, must have left behind them such impressions, 
 as no time could have effaced ; such matter of seri- 
 ous contemplation, as could not have failed to dis- 
 pose the thoughtful mind to religious sentiment and 
 devout affection ; such deep conviction, such re- 
 joicing evidence of an eternal and infinitely perfect 
 Being, who made the universe, and rules it, as could 
 hardly have failed to create an ardent desire of ob- 
 taining a more perfect knowledge of him ; a sincere 
 delight in the contemplation of his perfections, and 
 the study of his will, and a solicitous endeavour to 
 obtain the consolation of his friendship.' 
 
 Thus, in like manner as we are told that those 
 glorious spirits, who dwell in his immediate presence, 
 cease not day or night to celebrate in the most per- 
 fect manner the high praises of the Lord, so the 
 Psalmist has most beautifully and justly represented 
 the celestial luminaries as declaring their Creator's 
 Glory, and never ceasing to declare it: as delighted 
 with the employment and never weary of the work ; 
 as burning with a fervent zeal to signalize themselves 
 in the service of their Maker; as actuated with an 
 intelligent and rational solicitude that their ministry 
 should prove successful with the sons of men ; suc- 
 cessful to impress their minds with a sense of their 
 duty unto God, and to engage them in the pious 
 contemplation of his excellencies, and a cheerful con- 
 formity to his will. The day therefore, when it has 
 finished its course, when it is taking its leave of 
 those whom it has been cheering and enlightening, 
 and is now departing into eternity, to return no more 
 unto mankind ; is most beautifully described by this 
 sacred Poet as looking backwards to address its suc- 
 cessor ; committing to the coming day, the ministry, 
 
306 David* s Morning Hymn of Pra ise. 
 
 which itself was laying down ; urging the next rising 
 morning, to begin with the Almighty's praise ; to 
 prolong the instructive lesson, which itself could 
 stay no longer to inculcate ; and to resume those 
 pious admonitions, which itself could repeat no 
 more. " Day unto day uttereth speech," and in 
 like manner, proceeds the Psalmist, " night unto 
 night showeth knowledge." As if the night also, not 
 contented with what itself had revealed of the awful 
 grandeur and boundless majesty of God ; not satis- 
 fied with the lessons which itself had read to the 
 serious and rational spectator, of its solemn shades, 
 and its living fires ; leaves it, when the returning 
 day has put an end to its own ministry, leaves it in 
 pious charge with the night that shall succeed, to 
 resume its doctrine, to continue its instructions ; and, 
 when its own course is likewise finished, to teach 
 its successor, the night that shall follow, in what 
 manner to employ its powers and its voice to per- 
 petuate the Creator's praise- — " Night unto night 
 showeth knowledge." 
 
 In this manner, with the greatest propriety, as 
 well as with the most lively eloquence, does the 
 Psalmist represent to us the uniformity of Nature, 
 and the regular revolutions of the heavens, with 
 the evidence they afford of that kind and power- 
 ful Providence from which their motions proceed, 
 and by which they are preserved and governed. 
 The marks of their Creator's infinite perfection are 
 indeed so clearly impressed upon the heavens 
 above, that no serious observer can err, either con- 
 cerning their origin, or concerning the amiable and 
 adorable character of their great Author. 
 
 To express this sentiment, in itself so plain, so 
 just and true, we see the Psalmist has employed 
 
David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 307 
 
 the noblest imagery, he has ascribed to the hea- 
 vens, intelligence and speech : he has animated 
 the celestial orbs with the fervours of intense de- 
 votion, and has endued them with a voice that may 
 be distinctly heard by all the inhabitants of this 
 world. He describes their alternations, their dif- 
 ferent states and conditions, as speaking one unto 
 another in the audience of mankind, concerning the 
 infinite perfection of that uncreated mind, from 
 whose good pleasure and whose power these vi- 
 cissitudes proceed. 
 
 Having thus, with this bold, yet not unjustifiable 
 sublimity, celebrated the skill of the Creator as 
 manifested in that majestick canopy which he hath 
 spread over our heads, it seems as if the thought 
 had struck his mind, that perhaps his imagination 
 had been too daring in its flight; and that the chief 
 of the choir, to whom this Psalm was addressed, 
 and the congregation by whom it was to be employ- 
 ed in the publick worship of God, might be startled 
 and confounded, and doubtful in what manner they 
 were to understand the royal Poet, when they heard 
 him ascribing to the heavens, intelligence and 
 speech. They saw the sun from day to day re- 
 peating his accustomed journey, but they heard no 
 voice from heaven ; they saw the moon and stars, 
 from night to night travelling their appointed 
 course, but the most solemn silence was observed. 
 To obviate any doubts or difficulties, that from this 
 cause might disturb and perplex the mind, the 
 Psalmist goes on in the same sublime and pious 
 strain in which he had began. — u No speech, no 
 language, their voice is not heard." 
 
 The beauty of the original is absolutely lost, the 
 sense exceedingly misrepresented, and the connex- 
 
308 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 
 
 ion strangely violated, as it stands in our version ; 
 for, the Psalmist is not here asserting that the voice 
 of the heavens is universally heard, and is univer- 
 sally understood by people of all nations and all 
 languages; this, he asserts in the next verse, and is 
 here only preparing the way for that observation. 
 Here, he acknowledges, that in strict propriety, in 
 the reality and truth of things, these heavenly lu- 
 minaries have no speech nor language, no voice to 
 be perceived by the external sense ; nevertheless 
 that their sound (not their line, as it stands in our 
 version, which is another errour that has greatly im- 
 paired the beauty and perspicuity of this inimitable 
 ode) is gone forth through all the earth, and their 
 words unto the ends of the world. 
 
 The sense and connexion of the whole passage, 
 literally interpreted, is as follows, viz. 
 
 " The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 firmament proclaims his workmanship. Day unto 
 day uttereth speech, and night unto night teacheth 
 knowledge: no speech have they indeed, no lan- 
 guage, and their voice is not heard ; yet, into all 
 the world is their sound gone forth, and to the end 
 of the earth, their words." i. e. It is true, the 
 heavens have no audible voice, but they have lan- 
 guage, which all rational spectators can understand. 
 If they merely spake to the external sense, by those 
 only would they be understood whose language 
 might be similar to theirs — they address not the ear, 
 but the understanding; their language is universal ; 
 it is heard from one end of the creation to the other; 
 understood, not only throughout this earth of ours, 
 but throughout all the universe of God ; and where- 
 ever there is an intelligent spectator, whether here 
 or in any other world, there, they proclaim the 
 goodness of their Creator. 
 
David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 309 
 
 Having thus celebrated the glory of God, as in 
 general displayed in the firmament of heaven, he 
 proceeds to take more especial notice of that sub- 
 lime object, which seems first to have drawn his 
 meditations to the heavens — the sun just rising in 
 his sight. 
 
 " In them" (i. e. in the heavens,) he proceeds, 
 " hath God set a tabernacle for the sun." Here, 
 if I am not mistaken, the Psalmist speaks of that 
 purple light, which is the forerunner of the morn- 
 ing ; of those painted clouds which usually adorn 
 the eastern heavens before the rising of the sun. 
 On these he had been gazing, expecting that ere 
 long this glorious luminary would step forth from 
 behind them, and show himself unto the world. 
 Very naturally and very beautifully the Psalmist 
 considered these as a tabernacle, a splendid pavilion 
 wrought by the hand of God ; where, this great 
 source of day, during the shadows of the night, had 
 reposed himself, and from which he was about to 
 issue forth, with renewed brightness and recruited 
 strength. This conception he prolongs, and pur- 
 sues the idea through the following verses. 
 
 " In them hath he, (God) set a tabernacle for 
 the sun, who," adds the Psalmist, " is as a bride- 
 groom coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a 
 strong man to run a race. His going forth is from 
 the end of the heaven, and his circuit to the end of 
 it, and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof." 
 — 4 How vast, how amazing is the course he must 
 finish before night, from that extremity of heaven 
 whence he is now issuing forth, through the im- 
 measurable vault that bends above my head, to the 
 extremest west, where I last night watched his de- 
 parting beams. Nor, is the extent, or the rapidity 
 
 29 
 
310 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 
 
 of his yearly circuit which forms our seasons and 
 their changes, less wonderful than those of his 
 diurnal round, which constitutes our day and night; 
 by means of one, the inhabitants of every land en- 
 joy in regular succession the benefits of light and 
 darkness ; by the other, at uniform and equal pe- 
 riods, every climate is blest with the necessary in- 
 terchanges of seed time and harvest, summer and 
 winter; and thus are the benefits of his enlivening 
 warmth, equally and liberally dispensed to every 
 portion of this globe, and to every creature under 
 heaven.' 
 
 Thus have 1 endeavoured to illustrate to you the 
 true sense, beauty, and piety, of the first part of this 
 sacred hymn. You have seen that it suffers much 
 and loses a great deal of its perspicuity, its elegance, 
 and sublimity, from the inaccuracy of our version. 
 There is however in our language a poctick version 
 which does greater justice to the original ; I will 
 not say that the worthy author has retained all the 
 thoughts and all the sublimity, together with all the 
 simplicity of the royal poet, but this I may say, that 
 it is composed in the same elevated spirit of devo- 
 tion, and that whoever has sufficient sensibility of 
 heart to relish and admire the one, cannot be dis- 
 gusted or unaffected by the other. 
 
 1. The spacious firmament on high, 
 With all the bine ethereal sky, 
 
 And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
 Their great original proclaim. 
 
 2. The unweary'd sun, from day to day, 
 Doth its Creator's power display ; 
 And publishes to ev'ry laud, 
 
 The work of an almighty hand. 
 
 3. Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale ; 
 
David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 311 
 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 Repeats the story of her birth ; 
 
 4. Whilst all the stars which round her burn, 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 5. What, tho' in solemn silence all 
 Move round this dark terrestrial ball ; 
 What, tho' no real voice nor sound 
 Amid these radiant orbs be found ; 
 
 6. In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice ; 
 For ever singing, as they shine, 
 
 " The hand that made us is divine." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Who in the heavens can be compared unto the 
 Lord ? or who among the sons of the mighty can 
 be likened unto our God ? Thou, O Lord, art the 
 eternal fountain of light, and life, and happiness ; 
 the creator of all things visible and invisible; the 
 constant supporter, the gracious governour, the 
 daily preserver of universal nature ; the tender 
 father and the righteous judge, of angels and of 
 men ! 
 
 Thou art great, O Lord, beyond our most en- 
 larged conceptions, may thy grandeur make deep 
 impressions on our souls ; may we never presume 
 to take thy holy name upon our lips, unaccompani- 
 ed by the deepest sentiments of reverence and awe ; 
 for who shall not fear before thee, and glorify thy 
 name ? — Thou art good also beyond ail our grati- 
 tude, and thy mercies unto us, surpass all number ! 
 
312 David 9 s Morning Hymn of Praise. 
 
 What shall we render unto thee for all thy bene- 
 fits ? We would love thee with all our heart, and 
 soul, and mind, and strength ! 
 
 Most devoutly do we bless thee, O most mer- 
 ciful Father, that thou hast made us capable of 
 knowing whence all our comforts flow; of render- 
 ing thee a reasonable voluntary service ; of hold- 
 ing some communion with thee upon earth, in the 
 sacred duties of religious meditation, prayer, and 
 praise ; and of rendering ourselves more fit for the 
 exalted services of thine heavenly kingdom, when 
 time and days shall be no more ! 
 
DISCOURSE XX 
 
 ON THE GLORY OF GOD, AS DISPLAYED BY 
 THE HEAVENLY LUMINARIES. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Psalm xix. 1. 
 
 The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth 
 his handy work. 
 
 There is scarcely an instance of neglect or insen- 
 sibility more unworthy of our character, than to 
 live surrounded on all sides by ten thousand ob- 
 jects that proclaim the glory of God, and yet to 
 live carelessly and stupidly inattentive to their voice ; 
 indevoutly unobservant of that secret agency by 
 which they are sustained and governed ; veiled, in- 
 deed, it must be confessed, by the intervention of 
 second causes, but the glory of which, notwith- 
 standing, shines through the veil with such bright- 
 ness, that every attentive eye may see, and every 
 human heart is bound to acknowledge, to admire, 
 and to adore it. 
 
 Rejecting every thing abstruse or remote from 
 common apprehension, I shall avail myself of the 
 text as a guide; for we shall stand in need of some 
 pilot or landmark, that we may not lose ourselves 
 in so immense an ocean. Even those instances of 
 
314 On the Glory of God, as displayed 
 
 divine perfection, which are manifested in the hea- 
 vens, and lie open and level unto common appre- 
 hension, are so very numerous, that not one, nor 
 many Discourses would be sufficient to collect them. 
 I must content myself, therefore, with the mention 
 of a very few ; which may serve as a kind of spe- 
 cimen of the rest, and as an illustration of the man- 
 ner in which we ought to meditate on the works of 
 God. 
 
 It is most natural, in the first place, to take no- 
 tice of the external aspect of the heavens, for even 
 thence we may learn something of the glory of their 
 Maker, and derive some considerations to increase 
 our reverence of him. In the productions of hu- 
 man power and skill, there is ordinarily something 
 even in the first appearance, previous to any diligent 
 examination, without any accurate survey, which 
 bespeaks the excellency (if the works be indeed 
 excellent) of the hand that made them, and which 
 demonstrates that they are the performance of a 
 master : in the works of God, therefore, we may 
 reasonably expect, that on the most transient sur- 
 vey, there should appear something infinitely mag- 
 nificent and great, something that should mark them 
 as divine. — The expectation is just, and, in no in- 
 stance, will it ever be disappointed, but in no in- 
 stance will it be more completely satisfied than in 
 the contemplation of the heavens. 
 
 In that azure vault, though we regard not the 
 luminaries that revolve there, the most perfect sim- 
 plicity is united with the most majestick grandeur. 
 Who could stretch out the heavens but an Al- 
 mighty arm ? or who could paint them in their 
 various attractive and ever-changing beauties, but 
 an all-skilful Artist ? In the noon of day, what 
 
by the Heavenly Luminaries. 315 
 
 surpassing glory ; in the noon of night, what solemn 
 shades ! If we look to the rising sun, how majes- 
 tick is his motion ! how bright his radiance ! the 
 whole scene of his appearance, how magnificent 
 and sublime ! If we gaze on the setting sun, what 
 eye is not struck by the innumerable dyes with 
 which he tinges the western Heavens ? What art 
 can rival the painting of his declining beams, or 
 what heart does not feel itself composed and sof- 
 tened, by a spectacle, so tranquil, and serene ? 
 The mid-day blaze is at once an image and a proof 
 of his unutterable glory who dwells in light to 
 which no man can approach — the ten thousand 
 lamps that adorn the nightly firmament, that even 
 cheer its horrours while they make its gloom more 
 sensible and awful, could be suspended by no other, 
 than an Almighty Architect. That solemn scene 
 declares his power to involve us in the most tre- 
 mendous ruin ; it speaks also of his readiness to 
 set before us all the profusion of his glory, arid his 
 love ! The source of day speaks aloud the praise 
 of that uncreated light in which there is no dark- 
 ness at all : and when the moon issues forth to sup- 
 ply his absence, most powerfully does she remind 
 us of the tender mercy of God; who gives to man 
 every blessing in its season, and who would not 
 leave us to despondence or to want. Whilst her 
 incessant changes exhibit to us an emblem of the 
 inconstancy of earthly things, and of human cha- 
 racters, she exhibits a proof also, of an unchang- 
 ing hand, that guides and rules her motions; even 
 the " father of lights, with whom there is no varia- 
 bleness nor shadow of changing." 
 
 Secondly, The heavens still further reveal the 
 glory of God, if we attend to the magnitude of the 
 celestial bodies, the vast extent of the space in which 
 
316 On the Glory of God, as displayed 
 
 they move, and the rapidity with which their mo- 
 tions are performed. 
 
 With a very few exceptions, every star that we 
 behold is another sun unto another system ; placed 
 in the centre of many worlds, and affording unto 
 each as they revolve around it, their proper measure 
 both of light and heat, in their appointed seasons. 
 If so many suns, how r many worlds ? If so many 
 worlds, what numbers can express the inconceivable 
 multitude of their inhabitants ? all of them the crea- 
 tures of divine power, the monuments of divine wis- 
 dom, the objects of divine love ! — Think then, while 
 you are gazing on the starry firmament, how many 
 myriads of unnumbered worlds are at that mo- 
 ment rejoicing in the goodness of their Maker, and 
 are even then praising Him whose praise the star- 
 ry firmament invites us also to celebrate. Of all 
 these innumerable worlds, that one on which we 
 live, vast as we conceive it, is among the least 
 that we behold. There are those even in our own 
 system, to whose ocean our ocean is a pool, and to 
 whose mountains our mountains are as the smallest 
 hillock ! 
 
 These observations may a little assist you in con- 
 ceiving something of the vast magnitude of the 
 works of God ; but would you be informed how 
 wide is the extent of his creation, I can do little more 
 than tell you, that as his works for number are innu- 
 merable, so the space they occupy for extent is im- 
 measurable. It may aid your thoughts to be told, 
 that if you travelled round this globe for more than 
 3000 times, you would not have travelled by much 
 so far as the earth is distant from the sun ; and that 
 taking even the velocity of a cannon-ball, you could 
 not complete your journey thither in twenty-two 
 
by Ike Heavenly Luminaries. 31 7 
 
 years. Yet, astonishing as is the space that is 
 stretched out between our world, and the sun which 
 enlightens it daily by his beams, if compared with 
 the space that is comprehended within ail the worlds 
 that revolve around him, it is not so much as the 
 area of this house of prayer, to the city wherein it 
 stands, and, in comparison of the universe, even that 
 space is not as a hand's breadth to this globe ! What 
 an idea does this give us of the extent of the Divine 
 Presence! God is, wherever there are any of his 
 creatures ; out of his sight, or reach, or power, or 
 knowledge, you cannot go. Though you flew with 
 the rapidity of a ray of light, and prolonged your 
 flight unto eternity, still as you left new worlds be- 
 hind, new worlds would be continually passed by, 
 and new worlds continually coming into view ! 
 
 Sinner, when the day of retribution comes, whither 
 canst thou betake thyself for refuge ? What art thou, 
 that wrath should not come upon thee to the utter- 
 most ? Sinner, stand in awe of God ; think how ter- 
 rible a thing it is to fall into his hands, what art 
 thou that in his wrath he should not crush thee ? 
 
 Go where thou mayst, faithful Christian, whilst 
 thou art in this world, or when thou leavest it; 
 thou canst not go " where universal love shines not 
 around," thou canst not go away from God ; thou 
 canst not go where he will not be with thee, and 
 delight in thee, and pour out the riches of his libe- 
 rality upon thee ! 
 
 But to return from these reflections on the vast 
 extent of the universe, it remains to be observed 
 under this head, that the glory of God appears not 
 only in the immense extent of the heavens, and in 
 the magnitude of the celestial orbs, but also in the 
 
 30 
 
313 On the Glory of God, as displayed, 
 
 inconceivable rapidity of their motions. There is, 
 even in our own system, a planetary world, which 
 proceeds in its course with a speed so vast and as- 
 tonishing, that even thought is unable to keep pace 
 with it. Since the commencement of the present 
 hour, now near its close, it has passed through no 
 less a space than upwards of 40,000 miles. Such 
 is the rapidity of this earth, on which we live, in its 
 annual circuit round the sun, and equal to this, or 
 even greater, is the velocity of some others of the 
 planetary worlds — Measure, if thou canst, my soul, 
 or own that no finite creature can measure, the amaz- 
 ing power that fashioned these mighty orbs, or the 
 force that impels them in their courses ! 
 
 Thirdly, The heavens will reveal to us still more 
 of the glory of God, if we attend to the constancy 
 and harmony of their motions. 
 
 It was originally a promise of the Creator, and it 
 has been graciously fulfilled from the beginning, that 
 seed time and harvest, summer, and winter, heat 
 and cold, day and night, should not fail. As was 
 the first day that shone upon the world, so has this 
 day been. As was the first night that overshadowed 
 it, so will the night that is approaching, be. One 
 year, like every other year, is made up of seasons, 
 regularly and uniformly interchanging. The aspect 
 of the heavens, and the appearance of the earth, at 
 any given period, has exactly answered to their as- 
 pect and appearance in any other corresponding 
 period, from this day backwards, through six thou- 
 sand years, to the birthday of our world ! And, what 
 is true of this world for that period, is doubtless 
 true often thousand other worlds; for a period per- 
 haps ten thousand times as long. 
 
by the Heavenly Luminaries. 319 
 
 What an argument is here of an all wise, almigh- 
 ty, and all gracious Providence ; continually presid- 
 ing over the worlds that he has made ; actuating, 
 directing, controlling, and governing all their revo- 
 lutions ! If at any one moment, their heauty, their 
 order, and their magnificence, be a demonstration 
 that they are the creatures of unerring wisdom ; the 
 perpetuity of that magnificence, of that order, and of 
 that beauty, is a demonstration equally clear, of the 
 constant agency, and providence of God. 
 
 Whence is it that the sun never has mistaken its 
 rising, nor the moon her going down ? Whence is it 
 that the seasons have never been inverted nor con- 
 fused ? Whence is it that night has always come at 
 its expected period to the repose of the weary la- 
 bourer ? Whence is it that the harvest never has 
 forgotten to ripen that seed, which the spring invited 
 the industrious husbandman to sow ? In the heaven- 
 ly orbs, whence do the vicissitudes of day and night, 
 and of the seasons, flow ? there is in them no memo- 
 ry, no reason, no intelligence; they move as they 
 are impelled, and have no other powers or influen- 
 ces than those that are imparted to them, or impress- 
 ed upon them, by a foreign hand ; by the energy 
 of an omnipresent spirit: it is to the glory, there- 
 fore, of that omnipresent spirit, that they shine : 
 In all their changes they obey his will, and in all 
 their revolutions they manifest his wisdom and his 
 goodness. It is because he changes not, that the 
 order which was first established, is not inverted 
 or invaded ; " all things continue unto this day 
 according to his ordinances, because all are his 
 servants." 
 
 But again. It is not only the constancy and regu- 
 larity of the heavenly revolutions that declare the 
 
320 On the Glory of God, as displayed 
 
 glory of God ; his glory is still farther illustrated by 
 their perfect harmony and agreement. The host 
 of heaven is innumerable ; millions of worlds are 
 continually moving with infinite rapidity through 
 the immeasurable space that lies around us ; whence 
 is it that they prove so faithful to their courses, 
 that they never wander from their own proper 
 path, that they never interfere with each others 
 circuit, that no concussions or convulsions happen, 
 and that the benefits which they are intended mu- 
 tually to impart, are never intercepted or defeated? 
 In many instances their paths cross each other, 
 whence is it that no mischiefs come to pass ? Let 
 one world only arrive a little sooner or a little 
 later at a certain point, and how tremendous would 
 be the ruin that would ensue ! 
 
 Fourthly, The Heavens will reveal to us still 
 more of their Creator's gbry, if we attend to the 
 utility of the heavenly bodies, and of their motions. 
 
 No one can be insensible of the innumerable 
 blessings we derive from the agency of that glo- 
 rious luminary, of which the Psalmist so beauti- 
 fully says, that u God hath set a tabernacle for him 
 in the heavens." It is evident to all, that the sun 
 is the great source of our light and heat. Without 
 light, the face of nature would be one universal 
 blank— all would be gloom, discomfort, suspicion, 
 and dismay. The various beauties with which the 
 face of nature is adorned, of such efficacy to delight 
 the heart of man, and to delineate his Creator's ex- 
 cellence, would then have been bestowed in vain : 
 they could not have administered either to the plea- 
 sure or instruction of the children* of men, or have 
 discovered any thing of their Creator's excellence. 
 Confined, as must then have been their knowledge 
 
by the Heavenly Luminaries* 321 
 
 and improvement, if indeed their very existence in 
 such circumstances could have been preserved, 
 what would have been the intricacy and confusion 
 of their affairs? what utter strangers must they have 
 been to those things most intimately connected with 
 them, and which are, at the same time, most de- 
 lightful, and most important to their welfare ? So 
 unfavourable, indeed, would have been a situation 
 like this, to the moral character and moral con- 
 duct of men, that without the hope of an approach- 
 ing dawn, without the expectation of better things 
 to come, life, in this condition, could hardly have 
 been esteemed a blessing. — So miserable and so 
 fatal would have been the consequences, if we had 
 been deprived of those cheering rays, which mani- 
 fest at once the beauties and the wonders with 
 which we are surrounded ! 
 
 If again that glorious luminary should withhold 
 his heat, if the genial warmth that he imparts to 
 all things here below, were intercepted, or, if our 
 Almighty Maker had not provided for us so con- 
 stant and convenient a source of vital warmth and 
 comfort, the earth had been congealed into one 
 solid and inseparable mass; no fluids would have 
 circulated through the globe, or through the ani- 
 mal, or vegetable system ; and those motions and 
 revolutions on which every kind of life depends, 
 would have stood still. Day and night would then 
 have had no distinction, but that of light, and the 
 want of light; and the seasons would have brought 
 no changes, but what consisted in their different 
 proportions to each other of day and night; so 
 useful and so necessary are the solar beams to en- 
 lighten and to animate this world of ours; so ne- 
 cessary to the comfort, as well as to the preservation 
 of its various inhabitants. 
 
822 On the Glory of God, as displayed 
 
 Yet various and unspeakably great as are the 
 blessings we derive from the light and heat of the 
 sun ; perpetual day would not be a blessing. The 
 interchanges of day and night, are not only agree- 
 able in themselves for their variety, useful for the 
 different displays they exhibit of the Creator's wis- 
 dom and power, the one necessary to action, the 
 other friendly to repose ; but to these also, to the 
 regular return of evening cold, as well as of daily 
 warmth, we are indebted for those dews and rains 
 that are the refreshment and the nourishment of the 
 vegetable kingdom, without which, the earth would 
 be parched into dust and ashes. 
 
 These are a mere specimen, two or three select 
 instances out of a thousand that might be collected, 
 of the benefit we derive from the presence, and the 
 absence of the sun. 
 
 If again we turn our thoughts to the vicissitudes 
 of the seasons, another benefit which we derive from 
 the great lamp of day; we shall have a new in- 
 stance of the Creator's goodness in the utility of 
 this constitution. Admitting that in itself some 
 one of the seasons may appear more desirable than 
 another, yet each has its peculiar benefits and 
 beauties ; and a regular alternation by producing a 
 combination of all their blessings, is more desirable 
 than the unvaried continuance of any one season. 
 
 If we had continually been indulged with the plea- 
 sures and the benefits of summer, the other side of 
 the globe must have been frozen in eternal winter. 
 Nor should we have had any cause to rejoice in the 
 indulgence long; for, as all the seasons are accom- 
 modated to the service and the constitution of man- 
 kind, so likewise are they adapted one unto an- 
 
by the Heavenly Luminaries. 323 
 
 other. If continual winter were to prevail, the 
 productions of the earth would not suffice for the 
 subsistence of a very small part of those that now 
 live comfortably upon it; and if, on the contrary, it 
 were continually teeming with the profusion of 
 summers' fruits and herbage, all care and fore- 
 thought, and probably in great measure, all indus- 
 try and activity, on the part of man, would be pre- 
 cluded, to the great detriment both of his body and 
 mind. The gifts of the Almighty would be vainly 
 lavished in a measure far exceeding the wants of 
 his creatures, and in a manner much unbecoming 
 the wisdom of the bestower. The winter not only 
 seasonably causes the earth to cease from her la- 
 bours, when she has sufficiently supplied the ne- 
 cessities of her inhabitants, but at the same time 
 brings along with it those circumstances, which re- 
 new her strength, which fertilize her fields for future 
 harvests, and enable her from time to time to ad- 
 minister again to their returning wants. In con- 
 tinual winter, therefore, there would be a perpetual 
 provision for supplies of fruitfulness, without any 
 means of exerting this power, and without any use 
 or application of this provision, and of these sup- 
 plies; and in continual summer, a perpetual exer- 
 tion, without any renovation of them, a constant 
 waste, without any sources of repair. The alter- 
 nation, therefore, of these seasons, bespeaks the 
 goodness, as well as wisdom of the Creator. 
 
 This goodness and wisdom is still farther illus- 
 trated, in the gradual return of summer and win- 
 ter, through the intervening seasons of the autumn, 
 and the spring ; for, passing slowly from one ex- 
 treme to the other, the influence of each is more 
 kindly felt by the fruits 'and productions of the 
 
324 On the Glory of God, as displayed 
 
 earth, and the two extremes take place without 
 prejudice ; naj, in fact, with much advantage, to 
 the health and comfort of mankind. 
 
 Here again we have another instance of another 
 class of blessings derived unto mankind from the va- 
 rious changes, and the different situations of that 
 amazing orb, which God hath lighted up in the hea- 
 vens, " for signs and for seasons, for days and for 
 
 years." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord 
 God Almighty, in wisdom hast thou made them all! 
 Whither shall we go from thy spirit, or whither 
 shall we flee from thy presence ? If we ascend up 
 into heaven thou art there— if we take the wings of 
 the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of 
 the sea, even there shall thy hand lead us, and thy 
 right hand shall hold us ! 
 
 O Lord, what is man, that thou art mindful of 
 him, or the son of man, that thou visitest him — what 
 have we wherewith to come before this high God, 
 or what are we, that we should take upon us to ad- 
 dress so great and glorious a Being! 
 
 We owe it to thy guardian care, that day and 
 night, seed time, and harvest, fail not.— These 
 blessings of thy providence thou scatterest with a 
 liberal hand upon all thy creatures — wherever we 
 turn our eyes, we behold the most wonderful dis- 
 plays of Almighty power, unerring wisdom, and 
 never failing goodness ; and every moment that we 
 contemplate thy gracious appointments, we have 
 
by the Heavenly Luminaries. 325 
 
 new and convincing evidence, that the God we serve 
 is love. 
 
 O God, our unthankfulness in the midst of so many 
 mercies ; our unfruitfulness in the midst of so 
 many privileges ; our transgressions which we have 
 multiplied against so many awful obligations, and 
 against so much endearing tenderness, fill our 
 hearts with the most painful reflections and the 
 most distressing apprehensions, and might totally 
 have discouraged our hope in thee, were it not for 
 the gracious assurance in the gospel of Christ, that 
 with thee there is mercy, and that with our God 
 there is plenteous redemption. 
 
 :3i 
 
DISCOUKSE XXI 
 
 ON THE GLORY OF GOD, AS MANIFESTED IN 
 THE HEAVENLY LUMINARIES. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Psalm xix. I. 
 
 The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showcth 
 his handy work. 
 
 In the preceding Discourses on this subject, I have 
 endeavoured to point out, first, how strikingly the 
 glory of God is manifested in the external appear- 
 ance of the heavens; secondly, in the magnitude of 
 the heavenly bodies, and the rapidity with which 
 they move ; thirdly, in the constancy and harmony 
 of their motions ; and, fourthly, in their important 
 influence on our welfare and our happiness. Here, 
 our first attention having been naturally attracted by 
 that glorious luminary, which is at once the source 
 of our light and heat, I would now suggest a few 
 thoughts on the benefits derived from the lunar light. 
 Passing over those which are most obvious, and 
 which we experience when obliged to prolong our 
 labours beyond the decline of day, I would merely 
 remark its extreme importance to those, whose 
 
On the Glory of God, &c. 327 
 
 night continues not merely for a few hours, but who 
 are deprived of the cheering influence of the sun, 
 for weeks and for months. In these dreary regions 
 of our globe, not indeed very populous, yet not al- 
 together destitute of inhabitants, if some kind pro- 
 vision were not made to enlighten them, during so 
 long an interval, it is easy to imagine in how un- 
 comfortable a manner both themselves and their 
 affairs would be affected. But God is the common 
 father of mankind, and his tender mercies are over 
 all his works. The motions of the moon therefore 
 are wonderfully and graciously extended beyond 
 the limits of the sun's course, that during so long 
 an absence of that luminary, she may administer 
 some light and comfort to these dark corners of the 
 earth. 
 
 In illustration of the same benignity and care of 
 God, it may also be observed here, that many other 
 natural circumstances concur to render this situation 
 more tolerable than we imagine it ; so that although 
 the inhabitants be involved in a much longer night, 
 they know very little of that total darkness which so 
 frequently characterizes ours. 
 
 It is to the moon principally that we are indebt- 
 ed for those constant and regular agitations of the 
 waters, the air, and of every other fluid, whether 
 upon the surface of the earth or above it, which 
 preserves them from stagnating, and prevents pu- 
 trefaction ; the inevitable consequence of which 
 would be, general pestilence, and universal desola- 
 tion. There are tides also and from the same cause 
 in the human body, as well as in the terraqueous 
 globe, which have secret, but in general very bene- 
 ficial influences upon the health, the comfort, and 
 even upon the rational faculties of man. 
 
328 On the Glory of God, as manifested 
 
 Under this article, I will merely superadd one 
 observation more ; namely, that the division of our 
 time marked out to us by the moon, is attended with 
 much convenience to the affairs of men. In many 
 instances, the period of a year, marked out by the 
 sun, would be too long, especially considering the 
 brevity of human life ; whilst on the contrary, the 
 period of a night, or a day, or of both united, would 
 in many other instances be too short. 
 
 Of all the other worlds and fires that adorn the 
 firmament of heaven, I would only make this general 
 remark, that although they are at too great a dis- 
 tance to afford much light or warmth, or to have 
 anv direct influences on the earth and its inhabitants, 
 like the influences of the sun and moon, yet, in re- 
 spect even of us, ihey are not merely ornaments to 
 the beautiful canopy which the hand of God hath 
 stretched out over our heads. There are, in some 
 parts of our globe, immense plains, without road or 
 path, or any marks or means of distinction ; some, 
 uniformly dreary, and some, immeasurably wide ; 
 plains, where thousands of our fellow creatures have 
 no other guide to direct them in their migrations, or 
 in their visits from one part of the interminable pros- 
 pect to another, but the stars of heaven. These 
 celestial luminaries also, are a faithful guide to the 
 industrious mariner, through the trackless deserts 
 of the ocean ; by them he is enabled to make the 
 haven where he would be, and to return in safety to 
 his far distant home, instead of being tost without 
 knowledge, or without hope, upon the mighty wa- 
 ters: and it is by means of this intercourse, that the 
 commerce and communion of mankind, which had 
 otherwise been confined to contiguous countries, or 
 along adjacent shores, is extended from, one end of 
 the earth unto the other. By means of this inter- 
 
in the Heavenly Luminaries. 329 
 
 course also it is, that great improvements are deriv- 
 ed to the whole human race : that the hearts and 
 minds of men are opened to freer thoughts, and more 
 humane sentiments ; that their ideas of the great 
 Creator are enlarged and ennobled ; that the policy 
 of governments, may be, hereafter, in all instances, 
 and has been already in many instances, made bet- 
 ter ; that the manners of mankind have been refined 
 and softened ; and if some few vices and follies have 
 extended their infection, yet the balance, upon the 
 whole, has been much in favour of human happiness. 
 The influence of many virtues has been increased ; 
 true religion, even the knowledge of God, and of 
 the Son of God, has made an extensive progress ; 
 and since the way is now opened, our expectations 
 are enlivened and our hopes confirmed, that the 
 glorious day of salvation may be hastened, when all 
 the kingdoms of the earth shall become the king- 
 doms of the Lord, and of his Christ ! 
 
 Such then is the utility of the heavenly lumina- 
 ries, and of their various revolutions, such their con- 
 nexions with the affairs of men, and their beneficial 
 influences upon them ; so loudly do they proclaim 
 the glory of that hand by which they were formed, 
 and by which also they are moved and supported 
 with such inconceivable energy ! They are as useful 
 as they are magnificent, and form together one 
 general chorus employed continually in celebrating 
 the high praises of our God ! 
 
 Before I proceed to the next and last division of 
 this discourse, allow me to enlarge these thoughts, 
 and to extend the conclusion that may be drawn 
 from them in demonstration of the divine power and 
 goodness, by the following remarks. 
 
330 On the Glory of God, as manifested 
 
 In the first place, all that has been said concerning 
 the benefits which we derive from the sun, the revo- 
 lutions and the changes of his course, is equally true 
 concerning many other worlds to which he gives 
 both light and heat, and which, like ours, are con- 
 tinually moving round him. 
 
 Secondly, All that has been said concerning the 
 benefits we derive from the moon, is true concerning 
 our earth, in respect of that luminary, which is to 
 her, and her inhabitants, a moon, affording still 
 greater light, and producing similar, but much more 
 powerful influences. 
 
 Thirdly, We know that several of these worlds, 
 which have the same common source of light and 
 heat with ourselves, are, like our world, attended 
 by their respective moons, which of consequence 
 administer unto them the same benefits which we 
 receive from ours, and which derive from the planet 
 they attend, the same advantages, which our moon 
 derives from the world which we inhabit. 
 
 In the fourth place, From every world throughout 
 the universe, the heavens will make the same appear- 
 ance to its inhabitants, that they make to us ; and 
 consequently they may afford the same benefits to 
 the inhabitants of every other world, that they do 
 to the inhabitants of this. — Thus, O God, wherever 
 we go, do thy works praise thee; in all worlds do 
 we trace the footsteps of thy wisdom, thy power, and 
 thy goodness ! 
 
 Again, the skill with which the works of God are 
 combined together; the harmonious connexion that 
 is established, and has subsisted for ages, unbroken 
 and undisturbed among all the various parts of this 
 
in the Heavenly Luminaries, 331 
 
 immeasurable system ; the benefits that result from 
 these connexions and dependencies, in innumerable 
 instances so striking and so extensive, so wonderful, 
 liberal, and gracious ; justify, nay demand this con- 
 clusion, that nothing has been made in vain; that 
 even, where we cannot see the utility and kind- 
 ness of the works, or the dispensations of the Al- 
 mighty, it is not because they are not useful, it 
 is not because they are not kind, but because we 
 want the discernment, the penetration, the compre- 
 hension of mind, or some other necessary assistances 
 to discover their real character. Could we see with 
 the eye of truth ; in every object we behold, from 
 the dust of the ground, to the heavens on which we 
 gaze with wonder; from the lowest of his creatures, 
 to those who know him best, and love him most, and 
 bear the nearest likeness to him ; we should see it 
 written in eternal characters, that God is power, 
 and light, and love ! 
 
 In the ear of reason, there are ten thousand salu- 
 tations proceeding from ten thousand times ten 
 thousand living creatures, congratulating the race 
 of men that they live under the government of so 
 great, so kind, and so good a master. — u Rejoice 
 then in the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within 
 me praise his holy name !" — Rejoice with trembling, 
 O ye sons of men, and think what returns ye can 
 render unto him for all his benefits ! 
 
 In the last place, I would just add another obser- 
 vation on this subject; the heavens reveal to us still 
 more of the glory of God, if we consider how won- 
 derfully and how kindly their influences and revo- 
 lutions, are adapted to the frame, and to the wants 
 of man. 
 
332 On the Glory of God, as manifested 
 
 Here I would by no means be understood to in- 
 sinuate that the heavens were made for this pur- 
 pose only, that the sun was created for no other 
 end than that we might be warmed and enlighten- 
 ed by his beams, or that the moon was created for 
 no other purpose, than to cheer the darkness of our 
 night; or the stars, with no other view, than to 
 entertain the eye of man and direct him in his 
 course. — The whole race of mortals, all that have 
 lived, and all that ever will live, are, in the uni- 
 verse of God, as a few grains of sand to the sea 
 shore ! — Let us not conceive that these glorious lu- 
 minaries have not far wider connexions, and more 
 extensive influences, and more important services. 
 But, if amidst these, if amidst innumerable other 
 purposes ; if amidst innumerable other services, im- 
 measurable in their extent, and unspeakable in 
 their importance, the race of mortals has n.ot been 
 overlooked or forgotten by the great Lord of all ; 
 if, whilst these luminaries are accommodating their 
 situation and their revolutions to so many nobler 
 ends, they are at the same time so accommodated 
 to the powers and the wants of man, as if created 
 for him alone; this surely is a striking argument 
 of his glory, who, whilst he attends to the greatest 
 objects, overlooks not the smallest ; who knows 
 how to harmonize the interests of all, so that there 
 shall be no discord or interference; and whose 
 paternal care and tender mercies are extended 
 even to the least and the most unworthy of his 
 creatures ! 
 
 Of this observation I shall produce but one short 
 instance, which will be sufficient fully to justify the 
 remark, and may lead our thoughts to many similar 
 reflections. 
 
in the Heavenly Luminaries. 333 
 
 It is obvious to observe, that great as is the 
 distance between this earth, and the source of its 
 light and heat, it is not too great for the faculties 
 or the exigencies of its inhabitants. At a greater 
 distance, as our globe is now constituted, we should 
 have had but a little, comfortless, twilight day; the 
 obscurity and coldness of which would have es- 
 sentially interfered with the business, security, and 
 health of man : we should have had but a faint, 
 cheerless summer, too weak to infuse life and 
 gladness either into the animal or vegetable crea- 
 tion ; and if not wholly insufficient to raise the 
 fruits of the earth into vegetation, at least not 
 sufficient to prepare, and to mature them : and our 
 nights and winter would have been exceedingly 
 noxious and severe. On the other hand, had the 
 distance been less, though the winter and the night 
 might have been in some degree comfortable, yet 
 the summer and the day would have burnt with 
 insupportable heat, and have blazed with unsufFera- 
 ble splendour. 
 
 I would now close the whole, with the following 
 short practical reflections. 
 
 In the first place ; We may learn hence by what 
 means to improve our knowledge of God and of 
 his glory ; viz. by a pious contemplation of his crea- 
 tion, and a serious attention to his providence. 
 To Christians, the word of God is a sacred rule 
 of duty; and his word commends us to his works, 
 if we mean to grow in divine knowledge. The 
 beautiful and sublime imagery of the ancient pro- 
 phets, prove them to have been devout observers 
 of the wonders of creation ; and indeed there can- 
 not be a stronger argument of insensibility and 
 indevotion, than to live without God, without a su- 
 
 32 
 
334 On the Glory of God, as manifested 
 
 prerae reverence of his glories ; without attention 
 to his presence, when all tilings around, above, 
 within, and beneath us, testify that an Almighty 
 hand created, and an all-gracious arm perpetually 
 supports them ! 
 
 Continually in the temple of the Lord shall I 
 be, and habitualiy unmindful of the divinity that 
 resides there ? Shall the Psalmist celebrate the 
 beauties and the pleasures of a little local temple 
 built by human art, the fruit of man's device, and 
 which long ago has perished as its founder perish- 
 ed ; shall the Psalmist celebrate a little local earth- 
 built temple, because it was consecrated unto God, 
 and because his worship was performed there, and 
 shall our souls pay no regard, lend no attention, to 
 that infinite and eternal temple, whose builder, and 
 whose maker is God ? Look up to the innumerable 
 worlds that revolve around us — with what nobler 
 ideas, and sublimer sentiments ought not we to 
 adopt the language of the king of Israel, saying 
 unto him whose transcendent glory they manifest, 
 " O how amiable are thy tabernacles, Lord of 
 Hosts, our King and our God !•" 
 
 Nor is the pious contemplation of the works of 
 God recommended only by the example of the 
 Psalmist : Jesus, the author and finisher of cur 
 faith, was a studious observer, as well as a zealous 
 preacher of divine providence, and a devout con- 
 templator of his Father's works. If a sparrow fall 
 to the ground, it is not without his heavenly Father ; 
 if the fowls of the air are feeding in his sight, they are 
 feeding on his Father's bounty ; if the lilies of the 
 field adorn the scene that is before him, it is the 
 hand of God that clothed them, and perfumed them 
 with an odour and a splendour which no efforts of 
 
in the Heavenly Luminaries. 335 
 
 human art, which no sumptuousness of imperial 
 magnificence, can equal. 
 
 A more rational entertainment no man can devise; 
 a more edifying employment no man can conceive, 
 than the serious and religious study of the works 
 and ways of God. It is an entertainment that may 
 be enjoyed in some considerable degree by the low- 
 est capacities, if there be but the ability to observe 
 and to reflect. It is an employment that may be 
 made consistent with every other occupation, at any 
 hour, and in any scene. 
 
 Again. To survey every living object we behold, 
 as the creature of him who made ourselves, and the 
 various events of life as proceeding from the decree 
 of God ; to consider them in this light, will conse- 
 crate the most trivial occurrences into a sacrifice of 
 praise ; and raise those pleasures, which had other- 
 wise been no more than mere animal sensations, 
 or mere amusements of the imagination, into 
 the noblest, the most edifying, the most satisfac- 
 tory, and the most worthy, of which humanity is 
 capable. 
 
 The Psalmist spake nothing more than the lan- 
 guage of nature and experience, when he said ; 
 " that the works of the Lord are great to all those 
 by whom they are sought out ; giving pleasure." — 
 The devout contemplation of them exceedingly ex- 
 pands and improves the mind ; corrects the desire 
 for all baser pleasures; and while it renders us less 
 vulnerable to the temptations of this present state, 
 we are thereby fitted and prepared for the more 
 noble employments, and spiritual attainments of that 
 which is to come. — By means such as these, the in- 
 terests of piety cannot fail to be promoted ; for 
 
336 On the Glory of God, as manifested 
 
 what heart, accustomed attentively to contemplate 
 the immensity of creation, can be so insensible, as not 
 to stand in awe of him who is punctually obeyed by 
 ten thousand times ten thousand worlds ; and to 
 whom the universe, and every being in it, owes its 
 existence, and who has every heart and every hand 
 in his controul ? What soul is there so obdurate, as 
 not to feel, with the most fervent emotions of grati- 
 tude and love, that benevolence of God, that is as 
 wide as infinitude itself, and as stable as his own 
 eternity ? What soul is there so fearful and so dis- 
 contented, as not to resign its apprehensions and 
 solicitudes, and commit itself with cheerful confi- 
 dence to that God, who, if his works and his provi- 
 dence may be trusted, knows all the wants of all his 
 subjects, and pities the distresses even of the mean- 
 est creature he has formed ? 
 
 What is there that can dilate our hearts into pu- 
 rer, or more fervent sentiments of charity and love, 
 than to range through the boundless ocean of our 
 Creator's mercies? — What is there so favourable 
 to the sentiments of genuine humility, as to send 
 out our thoughts to the universe of God, in com- 
 parison of which, the world we inhabit is but as 
 a particle of dust, and ourselves as an atom of that 
 dust. 
 
 Lastly. From what has been said upon this 
 subject we may form a probable conjecture, con- 
 cerning a part, at least, of our employment, in a 
 future state of perfect virtue and of perfect happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Here we see little of the works of God ; yet the 
 little that we do see conveys to us the purest and 
 most sublime pleasure. We perceive an immensi- 
 
in the Heavenly Luminaries. 337 
 
 ty behind, undiscovered and unknown, except that 
 such an immensity exists. — What more probable, 
 than that it should form a part of our future recom- 
 pense and happiness, in union with each other, to 
 trace the Creator's footsteps, in this and other 
 worlds, and to pursue the manifestations of his glo- 
 ries, through immensity, and to eternity, without 
 limit and without end ! 
 
 A nobler, or more pleasurable employment, we 
 can hardly desire or conceive — jet a nobler and 
 more pleasurable employment we have reason to 
 hope for, and expect ; — what means the transporting 
 promise that we shall then see God ? not " through 
 a glass darkly ;" not only by reflection in the mir- 
 ror of his works, but immediately, and even face 
 to face ! — Blessed state ! Extatick expectation ! 
 Who would lose it ! Who, my friends, would not 
 earnestly " press toward the mark, for the prize of 
 the high calling of God, in Christ Jesus!" 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Lord God Almighty, before the mountains 
 were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the 
 foundations of the world, from everlasting to ever- 
 lasting thou art God, and thy dominion is from ge- 
 neration to generation. Thou art the same, yester- 
 day, to-day, and for ever ! 
 
 O Lord, when we consider the heavens, the work 
 of thy fingers; when we behold the spacious firma- 
 ment which thou hast stretched out above us; when 
 we see the sun which thou hast appointed to rule 
 the day, shining in his strength; or the moon 
 which thou hast directed to keep watch by night, 
 
338 On the Glory of God, &c. 
 
 walking in her brightness ; when we attempt to 
 count that starry host with which the heavens are 
 adorned ; our hearts are overpowered with the most 
 lively and awful conviction, that thou art great, and 
 thy name great, and that the understanding of our 
 God is infinite ! 
 
 Raise us, we beseech thee, to that happy state 
 of mind, and keep us for ever in it, in which it shall 
 be our chief delight to do thy will. May we be con- 
 tinually aspiring after new improvements in the 
 Christian character ; may we never think that we 
 are already perfect ; but forgetting the things that 
 are behind, and reaching forward to those that are 
 before, may we press forward towards the mark, for 
 the prize of the high calling of God, in Christ Je- 
 sus. — As we draw nearer unto heaven, may We be- 
 come more heavenly minded, more like those pure 
 and holy spirits who reside there, and more meet to 
 be partakers with them, in their employments and 
 their happiness. 
 
 Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, 
 God only wise, be glory and majesty, dominion and 
 power, both now and ever. Amen ! 
 
DISCOURSE XXII. 
 
 ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE 
 RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 
 
 John xi. 4. 
 This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God.* 
 
 It is the duty of every Christian Minister, for it is 
 the duty of every man, to extract whatever good 
 he can extract, from every thing that befalls either 
 himself or others. All the dispensations of Divine 
 Providence contain in them the wisest instructions, 
 and may be made productive of the kindest influences, 
 to promote our best interests, to enhance our present 
 consolations, and to enrich our heavenly inheritance. 
 We cannot neglect them, but to our injury ; who 
 then u is a wise man among you," let him show 
 forth his wisdom in strenuous exertion to derive 
 from every afflictive event, the important counsel 
 it is capable of suggesting, and to profit from the 
 wholesome discipline which it may administer. 
 
 You all know the occasion that first led my 
 thoughts to the portion of Scripture I have read to 
 you. — You also, " are in the body ;" perpetually 
 exposed to sickness, pain, and death ; and it was 
 
 * Composed and preached on recovery from a nervous fever, in the 
 year 17U3, in which the Author had been confined to his bed several 
 ireeks, and his life had been despaired of many days. 
 
 
340 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 my desire to assist you in the just improvement 
 of such dangers and of such deliverances as I had 
 myself experienced, to the melioration of your 
 hearts, and therefore, to the honour of your Ma- 
 ker. 
 
 It may be, that you have had experience of such 
 situations, and if so, it is an incumbent duty, tenderly 
 to cherish the remembrance, both of the affliction, 
 and of the salvation ; for they still remain with you 
 in their results, as talents to be acknowledged, oc- 
 cupied, and improved. — It is possible that you have 
 not yet. experienced such situations ; but it is by no 
 means improbable, that hereafter you may ; and in 
 that case, beforehand to have reflected on the bene- 
 fits to be derived from them, and the improvements 
 to which they majft>e made subservient, will enable 
 you to derive those benefits with greater certainty, 
 and in more abundance, and to make that improve- 
 ment with greater accuracy, and with more accep- 
 tance and success, when the hour of trial shall come. 
 —Such previous meditation, upon subjects so inter- 
 esting, properly pursued, and repeated at well-chosen 
 intervals, will render us more attentive to the actual 
 impressions when they do arrive ; more able to ap- 
 prehend and feel the general dictates and demands 
 of such visitations, and more capable of distinguish- 
 ing those influences produced by them, to which we 
 ought to yield our hearts, from those, which it equally 
 behoves us to resist. 
 
 From these motives, and with these objects in 
 view, my thoughts were led to the text before us; 
 it is not my intention to consider it as connected 
 with the history of Lazarus, but only to observe 
 to you ; 
 
be derived from Severe Illness* 341 
 
 First, How those sicknesses which are not unto 
 death, are in themselves, and of necessity, to the 
 glory of God, and 
 
 Secondly, How the real Christian, whilst he re- 
 joices in these necessary displays of divine glory, will 
 exert his own voluntary endeavours also, that both 
 his dangers, and his deliverances, may redound still 
 further to the glory of God. 
 
 In the first place ; Those sicknesses that ter- 
 minate not in death, are of necessity to the glo- 
 ry of God. 1 mean not to assert, that there is 
 any thing peculiar in them to the exclusion of those 
 sicknesses which do terminate in death : for every 
 thing is to the glory of God ; sickuess as well 
 as health; pain, as well as pleasure ; death, as well 
 as life ; evil, as well as good ; all are to his glory. 
 Throughout the whole universe of God, there is not 
 a being that exists, nor an event that comes to pass, 
 which is not to his glory : that is to say, there is not 
 in the whole universe, a being, or an event, which, 
 to a mind capable of comprehending the nature, the 
 causes, and the purposes of its existence, together 
 with the connexions, the influences, and the results; 
 which does not strikingly exhibit the perfections of 
 its Author, and dispose every such spectator, to all 
 the blessed sentiments and genuine expressions, of 
 veneration, love, and joy. 
 
 Placing our subject in this light, we can hardly 
 fail immediately to perceive some rays of the divine 
 glory in those sicknesses that are not unto death, 
 and it will not be difficult so to direct our medita- 
 tions, as to open wider views of the divine excellen- 
 cies and more abundant causes of devout affection 
 in these visitations of God's providence. 
 
 33 
 
342 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 Go into the sick man's chamber, you will find 
 him, it may be, extended on his bed ; not in soft 
 and gentle slumbers, the restorers of exhausted 
 nature, but tossing to and fro, in painful and tumul- 
 tuous vigils ; or bound down in unconquerable death- 
 like somnolency. You may find there, perhaps, 
 even in the noon of life, the manly vigour, which, 
 not many days ago, was actively and ardently en- 
 gaged in innocent, honourable, and useful occupa- 
 tions, sunk into oppressive languor, or dissolved, 
 even into infant weakness ; heaving the breath 
 that is not to be reached ; ineffectually attempting 
 even the easiest exertions — the springs of life, which 
 lately flowed with such force and freedom, baffled 
 in their course : with embarrassed, interrupted, la- 
 borious, failing efforts, struggling to keep up the 
 vital current, and intimating, that they cannot do it 
 long ! You might find there, perhaps, the sensa- 
 tions which lately were so acute and lively, slow 
 and obscure, and nearly extinct. — The ideas that 
 were lately so clear and vivid, broken, confused, 
 and blotted out. The understanding, that lately 
 was employed with just discernment in the pur- 
 suit of truth, -or in the business of the world, con- 
 founded, deranged, distracted; one while overpow- 
 ered by vast, and dark, and awful imaginations ; 
 another while, dissipated in the lightest, wildest, 
 and most extravagant conceptions ; its owner know- 
 ing nothing of the scene around him, unacquaint- 
 ed with his best friends, and a stranger in his own 
 house ! 
 
 From such circumstances, the next step is 
 usually into the grave : yet sights like these are 
 sometimes seen in sicknesses that are not unto 
 death. Who does not perceive in them the demon- 
 strations of that awful Power that can stop the 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 343 
 
 wheels of life whenever seemeth to him good ; that 
 can crush the firmest fabrick; that can blight the 
 fairest prospects ; that can darken the brightest 
 day ; that can keep us living, and, in any degree he 
 pleases, sensible to the anguish of sucli life ; in the 
 midst of dying circumstances that can pain us at 
 every avenue of our bodies, and distress us in every 
 faculty of our minds. How fearful is that Power! 
 how necessary is its friendship ! how forcibly do 
 such scenes inculcate it upon us, to consider our de- 
 pendence, and to own it, and to stand in awe of 
 God? 
 
 But, though the language which such a situa- 
 tion addresses to the ear of reason, is full of awful 
 and terrifick images, yet it is not terrour only that 
 it inspires. When we cast our eye into scenes of 
 pain and sickness, if we see not there so much of 
 the goodness, as of the power of God, yet we catch 
 some glimpses of the divine benignity : for it can 
 hardly fail to meet our thoughts, that these are not 
 the ordinary circumstances of mankind. If some- 
 times, when need be, we are for a season, now and 
 then in heaviness, yet how much more numerous are 
 our days of health, activity, and joy ? The remem- 
 brance of these happy days may well silence 
 discontent, and enkindle gratitude on the bed of 
 pain and languishing ; and even there, the well form- 
 ed mind can derive comfort to itself, and feel its joy 
 in God, from the reflection, that at all times the sick 
 are comparatively few ; the great body of mankind, 
 easy, vigorous, and happy. To an imagination that 
 is at all at liberty to contemplate them, scenes of 
 sickness and mortality suggest their contraries, vi- 
 vacity and health. While the cloud is hanging over 
 you, it may intercept, from the spot you occupy, 
 some rays of the divine benignity, and may cool 
 
344 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 your accustomed triumph in the government of God : 
 yet even then, if you will extend your view beyond 
 your chamber, or your house, you will see all around 
 you, a wide and cheering prospect ; chequered it 
 may be with here and there a cloud, like that which 
 is passing over you, but for the most part, enlight- 
 ened and enlivened with the brightest splendours of 
 divine liberality and goodness. 
 
 Such contemplations even sickness can suggest, 
 to alleviate the weight with which it presses on us, 
 and to glorify that God, to whose grace, our visitation, 
 and pain, and languor, are to be ascribed; who ap- 
 prehends no attainder of his character from any 
 thing he commands or does ; whose own language 
 of his own conduct is, " I form the light and create 
 darkness ; I make peace and create evil; I the Lord 
 do all these things." 
 
 In this manner, and in many other respects which 
 it were easy to enumerate, does sickness, whatever 
 be its termination, whether death, or renewed life, 
 
 florify God its author. And if affliction glorifies 
 im, how much more, deliverance from affliction ? If 
 sickness is the means or the occasion of exhibiting 
 unto us the excellencies of his nature and his cha^ 
 racter; to our feeble eyes and contracted views, 
 how much more directly and more manifestly are 
 they displayed, in the healing of our diseases, and 
 the renovation of our frame. 
 
 When, in the example of a friend, we contemplate 
 the progress of disease, advancing from one degree of 
 power to another, till at length, nature, no longer 
 able to maintain the unequal conflict, sinks down 
 oppressed and overwhelmed ; our heart-aches grow 
 with the growing danger ; till, at last, perhaps, our 
 
be derived from Severe Illness* 345 
 
 faith fails us : While we speak in vain to the ear 
 that hears not, or the understanding that apprehends 
 not; while we look with wishful anguish on the 
 pallid countenance, and watch with anxious solici- 
 tude the ebbing breath ; it seems, as if there were 
 but a moment to the fatal termination. While in- 
 deed, there is life, there is hope ; but in a state 
 like this, we dare not indulge it. — By what unknown 
 springs should that oppressive load be shook off? 
 by what means can that retiring spirit be recalled ? 
 — What a journey ! long, insupportable, impractica- 
 ble ? through all the stages that led to this awful 
 scene, what a journey ! How impossible to travel 
 back again, to the height from which he is fallen ! — 
 If, notwithstanding all this fear, and doubt, and un- 
 belief, that height be again regained ; if the trans- 
 formation actually takes place to which our hopes 
 durst not, or, perhaps, could not extend ; if the dy- 
 ing friend does not die ; if, returning from the grave, 
 where he was going down, he be re-invested in his 
 strength, his reason, and activity ; his connexions, 
 about to be dissolved, kindly renewed, and those 
 offices, by him to have been done no more, resum- 
 ed ; in reflecting upon such events, how impossible 
 is it for the thoughtful mind to overlook what they 
 exhibit of his glory, who is the God of our lives, 
 the length of our days, and the dispenser of all our 
 circumstances ! 
 
 What power ! to commission the ministers of death, 
 to bring down their victim to the very edge of the 
 grave, and in the moment when their triumph is 
 about to be complete, to contioul their operations, 
 and reverse them ! What skill ! to lay no less, and 
 yet to lay no more upon a feeble mortal than what 
 he is able to bear. What wisdom! so exactly to ac- 
 commodate the nature, the force, the extent, the con- 
 
346 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 tinuance of disease, to the power of sustaining, resist- 
 ing, and surmounting it, as that it shall stop short of 
 nothing but the extinction of the one last spark of 
 life, and shall do all but extinguish it ! 
 
 What kindness ! to restore to endeared connex- 
 ions, to enlivened hopes, to improved comforts, to 
 accustomed services, to unfinished projects, to new 
 opportunities and increased motives of cultivating 
 the affections of the Christian character, of adding 
 to the treasures we have laid up in heaven, and of 
 abounding still more and more, in all good works ! 
 
 To whom are resurrections such as these to be 
 ascribed ? Whose power, whose wisdom, whose 
 goodness, do they display ? Shall we impute them 
 to that self-rectifying principle which shows itself 
 so manifestly in every part of nature, and not least 
 in the human frame ? But who gave to this exqui- 
 site machine that self-rectifying power, and who is 
 it wards off that fatal period, that insurmount- 
 able disorder, which this principle cannot rectify or 
 survive ? Shall they dien be imputed to the anxious 
 and unwearied care of affectionate and faithful 
 friends ? Whose gift are friends ? in whose hands 
 are their breath ? By whom are their views direct- 
 ed, and their powers supported? Who places them 
 upon the scene in which we need their help, and at 
 the time in which we need it? Shall these resur- 
 rections be ascribed to the assiduity, fidelity, and 
 skill of the physician ? To whom does he owe his 
 faculties, and the preservation of them ? From 
 whose storehouses is he furnished with the reme- 
 dies that he applies ? By whose kind disposals is it 
 that in the moment of critical necessity he is present 
 to apply them, in number, weight, and measure ? 
 God, my friends, God is all in all ; without him no- 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 347 
 
 thing is. ■ Who,' says the prophet, ' who is he, that 
 sayeth and it cometh to pass, when the Lord com- 
 mandeth it not?' All other agents are his instru- 
 ments, of his making, and of his employing. 
 
 The voluntary instruments of his mercy are un- 
 doubtedly entitled to our gratitude, and our hearts 
 are unable to withhold it. While from just and 
 proper principles these agents accomplish the pur- 
 poses of divine Providence, they manifest their own 
 worth, at the same time that they contribute to the 
 display of the divine excellencies. But surely, what- 
 ever wisdom, power, or goodness, the works of 
 nature or the events of life exhibit, they must be 
 properly and peculiarly to his glory, of whom, and 
 through whom, and to whom, are all things. In 
 tracing the causes of events, how can our reason rest 
 till it reach him who is the Father of our spirits, and 
 the former of our bodies, and the conciliator of our 
 friendships ; the light of every understanding, and 
 the strength of every arm ? 
 
 Let us see God, my friends, wherever he is ; i. e. 
 in every atom of the universe, and in every event of 
 life. How joyful is the thought, that in him we live, 
 and move, and have our being ! What a comfort in 
 the prospect of long continued life ; what a source 
 of firmness and tranquillity in the view of impend- 
 ing death ! 
 
 Wherever he reveals his glory, whether in our own 
 circumstances, or in those of others, thither let our 
 eyes be turned ; let our contemplations dwell upon 
 the scene, till we have imbibed all the instructions it 
 unfolds, and conceived all the salutary sentiments it 
 is capable of inspiring. 
 
348 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 If pain and sickness speak to us of the awful sove-* 
 reignty, or suggest to us the general benignity of 
 God ; if they enliven the conviction of our own im- 
 potence and dependence, with that of his patience 
 and his power; though they be our own pains and 
 sicknesses, or theirs who are dear to us as ourselves; 
 while they are present, let us not turn away from the 
 contemplation of them ; and when they are over, let 
 us not relax our exertions to retain a just and lively 
 sense of the salutary impression. 
 
 If redemption from the hand of the grave bespeaks 
 the power, and skill, and mercy, of its author, in 
 such events let us accustom ourselves to observe 
 and to consider the striking exhibition of divine 
 grace : let us compare the renewed, with the expir- 
 ing man, and suffer not ourselves to neglect such 
 monuments of the divine glory, even though it were 
 in the instance of a stranger or an enemy. 
 
 The sicknesses which do terminate in death, no 
 less than those from which we recover, no doubt are 
 also to the glory of God. When that event is past, 
 when we view it in its true light, and from the pro- 
 per point of view, we shall see, I trust, and triumph 
 in the conviction, that our death was to the glory of 
 God. 
 
 In the mean time, if, through the disadvantages of 
 our present circumstances, or the imperfection of 
 our present faculties, we see, or seem to see, more 
 of God in the light of life, than in the valley of the 
 shadow of death ; in the restoration to interrupted 
 duties and enjoyments, than in sable funerals and 
 silent graves; hard must be the heart which has 
 experienced such deliverances, and conceived from 
 them no devout affection. 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 349 
 
 For the present, to conclude. Let us keep a 
 serious eye upon the current of divine Providence, 
 and upon e\evy event that we meet with or befalls 
 us, let us inquire what it has to say of our duty, 
 or of God's glory. Let fidelity, gratitude, and 
 cheerful confidence in God, sanctify our charac- 
 ter. Whether he wounds, or heals; whether he 
 sends us to the grave, or calls us back from thence ; 
 let us say, " even so Father, for so it seemeth 
 good in thy sight." — When the hand of God lies 
 heavy on you, still remember that it is God's hand ; 
 and when he lifts you up again, let your songs 
 ever be of him, and your prayer unto the God of 
 vour lives !* 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 O Thou, who killest and makest alive ; who 
 woundest, and who healest, accept the devout 
 thanksgivings of those whom thou hast recalled from 
 the gates of death, and brought back this day into 
 thine house to serve and magnify thee, their preser- 
 ver and deliverer ! 
 
 It was thine hand that humbled, and that laid 
 them low ; and it was the same Almighty arm that 
 
 * The above Sermon, and the two following, unlike the others con- 
 tained in this volume, not being suited to general use, the Editor could 
 not, in like manner, add a prayer for general use. She has however, 
 as it happened to be inserted at the end of the Sermon, subjoined 
 that, with which the Author closed this service, apprehending that 
 there are minds, to whom it will be interesting ; and she has also, 
 with like views, added the psalm selected by him on the same occa- 
 sion. It was not usual with him to keep a diary, but the date is here 
 subjoined, viz. February 23, 1783, to which is added the following 
 Memorandum. " The first time of preaching, after a very long illness, 
 from the midst of October, perhaps from an earlier date, but laid aside 
 from all publick service from the middle of November last. Great 
 comfort and much delight of heart, in the duties of this dav." 
 
 34 
 
350 On the Use and Improvement, cCf. 
 
 rescued them from the impending danger. It is 
 having obtained help from God that they continue 
 hitherto, and of his great mercy that they are so far 
 restored to the full enjoyment of reason, of health, 
 and of strength ! 
 
 Go on, O Lord, if it be thy will, to perfect that 
 which thou hast begun, and grant that while their 
 days are prolonged, they may be prolonged in use- 
 fulness and comfort. 
 
 Thou, O God, hast all hearts in thine hands ; 
 hear their earnest supplications, that no time may 
 impair their sense, either of the deliverance or of 
 the affliction. May both have their proper influ- 
 ence upon their temper and demeanour ; may they 
 live to him by whom they live, and may their song 
 ever be of thee, and their prayer unto the God of 
 their lives. 
 
 THE PSALM. 
 
 Ill life's first dawn, ray tender frame 
 
 W r as thy continual care ; 
 Long ere I could pronounce thy name, 
 
 Or breathe an infant's pray< r. 
 
 Tho' reason with my stature grew, 
 
 How feeble was it* aid. 
 How little of my God I kn< w. 
 
 How oft from thee I strayM ! 
 
 Around my path what dangers rose, 
 
 What snares through all the road ! 
 What could have sav'd me from my H6es t 
 
 But an all-powerful God ? 
 
 Life has hung trembling on a breath, 
 
 And thine unfailing love 
 Hath snatch'd me from the stroke of death, 
 
 And bid my fears remove. 
 
 How many blessings, to thy throne 
 
 Have rais'd my thankful eye ! 
 How many pas.s'd almost unkown, 
 
 Or unregarded, by ! 
 
DISCOURSE XXIII. 
 
 ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE- 
 RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 John xi. 4. 
 This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God. 
 
 You have already seen, in the first place, how those 
 sicknesses of ours, which are not unto death, are 
 in themselves, of necessity for the glory of God ; 
 you have seen, how to every intelligent observer, 
 they do necessarily, and of themselves reveal it. We 
 come now, 
 
 In the second place, to observe, how the good 
 man, while he rejoices in these necessary displays of 
 the divine glory, will exert his own voluntary en- 
 deavours also, that his dangers as well as deliveran- 
 ces, may redound still farther to the glory of God. 
 
 The good man who has experienced such afflic- 
 tions, and such deliverances, will not be satisfied 
 with what the events themselves unavoidably exhibit 
 of his makers glory, his spirit will not rest, until he 
 has been the active and voluntary instrument of de- 
 claring it ; his heart will prompt him upon this, as 
 
352 On the use and Improvement to 
 
 upon every just occasion, to present unto God the 
 sacrifice of praise. 
 
 God is glorified by the cheerfulness of the obe- 
 dience which his servants yield to him, and by the 
 fidelity with which they improve his talents. The 
 good man therefore, as in every scene he will be 
 studious to maintain such a temper and demeanour 
 as shall prove that he thinks well of the dispensa- 
 tions of Providence; so, in his reflections upon them, 
 he will be studious to extract, to lay up in his re- 
 membrance and to inculcate on his heart, every con- 
 sideration afforded by them, to engage, to encour- 
 age and support him in the culture of all good af- 
 fections, and the practice of all good works. 
 
 The christian cannot rise from the bed on which 
 he lately was expiring, but his heart will vent itself 
 in unfeigned praises and thanksgivings unto God. 
 If that last vital spark which was well nigh extin- 
 guished, be lighted up again into clear and just 
 conceptions ; can such a transformation pass upon 
 him, and his heart conceive no gratitude, his tongue 
 keep back all praise ? shocked at the idea of the 
 indecorum and the baseness of such an omission, the 
 well formed mind will rejoice in God, that it has 
 not thus to abhor itself. It will feel, that thanks 
 and praise are due for the deliverance, and due 
 for the affliction too. He will not despise the chas- 
 tening of the Lord : knowing its general intention 
 to be kind, he will inquire into its especial meaning. 
 Persuaded, that it is only, "if need be, that he is 
 in heaviness;" that "God chasteneth not for his 
 pleasure, but for our profit, that we may be made 
 partakers of his holiness," the Christian will look 
 back with satisfaction on the trials he has under- 
 gone; and duly humbled under the mighty hand of 
 
be derived from Severe Illness* 353 
 
 God, will be sincerely thankful that he has not been 
 exempt from the salutary discipline of life. If " in 
 the midst of judgment God hath remembered mer- 
 cy, and if mercy hath rejoiced against judgment," 
 his gratitude will be enkindled into intenser ardour; 
 his joy in the providence of God will be more live- 
 ly ; and those cords of divine love, which unite him 
 to that infinitely wise and tender Parent, will be 
 more straitly drawn, and more firmly bound upon 
 his heart. 
 
 It is good for a living man to know what dying 
 is : he may have reason to rejoice in the visita- 
 tion that set him within sight of death, within feel- 
 ing of that awful situation, as long as he shall 
 live, and longer. There is no mystery in this lan- 
 guage; it needs no illustration; all here present, I 
 trust, will readily understand, and assent to it; and 
 will be at least equally ready to concede, that life 
 is good ; that long life is an unspeakable blessing, 
 and a blessing which it is the duty of every man 
 to seek. It is more talents, and affords more im- 
 provements; it is more seed time, and may yield 
 a greater harvest ; it is more discipline, and may 
 lead to superiour perfection. The good man, 
 though he will cheerfully consent to death, when 
 the will of God is so, may yet wisely wish, and 
 prudently endeavour, to live as long as life can be 
 improved by him. A protracted service, much use- 
 fulness, many trials, a long continued education, if 
 they demand much, do however, promise much, and 
 may conduct to a more honourable and distinguish- 
 ed recompense. Can the good man's heart be sen- 
 sible of this, and feel no grateful exultations in re- 
 turning life ; in extended prospects, and reviving 
 hopes ? It cannot be ; in all things God will be 
 glorified by him ; he will cling to him when he 
 
354 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 wounds, and triumph in him, when he heals. 
 Again, 
 
 In respect to any visitation of his providence, 
 God is not duly glorified, to the extent of our abili- 
 ty or of our duty, merely by our devout acknowl- 
 edgments: nor will the good man's heart be sa- 
 tisfied, until he has applied himself to the religious 
 and moral uses, which the visitations he has ex- 
 perienced may afford to the glory and the praise 
 of God. 
 
 It is to the honour of the King, eternal and im- 
 mortal, that his servants should occupy his talents, 
 and not neglect them ; that the subjects of his moral 
 government should concur with, and not counteract 
 him in the events and purposes of his dispensations. 
 Whilst they thereby promote their own excellence, 
 they " show forth his praise ;" and wherever there 
 is a sincere desire " that God may be glorified in 
 us;" there will be, in that mind, a just attention to 
 his providences, and a serious solicitude that his 
 purposes may not be defeated, but accomplished 
 iully, and in their whole extent. The Christian 
 therefore, will not forget the sicknesses that issue 
 not in death : he will often recollect the scenes 
 through which he passed to the borders of the 
 grave, and in his return from it ; and will cherish 
 in his remembrance the impressions that they 
 made, the convictions they enforced, and the senti- 
 ments they excited ; he will frequently renew the 
 traces they have left upon his heart ; that whatever 
 advantages he possessed not the power to extract 
 from them, while they were present with him, he 
 may be enabled, by repeated retrospects, to obtain, 
 and to carry with him through the whole of his 
 future life. 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 355 
 
 Let me be permitted to illustrate and exem- 
 plify this conduct in a few plain and obvious in- 
 stances. 
 
 Christian, if thou hast ever been within sight 
 of death, whence, in that hour of trial, didst thou 
 derive thy firmness and composure ? What was it 
 that enabled thee to yield thyself with tranquillity 
 and complacency to the will of God ? It was thy 
 conscience — thy conscience was thy stay. And 
 hast thou never since reflected on the cordial com- 
 fort, which in that hour of darkness it administered? 
 Dost thou never ask thyself what could then have 
 tempted thee to part with it ? Once more, at least, 
 thou wilt have need of such a friend — dost thou 
 never impress it on thy heart, not to part with 
 thine integrity, though thou shouldst die ? Hast 
 thou never charged thyself to take thy good con- 
 science with thee, when thou shalt next go into the 
 valley of affliction, and the shades of death? — If 
 not, thou hast not acted according to thy cha- 
 racter, thy profession, thy obligation, or thy in- 
 terest. 
 
 Dost thou remember, Christian, with what com- 
 passion, in those scenes of death, thou reflectedst 
 on their case, who were without God, and with- 
 out hope there ? How would thy heart have ached 
 and trembled, if thou hadst not trusted that God 
 would walk with thee, through death's dark val- 
 ley ? — In what light did the divine favour then 
 appear ? of what unutterable moment ! — of what 
 inestimable value ! — Dost thou remember, what a 
 wretch thou hadst been without it ? — How much 
 was it endeared to thee ! how much was thy 
 sense of its infinite importance quickened and en- 
 larged ? 
 
356 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 Christian, hast thou never seriously retraced these 
 sentiments and convictions ? — never in imagination 
 measured back thy steps into that awful, yet edi- 
 fying situation, by which such salutary feelings 
 were thus invigorated and magnified ? Dying, in 
 thine own conception, were thy sentiments so just 
 and lively ? — returned again to life, is thy heart 
 grown cold and insensible ? Are things eternal 
 thus depreciated and injured? In neglect of such 
 cares and exercises of the mind, have its sentiments 
 undergone so deplorable a revolution ? — Surely, if 
 it be so, this is not grateful, it is not reasonable, it 
 is not christian, it is not wise. God has a claim 
 upon you for better honour ; your own souls have 
 a title to more attention : The friends who love 
 you will regret, that such advantages to enliven, 
 and to keep for eyer lively, your sense of the divine 
 favour, should be lost upon you : and if they are 
 wise, as well as kind, while they lament your folly, 
 they will tremble for your safety. Again, 
 
 The near neighbourhood of death is a station in 
 which the vanity of this world is most clearly seen 
 and felt, and the Christian, whose sincere desire it 
 is to honour God, by the just application and im- 
 provement of all his dispensations to him, will avail 
 himself of the soberer ideas of that hour, to cor- 
 rect the more forcible impressions, the gayer sen- 
 timents, and the inordinate elations which we are 
 too ready to admit from the influences of this world, 
 when it stands as it were, nearer to us, in the time 
 of our health, prosperity, and hope. 
 
 Christian, it is likely that you have sometimes 
 had reason to regret the force with which things, 
 seen and temporal, struck you, and to lament the 
 faint and ineffectual impression of things invisible 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 307 
 
 and eternal. In an hour of serious reflection, you 
 see danger to your good conscience and your good 
 character, and perhaps have actually suffered de- 
 triment from your inability, or your inattention, to 
 keep the proper balance between sense and faith. 
 In this scene of discipline, where the world, and the 
 things of it are perpetually pressing on our senses, 
 incessantly soliciting our attention, and unavoida- 
 bly occupying our care, such dangers may return 
 again. You would not be repeatedly betrayed by 
 any pleasures, or honours, or interests of this world 
 to disgrace your Christian character : That, you 
 know, would neither glorify God, nor comfort 
 you You would be provided, as well as may be, 
 against all seduction and surprise. Send back your 
 thoughts then to the hour in which you deemed 
 yourselves in the near neighbourhood of death. 
 Place yourselves in the same scene again, and take 
 up again the ideas and affections that were then 
 stirring in your hearts. At that time, were your 
 affections to the world very warm and keen ? Did 
 it then appear to you of such vast importance ? Did 
 you then congratulate yourselves on the pleasures 
 you had enjoyed, on the honours you had worn, on 
 the acquisitions you had made ? What thought 
 you then of the anxiety and eagerness with which 
 the things of this world are pursued ? What thought 
 you of the sacrifices that are so often made for the 
 things of this world? What thought you of the 
 differences of the circumstances of mankind ? Did 
 it then seem to you of any mighty moment in what 
 rank or in what condition the human traveller 
 should perform a journey, so rapid, and so short ? 
 Wealth and poverty, affliction and prosperity, had 
 lost much of their distinction in your mind; and 
 from the station which you then occupied, the emi- 
 nences and the vales of life were reduced to a level 
 
 35 
 
358 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 in your view. To you the important thing was, 
 that " in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with 
 fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, you had 
 had your conversation in the world." 
 
 And, when in the secret of your breast, your 
 heart poured out its warmest wishes for those you 
 love, the things of this world were too light to 
 prompt your intercessions; and your prayers for 
 them were, that their souls might be in health, and 
 prosper. To undervalue this world, is ingratitude ; 
 to overvalue it, is imprudence ; to think justly of it, 
 is truth, and it is duty too. In this respect to 
 honour God, to judge of this world as he judges 
 of it, and to feel ourselves affected towards it as 
 he would have us feel, it is needful that we some- 
 times withdraw ourselves whither its alluring flat- 
 teries will not follow us; where the illusion of a 
 vain imagination will not impose upon us ; where 
 the connexion of this world with the world to come, 
 will forcibly break in upon us, and will cause itself 
 to be attended to, and laid to heart. It is in that 
 connexion that its value and importance lies; and 
 whatever tends to give justice or vivacity to our 
 conceptions of that connexion, though they be 
 scenes of sickness and of death, are scenes in which 
 our thoughts should be often conversant. To place 
 ourselves in imagination there, may essentially 
 serve us : to have occasion of observing what the 
 dying think of this world, is an advantage for the 
 adjustment of our affections with respect to it, 
 greatly to be wished for; but to have had the su- 
 periour advantage of feeling for ourselves the im- 
 pressions of such a situation, — of knowing experi- 
 mentally, how the world appears to those who 
 have finished their career in it,— is, in this view, a 
 favour of divine Providence which it becomes us 
 
be derived from, Severe Illness. 359 
 
 devoutly to acknowledge, and which it behoves us 
 faithfully to improve. 
 
 Of that man on whom the Providence of God 
 has let in such striking views of the vanity of this 
 world and its pursuits, it is most reasonably expect- 
 ed, that he should possess and cultivate the spiri- 
 tual mind : surely his affections towards the world 
 should be calm and temperate; no passion which 
 at all respects it, keen or ardent, except his zeal 
 to improve to the uttermost, the period of disci- 
 pline and education. — Thus he will do honour to 
 the conviction that he has felt of the vanity of 
 present things; and when he stands again upon the 
 border of eternity, he will look behind him, with 
 modest satisfaction, and before him, with humbie 
 hope. Again, 
 
 The visitations of which we speak, that have 
 brought near to death, and have not terminated in 
 it, will be applied by the wise and good man, in 
 his reflections on the feelings of such times, to re- 
 duce the over-weenings of self-esteem, and there- 
 fore to quicken him in the culture of the Christian 
 character, and to animate his diligence in all the 
 business of life. 
 
 There is no scene so humbling as the bed of 
 death. In that solemn light, which the near ap- 
 proach of judgment and eternity sheds around us, 
 infirmities are apt to look like iniquities; in that 
 awful hour that enlivens the desire, and takes from 
 him for ever the power, to repair them, there is 
 danger that the good man's errours and failings 
 should rise up in his imagination to the magnitude 
 of faults and crimes. When the end of life is just 
 upon us, it is natural, it is scarcely avoidable, to 
 
360 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 compare its attainments with its length. Short must 
 be the life, or great the attainments, which upon 
 such a comparison, at such an hour, shall not hold 
 forth to the comparer, much cause of humiliation and 
 regret ; opportunities unobserved, neglected, or de- 
 clined.- — Talents, though not misapplied, nor hid, nor 
 unimproved ; yet improved but feebly, coldly, and 
 remissly, are not desirable attendants on a dying bed ; 
 no self-esteem is to be derived from them ; in their 
 aspect there is nothing pleasing; there is nothing 
 soothing, nothing elevating in the language which 
 they hold. Dejection, it may be expected, will ac- 
 company them, and it is well, if they do not cast 
 some transient and uncomfortable clouds, on " good 
 hope through grace," 
 
 Christian, thy heart is no stranger to such senti- 
 ments; in the hour of devout reflection, how often 
 have they intruded on thy repose ! Humility is of 
 the xery essence of thy character, and when, draw- 
 ing nigh unto thy Maker in acts of religious contem- 
 plation, or of pious homage, it is natural that self- 
 abasement should spring up within thy heart — it 
 may even be, that his " dread falleth on thee," and 
 that " his excellency, maketh thee afraid !" — Yet, I 
 may appeal to you, that your humiliations were ne- 
 ver more sincere, your self-esteem never lowlier, the 
 sense of your imperfections never more awakening, 
 and your sense of the divine excellencies more over- 
 powering, if you have ever been there, than on the 
 bed of death.— With what affection was it that you 
 then looked through impending death, to instant 
 judgment, and an opening eternity ? It was not ter- 
 rour ;— terrour was forbidden by divine mercy; it 
 was not confidence, for confidence was repressed by 
 the awful presence in which you were about to ap- 
 pear ;— «- conscious of your own littleness and unwor- 
 
be derived from Severe Illness* 361 
 
 thiness, did you cast yourself wholly on the goodness 
 and mercy of God ? Sentiments like these become a 
 creature such as man towards infinite perfection and 
 unspotted holiness, and are highly favourable to 
 Christian diligence and zeal ; yet who that has ever 
 felt the tender anguish intermixed with them, would 
 prepare more of it against another hour of serious 
 self-communion, or of approaching death ? — Who, 
 that on the bed of death, has compared himself with 
 his great Exemplar; his own conduct with the law 
 of God; his temper, with God's discipline, and his 
 attainments, with his privileges ; who, that from such 
 a situation has ever dwelt upon the painful retrospect 
 of his own miscarriages and imperfections, can ever 
 more think highly of himself; or ever more want 
 motives in the future, to repair the past? 
 
 Christians, cherish the remembrance of every scene 
 and of every event which may have reminded you 
 how far you have fallen short of the standard, to 
 which your duty, your honour, your interest, and 
 your comfort required you to aspire. 
 
 While they are present with you, yield your hearts 
 lo the penitential sentiments which they awaken, for 
 this is one act of honour unto God; but forget not, 
 that in respect of such visitations, you have not ren- 
 dered to him all the glory due unto his name, till you 
 have pursued the dictates and demands of such peni- 
 tential sentiments, into the faithful correction, and 
 the diligent improvement of your hearts and lives. 
 
DISCOURSE XXIV. 
 
 ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE- 
 RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 John xi. 4. 
 > This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God. 
 
 You have already seen in what respect and in what 
 manner the sicknesses whicli are not unto death, are 
 subservient to the glory of God. 
 
 If we can trust either the judgment of our own 
 reason, or the proofs of it exhibited in the gospel, be- 
 nignity and kindness are the highest honours of the 
 divine character ; and therefore, to study the resem- 
 blance of God in these amiable excellencies, is to 
 glorify the Lord our Maker ; and it is manifest to 
 observe, that scenes of oppressive sickness and of 
 impending death, are capable of yielding much as- 
 sistance to the mind disposed to avail itself of the 
 advantage, to enliven and invigorate the kind affec- 
 tions of the human heart. 
 
 Friendless and forlorn beyond the common lot 
 of men, must be his, to whom, when such visita- 
 tions have deprived him of all self-assistance and 
 
On the Use and Improvement, &c. 363 
 
 support, they afford not great occasion for much 
 gratitude to others. Ungenerous and contracted, 
 not jet emancipated from the debasing influence of 
 selfish and envious passions, must that heart be, 
 which, amidst its own dangers and afflictions, can 
 find no congratulations to present to those who are 
 secure and happy : and still harder and more uri- 
 impressible the spirit, which, whilst it feels its 
 own absolute need of pity and assistance, has no 
 compassion to bestow upon its brethren in afflic- 
 tion. 
 
 It is the natural tendency of such situations to 
 invite reflection, to lead our thoughts to those who 
 are in like circumstances, and to draw out our 
 hearts towards them. To feel the anguish of afflic- 
 tion, from whatever cause it may arise, naturally en- 
 livens and magnifies our ideas of the contrary situa- 
 tion ; and, as in the selfish mind it may give an in- 
 decent ardour and importunity to its good wishes 
 for it own deliverance ; in the heart where liberality 
 of sentiment prevails, it will excite a livelier sym- 
 pathy with those who possess what itself has lost, 
 and warmer wishes that they may prize such bles- 
 sings duly, and enjoy them long. Acts of kindness 
 are never felt so sensibly, nor received so grate- 
 fully, as when they are indeed wanted ; they are sel- 
 dom lost when they are bestowed on such occasions 
 and in such circumstances. If therefore, sickness, 
 pain, and danger, have a tendency, whilst they are 
 present, to enliven the sentiments of gratitude, con- 
 gratulation, and compassion, we may be aided by 
 the serious recollection and renewed consideration 
 of such scenes, and of their more immediate influ- 
 ence, to attain to permanent and progressive im- 
 provement, in these elements and components of 
 Christian charitv. 
 
364 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 Do you understand this doctrine ? I see no reason 
 to apprehend either that you do not understand, or 
 that you doubt it. But perhaps you may conceive 
 it better, and be more confirmed in the persuasion, 
 that in this respect God may be glorified in our suf- 
 ferings, if, having passed through such scenes of 
 suffering and danger, you will recollect what you 
 thought and what you felt, whilst you were in 
 them. 
 
 Christian, as you lay upon the bed of pain, and 
 languishing, did it never come into your heart to 
 bless God, did it never once alleviate your burdens, 
 did it never for a moment suspend your attention to 
 them, to reflect, what myriads of the family of God 
 were, at that time, all around you, rejoicing in his 
 benignity ? With your supplications for the restora- 
 tion of your own health and ease, were you never 
 prompted to join your intercessions for the continu- 
 ance of theirs ? You heard perhaps, or if you heard 
 not, did you not apprehend, that there were others 
 circumstanced like you? Did you shut up the bow- 
 els of compassion from them ? did their afflictions 
 never reach your hearts ? did you never wish them, 
 if you thought they wanted them, the comforts that 
 attended you ? did you take no interest in their 
 visitations ? — Your heart's desire and prayer for all 
 men was, that they might be saved : for those who 
 were in health and prospered, that knowing the 
 value of their blessings, and remembering that they 
 also, as well as their afflicted brethren, " were in 
 the body," they might have wisdom to improve 
 their blessings, so as to be prepared for circum- 
 stances such as yours, through which they must 
 pass at length ; and for those, over whom the sha- 
 dows of adversity had stretched themselves, that in 
 you and them, " patience might have its perfect 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 365 
 
 work, that ye might be perfect and entire, wanting 
 nothing," and that in this world, or in a better, ye 
 might come out of all your tribulations, as "gold 
 out of the fire." 
 
 When in those seasons you saw the solicitude of 
 your friends ; the assiduity, perhaps, of a pious off- 
 spring to repay your care of them, in doing for you 
 what now you could do no longer for yourself; when 
 you observed their anxiety, if any human care or 
 intercession could avail to snatch you from the im- 
 pending danger; when you saw them sacrificing 
 ease, and rest, and health, to administer to your 
 deliverance and comfort, holding nothing dear to 
 them, that, if the will of God were such, they might 
 by any means restore you and retain you ; when 
 you saw their zealous care to do all to which their 
 power extended, and their heartfelt anguish as to 
 that which their power could not reach; when, in 
 their countenances you perceived the alternate 
 marks of hope and apprehension, of comfort and 
 distress ; while you saw all this, while you experi- 
 enced the benefits and the consolations of iheir 
 friendship, were your hearts so hard, that such pow- 
 erful attachment and such zealous service could 
 draw forth from you no more than the ordinary cur- 
 rent of affection ? No, Christian, surely that could 
 not be. In such a situation, the lightest expressions 
 of sincere friendship come full upon the heart to a 
 warmer welcome, and with more than ordinary 
 weight. 
 
 When we are about to lose our blessings, it is then, 
 perhaps, that we first see them in their true impor- 
 tance. It is the same, when it seems to us that we are 
 about to leave them. The last conversation, the last 
 kind offices, the last mutual interchange of tender 
 
 30 
 
366 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 words and silent looks; that last scene, my friends, will 
 agitate the inmost heart, and set open all the springs 
 of sympathy and benevolence. While that last 
 scene is drawing nigh, and as long also as the im- 
 pression of it remains in memory, every thing par- 
 takes of its tender influences. While the heart is 
 thus mollified by the united power of sharp afflic- 
 tion and solemn expectation, every kindness, every 
 condolence, every good wish, every, even the light- 
 est token of benevolent attention, sinks deep into it. 
 The merit of our friends puts on an unusual amia- 
 bleness, and every thing we love is inexpressibly en- 
 deared to us. 
 
 Christians, have you ever felt these sentiments? If 
 you have, you cannot willingly abandon them; for 
 as surely as you have felt them, you approve them. 
 You would have loved yourselves the better, if in 
 all time past, these had on all occasions been the 
 abiding sentiments of your hearts. The man who 
 is as sensible as he ought to be, and by a very little 
 measure of reflection might become, of the impor- 
 tant use that may be made of such circumstances, 
 and of their influences to give pleasantness, accep- 
 tableness, and accuracy to his social duties, not 
 only within the more contracted circle of his family 
 and friends, but also in the wider range of his be- 
 nevolent affections, will often be retracing these 
 circumstances, and their influences, in his mind and 
 heart, that he may avail himself of them in the ser- 
 vices that he owes to the universal family of God, 
 and in the improvement of his own soul to a resem- 
 blance of the universal parent. In such cares he 
 will be the more assiduous, if he will permit him- 
 self to think, that the heart which has once been 
 exposed to such powerfully humanizing and at- 
 tendering influences, if it is not much the better, 
 must of necessity become much the worse. Again, 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 367 
 
 To resign ourselves entirely to his disposal, is 
 certainly to honour God ; and every event of life 
 which we apply to the composing of our minds into 
 resignation, confidence, and complacency in the 
 divine government, we direct to the honour of its 
 Author. Pain, disease, and danger, may contri- 
 bute to form in us this happy temper; and may 
 be rendered the means of its support and improve- 
 ment. You know of whom it is said, that he 
 "learnt obedience by the things which he suffered." 
 
 COf whatever different senses these words are capa- 
 ble, none is more natural than this — that his resig- 
 nation unto God, and his confidence in him, were 
 promoted and magnified by the severe afflictions he 
 underwent. Human nature submits without reluc- 
 tance to necessity; and those necessary trials and 
 afflictions which we cannot escape, and out of which 
 we cannot help ourselves, are the instruments of 
 generating and nourishing that unreluctant submis- 
 sion. Much indulgence and little discipline can 
 hardly fail to make a petulant and froward child. 
 
 DHigh health and great prosperity long continued, 
 with but few or slight interruptions, are not very 
 favourable to that self-annihilation which is a state 
 of mind at once most easy and most comfortable 
 to its owner, and a tribute of homage due to the 
 wise and gracious Parent of the universe. Light 
 afflictions are not so friendly to the growth and es- 
 tablishment of this happy temper, as severer and 
 more oppressive ones. Against the former, we 
 seem to have support and help in the hope of over- 
 coming them ; and the mind, disposed and excited 
 to resist and struggle with them, whatever other 
 benefit it may derive from such trials, finds little aid 
 in them, towards perfecting its submission to the 
 will of God. h\ 
 
368 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 Much care, perhaps, and much exertion too, in 
 such circumstances, may be required to keep down 
 a repining, fretful spirit, and to preserve any to- 
 lerable measure of satisfaction in the government 
 of heaven. It is in the great calamities of life, in 
 which we cannot help ourselves, and in which 
 friendship cannot help us, the pressure and the 
 issues of which are, or are deemed by us to be, 
 without the reach of human power; it is when we 
 feel most sensibly the conviction of our own impo- 
 tence, and the vanity of all other confidences, that 
 we feel ourselves most perfectly disposed, and per- 
 haps most completely enabled, to subdue our own 
 will, and to cast ourselves entirely on the good 
 pleasure of our Maker. It is from the serious re- 
 collection, and the wise application of experience 
 such as this, that we derive the most efficacious aids 
 to bring our own will, upon all occasions, into a 
 complete coincidence with the will of God, and to 
 an habitual consent to all he does, or shall do, 
 with us or ours. 
 
 Recollect the feelings of your hearts, while the 
 ministers of death were making and renewing their 
 assaults upon the friends you have loved ; and 
 compare them with the feelings of your heart, when 
 the fatal blow was struck, and the irreparable ca- 
 tastrophe was come upon you. Your first state of 
 mind, it may be, was anxiety, tumult, agitation, 
 restlessness, and reluctance; your wishes, it may 
 be, savoured much of reluctance to the will of 
 God; your importunities to heaven, it may be, were 
 neither so dutiful, nor so reverent, as they should 
 have been. The succeeding state of mind, per- 
 haps, was calm, composed, and silent. It was 
 God. You acknowledged his right to do what he 
 would with his own. You knew the rod, and who 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 369 
 
 had appointed it. The burden lay heavy on your 
 heart; but it was the will of God, and your heart 
 disposed itself to bear it; it was best you thought; 
 though you did not see this, you believed it : You 
 approved the growing submissiveness of your tem- 
 per, and found yourselves willing to renounce all 
 choice, to suppress all wishes of your own, and to 
 refer yourselves, and all your circumstances, to 
 God; to wait his will, and to cast your cares on 
 him. When similar events have happened to your- 
 selves, the influence of them has perhaps been simi- 
 lar; alarm, dissatisfaction, and reluctance, which, 
 it may be, accompanied the first impressions of 
 affliction and of danger, while as yet you thought 
 yourselves within help and hope ; sunk at last into 
 submission, tranquillity, and acquiescence. As your 
 experience of your own impotence, and the in- 
 efficacy of human aids, increased, your conviction 
 of your dependence upon God increased with it. 
 You found yourself entirely in his hands ; you 
 were willing to think well of your condition there ; 
 his power, which can neither be controlled nor 
 eluded, showed every wish of that kind to be as 
 weak, as it was vain ; and as you could not pre- 
 vail, so neither would you repine against him ; in 
 better hands you could not be : it is God, you 
 said, let him do with me whatever seemeth to him 
 good. 
 
 Such, my friends, ought to be, at all times, the 
 voluntary and settled dispositions of your minds. 
 If you be Christians, any more than by profession, 
 it is your daily study, not only to do what is the 
 will of God, but moreover to rejoice, whatever your 
 circumstances may be, that they are what he has 
 appointed. You are at all times in his hands; 
 equally, when the feeling of your strength, and the 
 
370 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 effectual services of your friends, may have ren- 
 dered you less attentive to that dependence, as when 
 the total failure of these blessings may have im- 
 pressed it upon your hearts with the deepest sen- 
 sibility, and most powerful conviction. If, of these 
 different situations, the one, and the more ordinary 
 condition of mankind, that of present enjoyment, be 
 less favourable to the reverent acknowledgment of 
 the hand of God in the disposition of our circum- 
 stances, the wise man will avail himself of all the 
 experience he has ever had of this other situation, 
 that of affliction and sorrow, to enable him to think 
 justly of divine Providence ; to be contented what- 
 ever may be his portion, and to attain that state of 
 mind, which shall finally enable him 5 " in all things 
 to give thanks." 
 
 Self-will and worldliness, the natural offspring of 
 prosperity, are the two great enemies of resigna- 
 tion. To have had this self-will controlled and 
 overpowered — to have been sensibly compelled to 
 forego our own choice, and to take that of God — 
 to have felt experimentally the vanity of these 
 objects after which worldliness so eagerly aspires, 
 is of great efficacy to break the mind to habits of 
 religious submission. And if these circumstances 
 have not been so tremendous as we feared; if good 
 hath attended, or resulted from them, their ten- 
 dency is to improve the submission of the Christian 
 into something more; it may, and of right it ought 
 to be exalted, from profound, to cheerful and com- 
 placent resignation. 
 
 Again, let me just, add once more, that another 
 instance, in which the good man will be studious to 
 direct the visitations of which we speak to the ho- 
 nour of their author, is, the application of the argu- 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 371 
 
 merits they suggest, to enhance his conceptions of 
 the value and importance of gospel promises; and 
 to confirm the purpose of his heart, by the faith- 
 ful maintenance of the Christian character, to main- 
 tain his title to them. 
 
 41 This," saith the Apostle, " is the promise that 
 he hath promised us, even eternal life." Precious 
 promise! the accomplishment of which will make 
 us like unto the angels of God, revealing in us all 
 the glory of his children ; and the hope of which, 
 has power enough to set our hearts at ease about 
 all the accidents of this life, and to inspire us with 
 tranquillity and comfort, when the end of it comes 
 in view. How gloomy were the prospect, and how 
 comfortless the approach to it, if in death there 
 were an end of man ! How faint and ineffectual 
 the consolation, if the hope of surviving that mys- 
 terious revolution of our being, rested solely on 
 the comments of our own minds ; upon some ap- 
 prehended intimations that we observed in the 
 Creator's works ! Hope, from such a source, might 
 have entertained us in the calms and gleams of life, 
 but would it have been firm enough to uphold us 
 amidst its storms and tempests ? 
 
 Christians, when you made near approaches to- 
 wards the house appointed for all the living, would 
 your composure, would your fortitude have been 
 what it was, if your hope had stood, not upon God's 
 promises, but upon your own arguments ? Without 
 seriousness, you could not look upon death ; without 
 terrour, I may be permitted to suppose, you did look 
 at him. Without some soft regrets you could not 
 abandon life; yet, with full consent of heart, you 
 were ready to have laid it down. It was a trying 
 circumstance; you felt all the difficulties of it; what 
 
372 On the Use and Improvement to 
 
 was it that upheld you under them ? As flesh and 
 heart were failing, whence was it you derived your 
 steadiness and comfort? From reason and philoso- 
 phy was it you derived them ? Alas, when you were 
 most in need of such supports, you could neither 
 form nor recollect, nor understand an argument upon 
 the subject ; perhaps the principles on which it must 
 have rested, were in that pressing hour, beyond your 
 comprehension. No, Christian, promise and exam- 
 ple were the cordials that revived you : the precious 
 promises of God; the glorious exemplar of his 
 Son. This, said you, is the promise that God has 
 promised us, even eternal life. You said, and your 
 faith failed not, " because Christ lives, you should 
 live also." 
 
 Do you remember, Christian, how precious, in 
 that hour of darkness, you esteemed these thoughts, 
 and promises, and hopes ? Added to your good 
 conscience, they were all the wealth you possess- 
 ed. In the general wreck of all other comforts, 
 these alone remained with you, and with these, per- 
 haps you thought, and not unjustly, that you could 
 submissively and decently have finished your course. 
 Without them, I am persuaded that you could with 
 no tranquillity have contemplated that event. What 
 would you have done, in that helpless hour, if your 
 conscience had been in arms against you ? Or what, 
 if there had been no kind promise on which to have 
 reposed your souls ? If your heart was not greatly 
 moved, it was, because it was stayed on God ; keep 
 it so. Renfiember what in your distress, you thought 
 of the promises of God. Remember, that into like 
 need of the peace they speak to those who are enti- 
 tled to them, you must come again. The ministers of 
 death, when they shall again beset you, will not en- 
 courage you to presume on promises, from the terms 
 
be derived from Severe Illness. 373 
 
 of which you have departed. Abide in Christ. 
 The appointed issue of this preparatory state, no 
 less than the credit of its progressive periods, and 
 the comfort of its closing scenes, depends upon 
 your patience, perseverance, and fidelity. 
 
 Continue patient in well doing. Of those who 
 have been within the near prospect of death and of 
 eternity, it may well be expected, that when next 
 they go thither, it should be with better prepara- 
 tion, and with more abundant comforts. Of those 
 who have felt the urgent need, and the mighty pow- 
 er of the Christian character, and of the'divine pro- 
 mises, amidst such scenes of oppressive languor and 
 of awful expectation, it may reasonably be presum- 
 ed, that they will be diligent to keep alive these 
 salutary impressions, and faithful to pursue them, 
 through all their genuine consequences. — To have 
 had such experimental knowledge, and such deep 
 conviction of things so unspeakably interesting, is 
 a privilege that may be turned to great account as 
 a powerful means of further improvement. Such 
 salutary lessons should not be permitted to die away 
 out of our minds. Precious promises! given us 
 that we might be made partakers of a divine na- 
 ture ! — capable of shedding the sweetest influences 
 over all the vicissitudes of life, and capable, even 
 in death, or administering the strongest consola- 
 tions ! 
 
 Ought privileges like these to be forfeited ? — . 
 Surely the man who hath such hopes in him, 
 "should purify himself, even as he, the Lord, is 
 pure;" he should keep himself " unspotted from 
 the world," and should " perfect holiness in the 
 fear of God." 
 
 37 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 A SERMON, 
 
 Preached to a Society of Protestant Dissenters, in the City of 
 York. By the Rev. William Wood, on Wednesday, December 
 31, 1800, immediately after the interment of the Rev. Newcome 
 Cappe. 
 
 Acts x. 24. 
 An eloquent man, and mighty iu the Scriptures. 
 
 I need not inform this assembly, that no common man 
 has now been laid in the grave. The general appearance 
 of all around me sufficiently indicates, that the serious 
 event which has brought us together in this place, at this 
 unusual season, is felt by more than a small number of 
 relatives and friends. It is to eminent intellectual talents, 
 and to acknowledged worth of publick character, that the 
 present tribute of respect is paid. When a good man is 
 taken from private life and a confined sphere of activity, 
 he will be long and deeply lamented by his forsaken as- 
 sociates ; the remembrance of his virtues will be long 
 and fondly cherished by those who have enjoyed his 
 affection: but the attention of a country, or of a large 
 neighbourhood, cannot be excited ; the regret of numbers 
 cannot be expressed for the loss of blessings which have 
 been known only to few. In this case the funeral rites 
 are properly simple and brief: the official address of 
 the Christian minister is directed solely to the living. 
 
376 Sermon on the Interment of 
 
 and has little or no concern with the character of the 
 4ead. 
 
 But excellence of a rarer kind, energies more vigorous, 
 and usefulness more extensive, should not be suffered to 
 slide away in silence, and to perish in oblivion. The 
 righteous are entitled to everlasting remembrance : not 
 for their own sake — praise to a deaf ear is dull and una- 
 vailing : the lifeless corpse is insensible alike to applause 
 and to disgrace— but to rouse the slumbering virtue of the 
 living, to animate the well-disposed to nobler deeds, to 
 inspire the timid with greater confidence in their own 
 strength, and to point out to all, the fair paths of honour 
 and happiness. 
 
 I am painfully sensible that to do justice to an object so 
 grand, an end so important, and an aim so difficult, abili- 
 ties of the first order are required. And I should shrink 
 from an attempt, in which, after all, I engage with a fal- 
 tering tongue, if I were not encouraged to hope, that the 
 generous pleasure which attends the survey of intellectual 
 vigour and moral eminence will take entire possession of 
 your souls, and make you regardless of all beside. I am 
 still farther supported by the assurance, that however 
 feebly the description may be given, your own previous 
 knowledge will approve its fidelity. For I am not, on this 
 occasion, compelled to frame a fictitious tale : I need not 
 employ the varnish of art to produce a delusive image by 
 the magick of splendid colours. I am only to follow the 
 simple guidance of truth and nature. 
 
 I have, moreover, the satisfaction to reflect, that I shall 
 not be embarrassed by the untoward union of opposite 
 qualities. I am not to celebrate a departed warriour, who 
 made his way to success and glory through ruined cities 
 and ensanguined fields ; I am not to reconcile the feelings 
 of patriot virtue with the groans of dying heroes, the tears 
 of helpless orphans, and the cries of famished peasants. 
 
the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 377 
 
 Nor am 1 to accompany the statesman through the turns 
 and windings of his way; and to undertake the humiliating 
 task of endeavouring to palliate dishonourable means, by 
 displaying the important ends for which those means were 
 employed. 
 
 Nor yet have I to ask your grateful admiration of ta- 
 lents and studies, which had for their object nothing more 
 than the increased comfort or luxurious enjoyment of the 
 present life. I am not to commemorate the inventions of 
 the artist who has abridged the toil of the industrious and 
 made large additions to the publick wealth — or the ob- 
 servalions of the astronomer who has given greater fa- 
 cility to the commerce of distant nations — or the inves- 
 tigations of the chemist who has followed nature into her 
 inmost recesses, has compelled her to assume new forms, 
 and has extorted from her the knowledge of new expe- 
 dients for the readier production of known effects. 
 
 I appear this day in my proper character as a minister 
 of religion. I am to bring nothing to your view which has 
 not a near, an inseparable connexion with your everlasting 
 interests ; I am to claim your regard for the advocate of 
 piety and virtue, a defender of sacred truth, a preacher 
 of the gospel of peace, an eloquent man who was mighty 
 in the Scriptures. 
 
 The friend whom we have just accompanied to the 
 dark and narrow house appointed for all living, was de- 
 voted from his youth to the service of the sanctuary. 
 Descended from a father who had long sustained the 
 office of a Christian minister with reputation and success, 
 in a neighbouring opulent commercial town, he obtained 
 his profession by a kind of inheritance. But with him it 
 was not a passive succession to an hereditary employment. 
 The sphere of action and usefulness desired for him by 
 parental affection, was fully approved by his own de- 
 liberate choice. He joyfully received the prophet's man- 
 
3f8 Sermon on the Interment of 
 
 tie with the prophet's goods. And, in so doing, he was 
 not actuated by views of aspiring ambition or indulgent 
 ease. He cast behind him all hopes of dignified station, 
 of spiritual authority, of political influence, and of ample 
 revenue. Placed by the accident of birth without the 
 pale of the established church, he sought not a higher 
 lot. He could not purchase the patronage of the state at 
 what he deemed the expense of an independent mind. 
 All he asked was, to have free access to the oracles of 
 God, unfettered by human creeds, unrestrained by the 
 chilling dread of ecclesiastick censures. He made a just 
 distinction between the sacred rights of conscience, and 
 the just claims of the civil magistrate. He thought it bis 
 first duty to render unto God the things that are God's ; 
 his next, to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's. 
 In the arrangement of his religious creed, in his private 
 and official intercourse with the Father of his spirit, he 
 esteemed himself accountable to no man : in whatever con- 
 cerns the publick peace, the secular rights of private men, 
 or the social interests of the present life, he bowed to his 
 country's laws. 
 
 But though he declined submission to human power 
 where he acknowledged no master but Christ, and no 
 guide but the written word, in the study of that word he 
 disdained not the assistance of human science. Sensible 
 of the immense extent of divine truth in all its bearings 
 and all its dependencies, convinced that the office of a 
 Christian minister should not be lightly and hastily assum- 
 ed, he eagerly embraced all the means of acquiring ge- 
 neral knowledge. He pursued a regular course of acade- 
 mick studies ; he drank freely of the invigorating, cheering 
 streams of ancient wisdom ; he entirely neglected no 
 branch of those inquiries which are usually stiled profane. 
 But the sacred wisdom of revealed religion was in all cases 
 the final object of his regard. Whatever he studied, and 
 
the Rev. Nervcome Cappe. 379 
 
 whatever he acquired, he applied it all to the immediate 
 design of his profession ; he made it all conducive to a 
 critical skill in the Holy Scriptures. These he read by 
 day ; on these he thought by night. Well versed in the 
 Greek and Roman classick writers, he derived from them 
 frequent assistance in explaining the New Testament. 
 But tnough he gratefully employed them as useful aux- 
 iliaries, he by no means received them as unerring guides. 
 He did not look for attick purity or attick elegance in the 
 barbarised stile of Hellenistick Jews. He well knew that 
 the language in which the Evangelists and Apostles wrote, 
 was not that in which they commonly conversed and 
 thought. He was convinced that their narratives and 
 epistles could not be completely understood without a 
 constant attention to Hebrew idioms. It was, therefore, 
 in his estimation, an object of primary importance, to ob- 
 tain a thorough insight into the original language and most 
 ancient version of the Jewish Scriptures. He regarded 
 the peculiar dialect of the Greek interpreters, as, in most 
 cases, the best key to the obscure expressions of the first 
 dispensers of Gospel doctrine. With these aids he gen- 
 erally suffered the inspired authors to explain their own 
 meaning. He entered with nice exactness into the dis- 
 tinguishing manner of each : he pursued their train of 
 thought : he compared them with each other : he consi- 
 dered the circumstances in which they were placed, the 
 opinions which they had previously formed, and the man- 
 ner in which they were likely to be influenced by the pre- 
 vailing sentiments of the times. To the explanations of 
 learned commentators he had frequent recourse : no one 
 ever read them with greater care, or could boast a more 
 extensive acquaintance with their works. But his chief 
 dependence was on his own researches. Whatever he 
 possessed was properly his own, the result of his own 
 patient investigation, the dictate of his own cool and se- 
 rious judgment. 
 
380 Sermon on the Interment of 
 
 The retired, and, in a great degree, uncommumcated 
 studies of many a laborious year, at length gave him nearly 
 the same views of the New Testament, as, in different con- 
 nexions, and under different influences, have been gradual- 
 ly opened to the world by the writings of a Lindsey, a 
 J ebb, a Priestley, and other divines who, for some time, 
 have been generally known by the name of Unitarian 
 Christians. But though in the general issue he nearly 
 agreed with those eminent inquirers into Scripture doc- 
 trine, his whole train of thought had an original cast, and 
 in some respects a specifick difference from that of every 
 other Christian believer. This was the natural, the una- 
 voidable effect of an examination truly free, conducted on 
 enlarged principles, and satisfied with nothing short of what 
 appeared to himself decisive evidence. 
 
 Nor let it be supposed that these different deductions 
 from the same Scriptures are a valid objection to the 
 divine authority of the Scriptures themselves, or any dis- 
 paragement of their worth and usefulness. Let it not be 
 pleaded, on the one hand, that on this account there is 
 need of an infallible expounder; or insinuated, on the 
 other, that, by making this concession, we favour the 
 doubts of the sceptick, or afford occasion of triumph to 
 the infidel. I appeal to the testimony of incontestable fact 
 in support of the assertion, that some of the firmest, 
 warmest, and most active advocates of the Christian faith 
 have been found in the number of those, who have been 
 most strenuous in their claim to the right of private judg- 
 ment, and have exercised that right with the greatest free- 
 dom and boldness. 
 
 No one had a stronger conviction of the divine authori- 
 ty of Moses and of Christ, than our departed friend. The 
 more deeply he studied the sacred Scriptures, the more 
 clearly he understood, or thought he understood, the 
 writings of the prophets and apostles, the more distinctly 
 
the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 381 
 
 did he perceive, the more steadily did he acknowledge 
 the consistence and beauty of the two connected systems. 
 When he differed from others, he did not wonder at the 
 difference. He was no more surprised to discover that 
 those, whose talents he respected and whose esteem he 
 valued, did not concur wilh him in all his sentiments, than 
 to find that they were not of his own height, of his own 
 colour, and of his own form. Instead of lamenting it as a 
 misfortune that the same integrity, similar diligence, and 
 equal mental discernment do not always lead to exactly the 
 same point, he admired in it the wise appointment of in- 
 finite goodness. He knew that where all is easy, and 
 where all men agree, there is little inducement to close 
 and continued observation. He was aware that the mind 
 calls not forth its whole strength till difficulties are to be 
 solved, discordant opinions are to be compared, and a 
 preference to one or the other is to be given. He was 
 convinced that the influence of divine truth on the heart 
 and life entirely depends upon the attention which it ex- 
 cites, and the ardour with which it is pursued. He there- 
 fore rejoiced in that variety of sentiment which keeps 
 curiosity alive, creates an interest in the search after 
 truth, and by making it the object of repeated inquiry, 
 gives it free access to the active powers, and produces 
 religious obedience. 
 
 For to this important, this one essential purpose, all 
 his own studies were uniformly applied. In whatever va- 
 rying light the circumstantial particulars and incidental 
 doctrines of divine revelation appeared to his growing 
 rnind, he discerned and reverenced, as the ground work 
 of the whole, a fixed and efficacious principle of inward 
 godliness. Whatever occasion he found to correct, or to 
 improve his former decisions, here he experienced no 
 doubt, here he was never compelled to retract or to qua- 
 lify. Whatever excursions he took in the regions of 
 
 38 
 
382 Sermon on the Interment of 
 
 speculative inquiry, whatever he learnt from Moses and 
 the prophets, from Christ and his apostles, to this con- 
 clusion he was invariably led : " Fear God and keep his 
 commandments ; for this is all that is truly interesting to 
 man ; Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, what- 
 soever things are honourable, whatsoever things are just, 
 whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, 
 whatsoever thing are of good report ; if there be any vir- 
 tue, if there be any praise, think on these things, and the 
 God of peace shall be with you. Giving all diligence, add 
 to your faith, virtue ; and to virtue, knowledge ; and to 
 knowledge, temperance ; and to temperance, patience ; 
 and to patience, godliness ; and to godliness, brotherly 
 kindness ; and to brotherly kindness, charity. For if 
 these things be in you and abound, they make you to 
 be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ. But he that lacketh these things 
 is blind and cannot see far off, and hath forgotten that he 
 was purged from his old sins. Wherefore, the rather, 
 brethren, give diligence to make your calling and elec- 
 tion sure ; for if ye do these things ye shall never fall ; 
 for so an entrance shall be administered to you abundantly 
 into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Je- 
 sus Christ." 
 
 Deeply impressed with a conviction of this solemn 
 truth, he had no ambition to acquire a critical skill in the 
 language of the Holy Scriptures, but in strict connexion 
 with its evident subservience to the forming of a pious 
 and virtuous character. As he wished rather to be, than 
 to appear, a good scholar ; so he set more value on the in- 
 ward temper of a devout mind, and the silent aspiration 
 of a grateful heart, than on all the brilliance of that ac- 
 tive spirit which rushes into busy life, solicits general 
 notice, and extorts the applause of an admiring world. 
 Indeed he was so far from a forward and ostentatious dis- 
 play of his own powers and of his own attainments, that, 
 
the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 383 
 
 as those who knew him best will readily allow, he car- 
 ried an aversion to publick life, and a love of studious 
 retirement, to a somewhat blameable excess. With natu* 
 ral and acquired capacities for extensive usefulness, in the 
 course of five-and-forty years he was seldom absent from 
 this city. With eminent talents for popular eloquence ; 
 with a rich fund of moral and religious knowledge, with 
 a rare combination of mental qualities, a sound under- 
 standing, a vigorous fancy, and quick sympathetick feel- 
 ing ; with a copious flow of strong, and often beautiful 
 expression ; with a style of composition exactly, 1 may, 
 perhaps add, exclusively, suited to his own impressive 
 delivery ; with a dignity of person and deportment which 
 insured the attention of all who heard him, he seldom 
 spake as a Christian minister but from this pulpit. Hap- 
 py in a growing acquaintance with sacred truth, in the en- 
 joyments of the family hearth, in the instructive converse 
 of a few learned associates, and the esteem of a small 
 Christian congregation, he had no ambition to fix the eyes 
 of listening crowds, or to obtain the meed of extensive 
 fame. If he had not been called to a pastoral charge in 
 this ancient metropolis of the north, this fixed abode, or 
 winter residence, of many a cultivated mind, this periodi- 
 cal resort of numerous attendants on judicial law ; and if 
 he had not been introduced to the knowledge of the latter 
 highly respectable body of men, by the faithful friend of 
 his youth, who long stood at the head of the bar in this 
 circuit,* he might have passed through life little noticed 
 and little known. 
 
 But though he confined his ministerial labours to the 
 benefit of a few, he gave to that few all the respect which 
 applauding multitudes could ever have required. His 
 sermons were not the incoherent effusions of careless 
 haste, or the cold harangues of formal duty. Whatever 
 
 * The late John Lee, Esq. his Majesty's Attorney General in tbe 
 year 1783. 
 
384 Sermon on the Interment of 
 
 he performed he made conscience of endeavouring \o per- 
 form well. His explanations of Holy Writ were address- 
 ed alike to Hie understanding and the affections. What- 
 ever were the subjects he discussed, he drew liberally 
 from his ample stores, and out of his treasures brought 
 forth to his people things new and old. His devotional 
 services were scriptural, animated, and affecting. His 
 piety was, as it always should be, the combined opera- 
 tion of principle and feeling, a deliberate diciate of the 
 judgment and a warm emotion of the heart. A firm reli- 
 ance on the divine perfections, a fixed resignation to the 
 divine will, and a steady persuasion that all the ways of 
 God are just and good, formed, indeed, the characteris- 
 tick features of his mind, appeared in all his works, and 
 gave a just direction to the general course of his actions. 
 Of this he has left a pleasing proof in those interesting 
 Discourses on the Providence and Government of God, of 
 which the publick are now possessed, and which are faith- 
 ful copies from the tablet of his heart. 
 
 This was put especially to the test in the latter part of 
 his life, when a melancholy stroke stopped the progress of 
 his publiek labours, nearly closed his private studies, and 
 greatly impaired hia active faculties. But though cut off 
 from many of his former employments, and unfitted in a 
 great degree for general intercourse, his pious affections 
 still retained their accustomed tenour, his trust in God 
 still preserved all its power. Tranquil in the bosom of a 
 cheerful and ever attentive family, soothed with the mark- 
 ed regard of a few ancient friends, free from worldly care 
 and mental disquiet, rejoicing in the Christian faith, and 
 reposing all his hopes on his Father and his God, he pass- 
 ed years of increasing weakness without complaint, and 
 at length died without a groan. 
 
 Which of us is not ready to exclaim in the fervent lan- 
 guage of an impassioned heart, Let me die the death of 
 
the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 385 
 
 the righteous ; let my latter end be like his ? I trust, my 
 brethren, we are all thus affected. I flatter myself it will 
 not be laid to our charge, that when the good man is taken 
 from the earth, we regard it not. When we contemplate 
 departed worth, we cherish more than a feeling of simple 
 approbation. We are sensible that we should do equal in- 
 justice to the dead and to ourselves, were we only to ad- 
 mire. Though the eloquent tongue which has so often 
 spoken in this place is now consigned to the silent tomb, 
 the Spirit by which it was inspired still speaks, and I am 
 persuaded, will long continue to speak to this Christian 
 church, to those who form a casual part of this assembly, 
 to his numerous distant friends, and to all who have known 
 his character. " Be ye followers of me, as I was of Christ," 
 is the solemn language of his durable address. Though 
 the sound does not strike our bodily ears, it is, I doubt 
 not, felt in our hearts : and I entertain the pleasing hope 
 that it sinks deep into our minds, and will be faithfully 
 obeyed in our lives. To his surviving relatives, he has 
 left a pattern which I am sure will never be forgotten. 
 To his late assistant and now mourning successor, he has 
 bequeathed a rich legacy of professional experience which 
 I am confident will be valued more than choice silver. To 
 you, the former attendants on his publick labours, there 
 will ever remain a pleasing remembrance of the instruc- 
 tion, the caution, the reproof, the encouragement and con- 
 solation severally dispensed, each in its due season. It 
 has, indeed, already for some time been only a pleasing 
 remembrance. But though you have been bereaved, 
 you have not been forsaken. It was a source of high sa- 
 tisfaction to your deceased pastor, thai he then saw you, and 
 was likely to leave you, under the faithful direction of a 
 younger minister, " for whom he left the affection of a 
 parent, and from whom he received in return a filial 
 
386 Sermon on the Interment of 
 
 love."^ You are sensible of your happiness, and I re- 
 joice with you in it. 
 
 What then remains but that we all retire from this house 
 of death with minds disposed to serious reflection, and 
 with an earnest desire "so to number our own days as to 
 apply our hearts to true wisdom ?" We also are mortal. 
 We also are made of frail materials, and cannot insure our 
 health, our strength, or our lives, for a moment. Before 
 the close of this short winter's day, a sudden stroke may 
 relax the sinews of our frame, debilitate our mental pow- 
 ers, and either snatch us away at once, or cause us to go 
 down by slow degrees to the pit. 
 
 But were we certain of what we ourselves are accus- 
 tomed to call " length of years and many days," what at 
 the best is human life? Is it not a vapour which soon dis- 
 solves into air? Is it not a shadow which is blotted out by 
 the first passing cloud? What, on the retrospect, are 
 " threescore years and ten?" Are they not "as yesterday 
 when it is past, and as a watch of the night ?" Time is on 
 the wing ; no barrier can stop his progress ; no impedi- 
 ment can lessen his speed. Our years come and go in 
 swift succession. Each has its fixed limits ; each is dis- 
 tinguished by its peculiar events ; each fulfils its appointed 
 purpose in the immense scheme of divine Providence, and 
 then is gone for ever. In a few hours another will have 
 run its race. We shall hail its successor as a welcome 
 guest, and shall express our benevolence to each other, by 
 cordial wishes for a numerous similar seasons with equal or 
 greater blessings in their train. In a few hours another 
 century will also have finished its longer course. But 
 with respect to that which the silent lapse of time is about 
 to raise into being, we cannot employ a similar greeting. 
 The commencement of many successive centuries none of 
 
 * Nearly Mr. Wellbeloved's own words, in a letter to the preacher 
 on the death of his revered friend. 
 
the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 387 
 
 us hope to see. Where are now the busy crowds who re- 
 joiced in the first rising sun of the eighteenth ? They 
 have passed away as a flood, and are no more seen. 
 Where will every one of us be long before the year nine- 
 teen hundred and one ? In the cold and insensible man- 
 sions of the grave. " Our breath will have departed from 
 us ; the thoughts and intents of our hearts will have per- 
 ished ; we shall no more have a portion under the sun." 
 
 But can we be satisfied with eternal forget fulness ? Do 
 not our aspiring souls pant for immortality ? Do we not 
 ardently desire, do we not anxiously crave, do we not 
 with trembling solicitude almost demand, perpetuity of 
 being and enjoyment ?" These ardent desires, these 
 anxious cravings, these trembling inclinations to demand, 
 will be fully gratified, if we do not disappoint them by 
 our own folly. The benevolent Creator who has implant- 
 ed in us the wish, has formed us with a view to its com- 
 pletion. The Author and Finisher of our faith has direct- 
 ed our views to " an inheritance, incorruptible, undefiled, 
 and that fadeth not away." If we only employ the ap- 
 pointed means, and " walk worthy of our high calling," 
 this inheritance will be our eternal portion. " The pro- 
 mises of God," delivered to us " by Christ Jesus, are 
 all yea, and amen ;" fixed and irrevocable. " Neither 
 death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, 
 nor things present, nor things to come, nor heighth, nor 
 depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us 
 from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." 
 All that is to be done on our part, is fully made known in 
 the revealed will of God. The doctrines of the New 
 Testament are able to make us wise unto salvation. But 
 their value entirely depends on the spirit with which they 
 are studied, and the diligence with which they are im- 
 proved. Though they are in themselves the written 
 word of the everlasting God, to us they will be nothing 
 more than a dead letter, if we do not apply them to our 
 
388 Sermon, &c. 
 
 hearts, and receive them as rules of conduct. The friend 
 of whom in our mortal bodies we have now taken an affec- 
 tionate farewell, was "mighty in the scriptures." He 
 devoted the studies of his life to repeated examinations of 
 their contents, not merely as a professional duty — though 
 that was ever present to his thoughts— but that he himself 
 might have a stronger conviction of their importance, and 
 might feel more of their practical influence. " He now 
 rests from his labours, and his works follow him. He has 
 fought a good fight, he has finished his course, he has kept 
 the faith : henceforth there is laid up for him a crown of 
 righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall 
 give him at the day of his appearing." If we cultivate 
 his faith and patience, we shall like him in due time be- 
 come partakers of the promises. If we persevere in a 
 course of well doing, we shall lament his loss only for a 
 few earthly days, and shall celebrate with him an eternal 
 sabbath in the blissful mansions of the just. The now 
 forsaken domestick relatives will then be again blest with 
 the husband, the parent, and brother ; the members of 
 this religious society, who have been long deprived of 
 ministerial services which they once heard with profit and 
 delight, will then again listen to the pastor and the friend. 
 All who loved him here will then rejoice with him in the 
 regions of perfect love, and will join the faithful servants 
 of the God of all nations, kindred and tongues, in one 
 triumphant song of praise. Therefore, my beloved breth- 
 ren, let us be steadfast and unmoveable, always abound- 
 ing in the work of the Lord ; for as much as we know 
 that our labour will not be in vain in the Lord. Let us 
 be faithful unto death, that we may then receive a crown 
 of life. 
 
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