NEW STAR PAPERS. 
9 
NEW STAR
OR,
AND EXPERIENCES
RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
NEW YORK:
DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET.
1859.
Ad4 am x
PAPERS.
-m 9
VIEWS
OF
BY 
En.tered crr tur to   t of Cogrss   t i~e year, l&'9, by
HIENRY WARD BEECHER,P.
I. the~,'terks t.)tltce of the Ditotrtct Court of the~Unhted Staten, for th~e Southern t)tntriet of
New, York.
W.   H.   T. ~ ( ) N,   t t t o.   t t u ~ s E L L   &   C u.,.' O S E O V I L I O' & B i O T ~ IA E I,,
Stt~~~~~eot3'E0 pe  Croeo..Itdet
I II
W. B. T!NSO.,
St,eOI3,pe, 
PREFACE.
THESE papers are, for the most part, taken from the columns of the New York Independent.  If unworthy of a book
form, the Public has itself to blame, in part, for encouraging
a like collection of Star Papers, some years ago.
A few things have been added, from other sources. But
little revision has been attempted, except in the case of those
several articles which were not originally written, but reported or condensed for print, from sermons or lectures.
Many persons may be tempted to read a short religious
article, who would never attempt a profound book.
-
= 4
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
BROOKLYN, JulIe 1, 1859.
I
.-7  
CON T ENTS.
Page
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Christ Knocking at the Door of the Soul,
Church Music....
Trust,...
Abide with Us,...
Thoughts for the Close of the Year,.
God's Pity,...
The Mountain and the Closet,
The Liberty of Prayer,..
Faults in Prayer,...
Aids to Prayer,...
Forsaking God,...
A Rhapsody of the Pen upon the Tongue,
An Aged Pastor's Return,..
Lessons from the Times,..
Christian Consolation,....
Troubles,...
Phases of the Times,...
Fullness of God,...
Christ in you, the Hope of Glory,.
Prayer-meetings,...
One Cause of Dull Meetings,. 
Working out Our Own Salvation, 
CONTENTS.
Pant
i56
i65
I 74
178
I87
204
209
213
2z I 8
232
236
242
247
260
264
276
278
28i
283
286
29I
298
304
322
341
351I
Trust in God,..         
We Spend our Years as a Tale that is Told,.
Sudden Conversion,... 
"Total Depravity,"...
Working with Errorists,.. 
Mischievous Self-Examination,..
Where Christians Meet,...
The Day and the Desk,...
Is Conversion Instantaneous?...
Natural Laws and Special Providences,.
The Dead Christ,...      
An Exposition,....
The Episcopal Service,...
Congregational Liturgy,.. 
Churches and Organs,...
Patriotism and Liberty,...
Purity of Character,...
How to bear little Troubles,..         
"Sin Revived and I Died,"...
Humility before God,...
Who shall Help the Unfortunate?..
Plymouth Church,....
Organ Playing,...
How to become a Christian,...
God's Witness to Christian Fidelity,..
The Progress of Christianity,..
Duties of Religious Publishing Societies,
0
viii
i 
VIEWS AND EXPERIENCES
OF
RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS.
CHIIRIST KNOCKING AT THE DOOR OF THE SOUL.
"Behold, I stand at the door, and knock; if any man hear my
voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him,
and he with me."-REv. iii. 20.
THIS, in the highly figurative language of the Apocalypse, is a representation of the Human Soul and of
Christ's endeavor in its behalf.   It is a favorite
method of Scripture to represent man by the figure
of a mansion, or building. Sometimes it is a temple.
"Know ye not that ye are the temple of God?"
As nothing was more criminal than to desecrate
temples by bringing into them evil things, so it is
criminal in the sight of God to desecrate that temple
which he has made of man, by bringing into the mind
thoughts and feelings that are corrupt and depraved.
Sometimes the human soul is a tabernacle, or a tent.
Man is represented as a tenant, or a dweller in a tabernacle; and death is the striking of the tent-the taking down of the tabernacle that the occupant may go
free. Christ employed the same representation when
1*                  9
4* 
CIIRIST KNOCKING AT
he said: "If a man love me, he will keep my words,
and my father will love him, and we will come unto
him, and make our abode   with him:" This is as if
one were to offer to take rooms in the soul, anid to
become a dweller therein, as people take rooms in a
house and abide in it. All those passages of Scripture which speak of indwelling, represent the same
idea. A modification of it is found in the apostle's
figure of building, and of the master-builder.  This
manner of speaking pervades the Bible, and the
figure is appropriate and instructive.
The soul is a dwelling of many apartments.  Each
sense, affection, sentiment, faculty, may be regarded
as a separate room. And in one regard all men are
alike; they have the same number of rooms. No one
has a single room less or more than another. In a
material building, one man may have one room, another two, and another a score; but, in the soul-house,
all men have just exactly the same number of apartments. Yet there is a great difference between one
man and another, in the size and furnishing, or in
other words, in the contents, of these apartments.
Some men are built like pyramids, exceeding broad
at the base-or on the earthy side, and narrow and
tapering as they go upor heavenward. Their rooms
are very large at the bottom of the house, but very
small at the top.- Other men are built substantially
alike, from bottom to top, like a tower which is just
as broad at its summit as at its foundation.
But there is, in general, a great part of the structure of every man that is not used, and remains
locked up.  And  usually the best apartments are
10 
THK DOOR OF THE SOUL.
the ones neglected.  Those that have  a glorious
outlook, that stand up to sun and air, from whose
windows one may look clear across Jordan,  and
see the fields and hills of the Promised Land-into,
these men seldom go. They choose rather to live
in that part of the soul-house that looks into the backyard, where nothing but rubbish is gathered and
kept. AIany men live in one or two rooms, out of
thirty or forty in the soul.
If you should take a candle-that is, God's Word,
which is as a lighted candle-and go into these soulhouses, and explore them, you would find them, generally, very dark. The halls and passage-ways, the
stairs of ascent, the vast and noble ranges of apartments-all are stumbling dark. There, for example,
is the apartment, or faculty, called Benevolence.
You can tell by the way the door grates, that it is
seldom opened.  But if you were to thrust in a light,
you would see that the room is a most stately place.
The ceilings are frescoed with angels. The sides and
panels are filled with the most exquisite adornments.
The whole saloon is most inviting to every sense.
Seats there are, delightful to press; and the niches are
filled with things enticing to the eye. But spiders
cover over with their webs the angels of the ceiling.
Dust blackens the ornaments.  The hall is silent, the
chambers are neglected. The man of the house does
not live in this room!
Turn to another; it is called Conscience. It is
an apartment wonderfully constructed.   It seems
to be central.  It is connected with every other
apartment in the dwelling.  On examination, how
I I 
CHRISTr XKNO('KING AT
ever, it will be found that, for the most part, the
doors are all locked. The floor is thick with dust.
The dust is its carpet.  The room  is very  dark.
Tl'ie windows  are glazed over with webbed  dir t.
rIle light is shut out, and the whole apartment  is
(listial.  The man who owns the house does nct frequent this room!
There is another chamber called Hope-if haply
you can see the inscription over the door. It has
two sides, and two windows. From one of these
you may see the stars, the heaven beyond, the Holy
City, the Angels of God, the General Assembly and
Church of the First-born.  This is shut! The other
window looks out into the World's Highway, and
sees men, caravans, artificers, miners, artisans, engineers, builders, bankers, brokers, pleasure-rmongers. That window stands wide open, and is much
used!
The room called Faith is shut, and the lock rusted.
It is lifted up above all others, and rests, like a crystal-dome observatory, upon the top of the dwelling.
But its telescope is unmounted-its implements all
gone to waste! The chaniber of Worship is silent,
unused, unvisited, dark and cheerless.
Indeed, in those upper and nobler apartments,
on which the  sun rests all the day long, firom
which  all sweet and pleasant prospects  rise, to
which are wafted the sweetest sounds that ever
charm the ear, and the sweetest odors that ever fall
from celestial gardens, around about which angels
are hovering-these are, in most soul-houses,  all
shut and desolate!
12 
TIIE DOOR OF THE SOUL.
But if you go into the lower ranges, you shall
find occupancy there, yet with various degrees of
inconvenience and misery. If you listen, you shall
hear in some rioting and wassail. The passions
never hold Lent; they always celebrate carnival!
Iu others, you shall hear sighs and murmurs.  The
dwellers therein are disappointed, restless desires,
crippled and suffering wishes, bed-ridden ambitions!
In others you shall hear weepings and repinings;
in others, storms and scoldings; in others, there are
sleep and stupidity; in others, toil and trouble; in
others, weariness and disgust of life.
You would be apt, from these sights and sounds,
to think that you were in an ill-kept hospital. The
wards are filled with sad eases. Here and there, if you
enter unadvisedly, you shall find awful filth.  You
shall even come upon stark corpses-for there is not
a soul that does not number, among its many chambers, at least one for a charnel-house in which
Darkness and Death abide! It is a dreadful thing
for a man to be enlightened so as to see his feelings,
passions, sins, crimes, thoughts and desires, motives
and imaginations, as God sees them!  It is a dreadful thing to go about from room to room, and see
what a place the soul is! Hiow unlighted and
gloomy! How waste and unused! IHow shut and
locked! And where it is open and used, how desecrated and filthy!
Now, it is to the door of such a house-to the
human soul with such passages and chambers-that
Christ comes! To such a dwelling, he comes and
knocks for entrance! We can imagine the steps of
13 
CHRIST iNoCK,IN(  AT'
a good man coming to houses that are nothing but
habitations of wretchedness, to places of misery and
infamy, to jails and houses of correction.  But none
of these can convey a lively impression of the grace
and condescension of God, in coming to the doors of
the soul-houses of men, and knocking to be admitted
into their darkness, squalidness and misery!   For it
is not because they are beautiful that God comes,
or because he is mistaken about their condition,
or thinks them better than they are. It is because
He knows the darkness and the emptiness of some;
the abuses and misery in others; the rioting and
desecration in others.   And  to all he comes to
bring light for darlness, cleansing for foulness, fuirnitule for emptiness, and order for confusion! He
comes to turn the rusted locks, and to open the closed
doors of every lchamlber-to let men up into every
part of themselves-and to fill the whole dwelling of
the soul, from foundation to dome, with light and
gladness, with music and singing, with joy and rejoicing!
"Behold  I  staI d  at t!e door and  knock."
Christ comes to the soul-house, and stands there
and knocks. On getting no answer, hlie goes away
only to come and knock again.   ie waits at the
door, and listens for a voice within, and goes away.
I-e comes again, and waits, and goes away!  lie
knocks, not at one door, but goes round to every
door, and waits for an answer. As one who returns
to his dwelling in the night, after a journey, and
finding it locked, knocks at the accustomed door
of entrance in the front, and getting no answer goes
14 
THE  DOOR OF THE SOUL.
to the door in the rear, then to the side doorif there be one-and then to every other door, in
order, if possible, to get into his house; so Christ,
who longs to enter into the soul, goes to every door
in succession, and knocks, and listens for an invitation to come in, and leaves not one chamber in the
soul-house unsought, or one door untried! HIe knocks
at the door of Reason; at the door of Fear; at the
door of Hiope;  at the door of Imagination and
Taste, of.Benevolence and Love, of Conscience, of
Memory and Gratitude! Hie does not neglect a single one!
Beginning at the upper and the noblest, where he
ought to come in as a King of Glory, through
gates of triumphi, he comes round and down to
the last and lowest, and retreats wistfully and reluctantly,  returning  often-morning,  noon, and
night-continually seeking entrance, with marvelous patience, accepting no refusal, repulsed by no
indifference to his presence, and no neglect of his
message!
If hlie be admitted, joy unspeakable is in the house,
and shall be henceforth. The dreary dwelling is
filled with light firom the brightness of his countenance, and every chamber is perfumed from the fragrance of his garments.  Peace and hope, love and
joy, abide together in the house-for Christ himself
takles up his abode therein.  But if, after his long
knocking at the door and patient waiting for entrance,
his solicitation be refused or neglected, by and by
there shall come a time when you who have denied
him, shall be denied of him. For when you shall
15 
16  CHRIST KNOCKING AT THE DOOR OF THE SOUL.
knock at the gate of heaven for admittance into the
nansions which he has prepared from the foundation
of the world, he will say unto you, as you said
unto him, Depart!  But that dreadful day has not
net come, and he still stands at the door his locks
w\et witli the dews of the morning-and waits to be
invited into the chamber of your soul. Hear his
voice once more, and yield to its gentle persuasion:
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any
man  hear my voice, and  open the door, I  vill
come into him, and will suk with him, and he with
mne!" 
CHURCH MUSIC.
IT is probable that music, since the world began,
has been employed to express religious feeling. It
has great power to excite that feeling. It may be
questioned whether hymns and music do not divide
power with preaching.   If the sources of popular
religious doctrinal knowledge could be examined, it
is suspected that the hymn and psalm would be found
to be the real sermon, and singing the most effectual
preaching.
It is very certain that strong religious feelings incline men to the use of singing. And the apostle
prescribes psalms, hymns and spiritual songs as a
means both of gaining and of expressing religious
feeling.
Religious reformations seem always to have developed singling.   Under  Luther's administration,
and Calvin's government, singing became so general
and characteristic that psalm-singing and the Protestant heresy were synonymous terms. The great reformation under the Wesleys was marked by the outburst
of religious music. In the revivals of New England,
not far from the same period, there was as marked a
revival in sinliniig as in ieligion. Indeed, so full were
the young, es1its of s),i', i-!Itil.t tiloy Av(c1t,, a:i( 
e HIURCII MUSIC.
returned from church with the voice of psalms and
hymns; and President Edwards devotes a special chapter, in his account of the religious history of that
period, to a justification of this practice, against those
who unduly censured it.
Whenever revivals of religion visit communities,
their presence is attested by new zeal in singing.
And it is to be noticed, also, that not only is the
spirit of singing revived, but, as with a common
instinct, all exhibitory music is dropped as dead or
sapless, and the heart feels after hymns of deep
emotion, and after tunes which are born of the heart,
and  not of the head.   Revival melodies are but
another name for tunes that express strong feeling.
It is quite remarkable how a congregation, in times
of spiritual coldness and musical propriety, will tolerate only classical music, or those tunes which the
reigning musical pedants of the day favor.   The
choir sings as clocks strike, with mechanical accuracy, and with the warmth and enthusiasm of a
clock.   But as soon as a congregation are really
brought together under the power of a common
earnest religious feeling, away go the cold and formal tunes; and wild airs, plaintive melodies, or
passionate and imploring tunes, take their place
without regret or a thought of musical dignity and
propriety.
But though music holds so high a place of power,
and is susceptible of such beneficent effects, it is
doubtful whether it is not the most troublesome
thing in the whole administration of public worship.
It would seem as if the history of music were but
18 
CfHURCH IMUSIC.
the history of continual expedients. Churches are
undergoing perpetual musical revolutions.   There
do not seem to be any principles which are known
and recognized, and which underlie musical administrations in our churches, and give them unity and
efficiency.  The Roman and the Episcopal services
incorporate music with their service, congruously and
harmoniously with the whole system of worship.
hle skill or efficiency of musical execution may
vary; but this never affects the basis upon which
music stands.
But with our other churches there does not seem
to be any musical stabilitywhatever. There is hardly
anywhere a deep and controlling feeling that music is
at all a religious act. It is but a religious embellishment at the best. Churches that have choirs wish
they had none. They that have none wish they ha 1
a choir-until they get it. A large choir falls into
confusion very easily. It is too unwieldy to be kept
up without great labor, time, and expense; and
thus it is an open magazine, subject to explosion at
any moment. If the clumsiness of a large choir is
got rid of by substituting a quartette, the church
usually rids itself of discord and of religious feeling
at the same time.   The quartette is professional.
Skill is the criterion. Music exhibits itself; but it
never exhibits religious truth. Four singers in the
gallery forbid anybody to sing in the pew. One might
as well talk in sermon-time as to sing in singing-time,
when a quLartette is performing. I do not say that
four persons could not be deeply religious, and sing
so as to edify the Christian congregation. But I do
19 
CIURCH MUSIC.
say, that four persons who are musically gifted to a
degree that fits them to perform the singing, are not
easily found, and when found, are seldom under the
control of deep religious feeling. Experience showvs
that trained singers, worldly, and religiously indifferent, constitute the greatest number of quartette
choirs.
As music grows less robust, and more and more
cold, as it becomes more and more " classical," a
revolution takes place. It is determined to have congregational singing. It is not asked whether there
is any congregational feeling, or whether the church
is only a caravansary of one hundred and fifty
separate pews, with separate families, in separate
circles of life, anxiously keeping themselves clear of
improper social connection with each other. It is
not asked whether there is any common religious
feeling that demands a common channel of expression. It is not considered whether or not the church
has been trained to feel, act, or work together, or
whether the members hang like icicles upon the eaves,
united only by being frozen together.
Congregational singing must either spring from
a common religious life in the church, or it must
lead to it; or else it will not long live at all.
But, in multitudes of cases, congregational music
flourishes only while it is a novelty. A leader is
appointed. Thle choir is got rid of with unnecessary
dispatch, and the best voices, perhaps, in the congregation are mortified and offended. Good tunes are to
be sung. Slow tunes are supposed to be very pious.
Very slow and very solemn tunes are used. For a few
20 
CHURCH MUSIC.
Sundays all goes well.  But first the young people
are dissatisfied. It is very dull and most unmusical
to them. But it is the voices of the young that
always must give power to congregational singing.
As they fall off, the sound grows thin and mleager.
A wet day, or the leader sick, leaves the decorous
congregation to a mortifying experience of ludicrous
failure. In a year, at most, the experiment ends.
It was begun without knowledge, and ended as it
begun. It was a caprice, an expedient, a reaction of
disgust from choir-singing.
A new choir is inaugurated, a new leader, a new
dispensation of ambitious display, of musical sensitiveness, of quarrelling and disgust, of revolution
and quartette, until at length, in some congregations,
all that any one hopes or dreams of is, singing that
drall not damage all the rest of worship. In other
churches, having lost every vestige of sanctity,
music is regarded outright as one of those forms of
moral amusement in which men may indulge without sin, in the church, and on the Sabbath; and they
plunge their hands into their pockets and pay for
professional singing. Then King David finds himself in the hands of the Philistines. The unwashed
lips that all the week sang the disgustful words of
glorious music in operas, now sing the rapture of
the old Hebrew bard; or the passion of the suffering
Redeemer, with all the inspiration of vanity and
brandy.  WVhen the exquisite mockery is done, and
the opera-glasses are all closed, the audience close
their eyes too, and the sermon proceeds. Thus,
21 
CHURCH MUSIC.
music, apostatizing from piety, is no longer a hleavenly bird, but a peacock, that struts and flares her
gaudy plumes for admiration!
The loss of positive good is not the whole mischief
of this state of things.   This false singing desecrates whatever it touches.  The hymns which are
used are killed. They become suggestive of drawling discords, or of pedantic accuracy and dullness,
or of ostentatious trill and shake, or of quarrels and
troubles. The divine flavor goes out of them, and
they lie sapless and dry. And thus music, that
should nurse hymns upon its bosom, ab.uses them,
like a cruel step-mother, and thrusts them away.
Hundreds of hymns have been served worse than
Herod served the innocents-for he killed them outright; but a hymn cursed by musical associations,
cannot die, but creeps aside like a crippled bird, to
hide its wounds in a songless covert, until time healing them, gives them wing and song again!
Meanwhile, only those who  are unblessed with
musical taste are happy. The most gifted are the
greatest sufferers. The pastor sees constantly recurring quarrels in the congregation. One by one good
men attempt to do something; but being caught in a
passionate musical eddy, and whirled about fo()r a
time, disgusted and irritated, they get     <i l the
shlore, with a solemn vow never to meddle with music
again.
So deeply are some good men impressed with the
mischief of music, that not a few, and those who
aforetime have been leaders in musical matters, seri
22 
CHURCH MUSIC.
ously ponder whether religion would not gain by the
utter exclusion of music from the church.!
Are trouble and music twin brothers?  Is there no
\vay of edification through music, or must we regard
-nd endure it as a necessary evil?
23
I 
TRUS T.
A CIIILD has an exalted idea of the knowledge and
power of its parent. A father stands in a child's
mind as the type of courage and capacity; and a
mother, of love and goodness. The feeling of trust is
perfect. Children do not think about their own support, or their own manifold wants. There is an inexhaustible certainty that everything will be thought
of, sought, and procured by their parents for to-day,
to-morrow, next week, the month, and the whole year.
Nor does sickness or trouble diminish this feeling.
It then grows even stronger. Trouble sends the
child right home to the parental bosom. 
It is this experience that God employs to designate the relations of confidence and implicit trust
that should exist between every human heart and
Christ. The earthly parent succeeds very poorly in
reproducing love, care, kindness, foresight, providence. Hie is trying to do, on a small scale, in a narrow nature, in a sinful world, what God does gloriously, in an infinite sphere, with a perfect nature,
and with transcendent excellence. God is unlike an
earthly father, but it is on the side of excess, abundance, profusion. Hie cares not less, but infinitely
more, for every child, than any earthly parent ever
can. He watches more willingly, provides more
surely, gladly, and abundantly.
24 
TRUST.
But few Christians, however, reproduce the feeling of children towards a parent in respect to trust.
They believe in God upon visible evidence. Prosperity makes them trustful. Trouble leaves them
without a ray of quiet light. Men trust in God
when they are in health, in strength, when successful
in their affairs, or when surrounded by all that heart
can wish. WVhen sick, alone, baffled in their business,
vexed and troubled, hemmed in and shut up, they
fall away from confidence, and go into despair.
You can leave your affairs to God when they go
well; can you when they go ill?  You call rest
quietly in God's hands when you are in health; can
you when sick? You can trust your faminily with
God when you are comfortable and happy; can you
when you are perplexed how to get along, and your
children are sick, and long sick?
But what is a trust in God good for that departs
when you need it, and comes again only when you
can get along without it? What is a ship good for
that is safe in a harbor but unsafe on the ocean?
What is a sail good for that is sound in a calm, but
splits in the first wind?   What patience is that
which only lasts when there is nothing to bear?
Courage, when there is no danger; firmness, where
is no pressure; hope when everything is before the
eyes;  what  are all these worth?   But such  is
the trust which most Christians have in God. It
has no virtue in it.  It is like a lighthouse that
burns only in daylight, and is extinguished at sundown.
We need a trust that shall take hold upon God
25
2 
TRUST.
with such a large belief of his love and constancy,
as shall carry us right on over rough as well as over
smooth ground; right on through light and darkness; right on through sickness, bereavement, loss,
trouble, and long-pressing afflictions. At noon one
does not need a torch. It is in darkness that one
should carry a light.  Sometimes God communicates
his goodness to us through our worldly conditions.
Every day and every hour seem mails from heaven
bringing letters of divine remembrance and tokens
of love. But, at other times, God prefers other
channels. I-e chooses to approach us by other instruments.   A  Christian  should  understand that
every experience contains the love and presence of
Christ. God wears many robes. Hie comes.in new
apparel. Whatever change takes place, it is only
God in another dress. A Christian should learn to
look at the face and not at the dress. If your father
or your mother came to you, you would know them
by the eye, by the mouth, by the expression, no
matter how strangely they were dressed.  We should
feel mortified to find that a dear friend did not
enough know us to carry the firm trust of friendship
through all our moods and changes of appearance.
It will be a help towards this state, if every Christian will reckon with himself in a manner exactly
the reverse of that usually practised.
Count for nothing that which you feel in hours of
glee or prosperity. Consider that only to be genuine
trust in God which you have in hours of darkness.
Begin there.   Put  your  criterion  and  standard
26 
TRUST.
there. If you have none there, you have none at
any time.
" Altholigh the flgtree shall not blossom, neither
shall fruit be in the vines; the labor of the olive
,shall fail, and the fTelds shall yield no meat; the
fock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall
be no herd in the stalls; YET, will I rejoice in the
Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation."
27
!4 
ABIDE WITHII US.
EVEN a glance of the sun is cheering, in a day of
storms, or of clouds, which, without storming, fill the
air with sullenness, and make twilight even at noonday. But what is this compared with the brightness
of the unobstructed sun all the day long, filling the air
above, overlaying the earth, and pouring gold upon
every tree, stone, or house, until the eye shrinks for
very brightness!
But the sunlight of a single day brings forth
nothing. Such days come in December, in January,
and amid the boisterous weeks of February, and the
tumult of March.  But nothing springs up.  The
tree makes no growth.  The light does not enter
in. It lies wide abroad, indeed most beautiful, but
nothing is created by it; for burnished icicles and frostdrops are the only stems and flowers which come from
the slant and cold brightness of the winter's sun.
It is only when, at length, the suni returns from its
equatorial pilgrimage, and enters into the earth, and
abides within it, that life is awakened. The earth
knows his coming.   In winter, nature lies as if
dead. The sun stretches itself upon it, as did the
prophet upon the woman's son, and from  every
part there is resurrection of root, stem, bud, and
flower. But none of these things happen to casual
and infrequent shining.   They are the fruit of
28
-1 
SBIDE WITH US.
indwelling heat. Not till the sun enters in, and
abides in the soil, not till days and nights are struck
through with warmth, is there life and glory.
If this be so of the lower physical nature, how much
more eminently it is true of the human soul, and of its
Sun of Righteousness! It is a gladsome thing in toil
and trouble, to have a single bright flash from the face
of God. A prisoner in a dungeon may have but one
small window, and that far up, and out of the way of
the sun, while for months and months not one single
day does the yellow sun send one single and solitary
ray through the poor little window. But at length,
in changing its place in the heavens, there comes a
day in which, to his surprise and joy, a flash of light
springs through and quivers on the wall.  It vibrates
upon his heart still more tremulously than on the
wall. Even thus much gives joy. It warms nothing,
and lights but little; but it brings back summer to his soul. It tells him that the sun is not
dead, but walks the heavens yet. That single ray
speaks of fields, of trees, of birds, and of the whole
blue heavens! So is it, often, in life. It is in the
power of one blessed thought, in a truly Christian
heart, to send light and joy for hours and days. But
that is not enough. It is not enough for Christian
growth, or Christian nourishment, that despondency
sometimes hopes, and darkness sometimes smiles into
light. A Christian is to be a child of light, and to
dwell in the light. The whiteness of heavenly robes is
the light which they reflect from the face of God.  A
Christian is to bear much fruit.  This he cannot, unless hlie abides in summer. For mere relief, even a
29 
ABIDE WITH US.
casual visit of God's grace is potential.   But for
fruit-much fruit, and ripened fruit-nothing will
suffice but the whole summer's sun.
Now this steadfastness of God's presence is both to
be prayed for, and to be possessed.  There is provision in the Gospel for this very blessing. It is the
promise of the Father, and the pledge of the Son.
It is made to be a Christiani's duty to pray for it and
to expect it. For, in very deed, there can be no true
and full Christian ripeness without it.  The soul
forms no habits, and comes to no spiritual conformity
to God, by the jets and flashes of excitement. These
have their use, and are to be gladly accepted. But
the soul must lie long in the light; it must abide in
divine warmth. There must be spiritual summer
where there is to be much fruit. Our thoughts are
like our bodies; men cannot come to good breeding
by an occasional entrance into good society. It is
habitual commerce with grace and amenity that
fashions a man to politeness. It is living in studious
habits that makes a man learned. And even more, it
is abiding in God, and having the indwelling of God
with us, that bring the soul to good manners and
in divine things.
It seems an impossible thing, to many, to carry the
presence and influence of the Spirit of God through
all the whirl and occupation of life. Is it impossible
for a young soldier to carry the spirit of love with
him, through camp, march, and battle?  Is it difficult for the parent to carry his soul full of domestic
affections through the business of the day? Is it
impossible, or even difficult for us to carry within us
30 
ABIDE WITH US.
any feeling which is deep and strong, and which we
love, in spite of exterior disturbance?
Nay, do we not see every day that the heart, by
such enthusiasms or deep emotions, not only goes unchanged through burdensome life, but casts out of itself a flood of radiance, and makes its path light by
its own cheerfulness or joy?   Love in the soul is
like perfume in the garments. Heat cannot melt
it, nor cold freeze it, nor the winds blow it away.
Going forth or coming home, it scatters itself but is
not wasted; it is forever going but never gone. And
the love of God shed abroad in the soul surpasses all
fragrance, in inexhaustible diffusiveness. If men
have only a little love, an occasional spark it may be
troublesome to nourish it when the world casts down
on it green fuel. A large fire waxes larger by that
very wind which blows out a small flame. It is even
as St. Peter saith: " If these things be in you, and
abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord
Jesus Christ."
31 
THOUGHTS FOR THE CLOSE OF THIE YEAR.
As there is something piquant and memorable in
the novelty of first experience, so there is something
sad, and even solemn, in the view of last times.
And yet, the two antitheses in a man's own life, his
birth and his death, are usually without experience
or consciousness. Birth and death are alike blind
and insensible. The first two years leave almost
nothing to memory. Then come only a few clusters
for the memory.  We are five or six years in the
wro-rld before we have brain enough and nerve
enough to receive durable impressions. And, looking the other way, by far the greatest number of
people die without apparent pain, without mental
sensibility-apparently as little conscious of failing
life as flowers are of the loss of their petals, when
ripeness plucks them one by one.
But it is a very different experience that we have,
when in full manhood-in strength, vigor, nerve, we
take record, day by day, of change; passing from
some things forever, entering upon some, and palpitating with various emotions-sadness for the past
or hope for the future!
But, as one may carelessly read a book and fail of
half its meaning; as one may but glance at a picture
and perceive not half its beauty; as one may part
from a traveling acquaintance almost without any
insight; so the periods and events of our life are
32 
THOUGHITS FOR THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.
irregularly dealt with. We glance off from events
before we see even a tithe of their meaning; we
hasten on to new things without reading yet more
valuable lessons in the old.  Should such things
be put in a book as are happening to each of us
every day, we should hang over the chapters as if a
strange enchantment possessed us.
Let us redeem some thoughts from the past. Let
us call up its shadows.   Let us pass the events again
before us, and pour upon them the light of sober
reflection.
When speaking of the end of time, we do not
reflect that it is ending every day, every hour.
While we are looking forward to the close of our history, we neglect to look back and perceive that our
history has been a series of closings; that the past is
heaped up and crowded full of things-left, ended,
finished forever.
All the periods of time which have appeared days
and years to us, are as effectually ended as they
will be at God's last day, when the angel shall lift up
his hand and swear before him that liveth forever
and ever that time shall be no more.
Tell me, what can you remember, and what recite,
of your frst five years? They are gone without a
trace. To you the time is not only gone, but it left
you almost without a remembrance.
Of the next five years, how much can you recount?
A glancing thing, here and there, is reproducible in
your thought.  But the years-the years-they are
rolled away, died out, and gone as have the clouds
of last summer,
33
2*. 
34     Tfl()U(;f'rS FOR THE CLOSE  OF TIlE YEAR.
Then, year followed year. They came, grew, orbed
to the full, waned, died, and went like shadows!
Years that wrought upon you like eternity-whose
marks you will carry forever, dissolved and passed
like drops of dew. One by one, years are dead-:
twenty-thirty-forty-fifty-eighty!   Go  to the
shore and call them. They shall not hear you, nor
obey! Were they good, were they evil-were they
misspent and poorly used?  Nothing can retouch
their period, nor add to their record. Is it a solemn
consideration to look forward to that time when
you shall stand on the brink of life, and look back
on all your years?  It is a great deal more affecting to you to stand in the freshness of youth, or midlife, and look back upon what years are gone! They
are registered and judged! Not when God's judgment-day dawns will they be more fixed and judged,
than they are already!
Not only is there room for solemn thought in the
larger periods of time, but there is something
affecting in the subdivisions of time. Every Saturday evening has, to my  ear, a gentle knell.  The
week tolls itself away-one, two, three, four, five,
six, and the perfect seven-and I can almost hear
the sound dying away as if days had slipped their
cables, and were drifting down the stream, but
beating faint measures as they recede!  And  of
every one, I may say-ended! gone! I shall see thee
no more!
Days likewise have some voice in dying. They
scowl and shut down drearily sometimes, but
oftener die  in  gorgeous  apparel.   As  the  sun 
THOUGHTS FOR THE CLOSE OF THlE YEAR.
stoops in thie west, passes the horizon and is gone,
I hear no audible voice.  The scene speaks to the
soul, as no voice may to the ear-" The  day is
gone-forever."   No temple was ever builded as
some days are-of wondrous deeds, of strange
thoughts, of marvelous fancies, of deep feelings, of
strange  experiences.   All the frescoes  upon  the
Vatican are not so wonderful as those which our
experience paints upon single days-that move on to
thie horizon, sink and go to the bottom, with all that
they have!
In like manner it is with seasons-tthe promise
of spring-the  flush  of summer-the  fulfillment
of autumn, and the year's long sleep-winter!
Each of them goes, with a gradual and lingering
step-so that we  cannot remark their exit;  and
we only know their departure after they have gone.
Memory may glean them, but never renew. Upon
the future we cast hopes-but none upon the past!
Upon  the future we  throw good  resolutions  of
amendment-but  none upon the past.  Upon the
future we cast a fertile fancy, and fill it with thick
deeds; but the past-upon that we cast only sighs
or tears, or faint joys-faint as dried flowers are fragrant of the summer that is gone!
But how much more marked are the completions
of experiences-the era of early youth, the beginnings of things whose endings are with us yet; the
seeds whose stalks are yet growing; the foundations
upon whose walls we are still building! We can
look back to days of sorrow that gathered as clouds
for storms-that rained and drenched us; that
35 
36    THOUGHTS FOR THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR
threatened to overwhelm us; that passed and forever
left us, and now lie in memory, rounded out and completed things.
How many hopes, born, ripened, perished?  Hiow
many fears that quivered, struck-like harmless
lightnings ill summer evenings-and ended!  How
many aspirations that flew, soaring high, till the
head was dizzy with height!  Hiow many loves
lighted the path of those who are gone, while the
love shines on, like sepulchral lamps, fed by the
living to cast their faithful light upon the ashes of
those that are for earth no more.
How, when the whole reality comes back to us, do
we stand struck with wonder at the deeds done-the
events accomplished, the experiences ripened, the
transitions completed?  Of our youthful companions
how many are with us yet? What part of old
companionship  is left?   If the schoolroom, where
we used to sit, should be again filled with the former
scholars, how many would sit there as spirits, and
how many in body? Of our childhood home, how
many would come to our summons in shadow, and
how many in substance?  Hiow, as we advance in
life the pst gathers treasures. What a magazine of
things ended, laid up, perfected!
In the softened mood of such thoughts, how well
it is for us to employ the last days of the year in
solemn reflections. How wise it is to make an
estimate of our own place, our character, our prospects!
Another year is gone. Before we enter the
next, let us reckon with ourselves earnestly and 
THOUGHTS FOR THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.
honestly, what the old year has done for us and
with us. And should it be our last year, let us
make such timely preparation, that at whatever
hour the summons comes, we may depart gladly,
rise with triumph, and take hold of immortality in
Heaven.
37 
GO-D'S PITY.
"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them
that fear him."-Ps. ciii. 13.
Hiow strange it seems, to fall upon such a wonderful lyric as is this psalm of David, singing to us out ot
the rude ages of the past, where we naturally
expect harshness and severity! How wonderful that
Our Age should go back to this old warrior to learn
tenderness!-that the most exquisite views of divine
compassion should spring forth from the world's
untrained periods, from Moses, the shepherd and
legislator of the Desert, and from David, the sweet
singer of Israel, whose hand was mightiest among
the mighty, whether laid upon the strings of the
bow or of the harp!
Noble old warrior! Thou didst send dismay to
thine enemies, and breathe joy among thy friends.
Thy bow abode in strength, and thine arrows were
terrible in the day of battle. But those silver shafts
of song, from a lyre surpassing the fabled sweetness
of Apollo's have sped through the dusky years,
through thousands of them, and are flying yet; not
for wounding, but for life and healing.
If we remember the times of David, we shall be
no less surprised at the ripeness of the views of God,
which he gives, their symmetry and  all-sidedness
13 
GOD S PITY.
gentle without moral weakness, and strong without
harshness; building up the divine glory in justice
and truth, and walling it about with majesty and stability. But then, as in a garden inclosed with
mighty walls, oh Psalmist, thou didst cover the
bosom of God with flowers and fruits, and make
the thought of iim sweeter to the fainting soul
than all the breath of flowers, or sound of cooling
waters!
As but a few years intervened between the era of
David and of Homer, not the measure of a man's
lifetime, it is interesting to observe the views which
they held, synchronously, of the character of God.
While David was filling Jerusalem with these matchless lyrics, fHomer, the blind wanderer of Greece,
whom the world has since made a universal citizen,
was singing of the Grecian gods. If any one would
know the glory of the Hebrew bard, let him contrast
the psalms of David with Homeric representations of
God. Hiow could Greece be so dark when such a
star shone over Mount Zion?  How could Olympus
be so mean while Sinai flamed with such grandeur?
Living in the same day, a thousand years of religion
divided them. Our hearts decide in a moment which
was the true prophet, and the teacher of the true
God!
Let us select from David's chants but the single
strain-God's Pity.
Pity is a mode or particular development of benevolence. It is sympathy for persons on account of
weakness or suffering. It is not mere compassion,
but is mingled with a desire to aid and relieve.
39 
GOD'S PITY.
Pity and compassion are the antitheses of those
affections by which we take hold of men who are
good, lovely, desirable for their grace of nobleness
and purity; or of those who are prosperous, strong,
and happy. For such, to be sure, we have a lively
sympathy, but it is of a different sort. God has
gladness for those who are glad, and pity for those
who are sad.
The pity of God, as disclosed in this psalm, is the
working out of the whole divine nature of goodness
toward the human family, in their unformed, immature, sinfiil, struggling existence. The race was not
born perfect-men were sown as seeds are. They
come of germs, turn to leaves, shoot forth a slender
stem, grow little by little to branches, and find firmness and solidity only.after a long probation of weakness, temptation, sin, and all its sorrows. This is
tiue of individual men. It is true historically of
mankind.  The need of compassion for the race has
been just as great as is the need in every household
of compassion towards babes and young children.
It is still the need of each man and of the whole
world.
As much crime as there is, calling for punishment; as much deliberate wrong, to be met by deliberate justice; as much license as there is, and
overflowing passion and desolating lust-there is
even more ignorance, mistake, sorrowful weakness,
and unwitting evil! The world wanders like a halfgrown orphan, calling for aid without answer, and
weeps for trouble and wanders still, stumbling
through ages! And though it needs reproof and
40 
GOD'S PITY.
correction, it needs kindness  more.   Though it
needs the grasp of the strong hand, it needs, too, the
open palm of love and tenderness. It requires punishment; but it needs pity even more than avenging
justice.
While, therefore, the divine character drawn in the
Bible hath great depth of shadow in justice, all its
salient points stand forth in the high lights of love
and mercy! God is full of near, real, overflowing,
and inexhaustible compassion for man!
But, it is declared that God's pity is not simply
pity-it it asfth/er's pity.
If a man be found weltering by the road, wounded,
and a stranger comes who never before had even seen
him, hlie will pity him. No matter if born under a
different heaven, or speaking a different tongue, or
worshipping at a different altar, he pities him; for
the heart of man speaks one language the world over,
and suffering wakes compassion.
But if, instead of being a stranger it were a near
neighbor, how much more and more tender the pity,
as he ran to his help. But if, instead of one who
stood only in the offices of general and neighborhood
kindness, it were a strong personal friend-yea, a
brother-how much more intense would be the throbbing emotion of tenderness and pity!
But all these fade away before the wild outcry of
the man's own father, who would give his life for his
son, and who gives pity, now, not by measure, but
with such a volume that it is as if a soul were gushing out in all its life!
But the noblest heart on earth is but a trickling
41 
GOD'S PITY.
stream from a faint and wasting fountain, compared
with the ineffable soul and heart of God, the everlasting father! The pity of God is like a father's, in
all that is tender, strong, and full, but not in scope
and power. For every one of God's feelings moves
in the sphere of the infinite. His pity has all the
scope and divinity which belong to power, wisdom,
justice! Yea, power, wisdom, and justice are God's
lesser ways, and come towards that side of his being
where there would be restriction, if anywhere;
while love and mercy are God's peculiar glory. In
these he finds the most glorious liberty of the divine
nature.
Nothing so soon wears out and exhausts men as
deep feelings and strong sympathies, especially those
which have in them an element of pain, as pity
hath. Our life requires to be broken in two each
day and replanted, that it may spring up again from
sleep, as new blossoms out of soil. We are buried
every night for a resurrection of each morning; and
thus our life is not a continuous line, unbroken,
but a series of lives and deaths, of deaths and
births.
But God, ill his almightiness, asks no rest and
requires no slumber, but holds straight on without
weariness, wearing out the ages, himself unworn;
changing all things, himself without variableness or
shadow of turning! God is like the sun at noon,
that casts down straight rays, and so throws down
the shadows upon the ground underneath each tree;
but he never, like the sun, goes westward towards
his setting, turning all shadows from under the trees,
4:2 
GOD'S PITY.
and slanting them upon the ground.   God stands in
eternal fullness, like a sun that knows neither morning nor evening, nor night, but only noon, and noon
always!
God's pity abides, even as he abides, and partakes
of the divine grandeur and omnipotence. There is
a whole eternity in it, for substance and duration.
As God himself cannot be measured with lines of
latitude and longitude, but is boundless, so is his
every attribute. HIis pity is infinite, moving with
equal step to all the other attributes of God, and
holding its course and path as far forth as omniscience doth; it paces with omnipresence along the circuits of infinity!  For as heaven is high above
the earth, so great is his mercy towards them that
fear him. As far as the east is from the west,
so far hath he removed our transgressions from
us!
God's pity is not as some sweet cordial, poured in
dainty drops from a golden phial. It is not like
the musical water-drops of some slender rill, murmuring down the dark sides of Mount Sinai. It is
wide as the whole cope of heaven.  It is abundant
as all the air. If one had art to gather up all the
golden sunlight that to-day falls wide over all this
continent-falling through every silent hour; and all
that is dispersed over the whole ocean, flashing from
every wave; and all that is poured refulgent over
the northern wastes of ice, and along the whole continent of Europe, and the vast outlying Asia and torrid Africa; if one could in anywise gather up this
immense and incalculable outflow and treasure of
43 
GOD'S PITY.
sunlight that falls down through the bright hours,
and runs in liquid ether about the mnountains, and
fills all the plains, and sends innumerable rays
through every secret place, pouring over and filling
every flower, shining down the sides of every blade
of grass, resting in glorious humility upon the humblest things-on stick, and stone, and pebble;-on the
spider's web, the sparrow's nest, the threshold of the
young foxes' hole, where they play and warm themselves;-that rests on the prisoner's window, that
strikes radiant beams  through  the  slave's tear,
that puts gold upon the widow's weeds, that
plates and roofs the city with burnished gold, and
goes on in its wild abundance up and down the
earth, shining everywhere and always, since the day
of primal creation, without faltering, without stint,
without waste or diminution; as full, as fresh, as overflowing to-day as if it were the very first day of its
outplay!-if one might gatherup this boundless, endless, infinite treasure, to measure it, then might he
tell the height and depth, and unending glory of the
pity of God! The Light, and the Sun its source,
are God's own figures of the immensity and copiousness of his mercy and compassion. (Ps. lxxxiv. 1112; Is. lv. 6-13.)
This divine pity applies to us on account of our
weakness.   God looks upon our littleness, as compared with his angels that excel in strength, much,
it may be supposed, as we look upon little children
as compared with grown-up men.
Divine pity is, also, exercised in view of our sufferings, both of body and of mind. We sometimes fear
44 
GOD'S PITY.
to bring our troubles to God, because they must seem
so small to Him who sitteth on the circle of the earth.
But if they are large enough to vex and endanger
our welfare, they are large enough to touch his heart
of love. For love does not measure by a merchant's
scales, nor with a surveyor's chain. It hath a delicacy which is unknown in any handling of material
substances.
It sometimes seems as if God cared for nothing.
The wicked are at ease. The good are vexed
incessantly. The world is full of misrule and confusion. The darling of the flock is always made the
sacrifice. Some child in the very midst of its
glee becomes suddenly silent-as a music-box, its
spring giving way, stops in the midst of its strain,
and never plays out the melody. The mother staggers, and wanders blindly as though day and night
were mingled into one, and struck through with
preternatural influence of woe. But think not that
God's silence is coldness or indifference! When
Christ stood by the dead, the silence of tears interpreted his sympathy more wonderfully than even
that voice which afterwards called back the footsteps
of the brother from the grave, and planted them in
life again! When birds are on the nlest, preparing
to bring forth life, they never sing. God's stillness
is full of brooding. Not one tear shall be shed by
you that does not hang heavier at his heart than
any world upon his hand!
Be not impatient of God. Your sorrow is a seed
sown. Shall a seed come up in a day, or come up
all in blossom when it does spring?  Let God plant
45 
GOD'S PITY.
your sorrows, and water and till them according to
his own husbandry. By and by, when you gather
their fruit, it will be time to judge his mercy. Now
no affliction "for the present seemeth to be joyous
but grievous; nevertheless, afterwards it yieldeth tihe
peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which
are exercised thereby." Trouble is like any other
crop.  It needs time for growing, for blossoming, and
for fruiting.
46 
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOSET.
"And when he had sent the multitudes away he went up into a
mountain apart to pray; and when the evening was come, he was
there alone."-MATT. xiv. 23.
IHE left the crowded shore, the thronged highway,
and crossing the turfy fields, Christ came to the edges
of the mountains. Hiis pulse throbbed, and his breath
quickened, as he clomb, as ours does when we climb.
The sparrow, not knowing its creator and protector,
flew away from his coming. Hiis form cast its
shadow, as he passed, over bush, and flower, and
grass, and they knew not that their Maker overshadowed them. Sounds grew fainter behind him.
Those who had followed him, one by one, dropped
off, and the last eye that looked after him had lost
his form amid the wavering leaves, and was withdrawn. He was in the mountain, and alone. The
day was passing.  The last red light followed him,
and stained the air of the forest with ruddy hues.
At length the sun went down, and it was twilight in
the mountains, though bright yet in the open field.
But when it was twilight in the field, it was already
dark in the mountain. The stars were coining forward and filling the heavens.
No longer drawn outward by the wants of the
crowd, what were the thoughts of such a soul?  And
47 
48        THE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOSET.
what were the prayers? Even if Christ were but a
man, such an errand and of such a man, would be
sublime! But how foolish are all words which would
approach the grandeur of Christ's solitude upon the
mountain, if we regard him as very God, though'
incarnated, communing with his coequal Father!
What was the varied prayer? What tears were
shed, what groans were breathed, what silent yearnings, what voiceless utterances of desire, no man may
know. Walking to and fro, or sitting upon some
fallen rock, or prostrate in overpowering emotion,
the hours passed on until morning dawned. When
he went down to his disciples, they neither inquired
nor did he speak of his mountain watch.
If prayer be the communion of the soul with God,
it is but a little part of it that can be uttered in
words; and still less of it that will take form of words
in the presence of others. Of outward wants, of outward things, of one's purely earthly estate, we can
speak freely. But of the soul's inward life-of its
struggles with itself, its hopes, yearnings, griefs,
loves, joys, of its very personality, it is reserved, and
to such a degree, that there can be no prayer expressive of the inward life, until we have entered into
the closet, and shut to the door. Every Christian
whose life has developed itself into great experience
of secret prayer, knows that the hidden things of the
closet transcend all uLttered prayer as much in depth,
richness, and power, as they do in volume and
space.
Sometimes we mourn the loss of old books in ancient libraries; we marvel what more the world 
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOSET.
would have had if the Alexandrian library had not
perished; we regret the decay of parchments, the
rude waste of monks with their stupid palimpsests.
We sorrow for the lost arts, and grieve that the
fairest portions of Grecian art lie buried from research; that the Parthenon should come down within two hundred years of our time, with its wealth of
magnificence, a voice in stone from the old world to
the new, and yet perish almost before our eyes!
But when one reflects upon the secret history
which has transpired in men's thoughts, and that the
noblest natures have been they whose richest experiences could never have been drawn forth through
the pen, or recorded in books; but have found utterance through prayer, and before the conscious glory
of the Invisible Presence; I am persuaded that the
silent literature of the Closet is infinitely more wonderful in every attribute of excellence, than all that
has been sung in song, or recorded in literature, or
lost in all the concussions of time. If rarest classical
fragments, the perished histories and poets of every
people, could be revived, they would be as nothing
in comparison with the effusions of the Closet, could
they be gathered and recorded.
The noblest natures, it is, that resort to this study.
The rarest inspiration rests upon them.  Flying between the heavens and the earth, with winged faith,
they reach out into glories which do not descend to
the lower spheres of thought.
hlow many souls, so large and noble, that they
rose up in those days of persecution, and left home
and love for the faith of Christ, and went to the wil
49
113
I 
50         THE MOUNTAIN AND THEX CLOSET.
derness and dwelt thierein, gave forth in prayer their
whole life! Doubtless their daily prayers were rich
and deep in spiritual life. But there are peculiar
days to all-days of vision-days when we see all
human life as in a picture, and all future life as in a
vision; and when the reason, the imagination, the
affections, and the experiences of life, are so ten pered together, that we consciously live more in an
hour than at other times in months. Every man has
his mountains of transfiguration, and sees and talks
with the revealed and radiant dead. In such experiences, what must have been the wonders of prayer,
when the noblest natures-rich in all goodness,
deeply cultured in knowledge, refined in all taste,
and enriched in pure lives, but driven out among the
wild shaking leaves of the wilderness for their faith's
sake, poured out their whole soul before God; their
conscious weakness and sinfulness, their yearnings
and trials, their hopes and strivings, their sense of
this life, and their view of the other, their longing
for God's church on earth, and their prospect of the
glorified church in heaven! WVhat if some listener
had made haste to put down the prayers of Luther,
with all his strong crying and tears, if that had been
possible! Hiow many noble natures gave up to
celibacy and virginity the wondrous treasures of
multitudinous affections.  And when at periods of
heart-swellings, in hours when the secret tide set in
upon men from the eternal ocean, and carried them
lupon mighty longings and yearnings towards Gre,
before whom they poured forth in mingled sobs and
words those affections which were meant to be eased 
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOSET.
in the love-relations of life, but which, hindered and
choked, found tumultuous vent in mighty prayer to
God!
Consider what mothers' hearts hlave always been.
hlow many thousand thousands of them have watched
day and night over the cradle till the body failed,
but the spirit waxed even keener; and, with what
wondrous gushes of words, such as would disdain to
be called eloquence, have they besought God, with
every persuasion, for the life of the child! We judge
these things by our own experience. All the words
that were ever spoken, and all the thoughts that we
have conceived, are unfit to bear up the skirt of those
prayers, which burst, without words, right out of our
hearts, for the life of dying children!
Consider what a heavenly wonder must be the
Book of Prayer that lies before God! For groans
are interpreted there. Mute joys gain tongue before
God.  Unutterable desires, that go silently up from
the heart, burst forth into divine pleadings when,
touched by the Spirit, their imprisoned nature comes
forth! Could thoughts or aspirations be made visible, could they assume a form that befitted their
nature, what an endless procession would be seen
going towards the throne of God, day and night!
Consider the wrestlings of all the wretched, the cry
of orphans, the ceaseless pleadings of the bereaved,
and of those fearing bereavement; the prayer of trust
betrayed, of hope darkened, of home deserted, of
joy quenched; the prayers of faithful men from
dungeons and prison-houses; the prayers of slaves,
who found man, law, and the church twined around
4
51 
52        TIlE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOSET.
and set against them, and had no way left to look
but upward towards God! The hearts of men by
myriads have been pressed by the world as grapes
are trodden in a wine-press, and have given forth a
heavenly wine. Beds of long lingering sickness have
learned such thoughts of resignation, and such patient
trust and joy, that the heavenly book is bright with
the footprints of their prayers! The very silence of
sickness is often more full of richest thoughts than
all the books of earth have ever been!
" And when he had taken the book, the four
beasts and the four and twenty elders fell down
before the Lamb, having every one of them harps
and golden vials full of odors, wh/ic/ are theprayer8
of tie saints."  And the other magnificence of the
scene one may read in the fifth chapter of that gorgeous book of divine pictures, the Revelations of St.
John! Hiow remarkable would it seem, if it were
revealed to us that there dwelt in the air a race of fine
and fairy spirits, whose work it was to watch all
flowers of the earth, and catch their perfumed breath
and preserve it in golden vials for heavenly use! But
how much more grand is the thought that all over the
earth, God's angels have caught the heart's breath, its
prayers and love, and that in heaven they are before
God like precious odors poured from golden vases by
saintly hands! Again the divine head is anointed
with precious ointment, not now from the broken alabaster, a woman's gift, but by heavenly hands poured
sweeter still from broken hearts on earth.
The influences which brood upon the soul in such a
covert as the closet, are not like the coarse stimulants 
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOSET.
of earthly thought.  It is no fierce rivalry, no conflict
for victory, no hope of praise or hunger of fame,
that tlhrow lurid light upon the mind. The soul rises
to its highest nature, and meets the influence that
rests upon it from above. What is the depth of
calmness, what is the vision of faith, what is the
rapture, the ecstasy of love, the closet knows more
grandly than any other place of human experience.
53 
T1IE LIBERPTY OF PRAYER.
ONE may perceive at a glance how exceedingly
wide is the scope of prayer
It will begin with a supplication for our temporal
wants. These are first felt, and felt longest; and, by
greatest number of the world, felt chiefly. Next
higher, will come petitions for relief from trouble,
for remedy, for shelter in danger. In this, too, the
soul may exercise its own liberty; there are no
metes nor bounds. Then, next, prayer is drawn forth
by heart-sorrow. A wounded spirit, a bruised heart,
naturally turns for confidence and soothing towards
God. Its prayer may be supplication for help, or it
may be only recitation for the sake of peace. Next,
and far higher, prayer becomes the resource of a
heart exercised for its own religious growth. It is
the cry for help against temptation. It is the voice
of confession.   It is a recital of sins committed, and
a plaint of sorrow for them. It is tlhe soul's liberty
to go to its father with all its growing pains, its
labor and travail in spiritual things. Prayer, also, to
one who lives in daily service of God, oftentimes
takes the form of simple communion, the spreading
out of our life to one lwho is worthy, whom we love
and trust, not for sake of any special advice, nor for
sake of special help, but for the heart-rest which
there is in the thing itself.  For none  love  con  54 
THE LIBERTY OF PRAYER.
fidences so much as they who rarely have them.
None love to speak so much, when the mood of
speaking comes, as they who are naturally taciturn.
None love to lean and recline entirely upon another
so much, as trong natures that ordinarily do not
lean at all. And so the heart that goes shaded and
shut, that hides its thoughts and dreads the knowledge of men's eyes, flings itself wide open to the
eye of God.
Thus, I have sat down within the forest, and while
men were passing, feet tramping, and voices shouting,
everything in the boughs and among the leave4s hid
itself. But after the noise had died out, sitting still
and motionless as the tree I leaned against, I have
heard a sweet note sounded near me; then a brief response from yonder bush; a bird had hopped down
upon the leaves, squirrels had come forth lithe and
merry; and in a few moments all the secrets and confidences of sylvan shades were revealed to me. And
thus it is in the soul that shuts itself and holds its
peace while the world is near, but grows securer in
silence of contemplation, and lets out its gentle
thoughts and whispering joys, its hopes or sad fears,
Lunto the listening ear and before the kindly eye of
God!
But in souls which have caught something of the
beauty of the divine life, prayer in many of its moods
becomes more than this.  There are times of yearning
and longing, far beyond the help of the most hopeful.
There is a prayer which is the voice of the soul pleading its birthright, crying out for its immortality; it is
heavenly home-sickness!
55 
THE LIBERTY OF PRAYER.
There are times, too, of great joys and gratitudestimes in which nothing is so congenial as to exprsss
the soul's thoughts of gladness, its spiritual gaiety.
In some lovely morning of spring, after days of storm
have made nature mute, when  the,bright, warm
dawning comes, can any man tell what it is or why
it is that birds are wild with ecstatic song, and sit
singing with perpetual warbling?  Can any man tell
why it is that they fly singing, turn and wheel in the
air with every fantastic gyration, or briskly leap
from bough to bough, and twig to twig, or sportively
whirl in a feathery fury of mingled delight, a hundred voices  crossing  and mingling, with strange
melody of dissonance? And can any man, then,
give a square and solid reason for those experiences
that sometimes come to all-and that come often to
some, when thoughts are high and imaginations
divinely radiant, and the affections full of vibrations
of joy, and the whole soul is full of rising gladness,
gratitude, happiness, and at times ecstasies?  Have
you never felt this?  I ani sorry for the man that has
not!  One day, one hour, of such peaceful joy, were
worth a year of common pleasure!
But the soul does not always live willingly itself
with itself. There is a privilege of sympathy with
God which shall bring us hours of most serene
delight. It is the privilege of God's people to come
into such spiritual relationship with him that they
shall have meditations, almost visions, of the divine
goodness and glory, which will take away from them
all thought of self-worth or demerit, of joy or sorrow,
of thrift or adversity; and will fill them with over
56
'. -i , 
THE LIBERTY OF PRAYER.
powering gladness for the greatness and the glory of
God! As one who stands before some magnificence of
nature, or in the presence of some stupendous marvel, or before an outspread and glorious work of art
or in a cathedral full of dreamy beauty, or within
a gallery of paintings, where there is a perfect wilderness of colors and forms, as if there were as many
as there are flowers in the wilderness;-as persons,
amid such surroundings, are utterly unconscious of
self, and forgetful whether they are in the body or
out of it, whether rich or poor, whether in trouble or
in joy, but are carried quite out of themselves, and
made to dwell in the realm and glory of the scene
before them; so, and much more, is it in the power
of God to open such views of himself to the soul, as
to fill and overflow its capacity and to make its
life, for the time, a life beyond the body-a life that
goes forth, as it were, out of doors, and mounts up
to the very heavens, and stands before the eternal
glory of Love, and among the radiant multitudes in
the endless processions of heavenly hosts that are for
ever praising God!.
Who shall lay tax upon the tongue, or upon the
thoughts, in such glorious visions as these?  Who
shall criticise or regulate the prayer that springs
from such experiences as these?  Let a man arrogantly teach rain how to fall, or clouds how to shape
themselves, and with what paces to march their airy
rounds, or the season how to plant, and tend and
garner; but let him not teach a soul how to pray,
upon whom the Holy Ghost thus broods and
breathes!
3*
57 
THE LIBERTY OF PRAYER
They to whom is given such communion cannot
but bear the burden of the Lord in earthly tilings.
Christ's cause, and glory in the salvation of souls,
will  oftentimes move their prayers withl deep and
inexhaustible  desires.   They may not seek suCl
experiences.  They do not come by common asking.
They are given to them who are one with Christ;
who have entered into such sympathy with God,
that they must needs bear his cross and, as it were, be
crucified for sinners.
And, in like manner, God makes his servants to
bear the burden of God's cause on earth at large; so
that, at times, the desires, the yearnings and prayers
for the prosperity of Zion, will be almost more than
flesh can bear; so that in the expressive language
of Scripture, they travail in birtl, for God's work on
earth!
There are yet other modes of prayer; but who
shall frame words to express what that communion
is which the soul holds when, in the fullness of its
own feeling, it overflows with praises. It is apparent how great is the folly of those who decry prayer
as being useless, inasmuch as God knows what we
need-as if asking for enjoyable things is all that a
soul does in prayer. What if a man should have an
idea as ignoble as this of sounds and space, and
should say that no words or sounds are sensible, or of
any value and desirableness, except such as articulate well-defined wants; as if they were of no use
in exclamations of gladness, in tones and words of
joy, in the mazes and tropical exuberance of love, in
the sweet endearments of friendship; as if they
r,)S 
THE LIBERTY OF PRAYER.
were of no use in music, in shouts of gladness, and,
in short, in any utterance except those for servile
uses!
With regard to forms of prayer, these are of use,
and are proper to be used by all who need them;
but they can never include the whole of that
utterance which the soul.should express to God in
prayer!
Some persons are often troubled respecting fami liarity and irreverence in prayer. But it should be
emembered by such that the confidence of love is
not irreverence. God permits his people to plead
with him, and to pour out their confidence freely.
The exhortation is explicit, "Let us come boldly to
the throne of grace!"
Some are discouraged, when after continued com munion with God, they do not find any such range
and progression in prayer. To pray is, to many, like
speaking a new and foreign language. It must be
learned. One is not surprised that a foreign tongue
is slowly and brokenly spoken at first.   Prayer  t
gains in scope and richness as the elements of 
spirituality increase and the habit of expression is
formed.
59 
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
PRIVATE prayer ought to be regarded as a plea
sure and privilege, not as a duty. But public prayer
may fitly be spoken of as a duty, since it is seldom
that one would of choice pray publicly for his own
devotion, but only because it is his duty to the
brotherhood. No service needs more, and none is
susceptible of so little, improvement by means of
instruction. This is an exercise in which men cannot
be drilled. It is ungracious even to criticise what
purports to be an address to God. Yet, there are
some suggestions which we shall venture to make.
We think it very important that the pastor, or
some leading officer, should be faithful with the
younger members of the church in pointing out
blemishes and faults, which may easily be corrected
at first, but which, if suffered to go on, will become
ineradicable. One man falls into a whining tone,
another prays in an inaudible whisper, another exalts
his voice far beyond the natural conversational
pitch, and others lose the natural tones entirely, and
pray in a kind of sacred falsetto. Some talk in tenor,
but pray in base; some converse in upper-base notes,
but pray in tenor notes. If a brother first speaks,
and then prays, a stranger, listening from the out side, would think two different men had been speak ing.  This habit becomes very marked in the minis    60 
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
trations of clergymen, many of whom come, at
length, to have a conversation voice, a praying voice,
a hymn voice, a reading voice, and a preaching voice.
Men are seldom entirely true to themselves and
natural in their prayers. There is a certain round
of topics supposed to be necessary to a symmetrical
prayer. These they punctiliously introduce, whether their heart craves such utterance or not. Of all
forms of prayer, extemporaneous forms are the worst.
They have all the evils of written prayers without
their propriety. If, when a Christian brother were
in full tide of prayer along the regular succession of
topics, Christ should really appear before him, how
extremely impertinent would most of the petitions
seem, addressed to a living and visible Saviour!
Thus a man's real feeling is not expressed, and matters quite good in themselves, but almost wholly
indifferent to him, constitute the bulk of petition.
Reverential tones and well-connected sentences, expressing very proper ideas, do not constitute prayer.
Tho very essence of praying is, that it conveys the
real desires or thoughts of the suppliant. When a
man really reveres God, how simple is the language
of veneration! But if his heart is breaking with
sorrow, or depressed by care, or fretted by ill-adjusted
affairs, why should he leave the real strain of feeling,
and strike into a false key?
It is remarkable how skillfully men will contrive
to avoid all real interests, and express almost wholly
those which are not real to them. A man prays for
the glory of God, for the advance of his kingdom, for
the evangelization of the world; but, in that very
61 
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
time, he will not allude to the very things in which
his own life may stand, nor to the wants which every
day are working their impress upon his character.
The cares, the petty annoyances, the impatience of
temper, pride, self-indulgence, selfishness, conscious
and unconscious; or, on the other hand, the gladnesses of daily life, the blessings of home, the felicities of friendship, the joys and success of life-in
short, all the things which one would talk of to a
venerable mother, in an hour of confidence, are
excluded  from  prayer  among  the brotherhood.
Without a doubt, there is to be reserve and delicacy
exercised in the disclosure of one's secret and private
experiences. But this is not to be carried so far as
to strip prayer of all its leaves and blossoms, and
leave it like a formal bush or tree in winter, with
barren branches standing in sharp outline against a
cold sky.
We must enter a solemn protest against the desecration of the name of God, so very common in prayer.
There would seem to beno necessity, in a prayer of ordinary length, and upon ordinary occasions, of more than
one or two repetitions of the divine name. Instead of
this, it is often repeated from twenty to forty times.
Every sentence begins, "0 Lord!" Often the middle
of a sentence is pivoted upon the divine name. It is
made to be a word on which, long drawn out, men
collect their thoughts or gather breath. It is a word
used simply to begin a sentence or to close it up.
In short, the name of God degenerates into a mere
rhetorical embellishment, and is the wasteword of
the prayer. For our own part, prayers interlarded
62 
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
ill this manner are extremely repulsive, and even
shocking. The prayer of intense feeling, of uncontrollable sorrow, or desire, are the exception. And
no one would shrink from any repetition of the
Divine name, which seems like the clinging  and
pleading of an earnest and yearning heart. Nor
can we  consent, any more,  to be moved by the
interjections and epithets of prayer. Many prayers
are rolling full of O's, and the voice runs
through half a semicircular scale of gracious intonation with every other sentence.  It is, O  do this,
and O do that, O send, O give, O bless, O help,
O teach, O look, O smile, O come, O forgive, O
spare, O hear, O let, O snatch, O watch-O! O! O!
O! through the whole petition, with every variation
of inflection.  Some O's are deep and sad; some are
shrill and short, some are blunt and decisive, but
more are long, very long, affectingly long!
It is sometimes painful to hear men  getting their
prayers to a close. After advancing through the topics
for a proper time, it seems as if it were thought. needful to throw in a collection of very short petitions, or
to come to the close through a certain cadence of
petitions, until at last the gate is reached, and the
man comes out in regular style through the "forever and ever, Amen!" And so habituated have
men become to this, that a prayer that begins wvitlhout a certain conventional opening, and closes without the regular gradations, is thought singular and
irreverent. Thle familiarity of deep feeling, the boldness of love, the artless sentences of unconscious
sincerity, are to some undevout, while the cramming
63 
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
a prayer with all manner of conventionalisms gives
no offence, if the manner is only solemn. Solemnity
is a mask behind which levity and thoughtlessness
heap up endless fantasies. It is the arch-patron of
hypocrisy.
The use of Scriptural language in prayer becomes
often a serious vice. Of course, when fitly used, no
language can be more elevated and appropriate.
But when texts or scraps, and fragments of texts
are strung together, or when certain favorite texts
recur in every prayer, long after they have ceased
to convey to the hearer the thoughts originally
coupled with them, the use of Scripture, instead of
edifying, injures. A prayer is not a thread on
which men are to see how many texts they can
string.
An improper use of figurative language in prayers,
is a source of positive mischief. We take no exception to figurative language when it springs fresh
fromnt the imagination. Then it augments the tide of
thought and feeling. But there are certain figures,
and not all of them Biblical, which have been repeated over and over, until all sense is gone from
them, except a false sense. They come to be, at
length, in effect, the assertion of literal truths. And
a figure that was meant simply to kindle the imagination, finds itself in a didactic position, teaching the
strangest conceivable things.
Some men are always "opening the windows of
heaven," "raining a rain of mercy," "laying down.
the weapons of rebellion."  "Stony hearts," "unclean hands," "blind eyes," "deaf ears," at length
64 
FAULTS IN PRAYER.
transfer the thoughts to the outward symbol, and
quite hide the inward and specific spiritual state.
Some men never say humble, or humility, except by
such  expressions as "on the bended knee of the
soul," and going down into the valley of humiliationi."  Many men have apparently forgotten the
name of Christ.  They always use the word " cross"
instead. They pray to be reconciled to the " Cross,"
they exhort men to come to the " Cross," to look up at
the "Cross," to lay down their sins at the foot of the
"Cross."  WVe once heard an ordination sermon of
great ability upon salvation by Christ, in which that
name was not once mentioned, the "Cross" becoming
the synonym. Had a heathen stranger been present, he
would have supposed the name of the God whom we
worshipped to be " Cross." This is the more unfortunate, because it not only sinks the power of a
living personality, but presents in its stead a symbol
which, however precious, and historically affecting,
may, by too great familiarity, lose entirely from sight
the Saviour, and leave only the wood; a relic worse
than any which Romish superstition has presented.
65 
AIDS TO PRAYER.
WE have always been affected by the petition of
the disciples to the Saviour, " Lord, teach us how to
pray." How many yet would fain address the same
request, with simplicity and conscious want, to
Christ! It is not our purpose to say anything to
those Christians who have by long experience learned
the way of prayer, and made its language as familiar
to them as their mother-tongue; but to them only
who are vexed with the troubles incident to beginning.
If the first moments of the morning, the very
first thoughts of the day, are given to prayer, it will
be found, at least in many cases, to give direction to
the feelings of the whole day. The key-note of the
day is struck early. And simple as it may seem, we
have forced a few moments in the morning to hold
the day to its course, as a rudder does the ship.
Some persons, we suspect, fail of interest in prayer,
by attempting to pray by the clock. They have
been taught that a regular time and an appointed
place are eminently beneficial. They have tried the
time with so many failures, that the place, by association and memory of ill success, becomes disgustful.
WVe are not about to say that punctuality and regularity are not good, but only that they are not alike
good for all; and that when experience shows that
GG 
AIDS TO PRAYERS.
they hinder and do not help, Christians are under
no law to the clock.  Persons of regulated feelings, of methodical habits, and of uniform occupations, find great advantage in stated hours of prayer.
People of mercurial dispositions, who live without
special arrangement and system, will find, on the
contrary, that such attempts at punctuality will not
help them, except as an exercise in method and regularity.
If a man should insist upon wallowing in the sald
when the tide was out, because he had made up his
mind to bathe in one place and at one hour, he
would not be much unlike him who prays when his
watch, and not when his heart, tells him the time.
Christians are to remember that they are children of
liberty. They are not bound up, as the Jews were,
to times and seasons, to places and methods. Prayer
may become a yoke of superstition, instead of the
wings of liberty.
it may be briefly said, take notice of the times
when prayer is refreshing.  Learn from your ow_
experience how and when prayer is best for you.
You are under bonds to no man, be he minister or
layman.
We think that one may very much aid himself, by
taking a few moments of his brightest hours for
silent prayer.  The  Jews  were taught to present
their best fruits for offerings. We should not choose
refuse hours, good for nqthing else, to pray in.  No
matter where you are, nor what you are doing, send
a glance Godward from the top of every exalted
hour-as from a hill top, a child, going home, would
67 
AIDS TO PRAYERS.
strive to catch a glimpse of his fathler's house.
In this manner, after a little, the soul would lay
up remembrances of many sweet and noble experiences, and would fight discouragements by hope
drawn from past success.
We suspect that many persons mar this enjoyment
by very erroneous ideas of quantity. They read of
eminent Christians who pray by the hour, they hear
sermons upon the wrestling of Jacob with the Angel,
and above all, they are told that Christ prayed all
night. - They therefore attempt immense prayer.
Of course they fail. A man might as well attempt
to imitate the old prophets who ate in preparation of
forty days' fast. If a man is moved to pray only
five minutes, it is his duty to stop there. If hle is
moved to pray an hour, he is at liberty to do so.
But in every case, prayer is to be regulated by your
own inward want, and not from the outside by
somebody's example. Indeed, we meet every day
with persons who would be injured by long praying.
They have but little to say. If Christ were on earth,
and they were disciples, they would listen rather than
speak. There is communion by thinking as well as
speaking.   There is unuttered prayer  as well as
vocal. Thoughts that roll silently are more significant, often, than those which can clothe themselves
in words.  It is possible to pray too much.  That is
always too much which is beyond your real want or
desire.
Christians bring themselves into trouble by very
false ideas of prayer. They select impassioned prayers as models, and judge themselves to be praying in
68 
AIf)S TO PRAY'ERS.
proportion as they approach these examples. But
what if your wants are few, your feelings tranquil,
your thoughts simple, and your whole mind and experience formed upon a different basis?  Is prayer
some objective exercise to be copied? or is it the presenting before God of just what you think, feel, or
need?
One single sentence is a sufficient prayer. There
is no one who cannot command his thoughts long
enough for that. If your thoughts wander, the probability is that you are trying to pray too much.
Be shorter. Say just as much as there is in you to
say. If there is nothing, say nothing; if little, say
little; silence is better than mockery. Consider
the Lord's prayer, how short, how simple. It contains the whole world's want, and yet a little child
can use it.
Accept prayer as liberty, and not a bondage. Use
it in any manner that will be of profit. Go often
and tarry but a little, or go and tarry all night,
if you will, upon the mount. You pray if there
is but one sentence-God be merciful to me a sinner-just as freely as if there were a thousand be
sides.
69 
FORSAKING GOD.
WE have known mnen-upon whose grounds waved
magnificent trees of centuries' growth, lifted up into
the air with vast breadth, and full of twilight at
mid-day-who cut down all these mighty monarchs,
and cleared the ground bare; and then, when the
desolation was complete, and the fierce summer
gazed full into their face with its fire, they bethought
themselves of shade, and forthwith set out a generation of thin, shadowless sticks, pining and waiting
till they should stretch out their boughs with protection and darken the ground with grateful shadow.
Such folly is theirs who refuse the tree of life, the
shadow of the Almighty, and sit, instead, under the
feeble trees -of their own planting, whose tops will
never be broad enough to shield them, and whose
boughs will never voice to them the music of the
air. Some of the most remarkable figures of the
Bible are made to illustrate this sad truth.
The mountains lift their tops so high in the air that
towering clouds, which have no rest in the sky, love
to come to them, and wrapping about their tops,
distill their moisture upon them.   Thus mountains
hold commerce with God's upper ocean, and, like
good men, draw supplies from the invisible.  And so
it is, that in the times of drought in the vales below,
the rocks are always wet. The mountain moss is
T70 
FORSAKING GOD.
always green. The sealns and crevices are always
dripping, and rock-veins are throbbing a full pulse,
while all the scene down below faints for want of
moisture. In some virgin gorge, unwedded by the sun,
these cold rills bubble up and issue forth upon their
errand. Could one who builds his house upon the
plain but meet and tap these s.prings in the mountain,
and lay his artificial channels to the very source, he
would never know  when  drought comneth.   For
mountain springs never grow dry so long as clouds
brood the hill tops. Day and night they gush and
fall with liquid plash and unheard music; except
when thirsty birds-to whose song the rivulet all day
long has been a bass-stoop to drink at their crystal
edges! And he who has put himself into communication with these mountain springs shall never be
unsupplied. While artificial cisterns dry up, and
crack for dryness, this mountain fountain comes night
and day with cool abundance. While others, with
weary strokes, force up from deep wells a penurious
supply of turbid water, he that has joined himself to
a mountain spring, has its voice in his dwelling night
and day, summer and winter, without work or stroke
of laboring pump, clear, sweet, and cheerful; running of its own accord to serve, and singing at its
work, more musical than any lute; and in its song
bringing suggestions of its mountain home-the dark
recess, the rock which was its father, the cloud which
was its mother, and the teeming heaven broad above
both rock and cloud!
With such a spring, near, accessible, urging itself
upon the eye and ear, how great would be his folly
71 
FORSAKING GOD.
who should abandon it, and fill his attic with a
leaden cistern, that for ever leaked when full, and
was dry when it did not leak!  Listen, then, to the
word of God:  "1fy people have committed two
evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living
waters, and have hewed them out cisterns, broken
cisterns, that can hold no water."
Man is not made to be independent in his powers.
With all his endowments he is made to lean on every
side for support; and should his connections on
either side be cut, he would droop and wither like a
tree whose roots had been sundered.
The eye carries no light with it, but receives its
sight from the luminous element without. The ear
hath no sound within it, but only receives it from
without. The tongue and throat beat upon the air
for vibrations, as a musician strikes for musical
sounds; and if hindered in their connections or broken from their dependencies, ear, tongue, and eye
would fall back into voiceless darkness.  And every
bodily function is directly or immediately joined to the
physical world in such a way, that, while man is lord
.of creation, he is also its subject and dependent, and
must ask leave to exist from the earth, the air, the
sun and the clouds.
These dependent relations symbolize the yet more
important relations which the soul sustains to God.
Man is not made to exist in rounded, perfect, and
independent spiritual life in his own right and nature.
He only is a perfect man who has himself in the
embrace of God. The soul only when divinely brooded
receives its power.  Our faculties, like the eye that
72 
FORSAKING GOD.
must be filled with light from without, wait for their
power from above. It is the divine energy acting
through the human faculty, that gives to man his
real existence. Nor does any man know his power,
his nature, his richness of emotion, the height and
depth of his being until he unfolds under the stimulus of God's imbreathed influence.
What is that effluence?  What is this spirit which
acts within or upon the soul?  I will tell you when
you will tell me what it is in light and heat that
works upon the root to bring forth the stem; what it
is that works within the stem to bring forth the bud;
what it is that works upon the bud to persuade it
into blossom; and what that mysterious spirit is, that,
dismissing the beauty of the bloom, holds back its
life in the new form of fruit.  It is light, it is
heat, it is moisture, it is the soil, it is the plant, it
is the vital energy of nature.  Thus we stand throwing words at a marvellous change, whose interior nature we cannot search nor find out. " So is every one
that is born of the Spirit."
But of the fact itself, it is full of blessedness
to know that the soul has a relationship to God,
personal, direct, vital, and that it grows and blossoms by it, while it languishes and dwarfs without it.
The body grows by its true connections with
material nature; the social affections grow by their
true relations to men and society; and the spiritual
powers must grow by their true relations to God.
In the material world, the roots of trees are in the
ground, while the top moves freely above. But the
soul roots upward, and so like long, pendulous vines
4
73 
FORSAKING GOD.
of air-plants, that root upon tropical branches, has its
liberty down towards the earth. We are the branches
of Christ. "As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself,
except it abide in the vine, no more can ye except ye
abide in me."
But is not this a bondage and restriction? To
selfishness it may be; but not to love. Selfishness
grows strong by shrinking, for concentration is the
nature of selfishness. But love grows by pressing
outward and evolving.
That we are bound to God is as great a restriction of our liberty as it is to a plant's freedom to
be held by the sun; to the child's liberty that the
double-orbed love of father and mother bear it
up from cradled nothingness to manly power; or
to the human heart's liberty, when, finding another
life, two souls move through-the sphere of love,
flying now with double wings, but one spirit. No man
has come to himself who has not known what it is to
be utterly forgetful of self in loving. And no man
has yet learned to love who has not felt his heart
beat upon the bosom of God. As a bird born in a
cage, and singing there, amid short, impatient hops,
from perch to wire, from wire to ring, and from ring
to perch again, so is man unrenewed. As this bird,
when darting through the opened door, feels with
wondrous thrill the wide sweep of the open air, and
dare not sing for joy, but goes from ground to limb,
from lower limb to higher, until the topmost bough
be reached, and then, stooping for a moment, springs
upward and flies with wild delight, and fills the air
as it goes with all its sounds of ransomed joy-so is
74 
FORSAKING GOD.
the soul that first learns its liberty in God, and
goes singing heavenward in all "the light and liberty
of the sons of God."
Hie who forsakes God for a greater liberty, is
like a babe lost from its mother. They who refrain
from God for the sake of pleasure, are like men running from the free air to seek sunlight amid shadows
and in dungeons. They who withdraw from God
that they may have wider circuits of personal power
are like birds that forsake the forests and fly
within the fowler's cage, to find a larger bound and
wider liberty.
75 
A RHAPSODY OF THE PEN UPON THE TONGUE.
WiEN St. James says, "If any man offend not in
word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to
bridle the whole body," one is at first surprised. It
would seem to place the sum of virtue in a very
little thing. But a larger experience of life would
change our opinion. The tongue is the exponent
of the soul. It is the flame which it issues, as lightning is the tongue of the clouds. It is the sword of
anger, the club of brutal rage, the sting of envy. It
is the soul's right hand, by which it strikes with
wasting power.   On the other hand, the tongue
is the soul's voice of mercy, the string on which its
love vibrates as music; the pencil with which it
fashions its fairest pictures; the almoner of its gifts;
the messenger of its bounties I
By speech a man may touch human life within
and without. No sceptre has such power in a king's
hand, as the soul hath in a ready tongue; which
also has this advantage, that well uttered words
never die, but go sounding on to the end of the
world, not lost when seemingly silent, but rising
and falling between the generations of men, as ships
rise and fall between waves, hidden at times, but
not sunken. A fit speech is like a sweet and favorite
tune. Once struck out, it may be sung or played
forever. It flies from man to man, and makes its
76 
A RHAPSODY OF THE PEN UPON THE TONGUE.  7T
nest in the heart as birds do in trees.   This is
remarkably exemplified in maxims and proverbs.
A generation of men by their experience prove
some moral truth, and all know it as a matter of consciousness. By and by, some happy man puts the
truth into words, and ten thousand people say, He
got that from me; for a proverb is a child born from
ten thousand parents. Afterwards the proverb has
the liberty of the world. A good proverb wears a
crown and defies revolution or dethronement.   It
walks up and down the earth an invisible knighterrant helping the needy. A man might frame and
set loose a star to roll in its orbit, and yet not have
done so memorable a thing before God as he who
lets go a golden-orbed speech to roll through the
generations of time.  The tongue may be likened to
an organ, which, though but one instrument, has
within it an array of different pipes and stops, and
discourses in innumerable combinations. If one man
sits before it not skilled to control its powers, he
shall make it but a monstrous jargon. But when
one comes who knows its ways, and has control of its
powers, then it becomes a mountain of melody, and
another might well think he heard the city of God in
the hour of its singing. The tongue is the key-board of
the soul. But it makes a world of difference who
sits to play upon it.  "Therewith bless we God, and
therewith curse we men." It is sweeter than honey.
It is bitterer than gall. It is balm and consolation. It is sharper than a serpent's tooth. It is a
wand that touches with hope, and lifts us up. It
is a mace that beats us down, and leaves us wounded 
78  A RHAPSODY OF THE PEN UPON THIE TONGUE.
upon the ground. One trumpet, but how different
the blasts blown upon it, by love, by joy, by humility,
or by hatred, pride, anger!
A heart that is full of goodness, that loves and
pities, that yearns to invest the richlest of its mercy
in the souls of those that need it-l-how sweet a
tongue hath such a heart!  A  flute sounded in a
wood, in the stillness of evening, and rising up among
leaves that are not stirred by the moonlight above,
or by those murmuring sounds beneath; a clock,
that sighs at half hours, and at the full hours beats
its silver bell so gently, that we know not whence
the sound comes, unless it falls through the air from
heaven, with sounds as sweet as dew-drops make, in
heaven, falling upon flowers; a bird whom perfumes
have intoxicated, sleeping in a blossomed tree, so that
it speaks in its sleep with a note so soft that sound
and sleep strive together, and neither conquer, but the
sound rocks itself upon the bosom of sleep, each
charming the other; a brook that brings down the
greetings of the mountains to the meadows, and sings
a serenade all the way to the faces that watch themselves  iii its brightness,  these,  and  a hundred
like figures, the imagination brings to liken thereunto the cliarms of a tongue which love plays upon.
Even its silence is beautiful. Under a green tree
we see the stream so clear that nothing is hidden to
its bottom. We cast in round, white pebbles to hear
them plash, and to see the crystal-eyed fish run in,
and sail out again. So there are some whose speaking is like the fall of jasper stones upon the silent
river, and whose stillness follows speech, as silent 
A RHAPSODY OF THE PEN UPON THE TONGUE. 79
fish that move like dreams beneath the untroubled
water!
It was in some  such dreaming mood, methinks,
old Solomon spoke: " A wholesome tongue is a tree
of life." And what fruit grows thereon, he explains,
when he afterwards says, "A word fitly spoken, is
like apples of gold in baskets of silver,"-beautiful
whether seen through the silver network of the sides,
or looked upon from above, resting their orbed ripeness upon the fretted edge of the silver bed. 
AN AGED PASTOR'S RETURN.
IT was about half-past nine o'clock at night that
the conductor upon the Naugatuck Railroad train
called out "Litchfield!"  We  stepped out into the
light of the brightest moon, and looked about only
to see two or three snug houses, and a little bit of a
station-house. The town lay four miles to the west,
i. e., by daylight, and with a niminble team. It was
at least ten miles that night. But we did not care.
Nothing is more befitting than to return to one's
native place in the quiet of night, and with the
witchery of moonlight, that at the same time reveals
and dims old familiar places. It was thirty-one years
since either of us, my venerable father or myself,
had been on this road. We had been back to the
town before, but had apprcached it from a different
point. As we climbed up hill after hill, the driver,
an intelligent man, gave us the names of the places,
and what power was there in many of them to evoke
the past, and bring up its faded scenes in a pastor's
heart! Litchfield was a large township, and the
inhabitants were in neighborhoods among the hills,
and along the clefts and valleys. It was necessary
to have preaching places in every direction.  On the
Sabbath, the farmers would come to the "town-hill"'
meeting-house, but during the week, there were
lectures and conference meetings appointed, in turn,
co 
AN AGED PASTOR'S RETURN.
in every neighbc.rhood, at distances from two to six
miles from the centre. As we rode along, the aged
pastor, who was returning to the scenes of his early
ministry, was full of recollections, as one name after
another was called. In this house hlie used to lec ture; in that, he remembered an affecting funeral;
yonder, he used to hold conference meetings; and
all the region about was storied with religious interest. The seventeen years which Dr. Lyman Beecher
spent in Litchfield, though not the most influential,
perhaps, upon the whole country, were probably the
most laborious and  energetic of his life.  Some
passages of his history here would seem almost fabulous to the economical workers of our day.
It was half-past ten o'clock when we reached the
mansion-house.  The Rev. Leonard Bacon, jr., received us cordially-the fifth pastor who has succeeded in the ministry of the white-haired patriarch
whom he now greeted. In the thirty-one years that
separate these two ministries, what a history has
transpired? And as the young pastor led the aged
one across the old common to his house, is it strange
that we followed with more thoughts than can well
be put into expression?
A  good fire blazed on the hearth.  Blessings on
wood! W5e should have despaired at once, had we
come back to Litehfiela to find a coal fire, or worse
than that, to find a black hole in the corner of the
room puffing out dry heat, instead of the old, hospitable fireplace, with ashes and coals, and the longfingered blaze that opens and shuts its red palin with
every grace and sleight of hand. A good Litchfifleld(
4*
81 
AN AGED PASTOR'S RETURN.
fire of Litchfield wood, even if it was only the first
week of September, was the very fittest banner that
could be spread out to greet us, and every fold and
flicker of flame brought back from the past old
shapes  and  long-buried  scenes, that used to flit
round the fireplace, years ago, before railroads were
dreamed of, and when Nlew York lay a week's journey from us; when the old red or yellow stages
came once a day from the north, once from the
south, and once from the east; when the drivers
blew the horns as they came into town, and boys
heard the curling notes go through the air, and
thought that a stage-driver was the greatest man on
earth, and that to hold four reins and a whip in one
hand, while the other held to the pouting lips the
long tin horn, noisy at both ends, was the most wonderful feat of skill ever achieved!
The next day it was sent out far and wide that
Dr. Beecher was in town. Though the great body
of his former parishioners had passed away, some
remained that were old when he preached here. As
we passed the graveyard coming into town my
father, pointing to it, said, "There is the congregation to which I preached when I was here!" Silent
now and without memory. The unconscious assembly gave no greeting as we passed, but kept their
long Sabbath without bell or tithing-man! But sonme
yet remained alive. Men now of fifty years were
boys when my father left. Those who blushed to
think of love and husband yet, now rocked their
grandchildren's cradle! Those who were then in the
prime middle of life were now venerable.
82 
AN AGED PASTOR'S RETURN.,
And indeed Litchfield is the last place one should
settle in who desires to go early to his rest. It seems
difficult to obtain release from earth on this clear hilltop.   }ten are counted very young at fifty, and
sound at seventy-five, and not very old at eighty.
One old man, near ninety, modestly told us that his
mind had been affected by a shock; but surely he
had more wit and sprightliness, after all his loss, than
most men have to begin with. lIe was peculiarly
thankful that while he was too old to do much himself, God had been pleased to give him a young wife.
She was only seventy-five, he informed us.
A man past eighty, going through the streets to
visit all the fathers and mothers in Israel that had
been young in his ministry there, was a scene not a
little memorable. One patriarch, in his ninety-ninth
year, when his former pastor came into the room,
spoke not a word, but rose up, and putting his trembling arms about his neck burst into tears. Did he
see in that moment, as by the opening of a door, all
the way he had walked till that hour, and all the
companions who had walked with him? and did he
feel, standing by the venerable pastor, two old men,
how few there were that yet kept step with him upon
the bleak way of life?
Passing his own former home, my father broke out
with a swing of his arm, "Oh, how many thoughts and
associations hang about that place! They fill the air
like swarms of bees, and yet I cannot speak one of
them!"
The particular errand which brought us hither
was a lecture. A new organ was to be bought. All
83 
AN  AGI') IASl'TO1t'S RETURN.
Litchfield boys were permitted to help. Our contribution was asked in the shape of a lecture, and
it was soon done.  Then the aged pastor came forward. A crowd of old and young gathered at the
pulpit stairs to grasp the hand that had baptized
them, or had broken to them the bread of life. It
was a scene of few words. One woman gave her
name, but was not recognized in her married name.
She then mentioned her maiden name. That touched
a hidden spring. Both burst into tears, but spoke no
words. The history came up instantly before both,
but silently, which had occasioned the preaching of
those "Six Sermons upon Intemperance."  That volume is in every land on earth, and in many languages.  It is preaching and working with unwasting vigor. Those that read it know only that it is a
cry and pleading that few men can hear without
deep feeling. But not many know that it was a cry
of love, the utter effort of a heart of love to save a
dear friend imperilled, or two friends, rather, closely
related. One of them was rescued. These sudden
openings of memory to scenes that included in them
the strangest experiences of life, pictures painted on
the past, with strokes of thought as sudden and as
revealing as when the lightning at night opens the
heavens and the earth with wide sheeting flash, and
shuts again with obliterating darkness, cannot be
drawn or described upon paper.
The second morning, also, was memorable for
greetings, and conversations whose roots were forty
years deep in the soil of the past. For ourselves,
we hovered about as a mere shadow among those
84 
AN AGED PASTOR'S RETURN.
who had a right to be principals in these sacred
meetings.  If an angel could write all that transpires when an aged warrior in the church militant comes back to the earlier fields of his achievements, and  meets  the companions  of his toils,
where tears and prayers, hopes and joys, sorrows
and deaths, and troubles worse than death, were common experiences, it would be a history of more matter and depth than all the volumes that are stuffed
with empires, and buffoon kings, and prelates.
Last of all, as we departed, it was fit that we should
stand silently by those stones that record mother and
wife, sister and son, a lonely group! I could not forbear to think of the stream and its contents that
has flooded between the two points of time, the first
when I, a little babe, my father came to the burial
ground, bearing the wife of his youth to her rest; and
the second, when leaning on my stronger strength, his
failing steps came again, and probably for the last
time, to behold the grass that again waves, as it has
yearly waved for forty-six years! Between these
two comings hither, then and now, a great army of
events hath marched.
While witnessing such scenes, it is strange that
one cannot foresee a like experience. But men seldomn look forward to see old age. They look into the
future with young eyes.  It seems very vague and
doubtful to me whether I shall ever walk with trembling steps, and bedimtned eye, among early
scenes, an old man, waiting for permission to,go
home!
85 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
"When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather; for the sky
is red. And in the morning, It will be foul weather to-day; for the
sky is red and lowering. 0, ye hypocrites! ye can discern the face
of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?"
EVERY season is indebted to that which has gone
before. Yet, the first labor of the new life of grass
is to push  away the old and  overlying  growth.
Many  trees are obliged to begin the spring by
casting off the leaves of the previous year. Thus it
was in the moral world at the advent. Christ's first
and last adversaries were those who represented the
religion of the times. They were the men who were
religiously conceited; and who, under the pretence
of sanctity, of truth and the venerableness of holy
things, refused to let the new growth come on which
God appoints to every generation. They were the
religious conservatives of that day. Clamorous about
the truths of the past, and very ignorant of the truths
of the present, they seemed to think that all of God's
teachings to this world were already issued; and that
they were the King's post, in which these teachings,
sealed up like letters, were to be conveyed to another generation; and they supposed that their business was that of sacred mail-carriers, to convey
unopened and unused the sealed messages of God to
those who should come after them.
86 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
Of course, such men would scorn the ethical activity of their age.   Men's business was to take care
of the legacy of the past, not to plough and sow for
new harvests.
It was this kind of men that met Christ at every
step; that were shocked because he ate and drank
like common men; because he went among common
people, and thought religious truth, not in the consecrated language of rabbinical schools, but in the
vernacular; because he sat in their houses at meat
with them; because he gave men liberty on the Sabbath day, and declared that that day was not meant
to restrict but to help men; because he let his disciples sit at the table with unwashen hands; because
he preached to the outcast, and took the side of publicans and harlots against the respectable Pharisees;
in short, because he took the part of religion against
the religious institutions; because he took sides with
religious spirit, which is always young and vegetating, against religious usages, which are always venerable in proportion as they are nothing else.
It was against this kind of religion, and these stubborn, conceited, unlearning, and impracticable religious men that he uttered these words. Men who
had apparently never suspected that God had any
way of teaching the world except through them;
who would as soon have looked out into the street for
gold and silver, as to have looked there for divine
revelations; and who, when God sent armies to Jerusalem or drove them away, when he sent the yoke
or broke the yoke, when he raised up world-wide
commotions or gave peace to the foaming waves of
87 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
contention, heard no moral lesson, saw no divinity,
but looked point blank upon God's providential deve lopments without seeing God. They were yet so
attentive to that voice which sounded a thousand
years before upon Sinai, that they did not hear the
silent thunder of God's voice now in their own
streets, and right at their own door!
Christ rebuked them. iHe put their conduct in a
striking light, by comparing it to their habits in
trifling things. The state of the weather they could
judge by looking at the elements of the weather. But
the state of God's kingdom in their midst, while
miracles were wrought, truths wonderfully spoken,
the poor relieved, the sick graciously healed, and
God's law of love, which they had changed to stone,
was smitten and caused to gush forth with divine
water for the poor multitudes that lay athirst in the
community-from all these things they never suspected that the kingdom of God had come nigh to
them.
The truth to be remarked is this, that we are bound
to understand God's dealings with the times in which
we live.
Because by such discreet consideration of current
events, we learn the nature of human conduct, and
test the wisdom of various courses.
Because, by such study, we come to right apprehensions of God's moral government over this world.
It is a thing to be remarked, how little benefit
men have derived in the long experience of commercial life.
The same mischiefs occur every ten or fifteen
Ss 
L,ESSONS FROMI THE TIMES.
years. Courses upon which the Bible pronounced
sentence two thousand years ago, are entered upon
again and again, as if nothing were known of them.
God has spoken to him who hath ears to hear, upon
the nature of greedy selfishness, upon unscrupulous
devices in business; upon making haste to be rich;
upon pride and hard-handedness; upon deceit and
guile; upon the infatuations of hope, and the supreme
folly of unwarrantable conceit; the blessings of contentment; the blessings of a good name; the blessings of God's service instead of mamrmon's bondage;
all these have been proved over and over again, and
yet almost without impression.
I. It is remarkable to see how much suffering
comes upon men, not by any disease, but simply by
difficulty of commercial breathing.
If the human body be stricken with fever or palsy;
if cholera or plague attack it; or if the sword or
bullet smite it; or if some weight fall suddenly and
crush it; or some secret wound draw out, drop by
drop, the blood-we do not marvel. There is a cause
adequate to the effect. But if you put a man into
an exhausted receiver, under a bell-glass, without a
particle of air, the mischief is just the same. No
organ suffers, no tissue is lacerated, no muscle crushed,
no part is poisoned, none wasted or drained of its
vital fluids, and yet the man effectually dies.
The course of affairs among us has not been disturbed by the unnatural invasions of war. The harvests have not failed, and famine has not reached
out its gaunt hands among  us.   )isease has not
striven ill our midst, nor has industry ceased for lack
89 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
either of legitimate enterprise or proper matter for
enterprise.
And yet this great nation, in full health, with uncounted abundance of harvests, in its young manhood, stalwart, eager, hopeful, is suddenly brought
up, and trembles, and staggers, as if it would lie
down in faintness. What is the matter?
It is the want of air. The city cannot breathe.
What, then, is this commercial air, which is so needful to life and activity? It is the faith of man in
man. It is mutual trust. It is confidence. This is
the air which commerce breathes.  And now, in our
midst, although there have been indiscretions, there
have been none which the country could not bear
almost without a check. lIen speak of overstocking
the market, or over-manufacturing, of over-importations, and of extravagance of various kinds. I do
not say that there have not been mistakes in these
respects, and great mistakes. But I do say that we
are too strong a people to be brought into such confusion by mere mistakes of this kind. This country
has such vigor, and such elements of power, that
surface mistakes will never damage it seriously.
There is money enough, property enough, and need
for goods and manufacturing, but men are all paralyzed to-day chiefly by fear of each other. Men
look at the best concerns, as in times of siege they
look at bombshells, expecting that every one will
burst, and that the only difference between one and
another, is in the length of the fuse, and the time it
will take to burn out.
But why should there be this sudden cessation
90 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
of confidence? You trusted those men yesterday to
go around the globe with your money, whom now
you will not trust to carry it from the bank to the
store! No change has come over these men.  They
are just as honest now as then. Their morals are as
good.  Their business is as safe.  On whatever foundation you stood five months ago, the materials of
that foundation remain untouched to-day. Your
ships are there. Your goods are there. Your shops
are there. Your neighbors are not niggards nor
simulating friends. They are the same men that
you always knew, just as good, just as bad, unchanged either for better or for worse. But the city
is under a spasm. No one will take things to be as
they seem. No one trusts. Every one doubts and
fears.
Now it is to the last degree important to inquire,
Why has confidence gone, and gone to suddenly and
so completely?  Yesterday it blossomed like flowers
over the field; to-day frost has fallen, and all are
black and drooping! What wind has sent that
withering frost?
In reply to this inquiry, I would say that in part
this panic of fear is without proper ground. It is
the overaction of causes, of which I shall speak,
which are real. But we have not stopped at the
legitimate potency of those causes, but allowed our
imagination to carry our fear headlong, and with it
our confidence in each other.  Merchants are now
like men awakened in the night by the attacks of an
enemy. All scream and run, one crying out one
thing, another  another, all stumbling over each
91 
LESSONS FRoM TIlE TIMES.
other with insane fear. Now there may be a cause
for some fear, for some precautions, for some earnest
defence. But there is, and there has been, no cause
for the excessive reaction from hope which has taken
place. The roots of business are sound. There
never was, upon the whole, more health with so
much life. And hundreds of men will be upset by
nothing but because they are run against by affrighted men. Hundreds of men will go down, and
lose years of toil, and the fruits of honorable industry, for no adequate reason except that men are
scared, and in their unreasonable affright, like persons in a crowd, they tread each other down.  It is a
shame!
I am not in business. I have not one penny invested in stocks or goods, and never had. If the
market touches the sun, or goes to the bottom of the
slough of despond, it carries nothing of mine with it
either way, and I am, therefore, not biased by my
interest. And I look upon this convulsion and trouble with unfeigned amazement, as reckless, needless,
wanton cowardice. The business-men of this country are suffering at this hour from a contagious
cowardice! The whole continent is unstrung by
nothing but fear. Nothing, I say, for that of which
I shall speak by and by, and which is the ultimate
of this iniquitous evil, was not of any such proportions of power as to justify any such breadth of
effect: and fears have been added to real trouble in
such unwarrantable proportions that it is scarcely
immoderate to say, that we are all lightning-struck
with fear.
92 
LESSONS  FROM THE, TIMES.
And the cure, if it could but be taken, might be
effectual in one day, as much as in a month or a
year.  Hope and trust to-morrow would set the
blood going again, and bring color to white faces.
For the mischief is not in the business, but in the
business-men-it is not in your affairs, but in you I
The country is like a ship under a stiff gale and a
rolling sea; in the watch of night, the man at the
wheel and the watch think they see a ghost, and
abandoning their post, they all run gibbering and
tumbling headlong down the hatchway. The ship
falls off and rolls in the trough of the sea, until, if
some one does not help her, she will roll her masts
out, or come upon her beam ends.  But, if there be
a heart of oak among them that can cure these
frightened sailors with the thunder of imperious
scorn and indignation-if they will go again upon
duty, seize the wheel, set the sail, and bring the sliip
out of her wallowing, to her course again, all will be
well! And I speak my honest conviction when I
say, that all which the country wants just now is
manliness. Your banks cannot cure you. The government cannot cure you. I come to your bed-side,
and feel the pulse, and I pronounce the patient to be
in a prostrated condition, from causeless excitement
of fear, and my prescription is-Let there be men for
nurses, and give them large doses of courage, to be
taken every hour until the blood comes to the skin,
and the patient can use his feet. Then turn him out,
and say, Rise up, walk, and work!
II. But there was a beginning to this fright. There
was cause enough for fear, but not enough for fright.
93 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
What was that cause that destroyed confidence
and paralyzed hope?
A relaxation of moral integrity, and a special development of it in connection with the management
of stocks, and the vast interests which they represent,
have introduced an element of profligacy and untrustworthiness, which threatens to move the foundations of trust of man in man. And unless there
can be the infusion of moral integrity in the transactions of business-men, in the immense interests represented in markets by stocks, unless these swamps
can be drained, and a highway of moral integrity be
cast up for men to walk on through the poisonous
growths of this forest, the land will suffer, season by
season, with malaria, and commerce will never be
free from chills and fever, until moral tonics are
used. The conscience of stock-dealers needs quinine!
The boards of directors, in our greatest enterprises of this kind-railroads-have permitted themselves to employ the power for selfish ends, by
unscrupulous methods.
I believe myself to be strictly justified, when I
say that the revelations of the last ten years show
that in the management of these great and useful
corporations, our most eminent business-men have
not scrupled to do or to wink and connive at courses
of conduct which involved directly, or indirectly,
almost every crime against property known to our
laws. I aver my solemn belief that most eminent
business-men, banded together, and acting as a board
of direction, have pursued methods which, if a single
94 
LESSONS FROM TH E TIMES.
man in his private capacity should pursue, would.
convict him irredeemably of crime, and crush him
with ignominious punishment.
The consequence has been, that one of the most
important-yea, indispensable-elements of property
in this land is so associated with deceit and fraud
that it is likely to become a by-word and a hissing!
Now, when one by one eminent financiers, who
manage these interests, all at once like a midnight
house on fire, burst into conflagrations of dishonesty; when next whole corporations are detected
at games of swindling, which, if practised in the
park with a thimble, would send a man to the
Tombs; when, yet further, it is found that banks are
inveigled and are made to be left-handed partners
in schemes that will not bear the sun; and when, yet
further, strong business men are discovered to have
stepped from their legitimate calling, and to have
lent their names to devices for obtaining funds that
are unwarrantable even in. commerce, and utterly
abominable in morals; when all these things are revealed, is it strange that men do not know whom to
trust? and that men, with David, "say in their haste
that all men are liars?"
Springing from this, and coupled with it, is the
monstrous and over-bloated sin of stock-gambling.
There is no more sin in buying and selling stocks
than in buying or selling bank bills, or any species
of property. But it is one thing to buy and sell
legitimately, and another to buy and sell as gamblers
do.
95 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
Many  honorable  men  pursue  an  honorable
business in the brokerage of stocks. But it is quite
notorious that millions and thousands of millions
of dollars of stock are sold every month under the
lawful forms of the Stock-Brokers' Exchange, which
can be shown to differ in no moral or material respect from undisguised gambling. It is not necessary to enter minutely into the distinctions between
right and wrong in buying or selling stocks. It is
enough to say, that he who buys stock as a bona
fJde method of investing his funds, looking for
dividends, or for some benefit from the interest represented by the stock, buys legitimately and without moral  blame.    But  that whole  scheme of
buying stocks for no other purpose than to make
money upon the bet that they will rise or that they will
fall, is a  scheme  of gambling.   Men  that  do
it are gamblers. All the soft names on earth cannot be dissolved to make a varnish strong enough
to cover the real wickedness. Men will resent the
imputation.   iNo man likes to be called a gambler. But the way to avoid the title is to avoid the
thing.
In this gambling game the whole community have
more or less participated. Some devote their time to
it. Since my day, I remember, I think, one concern
to have failed four times; it fails to-day, is on its
feet to-morrow, in as good credit as ever. For when
the business is fraud, and the customs of it are dishonesties, it does not take a man long to repair any
little cracks in his reputation.
Merchants are forsaking their legitimate business,
96 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMIES.
and dabbling in this pool. Their clerks, following
their example, gamble too.   Simple men, seeing
these marvels of success, venture their hard earnings, and go to gambling likewise. The lawyer
follows suit; and that there may be no want of
moral sanction, ministers of the Gospel are found,
not a few I am informed, secretly buying and selling
stocks.
Now when the company themselves are gigantic
speculators by fraudulent and dishonest means; and
when the stock of the company goes up and down
the street, carrying in its hand a bowl drugged with
gambling, and crowds rush to drink its intoxication,
is it strange that at length the head is sick, the whole
body faint, and that the commonwealth lies at length
upon the ground, wallowing like one possessed, foamning, and rending itself?
It is supposed that there are one thousand million
dollars invested in railway property. Can this mountain of power be used against good morals, against
commercial prudence, and the country not reel and
stagger?  Can this prodigious weight be cast rudely
hither and thither upon the deck and the keel lie
level?   There is not an honest man in the land
patiently conducting a legitimate business, who
is not in the power of these irregular forces. There
can be no permanent security, if financiers can,
at pleasure, draw up such enormous elements of
power, and hold them suspended, like water-spouts,
to burst and flood down desolation the moment they
are touched with misfortune. And if commercial
men will not draw tight the reins of morals upon
5
97 
LES SONS FROMI THE TIMES.
these unprincipled men, they will have their
own neglect to thank for the mischiefs which
will have come upon them in some sense by their
connivance.
III. Now, what lessons do these times teach?
1. We are to learn that commercial prosperity
stands indissolubly connected with public mnorals.
In their heat, men cast aside moral scruples, as one
would throw off his garments in a race. Where
everybody sins together, men fondly think that their
concord is a law of nature. Little by little success
domineers over conscience.  The permission of clstom, the sole condition of accomplishing, the fact of
accruing wealth, with its praise and influence and
power, these overrule moral considerations, and men
do not hesitate to violate rectitude by ranks and multitudes. They systematize selfishness and organize
injustice.
But all seeds demand time between sowing and
reaping.  When first sown, thistles are as good as
corn.  But when the reaping-time comes, they that
sow grain shall carry their bosom full of sheaves,
and they that sow thistles shall have their skins
pierced full of spines and poisonous prickles. In
commercial intoxication it is as in drunkenness by
strong drink first the pleasing exhilaration, but
afterwards the bursting headache.
No class of men are more interested in a hightone
of public morals than business men.   Their life
depends upon credit as much as their bodily life
stands in air fit to breathe.
Credit demands the solid rock of integrity. It
98 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
will not stand upon the shifting sands of custom.
The merchant should be a Puritan. Whoever else
may permit the public conscience to be tampered
with, the merchant is interested, by the whole force
of self-interest, that the consciences of men touch
God, and anchor there beyond the reach of temptation. To tamper with the sanctity of the divine law,
to admit anything to be higher in human affairs than
religious rectitude, is preparation for unfaith and untrust of maan to man.
The merchant that destroys good morals plucks
off the planks from the bottom of the ship which
carries him and all his goods.  He will founder.  He
will be carried down, sooner or later, by inevitable
leakage.
2. Public indifference to immoralities, will be
avenged as if it were participation. The bills
which wicked men  draw against the public treasury to pay for their crimes and vices, are always
indorsed by the virtuous men of the community;
and in the end, the sober always pay for the
intemperate;  the pure  pay the expenses of the
debauched; the honest man pays for the knave's
debts; the working and frugal man pays for the
indolent and spendthrift; and in such times as
these it is seen that the headlong and swindling
speculators run the commercial world into desperate
straits, and then the criminals step aside, and the
sound men take the burden and carry it.  In prosperous times men attend to their own business and
will not be troubled with public interests.  This is a
selfishness which God never will forget. In their
"     -A- 
99 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
hour of distress they find out that indifference to pub
lie morals is itself a crime, and that Providence, in
due season, punishes honest and good men for the
misconduct of wicked men, which they could have
prevented but would not.
3. These are the times for men to detect unnamed
vices and crimes, and give them their place and proper designation on the list of evils.
In all vigorous communities, where enterprise attempts new things, by new measures, we may be
sure that selfishness will pioneer conscience. lIany
things will be done, as now we clearly see they have
been done, which are wrong to the last degree. But
because men had not yet analyzed them or sat in
judgment upon them by moral rules, they were permitted to go on as if right and permissible.
God's providence judges human conduct before
men's consciences do. And we find out what is
wrong by the punishment with which we are surprised, rather than by the use of our moral judgment.
It is a shame that God's whip should have to be a
better judge and interpreter of rectitude than a
Christian man's conscience.
4. These times ought to point out the attention of
men to the sure punishment of greediness. Haste
to be rich comes more speedily through the stage
in which they give equivalents, of skill, or benefit,
for wealth received, into the always wicked and
demoralizing stage in which men desire to enter
without giving fair equivalents for gains.   This
appetite has no bounds when once planted. It is
a raging fever of avarice. It is the peculiar disease
! —.....:.
100 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
of speculators, of stock-gamblers, and of all other
gamblers.   A  man who deliberately purposes  to.
gain wealth without earning it by some substantial
equivalent rendered to the community, is a thief.
Hie may be called, down here, by much softer
names. But above he is unceremoniously called
thief. Nor is God's justice silent or motionless.
While these men are ripening, the sickle is patient;
but that is all that it waits for. Where now are all
the eager financiers? Where are those inflated speculators that use God's great round of time and providence as a gambler's box to throw their dice with,
who venture a penny, and rise from the table with
uncounted gold? Where are these greedy men and
their greedy associates, and where are their gains
now? "He that hasteth to be rich hath an evil eye,
and considereth not that poverty shall come upon
him." God has written these words so high up that
all financiering hands that reach around the world
greedily cannot reach to rub them out. And every
generation of men, whether they like the ritual
or not, are compelled to say, Amen. At this time,
men are affirming this truth with deep and bitter
pronunciation.
The ship that was struck by this mighty gale and
well-nigh overturned, is already righting.  May we
not hope that the worst is passed? Already streaks
of light are appearing.  There will yet be a struggle,
but the fierceness of it is over. Some will yet go
down, but those who are strong will stand; and now,
if there be Christians among these thousand merchants, who can rise a little above their own selfish
101 
LESSONS FROM THE TIMES.
ness, and, though in distress, go to help their fellows,
how true and devout a gospel shall such disinterested
and heroic conduct be! There is many and many a
friend whom you may cheer, encourage, and help;
and your coming to such in this stormy hour, will be
to them almost like Christ walking on the sea in
the night and tempest, pressing down the waves
to tranquillity with his feet, and casting serenity
into the storm from the peace of his own divine
face.
Not again in a man's lifetime may it be permitted
him to do so much for God and Christ, by heroic
endurance, by cheerfulness amid danger by helpfulness when the instincts of men would make them selfish.
Good men! true men! Christian men! all! take
hold of hands, put shoulder to shoulder, stand and
make others stand! After a little more trial you
shall come forth as Nelson's ships came from the
smoke of battle, pierced and crippled it may be, but
floating still, and able to float;  and afterwards,
every shot, every wound and every loss shall
be healed by victory, and then become insignia
of glory!  "The night is far spent, the day is at
hand."
102 
CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION.
DURING the summer, on western rivers, as you
are riding or even wading across the ford, you may
see, lying a little below you, great flat-bottomed
boats, used for ferrying. During the summer, while
waters are low, and men can cross without help and
without danger, these craft lie moored to the shore
with nothing to do. But when heavy rains have
swollen the river, and the ford is drowned out, so
that no man may dare to venture it, then travellers
are glad to see the clumsy boat swung round, and by
cords and poles forced across the swift running
waters for the convenience of those who must
pass over.
All our emergencies are like streams. So long
as we can cross them without help we use the ford.
But when our affairs are beyond our own skill or
strength, God sends round his promises which had
lain along the shore, tied up and disused, to bear us
over the black swelling waters. And blessed is he
who is willing and able to venture across real troubles upon God's staunch promises.
In times of trouble, every Christian man will find
wonderful comfort in the psalms of David. Now
their true colors will shine out.  The psalms are like
diamonds, which, though bright in the daylight, do
103 
CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION.
not give forth their peculiar brilliance until night
and artificial light cause them to flash.   And so are
those great lyrics of the world sung not to any
lover's lute, or even Homeric harp, but sung from
the chords of the soul itself when God played upon
it. They are deep as human life, wide as the earth,
and far reaching as immortality. And in times of
trouble men ought to walk in the garden of this Book
and comfort themselves with its fruits and flowers.
It is not the design of God's promises to help us
so long as we can help ourselves. They are like
defensive arms which men wear in a wilderness
among robbers, not to be fired incessantly, but
hidden for emergency, and then brought forth for
self-protection.
They are like a mountaineer's staff, though good
for level ground, not meant specially for that; but
to be relied on chiefly among rocks and sharp acclivities.
What is a man's faith in God good for, which only
holds him up when he can hold himself up without
help, and breaks under him when he needs to lean
upon it? What is a belief in God's special and
particular providence worth, if it applies only
to fair weather, and dissolves in storms of trouble?
If one will go back to the prophets, to David's
experiences, he will find that God's promises were
first made to men in the most bitter trials. They
are not summer promises. They are not general nor
indefinite. They were made to touch exactly such
cases as yet occur every day.
104 
CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION.
Are hopes ever baffled? God has balin for that.
Is an  honest pride sorely wounded?   God  has
spoken consolation for that. Is a man's good name
shot at? That too has been done to ten thousand
men before, and God girded them with promises
which held them up. The men have died, but their
charmed girdles are left. God's armory is full of
them.
Do your enemies triumph over you? There
are blessings thick as spring flowers among old
grasses for those who suffer evil and bear it patiently.
Now,  while men  are rowing in darkness, and
upon a dreadful sea, they may expect to see Christ
coming to them walking upon the water. Or, it
may be that he is already in the ship and needs
only the uprousing of their grief and prayer to come
forth upon the elements, sovereign over their wild
tumult!
Methinks I hear Christ saying to all his disciples the very words which he variously pronounced while  upon  earth.   Some are beseeching him to relieve their fear and bring back prosperity.   They  cannot  bear  the  thorn  in their
side that threatens  to reach their heart.   But
Christ's answer is, I will not remove the trouble,
but my grace shall be sufficient to enable you to
bear it.
Another bewails his misfortunes, and cries out,
"Lord, why is this?" The reply is, "The servant is
not greater than his Lord. It is enough for the
disciple that he be as his Master, and the servant as
5*
105 
CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION.
his Lord." None of us are reduced as low as was
Christ for our-sakes. And it is a comfort to every
penitent heart to feel, at each step down, that he
is not going away from light and love but towards
them.
Christ lives near the bottom of human life, and
that way lies the gate of heaven. They who abase
themselves  are going towards God.  And  when
Christian men are going down, step by step, nearer
the bottom, let them say, " why not? why should I
demand for myself what my Lord and my God gave
up freely for my sake?"
Men often put questions the wrong way, and
when they are bereaved, they say, Why should I
be afflicted? When they meet losses, they say,
Why should I have such misfortunes?  But, would
it not be soberer and more sensible if men should
saiy, Why should not I have trouble? Am I not a
man in a world of trial? Am I too good to be
touched?  Shall all God's elect since  the world
began drink of the bitter cup, and I claim exemption?  What have I done that God should honor
me? What use have I made of my strength and
wealth, that I should demand their continuance?
How have I brought up my children, that I should
be surprised if God withdrew them from me, and
placed them in his own bosom? Shall Christ walk
in poverty, and I disdain that experience?  Shall he
not have whereon to lay his head even, and I complain in the midst of home, food, comfort, and love?
How very good a man must be, who can afford to
be surprised when God unclothes him of superfluous
106 
CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION.
wealth, and makes him walk as near to the edge of
necessity as the best men of the world have done
before, and still do!
WVe are not to affect stoical indifference, and still
less rail out bitterly at wealth; and seek, thus, to cover
over our disappointment by a false pretence of anger.
How much better is Paul's spirit (Phil. iv. 11), "I
have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be
content. I know both how to be abased, and I know
how to abound. I am instructed both to be full and
to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I
can do all things through Christ that strengtheneth
me."   Which  of  these extremes  is the more
difficult, it is not our purpose to consider. Far more
difficult than either is the spirit that can play back
and forth between them both. A Christian man's
life is laid in the loom of time to a pattern which he
does not see, but God does; and his heart is a shuttle. On one side of the loom is sorrow, and on the
other is joy; and the shuttle struck alternately by
each, flies back and forth, carrying the thread, which
is white or black, as the pattern needs; and, in the
end, when God shall lift up the finished garment and
all its changing hues shall glance out, it will then
appear that the deep and dark colors were as needful to beauty as the bright and high colors.
Meanwhile, as God's children are going through
unwonted and bitter trials, it is affecting to see
with what royal tenderness God stoops to comfort
them.   As  a parent that convoyed his flock of
children, in a flight by night, from a savage foe,
Would whisper words to this one, and cheer that
107 
CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION.
one —now lifting up, and then for a little way even
carrying some, meanwhile encouraging them, and
saying, it will soon be light, hold on, and hold
out, my brave children, we are almost through; so
God hovers about his flock in days of sore adversity,
saying, "Be of good cheer; because I live ye shall
live also; I will never leave you nor forsake you.
I am not angry, nor gone away from you; I chasten
because I love you. Whom the Lord loveth he
chasteneth. Ye are my sons. Cast all your cares
upon me, for I care for you. Let not your hearts be
troubled, neither be ye afraid. If God be for you,
who can be against you. Think it not strange concerning this fiery trial, as if some strange thing
had befallen you. Since the world began, I have
scourged every son that I ever received. Blessed is
he that endureth affliction. To him that overcometh
I will give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the
midst of the Paradise of God!"
Wherefore comfort one another with these w,rds!
108
. 
TROUBLES.
WIIOEVER enters this world with an expectation
of finding or making a life of uninterrupted joy, will
enter blindfold, but trouble will quickly open his
eyes. The wish to be happy is natural and normal.
But the expectation of happiness unalloyed is most
unreasonable.   Life is a  probation more  or less
severe with all, but severe in different degrees to different men.
Some seem only dipped into life, as Ae plunge
children into a bath. They come for a moment
within the horizon and depart again.
Some appear to have answered the earthly conditions of their existence in a few years.  There is
no interpreter to God's Providence, and God is silent.
Some persons appear to have an end in life
which requires an even and balanced mind and
temperament. They pass smoothly on, neither exalted by great joys nor depressed by burdensome
sorrows.
Others are sent into life armed to resist the pressure of external things. They have hope, courage,
elasticity, and they meet and vanquish assaults with
almost gladness.
But others still there are to whom is appointed a
rmunch more difficult task. Their troubles are within.
109 
TROUBLES.
As a shipmaster who carries an insubordinate and
mutinous crew has his enemies in his own ship, so
many men have a disposition so wild, so untempered,
a mind so unbalanced that their chief work of life
is in their own souls.
Others still are children of special sorrow. God
seems to deal with them as Apollo is fabled to have
dealt with Niobe-slaying all their hopes.
]Many persons carry their own troubles; others
find them in their social dependence and connections. But there are many troubles that do not seem
to bear any relation to our wisdom or to moral obliquity. They are like silver arrows shot from the
bow of God, and fixed, inextractible, in the human
heart.
In such/ a world it is folly to expect exemption. They who escape have reason to fear evil.
But some there are who meet their troubles with
such cheer that they hardly remember them as
trials.   As the sun converts clouds to a glorious
drapery, firing them with gorgeous hues, and draping
the whole horizon with its glorious costume, and
writing victory in fiery colors along the vanquished
front of every cloud, so sometimes a radiant heart
lets forth its hope upon its sorrow and all the blackness flies, and troubles that trooped to appall, crowd
around as a triumphal group around the steps of a
victor.
Now these need not fear that they are not the sons
of God. They seem but little tried because they
have such singular victory. But those who have no
troubles, and gain no victories, have never striven
110 
TRZOUBLFES.
for a higher place in life than nature gave. A man
without aspiration is stale indeed. But aspiration
brings endeavor, and endeavor strife, and strife many
grievous woundings.
It is unwise, therefore, to rear our children to avoid
trouble. Instinct will do that sufficiently. It should
be ours, rather, to teach them how to vanquish one
part, and how to endure the other. And enduring is
the greater.
Secular troubles, or troubles from without-troubles by men, troubles from affairs, troubles of business, should always be met with greater force than
they bring.
Many troubles can be cut at the root and cease.
Many can be  strangled.  Many can be overcome
by direct attack. We should count worldly trouble
to be only an excitant, and by it be aroused to
an energy and force which otherwise we could not
have felt. Such trials are only occasions of victory.
Meet and resist them!
Some troubles and trials can be thrown off. Diseases are repelled by great animal vigor; and troubles may be repelled by great mental vigor.  Every
one perceives this in his own experience. In the
morning we can carry the world like Atlas. At noon
we stoop and find it heavy. At night the world
crushes us down and we are under it.
The very troubles of to-day were about you yesterday, and you did not know them. For you were
engaged in things that fired the mind with higher
excitements. Very many troubles of life are nothing
but your weakness. Stand up and they are gone
ill 
TROUBLF,.
They are like gnats, which, while one is still, settle
and bite, but rising up and working, the whole swarm
fly off or do but buzz. But the moment the man
rests, they alight. Thus, activity is exemption, and
sleep is defeat.
The want of proper occupation is the cause of
more than half of the petty frets of life. And right
occupation will be a medicine for half the minor ills
of life. A man without any proper aim in life, without moral inspiration, too rich to be industrious, and
a prey to the thousand frets of unoccupied leisure,
sometimes sets himself to pray against his troubles.
Now a man might as well pray against the particles
of sand in Sahara as a lazy man pray against petty
troubles.
Therefore it happens, sometimes, that bankruptcy
brings to a man what all his wealth failed to givehappiness; for he has real troubles, and trouble is a
good medicine for trouble. There is a moral counterirritation.
Many troubles, unlike the above, that are real,
can be medicated by Hope. For so is it, that we
can bear much when the prospect before us is cheerful and assured. If a man lets his troubles come
between him and the sun, they will cast a shadow
and interpose their substance too. But if hle will
put himself between the sun and his troubles, then
his own form will fall upon the over-shadowed evil
and half eclipse it. It is for this that hope is given.
We are saved by hope, it is said. Hope is an anchor
that holds on to the bottom while the storms handle
the ship, and enables it to outride the tempest.
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TROUBLES.
Ilappy is he that has hope. It is a heart-spring.
If a man had no elasiticity in his foot, and could
spring over no pool, nor ditch, nor roughness, but
went leadenly through them all, how burdensome
would his journey be! But by an elastic ankle he
springs over a hundred hindrances, and never knows
their annoyance.  Many of our troubles should be
oversprung.
Many troubles in life cease when we cease to nurse
them. We take them up, we dandle them upon
our knee, we carry them in our bosom. When they
seem to sleep, we wake them up, and insist upon
sharpening their point.   We  ruminate our cud,
which was a thistle at first, and make mean and fretful martyrs of ourselves. If one will be unhappy,
if bitter is craved by the palate, there is no need for
remedy.
Many real troubles there are which will cease
the moment our heart accepts them and submits
itself to them as a part of a Divine Providence.
For many, many troubles are but the strain which
we endure when God would carry us the right way,
and we insist upon going the wrong! When two
walk arm in arm, if one would turn and the other
would not, either they must pull diversely or else
must separate. But God never lets go his children's arms, and if they struggle and hold back,
they are dragged. Let them submit to be led, nor
struggle, nor hold back. In that instant the trouble
goes.
This is specially true of all troubles which involve
loss of property and worldly comfort, as though they
113 
TROUBLES.
were necessary to happiness, when myriads live most
happily without them.
Many of our troubles are instantly cured by holding them up in the light of God's countenance.
They arise from seeing things in a false light,
or from seeing things in the half-light of this world.
When they are surveyed in the great sphere and in
the light of heaven, they dissolve like snow-flakes.
This is the reason of the experience of many
Christians. They go under a cloud, and finally,
pressed and burdened they go to prayer, and rising
into the presence of God, filled with hope and
cheer, when they begin to think of their petition, it
is gone. The air of heaven has health in it. There
is peace in the very presence of God. They that
touch the hem of his garment are often as much
healed as those whom he takes by the hand!
The same is true of music; a little hymn, childwarbled, has sometimes done more for a man in one
moment than all his own philosophy, his strivings,
and his labor! For a hymn is like the touch given
to the servant's eyes by the prophet. It opens the
air, and it is full of God's messengers.
There be troubles that may be worn out. A patient endurance will destroy them. Like tides, they
cannot be checked nor resisted when rising. But,
like tides, if patiently waited upon, they will turn
and flow out of themselves!
Nay, rather let me say that they are inundations
of freshets. When God means mercy to the seasons,
he sends clouds to the mountains. From their
bosom all the mountain-springs nurse, and are full,
114 
TROUBLES.
But when from the fullness of the rain the streams
swell, and branch adds to branch its tribute, the
over-swollen river spreads wide over all the neighboring meadows.  Trees wade deep; bushes, halfhidden, seem cut in twain, and the earth is lost. But
with a few days the stream sucks back its waters
and drives them out to the sea.   Now  see the
drenched earth all aslime.  Mud, mud, mud!  But
go again in two months and see the children of the
mud-grass that waves its little forest-flowers that
carry heaven in their bosom-corn and grain that
exult in richness and vigor. Troubles come to us
like mire and filth. But, when mingled with the soil,
they change to flower and fruit.
115 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
THE art of being happy is less cultivated in this
land than in almost any other. We make extravagant
preparations for it; we give no bounds to our enterprise; we heap up material; we go through an iinmense experience preparatory to being happy. But,
in the main, it is the very thing which we forget to
extract from an abundant  preparation.   Contentment is a quality which few know how to reconcile
with aspiration, and still ]ess with enterprise. Satisfaction, therefore, is the bright ideal of the future.
It never blossoms to-day. It is always for to-morrow.
Men never come up with their hope. The short and
intense excitements which we misname enjoyment
are paroxysms, not steady pulsations. At length it
comes to pass that men do not enjoy life in the midst of
heaped-up prosperity. And amid reverses they bemoan themselves when the topmost leaves of the
banyan tree are plucked by the wind, and refuse to
shelter themselves beneath the vast breadth of what
remains.
The whole land stands in surprise and complaint
at a sudden and violent revolution. Our disasters are
in every mouth. The change of circumstances is the
fertile theme. A little while ago and we could see
nothing but brightness, and now nothing but darkness. Then it was noon all the while; now it is
116 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
midnight. In neither case was there balance and
just judgment. The light was too bright then, and
the darkness is too dense now. It becomes us to
estimate-to sit down and put one thing over against
another, and to frame a judgment upon a view of all
sides of our case.
There are undoubted evidences of the advance of
the world in true civilization.  Within the last ten
years the most extraordinary wars and civil revolutions have taken place on the globe. Once such a
combination and movement as we have but lately
beheld, would have affected the whole globe with
terror. Since the French Emperor put his bloody
foot upon the steps of the throne, there have been set
on foot the most wide-spread combinations of governments, the most prodigious armies and navies, such as
turn the historic Armada into a mere affair of yachts.
Once the globe would have trembled to the footsteps
of such an unparalleled war!  So much did the spirit
of the past dwell in military things, that, a hundred
or two hundred years ago, such a history would have
drawn with it the world's nerve and blood and vitality.
But now all western Europe rose up and the world
did not tremble. All Russia gathered together and
the Orient did not feel it. And the pounding of war in
that gigantic conflict disturbed the world as little as a
thresher's flail upon the barn-floor disturbs the earth
beneath it. Not even the nations that carried such
battle in their hands thought it heavy.   Great
Britain took  but her left hand.   Not  a wheel
stopped in her manufactories.  Not an acre the less
was tilled in France; and the world upon this side
117 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
read the account simply as news. It produced no
more effect than the last serial story that drags its
long and tedious tail through the cheap and stupid
magazines.
But now, upon these western shores, over-eager
capitalists and operators have pushed their trade too
far and built their plans too fast. A bank explodes
in Ohio; then a line of banks gives way in Pennsylvania. This shook the continent more than all the
cannonade of Sevastopol. Next, the banks of New
York suspended.  All business stopped.   Society
was tremulous from top to bottom!  The tidings are
borne across the ocean.   That wonderful island,
whose top is narrow, but whose base is broad as the
whole earth, began to quiver, and that silent panic
brought her down quicker than an axe brings down
the ox. War could not make her plumes to quiver;
but Commerce, by a look, cast her upon the ground.
And it stands apparent to the world by the grandest
demonstration, that in valid influence Commerce has
supplanted War, and is its master. The general's
sword, the marshal's truncheon, the king's crown, are
no longer the strongest things. The world's strength
lies in the million hands of producers and exchangers.
Power has shifted.  No matter who reigns-the merchant reigns. No matter what the form of government
is, the power of the world is in the hands of the people.
The king's hand is weaker than the banker's.  War
cannot convulse the world, but Capital can.
This should not be mentioned as if it were an unmixed good. It has its own mischiefs, for every
event grows in a husk, which at first proserves and
118 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
then cumbers the grain; and commerce has its dangers and tyrannies; but it marks the direction the
world is pursuing, and the progress of the march.
The growth which is everywhere to be witnessed is
away from dynasties, from imperious governments,
and towards the great masses of men.  This is one
of the signs of the times which wise men are able to
discern in the present crisis. It is true, a man that
was rich yesterday, but is bankrupt to-day, may not
find consolation in being told that his facile destruction was one of the straws which show which way the
wind blows; but, notwithstanding, it does show it;
and though we are sorry for the immediate sufferers,
we do not think it needful to refuse some alleviation.
The conditions of growth in our age and nation
are unlike those of past times, and are not to be
measured  by  them.   Germany,  France,  Great
Britain, began in a barbarous state, and through
centuries developed their civilization. Their growth
was slow; their wants did not require any ingenuity
or skill for supply. Slowness gives nations a chance
to be steady. Our nation had no interior infancy.
Our fathers were ripe men, for their age. Society in
America has begun, at the beginning, with all the wants
which, abroad, came gradually through centuries.
The inevitable result of such condition was twofold: Now to give an extraordinary impulse to our
people in industrial directions; and to oblige them
to devise every possible means of operating. With
no accumulated capital, with no past behind us, that
had builded towns, roads, and structures for uswe yet had the same tastes, the same intellectual
119 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
wants, the same scale of social life, the same or
higher domestic needs that older nations had. It
was impossible that men who were under such
conditions-a quick, enterprising, industrious, ambitious people-should not be powerfully influenced,
and that in the earlier stages of national life the
propelling power should not be in excess, and the
consolidating and steadying power relatively deficient.  Never was there a people truer to their circumstances. Had they tried to live in the past they
would have been like a plant trying to grow away
from the light. God put their life in their future.
They pressed towards it. Even the present was but
one broad step, by which to go further towards the
future. And all the developments among us have
been those which were necessary-in the imperfect
way in which the world always grows-to this
answering of our people to their true nature!
The central faculty which warms, incites, and
intensely influences the American mind, is hope.
And while we  are served  and  blessed  by this
power we must take it, with all its limitations and
evils. Hope tempered a little, and judiciously
combined, works out full and fruitful enterprises,
and gives light and pleasure to industry. But this
feeling is subject to various conditions and diseases.
Gambling, in the worst sense, is nothing but the
last and worst development of diseased hope. The
distance and difference between the mild beginning
and the terrific end of this action is immense. The
risks and ventures of the stock market is another
source.   The element  of speculation  is derived
120 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
from the same feeling.   Hence nationally, and as
a fact of our race, Hope is large. Past and pres ent circumstances have powerfully developed and
inspired it. It has given to us in our circumstances,
a character of adventurousness not only, but a great
part of our material prosperity has arisen from this
very thing.
To construct thirty or forty thousand miles of railroad in twenty-five years could never have been
done by merely prudent men. There seems an
overruling element in affairs that provides tendencies to fit the exigency. If our border men were
not rude, coarse, hard-nature and circumstances
would be too much for them. Even when cut off
they are less a loss. Living or dying they seem
fitted to their place and work. And so in early
periods of commercial development there is need of
pioneers.  Men who have nothing to lose and everything to gain in venturesome enterprises, must take
the lead. We are fortunate in having such. We
owe to them an immense obligation. It is the
ruined men of the community who make the prosperous men. They went before. They ventured as
no others would have done. They foresaw, or thought
they did. They had that mind element which made
it as easy for them to do this, as it would have been
hard for others.
Even in the mutations and upsettings of this class
of men there is to be observed a wisdom of affairs.
It does not hurt a sanguine man, full of spring and
hope, to be destroyed. Some men are like some of
the earlier forms of worms; cutting them  n pieces
6
121 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
only multiplies them.  Every fragment gathers up a
head, and finishes out a new tail, and moves along.
You may turn a life-boat over and it will right
again; but it would not do to upset a frigate or
line-of-battle-ship.  Many men in New York get so
used to failures that they expect them as much as
ten-pins expect to be tripped up; it is part of the
game. If they do not expect it, their neighbors
do. 
When a community is moving under such influence
and pressure, there is neither legislation, nor experience, nor any other regulating power, that can prevent gradual and increasing tendency to excess. Some
men will live too fast. Some will venture too far.
Gradually, competitions and strivings in a large and
free acting community will engender heat. Heat will
carry people further than they have calculated; it will
tend to develop that most powerful element-credit,
which carries in its right hand blessings, and in its left
curses, but ten blessings to one curse. In varying
periods, ten, fifteen, and twenty years, according to
circumstances, men will have ventured so far along,
that a reckoning day will come. And such crises are
but that relief which the great system needs. It is
but a fever, arising from the reaction of nature-the
throwing off of morbid matter.
In this process, sufferings of pride, honor, and
even personal and bodily, tend to keep men's faces
too close to their affairs to let them see the benefit
of the whole operation. One would think by the
exclamations of ruin, disaster, dismay, that crises
are deadly! Almost the whole evil rests upon indi
122 
PHASES OF THE TIMES.
viduals, without inflicting any considerable damage
upon society. And even that which falls upon individuals is temporary, and compensated by collateral
benefits, which, upon the whole, in a large way of
judging, are beneficial.
It should be borne ill mind, and thought of with
thankfulness, that although a heavy pecuniary pressure has been resting on the community, the great
incalculable mercy of health, the land throughout,
was never more eminent than now; that abundance
for man's sustenance was never greater, and for the
general national want never so available; that it is
only particular points that suffer; that the average
virtue, intelligence, and progress of the masses is
onward, and not backward; that we are not tangled
or wasted by foreign wars; that our great national
struggles are pointing towards victory; that free
labor was never so strong as now; and that discussion
never was so free, so thorough, and so satisfactory.
It should be borne in mind, also, that with this
crisis nothing perishes. No ships will rot, as under
embargo; stores will not fall down; not a wheel will
rust, but only rest; the railroads whose creation has
cost us so much, are created, and will not go back,
but thunder on. Not an acre will go again to forest;
not a seed will rot. We shall hold all the substantial
elements gained, losing no art, no science, no ideas,
no habits, no skill, no industry, nothing but a little
temporary comfort; and for that we shall receive
back steadiness, safety, reality, and consolidation,
worth a thousand fold.
123 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
MANY passages of the Scripture are like hundreds
of wayside flowers, which for months and years
are unnoticed by us, simply because we have been
accustomed from our childhood to see them without
stooping to pluck or to examine them.  Many of
the homeliest flowers would appear transcendently
beautiful if we would take the trouble to study
them minutely, to magnify their parts, and to
bring out their constituent elements. And so, we
were taught to read the Bible so early, in'the
family and in the village school, and we have so
often and often walked along the chapters, that we
have beaten a dusty path in them, and some of
their most precious and beautiful things are neither
precious nor beautiful to us, simply because we look
at them and not into them.  Many parts of the Bible
may be compared to those exquisite creations of art
which are sometimes found in old cathedrals; they
have collected dust and grime and weather-stains,
that hundreds of persons go past them every day,
never cleansing them, never restoring feature nor
color, nor bringing out the artist's embodied thought,
so that they are quite unconscious, till they see them
restored in the picture of some book, or till some
enthusiastic Ruskin brings them out, and teaches us
124~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
124 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
how beautiful are the things that we have slighted as
uncomely. So the Scriptures are often overlaid, and,
frequently, some of the passages that really are the
most resplendent are those which seem only common
and ordinary.
Just such a passage is to be found in the third
chapter of the Ephesians, in which Paul says: "For
this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our
Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened
with might by His Spirit in the inner man; that
Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye,
being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to
comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and
length, and depth, and height; and to know the love
of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might
be filled with all the fullness of God." What a passage is this! But this is not all. This is a prayer;
and the apostle having made a prayer which few
men can climb, takes a still higher flight, and says:
" Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to
the power that worketh in us, unto Him be glory in
the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages,
world without end. Amen."
These words are, throughout, a sublime strain
against despondency.   Paul was in prison.  "For
this cause," the chapter begins, "I, Paul the prisoner."  His design was to present such a view of
the fullness of God's heart, and of the grandeur of his
administration, as should be an offset against any
i25 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
possible weakness, disaster, overthrow, or trouble in
life, to Christians both as individuals and as churches.
It is a presentation of God in such a light as shall
enkindle praise.  "Now unto Him "-the very words
indicate the mood of devout ascription. IIe would
excite joy and adoration in view of God's royal generosity and large-heartedness. The Divine generosity
is measured not only by our wants, but by our
thoughts and desires above our wants, and it equals
and transcends both.  He is "able to do exceeding
abundantly above all that we ask or think."
The word "abundance" expresses the idea of more
than enough. " Enough " is a measuring word. It
is the complete filling of a given measure. It satisfies
the demand.   It just equals the want.  But "abundance" is something over and above.  It is " enough
and to spare." A handful of berries or dried fruits
given to a pilgrim who is ready to perish of hunger,
might be enough to stay his strength and satisfy his
appetite; but if instead of this, the kind heart of
sympathy should throw open the garden-gate and the
orchard, and say to him, "Go in, pluck and eat,"
even when the lively appetite had sated itself upon
the nearest fruits, there would still be on every bush
and bough, in hundreds of rows and ranks, throughout the garden and the orchard, multitudes of kinds
and the utmost abundance in quantity, of sweet and
delicious fruits, which he could not begin to eat nor
even to taste.  In the one case he would have
simply "enough," in the other "abundance."
Saith the armorer, "I will not be wasteful," and
he uses steel with an economic eye in forging the
126 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
blade, and the smith measures his iron for each purpose. So he that pays a debt at the bank lays down
the exact amount to a penny, but no more. The
apothecary takes the physician's prescription, and
weighing it out allows himself no generosity in
measuring the ingredients of the medicine, but puts
it up by drachms and scruples with rigid exactitude.   So God does not measure in creating, or in
sustaining, or in administering. On the other hand,
the thought of God which the apostle conveys is that
of a being of magnificent richness, who does everything in overmeasure. The whole divine character
and administration, the whole conception of God set
forth in the Bible and in nature, is of a being of
magnificence and munificence, of abundance and
superabundance. Did you ever take the trouble to
look at a lazy bank that bears nothing for itself? It
has no trees growing out of it for grateful shade,
and no vines with cooling clusters, and no grass
which herds may browse upon, and no flowers that
lap over it, and yet the hair of ten thousand reeds
will be combed upon its brow, and it will be spotted
and patched with moss, of ten thousand patterns of
exquisite beauty, so that any artist who, in all his
life, should produce one such thing, would make
himself a master-spirit in art, and immortal in fame.
God's least thought in the barrenest places of nature
is more prolific than man's greatest abundance. God
is a being of great thoughts, great feelings, great
actions. Whenever he does anything, he never does
it narrowly, certainly not meanly.  He never cuts
out such a pattern, and then works up to it with even
127 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
edge. He is a royal Creator, who says to the
earth, "Let it swarm abundantly," and to the sea,
" Let it be endlessly filled." Hie touches the sand
of the shore, and it stands forth as a representative
of the abundance of his thought. He spreads out the
heavens, and no man can count the fiery stars. He
orders the seasons, and they all speak in their endless procession of this one thought of God —His everlasting abundance!
But "abundance" is a relative word.  What is
abundance for a wayfarer is not abundance for a
shepherd.  What was abundant for a nomad, a wandering shepherd, would not be for a settled farmer,
with crops and stock, with barns and houses. But
what is abundant for a farmer, would not be for
a merchant; and what is abundant for a merchant
would be very sparse and scant for a prince; and
even among princes there is great difference of
degree. The abundance of a petty German prince
would be poverty for the court of the royal Czar.
NXow put the word, with its relative and increased
significance, upon God.  Divine abundance!  The
fullness of God! It is not in the power of man
to conceive it!  If God  might be supposed  to
have worked narrowly anywhere it would be on
the earth, his footstool. But the earth is infinitely
full of God's thought. And yet, great as the earth
is, absolutely it is relatively little, and all symbols
and figures drawn from earthly things stop this side
of the divine idea of abundance.
But the apostle says," NIow unto him that is able
to do exceeding abundantly." What a vision he
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TiEE FULLNESS OF GOD.
must have had! Hiow grandly in that moment did
the divine thought rise before his enrapt mind,
when he so linked words together, seeking by combiniations to express what no one word had the
power to flash forth. iHe could not by the mightiest
single word express his own thought  and feeling,
and so he joined golden word with golden word, as if
he fain would encompass it with a chain!
But  Paul  employs  a measure  of comparison
even over and' above all this, "above all that
we can ask or think." That is, above the measure
of all human aspirations. Hiow much can a man
ask  or think. When  the  deepest  convictions
of sin are upon him, in his hour of deep despondency, in critical and trying circumstances, when fears
come upon his soul as storms came on the lake of
Galilee, consider how much a man would then ask,
and how much more think! Or, when love swells
every vein in his soul, and makes life as full as
mountains make the streams in spring-time, and hope
is the sun by day and the moon by night, in those
gloriously elate hours in which he seems no longer
fixed to space and time, but, springing as if the body
were forgotten by the soul, wings his way through
the realms of aspiration and conception, consider
how much a man then thnks!
All books are dry and tame compared with that
great unwritten book prayed in the closet. The
prayers of exiles! The prayers of martyrs! The
prayers of missionaries!  Thle prayers of the Waldenses!  The prayers  of the  Albigenses!   The
prayers of the Covenanters! The sighs, the groans,
6*
129 
THIIE FULLNESS OF GOD.
the inarticulate cries of suffering men, whom tyrants
have buried alive in dungeons-whom the world may
forget, but God never! If some angel, catching them
as they were uttered, should drop them down from
heaven, what a liturgy they would make!   Can
any epic equal those unwritten words that pour into
the ear of God out of the heart's fullness!
Still more, what epic can equal the unspoken
words, that never find the lip, but go up to heaven
in unutterable longings and aspirations! Words are
but the bannerets of a great army; thoughts are the
main body of the footmen. Words show here and
there a little gleam in the air, but the great multitude of thoughts march unseen below. Words cannot follow aspiration even in its tamer flights; still
less when it takes wings and flies upward, borne by
the breath of God's holy spirit. I see the gulls from
my window day by day, making circuits against the
north wind. They mount up above the masts of vessels in the stream, and then suddenly drop almost to
the water's edge, flying first in one direction and then
in another, that they may find some eddy unobstructed
by that steady blowing blast, until they turn finally
with the wind, and then like a gleam of light their
white wings flash down the bay faster than any eye
can follow them! So when men's aspirations are
borne by some divine wind towards heaven, they
take swift upward flight, and no words can follow
them!
Consider what a soul thinks in yearnings for
itself, and in yearnings even more for others- what
a saint thinks in hours of vision and aspiration, when
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TrHE FULLNESS OF GOD.
he reflects how all his life long, through good report
and through evil report, through manifold trials of
temper, of mind, of feeling in his family and out,
the hand of God has led him every day, and his cup
has been filled to overflowing; consider what a dying
man thinks in view of death and of judgment and
immortality awaiting him beyond the grave!  What
wonderful  thoughts!   What wonderful  feelings!
And yet the apostle's measurement is more than all
these, for he says: " Now unto him that is able to do
exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or
think!" Hiow true it is that God's riches are unsearchable!
This is the idea of God toward which men ought
always to repent. It is sometimes supposed that
repentance is drudgery. It is drudgery in a mean
man, but in no one else.  There is a kind of mean
repentance that needs to be repented of. But when
a child knows that his misconduct has really hurt a
loving parent, the child is more pained than the parent. When a noble spirit has done wrong to a
friend, through some misunderstanding that has
sprung up between them, such a man demands the
liberty of restoring himself more than the other demnands that he shall restore himself.  When we have
injured a friend, it is our privilege to make it good.
It is necessary to our thought of manhood that we
should repair a wrong done. Hiow much more when
we have wronged Christ, our elder brother, our
redeemer, our friend, our joy, and our comfort,
should we make haste to repent-not as a duty, but
as a sweet privilege; not with the thought that our
131 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
repentance is a necessity made'so by him, but made
necessary by our own honor and conscience. To
sit down in a corner, and to cry so much, and
to feel so bad, and to mourn so long, is not repentance. True repentance springs out of the most generous feelings of a Christian heart. It is a man's
better nature triumphing over his lower and meaner.
A Christian should never say, "I must repent," but
"Let me repent."  It is the goodness of God that
should lead us to repentance, not his justice and his
terrors. Many persons suppose that God sits on the
throne of the heavens as storm-clouds that float in
summer skies, full of bolts and lightnings; and they
are either repelled, or they think they must come to
him under the covert of some excuse. But repentance ought to lead us to God as toward light, toward summer, toward heaven made glorious with
his presence, toward his everlasting goodness. HIis
eye is not dark with vengeance, nor his heart turbulent with wrath, and to repent toward his justice and
vindictiveness must be always from a lower motive
than toward his generosity and his love.
It is with such a conception of God that Christians
should come before him with their wants. It is a
glorious comfort that God's love is as infinite as his
power. We are all apt to think of his power as infinite, and we call him omnipotent; but we too often
forget that his love also is infinite. It has no end,
no measure, no bound. A man's generous feelings
are often like the buds at this season of the yearwrapped up in coverings to keep them from the
selfishness and coldness of the world. By and by
132 
THE FULLNESS OF GOD.
they may burst out and bloom, yet now they are circumscribed. But we do not have in ourselves the
measure of the love of God. Hiow base it is, then,
when we have some gift to ask of him, to go with
shrinking confidence and with piteous look, as though
there were need of importunity.  Is it possible, if
with men "it is more blessed to give than to receive," that it is not infinitely more with God?  To
a true Christian heart, next to the pain of being unable to do for those who are in want, is the pleasure
of being approached by them, when we have it in our
power to help them. Is it not the same, and in an
infinitely higher degree with God?  The happiest
being in the universe is God, because he has an infinite desire of benevolence, and infinite means of
gratifying it. There is with him no limitation, either
of heart or hand.
Such a view of God, habitually taken, will deliver
us from unworthy fears, and will inspire in us great
boldness of approach, and access with confidence,
unto the throne of his grace.  It will tend to comfort
Christians who are in despondency respecting their
rectitude through life,. their victory in death, and
their glorification in heaven; for these things are
thus made to stand, not in a Christian's feeble desire
for them, but on God's infinite desire and abundant
grace. When stars, first created, start forth upon
their vast circuits, not knowing their way, if they
were conscious and sentient, they might feel hopeless of maintaining their revolutions and orbits, and
might despair in the face of coming ages! But,
without hands or arms, the sun holds them! With
133 
Tt'lE FULLNESS  OF GO]).
out cords or bands, the Solar King drives them
unharnessed on their mighty rounds without a single
luis-step, and will bring them in the end to their
bound, without a single wanderer. But the sun
is but a thing, itself driven and held; and shall not
Hle, who created the heavens, and appointed all the
stars to their places, and gave the sun his power;
be able to hold you by the attraction of his heart, the
strength of his hands, and the omnipotence of his
affectionate will?
It is this view of God that the Apostles taught.
We read it on every page of Paul and Peter and
James and John-everywhere in the New  Testaminent. What was the beginning? "Peace on
earth, good-will to men!" And what was the last
word that was heard ringing through the air before
the message was sealed, and the vision failed? " The
spirit and the bride say, Come; let him that heareth
say, Come; let him that is athirst, Come; and
whosoever  will, let him come  and take of the
water of life freely." WHOSOEVER WILL! That
is the alpha and the omega! That is the beginning and the ending! That is the offer; that is the
promise. And what shall be the response of every
Christian heart, if it be not those final and sublimest
words of the great Revelator, " Even so, Lord Jesus,
Come quickly?"
134 
CHRIST IN YOU, THE HOPE OF GLORY.
IN journeying through a hilly country we  are
often able to see only the objects close at hand, the
windings of the road, the ravines, or the forest-covered
portions of the path, hiding the connection of one
part with another. Now and then we come to an
open summit lifted up as a watch-tower over all the
region, and the whole scene breaks upon the eye at
one view. The separate steps which we made are invisible; the particular dells and hills are now but
lights and shadows of a great whole which fills the
eye.
It is thus that we journey through life, occupied
with single hours and single days; with successive
individual labors and cares; we rise over the summits of individual successes or joys, and are chilled
in the intervals of trouble and sorrow. But now
and then, there is some experience, whose nature
it is to lift man up  above all his daily round,
and to flash forth to his conception the whole
past of his life, the whole prospect of it.  Yesterday, in his counting-room or shop, question of
life to come and immortality seemed so unreal as
to suggest a painful doubt of their reality, and the
themes of religion, exhaling like dews, from all
tangible things, seemed to hang so high in the air of
meditation as to be but vanishing films-the merest
135 
CHRIST IN YOU7 THE HOPE OF GLORY.
fleece of vapor. But to-morrow, God's providence
strikes down upon him, no matter by what imnplement, and he finds himself lifted up out of the
drudging and insensitive habits of business, his prospect widened, and his soul made keenly cognizant
of spiritual truth. Then the honors of life dissolve
before him; his own ambitions seem dream-like; the
domineering cares that had bent his back, and wrung
out his best services, are, to his thinking, like the
summer dust which the whirling wheels roll up in
the highways.  Then, the truths of God, of the soul's
truest good, of the connection of life and after-life;
of the nobleness of Justice, Truth, Purity, and Love 
of the reality of a Divine Providence, and the sense
of God's presence, as of one who listens, and observes, and influences the heart,-sink down from the
recesses far up, where they had hidden, and invisible
things, relations, conceptional truths become more
real to him than things which have physical substance and activity palpable to the senses.
That tidings of death, or sudden losses, or the disclosure of disease in oneself, should give such projection to the mind, we can well understand. But how
shiall we account for such intense recognitions of
spiritual truth and such wide prospects of things at
other times hidden, or seen in detail, and discollnneetedly, and so, unimpressively, when there is no exciting cause-no shock that electrifies the nerves,
and arouses the mind to a state of exaltation? Thus
one takes up some common sewer of news, and
stepping over the avidity of the editorial columns
full of only flying dufist-he carelessly scans the jum
136 
CHRIST IN YOU, THE HOPE OF GLORY.
ble of  advertisements-dogs,  clothes, medicines,
estrays, runaway apprentices, losses and findings,
neat and drink; and besides these, the ten thousand
signals of quackery in every profession, the bland
hints of vice for decent vicious men, and all the
boastings, the promises and lures-and while he divinely sees this phantasmagoria and is half Christianly chiding himself for such a bitter contempt of
life, and such a wish to be well rid of it, all at once,
unbidden, without gradual transition, and with the
clearness of a vision, there stands up before him a
conception of the whole human family, just as'they
must appear to God, a vast complexity of interlaced
and writhing, struggling worms! And such an intense sense of sorrow, such a pity as almost suffocates
the soul!
Then, quicker than a flash over all this abyssmal
darkness, in which pride, and selfishness, and lust,
and cruelty, shine and make dismal outcry, there
rises up a sense of God's inexpressible patience, and
a foreshadowing to the soul of some great consummation of which we have as yet not even a hint;
and the heart rolls all its sadness and evils away, and
clears itself of the horror of distresses, as the summer
vault cleanses itself of storms, and changes all dark
vapors into transparent ether. Just then the boat
touches the slip, you have crossed the ferry; and
these thoughts, like birds that had sung in the
boughs of a tree, arise out of your mind with a clap
of their wings, and are gone away. You, too, rush
to the bow of the boat as if there were fire behind
you, and join the throng that rattle gaily homeward.
137
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138    CHRIST IN YOU, THE HOPE OF GLORY.
A few moments' walk clears you of the crowd, and
remembering the flavor of your meditations, you put
yourself into mood for them once more. Now you
try to fly up again. Not a whit of it! You stretch out
your thought to take the compass of life-in vain!
You reach up to find those calm regions of repose
where the soul rests itself as in the garden of Godthey are all hidden. You implore the majesty of
Divine Presence to overshadow you again, but there
is no voice to your spirit, and none that answereth.
Why should such a vision have had its birth from the
contents of a newspaper?  Why, when intermitted,
cannot the will evoke them again?  Do they come
without willing, and refuse to come at the will's
bidding?
Can any one tell why one sometimes awakens in
the morning, and finds his mind harnessed from the
first moment, and ready to dart off in some special
direction? Why, sometimes, is there such a sense of
the wickedness of oppression and injustice, such a
conception of the facts of life-the strong consuming
the weak, the skillful, the wise, the refined, only
armed by their excellence with the means of injury
to their fellows; coupled with such a grief and indignation as shakes the very soul, and makes it resound, as old castles howl to the roar of intrusive
tempests?
At another time it is a distress of love. Were all
that is in heaven or upon earth ours, it would not be
enough to express the soul's desire of blessing all that
can feel a blessing. We would ask no other joy than
to put a brighter light in every eye, a sweeter 
OHRIST IN YOU, THE HOPE OF GLORY.
hope and truer joy in every heart. That should be
our everlasting reward at the hands of God, to distribute his mercies to others. Suddenly, out of this
sense of the beauty, and nobleness, and joy of blessing others, there arises the stateliest thought of God,
and a conception of His bliss, with such a heart of
love, and such a hand of power, and with such a
field, and all marching in glorious procession on-on
— and forever-that the soul has a certain faintness,
from very joy.
If these states arose from the presence of objects
or events which naturally led to such reflections, or
if they arose from any principle of reaction, or as the
contrast and antithesis of any reverse actions, we
should ascribe them to such influences. But often
they defy both explanations. They come in season
and out of season; in high health, and in depression
of vital power; in solitude, and in the roar of the
city; in moods that are sad, and in moods that are
merry and mirthful. They are capricious as regards
one's own will.
Is it only a normal activity of the soul, in a higher
range, for whose solution we simply lack familiar
knowledge of ourselves? Is it the potent suggestions
of ministering spirits?  Is it not rather God's own
Spirit inflaming ours, and unsealing the soul to
influences quite impossible to it, by any suggestions
or volitions of its own? It surely seems to us that
the promises of Christ, that He will dwell within us,
that He will give us a Comforter, an Enlightener,
might reasonably be expected to produce other and
higher fruits than those which spring from the force
139 
140     CHRIST IN YOIU, TIHE HOPE OF GLORY.
of our own volition. And if such thoughts and such
emotions, setting always toward God, toward Justice,
toward Love, full of Hope, and Trust, and Hleaven,
are the things of God's Spirit, unsphering us from
sensuous life, and giving us a prescience of life to
come, then there is a glorious meaning in the promises of Christ. Thus we understand how He manifests himself to his disciples as he doth not to the
world. 
PRAYER-MEETINGS.
AN unknown friend in New Jersey has written us
a sincere request for a form of prayer suitable for a
prayer-meeting. We should be glad to oblige him,
if we thought such a form would be of any use. But
a form is not what he needs. A form may do for a
congregation, where it is understood that prayer is to
comprehend only the wants that are general and common to all. But it seems to us that forms would
destroy the very conception of a social meeting for
prayer.
What is a prayer meeting?  It is a place for social
religious life. It is not for preaching. It is not for
exhortation. It is the place where Christian men
excite each other, and instruct and strengthen each
other, by the free and familiar development of their
religious emotions. Every Christian brings a brand,
each places it upon the altar, and the fire is the joint
flame of many hearts. What would be thought of
an application for a form of conversation for a Christmas-night's party?   A  form of bargain for doing
general business on'Change?  For a form of impassioned utterance, for the use of loving hearts? A
form of family greeting, to be used in vacations when
the children come home?  But forms would be every
whit as sensible in such circumstances as in a social
gathering of Christians for religious conference.
The very secret of conducting prayer-meetings, is
141 
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PRAYER-MEETINGS.
to force people out of their conventional ways; to
break up their hereditary forms of unwritten prayer;
to inspire a genial and devout familiarity; to keep off
those impertinent moths called exhorters, that fly
about the flame of rising feeling; to charm men into
a forgetfulness, if possible, that it is a meeting, and
make them talk artlessly and sensibly.
The very first step towards a wholesome meeting is
truth.  Truth is that which prayer-meetings, in numberless instances, lack. Christians go to them, assuming the sense of awful responsibility, or else trying to appear solemn; or else trying to manifest a
devout spirit.  But in truth, a man should go to a
meeting feeling just as he does feel; and not pretending to anything else, simply because he thinks he
ought to feel something else. This pretentious mood,
this artificial and clumsily hutched up feeling, overlays the mind as straw and dead leaves do the soil,
that nothing can shoot up.
What if men should go to parties carrying, not
each one his own nature and disposition, but,
one striving to be brilliant, another to be witty,
another to be instructive; who could endure the
sham? We need to have men willing to stand
simply and only on what they are and what they
have. The speaking in prayer-meetings should
be conversational, and so, natural. Usually, when
a man has nothing to say, he gets up and exhorts
sinners to repent.   Another  empty soul informs
the church that they are very cold, and live far beneath their privileges. When such men pray, they
usually begin at Adam  and go on to Revelations:
142 
PRAYER-MEETINGS.
and then, sometimes, unable to stop, go back and
strike in about midway, and back out both ways,
through all manner of religious platitudes.
How many prayer-meetings begin a long half hour
after the time appointed? First comes a hymn, then
a chapter in the Bible, then the deacon prays, then a
hymn; and so on, a hymn and a deacon, until the
list of officers is exhausted. The pastor laments that
there are few men, besides those whose ordination
obliges them to pray, that take part in meetings.
But why are there no more?  What has been done
to increase the number of praying members  Hiave
they been encouraged to do what they could do?
Or is the spirit of the church such, that no man prays
to edification, who does not pray smoothly and ornately, or with a round, sonorous, guttural solemnity.
Humble prayers, timid prayers, half-inaudible
prayers, the utterances of uncultured lips, may cut a
poor figure, as lecture-room literature. But are they
to be scornfully disdained?  If a child may not talk
at all till it can speak fluent English, will it ever
learn to speak well? There should be a process of
education going on continually, by which all the members of the church shall be able to contribute of their
experiences and gifts; and in such a course of developmnent, the first hesitating, stumbling, ungrammatical prayer of a confused Christian may be worth
more to the church than the best prayer of the most
eloquent pastor. The prayer may be but little; but
it is not a little thing that a church has one man
more to pray than it had before.
In order to this, pastors, or whoever conducts the
143 
PRAYER-MEETINGS.
prayer-meeting statedly, should have a distinct coinception of what a prayer-meeting-is to do. It is a
mutual instruction class; a place for religious feeling
to develop itself through the social element; and the
conductor of the meeting is to draw out the timid,
check the obtrusive, encourage simple and true speaking, and apply religious truths to those wants, and
struggles, and experiences which are freely mentioned
there.
A few hints, gathered from experience, will be,
perhaps, of some benefit to those who are young, and
beginning to assume the duties of pastor.
There is no meeting for which one needs more preparation than a prayer-meeting. But it is not a preparation of thoughts, ideas, and topics, so much as of
the spirit and of the soul. One should save his
strength; come to the meeting with vigor and fullness of feeling, and already eager when he first sits
down.
The way in which a meeting opens will often
determine its whole character. If the brethren are
scattered through a large room, bring them closer together. Slow and long services at the beginning increase the sluggishness which too often is brought in.
A short hymnn, adapted to move the feelings, sung
quickly-so quickly that every one has to arouse
himself to keep up-will frequently give life to the
whole scene.
A  church should be trained to courage.   They
should be thoroughly indoctrinated not to despise the
gifts of the meanest member.
When there is piety in a church, and the prayer
144 
PRAYER-MEETINGS.
meeting becomes the exponent of it, then it will become the most powerful and important meeting in
the whole series of church meetings.  A fair account,
from grateful lips, of what God is doing in the hearts
of a whole church, cannot but be better than the
ideas of any one man, uttered from the pulpit, speak
he ever so wisely.
But if our friend still wants a form of prayer, for a
prayer-meeting, we must refer him to numerous
churches, where forms of prayer have prevailed for
uncounted years, although they are called extemporaneous; and, if he have some skill at stenography, he
can soon supply himself with a book of forms of
prayer.
145 
ONE CAUSE OF DULL MEETINGS.
WF  hardly know of a more unprofitable exercise
in social religious meetings than what is called exhortation. Doubtless there is a scriptural warrant
for exhortation. But what is the nature of the exercise?  It is the persuasion of a man to accept or
obey some view of truth. The force of it depends
upon the force given to the truth.  It must needs
relate principally to conduct. If one desires to produce intellectual convictions, the way is not to exhort to them, but to present truths which of their
own nature will convict. If one desires to enkindle
feeling it is folly to exhort to it; for feeling arises
from the view of truth, and he who wishes to thrill
the feelings must employ the truths which have a
power to do it: or he must impart it by sympathy,
being himself full of emotion; or what is better, and
the true method, he must present the right truth from
a soul already glowing with the feeling which it is
sought to enkindle.
Therefore, when a brother arises in a prayer and
conference meeting, unmoved himself, and exhorts
men to repent, without presenting powerful motives
through such views of its necessity as shall incline
them to it, and without any exhibition of a deeply
penitential feeling in himself, he throws away his
efforts, and sometimes does harm rather than good.
We have heard man after man in succession arise
146 
ONE CAUSE OF DULL MEETINGS.
and exhort Christian brethren with such a deadening effect that if there was a spark alive at
first, it was quenched past all rekindling before
the exhortation was done.  During many a long,
dry, sound, sober exhortation which has been inflicted upon long-suffering meetings, we  have seen
men exhorted into sleep, and exhorted into helpless
stupidity, into yawning, and weariness; and there
would be but a single truth that seemed to touch a
genuine chord of feeling during the whole meeting,
and that was the truth that it was time to close the
meeting. A dull, unmeaning, religious meeting is simply an abomination. If a husband and wife should get
together, once a week, and without a particle of feeling
or earnestness, go through with an hour of affectionate etiquette, it would be regarded as a supreme absurdity.  If business men should gather together
once or twice a week in grave consideration of things
which no one of them at the time cared anything
about, and talk them over on this side and on that, each
one forgetting at the door what he, and what his neighbor had said, men would say that they were fools.
Sutch things are seldom or never done in things in
which men are alive. But for months and months
together, men will gather, without a ray of warmth,
without any real earnestness, and talk in a drowsy
and prosing manner about the most startling truths
that were ever addressed to the human knowledge,
in such a lifeless method that not a single thought
moved responsive, and not a single emotion
throbbed!
Let us imagine a man suffering the deepest afflio
147 
ONE CAUSE OF DULL MEETINGS.
tions and pressed by trouble beyond all ordinary
power of endurance standing up among a score of
friends in like afflictions, and saying in a gentle voice,
whose tones were mellowed by the deepest emotions,
"Dear friends, the hand of God is upon us. Let us
not sink. Let patience have a perfect work. We
must be tried. Whom the Lord loveth hlie chasteneth.  We are now in the fire, but God is with us.
Let us be patient." Every heart would yield to such
an exhortation. For conscious troubles would be
the truth, and an exhortation to patience would have
a vital relation to their living wants.
But what if, amidst great abundance, with homes,
and friends, and affluence, in times of peace, and
when life flowed with music, like a vocal brook between banks of flowers and fringed shrubs, a reasonablygood man should commence a scriptural exhortation about patience-its virtues, it necessities, our obligations to exercise it, etc., who would be reached?
Perhaps here and there a conscientious soul might reproachl itself because it did not feel; but feeling, under such unnatural circumstances, is past all conscience-invocation.
In like manner Christians are very composedly told
that they are dead and good for nothing; that they
are not doing their duty.  One man, with a familiar
fluency evincing long practice will declare in the
soberest and quietest way imaginable that he is a
great sinner, and he is conscious of it, and that he
feels that he ought to repent, and thinks that the
brethren ought to join him in the impression. One
man for the fortieth time during the year, exhorts
148 
ONE CAUSE OF DULL MEETINGS.
brethren to awake because the night is far spent and
the day is at hand. Another thinks that Christians
ouglht to rejoice in God, and without a smile or one
heart-swell, sets forth with frigid exactitude the duty
of joy, and sits down to hear another brother say the
same thing over again, in another set of words, if possible more gloomy than those in which he had enunciated it. In this manner, too, we have heard men, profoundly engrossed in the world, rise up and exhort
sinners to repent; to repent before it was too late; to
repent now-it was their duty; it was dangerous to
put it off, etc., but not a sign of feeling had they. No
lheart-heaving-no deep and disclosed sense of the
hatefulness of sin, none of that softening and gushing which belong to penitence.  It is worse than absurd, it is monstrous for men to mouth the most
solemn facts, the most profoundly affecting trutls of
religion, as if they were rolling marbles, or discussing
some trifle to while away an hour withal. The ear of a
congregation often and often has been beaten hard as
a macadamized road by the weekly tramp of exhortation about truth, and to truth, and duty, and what not.
Life is the characteristic of God. Life is the characteristic of Religion. Life is the characteristic of Tr,th.
A dull assembly, with lifeless men talking about dead
topics, is a scandal upon real religion.
This matter grows even worse, if possible, when
one listens to the dissuasives from courses to which
the persons addressed have not the remotest liability.
Thus a church dead beyond all budding or blossoming,
is exhorted to beware of wildfire and fanaticism; a
slow-moulded methodical brotherhood, exact as A
149 
ONE CAUSE OF DULT MEETINGS.
clock, are exhorted to discretion, to deliberation, and
cautioned against impulses. A man of the most incorrigible literalness, whose matter-of-fact soul never
had a glimpse of any quality which was not measurable by one of his senses, will descant upon the wiles
of the imagination, and warn the young against fancy
and fiction. A close-fisted man is in great dread of
spendthrift benevolence, and thinks that Christians
should always give upon principle and not on feeling.
On the other hand we have heard a man of mercurial
temperament greatly dreading lest he should be left
to a heartless control of his judgment!
Thus men impose upon themselves; and social
religious meetings degenerate into absurd formalities:
If ally one thinks that liturgies and set forms of worship are the only means of dullness and formality,
they surely cannot have been much acquainted with
prayer-meetings. They cannot have heard the same
prayers substantially repeated by the same men,
varying only in a growing glibness and dryness, for
years and years; they cannot have heard the juiceless, tasetless exhortations about feelings, from persons
without feeling to persons without feeling; they cannot have seen the hour and a half of weekly conference run the same dreary round, beginning and ending, with intermediate consistency, without a sign of
life, but with an utterly lying semblance, a pretence
of caring for what they did not care for; of renouncing what all the world knew they did not renounce;
of asking what they did not desire, and desiring what
they did not dare to ask.
150 
WORKING OUT OUR OWN SALVATION.
TIaERE is a sense in which a man's salvation is not
directly and absolutely a divine gift. It is not made
over by God to man as a complete thing.  A perfect
title to a piece of property puts a mnan in possession
of it just as absolutely on the first day when it is
given as in twenty years after. WVhen a man gives a
flower, it is a perfect gift. But the gift of grace is
rather the gift of a flower-seed. It contains within it
all the elements necessary for growth, which the
sun is yet to warm and develop, until it comes tc
blossom and fruit. When men are called effectually
by the power of God's Spirit, that is purely the office
of God, and not of a human power.  The calling is of
God, and the forgiveness and amnesty are altogether
of Hiis free goodness. The efficacious influence of the
Spirit upon the heart is God's work, and not man's.
But when this has taken place, and men are
awakened and brought into the number of God's
children, the work is just begun. There is now to be
a development of a Christ-like disposition. There is
to be a life within, which is to consist in a development of every part of the mind, so that the whole
soul shall be reeducated  by spiritual influences.
There is to be also a corresponding outward life-a
course of Christ-like conduct. Every man is called,
and graciously aided by God, that hle may take care
151 
152     WORKING OUT OUR OWN SALVATION.
both of the work which respects his own disposition,
and the work which respects his outward conduct.
And when the Apostle says, "Work out your own
salvation with fear and trembling," it is not meant
with servile or painful fear, but fear in tilhe sense of
solicitude; fear, in distinction from presumptuous
confidence.
But, it is added, "for it is God that worketh in
you." Here is the inspiration of man's liberty, and
the charter of his hope. Standing in the atmosphere
of the divine heart, every one finds that his summer
is come. The doctrine is not, that every man must
wait till God moves him. It is a command to go forward, with a reason attached. It is an encouragemnent, not a dissuasion. It is wrong, by the twists of
perverse reasoning, to change a divine truth right
about, and put its back where God put its face.
Many teachers have made an anchor out of this
text, which God spread for a sail, and have, in effect,
cautioned people not to move till God attracted
them; as if the chief danger of men was too great
alertness in matters pertaining to religion.
When God calls men to awake, it is implied that
the morning has come. When God says, Plant, it is
implied that soil, air, and summer are prepared; and
he speaks to April, not to January!
And when God says, Work, it is implied that there
are all those conditions of providence and divine overshadowing which make it worth a man's while to work.
But many say, "How can I work if it be God
that is to work within me?"  Well, if a father, going
out into his garden where his child is at work among 
WORKING OUT OUR OWN SALVATION.
the flower-beds, should say to hini, "Now my son
work with a will, I will help you and work with
you," what would be thought if the child should
suddenly look up and say, "But if you are going to
work, how can I work?" Is there anything incongruous or paradoxical in the idea that, though God
worketh in us, we also are to work out our own salvation? It is not said that God performs the work,
but that he influences us to perform it. It is not,
that God worksfor, but in, us!
The work of the Spirit is not to supersede, but to
help our faculties. It is akin to parental traininfig,
to education, to the action and influence of one mind
upon another. Not that God's mind acts upon ours,
just as ours acts upon others; for we have no warrant for saying this. But the illustration is sufficient
to show, that one mind may stimulate another to
action without destroying its liberty.  The young
artist, while he sits under Raphael, or Michael Angelo;
or Correggio, does not expect to have his work done
by his master. He goes to witness and to catch
his master's enthusiasm, that his own eye may be
fired and his own hand guided. We bring up our
children by the action of our minds upon theirs.
Our influence over the child does not take away anything from the child's power, but on the contrary
adds to it. And so, God says to us, "Work out
your own salvation, for I am working in you." It is
like a father saying to his children, "Here  am  I
working among you, adding my experience, my wisdom, and my power to yours; therefore be hopeful
and courageous, and enter with zeal upon your
153
7* 
154     WORKING OUT OUR OWN SALVATION.
work." It is an argument of hope and ardor, and
not of waiting and faltering. It is an argument to
begin now, and not to delay, with the vain thought
that God will finally do all the work and leave us
nothing to do.
If it be asked how shall we distinguish divine influence from natural, the reply is, We cannot always
do it.  There is no intimation in the New Testament that anybody can tell. If a husbandman
wishes to know whether he is under the influence of
right farming, he must go and look at his harvests.
if, therefore, a man says, "Ilow can I tell whether
this feeling is of God or of Satan?" he cannot tell
by the feeling, but by its results.
It is the same act that plants good or bad seed.
It is the same string and bow, whether a scraping
beginner or a Paganini play. The music evolved
must determine whether a master or a bungler
touches the violin. The human faculties, whether
acted upon by sinister spirits, by divine influences,
or by natural causes, always act within the lines and
limits of their own laws and nature. And it is not
any difference in sensation or consciousness which
can distinguish divine influence from any other.
We  must abide by Christ's rule of estimate, " By
their fruit shall ye know them." Is the fruit good,
is there enough of it, is it continuous? It is very
certain that a disposition of deep benevolence, a
heart of unfeigned love, will lead a man in the right
direction, and he need not spend one anxious thought
lest the devil should have inspired him with such
influence. 
WORKING OUT OUR OWN SALVATION.
On the other hand, conceited and presumptuous
men are found, who, assuming that they are under
the divine influence and guidance, follow out their
own selfish and fleshly lusts, and attribute it all to
God. But no man can have any evidence that he is
moved by the Spirit of God, except so far as the fruit
is divine. There is nothing in mere consciousness,
nothing in sensation, nothing in any witness or inward light, nothing in any degree or kind of exhilaration, nothing in the pleasurableness or other quality
of the feeling. The moral quality of the life determines whether one is a child of God, or of the
Devil.
What, then, is the use of the truth of God's Spirit,
if you cannot discern its presence or action?  It is
good for general hopefulness. It gives men courage
to know that they are divinely helped, though they
may not perceive the special acts. It is an exorcism
to fear and superstition. For it exhibits the world,
as illumined and overcome by the gracious presence
of God working both in Providence and in grace,
and throwing around all who will do well an atmosphere of protection and genial incitement, in which
they shall thrive and bring forth abundant fruit.
155 
TRUST IN GOD.
IN a true Christian's devout aspirations, it is not
firom instruction or habit, b ut from spontaneous impulse that he exclaims " Our Father!"  His thoughts
go out after God.  His heart yearns for him.  His
soul longs, with unutterable longings for his abiding
presence. He comes with a truly filial spirit before
God, and it is perfectly easy and natural for him to
say " Our Father." And hle has a right to say it.
He is the child of God, and hlie knows it; for " the
Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirits that we
are the children of God." Being the child of his
Father, and away from his Father's house, hlie yearns
for it, and at times is homesick-as children that are
kept at school away fronm their parents long for the
day of vacation, that they may go home; and these
yearnings are the testimony of the Spirit that we are
the children of God. The man who has these feelings, and has them habitually, need not hesitate to
call himself a child of God, or to address God as
" Our Father."
There are some Christians who always seem to
have entire and unwavering faith in God as their
Father. They trust in him to such a degree as to
believe that whatever may be the happenings of Providence, everything will be for the best, and that
they will be taken care of, and never left alone.
156 
TRUST IN GOD.
They are confident in him, and seem never for a moment to doubt. Their cup always runs over, because
they always think it runs over. But, on the other hand,
there are others who, while they are blessed abundantly,
never see or think that they are blessed at all. And
this class com.prises the multitude of men.  They call
God "Our Father," only because the Lord's Prayer
begins so, and not because their own prayer naturally
and spontaneously confesses that they are his children, and that he is their Father.  They have doubts
and glooms. They have fightings without, and fears
within. They allow small things to perplex them,
and great things to overwhelm them. They distrust
God-not intentionally, but really.  They doubt his
providence, though they would hardly believe that
they doubt. They habitually look on the dark side
of things, and excuse themselves for it by saying that
they are constitutionally melancholy; whereas, the
fault is nothing more nor less than a practical want
of faith. It is an unconscious skepticism of God.
Men theoretically extol their faith, but practically
deny it. They give way before every trouble, instead of conquering it; and in every dark hour flee
for refuge, not to God, but to themselves.
Now all Christians, whether hopeful or despondent, are sometimes like the disciples on the Sea of
Galilee-driven hither and thither by contrary winds.
They toil all the night upon the deep, casting their
nets, but taking nothing. Nay, oftentimes, their sea
is without a Christ walking upon the water, and their
ship without a Christ even asleep. Yet when they
desire his coming upon the sea, and cry out to him,
157 
TRUST IN GOD.
they soon see him walking to them over the waves.
When they desire his awakening in the ship, they
soon see him rising to rebuke the wind, saying,
"'Peace, be still," until there is a great calm. God
hides his face only to disclose it again; and his
hidings are oftentimes as full of mercy as his manifested presence. But whether to their feeble-sighted
eyes he is present or absent, they may always know
that "i He is not far from them at any time." When
there are clouds so that they cannot see him, they
may look at him through faith, and discern that he is
not far off. And as they that go down upon the deep,
and are overmastered by storms in the darkness of
the night, knowing not on what strange shores they
may be thrown, cast anchor and wait for day, so in
the midst of trial and temptation, when the storm is
fierce and the night is dark, when the lights are
quenched and the signals gone, they may at least cast
anchor; and if they wait in faith and hope for the
day, it will surely dawn. The darkness will always
hide itself, and the light appear. There never was a
night so long that the day did not overtake it.
There never was a morning without its morning star.
There never was a day without its sun.
— God can reveal himself to his own people as he
does not to the world. He can give to every Christian heart, to the timid as well as to the strong, to the
sorrowing as well as to the hopeful, those divine intimations, those precious thoughts, those sweet-breathled
feelings, which are evidence that there is summer min
the soul. He can inspire the heart with that perfect
love which casteth out fear. IHe can take away all
158 
TRUST IN GOD.
doubts and misgivings, all gloomy misapprehensions,
all dreary forebodings of the future. Ite can make
sunshine out of shadow, and day out of midnight.
When our fears have been like growing thorns in our
side, he can pluck away the thorns, and heal the
wounds; and he can turn every spear which has
pierced us into a rod and staff, which, instead of
wounding shall support us; so that the very things
which once cast us down may be made to hold
us up. He can so deal with us as to make every
yoke easy, and every burden light; so that the
heavy-laden may come to him to be relieved of their
loads. He can touch the fountains of our sorrow,
and make our tears like gems and crystals, more
precious than pearls or diamonds. Our tears are
oftentimes among his most precious treasures. The
things that we call treasures, he counts as of very little
worth. The human soul is his treasury, out of which
hle coins unspeakable riches. Thoughts and feelings,
desires and yearnings, faith and hope these are the
most precious things which God finds in us.
He can do all things for us, whatsoever we need,
and more than we need. We are too slow to believe
in his generosity. We do not often enough think
that as he has infinite desires to help us, so also he
has infinite powers. He is able to carry out all that
he can ever wish for us. God is not like man. Our
means are limited. With us, wishing to possess is
far from possessing; wishing to do is far from doing;
but with him, the wish and the power are one.  His
desires are fully equalled by his means. He is " able
to do exceeding abundantly above all that we can
159 
TRUST IN GOD.
ask or think." Things that are great to us are small
to him. The favors that we ask of him seem to us to
be large and royal; yet to him they are very little
things. The gifts he has power to bestow are nlot
only greater than we ever ask, but ever can ask, or
even think.
Hie is always willing to give special grace for special emergency. If men are suddenly brought into
trouble, He is "a very present help in time of need."
When rich men, by some unexpected reverse of fortune, are made poor, he can sustain them under their
burdens, when without him they would be utterly
crushed. When friends are parted from friends,
when families are broken and scattered by death,
when the mother loses her child, and weeps because
the cradle is no longer to be rocked, and the sweet
laugh is hushed in the house, God can give "the oil
of joy for mourning." Whenever his children suffer
disappointment, when clouds cast shadows over their
path, when troubles brood heavily before them, when
they are in trials of business or in greater trials of
bereavement, he can take off the heavy weights.
He can make the rough places smooth, and the
crooked ways straight. When sorrow comes that
seems to forbid all consolation, he can gently wipe
away the tears, and bring back joy and hope once
more.
He is a physician who only waits to be called; he
is a friend who longs to be trusted; he is a
helper who only wants us to ask his aid.  But he
wants us to ask him heartily and truthfully. He
wishes us to reach up our hand, and take covenant by
160 
TRUST IN GOD.
his hand. He desires us to cast our care upon him,
for he careth for us. Hie commands us to confide
entirely in him.  He wants us to have no hesitancy
in our faith.
And this is reasonable. It is what men ask every
day of their own children. A father expects his
child to confide in him. A child expects to trust
freely in his father.  And we ought to go to God,
being his children, with less distrust and more confidence. We ought to take him at his word, and to
have faith in his promises. If he has said, " I will
never leave thee nor forsake thee," we ought boldly
to say, "The Lord is my helper; I will not fear what
man shall do unto me."
But when we borrow trouble, and look forward
into the future to see what storms are coming, and
distress ourselves before they come as to how we
shall avert them if they ever do come, we lose our proper trustfulness in God.  When we torment ourselves
with imaginary dangers, or trials, or reverses, we
have already parted with that perfect love which
casteth out fear.  Mothers sometimes fret themselves,
and are made miserable about the future career of
their children-whether they will turn out drunkards
or not, whether they will go to the gallows or not,
whether they will be a disgrace to their parentage or
not. Now all this is simply an evidence of a lack
of faith. There are many persons in good health,
with all their faculties in active exercise, who, having
nothing else to worry about, rob themselves of sleep
at night by thinking, " if they should suddenly be
taken away, what would become of their famili'e
161 
TRUST IN GOD.
and who would take care of their children?" Such
distrust of God is dishonorable to Christian men;
and it is only because of his exceeding patiencewhich is the most wonderful attribute of the divine
nature-that he does not signally rebuke and punish
it whenever it is manifested.
When persons are taken sick, they ought to bear
it with a good grace; but nine out of ten, even
among Christian men, repine and murmur. When
they are visited with any trouble, their first thought
is apt to be, "How grievously I am afflicted!" though
the nobler thought would be, " How graciously I am
sustained!" When a cross is laid upon them, they
cry out, "' What a burden I have to carry!" whereas
they might better say, " What a burden Christ
carries for me!" A Christian sailor, who lost one of
his legs in the battle of Trafalgar, said that he could
very often measure the faith of the people who conversed with him by the way in which they alluded to
his misfortune. Nine out of every ten would exclaim,
"What a pity that you lost your leg!" and only one
in ten, "What a blessing that the other was preserved!"   When God comes into the family and
takes away one child, instead of complaining because
he has taken one, it would be wiser to thank him
that he has left the rest. Or he may crush a man's
business, and strip him of all his worldly wealth, and
yet leave untouched and uninvaded what is dearer
than all-the cradle of his only child. Would it
not be nobler for such a man to be thankful for what
God left than to murmur for what he took away?
"The Lord givethl and tl.e Lord takethl away," but
162 
TRUST IN GOD.
he always gives more than he takes away. If God
robs a man of his riches, he leaves him his health,
which is better than riches. If he takes health he
leaves wealth. If he takes both, he leaves friends.
And if he takes all these-house and home, and
worldly goods- God's providence is not yet exhausted, and he can make blessings out of other
things which remain. Hie never strips a man entirely bare. A man may be left a beggar upon the
highway, and yet be able to give unceasing testimony to God's goodness and grace!
If men were to give thanks to God for what he
permits them to have, rather than to utter complaints for what he wisely and graciously withholds,
he might not unlikely give to them more abundantly,
if for no other reason than to increase their gratitude.
An old man, who is now without home or friendsa stranger in a strange land, who earns a scanty crust
of bread, day by day, by selling steel-pens and writing-paper from store to store, and from street to
street, in New York, said the other day, that though
he had several times been so reduced as to -be for a
period of forty-eight hours and longer without a
morsel to eat, he never lost his trust in Providence,
and always rebuked himself whenever he complained
at his lot! This man's faith was genuine!  iHe was
a hero in rags, greater than many a hero in armor!
God's goodness is large and generous; only our
faith in it is small and mean. HIe carries the whole
globe in his thoughtful providence, easier than a
mother carries a babe in her arms.  If we cannot see
the end from the beginning, what matters it so long
163 
TRUST IN GOD.
as he sees it? What have we to do but to seek first
the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and leave
the rest in faith to him?
We ought not to forget that an affectionate, confiding, tender faith, habitually exercised, would save
us half the annoyances of life, for it would lift us
up above the reach of them. If an eagle were to
fly low along the ground, every man might aim a
dart at it, but when it soars into the clouds, it is
above every arrow's reach. And they that trust in
God "shall mount up with wings as eagles; they
shall run and not be weary-; and they shall walk and
not faint." Christ's invitation is: " Come unto me,
all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn
of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye
shall find rest unto your soul. For my yoke is easy,
and my burden is light."
164: 
"WE SPEND OUR YEARS AS A TALE THAT IS TOLD."
Wio that goes into the garden to-day would ever
dream that summer had been there? In midsummer, what covering of the earth, what abundance of
leaves, what fragrance of blossoms, what tangled
masses of pendulous vines!  All is growth, luxuriance, ever-sprouting varieties-the passing away of
short-lived things covered by the fresh growth of
new kinds!
A sound comes from the north! It is the voice of
Vinter!   In one night his nimble legions come,
and the sickling frost cuts down summer to the
ground. In a few weeks decay is over; freezing
succeeds frost, and summer is wiped away, with all
its colors, it sights, its sounds; and sad winds mourn
over the play grounds of flowers!
When, in winter, we remember the summer, its
glories seem like a dream; it is no longer a fact, but
a thing imagined. But, when high winds walk
abroad in the winter, and drive all men from the
fields, and the house is populous, the family is
gathered, and the night, having grown long by robbing the day at both ends, morning and evening, of
many hours, the household cheer themselves with
industry and study.  And at evening, all gather to
165 
sc WE SPEND OUR YEARS
their various tasks-the father to his books, the
mother to her children's treasures, the elder children
to their school tasks, while the rosy child, with curled
pate, climbs the nurse's knee-and she drones to him
the long story, hundred-times told, and yet falling
fresh as new upon the story-greedy ears of childhood!
lie laughs, he weeps-he sighs, he shudders-he
glows and expands, or shrinks and cowers, till the
tale is done-then sitting for a while upon the stool
by the mother's foot, the child grows abstracted,
gazing into the pictured embers, seeing all manner
of fantastic figures and changing forms upon the
opening and shutting face of coals, and the plastic
ashes, till the eye sinks and the head nods, and the
drooping little sleeper is borne off safe to bed.
In the morning, he wakes and hungers. The night
is forgotten. A vague remembrance rests with him
of the sweet excitement of the night. But the day
clears off these fancies; they grow more and more
dim; they lie in the mind as films of spider-web
float with long thread glistening in the summerair.
And thus, saith the Psalmist, we spend our days!
As a tale that is told! Years, with all their vast
variety of incident, are remembered vaguely- they
are thin and dreamy! The present glows and even
burns with intensity. But it is quenched when a
few days are past!  Days come in with form, and
sound, and motion like the coming in of crested waves.
Like them, they break upon the shore of the present;
they cover it with a million evanescent gems; they
dissolve and flow out in undertow, and are lost again
166 
AS A TALE  TIIAT IS TOLD." 
in the black depths-while new days, like new
waves, foam, sparkle and break, as did they!
One by one come to us days and years. Coming,
they have individuality!  But receding from us they
lose all separateness, and the past is one indistinguishable whole.
Who can analyze and separate the years of his
childhood?  From birth till one is four or five, the
unripe brain receives few impressions that last. It
is all blank. As in a printed book, at either end, are
bound up many blank leaves, without print or writing on them, so is human life, at either end, begun
and ended with blank years, preserving no recordleaving no mark!
But, then come the youthful days full of romp,
of hunger, of growth, of childish exhilaration!  How
do they seem to you now?   Are they separable?
Can you thread them, and paint them by memory?
Only one or two things peculiary significant remain.
The days are huddled together. The very years are
heaped in mass; and you think back upon twenty
years as if they were but a hand-breadth!
It is as with a landscape to a traveller. Having
journeyed all day, at evening reaching some high
hill, hlie sits down to trace his path. The grass at his
feet is plain enough, and the ants that run express up
and down every stalk have brisk distinctness. The
near bushes and the trees are so plain that the boughs,
and separate leaves, stand out in their individual
forms. But, as the view recedes, gradually he loses
all these; and a little farther off; leaves lie upon
leaves, grass is matted upon grass, and is no longer
I
167 
iC WE SPEND OUR YEARS
form, but only color. Yet farther, and trees begin
to fade;  tree stands up upon tree, and at length
whole forests are to the eye but faint clouds, with not
one distinct line, and hills are rubbed out, and all the
inequalities of the way, which the complaining foot
felt in travelling, the eye no longcr discerns, and only
here and there a single peak or mountain remains
clear and individual against the all-bounding sky!
Thus is it in life. Our nearer hours report themselves; a little farther, and days only, not hours, are
discerned; then days lapse, and weeks or months are
like long aerial distances, in one line, whose continuity
is measured by no prominent object. At length, years
only can be seen, and not even these finally. For,
as sailors leaving the harbor carry with them for a
long time the sight of shore, but sailing still, lose first
the low water-lines, but cling by the eye to the higher
masses, which in time, in the ever sailing, fade and
sink, leaving nothing but some height lifted far up
like Teneriffe, which, after the night is passed, is all
gone, hidden by the bend of the earth's surface,!-so,
even high-topped years at length are shut down from
our memory by the bend of the vast cycles of Time.
Hiow wonderfully true is it that we spend our lives
as a tale that is told!
Come, go back with me.
Who were the members of your father's family?
Besides your brothers and sisters, who dwelt there?
Who visited?  Who  came and went?  Who  were
the neighbors?  These things were vivid realities to
you when a child. What are they now? Mere
marks. As a landscape artist plants in the foreground
168 
AS A TALE THAT IS TOLD. )
figures with limbs and features clear, but in the faroff distance, when he would paint a figure, taking his
brush and spots down a mere dash-a formless colormark; so to us are the living things of the neighborhood.  Some, to be sure, stand up and remain!  But
a million are forgotten where one remains.
Who went with you to the village school? Call
the roll! Who were the successive teachers-Popes
of the ferule!
Who  were the girls?   Who  the boys?   Then,
when the uproarious school broke forth in tumult at
dismissal, if I had asked you, you could have given
every name. Now, call them up! Who sat by you
on the right? who on the left?  Who were in the
first class? who in the second?  These were imnportant things then. Who was whipped? and who was
never once struck? These, to you, were then more
important than the roar of European revolution, the
burning of Moscow, the battle of Waterloo; but
what do you remember of them? Some memories
are more tenacious than others. A few will reproduce much; more, some; most, but little if any!
How much can you recall from the church? Who
went with you?  Who sat about you?  Who were
the old men? Who were in their prime?  And who,
like yourself, were young? And if these living and
throbbing realities are faded out, it will be useless
for me to ask you after the sermons. They were
gone before they were finished. They fell upon your
dissolving ear as flakes of snow upon water, and were
gone in the very act of touching.
How much do you recall from the green graves
8
169 
6 WE SPEND OUR YEARS
yard?  What  memories come  thence, from that
populous city without a magistrate, without a law,
where all who quarrelled on earth, are now peaceable
dust keeping excellent neighborhood!
And thus I might go on, tracing, step by step,
your entrance upon life-your early endeavors-your
first hopes of manhood.
But, let us change the method, and try the truth
of this description in another way.
Call up the unwritten dreams and reveries of the
past! They have filled years in all. You have
woven fabrics of every pattern in the loom of fancy.
You have reared up castles, peopled them with heroes;
you have lost and found treasures; travelled and explored, fought and conquered, loved and won, all in
airy fantasies; and thus worn out the watchful night,
or wiled pain from consciousness in the weary sickness.  Is that part of your life gone?  All gone!
Birds gathered for flight in autumn, rising high
above snare or shot, and flying toward equatorial
summer, often chance in their course to cast a feather,
from the wing which carries them through the airbrilliant in color, and curved like a bow-which,
wavering, and swaying, falls into some thicket, while
they flock on. And when, the seasons changing,
they are recalled, and fly now northward over the
same ranges, they reach the spot where dropped the
spent feather, can they see it, or find it any more? It
is lost and hidden forever! And so our youthful
fancies, which carried us far above human life and
reality, are fallen, and like the downiest feather from
the wing, are lost and forgotten! If a tale that is
170 
AS A TALE TIIAT IS TOLD.' 
told fades, how much rather those untold traceries of
thought and subtilest evolutions of inarticulate fancy!
Where are the admirations which set the mind all
a-sparkle?  Where is the record of the wonders, the
surprises, the ten thousand excitements which broke
the level of life, and brought interjections to the lips?
That a dull routine should be forgotten, is not strange.
But where are the salient experiences of life, the
events which beat upon the attention like a drum, or
roused up your passions like a trumpet?
Only a few of all the myriads remain! As one
who goes forth from a populous town, often looking
back, sees it shrinking and growing smaller, houses
fading, and the complexity of streets and buildings
growing to a mere spot, and at length, only beholds
here and there a long spire against the sky, or single
tower, all the rest confused and hidden; so, in the
past, but  one  or two  high-reaching  experiences
remain, while all the diverse and populous experiences besides are covered down and forgotten!
Your years of the past have been built of the same
materials as go now to build your days. What rising
and falling emotions, what flow of endless thought,
what perpetual succession of events, which arrest the
attention and occupy the feelings, what endeavors,
what successes, what failures, each with its train of
joy or pain, and each so important as to seem to leave
indelible mnarks upon the memory!  Yet, though
there have been ten millions of these, and though
they were of strength sufficient to hold you in their
thrall, and excite you with pleasure, or agitate you
with alarm, or afflict you with grief, sweeping the
171 
tc WE SPEND OUR YEARS
soul as wind sweeps the sea, and raising as many
tumultuous feelings as the sea hath waves; yet, now
the smooth memory has shed them all!  The trees
will sooner remember all the successive leaves whose
bosoms prepared the foo.d for the growth of the wood,
than you will recall the innumerable experiences of
the past which have formed and fashioned you to the
shape which you wear! The burdens which you
could not carry for their weight are forgotten, the
sorrows that pierced you to the heart have left
scarcely their name; the troubles that blocked your
way, the dangers that shook your courage, and all
those things which in their time wrung from you
cries and prayers for relief,-you have not alone surmounted and out-lived, but mostly forgotten.
Love, alone, stands with an undiminished memory!
What we have once really loved we never forget!
The friendship of youth, the warm and generous confidences of true affection, the tender worship of a true
heart, are immutable! All other feelings write their
memories upon glass with crayons-Love writes upon
crystal with a diamond. For, of all the heart's
powers, this alone is sovereign. And, being sovereign, God has crowned it with immortality, and
given to Memory charge to keep unwasted all its
experiences! And Memory, that is tenacious of
nothing else, lets nothing slip of the experiences of
true loving.
Another year has passed! Its months and its
weeks already are buried. Only days and hours
remain.  These are passing.  One more sunrise only
172 
AS A TALE TIIAT IS TOLD. )
hath this year! The next morning shall shine upon
the face of anew year!
Let us turn, and bid farewell to the past and the
passing! Farewell to its cares, to its burdens, to its
troubles! Farewell to fears, and hopes, and griefs!
Farewell to its yearnings, its aspirations, its wrestlings! They are gone.
Farewell to many who walked the year with us!to the companion, that was to us as an angel of God,
and is, now, an angel with God! Farewell to the
babe that was ours, and is God's, and therefore more
than ever ours, though beyond the reach of our arms!
But, the heart tends it yet, and cradles it more vigilantly than ever! Farewell to our Christian brethren, who have heard the trumpet before us, and
gone forward! Year! thy march is ending!  Thy
work is done! Pass! Disappear! We shall see
thee no more, until re-ascending, we shall behold thy
record in the All-judging Day!
173 
SUDDEN CONVERSION.
IT is a fact somewhat remarklable that most of the
conversions narrated in the Bible were rapid and in
some instances instantaneous. Paul, on his way to
Damascus, was struck down, in a moment by the visible presence of God. HIe saw a great light at mid-day,
and heard a voice saying, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" and he was so suddenly and overwhelmingly impressed by this manifestation that hlie could
do nothing but yield to the power of God; so that
from being a persecutor of the Church, he was at
that moment changed to be its chiefest apostle.  Matthew, the publican, sitting at the receipt of custom,
was met by Christ, who said to him, "Follow thiou
me," and it is said that "he arose and followed him."
The conversion of the thief on the cross, during
the very last moments of his life, at the eleventh hour
of hope, was almost marvellously sudden, yet not on
that account doubtful; for Christ confirmed it by
saying, "This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise."
And there are similar instances at the present day.
Sudden and unexpected conversions are not unknown
to any Christian church. There is nothing whatever
absurd in the idea, however some may affect to ridicule it. A conversion which takes no longer time to
begin and end, than the sun to rise from day-breakl
174 
SUDDEN CONVERSION.
to the mountain-top, may be just as undoubted as
though it had been the work of a month or a year.
The impression that a spiritual change, in order to be
genuine, must be a long and gradual process, dragginlg itself through weary weeks and months, during
which the mind is to pass through much anguish and
tribulation, until finally the light shall arise and shine,
is simply foolish. Time adds nothing to tihe thoroughness of conversion, nor suffering to the evidence
of it. In many cases much time is taken, and much
suffering felt, but neither of these is to be considered
as an absolutely necessary part of it.
Yet there are many persons whose conversion is a
long and severe struggle, during which they alternate
week after week, and month after month, between
hope and fear, who, were it not for perplexing their
minds with a wrong notion of what they are to do and
to be done with, might go up the mountain almost
without going through the valley. Such instances
have occurred among the most eminent Christians.
It is known that John Bunyan went through awful
terrors, as a consequence of a long-continued exercise of mind, before he found religious peace; and
his experiences are embalmed in some of the
best writing in the English language.  But it is our
impression that the conversion of Bunyan might just
as well have been a work of days as of months.
John Wesley also went well-nigh three years before
he found what he sought. This was a period of
great effort, of continued urging up to duty, of watchfulness and carefulness, involving almost unutterable
trouble of mind. He finally went among the Mora
175 
SUDDEN CONVERSION.
vians and there reached those,iews which finally
gave him quiet in Jesus Christ.
There are not only single instances like these, but
multitudes of others-of persons who have for years
been bound, as it were, by some invisible cord, which
has kept them in this bondage.   The difficulty in
many cases results from an erroneous apprehension
of what is to be taken as evidence of conversion.
Men make a common mistake between what is a reli gious life, and certain expected fruits of a religious
life, and confound the two things.
Now, to be a Christian is to obey Christ, no matter
how you feel; but many persons think that after this
obedience is rendered, there will be plunged into
their souls what is called a Christian experience; and
that this experience, coming afterwards, is piety.
They therefore attempt to conform to the love of
Christ, and then wait for a projected or interjected
experience which is supposed to be a religious state.
It is no doubt better to have the feeling that follows,
than to be without it; but the feeling itself is not to
be taken for that of which it is simply the fruit, and
if there is no feeling, it is not to be taken as evidence
that there is no real religious life.
When a man sits down to a piano, reading his sheet
of music before him, and touching the keys that correspond to the notes that he reads, it is certainly better to be able to hear the sounds that follow. But
Beethoven-one of the saddest instances in history
of human greatness and suffering-becoming deaf in
the latter part of his life, used to sit down to the
harpsichord, and play tunes of which he heard not a
176 
SUDDEN CONVERSION.
single note. Even though his instrument fell into all
manner of jangling discords, by becoming long out
of tuille, yet he still played upon it all those grand,
swelling harmonies which were tumultuous in his
soul. Now if Beethoven had waited till his ear could
have become conscious of the playing, he would not
have played at all. And it is the same with persons
who try to live a religious life. There are two things
which they must avoid confounding. They should
mark the difference between following Christ, and
the sensations which come in consequence of following him.   If a person trying to come into the
discipleship of Christ, expects to do so by sitting
down and waiting for a certain preconceived state of
mind to come to him, as hlie might wait for a pair of
wings to sprout out of his shoulders, he must not be
surprised if hlie is disappointed. But many earnestminded persons-who are near the kingdom of heaven, and desire to enter it-hinder themselves by
just such difficulties. They deny to their own minds
the evidence of their own conversion, simply because
they do not experience the feelings which ot/er persons are known to have experienced.   They are
nearer than they think to their Father's house, yet
not believing that they are near, they do not go in.
Being so close to the gate that if they were closer
they must certainly enter, they yet sit down and tarry
without-mourning all the while that they cannot see
their Father's face. Such a mistake is one of the
saddest that can happen a man's life, and should be
guarded against by more careful discrimination and
better teaching.
8*
177 
"TOTAL DEPRAVITY."
OuR attention has been called to some remarks in
The New York Examiner, a Baptist religious journal, in which we are called to account for certain
words said to have been uttered by us in a recent
lecture in Boston, and also for giving the lecture at
all in the "Fraternity Course."
Although several other religious journals, as I am
informed, have commented upon the same topics, I
select Tlre Examiner's editorial for reply, for two reasons:-first, because I have not seen the others; and
secondly and especially, because its tone is in the
main kind.  And we desire to say, that if all papers
were as fair and frank as The Examiner, there would
be more pleasure in the public interchange of views
than is usually the case.   And we beg the editors to
understand the earnestness of our reply as applying
more to the subject than to them.
"Mr. Beecher is not to be held accountable for a newspaper report
of his words-unless, having knowledge that certain words are publicly
attributed to him, hlie acquiesces in the report.  The Boston Journal
quoted him as saying to the Fraternity, that'every selfish t.an
believes in total depravity,' and added, that the remark was loudly
cheered.  Now, every man who has discretion enough to speak in
public at all, is bound to consider, not only whether a given sentiment
is true, but whether it is true in the sense in which it will inevitably
be understood by his audience. There are objections to the phrase
'total depravity.' In the sense which would, perhaps, be most obvi    178S 
44 TOTAL DEPRAVITY."         1
ous to ordinary minds; in that sense, certainly, which Unitarians
have diligently labored to associate with the words, they convey a
falsehood. There is no wrong in discountenancing their use, for the
purpose of substituting a phraseology less liable to misrepresentation.
But that is a distinction which not one in a hundred of those who
applauded Mr. Beecher would ever think of making. If he did say
what is attributed to him, he must have been understood as denying
and vilifying that doctrine of human nature, without which there can
be no logical or reasonable necessity for a supernatural redemption.
If he has been falsely reported, we should be happy to know it."
We admit in many cases that a man is to be considered as accepting words attributed to him if, when
widely published, and brought to his notice, he permits them to stand uncontradicted. But it is plain
that this must not be formed into a rule, and that
much must be left to the discretion of the persons
concerned.
If there are a thousand little things trumped up
for the sake of provoking an answer; if men lie in
wait, and watch how they may catch a speaker, strewing words and speeches along the way of controversy,
as corn is strewn toward traps-is a man to run into
the snare?
Life would be a perpetual flea-hunt, if one were
obliged to run down all the innuendoes, the inveracities, the insinuations, and the suspicions which the
style of modern honor permits many religious papers
to indulge in.
But, even where there is no unkindness meant, and
when no meanness employs religion as a cloak, and
even where words or opinions are attributed to a man
which have some importance, it is a serious question
whether he is always obliged to contradict, and whe
179 
C TOTAL DEPRAVITY." 7
ther he may not be allowed to employ his own discretion  in denying  some  without  implying  any
responsibility for all which he does not choose to
deny.
Since we have been called before the public, we
must be allowed to say, firankly, that it would be
utterly impossible for us to look after all the erroneous reports and the inaccurate statements which are
continually made in our behalf. Hundreds of reports
made for "substance of doctrine" by reporters not
versed in.religious literature, of sermons reported by
letter-writers, and not a few more formal collections
of sayings, and descriptions of things done or said,
are sent abroad. Is a man obliged to put everything
right in all these?  Is he to be hield responsible for
sentiments or expressions sent all over the land by
letter-writers, unless hlie every week comes before the
public with formal disclaimer and reiterated explanation?  If we did so, then, next, the very papers
which require it would be the first to blame us for
conceit in keeping before the public endless personal
explanations!
But there is another side to this question.  IIave
editors, religious and honorable men, a right to aid
in the circulation of uncorrected statements, and
hastily reported addresses, when they above all men
know how seldom rapid speakers are correctly
reported, and when, moreover, they have the means
of inquirng at head-uarters as to the accuracy of
any report?  How long would it take to cut out a
paragraph, inclose it to the person represented as
uttering it, and say, "Is this correct?"-" Do you
180 
C TOTAL DEPRAVITY.              18
hold yourself responsible for this?" If it is not
worth this trouble, then it is not worth inserting in
the paper. But again and again, the most serious
misstatements have been put in leading religious
newspapers, whose editors almost passed my door
daily in going to their office.  But, while they reconciled it to their honor to give injurious reports a very
wide currency, they did not deem it their duty to
take the least pains to ascertain the truth of the
statements!
But we have become so used to seeing misstatements and misconceptions that we scarcely lift our
eyebrows any more at the most astounding things.
Indeed we kill them by silence; having found that
they thrive more vigorously by the notice of a denial.
There was a story started some years ag,o that we
began a sermon by the startling impropriety of the
sentence, "It is damned hot."   We took the pains
to give this the most unequivocal  contradiction,
declaring it to be a lie out of the whole cloth, without the vestige or shadow of foundation of any kind
whatsoever.  But, since this denial; the story not only
goes a good deal better than before,.but more and
more persons are, every month, reported to me as
declaring on their personal veracity, that tAey were
present and heard the 8speech. Of course, such persons do all, without exception, tell a willful falsehood; but we dare not say so publicly, for fear that
they will fall into spasms of affidavits, and convert
their guilt into permanent form, past all repentance.
Now we beg to have it understood, hereafter, that
all reports which represent us as saying what we
181 
s4 TOTAL DEPRAVITY.'
ought not to have said; are undoubtedly erroneous!
Whereas if the thing reported is good, wise, safe,
and eminently proper, let it be taken for granted
that we said it! With this general rule we shall be
content.
We now proceed to examine the allegation that we
employed the term Total Depravity in a manner
which produced upon the audience the effect of a
fling at the doctrine of man's sinfulness before God.
1. Even if the term Total Depravity were one
deserving of respect, the use made of it by us, on the
occcasion referred to, could be tortured into an
offence only by the most unreasonable theological
jealousy. And those who heard the lecture do not
seem to have felt any impropriety.  It was the report
of it, published the next day in the newspapers, and
read in the study or editorial office, that excited so
much anxiety.
We were illustrating the fact that a powerful feeling in action tended to produce the same feeling in
other minds. We instanced the selfish man whose
selfish feelings awakened like tendencies all around
him, so that he roused up and surrounded himself
with men's worst traits. Such a man is very apt to
inveigh against his fellow-men. They seem to him
exceedingly wicked.  To the selfish man all men
seem desperately and only selfish. And here it was
that we said that a selfish man always believes in
Total Depravity.  Though he believes nothing else,
he is always a firm believer in human wickedness.
Now we really think that one must be extremely
anxious to be offended to find occasion of offence in
1.82 
; TOTAL DEPRAVITY. yy
this remark. And if the gentlemen who watch
against the many-headed serpent of heresy had
heard the context with the remark, they would have
been saved from the assertion that it was cheered as
a fling at the orthodox view of man's sinfulness. It
was the whole hit at a selfish man's experience that
drew applause —not any supposed subtile intimation
of a doctrinal laxity on our part.
2. But although we did not employ the phrase
Total -)epravity in any opprobrious sense, at the
time mentioned, we do not hesitate to say now, that
we regard it as one of the most unfortunate and misleading terms that ever afflicted theology.
It answers no purpose of definition or of description. It does not convey the sense in which the great
majority of churches hold the doctrine of mnan's sinfulness. Instead of explaining anything, it needs
explanation itsef. Every minister who employs the
term usually begins his sermon by saying that he
does not mean the very thing which the words do
mean. For, Total signifies a degree beyond which
there can be no more. A total loss is one which cannot be increased; a total bankruptcy is one which
could not be more complete; a total destruction
is one which leaves nothing more to be destroyed.
Aien have a right to suppose that Total Depravity
signifies a depravity beyond which there could be no
more-l-nothing worse.  This is the popular understanding of the term. The people go with the language, and not with theologians. But this is not the
theological meaning of the word. It is taught that
universal man is depraved; and not that each mani
183
0 
CC TOTAL DEPRAVITY."
is totally depraved. No man who uses the phrase
believes men to be totally wicked-i. e., so wicked
that they cannot be more wicked. If they can be
more wicked, then they were not totally wicked
before. And, just as TAhe Examiner does, so
do all sensible men. They do not use the term.
They regard it as infelicitous. And yet, when any
one handles it roughly they are full of anxiety for
the truth!
This word is an interloper. It is not to be found
in the Scriptures. We do nrot believe that it is even
to be found in the Catechisms and Confessions of
Faith of Protestant or Catholic Christendom.
We do not feel called upon to give the mischievous
phrase any respect.  We do not believe in it, nor in
the thing which it obviously signifies.  It is an unscriptural, monstrous, and unredeemable lie.
3. But, on the other hand, we do believe, with continual sorrow of heart and daily overflowing evidence,
in the deep sinfulness of universal man. And we
believe in the exceeding sinfulness of sin. We do
not believe that any man is born who is sinless, or
who becomes perfectly sinless until death. We
believe that there is not one faculty of the human
soul that does not work evil, and so repeatedly, that,
the whole human character is sinful before God.
We believe man's sinfulness to be such that every
man that ever lived needed God's forbearance and
free forgiveness.  We believe that no man lives who
does not need to repent of sin, to turn from it; and
we believe that turning from sin is a work so deep,
and touches so closely the very springs of being, that
184 
' TOTAL DEPRAVITY." 
no man will ever change except by the help of God.
And we believe that such help is the direct and personal out-reaching of God's Spirit upon the human
soul; and when, by such divine help, men begin to
live a spiritual life, we believe the change to have
been so great that it is fitly called a beginning of life
over again, a new creation, a new birth.
If there is one thing that we believe above all
others, upon proof from consciousness and proof from
observation and experience, it is the sinfulness of
man.  Nor do we believe that any man ever doubted
our belief who sat for two months under our preaching,. Nothing strikes us as so peculiarly absurd as a
chlarge or fear that we do not adequately believe in
menel's sinfulness.  The steady bearing of our preaclhing on this subject is such as to plough up soil and
subsoil, and to convict and to convince men of their
need of Christ's redemption.
But our belief of this sad truth is purely practical.
We have no sympathy with those theologians who use
Time as a grand alley, and roll back their speculations
six thousand years, knocking down and setting up
the race, in the various chances of this gigantic theologic game-what is the origin and nature of sin?
Poor Adam! To have lost Paradise was enough.
But to be a shadow endlessly pursued through all
time by furious and fighting theologies-this is a
punishment never threatened. Or, was the flaming
sword of the angel a mere type and symbol of theological zeal, standing between men and Paradise for
evermore! We take men as we find them. We de
not go back to Adam or the fall to find materials for
185 
CC TOTAL DEPRAVITY."
theories and philosophies. There is the human heart
right before my eyes, every day throbbing, throbbing, throbbing!  Sin is not a speculation, but a
reality. It is not an idea, a speculative truth, but an
awful fact, that darkens life, and weighs down the
human heart with continual mischiefs. Its nature
will never be found in the Past. It mlst be sought
in the Present.
186 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
WE now print the entire first part of tile article
from the Xew York Examiner, the last part of which
it was more convenient to dispose of first:
THE' FRATERNITY' AND MR. BEECHER.
"In the congregation administered to by Theodore Parker, at the
Music Hall in Boston, known as the'Twenty-eighth Congregational
Society,' there is a literary association styled the'Fraternity.'
Said Fraternity has got up a series of'Fraternity Lectures,' an
avowed object of which, if a newspaper announcement may be credited, was to give to the' ideas' of Mr. Parker a freer scope than
the Lyceum platform allows. But whether that was the purpose or
not, it is manifest that the effect would be, so far as any impression
was made on the public, to give increased popularity to the man and
his'church.'   If the lectures prove, as has been claimed,' the
most successful course of the season,' they will reflect a certain lustre upon the' Twenty-eighth Congregational Society,' and upon the
man whose infidelity is its pervading spirit. Such an effect, we should
suppose, would be deprecated-at least, would not be even constructively aided-by a sincere friend of evangelical religion. But the pastor of the Plymouth church in Brooklyn has appeared upon Mr. Parker's platform, to lend to it his popularity. Mr. Beecher has asserted
his right to do in all things what is right in his own eyes, and we are
not disposed, even if we were able, to abridge his liberty. But it is
utterly incomprehensible by us, how he reconciles with his love for
the Gospel such open aid and comfort to its bitterest enemies.  To
appear with Mr. Parker, contemporaneously or successively, upon a
platform which represents neither him nor his'ideas,' is one thing;
to assist in giving gclat to an infidel enterprise is a very different thing
-and that is what every Fraternity lecturer, and every purchaser of
a Fraternity ticket has done."
1@T
/~ 
WORKING WITIH ERRORISTS.
Of course we believe in newspapers, and in editors. Yet, even an editor may be mistaken and a
newspaper may fall into misstatements!  And the
Examiner has in this instance been misled by a too
confiding trust in religious or secular newspapers.
It is true that the Fraternity Course was under the
supervision of members of the Twenty-eighth Congregational Society of Boston, but it is not true that
it was got up for the sake of giving Mr. Parker's
"' ideas' a freer scope than the Lyceum platform
allows "-if by ideas, the Examiner means Mr. Parker's characteristic religious views.  On the contrary,
it is known that M[r. Parker was preparing four historical discourses, on Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, and (we believe) Franklin.  But such was the
ill odor in Boston of Mr. Parker's religious notions
that a studious care had been exercised to keep him
from Boston lecture platforms, though history, art, or
belles-lettres were his theme, lest the influence of anything that was good in him should " reflect a lustre"
upon that part of him which religious men so much
deprecate.
But, on the other hand, the attempt to suppress a
man, and to silence his speech, on the great topics
which are common to men of all religious views,
must produce, not only among his persona]?'iends,
but among honorable men who utterly differ from
him in religion, a determination that he shall has e a
chance to speak, at least; and then, if people do not
wish to hear an " infidel," on secular topics, of course
they can stay at home. In other respects, this Lecture Course wm like ordinary courses. It was not
iss 
WORKING WITHII ERRORISTS.
neld in Mr. Parker's church, nor on his platformthough it would have been no worse if it had beenbut in the Tremont Temple-a Baptist worshippingplace, where the Mercantile Library Association and
other principal lecture courses are held. The only respect in which it was peculiar was, that Theodore Parker was to deliver four lectures in the course, upon
Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, and Benjamin
Franklin. Besides him, the other lecturers, six or
eight in number, were those gentlemen whose names
dignify and enrich the roll of all principal lecturecourses in the Union.
The funds, over and above the expenses, if there
should be any, were not designed to support either
Mr. Parker or the Twenty-eighth Congregational
society, of which he is the minister. They were to
be employed in charitable purposes, and for the most
part among the poor and unfriended!
And if the young men of the Twenty-eighth Congregational Society of Boston judged that we were
one who would be glad to cooperate with Theodore
Parker, in all honorable ways which did not imply
approbation of his theology, for objects common to
all good men; and if they judged that we should be
forward to aid all measures, among all sects, which
have for their object the improvement of the young,
and the relief of the suffering, they judged rightly.
We believe in the right of free speech even of men
whose opinions, when delivered, we do not believe!
Did the Eixamniner think that the young gentlemen
of Mr. Parker's society got up a course of popular
lectures for the sake of covertly propagating infidel
189
e 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
ity, and invited me, without disclosing the inward
scheme, to garnish the course, and to lend nLy influence, blindfolded, to such an aim?  Or, did it never
enter the head of the Examiner that a man might
associate with men from whose theological tenets he
utterly dissented, because he sympathized with the
special benevolence which they would perform?
because he had an ethical sympathy with them in
spite of their theology? because he believed that a
good man ought always to seek occasions of working with men, rather than of working away from
them'?
We should be sorry to suppose ourselves singular
in this matter.   Are we to take the ground that
no orthodox man shall encourage the young to selfimprovement and to works of benevolence, unless
they are sound in the faith?  Because Mr. Parker
teaches a wrong theology to the young men of his
charge, are we to hold off and refuse to help them
when they endeavor to live a great deal better than
we should suppose their theology would incline them
to? But this is the very case in hand. The young
men in Mfr. Parker's society undertook to do good by
a course of general lectures; we lectured in that
course; good papers are full of grief; and the
Examiner regards it as " utterly incomprehensible."
WVe must be still more incomprehensible then, when
we say, that though we would earnestly desire men
to believe aright in religion, yet, if they will not,
then we hope that their life will be better than their
creed. And, if we see men of a heretical turn of mind
practising Gospel virtues and charities, we shall cer
190 
WORKING WITII ERRORISTS.
tainly encourage and help them. For men do not
derive ihe right to do good from the Thirty-nine
Articles; nor need they go to the Westminster Con festion for liberty to recover the intemperate, set free
the bound, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, educate
the ignorant, and give sleigh-rides to the beggars'
children that never before laughed and cuddled under
a buffalo robe! It seems to us a great deal better
business for a Christian man to encourage his fellows
in well-doing than to punish them for wrong thinking!
But the Examiner thinks that the success of this
course of lectures will "reflect a certain lustre uponi
the Twenty-eighth Congregational Society, and upon
the man whose infidelity is its pervading spirit."
Well, what then?'  Are we to punish an infidel for
his infidelity by refusing him all credit for personal
goodness,  for  active  benevplence,  for  practical
humanity?
If anybody does right he ought to be applauded.
If Mr. Parker does well he deserves the credit for
well-doing. If the young men of his charge do well,
they deserve all the "lustre" of it.  Or shall we take
ground that no man who is not of sound orthodox
faith is to have any "lustre" for practical virtue?
Must nobody be counted ethically right until he is
theologically sound?  Such a doctrine would be
monstrous! Every just and generous man in the
community ought to rejoice in the good conduct of
every man, without regard to his speculative views
or theological affinities!
If a man institutes a temperance movement, must I
refuse to help him because, being perhaps, a Universal
191 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
ist minister, his zeal and fidelity in that cause would
" reflect a lustre" upon him and his sect?  If a man
would establish and endow a hospital, must I refuse
to co-work with him because, being a Unitarian, its
success would reflect a certain lustre upon that faithf?
When, in the pestilence in New Orleans, the Sisters of Charity did not count their lives dear to them,
but night and day, fearless of death and defiant of
fatigue, gave their utmost being to the care of the
miserable sick, must I, a Protestant, refuse admiration
or fellowship for fear a " certain lustre" would shine
upon the Roman Catholic Church?
If a J ew does nobly, he deserves the lustre which
right-doing ought to confer; if an Atheist or an
Infidel live virtuously and act honorably, he should
have the " lustre" belonging to virtue and honor!
Does the Examiner think that we do not care for
our own theologic views? We care a good deal.
We shall yield them to no man's dictation. We shall
not indorse any man's theology which differs from
them.  We have enough of the old disciple nature
left to feel very desirous that folks who will cast out
devils, should do it in our train, and as we do. But
if they will not-why, then, we will help them to do
it in their way! No ways can be very bad that
succeed in getting rid of the devil. But, if we
were to help an Episcopal movement for general
benevolence, would any man say that we indorsed
high-church notions?   If we were  affectionately
and urgently invited to Princeton, to examine
the senior class in theology and give them some
tender cautions on parting from Turretin and enter
192
I 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
ing the life of realities, would anybody be so cruel as
to say that we believed in high Calvinism, or were
indifferent to all woes of conscience produced by
that energetic system? Bishop Hughes will never
invite us to speak in his new cathedral, and we not
promptly accept it. But we affectionately appeal to
the Examiner whether, on such an interesting occurrence, he would think it his duty to pierce us with
such remarks as are now puncturing our peace from
his words?
If I had gone to Boston to buy carpets or books; or
if I had gone to Boston to help the Republican cause)
if I had gone on any of those secular errands, in which
all men of every shade of belief are wont to unite without criticism, no question would have been raised. In
selfish and worldly interests men are allowed cooperation for common ends.  But if I divest myself of all
selfish or secular aims, and rise to a higher plane of
benevolence, and seek to raise the fallen, to restore
the lost, to purify the vicious, to elevate the ignorant,
and to cheer the poor and neglected, Christian ministers and editors will not let me cooperate for such
divine objects with every man who will sincerely
work for them; but I must pick for men of right
philosophy, for men right in all theology! Thus we
allow selfishness to go with flowing robes and a loose
girdle. We make her feet light, and her hands nimble. But upon religion we put iron shoes and steel
gloves. We burden her with mail, and underneath
it all we draw the girt of conscience to the last hole.
Then she goes slowly forth, scarcely able to walk or
to breathe!
9
193 
WORKING WITII ERRORISTS.
I have long ago been convinced that it was better
to love men, than to hate them; and that one would
be more likely to convince them of wrong belief by
showing a cordial sympathy with their welfare, than
by nipping and pinching them with logic. And~
although I do not disdain, but honor philosophy
applied to religion, I think that the world just now
needs the Christian Hieart more than anything else.
And, even if the only and greatest interest were the
propagation of right theology, I am confident that
right speculative views will grow uLp faster and firmer
in the summer of true Christian loving, than in the
rigorous winter of solid, congealed orthodoxy, or in
the blustering March of controversy
Does anybody inquire why, if so thinking, we
occasionally give such sharp articles upon the great
religious newspapers, the Ob8server, the Intelligencer,
and the like? Oh pray do not think it for any illwill! It is all kindness!  We only do it to keep our
voice in practice. We have made orthodoxy a study,
And, by an attentive examination of the Presbyterian,
the Observer, the Puritan -Recorder, and such like
unblemished confessors, we have learned that no man
is himself truly sound who does not pitch into somebody for being unsound in the faith; and that a real
modern orthodox man, like a nervous watch-dog, must
sit on the door-stone of his system, and bark incessantly at everything that comes in sight along the
highway. And when there is nothing to bark at,
either he must growl and gnaw his reserved bones,
or bark at the mnoon, to keep up the sonorousness of
his voice. And so, for fear the sweetness of our temper
194 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
may lead men to think that we have no theological
zeal, we lift up an objurgation now and then-as
much as to say, " lere we are, fierce and orthodox:
ready to growl when we cannot bite!"
But the Ezaminer says: "The pastor of the Plymouth church in Brooklyn has appeared upon Mr.Parker's platform, to lend it his popularity." I
neither borrowed nor lent. I went before an audience
in the Tremont Temple, a Baptist meeting-house, the
place for the chief part of public lectures, to give my
own ideas, and to exert whatever power I had by my
thoughts and by my feelings upon such audience as
pleased to come together. If they were good men
they needed me less: if they were bad, they needed
me more.   But either way, I was responsible for
my own testimony, and for nothing more; and
this was not lent to MIr. Parker, but to the
audience.  Yet, whenever Theodore  Parker  does
what is right and noble, if it were possible for me
to lend him anything I would do it gladly. I have
nothing to lend, however, but good will, and that I
never lend, but give, free as God's air!
But, it will be asked, will the public understand
your position, and, however you may design it, will
not the impression go abroad either that you sympathize with infidel views, or are indifferent to them?
No. The public especially will not misunderstand.
There is formed and forming a moral judgment in
the intelligent part of the community, that popular
Christianity needs more love in it. Men at large will
be a great deal more apt to say that I have done a
more exemplary Christian act, in daring to avow an
195 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
ethical sympathy with Theodore Parker, between
whom and myself there exists an irreconcilable theological difference, than if I had bombarded  him
for a whole year, and refused to touch his hand!
What a pitiful thing it is to see men, who have the
chance of saying what they believe, who do say it
two hundred times a year, who write it, sing it, speak
it, and fight it; who, by all their social affinities, by
all their life-work, by all positive and most solemn
testimonies, are placed beyond misconception,always nervous lest they should sit down with somebody, or speak with somebody, or touch somebody,
and so lose an immaculate reputation for soundness!
Therefore, men peep out from their systems as prisoners in jail peep out of iron-barred windows, but
dare not come out, for fear some sharp sheriff of the
Faith should arrest them!
If we held Theodore Parker's views, we should not
wait to have it inferred.  len would hear it from
our lips, and hear it past all mistaking. And we
are not going at our time of life to begin to watch
over our " injTuence;" to cut and trim our sentences
lest some mousing critic should pounce upon an infelicity and draw upon us a suspicion. We have never
sought influence, and we never shall seek it. Any
that we have now, came to us because we went
straight forward, doing whatever was right, and
always believing that a loving heart was a better
judge of what was right than a cold and accurate
head. Neither is infallible. Both make mistakes.
But the errors of the heart dissolve in the kindness
of men's natures as snowflakes dissolve in warm
196 
WOPKING WITH ERRORISTS.
bosomed lakes, while the errors of cold intellect
pierce and stick like arrows. If I cannot make my
people understand my belief, in fifty-two Sabbaths
of the year, I shall not menld the matter by refusing
to follow the generous sympathies of my heart.
No.  The common people will not misunderstand.
Nor will practical Christian ministers.  They may
differ firom my judgment, but they will understand
my deed. It is only those professed defenders of the
faith, who, having erected suspicion into a Christian
grace, practise slander as a Christian duty, that will
be liable to mistake. And it makes no difference
whether such men understand or not. These men
are like aspen-trees growing on rocks. In conceit
and arrogance they are hard as granite, while they
tremble all over like aspen leaves with perpetual
fears and apprehensions of dismal mischief to come!
WVhen Theodore Parker appears in his representative character as a theologian, I am as irreconcilably
opposed to him as it is possible to be. The things
that are dear to him, are cheerless and unspeakably
solitary and mournful to me. The things which are
the very centre of my life, the inspiration of my existence, the glory of my thought and the strength of
my ministry, are to him but very little. I differ
from him in fact, in theory, in statement, in doctrine,
in system, in hope and expectation; living or dying,
laboring or resting-in theology, we are separate, and
irreconcilable.
Could Theodore Parker worship my God?-Christ
Jesus is his name. All that there is of God to me is
bound up in that name. A dim and shadowy efflu
197 
WVORKING WITHI ERPORISTS.
ence rises from Christ, and that I am taught to call
the Father.   A   yet more  tenuous and invisible
film of thought arises, and that is the Holy Spirit.
But neither are to me aught tangible, restful, accessible.
They are to be revealed to my knowledge hereafter, but now only to my faith. But Christ stands
my mani'e-st God.  All that I know is of him, and
in him.  I put my soul into his arms, as, when I was
born, my father put me into my mother's arms.  I
draw all my life from him. I bear him in my
thoughts hourly, as I humbly believe that hle also
bears me. For I do truly believe that we love each
other!-I, a speck, a particle, a nothing, only a mere
beginning of something that is gloriously yet to be,
when the warmth of God's bosom shall have been a
summer for my growth;-and HE, the Wonderful
Counsellor, the ]iighty God, the Everlasting Father,
the Prince of Peace!
And this Redeemer of the world, this Saviour of
sinners, I accept, not only as my guide, my friend,
my deliverer, but as an atoning God, who bore my
sins upon the cross, and delivered me from their
penalty. And, since my life is spared to me by him,
I give to him that life again. This hope of Christ is
the staff of my ministry. First, highest, and in measure beyond all other things, I preach Jesus Christ.
And all other topics are but arrows, shot out of this
Divine bow. And this has been so for twenty years,
eleven of which I have labored iu Brooklyn.  And
yet the Examiner is pleased to reproach me, as if,
against the sweep of my life, and the current and tes
198 
WORKING WITH ERRORISTS.
timony of my being, I had gone to Boston to give
" eclat to an infidel enterprise," and only because I
gladly helped men who do not agree with me in
theology to do deeds of mercy in which all good
men should be united!
What must be the condition of the public mind,
on the subject of Christian charity, when'the simple
cooperation of a man, on a ground of common benlevolence, is made to signify more than his whole regular life-work?
The disposition to find some common ground of
kindness and benevolent work, with those from
whom we are known to differ, will be a real preaching of the Gospel to tens of thousands who are
unmoved by dogmas or doctrines.  It is Love that
the world wants. When Love goes abroad in the
full worth of its nature, and endures, and suffers,
without reward except the sweetness of suffering
borne for another, then men begin to see what is the
heart and spirit of Christ, and to have some motions
towards faith in him!
If tears could wash away from Mr. Parker's eye,
the hindrances, that he might behold Christ as 1
behold and adore him, I would shed them without
reserve. If prayers could bring to him this vision of
glory, beyond sight of philosophy, I would for him
besiege the audience-chamlber of heaven with an endless procession of prayers, until another voice sounding forth from another light brighter than the noon
day sun, should cast down another blinded man, to
be lifted up an apostle with inspired vision!
But since I may not hope so to prevail, I at least
199 
WIORKING WITII ERORISTS.
will carry him in my heart, I will cordially work with
him when I can, and be heartily sorry whenever I
cannot.
While we yet write, word comes that Mr. Parker,
broken down by overlabor, seeks rest and restoration
in a warmer climine. Should these lines reach his eye,
let him know that one heart at least remembers his
fidelity to man, in great public exigencies when so
many swerved, of whom we had a right to expect
better things. God shield him from the ocean, the
storm, the pestilence; and heal him of lurking disease. And there shall be one Christian who will
daily speak his name to the heart of God in earnest
prayer, that with health of body he may also receive
upon his soul the greatest gift of God,-faith in
Jesus Christ as the Divine Saviour of the world.
200 
MISCHIEVOUS SELF-EXAMINATION.
TiE term, self-examination, is applied, not to the
consideration of one's outward conduct, but to a review and analysis of one's hidden feelings; to the
motives, and to the moral complexion of one's emotions. In this matter, as in many others, those who
most need it seldom practise it, and those practise it
most who could best do without it. Thus if a man
have a strong practical cast, a natural sagacity in
matters of form and substance, a ready knowledge of
men and things, he will tend to cultivate that outward direction of his mind; and to regard introspection as unpractical.  This opinion is confirmed by the
few paroxysmal attempts at the study of himself.
Alade upon impulse, without skill, or practice, upon
too large a scale, with the heat of new zeal, the result
is confusion and disgust.  Hie reverts to hispractical
life, and always speaks of himself as niot adapted to
metaphysical meditation. Yet, this man especially
needs to study htimself, because he is by his nature so
strongly drawn away toward outward and material life.
On the other hand, a reflective, sensitive mind,
dwells upon its own states too much, and lives so
much in introspection, as to have but a slender sympathy with the outward world.
A special form of this last mentioned danger is frequently found in young and conscientious Christians.
9* 
MISCfIIEVOUS SELF-EXAMINATION.
They attempt to maintain a habitual watch over their
minds. They check every budding feeling till they
know what fruit it will bear. They stop every swell ing emotion till they have "examined" it.  They
treat the religious feelings, as an officer would a per son suspected of having stolen goods about his person
-stripping off its cloak, and scrutinizing sharply.
The mind, thus badgered, is like a steed whom you
whip with one hand and hold in with the other; it
becomes restless and chafed. The poor victim does
not know "how he does feel."  He wishes he knew
his own motives. He will be heard inquiring much
after his "evidences."  "How can a man tell whether
he has faith or not?"  "How may I know whether
I really love God?" ". How do I know whether all
my motives in seeking religion are not selfish?" Such
questions will identify the victims of narrow selfexamination.
The moment a feeling becomes an object of attention, it ceases to be a feeling. Emotions change to
ideas. The real process of what is called, by many,
self-examination, is but the transmutation of an emotive state into an intellectual state; for feeling
perishes where analysis begins. They burn the flower
that they may analyze its ashes, and then are discontented that, raking in the ashes, they find neither
root, stem, nor flower.
This course is every way unnatural, and inflicts
upon the mind a long train of mischiefs. There can
be no such thing as a current in the mind, a free
sweep, a generous momentum, where every state of
feeling is stopped for examination. The mind becomes
202 
MISCHIEVOUS SELF-EXAMINATION.
restless. It begins nervously to break out in one direction or another, seeking by violent reactions that natural
liberty which has been denied it. If the causes continue, the results will vary according to the peculiar
temperament and structure of the mind. Some will
retract in disgust from all attempts at religion, except
as a scheme of morals. Others will grow despondent,
and all their lifetime be subject to bondage. Others
still, will come to a degree of morbid sensitiveness,
which will only stop short of superstition. They will
have a thousand questions starting up; they will feel
pangs of remorse upon the slightest occasion; they
will be thrown off their guard by a text suddenly
presented, by the remarks of clergymen or of Christian
friends, and brood in perpetual disquiet over a chaotic
and gloomy experience.
In such states, every effort of the sufferer being a
stimulus upon a jaded or morbid condition, will
aggravate the suffering and put relief yet further off.
Such mischiefs are not imaginary. Every year we
meet them in repeated instances. Some five within
a week, have come to our notice.
203 
WHERE CHRISTIANS MEET.
A  PRAYER-MIEETING is a place for social religious
life. It is not for preaching, nor is it for exhortation.
It is a place WHERE CHRISTIANS MEET to instruct and
strengthen one another by a free and familiar develop ment of their religious experiences and emotions.
It is an altar-for whose fire every Christian brings
a brand, and where the whole pile is made up of the
added fagots of many enkindled hearts.
lThis is the primary idea of a prayer-meeting. It
is evident, therefore, that the first step toward a
wholesome meeting is truthfulness. Yet it is this
important element which is apt to be most oftenlacking. It is thought necessary, even by advanced
Christians, to assume a sense of awful responsibility,
to put on an air of profound solemnity, and to manifest an eminently devout spirit. But these feelings
are never proper, except when they are real. They
should never be assumed. They should never be put
on and worn as a kind of appropriate dress, becoming
to the occasion. Men should not lay aside their
naturalness before God, any more than before menand even less, as God can see through the guise when
men may not. They should not pretend to be what
they are not, any more in a prayer-meeting with their
brethren, than alone in their own private closet.
Any pretentious mood, or any forced and artificial
PA 
WHERE CIHRISTIANS MEET.
feeling, will always do harm, for it will overlay the
mind as straw and dry leaves overlay the soil, so
that nothing is able to spring up.
No man should utter a word in a prayer-meeting
which is not spoken in sincerity. It is a great and
grievous sin for a man to utter prayers to God, when
his heart neither suggests, nor enters into, the peti tions. It is a piece of mockery that no man would
endure, much less God. For any creature to bow
before his Creator, and say prayers, whether they be
long or short, printed or unprinted, which do not
engage his heart, but which he utters from a mere
sense of duty, or from superstitious fear, or from
habit, is an inexpressible audacity. Yet it is often
done. And it is said, " If you do not feel like praying, pray till you do." Now there certainly are
degrees of interest; and a man may be blameless for
experiencing less fervor at the beginning of a devotional period than at the end of it. But for a man to
employ prayer as a mere exercise, or as a mere mode
of giving himself a stirring uip-to stand before God
and assume the tones, the language, the manner of feeling, for the sake of coming by and by into the feeling,
is a desecration of prayer almost blasphemous.
If it be asked, "What then shall a man do? Shall
he neglect prayer until he does feel? Shall he refuse
to take part in a prayer-meeting until the glow is
upon him?"-the answer is that such a man should
not neglect prayer, neither in his closet, nor perhaps
in the prayer-meeting. But he must prepare himself
for prayer. Hie must watch and study for the disposition.  Hie should refresh his mind with Scnpturai
205 
WHIIERE CIIHRISTIANS MEET.
truths, and should consider his own wants and sinfulness. Thlis he should do apart. from noise and excitement, if possible; and he may be aided in doing it
by employing hymns and psalms, which will oftentimes speedily carry his mind out of a dull and dead
frame into some beginnings of life. Hie may thus
come into a state in which prayer will not be a stupid
act, or a dead form, but the glowing expression of a
living feeling.
This is a proper preparation for prayer, whether
public or private. If prayers in a prayer-meeting
cannot be genuine, they might better be omitted,
and hymns sung in their place.  If but a single sentence is uttered, let it be real; and let utterance
cease when the heart no longer prompts-and the
heart will often have ceased its promptings long
before a recitation of fifteen minutes is concluded.
)One moment of real communion with God is prayer,
but a whole hour of recited words, without feeling,
is not prayer, and is worse than none.
The way to kill a prayer-meeting is to make it conventional, and the chief secret of conducting it so that
it shall minister to edification, is to force people out
of conventional ways; to break up hereditary and
stereotyped unwritten forms of prayer; to keep off
those impertinent moths called exhorters, that fly
about the flame of rising feeling; to charm men into
forgetfulness of the machinery of the meeting; and
to make them talk artlessly, naturally, and sensibly.
But above all, let all pretence, all mock solemnity
and devotion, be put away. Let no man suffer himself to appear to his brethren to be what he is not,
206 
WuIERE CRItISTIANS MEET.
for this is part of the injunction, "'Let every man
speak truth with his neighbor." If this rule be not
observed, and the frequent tendencies to violate it be
not corrected, the prayer-meetings will degenerate,
and people will lose first all profit and then all inte rest in them. For, what if people should go to an
e vening party, not in their natural character, but, one
striving to be brilliant, another to be witty, another
to be instructive, another to be profound?   Who
could endure the sham?  There is need in prayermeetings of men who are willing to stand simply and
only on what they are and what they have.
The speaking in prayer-meetings should-be conversational, and so, natural. The words spoken should
flow naturally from the heart's experience, or else it
were better to be silent.  Usually, however, when a
man has nothing to say, he gets up and exhorts
sinners to repent; or, another, whose heart is empty,
informs the church that they are very cold, and live
far beneath their privileges. Such prayers or exhortations may be very glib and fluent, but they are as
dry of sap or juice as last year's corn-hiusks. They
are not only profitless but damaging. On the contrary, there are oftentimes prayers, humble, timid,
hlalf-inaudible, the utterances of uncultivated lips,
that may cut a poor figure as lecture-room literature,
that are nevertheless not to be scornfully disdained.
If a child may not talk at all till he can speak fluent
English, he will never learn. There should be a
process, going on, continually, of education, by which
all the members of the church should be able to contribute of their experiences and gifts; and, in such a
207 
WHtERE CHRISTIANS MEET.
course of development, the first hesitating, stumbling,
ungrammatical prayer of a confused Christian may
be worth more to the church than the best prayer of
the most eloquent pastor. The prayer may be but
little; but it is not a little thing that a church has
one more man who is beginning to pray than it had
before.
The conductor of a prayer-meeting should have a
distinct conception of what such a meeting is to be
and to do; and as it is a mutual instruction class, a
place for religious feeling to take the social element,
his chief duty should be to draw out the timid, to
check the obtrusive, to encourage simple and true
speaking, and to apply religious truths to those
wants, and struggles, and experiences which are
freely mentioned there.
208 
THE DAY AND THE DESK.
IT is no small thing, as it regards the education of
the community, that from their youth up they have
been taught to discuss all questions from ascertained
and authoritative moral grounds. The rhetoric or
argument of ancient civilization was secular, both in
its spirit and aims. The intellect and the imagination were trained, not the conscience or the atffections.
To have the whole, or the greatest part, of the
community gather together every week for the religious discussion of life questions, cannot fail to establish a public mind which no other known causes
could produce. The family educates the affections.
Secular affairs train and sharpen the business faculties. Public affairs give general information; but
where is moral training to come from? 
The moral element in man has but a sorry chance
against his selfish faculties and his passions. A few,
in every community, are so endowed as to stand up,
men of integrity and of natural religion, without or
even against training. They may not be Christians.
But they are men of a strong religious nature, and of
slender passions, to whom justice and an imperfect
spirituality is congenial. Such cases are single and
isolated. The mass of men are not just nor religious,
unless in a fragmentary way in exceptional instances
209 
THE DAY AND THE DESK.
Take men as they rise, and their selfish and animal
instincts are more active, more influential than their
religious feelings. The habits of life are founded upon
current selfishness. The character is shaped by the
influence of three or four feelings,-the love of property, of power, and influence, of praise, and by the
love of animal indulgence.
Benevolence, as an overruling power; justice
between man and man, as a controlling force; a
love of God and a salutary reverence for him, as an
atmosphere in which the soul breathes, these are not
common. From the beginning of life, the conscience
is apt to be uneducated, or overlaid by selfishness, or
drugged and silenced.  Alen are good-natured, or
generous, upon occasions. A few are benevolent.
In the most select and best communities not one in
a thousand is benevolent. Not one in a hundred is
generous. tVhen their own interests or wishes are not
to be sacrificed; when kindness runs parallel with selfishness; when good service costs nothing, and is even
easier than its opposite, then, one must be either a
dyspeptic, or a very bad man, if he be not kind and
generous. But in such cases the good feeling is a
very narrow valley between very high mountains on
either side. Of all the men that are regarded as
respectable in  New York, how many act from such
deliberate convictions of conscience, that it may be
said of them they are governed by a sense of Right?
How many are benevolent-not in the sense of being
good-natured when they are pleased, or kind when
everything is to their mind, or generous when it costs
them  nothing and is easier than selfishness-bout
210 
TirE DAY AND TIIE DESK.
when to be so requires self-denial and moral principie? Our own convictions, founded upon observation, are, that very few have such benevolence, either
by nature or by grace. Our impression is that religion has hitherto developed reverence toward God,
carefulness of one's own life and conduct, and benevolene when it does not cost too much.
We see nothing in the ordinary influences of society which tends to rectify this: nothing in secular
institutions;  nothing  in the course of business.
Schools and seminaries cannot frame the man's
habits, nor train the moral nature. It is in this view
that we regard the Sabbath and the Pulpit as indispensable to society. The Sabbath is a day of bodily
rest, doubtless; it is a day for social culture; it is to
be advocated for reasons, therefore, of secular expediency.
There is a ground higher than all these. It is the
day for religious education. There is no substitute
for it. The work which above all others man needs
to have done, cannot be done except through the
force and observance of some such institution.
The Pulpit is the popular religious educator. Its
object is to stimulate and develop the religious feelings. All subjects upon which men think or act, all
relations and duties, all observances, amusements,
occupations, and sympathies need to be discussed by
every man from the ground of religious principles. 
Left to themselves, few men will so discuss them.
Week by week men should hear their daily life discussed, not from selfish principles, not from a
g,round of expediency, not from popular points of
211 
TIlE DAY AND THIE DESK.
view, but from the highest religious grounds. Tc
have the whole, or the greatest part of the comlmnunity assembling for the expression of reverential feeling is beneficial doubtless. This should be
an element of Sabbath observance. But this very
feeling will itself depend upon a previous education
and development of the whole religious nature.
That development will take place most healthfully
and rapidly by such a system of education as shall
lead men habitually to look at all things from the
religious stand-point.  When a whole community are
wont to have their social life, their secular business,
their public duties, taken out of their low and selfish
attitudes and lifted up into the light of God's countenance, and then measured, judged, repressed or
developed, and wholly bathed or inspired by the
spirit of conscience and of love, then they are receiving a moral education, for which there is no other
provision except the Sabbath and the Pulpit. And
we regard the Day and the Desk to be as needful to
the refined and philosophic as to the rude and unlettered, though for different reasons. Great culture is
liable to take a selfish and subtle pride, which,
though not as destructive to the animal economy,
are fully as injurious to religious purity as vice and
appetite.
212 
IS CONVERSION INSTANTANEOUS?
A LETTER TO A FRIRND.
MY DEAR SIR: I am  glad that we  are of one
belief as to the reality of that momentous change
which is usually called conversion or regeneration.
We agree, too, that such a change does not require
violence to be done to the mental organization. A
man has the same faculties, intellectual, moral, social,
and animal, before conversion as after. Neither are
the constitutional functions changed; nor the laws of
mind, under which all mental life exists. The change
is analogous to that which happens to a thoroughly
and chronically diseased body, when it becomes
decidedly convalescent.   All the vital organs, and
every minute vessel throughout the system is changed
from a morbid to a natural condition.   There is
neither increase nor diminution of the organs of the
body; there is nothing taken from, and nothing
added to the normal functions of the organs. In like
manner, the change of mind is not one of faculty
but of function; and in function, the change is only
from a disordered to a normal and healthful state.
Is such a change instantaneous. You think that
it is not. Many devout Christians agree with you.
Indeed, taking the world through, I presume that you
are \vith the majority.  Nor is it to be denied that you
213 
IS CONVERSION INSTANTANEOUS?
have many apparent reasons for such doubt. Yet, it
seems to me that both facts and analogies are against
you when the matter is critically searched.
Every serious change that befalls the mind may be
said to have three stages-the preparatory stage, the
stage of actual change, and the after stage. It is
of neither the first, nor the last, but of the middle
one, that we affirm instantaneousness.  We  say that
the act of volition, or of voluntary transition from
one purpose or condition of mind to another, is
always instantaneous, although the circumstances
which led to it, and the'results which follow it, may
be long-drawn and gradual.  A man may determine
to change his secular vocation. The reasons inclining
him thereto may gradually arise, and grow in force
from day to day for months, and even years. ]3ut
the determination, at last, is a sudden, momentary
act. After the decision, months may be required to
carry it completely into effect.
So that there are in a change of religious feeling
two gradual stages  and one instantaneous.   The
mind may become gradually, and, more and more,
deeply serious; the perception of neglected truths may
be progressive; the motives to a decision for or against
a religious life may be long accumulating; but, at
length, there is a time of choice; and whether perceived or not, that decisive choice will be instantaneous. Then comes the after stage-the carrying out
of the determination. The eradication of bad habits,
the development of right feelings, the reduction of
conduct to religious principle; in short, the formation
of religious character, is gradual
214 
IS CONVERSION INSTANTANEOUS?
in the popular mind conversion improperly includes
all the stages which we have discriminated; and of
such a conversion it is rightly said that it must be
gradual. But conversion, as a mere act of choice, is
instantaneous. We affirm all volition to be instantaneous. While one weight after another goes into the
scale you are preparing for the counterpoise; but
when the index passes the centre, it passes at once.
In like manner, when the mind holds a change in
view, it may be long in coming toward a decision; it
may vacillate and swing first to the one and then to
the other side. But when each faculty but the last
one has consented, and at length, long resisting, that
faculty coincides with the rest, the decision is instant
and decisive.
The recognition of this change, by the individual,
will depend upon the character of his mind. Those
who have strong emotions, all of whose changes follow or are instantly followed by the intellect, will
perceive that a transition has been made.
Those who have strong and positive emotions, but
are not wont intellectually to inspect them, willfeel
that there is a change.
Those with an even and gentle, emotive temperament, will not intellectually recognize the mental
transition, but will first be conscious of it from the
results that begin to appear.
From these statements we should be led to expect
that religious changes would be most apparently suddlen among uncultivated minds, which being uncontrolled, act under emotion, with extremes of flux and
reflux; among men of violent passions; among those
215 
Is CONVERSION INSTANTANEOUS?
who have been the most entirely destitute of moral
sensibility.  We  should  suspect,  also, that  such
changes would be, at the time, perceived by all
minds, robust or feeble, positive or gentle, in times
of great general excitement, in which the mind is
more active and moves more strongly than alone, by
reason of sympathy with other minds. Facts corroborate such expectations.
The distinction between a real instantaneous change
of mind, and the instant recognition of that change,
should not be forgotten. As the change of mind may
be induced or prevented with great facility by the
degree of knowledge possessed of the mind on which
influence is to be exerted, by the nature of the means
employed, and by the skill with which such means
are applied to the mind; so, the recognition of that
change will depend in part upon one's emotive temperament, and upon the habits of decision which one
possesses; in part, upon the condition of the mind at
the time, and in part upon the instructions received,
directing the mind's attention to such phenomena.
I imagine that you will say, of all this disquisition,
" It may be curious, but is it of practical importance?
Its merit is metaphysical. It will do no good in
actual life."
On the contrary, though it is metaphysically true,
its chief importance is that it takes hold so earnestly
and efficiently on practice. A mind taught to believe
in the reality and necessity of an instant choice will
act with directness and brevity. The belief in gradual conversion goes hand in hand with procrastination
and mere promissory amendment. Neither can the
216 
IS CONVERSION INSTANTANEOUS?
efforts of Christians nor of ministers be the same under
the two systems. Those who trust to a gradual amelioration cannot in the nature of things work with that
directness, with that sharp activity, and strong hope,
which they have who expect an immediate result. To
labor for a future, indefinite, gradual change, is like
growing acorns; to labor for an immediate change is
like growing wheat. In the latter case, the appointed
months are so definite, the harvest so near, and the
result so sure, that all have hope, and faith, and
industry; while few are found sowing acorn seed for
forests, which other hands, in another generation,
shall fell and use.
10
217 
NATURAL LAWS AND SPECIAL PROVIDENCES.
THE human mind tends to pass from one extreme of truth to the other. The mind of communities touches both extremes before it settles
down at the intermediate point of truth. There
is no great truth which, being pressed far enough
in one direction, will not meet another bearing up
against it from the opposite. There is, for instance,
the truth of man's liberty; press it far enough and it
will be met and restrained by the equal truth of
man's dependence. The truth of man's individuality; press it to a certain distance, and it will meet
another truth, equally certain-man's associated
life.  There is the truth of the necessity of helping men, and the other truth, just as important,
that if you help them you will destroy them;-for
there is nothing worse than help which impairs the
disposition of men to help themselves, and nothing
so bad as not to help them when they need help.
There is also the doctrine of free agency, and the
counter doctrine of dependence upon God. There is
no one great line of thought which, being pursued at
length, does not meet another coming from the opposite; and a man's mind should stand at the centre of
the wheel, and all truths should come to it from every
side as the spokes of one great wheel.
218 
NATURAL LAWS AND SPECIAL PROVIDENCES' 219
It is on this account that men vibrate between two
extremes; and only after wide investigation that they
take in all truth.
Before men had learned much of the globe, and of
physical laws, they were guided, in assigning causes
for the effects which they witnessed, by their veneration and imagination. When the imagination, instead of reason, guides ignorant men, they are almost
always wont to ascribe effects, whose causes are not
visible, to spiritual influence, infernal or supernal.
The progress of observation and investigation drives
men from these superstitious notions, and one effect
after another is wrested from the supposed agency of
spirits, and becomes affixed to its natural cause.
This was the case with celestial appearances-the
comets, the Aurora Borealis. This was the case also,
in a great measure, with diseases. It is not long since
pestilences, plagues, and many special forms of disease,
such as leprosy, and many varieties of convulsive
disease which affected the nervous system, were
regarded by the medical faculty, and by the church
itself; as the results of spiritual or supernatural causes.
It is only since the art of printing that these notions
have been in a measure done away. I remember, in
my own day, very long sermons to prove that the
cholera did not depend on natural agencies, but that
God held it in his hand, and dropped it down upon
the world.
There is no doubt that there are moral results to be
wrought out by all these natural phenomena, but it
was held that they were produced by preternatural
means. It is not many ages since a man would have 
NATURAL LAWS AND
been expelled from any sound church, if he did
not believe that diseases resulted from the direct
exercise of divine power, instead of intermediate
causation; and that healing was to be effected only
through some form of spiritual incantation.
The same was true of the common events of familiar
life. Men saw evidence of the agency of good and
of bad spirits around them, at all times, and in every
minute event. Since the world began this has been
common; and it is no commoner now than ever
before. Men have always been watching with superstitious fear, lest, some charm being forgotten, lurking mischief should gain advantage of them.
The growth of natural science has tended very
much to sweep away such views; first, from philosophical minds; gradually, as general information
increased, from the minds of all well-informed common men: and now, in the immense progress of
science and the diffusion of a knowledge of it among
the common people, there is a very marked tendency
to go to the opposite extreme, and not only to refer
each special effect to a corresponding natural cause,
but to deny that there are any effects which are the
results of divine volition. Some men are ready to
say that all things are effects of physical causes, and
that there is no immediate divine volition exerted upon
natural laws. This is as monstrous in science, as it is
absurd in religion. If men take the premise that all
effects to be expected in this world are provided for
in organized natural laws, and that there are none
which result from divine efficiency, they must go
through with all the conclusions.  They must hold
220 
SPECIAL PROVIDENCES.
that human intelligence is our only guide in
this world, or, in other words, is the only God of
natural powers; they must argue that no man will be
helped in this world except so far as he helps himself,
by finding out the paths of nature and walking in
them-a falsehood which is all the worse because it
is half true. For in making an axe, the head is of iron
and the edge of steel; but the head is the larger and
heavier part, while the edge is but a narrow strip.
So, with such a falsehood; the greater part of it is
true, but this is made only to add weight and power
to the cutting edge, which is false. They must
declare that the belief in a special and particular
providence is a superstition; that God works by
laws, and that he never interferes with or uses
them. They must believe that, consequently, prayer
is a mere poetic exercise; good to those that like
it, only because it reacts upon their feelings, and
soothes and calms them. They must suppose that
prayers which the heathen write, and which the wind
offers up for them by turning a wheel, like a mill, are
as effectual on the laws of nature as an humble
Christian's prayer. They must hold that the doctrine
of miracles is to be given up, as nothing but a superlative superstition. And, for this matter, such men usually do teach that miracles always happened in dark
ages, among ignorant men; that many of the same
results can now be produced by scientific causes; and
that a belief in them, as effects divinely produced, is
unworthy of an enlightened philosopher. 
I need not say how far men have drifted away
from the New  Testament, who have reached this
221 
NATURAL LAWVS AND
ground. Such a man is not only not a Christian, but
whatever natural religion he may have, if he be con sistent, he must reject the New Testament altogether,
as an authoritative guide, and give himself up to
Nature and Reason. For, if there be one truth more
especially taught in the Bible than another, it is the
fact of God's activity and influence in human life.
If there ever comes a day in which it can be shown
by science, that there is no active interference of the
divine creative will in the special affairs of men, science in that day will demolish the New Testament.
When it can be scientifically demonstrated that no
more effects are wrought in this world by the intentional interposition of divine volition, than those
which fall out in the way of ordinary and unhelped
natural causation, in that day, I am free to say, the
New Testament will be overthrown. It will be regarded as an amiable book, but one whose doctrines
have been refuted, and are passed away.
This doctrine of the presence and actual interference of God in the world, producing effects which
would not have fallen out otherwise, is taught in the
Bible as against idolatry, as against naturalism (in
the early chapters of John), as the argument and
foundation of prayer, of courage, of patience, and of
hope, and as a special development, among others,
of the incarnation of Christ to bring to light the reality of God, who wrought invisibly in life and nature,
both before and since.
It is to be admitted that this globe and its inhabitants are included in a system of physical laws; that
these are, in their nature, unchanged and unchange
222, 
SPECIAL PROVIDENCES.
able; that they are incapable of increase or decrease;
that they are sufficient for all ordinary purposes of
human life; that the welfare and happiness of men
depend largely upon a wise employment of them;
and that the progress of the race is largely to be
effected by their wise application of them. Not
only would I cast no obstacle in the way of scientific
research, but I hail it as the great almoner of God's
bounty.   Men  should  be instructed to  become
better acquainted with the laws and influences
which operate upon both the body and the mind,
and upon the natural world. Men will never be as
good Christians as they ought, until they know more
perfectly how their bodies are put together, and what
is in their own minds, and the natural laws of the
one and of the other. Science is yet to interpret Scripture, in many respects; and I am persuaded that all
the most characteristic elements of revealed orinspired
truth will in the end be corroborated and not harmed, by the progress of natural science. I believe in
everything that is true. I am not necessarily to
believe in everything that pretends to be true; but
when anything is proved, whatever it overturns, I am
bound to it by the allegiance with which I am
bound to God! Hle that denies the truth in or out
of the Bible, denies God! -
The progress of science lays a surer foundation
for a belief in God's active interference in human
affairs than has existed withlout it. When maturer
fruits of investigation shall be had, there can be no
doubt that science itself will establish our faith in
prayer, in miracles, and in special providence.
223 
NATURAL LAWS AND
There are respects in which natural laws are
beyond the reach of all human interference and con trol. There are spheres in which light and heat can not be touched and controlled. There are various
attractions which perform in their own way their own
work, beyond man's guidance or reach-such are the
great laws which bind together the stellar universe.
Great cuarents and passages of natural powers are put
entirely beyond man's hand.  But itis just as certain
that there are, also, in God's system of nature, another
class of laws which come close to us, and whose
office is, or seems to be, to minister to human life.
They are either modifications of great laws, or they
are separate laws. And in respect to these, I affirm
that they are not fructified, and do not perform their
function, till they are controlled by human volition.
God has made the agencies which concern human
life, to be of such a nature, that the huma~n mind s
necessary to tAefull development and greatest fruitfulness of natural laws.  It is supposed by many that
a natural law is perfect in itself; whereas it is perfected, in many instances, only when it is permeated
by human volition.
Electricity, for instance, plays a round of its own.
It has its own pastures, and its own great running
grounds. It performs a large function unknownbeyond our reach, and without our knowledge. But
so far as ordinary purposes of civilized life are
concerned, electricity does nothing till we have
taught it how to serve us; then it runs swifter races
for human convenience than ever were run before.
When the mind takes hold of it, electricity becomes
224 
SPECIAL PP,OVIDENCES.
a patient drudge; so that we now work by lightning,
which would never have done a single thing for us if
it had not been harnessed by the human mind. But
now, above the sea, and under the sea ere long, it
shall carry the messages of nations, flashing from the
East to the West, proclaiming war or heralding
peace, and performing the great offices of civilization. When man takes it by the head and says,
"Receive my bridle," and throws over it the saddle,
and says, "Take me for your rider," it becomes
patient and submissive, and acknowledges man as its
master.
Light performs a great amount of work,-whether
we are waking or sleeping; in its vast journeys
through the universe-in its sun-flashes and moonreflections; but man's mind seizes this law, and does
what Phaeton could not, drives it. We have it in our
dwelling. We make it work along our coasts. We
divide it, and set it at work in the garden and on the
farm. We give it the power of a living pencil, and
make it draw artists' pictures. And yet we are in the
midst of a carping set of philosophers who say that
we can obey natural laws, but cannot control them.
We do control them.
Water has a certain round of grand effects, and these
are performed whether a creature looks on, or not.
The ocean never asks man what it may do with its
own waves and upon its own domain!  The old Polar
Sea-the only mystery now left among the oceans of
the globe-has rolled for ages, by day and night, by
summer and winter, with no eye to watch it-except
from al)ove! That mighty unexplored wilderness of
10*
225 
NATURAL LAWS AND
mysterious water!-It does what it will, and is not
dependent upon man. But water is dependent upon
him for doing many things which it never could do
otherwise. While it works in nature and on the
globe, it is not subject to his will; but when it works
for human life, it immediately becomes his disciple.
Man seizes the law, and canals shoot forth, mills live,
irrigation turns barren heaths to gardens, tides dig
out channels, and the patient hydrostatic pump
drives down to her element the vast Leviathan.
Water could do none of these things without man's
help. The things which natural laws can do, without human volition, are not so many nor are they
more wonderful than the things which they do only
by the life-giving touch of man's mind.
Heat, in the sun, produces the seasons. How vast
is the great fire-place of the universe! Yet, compare
it with the sphere in which fire works under the dominion of man-in the forge, in the furnace, over the
blow-pipe, serving the domestic range, warming the
house, and pouring summer throughout the year
within the dwelling!
Look at Nature's Fruits.  There is but a beginning
in natural fruits, and they never, when left to nature
alone, reach beyond that point. WVhen a man finds
a crab-apple in the woods, he would not willingly find
it more than once; yet, brought to his own orchard,
it becomes a fine fruit. But did nature make the
pippin?  Nature had been trying her hand for years
and years, and had never been able to get beyond
the crab-apple.  Man says to her: "You are a bungling apprentice; I will make you a journeyman."
226 
SPECIAL PROVIDENCES.
Nature can make iron, but she never made a sword.
She never made a jack-knife, a steam-engine, a knife
and fork —nothing but bare, cold,'dead iron.
Now, is this a course of specious metaphysical reasoning?   Is not this truth reasonable?   Are not
these facts alleged conclusive? And if they be true,
what is the result? Nature has a certain crude, general function which natural laws perform of themselves, without any regard to men. But these laws
are made to be vitalized and directed to a higher
development by the control of the human mind and
will. The laws of the globe are to be taken hold of
by man's will, as really as the laws of the body are.
The secondary effects of natural laws are just as much
a part of their nature as the primary, and are of equal
importance. In fact, it is these that constitute the
elements of civilization.  While natural laws, in a
certain way, influence and control men, yet they are,
in the effects which they produce, just as much controlled by man, and just as dependent on him. If
nature should abandon men, they would die, and it
would become poverty-stricken. Let nature forget
us, and the heart would cease to beat. Tile pulsations of endless electrical currents would cease. On
the other hand, let man forget nature, and the city
would crumble, and go back to a wilderness; the
garden which had grown up from a thistle-ground,
would return to its native condition; cultivated seeds
would shrink back to their original poverty; and all
domestic animals would rebound to their wild state.
Nature needs man to keep her at work.
It is this view that settles all questions about man's
227 
NATURAL LAWS AND
necessity to obey. God has not put us before nature
to make us only its pupil, but also its master. We
are not alone to look up and take, but to look down
and control. We are not only to obey, but also to
rule. We are to obey for the sake of ruling. The
whole talk about the absolute and inflexible government of natural law has no foundation except in fools'
brains. It is a divided empire, and man's part is
more than nature's.  When God made man, he made
more of nature in him than he did in all the rest of
the world besides!
The question now arises-Is there a moral or scientific probability that God ever produces results by
natural laws, in this world, which otherwise would
not have been produced.If we drive natural laws,
cannot God do it? I hold, because the Bible teaches
it, and now I hold it more because nature and science
teach it, that there are millions of results that neve:
would have fallen out in the course of nature, that
are now continually happening on account of God's
special mercy. The doctrine of a special providence
is this. God administers natural laws-of the mind,
the body, and the outward world-so as to produce
effects which they never would have done of themselves.  Man can do this, and why not God?  By a
wise use of natural laws man can make the difference
between comfort and discomfort. Ile can till the
farm, and make the seasons serve him. Hie can take
natural laws, and gird himself about with them, so
that they shall make him rich, and wise, and strong.
Men can do it for themselves-why cannot God do
it for them?  Men can do it for their children-for
228 
SPECIAL PROYIDENCES.
their neighbors' children-for scores and hundreds of
persons. A farmer that administers his estate wisely,
will have enough, not only for himself, but for others.
His children will be fed, the neighborhood supplied,
and the veins of commerce swollen by the overplus
of his sagacity. A man can say to the light, to the
water, to the seasons, " I will, by you, make a special
providence for this whole town," and he can do it;
for if he falls back, there will not be abundance, but
if he goes forward there will be. That is not all.
A  man may be put at a point where-as Napoleon
was, or Wellington in Spain, or Sir John Moore in
the north of Portugal, or Clive in India-he can
make a special providence for a nation, for a race, for
an age, for one land or for the globe! Now God can
do a great deal more than man, and a great deal better.  Is there any objection to such a doctrine?
In regard to the doctrine of prayer, many men say,
"Do you suppose that God will make any difference,
whether you pray or not?"  The reply is, that God
can, if he chooses. But whether he will, or not,
depends very much on how I pray, and what I pray
for. I can give my boy a book or a bow every day
in the year, but whether I will, or not, is another
thing. God will not do for men what men can do
for themselves. Nor will he do for them at present,
what they, after a proper course of development,
will by and by be able to do for themselves. But a
man has a right to go up along the path of his weakness, and say, " I have done what I could; now hear
my prayer, and do for me what I cannot do for
myself." And if it is a thing that is needed, God
229 
NATURAL LAWS AND
will answer the prayer. For he loves to give needed
things better than earthly parents love to give good
gifts to their children.   Suppose  you have been
travelling in the cars, with your child, and it becomes
restless with fatigue. Its rest has been broken by
night-travelling, and it is hungry and asks for food.
But a bank of snow lies across the track, and the
train cannot go on. It waits. Anybody would feel
pity for such a child-even if it were a negro's!
But how much more if it were his own? And if it
be my child, and says, " Pa, water, water,"-it cuts
me to the heart to hear it! But by and by, with
double and treble elements of iron, the track is
opened, the way is cleared, and we are hurried on to
the next station. The first bolt I make is into the
hotel; for I am hungry, not for myself, but for the
child; and I break through the crowd back again
into the car, with bread in my hands for the child.
Ah, do you suppose the bread is half so sweet to his
mouth as to my eyes that watch his eager eating?
But this is God's figure and not mine. He declares
that he is more willing to give good gifts to them that
ask him, than parents are to give to their children.
Have you ever prayed on this principle and found
your prayer unanswered? Not prayer for amusement; for some men pray, who begin with Adam,
and come leisurely down all the way through to " thy
kingdom come," and then wind up with the " power
and glory, forever and ever, Amen." That is not
prayer; or at least it is not such praying as will
be answered.   But did you ever, under the pressure
of a real want, go to God and say, "Thou, Father,
230 
SPECIAL PROVIDENCES.
canst help me; give me thine aid," and not have
your prayer answered?  Glorious old Martin Luther
knew how to pray.  He used to take one of God's
promises, and laying it down, would say, "Now,
Lord, here is thy word!  If thou dost not keep it, I
will never believe thee again." This may be called
audacious, but it was not audacity in such a Christian
as Luther.
What is needed is, that we should take a larger and
broader faith, and we shall then have no difficulty
with special providences, or miracles, or prayer; but
all their problems will be solved, and their mysteries
cleared away.
231 
THE DEAD CHRIST.
No one conversant with Christian art is ignorant of
the multitudes of pictures and carvings of the Dead
Christ. Every name of eminence has attempted the
subject; and the great masters have again and again
repeated their conceptions.
One of the most affecting that ever came under
our eye, is that in the National Gallery of London,
by Francia, we believe. The Saviour is extended
across his mother's lap, an angel sustains his head,
and another his feet. We gazed long at the sublime
face, now motionless and cold, pale and silent. All
the majesty of his life, the scenes of his wonderful
sorrow, came back to us; and, whether it was our
imagination or the real expression of the picture, we
certainly felt that we beheld the sorrow that slew the
Saviour and the love which conquered the sorrow,
both together; so that it seemed to us that his thorned
head was overspread with sadness, only that upon it
victorious love might stand forth more evidently triumphant. It was not a boisterous triumph, nor even
a radiant victory that was expressed, but the calm,
serene, silent victory of patience and unutterable
affection. We are not fond of this class of subjects.
But this one seemed to be redeemed from the weakness
of death, and to suggest no thought of the crushing
of power, the dishonoring of life, but only of a strug 232 
THE DEAD CHRIST.
gle in which Death was the opening of a gate for a
spirit to march forth to victory!
In art, and merely as art, the Dead Christ is but
barely tolerable. In religion, and as a part of religion, it is altogether to be disallowed. And yet, in
the preaching of Christ, how many preach a Living
Christ? It is a suffering Christ, a tempted Christ, a
dying Christ, a buried Christ. Some mysterious benefit is hoped from a devout contemplation of such a
moving theme. But is the mere natural relation of
such scenes to the human sympathies, to be compared with the presentation of Christ-risen, glorified, triumphantly reigning; and reigning not for his
own enjoyment, but for the succor, the teaching, and
the perfection of his earthly children? Our Saviour
does not live behind eighteen hundred years ago.
We are not to be pilgrims along the misty track of
Time, waiting for him in Jerusalem, and lingering in
the garden. That he might not be local, a being of
one age and nation, he arose to that blazing centre
which knows no periods, no epoch, no time, but is the
eternal Now; Hie is to every age a Present Saviour
-to every soul a Living Saviour!  To our mind he is
clothed with attributes then exhibited, when he wore
his earthly form; but, having gained a clear conception of what Christ qvas, that he si8, and that we are
to transfer in our thoughts to the invisible One, perpetually hovering near us. The hope and the joy of
Christians are not in the past, but in the present. It
is believed that Christ knows them, that he knows
them as individuals, by name, in all their personal
peculiarities; that he feels that living and efficient
233 
THE DEAD CHRIST.
sympathy for them which their daily necessities require; that his heart yearns, that his eye follows
them, that his pity enfolds them.
Christians are glad of a Saviour suffering and slain,
because through this experience they are able to form
a conception of what nature is in Him now. And
their great and peculiar need is a Christ who knows
all their weaknesses of disposition without feeling disgust; who knows all their sins without bitterness;
who knows their faults and foibles without contempt;
who knows their daily practical difficulties, their
cares, their family troubles, their business perplexities, and who knows just how all these things, acting
on the peculiar temperament which each possesses,
hinders his piety, mars his joy, fills him with doubts,
and afflicts him with burdens.
It requires no great stretch of faith to believe that
Christ has opened up a way to save those who come to
him already converted out of their sins. But to come
blushing from the commission of some sinful thing,
full of conscious meanness, and half-despairing, inasmuch as, a hundred times before, you have promised
to renounce evil, and have broken the promise;when in the quick and stinging confusion of shame
and grief and discouragement, you can raise up the
vision of a merciful Christ, looking intently upon
you, and saying, "Son, now above all other times,
come to me, for I am the only one that hath the patience and the power to bring thee out of all these passes
and temptations;" this it is, indeed, to have a
Living Christ! Dowe enough preach a Living Christ?
Do we not stumble, just as the Roman Catholic
234 
THIE DEAD CHRIST.
often does, by laying hold of the earthly form of
Christ, the life and symbols of his love; and by
endeavoring to extract from the past, that which the
grave shall never give, nor the dark past, but which
shall come, if at all, right down from thie Living
Heart of the Companionable Saviour, who though
glorified in heaven, is none the less the earthly Guide
of his people?
The faults of preaching, when such faults exist, are
magnified in Christian experience. Few persons look
up.  Many look back, and wonder that seeing the
place where Jesus lay, they see no angels there, and
hear no voice. Their Christ is the Dead Christ. Some
persons long for a tender heart, for impassioned experience, for more earnest love. They wander in Gethsemane. They linger on the mount beneath the olive
trees. They shudder upon Calvary. They search the
garden for the grave. But Gethsemane that once
heard the groans, now hears them no more. The
olives yield their fruit, but no Saviour sits beneath
their covering shadows. The hill, if one might hear
its silent voice, would cry out "i Here Hie was, but is
no longer."  The grave would murmur, "Come see
where He lay-He is not here, lie is arisen."  And
all the scenes of the past have now but one office, to
instruct us how to imagine and to lay hold of a Liv
ing and a Present Saviour.
235 
AN EXPOSITION.
"Whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust. And
besides this, 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 that ye shall neither be barren nor
unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.  But he that
lacketh these things is blind, and cannot see afar off, and hath forgotten that he was purged from his old sins. Wherefore the rather,
brethren, give diligence to make your calling and election sure: for
if ye do these things, ye shall never fall: for so an entrance shall be
ministered unto you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of the
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."-2 PET. i. 4-11.
THis is a passage keyed to the note of encouragement. It sets forth the virtues which cost us most,
but which we are most easily tempted to dispense
with; and shows that these very qualities have a
special relation to our future wealth and glory. The
line of thought is this-as if the Christian graces presented themselves to the apostle's mind as so many
golden links in a chain or necklace, which can never
have too many, which is rich and valuable not alone
by the quality of each link but by the number of them
-he urges us to add one to the other in consecutive
order. To faith, add the golden link of virtue; to virtue, knowledge; to knowledge, temperance; to temper  236 
AN EXPOSITION.
ance, patience; to patience, godliness; to godliness,
brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love.
These qualities shall make the life blessed; that is,
truthful. They shall not be like ragged and weary
pilgrims in a barren and unfruitful desert, but like
men that walk in orchards and gardens, with abundance on every hand.
But besides the present blessing, the apostle enunciates the blessed truth that these virtues, by their
number and richness, will have a determining influence upon our reception into heaven, and our condition there.
The force of this statement is lost in our common
version, because there are no latent mneanings and
associations attached to the English words such as
belong to the original. Among the ancient customs
of Greece, none is more eminent than the expressing
good will to society by providing public entertainments.  These are to be distinguished from feasts.
They were entertainments or spectacles, exhibitions
in theatres and circuses, magnificent processions,
public adornments, arches, wreaths, and the full
wealth of music. These exhibitions took place on
memorable days, commemorative of public events.
They celebrated victories, they were especially prepared as honors for public benefactors: and when
citizens who led the nation's armies returned from
war victorious, the scale of the entertainment was
commensurate not only with achievements of the victorious general, but with the gladness and exhilara.
tion of the public mind.
237 
AN EXPOSITION.
Now, the preparing of these entertainments and
receptions was not the business of the government
but of private individuals.
Rich men, who desired to win popularity, were
permitted to bear the expenses of them. And this
was a kind of inferior philanthropy. Among us
men build hospitals, found libraries, endow colleges,
establish funds for various charities. But such things
were not known then. And these popular exhibitions stood in their place, as the way in which rich
men expressed generosity, munificence and philanthropy. And as these entertainments were in their
nature expensive, so they grew more and more so, by
the desire of men to rival each other, each one endeavoring to surpass all that had gone before. The verb
employed here is epichoregethesetai (eT7rtyopy76Ocarat.)
It is from choregos, (%op7yog) a choir-leader, a bandleader. Now as the charge of these enormous choral
exhibitions, in which scenic effects were added to the
utmost wealth of music, was the means by which men
exhibited their liberality, so, in time, the prodigality
with which rich men did spend their means became
proverbial; and it introduced a new word into the
language, for the verb, derived from %opqyog, came
to signify lavish abundance, profusion without limit.
Just as Epicurus has given his own name to be a word
of force, epicurean; so this name choregos, the name
of a class of men, came to signify that which these
men were wont to do.
It is not a little remarkable that the apostle should
have selected this word. It is one of those flint
238 
AN EXPOSITION.
lords, which being struck, flash forth with a hundred
sparks of association.
When he would encourage Christians to endure
hardships, and to persevere in all virtues, he begins
to tell them how blessed it would make them here;
and then glancing forward, and beginning to speak
of the effect which it would have hereafter, there rose
up in his view a great city, like Athens in the days of
her integrity; a city that glowed with marbles as the
north glows with crystal mountains; whose temples
glittered on every street; and from whose grand portals, as when Alcibiades or Pericles returned from victory, the whole population poured out, with chaplets
of flowers on their heads, with wreaths in their hands,
with costly sacrifices led by white-robed priests; with
chanting choirs in some part singing peans; and vast
bands of instrumental music interluding, or carrying
forward the patriotic anthem alone.  And, with this
vision before him, Peter cries out, If ye do these
things ye shall not be barren even here; and hereafter
a universal choral outbreak from the city of God shall
meet you. And you shall be received by the whole
glorified throng, amid every demonstration of gladness, triumph, and honor. All this, historically, lay
buried up in the word e7rtop4/e04l'at.
There is one other element that may be noted, and
that is, that as the care and conduct of these ancient
public receptions were allowed, as an honor, to stand
upon the wealth and generosity of some public benefactor, so the apostle, carrying out the figure, means
to say, that when we are arriving at our home in
heaven, when we are drawing nigh to the open gates,
239 
AN EXPOSITION.
and are about to enter, it is through the riches of the
goodness of God that we shall not go in unnoticed or
alone, but shall be met and greeted by a great and
innumerable company whom He shall bid to colme
out, clad in the white robes "which the saints do
wear," with harps in their hands, and with songs and
salutations of joy upon their lips, to conduct us in triumphal procession into His Throne, that so "an
abundant entrance maybe ministered unto us." This
is the meaning of the passage.  The word abundantly
is not happy in its function here. The true meaning
is, For so a choral and processional greeting and
entrance shall be given to you, by the goodness, or
wealth, or abundance of Jesus Christ. In other
words, the magnificence and costliness of the reception shall be according to the wealth of Christ's
heart.
And what a thought! That the virtuous lives, the
heroic deeds which men perform on earth, are not
unheeded, though they may be performed in obscurity, and buried in the cons,ousness of the heart of the
actor; that human life lies open to the inspection of
heaven; that a cloud of witnesses behold our strife,
our defeat, or our victory; that though, to all intents,
we may be far off from heaven, since we are distant
by the number of years that lie between-by the
separation of time rather than space-that yet heaven
is near to us; that it broods us, watches us, sympathizes
with us; that though the holy and just have gone
home to heaven, they are not separated from the
struggling company on earth; that they look down
upon us here, beholding our journey thither, and
240 
AN EXPOSITION.
await our arrival that they may greet us with the
surprise of triumphal entrance! This is the grand
idea that rose before the mind of the apostle, which
is so dimly conveyed in our imperfect translation.
11
241 
THE EPISCOPAL SERVICE.
TEm Chouchman of this city has a kind notice
of some remarks made by us in the Independent.
We are anxious that our parishioners and readers
should reap what benefit they can from reading it,
and we spread it before them:
" Among the miscellaneous matter of the present number [Feb.
14th] will be found part of an article on " Churches and Pulpits,"
communicated to the Independent by the Rev. Henry Ward
Beecher. It contains much that is sound on the subject of the place
where the preacher is located, and the description of box in which he
is ordinarily confined. It is good as far as it goes. But the truth is,
that in the early Church the present style of pulpit was unknown.
Sermons were originally delivered from the steps of the altar. Bingham, in his' Antiquities of the Christian Church,' tells us that the ordinary place of preaching was the altar. While quoting from Mr.
Beecher, it may, perhaps, not be uninteresting to our readers to
know what a'High Puritan' thinks of the Choral Service of the
Church."
The Churchman then extracts a portion of a letter from Stratford-on-Avon, published in the Star
Papers, and proceeds:
"It is gratifying to read an extract so entirely commendable as
this. We trust it may have its influence on Mr. Beecher's congregation. It would certainly be a perfectly orthodox proceeding for Mr.
B., when he gets into his new church, not only to have an altar,
from the steps of which to speak to the people, but to have a choir
of boys, properly surpliced, to make the responses and the Amens in
the service, which, of course, would be that of the Episcopal Church,
242 
THE EPISCOPAL SERVICE.
of which Mr. Beecher's mother is said to have been an exemplary member. Congregational churches in England do this; why should not
Mr. Beecher? We have before us the last number of the Musical
Review and Gazette, published in this city, which contains the following extract from the private correspondence of an American lady
(the daughter of a New England clergyman) now absent in Europe.
'A  few Sabbaths ago we attended service at Surrey chapel, the
place formerly occupied by Rowland Hill. Rev. Newman Hall is
now the pastor, an interesting preacher, though in nothing remarkble. Though a Congregational church, the service of the Church of
England is still used, and is chanted by the whole congregation with
so much taste, fervor, and devotion, that it is really heavenly. If
the service would always be performed in such a manner, I should
never wish for any other. I only wish you could hear it. I find
congregational singing is everywhere the custom, and I think I shall
soon become so fond of it that I shall not enjoy any other. It does
seem much more hearty and much more devotional.' If the service
of the Church of England is deemed sound in a Congregational church
in England, why would not the service of the Episcopal Church of
this country be equally acceptable and'sound' in Mr. Beecher's
church in Brooklyn?"
1. We have never had a doubt as to the excellence
of the Episcopal service in pubJic worship.  We do
doubt whether the constant repetition of it as the sole
method of worship, is the best for all. But we are
quite willing to leave that to the judgment and experience of each person for himself. And if, on
trial, this service is found sufficient for their religious
wants, not only would we not dissuade men from its
use, but we would do all in our power to make it
more useful to them. And this we say without respect to persons. Should our own children find their
religious wants better met in the service of the Episcopal Church than in the Plymouth Congregational
Church, we should take them by the hand and lead
243 
THE EPISCOPAL SERVICE.
them to its altars, and commit them to God's gtrace,
through the ministration of the Episcopal communion, with unhesitating conviction that if they did not
profit there, it would be their own fault! I
Whether the Episcopal Church is one that builds
up men in holiness is not an open question. There
are too many saints rejoicing in heaven, and too
many of the noblest Christians yet laboring on earth,
who have derived their religious life through the
teachings and offices of that Church, to leave any
impartial mind in any doubt. We have not a word
of controversy with Christian men who accept the
service of that Church as the best means of enriching
their faith.
Nor are we unmindful of the debt of gratitude
which we, and the whole Christian world, owe to the
scholars, the teachers, the divines, and the bishops
of that Church. Whatever historic faults may be
raked up against it, we firmly believe that few
bodies of Christian men, in so long a succession, can
look back upon so many noble Christian teachers, or
so much fruit of Christian living! And no man can
excite in us any unpleasant feeling by a just eulogy
of  the  Episcopal  Christian  brotherhood.   Their
merited praise brings unalloyed pleasure to us: and
when, in prayer, we ask God's blessing on his
Church on earth,.we mean that Church as much as
our own. We mean every brotherhood of Christian
men who are, according to their best light, worshiping God and loving men.
2. But, now, will our Christian brethren of the
Churchman accord to us, as Christians in Congrega
244 
THE EPISCOPAL SERVICE.
ional church-fellowship, the same charity and liberty
which we accord to them? We claim that, for ourselves and for the most of those who consort with us,
our method of Christian worship is more useful, more
edifying and therefore better than any other. Not
better for everybody, but better for us. While we
say frankly and heartily to child, friend, or parishioner-" If Christ is revealed to you better by the
worship and service of the Episcopal Church, do not
hesitate or fail to accept it,"-will the Churchman
say the same to its friends, in respect to the Christian service and worship of the Congregational
brotherhood?
We take this broad ground, that every man is at
liberty to employ whatever form of religious worship is best adapted to develop and maintain in him
the true Christian life. And we hold that each man
must determine this for himself; and that when it
has been determined, every Christian is bound conscientiously to respect another's conscience!   Let
every man be fully convinced in his own mind.
3. As to the altar, we agree with the Churchman
that it would be entirely orthodox to have an "altar"
in the new church. To those who wish them, and
who can make them serviceable, there is no reason
in our day why they should be denied. So might
the ark of the covenant, and tables of shew-bread,
and the high priest's breast-plate, and many other
things of a symbolic use, be employed. But is it a
duty to have an altar? Can we not offer service,
without these symbols, acceptably to God? If an
education makes them a hindrance and not a help,
245 
THE EPISCOPAL SERVICE.
are we to have them intruded upon us as necessary
parts of worship?
We believe in Christ as a sacrifice, once offered
up for all and forever. We need no visible altar
upon which to lay our invisible sacrifice.  Faith is
to us better than sight by means of symbols.
As to " surpliced boys "-we have them already.
The whole congregatiou is a choir, and our boys,
bright and happy, unite and respond with their elders.
The surplice which they wear is just that thing
which their dear mothers threw over them when
they left home. And angels' hands could do no
more than mothers' hands do for darling children 
And now, in respect to this whole matter, we
accord to our Episcopal brethren everything that
they can ask, except the right of making their liberty our law. When we are satisfied that their
service and method are better adapted to us than
our own, and more certain to promote piety, we shall
unhesitatingly adopt them; but so long as we believe,
under the circumstances, that our method of worship
is better for us than any other, which shall we follow-the judgment of other men in our behalf, or
our own judgment?
246 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
THE discussion of the question of Liturgies in Congregational churches is sufficiently novel to attract
general attention. It ought not to be supposed, however, that this is a discussion which has arisen upon
foregone facts. It has been begun for the sake of producing facts.
If any church, or churches, had gone forward in
the exercise of their own rights, to frame a liturgy
and to employ it; if it had been said that such
church or churches had no right to do so; and if
this discussion were in the nature of an examination
of such churches on the one hand, and a defence of
them on the other, we need not say on which side we
should stand. Every true church has the right to
determine the method of conducting its own public
worship. If they are satisfied with their own services, no one has a right to call them to account.
But, in such cases, no one is bound to feel an interest
in them, in spite of his own taste. If one church
loves a liturgy, the neighboring church is not bound
to love it, nor to relish the use of it, nor maintain that
fellowship which can stand only in common sympathies.
The use of a liturgy, then, ought not to work
ecclesiastical disfellowship. But, on the other hand,
there is no cause of complaint if it does morally and
socially alienate brethren of coordinate churches
from sympathy and cooperation in worship.
247 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
But the case, at present, is far less serious than this.
All that has been done, so far as the public know, is
this: Some Christian brethren suspect that a great
advantage would often accrue to Congregational
churches if a change were to take place, by which
the whole body of worshippers were made to take a
more active part in the public services; and they
believe that certain fixed forms of worship, to be used
by the whole congregation in common, or responsively, would do much toward enlisting a more
active participation of the whole people in public
worship.
We certainly think that much needs to be done to
inspire the services of our churches with more
interest; and that, in some way, the whole congregation should become cooperative in public worship.
But we are clearly of opinion that a liturgy in
whole or in part, will be of very little service. The
trouble in our churches is the want of vital Christian
feeling. A liturgy will not produce that.
We do not think it needful to discuss the merits of
liturgies. They are, under some circumstances, useful. But they belong to a system of helps which the
whole history and spirit of Congregationalism disowns. And it is not to be supposed that the Congregational churches will change the whole spirit of their
economy for any slender advantages which may be
supposed to linger within fixed and prescribed forms
of worship. For our own part, if we were ready for
a full liturgy, we sholld prefer the Episcopal, which
has the extrinsic merits of age and long usage, and
various historic associations.  But it is not proposed
218 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
to adopt a full liturgy. It is not, we believe, proposed to advocate a common and general form. A
mixed service, in part liturgical and in part extemporaneous, it is thought, would be serviceable in sQme
single churches.
We have no objection to the trial by any church
that chooses to do it. But we are sure that the
experiment will fail. The free element will overrun
the fixed forms and choke them; or else, if the forms
are clung to, they will expel the extemporaneous elements, and end in drawing the church over to a full
liturgical service. But both of these elements, the
movable and the fixed, the voluntary and the prescribed, the extemporaneous and the formal, can not
coexist. The one will kill the other.
The experiment is not new.  Several denominations have already tried it, the Moravians and the
Methodists being of the number. But of what
degree of benefit in the Methodist Episcopal service,
is the partial liturgy which is in the Book? Not
half of their people know that there is such a thing.
It is not compulsory. It is interpolated by extemporaneous offices of devotion; and the result has been
that the forms stand empty and soulless, while the
life and power of the Methodist worship lies in the
extemporaneons fervor of minister and people.
We think that this would be the case still more
among Congregational churches. And one or two
things would, in time, happen.  Either the liturgy
would wither and hang upon the service like a last
year's dried blossom dangling upon the vine, or those
churches which retained liturgies with benefit, would
11*
249 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
shrink away wholly from extemporaneous services.
In this last case, a gradual division would take place,
and some Congregational churches would be wholly
liturgical, and some anti-liturgical; and two effectual
policies of worship would soon strike division through
the brotherhood of churches.
There need not, however, be the least excitement
about this matter. No one need to fear that the old
Congregational churches are in danger of flying off
like a flock of birds into new trees. The old Congregational churches are not in danger of accepting an
innovation against which they have educated instincts
and hereditary historic prejudices as high as the walls
of Jerusalem.
Here, then, we stand. A great want exists in our
worship.   Half liturgies will never remedy that
want, and whole liturgies are just as bad.   But,
good or bad, the churches will never accept them.
It seems to us, then, a waste of time to attempt feeble
and uncongenial expedients. The stately simplicity
of Congregational worship resents all patches and
incongruous interpolations. We must abandon the
whole method, and go over in a body to real, earnest,
thorough liturgical services; or we must accept the
Congregational idea of extemporaneous worship in
all its fullness, and seek a remedy for lifelessness in a
more hearty use and proof of our own system. Any
cross between Congregational worship and liturgy
will be mongrel, and can neither live with health
nor propagate itself at all.
If then, it is said, that our public services are barren, we reply, they are. But not for want of common
250 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
forms of devotion; for, churches which employ these
forms, with every conceivable means of making them
effectual, are just as meagre as ours.  Indeed, if the
Methodist, the Baptist, the Presbyterian and the
Congregational churches be taken together, as having
practically an extemporaneous service, and the Episcopal Church be regarded as liturgical, we are not
unwilling to have a comparison made between the
two methods of worship, in the very respect of producing a common feeling of devotion in the whole
congregation.
If any single church-having tried the simplicity
of Congregational worship and failed, or, not having
failed-yet, if from some peculiarity of the congregation-some decided predilection for prescribed services-if such a church believes that it can do better
by half liturgical worship than by our usual methods
-then we would not put a straw in their way. We
would say, Go on; make your experiment. And
when enough time has elapsed to form a ripe judgment of the result, we will accept the trial for what
it shall have proved itself worth.
But it does not seem to us well to urge such a
course upon the Congregational churches before any
trial has been made. We do not think it needful to
ask hundreds of churches to embark in an enterprise
which must be regarded, even by its warmest advocates, as but an experiment.
Some who plead for an addition to the old Puritan
customs of public worship, do so because they
believe the present methods to be very fruitless and
meagie.  It is said that the services of the Sabbath
251 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
day, in the church, are barren, and especially defi.
cient in this, that the congregation, as such, bear no
sufficient part. They are sung for, prayed for, and
preached to; but they themselves have nothing to
do.   They  are  literally an audience;  they  are
hearers. They are not participants but recipients.
It is thought that forms of prayer, recitations of
Scripture, and responsive utterances, would go far
toward producing in the whole congregation a com mon interest in the religious worship, by making the
whole to bear a part.
So earnest are we that the whole people should
unite in public worship, that, if there were no better
way, we should certainly advocate a liturgy. But
we do not think that we have to go a step out of our
own system to find means for arousing and thoroughly
developing the religious feelings of the whole con gregation in public worship.
The fundamental idea of Roman Catholic worship
is, that the priest and the ordinances are depositories
of Divine grace that the people are simply recipients.
Protestant Christianity makes Christ the soul-fountain, and each individual Christian is his own priest.
A Catholic church has its public service administered by its priests; a Protestant church has its
service administered by its priests-which are THE
PEOPLE.
The social religious element is the distinctive peculiarity of Protestant Christianity. Our churches will
never fulfill their own social idea of public worship,
until it becomes the joint act of the whole congrega
252 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
tion. Not the separate worship of individuals sitting
together, but the mingling and harmonizing of the
individual devotion of the whole congregation.
The preaching meetings of our churches on the
Sabbath day, do not represent our whole idea of the
worship of Protestant churches. The prayer-meetings, the conference-meetings, the Bible-classes and
Sabbath-schools-these, together with the Sabbath
services, are to be regarded as composing the worship. We are to look for the full expression of our
peculiar ideas, not in that part which the Sabbath
day and the public assembly affords, but in all that
the church does in its minor meetings. And it will be
found that any well-instructed and rightly-trained
church is a body whose power resides in its whole
membership; that its worship is ministered to it by
its own members; and that the legitimate end of the
ordained ministry is to evolve a social religious ministering power in the congregation.
We  may now suggest some  reasons why our
churches do not to a greater degree fulfill their
design:
1. One of the most obvious reasons is, that ministers of the Gospel have not a clear and proper idea
of their functions. They know generally that they
are to preach to the community, and that they are to
edify the church. But to be a preacher of sermons,
a mere teacher in the pulpit, is not half a minister's
work. He is set to drill a body of Christian men, so
that they shall individually and collectively be a
witnessing and ministering body. The voice of the
whole church, and not the voice of its ministry, is
253 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
that which God appointed for the preaching of the
Gospel. If now a minister only preaches-and so
preaches that his brethren wish to hear no one speak
but himnself-if, instead of inspiring life-power in
them, which he then guides and trains them to fitly
express, he extinguishes their zeal, and fashions a
public sentiment so rigid and exacting that no man
in the church dare utter his feelings, his thoughts, or
his experiences, unless he can do it for edification,
(i. e., do it in rhetorical fluency, with logical precision,
and with a certain finish of literary good-breeding),
hle defeats the very end of his ministry, and practically
disowns the Congregational idea of a minister.
Thus we see that mai'iy churches are nothing but
listeners to a preacher. The society has an organic
life and function; but the church, in such cases, is
but little better than a roll of names of persons baptized, initiated, permitted to partake of the Lord's
Supper, and expected to enjoy a good sermon. But
to have a real life and function of their own, to have
a social, loving atmosphere into which each one
develops the blossoms of his religious life, to be a
body competent to edify itself, to build itself up, and
to stand, by its own vital power, as a multiform
instruction  in the  community-such  an  idea is
scarcely thought of. And hence it is that ministers
come to be mere instructors.   They do not  educate.  They do not train.  They are not seeking
to develop the gifts of the individual members of the
church-to drill them in the suitable exercise of
those gifts.  They seek to do good to their flock as
individual Christian men. But they do not group
2 ly- 4: 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
these individual Christian men into a community in
such a way that they give utterance as a church, by
their own voices, to the truth of Christ, or to their
experience of God's guidance and goodness. So that
the church is not an epitome of God's multitudinous
teachings; it is not the harmony of all the voices
with which Christ speaks to the souls of his children.
It is a mere class, coming together to hear what a
teacher shall say to them, and then going away and
profiting as best they may. Now a minister of the
Gospel should be a preacher of ideas, of the connection of ideas (which is theology); he should be a
teacher of duties, i. e., he should apply principles to
the experiences of life-he should strengthen, comfort, inspire, and warn his people; but all these
things should be but a part of a system of drill, by
which the whole church shall become in like manner a teaching body. iHe is to see that his members
are taught to pray-to pray with each other; to speak
-to speak to edification.   IIe is to develop the gifts
of each in such a way as that the whole church shall
have the benefit. One man is fitly a thinker; another
man is a man of observation and experience. One
has zeal and native power; another has richness of
heart and blessed simplicity.  One has courage, another has the power of consolation; one is powerful
in prayer, another in conversation. It is the duty of
the minister to bring forth these gifts and make them
the property of the whole church.  A church has a
right to the gifts of every one of its lmembers, and the
minister is set to disclose and develop them. Hie is
not to lean upon the strong; to avail himself of the
255 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
service of those already developed. It is his office to
take hold of every individual man, and to educate
him, so that he may bring forth the one, or five, or
ten talents which are committed to him, for the use
and profit of all his brethren.
A man of books, a man of ideas, a man of sermons,
is not Christ's idea of a minister. Follow me, and I
will make you fishers of men.   A minister is a man
of men. He is an inspirer and driller of men.
Is it a marvel that churches take little part in
public exercises?  They are not expected to do it.
The minister does not expect it. It is not for that
that he preaches.  He is a sermon-preacher, not a
church-trainer. The. people understand it so; they
go to church to have him pray for them. He is to
preach to them; he is to visit the sick, bury the dead,
marry the affianced, baptize the children, live in a
social relationship to a round of families, preach
twice on the Sabbath, keep the church free from
speculative heresies. But the power that lies in so
many hearts dormant, the united power of such a body
of witnesses as the church would be if it had a real
voice, if it rose up and spoke, week by week, to the
people-that is scarcely dreamed of.
Now, the church ought to be a hundred times
stronger than the minister. The pews ought to have
more power than the pulpit. No minister has done
his duty who is himself the central power in a congregation. He is to be a power-producer; he is to
see the success of his ministry in the church which
he builds up. And as the architect stands dwarfed
and trembling in the presence of the cathedral which
256 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
he has himself builded, when all its walls and columns have gone up, and all its arches are completed,
and all its pinnacles and spires lift up their heads to
God everlastingly-so a pastor should stand in a vast
disproportion of strength before the fullness of the
power of his own church. For, can any one heart,
either by original gift or by study, ever equal all the
gifts which God bestows upon a hundred men?  Is
not all the work of Christ in a hundred souls more
rich and wonderful than ever can be a single individual's experience?  Is there one flower created
equal to a whole prairie or garden, sheeted. with the
light and perfumed with the fragrance of a hundred
flowers growing in profusion?
God's work in the human soul, day by day, is the
most illustrious of all the events which history chronicles.   Other events are more obvious, and more
impressive to our vulgar senses, that love the flash
and sound of physical deeds. But the watch ings, the fears translated to victory, the faith and
glow of love, the aspirations and achievements, the
visions of heaven, the peace of God descending thence
-there are no other things of such dignity as these,
nor, when simply uttered, of such power. Indeed,
the supremest power of Divine truth is not when it is
uttered in idea-form, or as apprehended by intellect,
but when exhibited in heart-forms, or as it is evolved
in actual life-experiences. And there is something
sublime in the conception of a great assembly of men
-holding forth some one truth, first by the voice of
its teacher, and then reflecting upon it from a hun dred hearts that light by which God taught it pecu
257 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
liarly to them; so that at length each should behold
the glowing truth, not in the narrow line of his own
experience, but in the clustered fullness of the experi ence of multitudes. Such preaching by the voice of
the whole church would have a power with the com munity of which now we have no idea except from
analogies. Let a hundred merchants and eminent
mechanics-known and trusted men-gather in some
vast hall in New York, and testify in regard to some
new method of gainingwealth. Let them, one by one,
declare the reality of the riches, exhibit his own win nings, declare the facility with which thousands more
could acquire, and that joint testimony of a hundred
honest men would strike a fever through a city in a
day, and the veins and arteries of every occupation
would throb with impatient desire. Such is the
power given to a truth when many men, corroborating it, give it a blessed panic-power. A truth borne
forth upon the power of a single heart is great; but
what when it is sent forth upon the blasts of a thousand hearts?  We have made proof of truth-power
only in narrow lines. There is to be a development,
of which we suspect little, of the power of truth swept
along the tide of enthusiasm which sympathetic multitudes give. Conversions, then, will be like lightning strokes. For it is not enough for a man to have
an idea of truth-he needs to have a moral shock, a
soul-stroke, that shall electrify his being, and give
to the truth instantaneous and overwhelming power.
This enthusiasm comes from God. Like other gifts,
it comes instrumentally. The simultaneous preach
258 
CONGREGATIONAL LITURGY.
ing of the Gospel by communities will be an instrument of such results.
The first step, then, toward a larger participation
on the part of the congregation in public worship is
to begin in the minister's own heart and design.
And so superficial a thing as a common form of
prayer, or a joint confession, or a psalmic response,
will not train a church. There must be a common
life in the church.  It must be a minister's conception of his office and function, not merely to impart
ideas; but by an impartation of ideas, and feeling, and
personal social influence, to impart a real, COMMON religious life to the church. When that exists, there will
be no more trouble about unity and interest in a congregation. They will be like a rich soil full of roots
and seeds, that shoot up in exuberant richness, and
though differing through genus and species, yet growing in perfect harmony. But a dead church with a
liturgy on the top of it is like a sand desert covered
with artificial bouquets. It is bright for the moment.
But it is fictitious and fruitless. There are no roots
to the flowers.  There is no soil for roots.   The
utmost that a liturgy can do upon the chilly bosom
of an undeveloped, untrained church is, to cover its
nakedness with a faint shadow of what they fain
would have, but cannot get.
2,9 
(CHIURCHES AND ORGANS,
WHEN a church is to be built, the question usually
is from the outside to the inside, and not from inside
to out. It is not said, "i Here are a thousand people;
in our system of worship the effects to be produced
require such and such conditions for the congregation, and the church building must go up around
these uses and be but an instrument of them." It is
much more often the case that the question takes
this form: "Where shall we put it? In what style
shall it be built?  Who shall be the architect? HIow
high shall the steeple be, and how fine can we afford
to make the interior?" Then, when these questions
are settled, it is also, incidentally, a matter of consideration how to seat the people, and whether the
building can be made available for hearing. As to
the pulpit, but one thing is usually considered necessary, and that is, that it should be put as far as possible from all sympathetic contact with the people to
be influenced by it; that it should be so constructed
as to take away from the speaker, as far as it can be
done, every chance of exerting any influence upon
those whom he addresses. Therefore the pulpit is
ribbed up on the sides, set back against the wall,
where it looks like a barn-swallow's nest plastered on
some beam. In this way the minister is as much as
possible kept out of the way of the people, and all
260 
CHURCHE.S AND ORGANS.
that is left is his voice. Posture, free gesture, motion,
advance or retreat, and that most effective of all gestures, the full form of an earnest man, from head
to foot, right before the people; in short, the whole
advantage which the body gives when thrown into
argument or persuasion, are lost without any equivalent gain. In this sacred mahogany tub or rectangular box, the man learns every  kind of hidden
awkwardness. Hle stands on one leg and crooks the
other, like a slumbering horse at a hitching-post; he
leans now on one side of the cushion, or lolls on the
other side. And when a man, thoroughly trained by
one of these dungeon pulpits to regard his legs and
feet as superfluous, except in some awkward and
uncouth way to crutch him up to the level of his
cushion and paper, is brought out upon an open platform, it is amusing to watch the inconvenience to
him of having legs at all, and his various experiments
and blushing considerations of what he shall do with
them!
Is it any wonder that so little is done by preaching,
when, in a great church, with a small congregation,
so scattered that no two persons touch each other, the
bust of a man, peering above a bulwark, reads a stale
manuscript to people the nearest of whom is not less
than twenty-five feet from him? The wonder is that
anything is ever accomplished. Daniel Webster is reported to have said, that no lawyer would risk his reputation before a jury if he had to speak from a pulpit,
and that he considered the survival of Christianity in
spite of pulpits as one of the evidences of its divinity
' *.-" ew-!
4
261 
CHEIuRCHES AND ORGANS.
We do not vouch for the truth of this as an anecdote,
but we indorse it as a truth in philosophy.
Next comes the question, shall we have an organ?
What do they Want an organ for?  We  suspect that
it would be difficult for the most part of the congre gation to say, unless it were that other fashionable
churches had organs; or, that it formed a cheerful
and pleasant interlude to the tediousness of other
parts of worship.
But, Young America means to have an Organ!
And the question is not, how large a one is needed;
but, how large a sum can be raised to buy it.  If an
organ of ten stops is good, it is innocently reasoned,
an organ of twenty would be twice as good. As soon
as it is known that an organ is to be built, down
come the agents of various organ establishments, each
one proving all the rest to be mere pretenders, and
their work trash. Then comes bidding and underbid ding. The builder that will give the most for the
money is to have the job. One will, for the said
number of dollars, give fifteen stops, another twenty,
another twenty-five, and so he gets the organ. Now,
a stop, in the understanding of a church committee, is
a small piece of wood sticking out of the organ by
the side of the manuals, with a piece of ivory on the
end of it, with some name cut and blacked in, as
"Pedal," "Coupler, Swell, and Choir," "Op. Diap ason," "St. Diapason," etc.   Of course a skillful
builder can easily multiply stops fast enough, if the
church committee are only ignorant enough. To cut
a stop in two, and give two registers to it, makes two
- ou.:of one in a manner very inexpensive to the
262 
CHURCHES AND ORGANS.
builder, and quite satisfactory to most church committees. Or, to let a stop run only half way through
the organ, speaking only either in the upper or the
lower half; or better yet, to let stops run in separate
pipes through half the organ and then flow together
into one series of pipes for the bass, so that, like a
river, many small streams meet and go out to sea in
one channel-these and many other methods enable
a skillful organ-builder to gratify the vanity of a
church and the solidity of his own pocket at the same
time.
But, when the organ is bought, put up, paid for,
then comes the tug of war. What is an organ good
for, at any rate? To what end is it put into the
church?  Can any one tell us?  Or, must we come
back to the subject, and give our own notions?
263 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.*
Is any other place, fellow-citizens, I should have
claimed  for  myself  to-day personal liberty and
exemption from public service, but from my own
city I can claim no such exemption, since I believe
that every man ought to hold his services subject to
the will and control of his fellow-citizens upon such
an occasion as this, in every way that shall conduce
to virtue, to public spirit and to patriotism.
We have returned from the laying of the corner
stone of a City Armory- a circumstance not of so
much interest in itself as in the historic incidents
connected with it. For, that structure is to stand
upon the site of the old Free Library, the cornerstone of which was laid some thirty-three years ago
with imposing ceremonies.   Officiating upon that
occasion, and dignifying it by his presence, was that
immortal man and true patriot, Lafayette, one of the
few men whom we can afford heartily to praise-not
his head at the expense of his heart, not his heart at
the expense of his head, but head and heart and hand
-the whole man together. Hiis life will bear searching in youth, in middle age, in old age, and after his
departure from life. You need hide nothing in the
grave.
* Address delivered at the laying of the Corner-stone of the Brooklyn City Armory, on the Fourth of July, 1858.
2&1 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
We should speak well of Lafayette. I-e was one
of those few men in whom the most romantic sentiment for liberty in youth, ripened, in manhood, into a
moral principle enduring as life!  He was a man
without guile, without selfishness; a man whose very
bread it was to love his fellow men. In his own land,
and, in this, his second home-as much his own as
France, and more-he devoted himself freely to the
welfare of the people. Hie never retracted what he
had said or done, nor marked dark lines of inconsistency across his clear record.  While thousands like
him declared for liberty, when liberty was still in a
state of fermentation, hlie, almost alone, among thousands of prominent men in Europe, remained its firm
votary, sacrificing for liberty almost everything dear
to manhood.
That name is fitly associated with the name of
Washington in the annals of our American liberty,
and I count it a good omen-since so large a portion
of our citizens are immigrants, and for years must
continue to be-I count it a good omen that in looking back to our Revolutionary heroes, there is
scarcely a nation on earth that cannot point to some
distinguished officer, and say, " That man, who bled
with your fathers for liberty, was of our blood."
It may seem, fellow-citizens, that the laying of the
corner-stone of an armory is scarcely a fit occasion
for me to dwell upon, or the day of the national independence a proper time to call out the enthusiasm of
a man of my profession.   But I was a man before
I was a minister. Whatever any man should feel, I
feel. Whatever any man should say, I ought to
12
265 
PATRIOTISMI AND LIBERTY.
speak; I am a citizen, a Christian citizen.  Is any thing higher than that? I feel, thlerefore, that it is
just as fitting that I should speak some words conge nial to such an occasion as that any other man in the
citizenship of this city should speak them.
If it shall seem a bad auspice that a free library
should give place to an armory, you will remember that the library found itself too strait, and so
removed otherwhere, and the building hlad been
appropriated to civil purposes, and finally had been
abandoned even for these. Nothing, therefore, is
sacrificed.
We may well take this occasion of the founding an
armory, to consider the great difference between our
modern free cities and those of former days. They
were beleagured with walls; our walls are the bodies
of free citizens! movable walls, pedestrian walls.
Wherever there is an enemy there is a wall, made up
of citizens. Unlike other cities, in other lands, we
have no forts and citadels, if we except the household
forts commanded by fathers and mothers, and garrisoned by them and their children.
There never were more peaceful places than our
citizen armories, where our citizen soldiers assemble
to carry on the picturesque part of war, without risk
or peril.
Build, then, these peaceful Castles of Indolence for
our citizen soldiery, and let them have a home among
us.  The very differences between our armories and
those abroad are the differences between free cities in
free America and the cities of the old and oppressed
nations.
266 
PATRIOTISI AND LIBERTY.
But let me take occasion, upon the erection of this
building, to speak of the better armories which have
been long building among us, for I hold that our best
armories are the houses which stand along our streets.
Wherever you shall find a father and mother, and
a houseful of children, there is the best commander,
the best drill-sergeant, the best soldiers. The free
and well-conducted families-these are our armories.
Wherever you shall find an intelligent laboring population-a population who labor, not drudge; whose
labor is not compulsory, enforced, stolid, but whose
heads work first, and then animate their hands with
brains to work more skillfully afterwards-cheerful,
unrepining labor-these are our industrial armories.
And at every point where you can congregate a band
of these laborers, men who sing while they work, and
come from town wiping the sundown sweat from
their brows, to be cheered with the comforts of home,
and wife, and children-these are our armories.
Again, we have our schools, to which all our
children have access. No matter how poor a man
may be in money, if he is rich in children, those
family jewels, his children shall have the benefit of
our schools. They teach all alike, the children of
all religious faiths, nationalities, ranks and conditions;
they teach them all the common ideas and duties of
American citizens. These are our truest armories,
and the cities which have these are inexpugnable.
I might go on to point to our churches, whence, as
from a fount, we draw our truest notions of personal
m'anhood, of personal liberty, of municipal privileges
and municipal rights.  These are some of the institu
267 
PATRIOTIS[M AND LIBERTY.
tions which supervise our domestic armories and
make them efficient. 
The occasion of laying the corner-stone of the Free
Library by  the patriotic Frenchman, Lafayette,
called together by diligent drumming and large
counting eight thousand people. This was the population of Brooklyn thirty-three years ago! Who then
had the prescience by which he could have suspected
such a day as this?  And if one had dared to say
then that in thirty-three years two hundred thousand
inhabitants would have lived upon this side of the
river, he would have bid fair for a berthl in a lunatic
asylum.
Yet how has our population augmented beyond all
anticipation!  Instead of that little cozy neighborhood village, we have become the third city in the
Union.   The third  not  alone  arithmetically-for
though a city requires men and women, men and
women alone do not make a city. By their heads,
and hands, and hearts, their institutions, their homes,
their industry, thie men and women of Brooklyn have
constituted a city of which men may be proud and
boast. I think the sun does not upon earth shine
upon a more fair and beautiful city.
You may say that this is the adulation of a fond
son, and that I think it meet to praise the place of
my residence.  1everthleless, if I am deceived I am
deceived, for I verily believe there is not upon this
continent a site so beautiful, and so well adapted for
forming a large permanent city.
It cannot be many years (for we may look forward
as well as look back)-I think it cannot be marv
268 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
years before there will be half as many people living
in Brooklyn as there were in the whole country when
our war of Independence began. I think it not
extravagant to say that if we go on prospering as we
have for a few years past, our borders extending, that
in a few years we shall become the city second, perliaps, to but one on this continent. I do not know
that I should mnake even that exception, for Brooklyn
seems to be nearer to  ewv Yorkl than New York is
to herself. These cities, twelve miles long, on long,
narrow islands, are not the cities to grow like your
circular cities, which have room to spread in every
direction, and we may yet swell our population beyond
that of New  York!  We  are destined to be an
immense city, and it becomes us to lay well the foundations of these institutions which are to make our
memory precious in time to come, and hand down to
our children a legacy better than that our fathers
handed down to us.  We have begun well in our
schools and churches, already renowned, but there is
still in our institutions a work for you and for me.
We shall not be true and faithful to our city and to
the time in which we live if we do not hand them
down more noble and richer in all the elements of
civilization and progress than we received them.
Standing here upon the day set apart to commemorate the achievements of our fathers, we ought not to
forget that we are citizens, not only of this city, but
also of this great republic. We remember and praise
the sufferings and achievements of our fathers, but
they suffered and struggled willingly. For some
years past, it would seem that the celebration of this
269 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
day has been growing into disrepute, and it is well to
revive the custom.  Some man surely can always be
found to speak worthily, wisely, and well, on the
great subject of human rights and human liberty, te(
which the day is sacred.
What is the Fourtlh of July?  Is it only a day for
explosion of powder, a day for outside show and celebration?  Is it not the day that stands for the establishment of liberty and for the rights of man? The
soundest and truest doctrine ever promulgated was
that sustained by our fathers in the achievement of
our independence.  It is that which malkes us what
we are; which makes this day the Sabbath of Liberty.
Let me say a few words respecting our country,
than which a fairer and nobler God never made.
Methinks he hid it for ages behind the heap of ocean
waters, that he might here at last build up a mighty
Christian civilization, that should realize the fondest
hopes and expectations of prophets and seers. So
broad a land, so diversified in its treasures, so fertile
in its soil, partaking the boon which every elimate
has to confer, stretching through so many lines of
longitude in the West, so many of latitude in the
North and so many in the South-so fair, so large and
so rich a land, rmethinks the sun nowhere else beholds in his daily journey. God has poured a mixed
people upon this land.   Races mingled together
make a better population than consanguineous stocks.
God has poured in hither lavishly fromn every nation.
Some men leave their country, it is true, for their
country's good, but all do not. They that are too restless and enterprising to remain at home fly to the
270 
PATRIOTISM A ND LIBERTY.
New World.  They whose youing blood cannot walk
the old paces and take the old stale customs; they
are the men who fly their country for their own good,
and pour upon these shores for ours. We take them
as a tribute from every nation under the sun-the
young, the earnest, the best blood, the motive power
of the nation.
Such blood mingled with ours, if educated and
Christianized, will give stamina, variety, genius, and
all the elements of national power and progress such
as were never before brought together. This is our
population now. The Atlantic greets us on the East,
we wash our feet in the Pacific, we dip our hands in
the Gulf, we bathe our brow in the northern lakes;
on every side God gives no other boundaries than
mighty oceans.   Enclosed in this vast area, this
nation is to make a mark in history which no other
nation ever made.
But this variety of climate and diversity of interests is one great cause of danger;-as ships built too
long and not strong enough, are in danger of breaking in the middle, so we, with conflicting interests
upon one side and upon the other, our citizens so
separated by distance as to lack personal sympathy
and frequent intercourse, are in like danger of parting somewhere.
Besides this, there are men  who would sacrifice
their country for their own advancement, and there is
nothing that can save this nation from the perils that
surround it but a spirit of true religion and of that
patriotism which true religion inspires, a spirit that
loves country not for self but for the country's sake.
271 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
I am most happy, here at least, to claim for the
Union, as most heartily I do, our undivided allegi ance.  For there is no sacrifice too great to pay for
the union of these States, unless we sacrifice that for
which the Union was first made-Liberty.  We will
suffer much for the sake of the Union-we will give
up many sectional points of pride, but when we are
asked to give up the spirit which animated the men
of the Revolution-the spirit of Liberty-that we can
never give up.
We declare that any true patriotism must be a
patriotism which shall include in itself the knowledge
and love of those principles well embodied in the
Declaration of our Independence-the rights of man
the declaration that all men are born free and
equal.  Patriotism without that is not patriotism inl
America. It may be patriotism in Austria, but not
in America.  Tile patriotism that does not include
within itself the doctrine that every man has inalienable rights to life, liberty and property-the patriotismi that leaves that out, is like a man without a
heart or a head-a hollow corpse.
We have had patriotism of all shapes and forms.
Sometimes it goes up and down the country preaching Union and patriotism, but with everything of
liberty left out.   Our fathers embraced  in their
patriotism everything pertaining to sacred liberty,
and by their sufferings and struggles they maintained
their declaration. Our patriotism must be a patriotism that takes in Maine, and  New Ilampshire, and
Vermiont, and Massachusetts, and Rhode Island, and
Connecticut, and New Jersey, and Ohio, and Penn
272 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
sylvania, and ~irg,inia, and Delaware, and Maryland,
and Northi Carolina and even South Carolina.  Yes,
and Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi and
Arkansas, Tennessee and Kentucky, Ohio and dear
old Indiana, and Illinois, and Missouri, bound  for
freedom, and Minnesota and Wisconsin, and I know
not how many besides.  [A voice, " Kianas."]  Yes,
Kansas and California, and all the States, named
and unnamed, that are and are yet to come.  A
patriotism it must be that shall take in every State
that stands within the confederacy-a patriotism not
for party broils, party spoils, squabbles, contention,
wranglings and base ambitions; but a patriotism
that shall give to every one of the States that very
foundation laid by our revolutionary struggleliberty, liberty, nothing else than liberty!
What  are our Fourth-of-Julys from which these
great truths are left out?  What is that patriotism
which ignores, or daintily touches and passes by this
greatest thought, this most noble heritage of civilization-liberty for every man?  This is a patriotism
which will save our great country. I am not an illomened prophet: I do not believe we  shall go to
wreck; I believe God built his temple on these
shores. Although, like temples in other times, it may
have been occasionally delayed and marred, in some
parts at least, yet the temple is reared to Christ and
to Liberty. I believe it will be perfected and God
will preserve this nation by the instrumentality of
your hearts, your hands, your heads, and by your
fidelity to our original Revolutionary principles. But,
amid broils and high conflicts, be sure that it is safe
273 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
to stand firmly upon the old truths. It is never safe
to abandon our profession of faith in liberty. It is
never safe to put this nation upon the shifting sands
of expediency! And whatever storms arise, whatever fierce winds blow, there is no other anchor for
us but that goodly anchor of Liberty! Never be
ashamed of it.  Speak it out, openly, boldly, sincerely, and let your life corroborate your words.
Remember that discussion should ever be free.
Let us remember the duty of toleration of men that
differ in the extremest points from us. Let us accord
to them that right which we assert for ourselves-the
right to believe what we will-the right to defend
what we think-the right to express what we believe.
Their rights and ours are the same, and if upon that
common freedom Liberty cannot stand, let her go to
the ground. I am not afraid to venture. Give us
freedom of speech and action, and this land will shake
the dust of oppression from her garments and stand
forth the virgin daughter of God, free, blessed and
blessing!
I have been asked by those concerned in a benevolent movement to mention to you the ladies of
America, who are now engaged in the work of purchasing the grounds and tomb of Washington, at
Mount Vernon; and with this I shall fitly close. Is it
fit that women should rise up in the perturbed state of
the Union, and should everywhere, as they do, beg
for peace and honorable  conciliation.  -Yout will
remember that when Christ had slept three days, and
many thought the world was empty of him, that it
was the won-in who went to the sepulchre, asking as
274 
PATRIOTISM AND LIBERTY.
they went, who shall roll away the stone, and that,
when they reached the tonmb, the stone was rolled
away, and an angel sat upon it. Now the women of
America go to the tomb of Washington, and who will
roll away the stone?  God grant that they may find
the stone rolled away and the living spirit of Washington, which is the spirit of liberty, sitting upon it,
to hail, to cheer and to bless them.
275
I 
' PURITY OF CIIARACTER.
OVER the beauty of the plum and the apricot, there
grows a bloom and beauty more exquisite than the
fruit itself-a soft, delicate plush that overspreads
its blushing cheek. Now, if you strike your hand
over that, and it is once gone, it is gone forever; for
it never grows but once.  Take the flower that hangs
in the morning, impearled with dew, arrayed as no
queenly woman ever was arrayed with jewels. Once
shake it, so that the beads roll off, and you may
sprinkle water over it as carefully as you please, yet
it can never be made again what it was when the
dew fell silently upon it firom heaven! On a frosty
morning, you may see the panes of glass covered
with landscapes-mountains, lakes, trees, blended in
a beautiful, fantastic picture. Now, lay your hand
upon the glass, and by the scratch of your finger, or
by the warmth of your palm, all the delicate tracery
will be obliterated!  So there is in youth a beauty
and purity of character, which, when once touched
and defiled, can never be restored; a fringe more
delicate than frost-work, and which, when torn and
broken, will never be reembroidered. A man who
has spotted and soiled his moral garments in youth,
though he may seek to make them white again, can
never wholly do it, even were he to wash them with his
tears. When a young man leaves his father's house,
276 
PURITY OF CHARACTER.
with the blessing of his mother's tears still wet upon
his forehead, if he once loses that early purity of
character, it is a loss that he can never make whole
again.  Such is the consequence of crime.  Its effect
cannot be eradicated; it can only be forgiven. It is
a stain of blood that we can never make white, and
which can be washed away only in the blood of
Christ, that "cleanseth from all sin!"
277 
HOW TO BEAR LITTLE TROUBLES.
THERE is a kind of narrowness into which, in our
every-day experiences, we are apt to fall, and against
which we should most carefully guard. When a man
who is in perfect health has a wound inflicted upon
him-a wound in his foot, a cut on his finger, a pain
in his hand-bhe is almost always sure to feel, even
though it be only a small member that suffers, and
the suffering itself be unworthy of the name, that the
perfect soundness of all the rest of his body counts as
nothing; and a little annoyance is magnified into a
universal pain. Only a single point may be hurt,
and yet he feels himself clothed with uneasiness, or
with a garment of torture. So, God may send ten
thousand mercies upon us, but if there happen to be
only one discomfort among them, one little worry, or
fret, or bicker, all the mercies and all the comforts
are forgotten, and count as nothing!   One little
trouble is enough to set them all aside!  There may
be an innumerable train of mercies which, if they
were stopped one by one, and questioned, would
seem like angels bearing God's gifts in their hands!
But we forget them all, in the remembrance of the
most trivial inconvenience! A man may go about
all the day long-discontented, fretting, out of humor
-who, at evening, on asking himself the question,
"What has ailed me to-day?" may be filled with
2T8 
HOW TO BEAR LITTLE TROUBLES.
shame because unable to tell! The annoyance is
so small and slight that he cannot recognize it; yet,
its power over him is almost incredible.  Hie  is
equally ashamed with the cause and the result.
We may fall into such a state merely through indifference, and remain there simply because we have
fallen into it, and make no effort to get out. When
a man starts wrong early in the morning, unless he is
careful to set himself right before he has gone far, he
will hardly be able to straighten out his crookedness
until noon or afternoon-if haply then; for a man
is like a large ship; he cannot turn round in a small
space, and must make his sweep in a large curve. If
we wake up with a heavenly mind, we are apt to
carry it with us through the day; but if we wake up
with a fretful, peevish, discontented disposition, we
are apt to carry that all the day, and all the next day
too! I have comforted myself, and risen out of this
state of mind, by saying to myself, "Well, you are in
trouble; something has come upon you which is
painful; but will you let it clasp its arms around
you, and shut you in its embrace from the sight and
touch of all the many other things that are accounted
joys? Will you suffer yourself to be harnessed and
driven by it?"  It is well to remember that there
is a way of overcoming present troubles by a recognition of present or promised mercies.  The apostle
Paul knew this, and so exhorted us to "look unto
Jesus, who, for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame."   All that
Christ had to bear he bore patiently-he carried his
sorrow about with him as a very little thing. Why.
279 
HOW TO BEAR LITTLE TROUBLES.
Because of the "joy that was set before him!"  Oh!
let us apply the exhortation faithfully to ourselves;
and when we are worried, and tempted to give way
to vexation, let us seek a sweet relief in the thought
of the blessedness that is set before us to be an inheritance forever!
280 
"SIN REVIVED AND I DIED."
THE apostle Paul says, "I was alive without the
law once, but when the commandment came, sin
revived and I died." A man walking in a beautiful
field on a bright summer morning, when the sun is
golden and makes everything it shines upon golden
too, asks himself, "What field is this?"  lIc thinks,
"Perhaps this field, in the old Revolutionary struggle,
was deluged with gore; and perhaps there are now
at the roots of these flowers, and of this grass, the
very instruments of war that were used in the conflict, and thle bones of those who fell in wielding
them."   Suppose, as he walks, thus musing, and
looking at the clouds and the sunlit face of Nature,
all at once, in the places where he saw flowers and
shrubs, there should be protruding bones! the gaunt
bones of an arm, or of a hand!-or that a skull,
ghastly and appalling, should break through, and
that all the hideous carcasses of the men who fought
and died in the old battle should begin to stir themselves in every part of the field, with terror in their
forms and figures, and greater terror still in their
movements, and that they should utter again the
shriek of war, horrible and sepulchral! This would
be like unto that which the apostle saw, and which
lie meant when he wrote these words. They are as
thoiugh he had said, "I was alive once without the
2$1 
SIrN REVIVED AND I DIED. 
law; and all at once God touched me by his living
commandment. Sin revived, and all the corruption
of my old transgressions, all the ghastly remembrances of my old folly and iniquity, all my  former
deficiencies, all my pride and vanity, all my selfrighteousness, all my lusts, all that was wicked in me,
suddenly rose up in baleful resurrection before my
eyes, and I fell stricken to the ground with horror
at the sight!" This is not the experience of Paul
only; it has been repeated more or less vividly in
the lives of thousands and thousands of persons, from
that day to this; for men, while they are proud, and
vain, and ignorant, are contented with their own condition, and conceited in their own favor; but when
the revealing touch of God's Spirit is felt within them,
and they see and understand the law of God, " Sin
revives and they die!"  Things change with the
rule by which they are measured. A low moral
standard will content men with conduct and motives,
which, in the light of a higher law, would seem
detestable.  Hluman conduct, which, judged by custom and unenlightened human opinion, seems guiltless, when measured by the law of a pure and holy
God, appears full of guilt. And no man has judged
rightly of either his character or his conduct, until
he has held them up in the light of God's countenance and measured them by God's law.
282 
IIUMILITY BEFORE GOD.
I THIN'K that a view of what we are before God, of
our leanness, of our littleness, of our weakness and
imperfection, is enough to keep down the risings of
any man's pride.   There are times  when, if a
man should receive a full, clear view of what he is
himself, in comparison with what God is, all hope
and almost life itself would be crushed out of him!
And it is, only when God reveals himself in the
person of Jesus Christ, pardoning sins, and overlookin,g our errors and imperfections, that we are
enabled to have hope!  But while, in the view of
God, every Christian feels that he is not only sinful,
but ignominiously so, and degraded beyond all expression, yet there is in his experience of the love
which Christ has for him, notwithstanding his weakness and impurity, a certain boldness that lifts him
up and gives him confidence to stand in the very
presence of God!
Did you ever see a child, which through a period
of days and weeks had little by little been gathering
mischief and disobedience, and seeming to be aching
for a whipping?  By and by he comes to a state in
which it is plain that there must be an outbreak;
and an occasion occurs, perhaps, from some trifling
circumstance, in which he is brought to a direct issue
with the parent, and the question is, who shall conquer,
the mother or the child?  She expostulates, but the
283 
HIUMILITY BEFORE GOD.
child grows red and swells with anger; she pleads with
him, and uses all her power to bring him to a reconciliation on the basis of justice; but nothing will do;
and at last, when everything else has failed, and
she has beer unable by gentle means to subdue his
haughty pride-if she does what she ought to do, she
gives him a sound whipping! Hie is quickly subdued,
and filled with shame, yet not entirely humbled; but
when he sees the much-loving mother, who has wept
with even more pain and suffering than the child
himself, going about the room-a kind of living
music to the chlild's unconscious feeling!-taking her
seat at last in some window-nook, with sorrow upon
her face, he comes to himself, and, thinking a
moment, feels that all the old dark flood of ugliness
has gone away, and an entirely new feeling begins to
take possession of him. HIe looks at the face of the
mother, with love swelling in his heart, and wishes
that he were sitting at her feet. And when she says,
"'31y child, why do you not come to nme?"-with
another burst -of tears, not of pain and wounded
feeling, but of joy and love-he throws himself into
her arms, and buries his head in her bosom! Ahl! if
I remember aright, I can recount miany similar experiences in my own early life; and I am brought back
into the remembrance of such childhood's scenes, because the relation of my own disobedient heart to my
mother when she punished me, is the best illustration
which I can give youL of the relation of the soul of a
rebelling child of God to his chastising hand!
When after being puffed up with pride and vanity,
fiom being engaged in worldly pursuits, and being
284 
IIUMILITY BEFORE GOD.
contented with mere worldly moralities, I amn suddenly, by afflictions or disappointments, or by the
direct visitation of God's IIoly Spirit, humbled and
brought to the very earth with contrition; oh! who
can tell how sweet it is to take hold of the outreaching
hand of the Lord Jesus Christ, and go up into the
confidence and embrace of his love!  I am nothing
myself: I am entirely humbled and subdued; only I
feel his love in my heart, and my heart swells with
love in return.    These  are days  of  sweetness!
These are days of heavenly joy! These are days of
true humility!  Oh! how lowly a man bows, and how
lowly he walks, who has a view of his own littleness
and emptiness in comparison with thle greatness and
the fullness of the ever-living and ever-loving God!
285 
WHO SHALL HELP THE UNFORTUNATE?
THE importunities of various want  at our door,
remind  Ls that the summer is gone and winter is
coming. WVork and wages are growing less and
less; expense is growing daily more and more.
Besides, in the change from season to season, sickness revels. Winter takes away from thousands the
little strength they had. Colds, consumptions, in
their endless varieties and stages, are plucking away
health, energy and hope, and preparing the bosom
for the last and deadly stroke of Time.
WHO HELP THE NEEDY?  Not  misers or stingy
men. They regard poverty as a crime; importunity
is worse than an insult. They button up their hearts
against solicitation, and doggedly say, "No, I will
not," or drive off the beseeching face with bitter
advice, "Go, work, sir! I have to work for my living-you must work for yours."
"Oh, sir, I should be glad to work: will you give
me work to do?"
"Give you work?  Do you suppose I have nothing
else to do but run about hunting work for such vagabonds as you? lHaven't you got legs, and a tongue in
your head?  Why don't you get your own work?"
Sometimes these men are just as bad as they seem,
just as heartless, selfish, and cruel.  Sometimes they 
VI-WHO SIALL HELP THE UNFORTUNATE?   287
are very kind men in their families, and to their re latives. But they think that no one ought to be poor
in this country, and that if they are, it must be fronm
negligence, or indolence, or spendthrift vice; and so
a poor beggar is presumptively a knave, who thinks
that he can deceive you; and the man blusters
fiercely at him, in part to let him know that he can not dupe him.
Next, are those whose kindness depends upon their
mood. Slamming the door in everybody's face to-day,
and profuse and indiscriminate in kindness to-morrow.
Their charity is a mere firing into the air, a Jet de
joie; they do not aim at a mark, or take sight at all.
There are some whose hearts are so tender that they
never refuse until nothing is left to give. We cannot
help loving such amiable fellows, whose hearts flow
down with generous elements. But they are the godfathers of swindlers. They encourage and breed a
race of beggars who feed unworthily upon the bread
which belongs to the modest poor.
Then come a large class of men who are excellent
citizens and exemplary Christians; but who  have
never really studied their personal duties toward the
unfortunate. Some think that they are doing their
part toward society by the energetic and successful
conduct of their business; some contribute to charity
by aiding various charitable institutions, asylums,
hospitals, etc.; others throw into the plate a five dollar bill when the collection for the poor is taken up in
church; or they send round a suin to their minister
asking him to distribute it; or they subscribe to the
City Relief Society, and so on. 
2S8     wHO SHALL HELP THE UNFOITUNATE?
All of the last-mentioned persons would unite in
saying, We are willing to give our money, but we
cannot give our time and attention to the poor.
There is a division of labor possible in the relief of
the poor and the unfortunate. There ought to be
men who should make it their business; there are
others whose dispositions and whose circumstances
qualify them to visit the abodes of misery and dwell
much with the unfortunate; but there are others
whom business so much absorbs as to make much
personal attention impossible.
But after every allowance has been charitably
made, we are every year more and more satisfied
that no manoan afford to dispense entirely with personal service toward the unfortunate. The moral
education involved in Christian charity, is not
gained by a mere donation of money, no matter how
generous, or how often repeated. Our hearts need
the discipline of sympathy with the poor and the
afflicted, just as much as their hearts do. We need
to put ourselves in the places of needy men, to hear
their sorrows until they come home like our own; to
look at life through their experience, to study their
wants, and to exercise patience, forbearance and
gentleness while dealing with their misfortunes, or
full as often, with their faults. And no man can tell
the fullness of blessing which God means for him,
when he sends to him misfortunes which he adopts as
his own, and studies to relieve. It was the revelation of God's nature, indeed, when it was said of
Christ that he bore our griefs and carried our sor 
WHO SHALL HELP THE UNFORTUNATE?   289
rows. If Christ dwell in any heart, this will be one
of the first and most unmistakable evidences of it.
Now, the men who plead occupation, unfitness,
etc., as a reason for not giving time and personal
attention to the poor, are the very men who most
need the discipline of such a course. They are in
prosperity and need something to temper it; they are
absorbed by their own cares, which seem to them
heavier than anybody else's and sharper. They need
to have their burdens lightened by knowing that
their cares are often trifling in comparison with
others.' A man who is steadily going up in the world
cannot afford to lose sympathetic acquaintance with
men that are steadily going down. Our softness of
ease, our luxuries, our scope and power of wealth,
are as deadly enemies as can intrench the heart,
unless we extract the quality of selfishness from them.
The change from kindness to selfishness is very
insidious. Few men are aware of what is going on
in them as they rise in life. Others see it. It passes
into remark among those who know them. But few
men have friends who are friends, that dare tell
them their faults. There are very few who will tell a
man, " You are growing much more imperious than
you used to be; you are more difficult to approach;
you carry yourself as if you felt your importance in
the world." There are not many friends that will
risk their peace by saying to a man, " You are more
ostentatious, but less generous than you used to be.
You may give away more money, but you show less
sympathy and kindness. You are more worldly.
You are growing very selfish; and you spend twenty
13 
2')0    WHO SHALL HELP THE UNFORTUNATE?
times as much upon yourself for the sake of effect, as
you used to do ten years ago."
But all prosperous men need faithful friends.
"Open rebuke is better than secret love. Faithful
are the wounds of a friend." There are enough that
will flatter those who love to be flattered, and
enough that will criticise, and enough that will be
silent, and sorrowful. But there are few that will
tell a man the very things which it most concerns
him to know.
But if a man employs his prosperity as a garner, in
which are gathered the seeds of other men's advantage; if when he is lifted up he will often let himself
down among those who are struggling; if he will
oblige his heart to go out of its own courses, to enter
upon the story of other hearts, to think, feel, plan, and
achieve for them, he will rob prosperity of its sharpest danger, and put himself into that very school
where God teaches us how to be like Christ-a school
in which our Master was once himself a scholar, for
"though he was a son, yet learned he obedience by
the things which he suffered; and being made perfect he became the author of eternal salvation unto
all them that obey him." 
PLYMOUTH OHURCIH.
WE give place to a communication upon the pewrenting in Plymouth church.  We have seen several
like comments in print:
"It was with pain that we saw in the papers that the pews in the
Plymouth church had been rented for about $25,000. Is this the
way to fulfill the command of our Saviour, to make his Gospel known
to every creature? Who are the men that have bid off the pews at a
great premium, to the exclusion of 500 church-members, and many
others, who desired the benefits of the pastor's labors? Are they
such as most need his instruction? or do they secure the best scats
for their own personal gratification? Ought not many of those to be
laboring with feeble churches in unfavorable localities, under the belief that it is more in accordance with the spirit of Christianity to do
good than to get good? We, who do not live in large cities, cannot
believe that it is right or Christian for one congregation to expend
$25,000 for themselves, while many feeble churches are struggling
for existence, and many self-denying ministers must rely on faith for
the supply of their daily bread."
The writer asks, "'Is this the way to fulfill the command of our Saviour, to make his Gospel known to
every creature?"  Well.  Does our friend wish no
more churches built? The apostles built none. They
never preached in a church in their lives. For hundreds of years, it is probable that preaching was mere
exposition of Scripture; and performed without regularity, from place to place, in houses, in public resorts,
market-places, and wherever a crowd collected.
291 
PLYMOUTHI CHURCiH.
Buildings for the church were of later date than the
apostolic era.  And to undertake to regulate modern
preaching by the exact imitation of apostolic practice,
would be the stupidest striving after an absolute impossibility.,No exact form was prescribed for church
organization, none for church order and government,
none for public worship, and none for the external
and material elements of church use.  No  doubt,
much more attention should be given to the carrying
of the truth to men who will not come to church.
But is there to be no centre, no organization, no
building, and no regular and formal stated preaching?
And if so, is there or is there not to be a secular
arrangement for maintaining such an institution?
There is no one way of giving Christian truth to the
people.   It must  include every feasible method.
And central among them, and the fountain and
motive power of all other ways, is the regular and
organized church.  Now, if the church is to buy
land, build a house, buy coal for warming, gas for
lighting, pay the sexton for caring for the property,
and support the minister who is set for watch and
teaching, then there must be money raised to do
it. And a church, when it deals with material things,
is subject to just the same commercial law as any
other body. Buying and selling in a church are just
the same as in a store. Both should be honest and
equitable, and if they are, it is all sham to talk of the
church being too sacred for worldly things.
Whenever a church comes to that part of its business which is secular, and requires commercial wisdom, then it must stand just like any other honest
292 
PLYMOUTH CHURCH.
concern, subject to all the equitable laws of matter
and money. The pews must be sold and taxed, or
rented every year; and this must be done publicly,
that all may have a chance. And if the pews are
not much sought after, there will be but little trouble
or complaint. But if the pews are fewer than the
applicants; if ten men want seats when but one can
be accommodated, how are we to select which shall
have them?
Shall there be a perpetual scramble? Then the
strongest will get them. Shall they be rented privately? Then the alert and shrewd will get them.
Shall they be rented openly and in fair competition?
Then, inevitably, they must follow the commercial
law, and the man who wants them most, and has the
means of paying the most, must have them.
Now, it is very easy to stand off and rail. Will
any one suggest a plan by which 5,000 men can be
put into a church that will hold but 3,000?  If only
a part are to be accommodated, will some one tell a
better method than open competition upon fair commercial principles?   For the secular affairs of a
church are just as commercial, and just as subject to
right commercial laws, as is the business of a bank,
a manutfactory, an academy or college.
It has been proposed to let the church-members
have a chance first, and then give the world what
remains! This is eminently and exquisitely evangelical! Let Christians take care of themselves first,
and then give sinners the crumbs! Let converted
souls become insiders, and have a first chance at the
feast, and sit with a preemption right, around the
293 
PLYMOUTH CHURCH.
Gospel luxuries; and when they are sated, let the
outside sinners gnaw the bones! If a church after
ten years' preaching has got along only so far as to
be individually and corporately selfish, it might have
done that without the trouble and expense of preaching and organizing.   Selfishness thrives very well
without means of grace to help it!
It is thought by some, and by our correspondent,
we presume, that the poor should be first provided
for. The poor should be held in lively remembrance.
Every church ought to keep Christ's feelings for the
poor and ignorant burning in the heart and sanctuary,
like a fire that never goes out.
But ought we to provide for the poor in a way that
shall punish those who are not poor?  Are we to
exclude men from churches, whose industry, patience
and frugality, have made them affluent?  Shall such
a practice of Christian virtues in worldly matters as
rewards men with worldly substance, work their exclusion?  A man ought not to be punished for being
legitimately prosperous!
But our correspondent says: "Who are the men
that have bid off the pews at a great premium, to
the exclusion of 500 church-members  and many
others, who desired the benefits of the pastor's
labors?"
We will tell him who they are. They are men who
have souls to be saved or lost. They are men, who,
if rich, need preaching all the more because they are
rich. They are men who have families just as dear
to them as if they were poor. They are men with
Little boys and girls, with sons and daughters, under
294 
PLYMOUTHL CHURCH.
temptation and needing guidance. They are men
who are peculiarly liable to self-indulgence, to selfish
luxury, to pride and hardness of heart, and who require all the aid of faithful preaching to incline them
to humility, generosity, and benevolence! The poor
need the Gospel for reasons peculiar to their condition, and the rich just as much for reasons peculiar to
their estate.
But, in the particular case in hand, those who have
bid off pews at high premiums, are men, many of
them, who, when we took this pastorate were just
beginning a business life, and have grown up to ripe
manhood side by side with us. They are, many of
them, those whom we married, whose children we
baptized, or whose hearts we comforted in the hour
in which, over small open graves, they strove to write
in their hearts, "Thy will be done," but found that
tears washed out the letters as fast as they were written. They are the very persons, in a great number
of cases, who, under our teaching, have beheld a
great light, and have learned to say, "Our Father,"
to God, with their whole heart!
It is very easy for men'" who do not live in large
cities to believe that it is right or Christian for one
congregation to expend $25,000 for themselves, etc."
If men that have money knew what to do with it
half as well as those do, who give them advice without knowing anything about their affairs, what  a
thrifty world this would be!  What a church spends
annually is great or little, according to circumstances.
There are many country churches where $2,500 a year
would be more extravagant than in others would be
295 
PLYMOUTH CHURCH.
$25,000.   But in this particular case the surplus
funds are employed in paying off the debts and
mortgages which lie upon the property, and we hope
that it is not unchristian for a church to pay its honest
debts!
And, in closing, we will only say, that, from the
beginning, no church ever more conscientiously
endeavored to give the Gospel to all classes, rich or
poor, resident or strangers.   For ten years the members of this society have cheerfully submitted to an
inconvenience for the sake of the poor and of
strangers, such as has rarely had a parallel. Gentlemen have paid hundreds of dollars for pews, which
were, with the exception of a single Sabbath in the
year, more or less filled with the poor. Ihundreds of
men have been very cheerfully excluded Sabbath
after Sabbath from their pews, for the sake of accommodating strangers. Every Sabbath day, families
who have paid hundreds of dollars for a pew, coming to church, find it preoccupied by the poor and the
stranger, and it is the rare exception that, in such a
case, there is any irritation. Generally, the owner
distributes his family as best he can, takes a seat in
the aisles, or stands up in the entry. And this is not
an occasional thing.  It is the regular experience of
the congregation, year after year. And we submit
to all who think as our friend above writes, whether
the endeavor of a large Christian church to conduct
themselves hospitably, kindly, charitably, to all ranks
and conditions of men rich or poor, black or white,
bond or free, and who pay large sums for the convenience of welcome strangers, and of their neighbors
296 
PLYMOUTH CHURCH.
not less welcome, ought to be rewarded with representations which lead the public to think that Plymouth church is a bazaar of pews, bought and sold
by selfish, speculating, rich men!
13*
297 
ORGAN-PLAYING.
THs Organ, long expected, has arrived, been unpacked, set up, and gloried over. The great players
of the region round about, or of distant celebrity,
have had the grand organ exhibition; and this magnificent instrument has been put through all its paces,
in a manner which has surprised every one, and, if it
had had a conscious existence, must have surprised
the organ itself most of all. It has piped, fluted,
trumpeted, brayed, thundered; it has played so loud
that everybody was deafened, and so soft that nobody
could hear. The pedals played for thunder, the flutes
languished and coquetted, and the swell died away in
delicious suffocation, like one singing a sweet song
under the bedclothes. Now it leads down a stupendous waltz with full bass, sounding very much as if,
in summer, a thunder-storm should play above our
heads, "Come, haste to the wedding," or " MoneyMIusk." Then come marches, gallops, and hornpipes.
An organ playing hornpipes ought to have elephants
for dancers.
At length a fugue is to show the whole scope and
power of the instrument. The theme, like a cautious
rat, peeps out to see if the coast is clear; and after a
few hesitations, comes forth and begins to frisk a little, and run up and down to see what it can find. It
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ORGAN-PLAYING.
finds just what it did not want, a purring tenor lying
in ambush and waiting for a spring, and as the theme
comes incautiously near, the savage cat of a tenor
pitches at it, misses its hold, and then takes after it
with terrible earnestness.  But the tenor has miscalculated the agility of the theme. All that it could do,
with the most desperate effort, was to keep the theme
from running back into its hole again, and so they ran
up and down, around and around, dodging, eluding,
whipping in and out of every corner and nook, till
the whole organ was aroused, and the bass began to
take part, but unluckily slipped and rolled down
stairs, and lay at the bottom raving and growling in
the most awful manner, and nothing could appease
it. Sometimes the theme was caught by one part',
and dandled for a moment, when, with a snatch,
another part took it and ran off exultant, until unawares the same trick was played on it, and finally, all
the parts being greatly exercised in mind, began to
chase each other promiscuously in and out, up and down,
now separating and now rushing in full tilt together,
until everything in the organ loses patience, and all
thie " stops" are drawn, and, in spite of all that the
brave organist could do-who flew about and bobbed
up and down, feet, hands, head, and all-the tune
broke up into a real row, and every part was clubbing
every other one, until at length, patience being no
longer a virtue, the organist with two or three terrific crashes put an end to the riot, and brought the
great organ back to silence!
Then came congratulations. The organist shook
hands with the builder, and the builder shook hands
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ORGAN-PLAYING.
with the organist, and both of them shook hands with
the committee; and the young men who thought it
their duty to know something about music looked
wise, and the young ladies looked wise too, and the
minister looked silly, and the parishioners generally
looked stupid, and all agreed that there never was
such an organ-no, never. And the builder assured
the committee that he had done a little more than the
contract stipulated; for he was very anxious to have
a good organ in that church! And the wise men of
the committee talked significantly of what a treasure
they had got. The sexton gave a second look at the
furnace, lest the church should take it into its head,
now, of all times, to burn up; and he gave the key
an extra twist in the lock, lest some thief should run
off with the organ.
And now, who shall play the organ? is the question.  And in the end, who has not played it?  First
perhaps, a lady who teaches music is exalted to the
responsibility. Her taste is cultivated, her nerves
are fine, her muscles feeble, her courage small, and
her fear great.  She touches the great organ as if she
were a trembling worshipper, fearing to arouse some
terrible deity. All the meek stops are used, but none
of the terrible ones, and the great instrument is made
to walk in velvet slippers every Sabbath, and after
each stanza the organ humbly repeats the last strain
in the tune. The instrument is quite subdued. It
is the modern exemplification of Ariadne riding
safely on a tamed leopard. But few women have
strength for the mechanical labor. It ought not to
be so. Women ought to have better health, more
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ORGAN-PLAYING.
muscle, more power, and, one of these days, doubtless, will have.
Next, an amateur player is procured, who was said
to have exquisite taste and finished execution. A
few pieces for the organ he knew by heart, a pretty
way of varying a theme, a sentimental feeling, and
reasonable correctness in accompaniment.
Next came an Organist, who believed that all this
small playing, this petty sweetness, was a disgrace to
the powers of the instrument. He meant to lead
forth the long pent-up force, and accordingly he took
for his first theme, apparently, the Deluge, and the
audience had it poured upon them in every conceivable form-wind, rain, floods, thunder, lightning,
with all the promiscuous stops, which are put in all
large organs to produce a screeching brilliancy, full
drawn, to signify universal misery and to produce it.
That man gave the church their full money's worth.
He flooded the house. The voices of the choir were
like birds chirping in a thunder-storm.   He  had
heard that the singing of a congregation should be
borne up upon the music of the organ and as it were
floated, and he seemed to be aiming, for the most
part, to provide a full Atlantic ocean for the slender
choir to make its stormy voyages upon.
A fortunate quarrel disposed of him, and the
Organ went back to the tender performer. But before long a wonderful man was called, whose fame,
as he related it, was excessive. He could do anything-play anything. If one style did not suit, just
give him a hint, and he would take on another. He
could give you opera, ecclesiastical music, stately
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ORGAN-PLAYING.
symphony of Beethoven, the brilliant fripperies of
Verdi, the solemn and simple grandeur of Handel,
or the last waltz, the most popular song (suitably
converted for the purpose)-anything, in short. The
church must surely be hard to please, if he could not
suit them. He opened his organ as a peddler opens
his tin boxes, and displaying all its wares, says, Now,
what do you want?  Here is a little of almost everything!
He took his turn. Then came a young man of a
true and deep nature, to whom music was simply a
symbol of something higher, a language which in
itself is but little, but a glorious thing when laden
with the sentiments and thoughts of a great heart.
But he was not a Christian man, and the organ was
not to him a Christian instrument, but simply a
grand gothic instrument, to be studied, just as a
Protestant would study a cathedral, in the mere spirit
of architecture, and not at all in sympathy with its
religious significance or uses.  And before long he
went abroad to perfect himself in his musical studies.
But not till a most ludicrous event befell him. On
a Christmas day a great performance was to be
given. The church was full. All were musically
expectant. It had been given out that something
might be expected. And surely something was had
a little more than was expected. For, when every
stop was drawn, that the opening might be with a
sublime choral effect, the down-pressing of his hands
brought forth not only the full expected chord, but
also a cat, that by some strange chance had got into
the organ.   She went up over the top as if gun
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powder had helped her. Down she plunged into the
choir, took the track around the front bulwark of the
gallery, until opposite the pulpit, whence she dashed
down one of the supporting columns, made for the
broad aisle, where a little dog joined in the affray,
and both went down toward the street door at an
astonishing pace.   Our organist, who, on the first
appearance of this element in his piece, snatched
back his hands, had forgotten to relax his muscles,
and was to be seen following the cat with his eyes,
with his head turned, while his astonished hands
stood straight out before him, rigid as marble!
But in all these vicissitudes, and in all this long
series of players, good playing has been the accident, while the thing meant and attempted has been,
in the main, a perversion of music, a breaking of the
Sabbath day, and a religious nuisance.  The only
alleviation in the case was, that the general ignorance
of the proper function of church-music saved the
Christian congregation from feeling what an outrage
they had suffered. But, we must try this topic once
more, before we can get it fairly finished.
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HlOW TO BECOME A CIHRISTIAN.*
THERE cannot be too much effort made to bring
before the minds of men the truths of Christ. But,
when men are made attentive to them, it seems to
me, that they should be made to feel the obligation
to obey Christ, without so much urging, conversation,
and persuasive labor. Among uneducated heathen,
it would be different; but in a Christian country,
where you have literally known almost nothing else
than the truths of the Gospel, presented not alone
in the didactic and logical form, but presented
evermore in that most blessed form in which the true
Gospel is preached, namely, in the example of a
praying father, a praying mother, a praying brother
or sister, a consistent friend, wife or child, nothing
more ought to be required. Hiow men that have
been taught in the household and in the church,
by example as well as by precept, should fall into
the mistake of supposing that whenever they begin
to be inquirers they need then to go through
another and special course of training, I cannot understand. I do not think that there is an intelligent
* An Address delivered at a religious meeting in Burton's Old
Theatre.
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
man in this congregation that is not abundantly qualified to-day, before the sun goe s down, to become a
true Christian in the spiritual and experimental sense
of the term.
MIore than that.  Unless thlere has been some kind
of an official touch, a man's conversion is scarcely
thought to be complete; unless some appointed classleader, some elder, some deacon, above all, some
minister, some eminent minister, has talked with him,
explained it to him, upheld him in this hour, encouraged hishope and brought him clear out, he does not
feel as though'he were right. Whatever may be the
hope he enjoys, there is still the impression that
the work of grace requires the interposition of some
official instruction.
I wish you to be rid of this. A man who knows
enough to take care of his business, to live obediently
to the laws of the land, to live in the affections of the
family, knows enough to begin a Christian life.
Religion and religious doctrines are very different
things. We do not ask you to accept a theory of
religious doctrine; nor any system of philosophy.
We ask you simply to begin a religious life and to
begin it now.
Are you willing to be a Christian?  $Are you
willing from this hour to hold your disposition, your
life-powers, and all your business, under the control
of Christ? Will you go to school to Christ and
become a scholar, for the sake of learning how to live
aright? For, if you will, then you are a disciple of
Christ.   Disciple means scholar.   A  Christian  is
nothing but a sinful man who has put lliimself to
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
school to Christ for the honest purpose of becoming
better.
It is not needful that you should have a great deal
of feeling. Willingness to obey the will of Christ
as fast as it is made known to you is better than feeling.  It is not necessary for you to go through such
a period of conviction of sin, as some men have. If
you see the evil of your sinful life enough to wish to
forsake it, that is repentance enough to begin with.
Repentance is good for nothing except to turn away
a man from evil, and you need not wait for any more
than will suffice for that. The less feeling there is
required to effect a moral revolution the better.
I would not have you wait for ministers, or for
Christians. You can be a Christian without help
from either. They will gladly help you. But you
ought not to lean on them. Go to your own work at
once. It is a question between your soul and God.
Will you acknowledge God as your Father?  Will
you, from this hour, make it your business to conduct your whole life in accordance with God's will
revealed in the Gospel of Christ?
You may become a Christian now, and go home to
your household, and be enabled to ask a blessing at
your table to-day; you may stretch forth your hands,
to the amazement of your wife and children, and,
like a Christian man, ask a blessing upon your dinner,
though it may be the first time in your life; you
may go home to night and begin family prayers
where the sound of your voice in prayer has never
been heard. I urge you to take that course, and to
take it at once.
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
The word of God requires us so love the Lord our
God with all our heart, with all our soul, with all
our mind, and our neighbor as ourself.
Will you deliberately undertake to begin your life
over again, from this hour, under this law?  Will
you undertake to regard things as right or wrong, as
they agree or disagree with that rule? Will you
acknowledge yourself bound, henceforth, to act under
that charter?
"Can I, then, do this by mere volition?" Can you
any more go down to the Battery by volition? and
yet you know that volition will produce that result.
For a proper volition always implies, not alone a
choice of a thing, but also all the steps needed to
accomplish this end. To determine that you will be
warm, implies kindling a fire, or putting on clothing,
or better yet, active exercise. You cannot be rich
by wishing, but by choosing you can; for choosing
a thing always implies that you choose the appropriate means of obtaining it. And so every man
may come into that state of love and benevolence
required by Christ, if he will employ the word of God,
prayer as the inspiration and daily practice in ordinary conduct, as the means.
" But can I suddenly, in a moment, reconstruct my
character, change my conduct, alter my relations to
things that are wrong, and be a thorough Christian in
a moment?"  No;  you cannot be a perfect Christian in a moment, but you can begin to be an imperfect Christian in a moment.  A man cannot make a
journey in an instant, but he can begin instantly
A man cannot cleanse his hands in a moment, but ie.
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HOW TO BECOME A CIIRISTIAN.
can begin to wash. A man cannot reclaim a piece
of land in an hour, but he can begin the work, with
the determination to perform the whole. The prodigal son could not go back to his father at one step,
but he could determine to perform the whole journey,
and take the first step, and the next, and the next,
perseveringly, and in right good earnest. Thus, to be
a Christian is to enter upon a life which has its imperfect beginning, its rude development, its imperfections and mistakes, its successive states of growth,
its gradual attainments, and its full final perfection
only in another world.
" But, is it right to call myself a Christian, when I
do not do everything that Christ commands?" If
you mean to obey in everything, if you are pained
when you fail, if you resist evil, and seek deliverance
from it, Christ will prove to you the most lenient and
gracious teacher that scholar ever had. A child is
not expelled from school for one poor lesson, nor for
much dullness, nor for heedlessness, nor for disobedience, if the teacher knows that, on the whole, the
child means to be a good scholar, if hle confesses his
faults and strives to amend. God brings up those
who become his children with a great deal more
patience, a great deal more forbearance, and tenderness of love, than any mother exercises towai l a difficult and fractious child.  No faults lead her to give
him up, so long as there is hope that at length he
will do better, and do well. And God is greater in
love than any mother.
And, if you will now accept this law of love, hold
yourself bound by it, undertake to carry it out every
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
clay, not be discouraged by failures, persevere in spite
(:f imperfections, you shall find in Christ such graciousness, such a forbearing and forgiving nature, as
you will never find in any man.
The moment that you realize this goodness of
Christ, his helpfulness to you, his lenient, forgiving,
sympathizing spirit, then you know what faith in
Christ means. If such a Saviour attracts you and
you strive all the more ardently, from love toward
him, and trust in him, then you are a Christian: not
a religious man merely, but a Christian.
A man may worship through awe, or through a
sense of duty, and I think there are hundreds of men
in the churches who are only religious men, and not
Christians. A man who feels toward God only awe
or fear; who obeys merely from a sense of duty; who
is under the dominion of conscience rather than of
love, may be religious, but he is not a Christian.
Such men live by conscience, they live by a bond,
bound by fear. Their life is literally one of service;
they are fatally servants of God, not in the sense in
which the words are largely used in the Scriptures,
meaning simply disciples of Christ, but they are most
literally God's hired men, or worse-God's bondmen.
Men must learn no longer merely to fear God, no
longer to tremble as before the tyrannical master of a
despotic government; but to come unto Him through
Jesus Christ, and say, "Lord, I love thee, I trust thee,
and I will serve thee because I love thee."
Any man who knows enough to love his children,
his father, mother, brother or sister, has theological
knowledge enough to know the Lord Jesus Christ.
14
309 
HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
Now the question is this: Do you choose to do it?
If we were to put this question to any of you: Do
you really choose to love the Lord Jesus Christ? I
suppose every man of you would say, " I do." But
stop, there is a great distinction between desiring a
thing and choosing a thing; a man may desire without choosing.  Do you suppose there is a man in the
Tombs who does not desire to be an honest man?
But he does not choose to be; there are other things
which he desires more than that; he desires money
more than he does honesty; he desires the means of
debauchery and revelry more than he does honesty.
Probably there is not a man given to his cups, in the
city of New York, who, if you should ask him, "Do
you not desire to become a reformed and temperate
man?" would not say, Yes.  iHe desires it, but ho
does not choose it; there are other things that he
desires more, and he chooses the things which he
desires most.
Ask a poor ragged vagabond, "Do you not desire
riches?" Of course, he says he does. But he does
not choose it, and you cannot make him choose it;
he does desire to be rich, but he desires to be lazy
much more than that-therefore he is a vagabond.
A man desires to be a scholar, but hlie does not choose
it, because he likes his leisure much better than application. You desire an article of merchandise which
you see along the street; but when you inquire the
price, you will not take it because you desire the
money more. Almost every man desires something
which he does not choose. We are full of desires,
but we only choose those things for the possession of
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
which we are willing to deny the solicitation of all
antagonistic desires. That man who is willing to forego everything that stands in the way of the object
which he desires, that man only can be said to have
chosen it.
Now I put the question to you, Do you desire the
love of Christ?  Do you desire it more than you do
your pleasures, more than ambition, more than selfish
indulgences?  Are you willing to say before God, I
desire it more than all things in the world?  If you
do, I know not why you should not at once begin to
be Christian. You are competent to choose your
business; you do not need to ask any lawyers, doctors or ministers in order to do that. You are competent to choose your own course of life; you are
competent to choose your own pleasures, and you
never think of asking of others how to secure them.
Why do you not stand upon your own power-or
rather upon God's power, which works within yours
-and become a Christian by your own volition, just
as you become a lawyer, a physician, a merchant, a
traveller, a scholar?
WVhy do you not take three minutes of this sovereign power of choice, to become a Christian?  A
man perhaps will say, "I desire to make that choice
to-day."  What he ought to say is this: "I make the
choice. I make it now, and forever. I do in the
presence of Almighty God, with all my soul determine, that I will, through the love of Christ, make
his wish, the supreme law of my life within and
without. Not only in my relation directly to God,
but in all my conduct toward my fellow-men, I will
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
be governed by the revealed wish and law of God.
Trusting to his mercy for pardon in all things wherein
1I come short, and depending on him for strength,
I will make my work his work, and try like Jesus
to find miy meat and drink in doing God's holy
will." Who of you can solemnly promise this before
God?  Look at it all around and decide.  Who can
say, not that he will not be imperfect in carrying it
out, but who can say, "that is to be my idea of life,
that is to be my model, after which I am this hour
and henceforth forever to strive?" Is there a man
who can take that step?  But, you say, "a man may
take that step, and may become by mere choice a
Christian in that way; but there is no love springs up
-there is no grace in his heart or soul; and how is he
to have that peace, that joy, that rest, that we hear
Christians talking about? In other words, how is a
man to have in his soul the sweet sense that his power
is not in himself, but of Christ?" I answer, the Lord
will send that-but in his own way and time. Leave
it to him.
If feeling comes first, let it come. But do not wait
for it.  ]Iove on.  Follow your decision upon the
path of duty, and you will by and by have all the
feeling you need. Jesus Christ sits on the throne of
the universe for the very purpose of giving sympathy
and effectual help to every man who says, " Lord, I
am needy; Lord, I am bestormed and out of my
course, and I come to thee for sympathy and assistance." Upon that ground we are to look to Christ;
we have the power to choose him, and, if we do, we
shall feel that mighty love, that conscious sympathy
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HOW TO BECOMIF, A CHRISTIAN.
and presence, that power of God upon the heart of
every man, which shall give him peace and joy.  If
you doubt, come unto Christ and you shall know
whether it does not make you blessed.  This willingness on your part, this faith in Christ, is the element
that shall bring you in the right direction, to a consciousness of peace in Jesus Christ. But the great
trouble is, I think, that you do not wish to be Christianls so much as you wish other things.
One of the most memorable things that took place
last winter was the opening of a place as an eatinghouse, free to the hungry, in one of the streets of
this city. The kind actor in this charity thought that
he had no better way to use his money than to
feed the hungry and the poor; so he opened a room
and made this declaration: "If any are hungry, here
is food for them; let them come and eat." Now, in
the case of certain grades of men, there was no trouble
about it. The man who was in the ditch, and so low
that he knew that he was a miserable, degraded creature, would scramble up quickly when he heard of
this place; run to it and betake himself to the food
with almost indecent haste. And the man who had
been dodging around from one expedient to another,
till now he was nearly famished and did not know
where to go to keep from starvation, hears that here
there were great, bountiful rounds of beef and glorious loaves of bread, any quantity, indeed, of provision, and away he runs to see if it was really so; he
would not talk much, or preach much, but he would
practise a great deal; for, let me tell you that your
hungry men care very little for the theory of eating
14
313 
HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
or digestion.  It is the practice which they dote
upon.
But here comes a man who has been more respectable: he has lived in genteel society and given dinner
parties in his prosperous days; the times have been
rather hard upon him, but he expects that the spring
will set him up all right again; he has been home
with everybody who asked him to eat, has been to
everybody's house but his own, for there was nothing
to eat there; he has borrowed all the money he could,
but now no one asks him to dine, and he can borrow
Lo more. Hie has gone to bed hungry at night, and
oh! what dreams he has had out of that gnawing
stomach; he wakes up in the morning and says to
himself, "I wonder where I can get any breakfast?"
He thinks to be sure of that dining-saloon just opened,
where there is plenty of food to be had for nothing;
but he says, " I cannot go down there, I cannot humble myself so much; I, who have been able, and in the
habit of giving charity, to go down there and get my
food, and become a beggar? I can't do that!" So,
he wanders about till noon, and though the hunger
gnaws at his stomach, and he is faint and weary,
he will not go in yet, so he wanders on till about sundown.
But at sun-down he says to himself-and hunger is
an excellent logician-" After all, am I not acting
foolishly? I am so weak I can hardly stand, and it
does seem to me that I cannot sleep to-night for the
gnawings of hunger. Oh, how I want this food; I
think I will just go down the street." So away he
goes, like a great many men who have come in here
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HOW TO BECOME A CIIRISTIAN.
to-day, saying that they just came in to see what was
going on, but who know that down deep in their
own hearts there is something else beside curiosity
which they cannot resist. Well, away he goes down
the street, and looks in to see who is there; then
he watches to see if anybody is looking at him, or.
if anybody knows him; he goes away and walks
up the square, but he is reminded from within that
hlie had better come back again. This time he walks
right by the door, and looks in askance to see if anybody is in there; he hears the cheerful noise of the
knives and forks, smells the wholesome food, hears
the laughter of joyful men, hungry men doing work
meet for hunger. Now, suppose that, as he stands
there, he should see, among those going down, the
butcher and baker loaded with great piles of meat
and bread, and should stop them to say: "I am
almost dead with hmunger, I have been invited here to
take something to eat, but before I go down I should
like to know the precise process by which flour is
made into bread!"-just as men come to me, wishing
me to explain to them the doctrines of justification,
sovereignty, atonement, and other things, when they
are dying for want of Christ's loving help! So this
man stops the baker to ask him how bread is made,
but the butcher and the baker step in with their
load.
He listens again to the cheerful music of the
rattling dishes-and there is no such music to a
hungry man's ear, and says, "I can't go in yet; 1
am not satisfied as to the way these things are made."
So he walks away, but hunger gives him another
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HIOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
turn, and back he goes and looks in again, and says,
"If it wasn't for-, if it wasn't for-;"  then he
looks up the street to see if anybody is looking at
him, and says, "I will just go down one step." He
steps down, and the attraction is so great that lihe
goes in; nobody seems to know him, nobody seems
surprised; he reaches out his hand and takes hold of
a dry crust, and the tears come into his eyes as he
puts it into his mouth. Oh, how sweet it is! With
that he sits right down and makes a feast, and as he
rises up again, he says to himself, "Oh, what a fool I
was, that I did not come long before and often." Are
there not just such fools in this congregation? You go
up and down, to and fro, before Christ's table, when
there is bread that will cause that hunger to cease
forever, and water drawn from the river that comes
from God's throne; and yet you have gone back,
thinking what your wife would say, what your father
would say, what your partner would say, what your
gay companions would say. But you feel the gnawiligs of hunger, and, as you look at the spread table,
you say, " Oh, how we need this food, but we dare
not come and take it." Oh! it is shame, pride, or
fear, that keeps you thus back. Oh, if there was only
hunger enough to bring you to the right point, then,
having once tasted, you would rise up from that
feast, with the blessed assurance that yet once again
you should sit down at a still nobler table, at the
marriage supper of the Lamb!
Now, if there are any in this congregation that
have seen the bounty spread forth in the love of
Christ, which they can have "without money and
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HOW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
without price," as promised by Jesus Christ, do not
let them wait for somebody to explain it any more.
Try it yourselves to-day!
I am  ashamed of myself, often, to be an object of more faith than my Saviour; yet I have persons comling to me every day of my life, with their
wants and troubles, instead of going to Christ. How
eagerly they believe every statement I make; how
they hang upon my sympathy, and hope I will let
them come again to-morrow. I say to myself, if you
would only come to Christ with half the faith that
brings you to me, you might be rejoicing in half an
hour. Suppose now, that instead of a man sinful
and erring like yourselves, you should put in my
place the august form of the Lord Jesus Christ, full
of benigni,ity, glorious with goodness, and with a
sweetness that is more than any mother ever knew
for her darling child, waiting patiently, bending over
you and saying, " Come unto me and take my yoke
upon you;" "learn of me and ye shall find rest to
your souls," "for he that cometh unto me I will in
no wise cast out." Suppose you should hear Jesus
Christ saying, " I have been out to seek and search
for lost men, and I have found you, and I am persuading you to come to me; believe me that I love
you, that I love you now." If there is a man that
has one thought toward God, it is because the love
of God is drawing him sympathetically to himself.
It is a blessed thought that Jesus Christ is longing
for you, and I would that you might turn still more
earnestly to Jesus Christ and say, " Lord, I believe
thee, I believe thou lovest me; I believe thou desirest
317 
HIOW TO BECOME A CIIHRISTIAN.
to make me thine, and from this hour it shall be the
object of my life to please thee, and the one firm
object of my life to serve thee." Will you try the
effect of that vow, some of you, to-day?  Try it at
once, even now, while I am speaking.
I always feel most for those who are furthest from
grace, perhaps because I see in them some likeness
to myself.   But my Master also had a special regard for such. One of the most touching things in
the life of Christ, is the way in which the wretched
looked at him. The literary, the philosophical, the
rich, the great political men of that day did not think
much of Christ; but he had such a sweet way of
carrying himself in all Jerusalem, that whenever he
went into a house to sit down and rest, all the vagabonds and wretches came round about him, as though
he was their patron.  They felt "somebody cares
for me; somebody, instead of thumping me with a
truncheon, instead of putting my hands in manacles,
loves and cares for me." They did not know what
to make of the quiet, gentle effect of the character of
Christ; and wherever he went all manner of wicked
men poured round about him. Such was his sweetness that all the wretched and miserable came to see
him; such was the impression he made upon the
lowest class in Jerusalem. Why should we not all
be like him?
Whenever I know of a man that nobody else prays
for, it seems as if my heart would break for him. If
I hear of a man that has broken away from all
instruction, instead of saying, "he  is a devil, I
would much rather say he is my brother, and I
318 
11OW TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN.
mulst heartily pray for him."   When I walk up
Broadway,'tis a pain to me to look up and down the
street and see so many, with apparently nobody to
care for their souls. Now, if there is in this house
to-day any man who is wicked and degraded; if there
is any man who sells rum-and that makes about as
bad a man as can be in this world-I don't say this
to hurt your feelings, but because, as a servant of
Christ, I must talk plainly to every man;-if there is a
man in this congregation that has gotten his living by
stealing, from the most vulgar form of stealing up to
the most respectable, genteel way in which so-called
honest men steal, and call it financiering; if there are
any who live in any way discreditably in the eye of the
world or in the eye of God; any who make catering
to lust or passion their means of livelihood; if there
are any who have stood upon these boards, not to
instruct, but simply to amuse or degrade their fellowmen; actors, managers, or any others-give me your
hand, you are my brethren! It is the blood of Christ
that makes you and me related, which is more precious than the blood of your father or my father.
My soul goes out for you; and I long that you should
know how  Christ feels for you.   Oh! wandering
sheep, be not ye lost! Christ calls to you by my
voice. He sends me here to say to some man who is
on the point of decision, but who thinks it is of no
use to try to be good any longer;-drink, perhaps,
may be taking you down; or your passions are drag ging you down, and you do not know how to resist
the insidious pleasures which surround you; or your
companions are taking you down, and nobody, as
319 
HOW  TO BECOME A CHRIIISTIAN.
you think, cares for you-nobody prays for you or
gives you instruction. Yes, there is one man who
does-I care for you; not out of my own nature, but
because the spirit of my l[aster makes me thus care
for your soul.   He sent me to tell you that lIe glorious as he is-that Hle cares for you ten thousand
times more than I do.  iHe loves you -Ie longs for
you; and there shall not be one man who makes one
faint motion toward a better life whom IHe will
not stand ready to receive. I-e shall send forth the
angels, saying unto them, "Take care of that man,
and bear him up lest at any time he dash his foot
against a stone."
But, let me tell you, in this matter you must
be in earnest; you must be thoroughly resolved.
Prayers have this morning been asked in your hearing for a Christian woman who, at the peril of life,
has fled from slavery. Now, I want to know if there
is a man in this congregation who desires to get rid
of his sins as much as this poor woman did to get rid
of her slavery?  She was willing to put her life in
her hand, and, for days, without food, without drink,
to seek for liberty as for her very life.
Is there a slave in this congregation?  A  slave to
Satan or to his own passions? Is there any who wants
to escape as much as this poor woman did?  Who
strikes for liberty in Jesus Christ?  Who desires to
say to-day, not about one habit, but of all bad habits,
" I desire to reform-I will reform?"  It is easier to
J eform all at once than it is to reform one thing at a
time. If a man wishes to wash a spot, big as a
penny, clean on a dirty hand, he will find it much
320 
HOW TO BECOME A CHRISIIAN.
easier to wash the whole hand than that one spot.
This gradual repentance is like a man who wants to
be taken out from a burning building, but who says to
those about him, " Now, don't take me out too suddenly; take me down first to a room where it is not
quite so hot as it is here; and then to another room,
where there is still less heat, and so take me out gradually." Why, the man would be a cinder before
you got him out! A man who wants to reform should
reform perpendicularly-!  If you mean to quit drinking, quit it at once, and become a Christian? If you
want to be an honest man, go to God!  Begin there.
It is easier to reform any vice by becoming a Christian at once, than to attempt it from a lower motive.
Take upon you the highest bond of truth! A man
who tries to reform without the help of God, is like the
man who tries to breathe without air. Now, is there
any man here who seeks for reform?-there is hope
for you; there is prayer for you;  and better than
that, there is God for you-there is Christ for you!
I hope and desire that in consequence of these
remarks, some man who has been bound in sin may
be converted.  Who shall it be?  Shall it be you?
Some of you whose friends have been laboring for
you, SIIALL IT NOT BE YOU?
14*
321 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDEIITY.
REPORTER'S PRELIMINARY STATEMENT.
[AN occasion of unusual interest, and one which
will be long memorable to those who witnessed it,
was celebrated last Sunday morning in Plymouth
Congregational Church, Brooklyn. The unusual religious feeling which has been apparent in this congregation for some months past, has of late been coming to harvest, and the fruits are now being gathered.
The prayer-meetings have long been crowded, and
the weekly lectures transferred from the lecture-room
to the main building, in consequence of the thronged
attendance. This church, during its comparatively
brief history of less than eleven years, has experienced several revivals of great power and long continuance; but never one of greater extent or more
gratifying character than the present. The first indications of unusual seriousness in the congregation
were observed about the time of the beginning of the
General Awakening, last fall; and the feeling has
since been continually increasing, without any present
token of decline. The great audiences attending the
Sabbath services have given evidence of deep seriousness, and the successive occasions of public worship
have steadily grown more and more solemn and
impressive. For two months past, at the close of the
evening sermons, the pastor has regularly invited the
852 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRIST''IAN FIDELITY.    323
unconverted persons in the congregation who desired
prayers in their behalf, to rise in their seats, and thus
to make that public commitment of themselves which
has so often been found to be the beginning act of
conversion.
Since the communion in March (when a very large
accession was made to the church) up to last Sabbath,
which was the next following communion season, one
hundred and ninety persons presented themselves for
admission; of which number one hundred and sixtyfive were to make a public profession of their faith
in Christ, and twenty-five to be received by letters
from other churches. How seldom is it the privilege
of a single church to receive into its fellowship, at a
regular communion occurring at an interval of only
two months from a previous one, which was also signalized by a large ingathering, so great a number of
those who have newly passed from death unto life,
and become-publicly and before the world-disciples of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ!
An occasion of so much interest was appropriately
celebrated with joyfulness and thanksgiving. In
commemoration of the event, the pulpit was beautifully decorated with flowers-whichl, if there were
still altars for sacrifice, would be the most beautifil
and the most touching offerings that could ever be
laid upon them; while behind the desk, and facing
the company of converts, was hung in cloth the
inscription, "For ye were as sheep gone astray, but
are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of
your souls."  The PRev. Dr. Lyman  Beecher sat inr
the pulpit, a venerable witness of the scene, remind 
324    GOD'S wITNESS TO CIIRISTIAN FIDELITY.
ing one of Summerfield's picture of " Jacob leaning
upon his staff." Five rows of pews, extending in
semi-circular formn around the pulpit, were occupied
exclusively by the candidates.   The  edifice was
crowded to its utmost capacity in every part, including aisles, passages, doorways, vestibule, and pulpitsteps, while hiundreds of persons, notwithstanding the
rain at the time of the beginning of the services, were
unable to obtain admission within seeing or hearing
distances.
After the usual opening invocation and singing, the
pastor read the long list of names of persons propounded for membership; which brought tears to
many eyes in the congregation, as relatives and
friends were found to be upon it, including in some
instances almost entire families, with many parents
and children, brothers and sisters, born at the same
time into the kingdom of God. It was almost like
the reading of a page out of the " Lamb's book of
life."
Two verses of Doddridge's hymn were then sung,
beginning
"0 happy day, that fixed my choice."
The union of three thousand voices in a hymn-of
praise, to two hundred of whom, gathered around the
pulpit, it was a "new song in their mouth," was so
solemn and inspiring, that there could have been but
few in the house not affected by it.
The usual brief ceremonial of admission was then
performed, consisting in the reading of the "articles
of faith," and the "covenant with the church," to 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.    325
the converts standing, and their bowing assent-in
the baptism of such as had never before received the
rite, of whom there were thirty females and twelve
males-in the reading of the covenant to those
received by letter-and in the welcome act of fellowship by the church, expressed by the members rising
in their seats in token of admitting their new brethren
into their number.
It should be mentioned that on Thursday evening
previous to the communion, twenty-three of the candidates were baptized, at their own request, by
immersion. The ceremony was performed by Mr.
Beecher, in presence of a crowded assembly, in the
Baptist church in Pierrepont street.
The opening exercises were concluded with singing
the three remaining verses of the same hymn, which,
thus divided, is admirably adapted to such an occasion-beginning with the third verse,
"'Tis done, the greatest transaction's done;
I am the Lord's and Hie is mine."
A sermon was then preached, which, owing to the
exercises that had already preceded, and to the com.
munion which was to follow it, was unusually brief,
and of which-from both the general interest of the
occasion, and of the discourse itself-we give an
unabridged and complete report as follows:]
" Tillwe all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge
of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stat
ture of the fullness of Christ; that we henceforth be no more chil.
dren, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doc.
trine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they
lie in wait to deceive; but speaking the truth in love, may grow up 
326    GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTL[N FIDELITY.
into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ; from whom the
whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every
joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of
every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in
love."-EPH. iv. 13-16.
This is addressed to those who were but just entering upon a course of Christian discipleship; and it is
peculiarly appropriate to an occasion like this. This
morning God hath caused the gates of this temple to
be thrown open, to receive as many as would constitute a new and large church!  Such a day as this has
never before dawned upon this Christian brotherhood.
This church is but eleven years old. It has been
blessed with five seasons of peculiar religious growth.
They have not been at the expense of intermediate
seasons.  Much has lately been said of revivals; and
many  have derided them  as rare and occasional
freshets of feeling, in churches that ordinarily have
none. That this is sometimes the fact is indisputable. But it need not be. A revival of religion is
not an abnormal state. It is based upon natural
laws. Like all other true states, it will be sound and
beneficial, or imperfect and mischievous, according
to the knowledge and skill with which men employ
the great and stated agencies of Truth.
Five revivals have been experienced in eleven
years in this church. Not only has this not been the
case because the intermediate periods were unspiritual and declining; but there has been a continual
growth in the spirituality of the church, and each
revival has lifted the church higher. And when the 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.    327
special social religious element has subsided, it has
not left the church cold, hard, insensitive, and fruitless.  For, if you except the communion season which
follows the summer pastoral vacation (and at which
we do not aim to receive members) there has been
scarcely a communion season in this church for years,
at which persons have not been received from the
world. And there have been awakenings and conversions more or less frequent during every year, and
during every month, from year to year. Eleven
years ago this month, this church was formed with
twenty-five members. To-day it stands up to praise
God with the grateful hearts of 1,377; and of this
great company, 673 have been received from the
world, and upon good evidence of conversion.
You must not uncharitably regard this as boasting.
I have no time for that; I have a higher end in
view.
I wish it to be remembered that this church has
had its whole life and development during a very
critical period of American history. The Gospel of
Christ, in every age, has a new work to perform, a
new growth to develop, new applications to the everchanging phases of society to be made. I need not
,ell you through what a memorable and eventful
series of changes God has brought this nation.
In preaching the Gospel to you, I have taken it for
granted that my duty was to preach a living Gospel,
to living men. about living questions. I have not
confined my  attention to one subject.   I have
preached Christ as the fountain-head of all spiritual
life, and the perfect exemplar. I have taught you 
328      GOD'S WIT'NESS TO CIIRISTIAN FIDELITY.
that a deep, inward spiritual life, begun by God's
Spirit, and daily nourished by God's personal presence, is the foundation of all true Christian morals. I
have taught you that love to God and to man is the
characteristic element of all true Christian reformatory labor. And you will bear me witness that I
have anxiously, and ten times, yes, a hundred times
more than anything else, taught, labored, and besought that you prepare yourselves for all external
work by faith in Jesus Christ, by humility, by zeal
tempered with discretion, by fervent sympathy with
each other and with the whole brotherhood of mankind.   And I have incessantly stimulated you to
work in an atmosphere of love.
Thus prepared, I have sought to inspire you with
higher ideals of life in every one of its elements;
with a higher notion of personal character; with a
nobler sense of true manhood; with a purer and
deeper way of personal living; with a richer and
higher idea of the family state; with more noble
habits of secular life. I have searched the family, the
store, the shop, the office, the street, the ship, the
farm, with the lighted candle of the Gospel, and
sought to develop in your mind the idea of a symmetrical Christian character, both contemplative and
executive, both spiritual and philanthropic, both
domestic and public. I have not forgotten things
personal in things domestic, nor things secular in
domestic truths, nor your public duties by any overscrupulous ecclesiastic and church relationship.  And
in the fulfillment of this work you know very well
that I have neither neglected public questions Toe' 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.
yet intruded them sd often as to give them disproportionate importance. I have called you to believe
the deep and fundamental truth of Christ's atonement, on the human side of it, namely, that men are
unspeakably precious and valuable beyond all estimation before God! I have said that the meanest
and lowest creature on the globe is of transcendent
dignity, and has rights sacred as the throne of God.
For, what shall measure the worth of a creature for
whose salvation Christ would die? One drop of
Christ's blood is worth a globe, though it were one
orbicular diamond.  Souls are the jewels of God, not
metals or stones.
I have taken hearty and earnest part in the struggles of our day for the great Christian Doctrines of
Human Liberty, and I have led no unwilling church
into the conflict. In this matter (pardon me if I
speak of myself) I have determined to have no
interests, no reputation, and no position or influence,
aside from these great truths. I have committed my
soul to God's keeping, and have neither asked nor
cared what men might think, or say, or do. Too
thankful to live in such a day, and to work in such a
field, I have only feared that my sight might grow dull,
my heart grow feeble, and my hand become weak in
this work so dear to the heart of Christ!  As Christ
has embraced the human soul in his own, so hath lihe
taught me to call all men my brethren. And I have
preached, lectured, written, and gone forth unhesitatingly and before the whole people, to bear witness
to the great Gospel of Christ in the one preeminent
and transcendent application of it to the great pulsat
ing, living interest of this age and nation.
329 
330    GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.
Now, why have I said all this? For two reasons.
First, Because God has raised up this church as
seal and testimony. It stands before the nation as a
church consecrated to Christ, not only in a genera]
way, but as a church that bears an unfaltering witness to Christian Reform. It stands before the world
for Temperance; for Liberty and against Slavery;
for Humanity and against all oppression in trade, in
commerce, or in civil relations. And what has been
God's testimony?
Hias this been a church split and divided by intestine quarrels? For eleven years your church meetings have been open to the freest speech. And I call
you to witness that there has never been a difficulty
so large as a man's hand, nay, so large as a finger, in
this society or church! We have gone through all
discussions of the most perilous and exciting questions, and all men have had unrestrained liberty, and
yet love has not been quenched. And we stand this
day a living brotherhood. You love me. I love
you, most heartily. And you love each other, and
dwell in more than peace-yea, in great joy and
gladness together. And it is a thing that has become
noticeable, and noticed, that there is in this congregation a spirit of general and undissembled love.
This is God's blessing and God's witness to the righteousness of your cause!
Moreover, while you have been faithful, in some
degree, to Christ's work among the poor, see how he
has set the seal to it by the repeated revivals sent
among and upon you! To those who ignorantly
denounce you for not preaching the Gospel, we 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CIHRISTIAN FII)ELITY.   331
answer, within eleven years thiere have been five precious revivals of religion here, and many hundreds
of conversions.
Is this the history of a church without a Gospel'?
I declare my solemn conviction, that God has spiritually blessed you because it was the very Gospel
which we preached. Not a descant to the rich, not
an essay to the refined, not a favoring of the prosperous, but a Gospel of pity, love, and salvation, tenmporal and eternal, to every tribe, race, and class of men
And I am willing to go before the impartial tribunal of coming times, and declare that by this fidelity
to liberty, to good morals, to humanity, to the indispensable and integral elements of true spiritual
religion, we have been prospered.
The other reason that led me to this history, was,
that I might bear witness, not alone to the reality,
but to the beneficence of Revivals of Religion.
They are not the mere alternative heats which
follow worldly chills. Revivals are founded upon
natural laws, just as are all other instrumental religious elements.   They may be wisely dealt with.
They may be ignorantly dealt with.  But they do
not exist because the church, having been low, seeks
to equilibrate itself by being unduly excited. They
belong to the social and religious nature of men,
gathered together in churches or communities.
As it respects this church, I bear witness, that at
each period this church has risen, in consequence of
such visitations, to a higher level of Christian life,
and kept it! The church by each season has risen
to a higher conception of Christian life, to higier and 
332    GOD'S WITNESS TO CHIIRISTIAN FIDELITY.
purer views of Christ, to clearer conceptions of duty
and usefulness, to greater desire for doing good, and
expertness in carrying forth that desire.
This church has been a Christian church, believing
in the great cardinal doctrines held by evangelical
Christians in common; and because it was a Christian church it has been a temperance body, a church
full of zeal for liberty, and incessantly laborious in
all the great humanities of our age. And yet, it has
been expectant of revivals, and the grateful recipient
of them. For, as God gives a great seed-time, and a
great and general harvest to every year, and yet fills
up thle months also, with incidental and perpetual blossoming and ripening of some sweet thing; so he gives
to every true and intelligent church constant budding,
constant blossoming.   But, beside that, is grander
profusion —greater harvests, in which the whole year
opens its bosom and exhibits its vast richness! There
may be a harvest of cockles and chess, but that does
not argue against true wheat or corn! There may be
an autumn for the crab-apple and the bitter sloe, but
that does not take from the glory of the orchard, nor
from the exquisite flavor of its superabundant fruits.
A true course of fidelity thus is seen to stand
between the two extremes of an empty Christianity
and a scoffing Infidelity. It rejects the dead sepulchre, amid which inhuman Christians stand praising
the dust and bones of those men of the past whom
their pharisaic fathers slew. And it utterly refuses
to go down to the hard and stony road of Naturalism,
where the strong men but just subsist, and where,
when the weak ask for bread, they must give them 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CIIRISTIAN FDELrrY.    333
stones, and for eggs, scorpion doubts.   They have
nothing better to give!
And now for the future! To what have these newcomers been called? Are they to-day received into
your bosom, that they may, henceforth, subside and
be sheltered from labor, from self-denial, from
achievement, yea, if need be, from battle unto
death!
Nay, verily! you have merely begun.  Your journey is yet to be performed. You have taken your
staff; but the travelling is all before you. You have
entered school; you are scholars.  You have much
to learn, and everything to practise; you are just
beginning. Your experience thus far is but leaven,
that is to leaven the whole meal.
The centre of all your aims is to be, according to
the Scripture which I have read-the construction of
your own character.   You are to build hereafter
toward the ideal of perfect manhood. "Till we all
come in the unity of the faith and of the knowledge
of the Son of God, unto a perfect man; unto the
measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ."
Hereafter, your aim is to be the reconstruction of
your inward and your outward life, so that you shall
attain to a full manhood-to the pattern and ideal
of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Joys are not, therefore, what you are seekingthough joys will be yours; nor sorrows-though you
will have them. It is not eminent vision that you
seek. It is not mere zeal, not mere self-denial, not
mere cross-bearing. These and such other graces as
are either instruments or the sequences of your true 
334    GOD'S WITNESS TO CIIPISTIAN FIDELITY.
Christian life-you will have. But your aim is to
be, to build up a Christian manhood-a spiritually
manly character. When men build, it is not bricks
that they aim at, nor stone, nor timber, nor lime, nor
paint, though they use them all; they aim at a house.
" Now, we are no more strangers and foreigners, but
fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household
of God; and are built up upon the foundation of the
apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the
chief corner-stone; in whom all the building fitly
framed together groweth unto a holy temple in the
Lord; in whom ye also are builded together for a
habitation of God through the Spirit." Our text
gives the same thought, only under a different figure
-of the body. 3Ien do not seek to develop themselves in the hand alone, nor in the foot, nor in any
one member. They seek the life of the whole body.
And so you are called, not to be happy, not to be
peaceful; you are called, not to suffering, not to selfdenial, not to cross-bearing. Though all these things
come upon you, they are merely instruments with
which you are to build up a Christian manhood, in
all its symmetry and perfection.
That manhood, although it is to be based upon
your natural faculties, is a great deal more than the
mere unfolding of these faculties. There is to be
unfolding, and then a training to a model-which is
Christ. And this does not mean a training to any
mystic and impossible identity with God, in the
greatness of His peculiar spiritual being; but a training to those elements of feeling which Christ manifested to those aims which he accepted —to those 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.    335
practical elements of life which he exhibited. Christ
is your model and teacher. You are not, therefore,
to go to the World to ask what is honest, or what is
pure, or what is true; you are to go to Christ and
ask him, and, with that knowledge, to go back and
live by it-let the world and its customs be what
they may. You are not to go to your own circle, nor
to any mere church or teacher; you are to go to the
Lord and Saviour. There is his life; there is his
conduct; there are his words. There you are to
resort. If you need help to interpret what they
mean, ask help of those that are wise in these things;
yet your model is not to be minister, nor church, nor
family, nor community-but Christ!
In this work, you are to remember that piety is a
practical thing. " That ye henceforth be no more
children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with
every wind of doctrine, by the will of men and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive."
Piety is not an explanation of all possible religious
truths. It is not casuistry, nor ethical discussion. It
is the rearing up of your daily life upon the pattern
of Christ Jesus. To that you are called. Christians,
like other men, may investigate; they may reason;
they may study; they may construct philosophies;
but this is no necessary part of their Christian life.
That to which they are called is the finding out of
truth for the sake of better living-not the finding
out of truth for the sake of knowing how one fits
into another. You are called into the church in an
age of speculation. Everything is up for investigation.  No book, no custom, no system, no institution
4. 
336    GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.
— though a thousand years have made it venerable,
is or can be exempt from search and test. I do not
wish to warn you against discussion, nor against
thinking, nor against progress. But that which is to
make you Christian men is not involved in research,
nor in philosophy.  It lies within the reach of the
simplest soul-within reach of the most ignorant. It
is written over and over again, almost in every possible form.   "The righteousness which is of faith
speaketh in this wise, Say not in thine heart, who
shall ascend into heaven? that is, to bring Christ
down from above; or who shall descend into the
deep? that is, to bring up Christ again from the dead.
But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in
thy mouth, and in thy heart, that is, the word of faith
which we preach." Your Christian character does
not stand in your being able to solve all curious,
knotty questions. It stands in your being able to solve
the mischief of pride in your heart in controlling
your selfishness-in making sweet that which is bitter-in lifting up that which is low-in exalting that
which is high still higher-in making your whole life
redolent of Christian love. You are called to this.
Let other men investigate doctrines and philosophies,
and you yourselves may, but there is something,
without these, that stands near enough to every one
of you: the construction of your own private personal
character and conduct upon the model of Christ.
There be many men who will preach another Gospel
to you; but the Gospel for you is-Christ in you the
hope of glory. There are many men who will trouble
you with the dust of the Bible, its foundation knocked
4 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHRISTIAN FIDELITY.    33T
from under it, and the superstructure all taken down;
but what you need is not curious speculation, but rich
and pure living-deep-hearted piety, to build you up
higher and higher in a true manhood; to prepare
you for sorrow and trouble; to prepare you for
bereavements and afllictions; to prepare you for the
grand passage of death; to prepare you to stand
immortal in the kingdom of God and of our Lord and
Saviour Jesus Christ. While, if you are perplexed
and puzzled with various questions, you may investigate freely, see to it that no troubles in respect to
external circumstances move you from that which is
the marrow of the truth-Christ your model, and
a character shaped and fashioned according to his
example.
The element in which everything grows and ripens
in this outward world is that conjoined element
which the sun gives-light and heat. To-day is
Nature's great communion day!  Ten million times
ten million new-born leaves are holding up their tender hands to greet the sun. What is that which
evokes them all?  What is that in which they all
live, and are to live all summer long? What is that
which is to ripen them till they all glow like gold in
autumn?   It is the warmth and light of the sun
-the great atmosphere with which God bathes all
nature! Now we are to live in one great atmosphere
which is to be about us-the atmosphere of Christian
love. When I speak of love, I do not mean the drops
that trickle down when we strike the rocky heart with
the prophet's wand, gushing for the day and then
dried up; Lut love springing up and filling the whole
15 
338     GOD'S WITNESS TO CIRISTIAN FIDELITY.
heart, always, to overflowing. I mean, first, thou shalt
iove the Lord thy God, and then, out of that same
fountain, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.
See how curiously this is here traced-like curious
figures worked in gold:  "That henceforth ye be no
more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about
with every wind of doctrine by sleight of men and
cunning craftiness whereby they lie in wait to deceive; but, speaking the truth in love, may grow up
unto him in all things, which is the hlead, even
Christ-"
One thing more.  What a consunmation is this
to-day!  We  stand upon the dividing-point, and
reach forth into the past and the future! Who were
your fathers and mothers?  Where the village in
which your infancy nestled?  What  has been the
course and history of your life?  Look backl from the
point and privilege of to-day! HIow many prayers
are now answered on your appearing here to-day!
Ilow many tears, shed like dew in the silence of the
night, are now made radiant, like dews when the
morning sun rises upon them!  Mothers, that have
prayed for you, and died praying, and have gone
home to glory, behold you from heaven to-day! For
though we may not know what is going on in heaven,
heaven knows what is going on upon earth.  And
they that are redeemed behold you, and bless God
with double joy for your joy to-day. What temptations have you escaped and left behind you forever
and forever! What evils have you turned yourselves
from!  What a life have you abandoned, and what
a glorious life have you entered upon! 
GOD'S WITNESS TO CHIIRISTIAN FIDELITY.   339
Now turn and look the other way.  What is to be
your history. Some of you are to be poor; but you
have that which is worth more than riches.  Some
of you arc to be obscure; nay, he on whose head
Christ  atht  put his hand, can never be other than
illustrious! Some of you are to have a hard and
burdensome way in life; but no burden is comparable
to the cross, and he who has learned to carry the cross
of Christ, can carry the globe itself after that! Some
of you perhaps are to go forth upon the ocean, and to
die, and be buried in its waves. Some of you are
to go among strangers, to fall down in the forest
where no man hath been, and where there will be
none to wipe the death moisture from your forehead. But the Lord Jesus Christ hath said, " I will
never leave you nor forsake you." Die where he
please, die when he please, he dies unto life who dies
with Christ ministering to him.
And now, my dear Christian brethren, I cannot tell
you with what joy I receive  you, one by one.
Although I have been so busy that I could not sit
down to take the luxury of joy with each one of you,
one after another-for you came too fast for thatyet I propose to myself a better time with you in
heaven than ever I shall have upon earth. But today let me pause in my work; let me sit down with
you to-day in the bower of Christ's love; and let me
be happy, and be ye happy, as you and I shall taste
the bread and the wine for the first time in your lives,
to-day.  No such bread has ever grown as that which
you shall taste to-day!  No grape was ever crushed
of such precious life-blcod as that with which to-day 
340    GOD'S WITNESS TO CIIRISTIAN FIDELITY.
we shall symbolize the blood of Christ Jesus, shed for
the renmission of your sins!   0 children of Christ,
new-born! 0 disciples of Christ, new-leCarned! 0
heirs of glory, expectant of heaven!-I bid you GOD
SPEED! And if ever in after times you are carried
into temptations, if ever you are waylaid by secret
enemies in your own heart, if ever you are driven
hither and thither from your steadfastness-wherever
you may be in the dark hour-I bid you remember
this bright and radiant morning, and this joyful consecration which you this day have made; and if in
that hour of darkness there is nothing in the present
to sustain you, draw from the magazine of the past,
and let memory nerve you to stand steadfast and
faithful unto the end! And when we shall have passed
what most men call the river, but what has become
by faith the rill of death-scarcely wetting the palms
of our feet, while we walk across singing triumphs all
the way over;-if you go before I do, greet me; if I
go before, I shall look back for you, and reach out
joyful hands fromn among that multitude that shall
stand to greet you when you come to your Father's
kingdom. By and by we shall be with the ransomed
of the Lord, and there, crowned with eternal joy, we
shall lift up our voices forever and ever in praise of
him who hath this day loved us, and given himself
for us.  Amen! Amen! 
THIE PROGRESS OF C]IRISTIANITY.*
THE ability of the missionary society to do Hood
abroad, depends very much on the opinion entertained of it at home. Whenever a difficulty occurs
there, it must be removed. And there is such a
difficulty now. There'are some individuals whose
faith is so strong  that they always  give  themselves up to their feelings without reasoning. There
are others wvho follow their heads first, and only
give liberty to their hearts afterward. First, it.7as
necessary with them that the head should see clearly
and reasonably what was to be done, before their
hearts were permitted to get up much steam. These
are, after all,.the most useful men in this cause, as
in any other.  Now, is this work of evangelizing tie
world a divine work?  If it is divine, how shall we
explain the great hiatus in its progress?  Eighteen
hundred years ago it commenced, and made glorious
strides toward completion; but then it seemed as if
the great command had been suspended for ages, the
command given by Christ before his ascension, " Go
ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every
creature."  Why had not the work gone on?  Wlhen
the apostles, with the fiery tongues of Pentecost yet
* An Address delivered at the Anniversary of the A. B. C. F. M.
May, 1847. 
PROGRESS OF CHRISTIANITY.
burning on their heads, went forth, the nations fell
before them like withered grass before the autumnal
fires. But our progress is like that of snails. Theirs,
like that of lions. HIathl God forgotten? His arm
then stretched forth with might, has it grown weary?
Or was the success of the apostles' preaching and
labors merely the result of human enthusiasm, which
has its ebbing and flowing, its action and reaction, its
periodic times? Has it died away through so many
centuries, and have we at last raised it to a merely
temporary resurrection?  Are there any marks of
divinity about the great scheme?
When  the Gospel was first preached, the immensity of its work can scarcely be conceived by us
at the present day. The apostles had not only to convert men, individual men, but to convert the world.
The Gospel was to infuse its leaven into all that men
had done in the world, into all their laws, their maniers and customs, their social and  domestic relations, their political institutions, and the whole framework of society.   These, too, were all to be divinely
baptized, just as much as the men themselves. We
must not suffer ourselves to be deceived by low conceptions of the work which had to be done. Remember the words of Christ himself. The kingdom of
heaven was to be like leaven which a woman took
and hid-khid in three measures of meal.  Now, when
you take leaven, and put it into the meal, you do not
see anything like a spontaneous fermentation. It is
hidden-youL cannot see it, nor can you see its operation until the fermentation  is complete.   In like
manner Christ camne. Hie put the leaven into three
342 
PROGRESS OF CHRISTIANITY.
centuries, and there it was hlid, working and working under the surface, invisible to the eye, until by
and by there was a little breaking forth here, and a
little thlere, and then, when the results began to appear, men, having lost the connection between cause
and effect, said, "Whence is this?"  They had lost
sight of the leaven, it was placed there so long ago.
We must remember that this meal was placed in a
pretty large dish.  It was the whole world.  When
Christ came, the world was four thousand years old,
and its progress from the first had been steadily upward in all intellectual and manual branches; but this
growth had taken place under the influence of depraved hearts-of selfishness, of pride and of cruelty.
The Gospel was now to undo and overlay all that bad
hearts and bad understandings had been doing in the
world for these four thousand years.   It had not
only to convert the men in the world, but the world
itself. Go to a corrupt village-some God-forsaklen
spot, where all is vice and iniquity, and convert one
man; let everything around him continue depraved
and degrading as it was before, and with this evil
influence constantly working upon him, what will be
the result?  ~Iay be he will stand-yes, that's the
word, stand; but he will not travel.  Thus, suppose
that, after a great portion of the Roman empire had
been converted, the old Roman priestly government
had been suffered to remain, with the old heathen
worship, the old social customs, the old laws, and
everything else as in its pagan state, why, these
mounted batteries of - theirs would have swept the
flanks and rear of the Christian army perpetually.
343 
PROGRESS OF CalRISTIANITY.
There would have been no gradual meliorationl of the
world. It would have stood, perhiaps, but a converted
man must not only stand, he must grow in grace.
If it were God's plan to work by miracles, the con version of the world had been as easy as the creation
or the flood. But hlie intends his truth to work its
way by the natural operation of those laws by which
the mind of man is governed. Was this change, a
change which was to be wrought in Religion and
Politics, in the capitol and the forum, in literature
and the laws, in marriage and manners, in the study
and in the shop, was all this to be the work of time,
or of a day?  Go to some of the most polluted pur lieus of this city, take thence a boy who was literally
born in sin, the son of the vilest of parents, a youth
who has been trained and graduated in iniquity;
suppose that it is discovered that he is related to
some one of your high families, let one who is a gentleman and a Christian take him from his filthy den,
wash, literally wash, shave, and shear him, dress him,
brings him into his family and adopt him for his own.
Suppose, too, that it is with the boy's own consent, and
hlie says: "I will be to you a son." Is hlie as yet really
changed by all this?  Only in external thiings.  He
has yet an imagination which must be gone through,
all its vile and reeking passages explored and cleansed;
and you must pour into his mind the riches of knowlcdge, of the laws, of morality and honesty, delicacy,
purity and truth. His whole sphere has to be changed.
You cannot take such a one, clean him and dress him,
give him a long moral lecture at nine o'clock at
night, and expect him to get up a thoroughly changed
344 
A'
PROGRESS OF CIIRISTIANITY.
man in the morning-i-no, nor in a year. If, beginning at the age of sixteen, the work has been completed by the time he is twenty-one, the work has
been done quickly. If, in this time, you have scoured
out those sewers of his mind, and converted them into
channels of God's pure and refreshing grace-I say
again you have done the work quickly! Now, if it is
such long labor with one boy, with all the influences
of Christianity breathing around him-if, from the
nature of the mind itself; under even the most favorable circumstances, the change must be so slow, what
length of time will it take for a whole world?  A
world, too, where wickedness was organized and with
its gigantic front, and black heart festering in corruption, said to the Gospel, " we will have none of you,"
-a world which was that darkness into which the
Gospel was sent, and the darkness comprehended it
not. The leaven must be hid within three measures
of meal, and it will take its own time to work.
Sometimes the best way to reform is to destroy,
as in the case of weeds. Sometimes defects could be
cured by making additions or taking away obstructions or superfluities, by purifying and cleansing,
without destroying the fabric itself:  But when the
edifice is old, and badly built in the first place, when
every crack and cranny is overflowing with vermin,
all scouring, and patching, and painting, is labor
thrown away; you must pull it down, stone from
stone, and then, when these stones have been thoroughly cleansed, you may, with fresh mortar, construct a new and noble dwelling. Now when the
old heathen government presented its huge front to
345 
PROGRESS OF CIIRISTIANITY.
the first attack of the Gospel, with its doors barred,
its ramparts mounted, its windows guarded, and all
its avenues fortified, you might as well preach to the
front of Astor's ltotel, and expect it to drop tears of
penitence; you might have assaulted it in front and
rear, and bombarded it from year to year, and all
without securing a surrender. But did you ever see
a stream meet a sturdy rock in its course, how it parts
and flows, one channel on this side and another on
that?  So the stream of the Gospel ran around the
fortress of paganism. But there was another work
going on. For while the waters ran on, gurgling like
music, they were gradually sapping the foundations
of the mighty citadel; buttress after buttress gave
way, tower after tower sank down to rise no more,
until at last the whole structure fell in hopeless ruins.
So has it been in Europe.   Revolution after Revolution, change after change, wars after wars, constantly
swaying backward and forward.
I once knew a student of Religion, who took up
Mosheim's "Church History," and on finishing it,
said: ""Well, if this is your religion, I will have
nothing to do with it; why, it is nothing but fighting,
fighting, forever and always fighting!" But only
go into a field of wheat and examine the grain.
You are delighted with the long green leaves and
the beautiful golden grain.-Suppose you see it by
and by cut down, and after being soundly thrashed,
stowed in bags, and taken to the mill. There, it is
thrown into the hopper, it goes between the millstones, and on appearing below, you are astonished
at the result. Where is now all the comeliness, and
346 
PROGRESS OF CIIRISTIANITY.
grace, and wondrous mechanism, and bending beauty
of the original grain?  All gone! This seems very
hard, yet every housewife could tell you that you
cannot make bread without it. Thus it was with the
old society. It was full of rough stones and jagged
rocks, savage customs, cruelties, superstitions, lusts,
bad laws, vile manners and customs, and how could
all this be molded  for Christ?   The voice of
history said,-by attrition, by wars, revolutions, and
commotions of every kind.   These did the grinding up, just as in the flowing of torrents and streams
the rough stones are worn smooth.  These wars and
revolutions, he knew, were called civil and political, and not religious.   But did not God know
all about them?  Did not his prophets foresee them,
and does not his hand guide them for the fulfillment
of his purposes?  Then they were religious.  Nor,
if you regard the laws of the human mind, had this
progress been slow.  It led through war and bloodshed, but it must reach its consummation. Hlas any
such consummation taken place? Draw the contrast
between our day and the apostolic time.
One hundred years after the death of Christ, where
were the arts, painting, poetry, sculpture, architec ture?  Where were learning, refinement, the civil
law, the influence of the court, the money and com merce-the very warp and woof of society? —Thley
were all on the side of heathenism. The symbol of
Christianity was then the empty cross-empty
because Christ, who had hung thereon, was ascended
up to heaven. Now that 1800 years have passed,
where is heathenism, with all her'pomp and pride,
347 
PROGRESS OF CIIRISTIANITY.
her strength and royal robes? She is fallen into the
last stage of muttering decrepitude. Whose fleets
are those that whiten every sea?  Whose arts, and
arms, and wealth are those that astonish and rule the
world? Whose are the schools and colleges, thie
learning, the wisdom, the treasure of the earth? All
in the hands of Christians. It seemed, too, that the
richest temporal blessings had always followed the
nations that had the most spiritual life. This was
the oft repeated promise of the Bible, and every
finger-board of history points to the contrast. Christ ianity now  stands triumphant in the world;  her
whole solid front is formed, and her face is set as
though she would go up to Jerusalem.  And what
has been done to cause this? Why, all thle questions
have been raised that could be raised; question after
question has been decided, and the decisions have
been baptized in blood.  This was necessary before
the Gospel could get full swing at society. Iitherto,
men suffered from intervening obstacles. They were
brought up to hear with government ears or parental
ears, or to look at things throughl this lens or that of
prejudice; but by and by they were coming to
listen with their own ears, and look without lenseswithout any diverting or distorting medium, at truth.
It was objected, that the churches were so divided
and agitated, that new  sects were starting up as
thick as mosquitoes, that new societies and newfangled notions of every kind were multiplying in a
fearful ratio. What of it? While the Lord God
omnipotent reiglleth, the end of all this cannot be
doubtful.  But there was one thing to be noticed.
349 
PROGRESS OF CIIRISTIANITY.
Ostensibly, all these agitations and nove-ties had but
one sole end in view, one object at bottom; the
improvement of the human race. Not an infidel but
is compelled to do this before he can obtain a hearing.
When was ever the like of this seen in the world's
history before?  VWhy, this is the very foundation
principle of the Bible itself! And is this what the
old, selfish, proud world has come to?  She that used
so scornfully to smite the face of the preacher?-Is
Saul among the prophets at last?  God works on
patterns of such vast size, that we cannot see them.
And we should learn to look on all obstructions and
trials, persecutions, sufferings, as only momentary
sorrows. They cannot last long. Along the banks
of the Mississippi, here and there, may be seen a
backward eddy, but who would, therefore, think the
whlole huge river had ceased flowing onward?  So,
from the time of the apostles, though  there had
been backward eddies in the stream of the Church,
yet in every period of hundreds of years, might be
marked a distinct flowing onward of the main tide,
until now it can never be stopped so long as God
lives! The question is no longer, whether the consummation will come, but when? As things are
now, we lend not only the Bible, but we lend the
influence of our churches, our schools, town institutions, laws, hospitals, commerce, stores and shops, the
whole spirit of our society to the evangelization of
the world-for everything is more or less ah instrument of Christianity.  By this incalculable influence
are we backed.  When we strike with puny arm, the
blow is accompanied by a rebounding stroke from
349 
PROGRESS OF CHRISTIANITY.
all Christendom. We have gained momentum and
rapidity, and can now go through a revolution,
changing public sentiment from selfishness to benevolence, in twenty-five or thirty years. In fine: those
laboring in the field must have a faith above the necessity of seeing the consummation.  We know that the(
influence of Calvary can never die. I may die in
the wilderness, and you may die on the sea; but the
road to heaven is as short from India as it is from
Indiana, and when once in heaven we shall see a
much better sight than Moses saw from the top of
Pisgah, and every one may gaze on it who has done
one jot or one tittle to advance the work.  Whisper
it then into the ears of your children, that " the field
is the world!" Ye who are bringing up your own
flesh and blood to delight in dress, in worldly aggrandizement, in wealth, in ambition, in honor, have you
not seen what the Lord is doing? Hiave you not seen
that his service is becoming the path to honor? that
working for the world, is the shortest road to promotion in our day?  Teach your children to give up
their soul and body and strength to their master's
service. Thus shall they be nearer to God and God
to them.  Say unto him-" Lo! here are our children!"  Bring them up to believe that they must not
live for themselves, but for others.  May God breathe
the richness and fullness of this spirit over his universal Church.
3.50 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.*
IT is not possible for Christians to have come to
these anniversaries this year, without a solemn sense
of the presence of God moving in the affairs of the
world, with a majesty and revealed power transcending the ordinary measure of the Divine Providence.
Ile is now speaking, as only God can speak, by the
voice of fear, by the pangs of terror, by the shakings
of revolutions, by wars, and by rumors of war. Every
man who is accustomed to read the word of God
with his eye upon the times, as its best interpretation, and who reads the times in which he lives by
the illumination of God's Word, must be aware that
we stand upon the eve of great things, either for good
or for mischief, and if for mischief, only for greater
good by and by; for, when God sows trouble, it is
the seed out of which hlie means to reap righteousness
in the end.
There is no more any quiet in all the earth; there
is no longer anywhere apathy; there are almost no
places on the globe where men are torpid, except in
Tract Societies; and every Iand, every continent,
every race, every nation, is stirring as forests shake
when winds are moving upon them. All men are
* An Address delivered in Dr. Cheever's church, New York, beforo
the (Boston) American Trict Society, May 12th, 1859.
851 
352   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHlING SOCIETIES.
looking out to know what things are about to befall
the earth. Tn our own way, we, too, in this happy
land, are agitated. We are not stirred up by war,
nor alarmed by rumors of war. We are not shaken
by revolution, nor shattered by intestine dissensions;
although many hearts among us are hot. Passions
are wild here, as in other lands; great interests are
at stake; mighty conflicts are waged; and yet, the
laws are unbroken, the peace of the State abides
sure, the household is serene, secular affairs flow in
their ordinary channels, deep and strong as the flow
of rivers.
What is the reason that those causes which in other
lands break out into wars, with us produce only discussions i How is it that we settle by our breath,
and by ink, those interests which abroad are settled
by the sword, and by the crash of wasting artillery?
Why do not those wild and tumultuous elements
which in other lands rend communities as earthquakes crack the earth, bring revolutions to us?
Because God has taught us upon this side of the
ocean that liberty, which cures evils, also prevents
them. Discussions in schools and in popular assemblies is better than all diplomacy and crafty statesmanship for the interests of peace; for where the
tongue is tied, the sword is free. America binds up
the sword by giving the tongue liberty. It is our
faith that liberty does not belong alone to the hand
and to the foot, but to the thoughts, to the conscience,
and to the tongue to give forth what conscience and
the understanding prompt. Therefore it is, while
emperors, and kings, and little kings, and priests, and 
DUTIFS OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.   353
little priests, are being tossed up and down as ships
or chips are tossed oil the broad ocean of storms,
we, agitating deeper questions, are preserved in quiet.
I know that there are some men who fear the
results of discussion among us, and predict national
rupture and disunion.  Men there are whose keel is
fear, and all whose ribs are cowardice, and whose
whole life is but a quaking voyage of apprehension.
They are always about to sink. The function of their
life is gone if there be no ill-omened auguries darkening the future. Some men there are who sleep on
this matter of disunion. They wake on it. It is
their food at morning; it is their noonday meal;
they sup upon it. It is their Sunday devotion, and
their week-day horror.  Disunion!  You might just
as well fear that the continent would break in two
because running rivers cleanse their waters on its
back, and the restless ocean laps its sides, as that this
Union will break in two because men wage wars of
opinion, and in free discussion bring all interests to
the arbitration of reason.
Indeed, I fear that this people is too selfish ever to
break asunder. Our danger is not in disunion. The
devil has too large investments in this land to admit
of disunion. There is nothing that Satan would gain
by it-much that Christ might. Why, then, are we
not in danger? Simply because we have learned to
trust the people, and to make them trustworthy by
intelligence, by moral education, and by the unrestrained, yet regulated use of their rights as free men.
Other lands make the individual weak, to make the
State strong; but we teach and believe that tlh( 
35-   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
strength of the State is ill the strength of its individnal members.   We put trust, not alone in collective
man, but in the individual man. And that we may
not be deceived, by the whole force of our cducational institutions and our political arrangements, we
seek to make the individual man, the land over,
trustworthy.
Our nation, by its organic political institutions, is
but a continental debating society. Our newspapers,
and winged books, daily bear before every individual of the land every question that affects the welfare of the State.   Our people are invited, and
provoked, to the most searching scrutiny, to the formation of their own independent opinions, to the
fullest expression of their convictions, and to the
utmost liberty of waging moral battle for that which
they deem right and just.  And when, out of this
universal activity, out of the conflict of interests and
judgments and experiences of a whole people, final
results are obtained, they take the form of laws, and
walk among us supreme, not simply by the enactment of legislators, but supreme by the convictions
of an intelligent people.
I would that this lesson of the freedom of discussion and its benefits had been learned as perfectly by
all as it has been by some; or, rather, as perfectly by
some among us, as it has been by all the rest of the
community.   But it would seem as if some men
gained education only by the loss of common sense.
There are thousands in whom prosperity and intelligence have wrought a conceit which makes them
distrustful of the common people. They are arro 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLTSHING SOCIETIES.  355
gant, contemptuous of those beneath them in social
position, and stand together in classes, with mlutual
flatteries and a common conceit. They are bound
together in a common emptiness, as the staves of a
barrel are bound together around the vacuity of an
unfilled centre. Nor have I ever before seen a more
remarkable instance of the contempt with which conceited men look upon free discussion, than that which
was exhibited upon the platform of the Tract Society,
at its recent anniversary, on the boards of the Opera
House in New York. Whatever prejudices have
hitherto existed against the morals of an opera house,
must, since that platform held such actors, receive
double force; and I am sure that no ordinary play, and
no opera, bad even as Don Giovanni itself, can have
a more mischievous effect upon the popular mind,
than the shameless exhibition which took place on
that occasion, and by the reverend and legal actors.
There it was that one of the most distinguished civilians of New York was pleased to inform the audience,
in a speech preliminary to the gagging of that audience, that a deliberative body was not a safe place for
the discussion of grave questions.  The Reverend
Daniel Lord it was-for so I read his title in the
report of the Tribune, though when he took orders I
am not informed-the Reverend Daniel Lord  declared that the excited feelings of deliberative bodies
and popular assemblies were not favorable to investigations of truth.  The mouths of the lions among
whom ancient Daniel fell were not shut half so tight
as the mouths of those among whom the modern
Daniel fell. 
356   DUTIES OF REI.TIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
When I looked around, and saw that almost every
other man in that assembly was a grey-haired man;
that hundreds of them were pastors inured to debate all their lives-men who had given their
thoughts both to books and to the discussions of living men-an assembly, the average age of whose
members could not fall short of fifty y ears, and then
heard this eminent legal gentleman, himself a greyhaired man, to whom impetuosity and fire seemed
anything but congenial, descanting upon the danger
of being consumed by the wild-fire of deliberative
assemblies, I could not but think that there was just
about as much need of sending fire-engines to graveyards to put out tombstones, as of repressive
measures in such an assembly to extinguish the confiagrations kindled by free discussion.
That the Tract Society should ever have needed
that any should remind them of their duty to the
poorest among  the  poor, and the most ignorant
among the ignorant-four million American slavesis itself enough disgrace. That when the voice of a
Christian people, sounding louder and louder every
year and coming up from twenty States, like the
sound of many waters and mighty thunderings,
demanding that  the Society, which  professed to
express in its publications the full truths of the
Christian religion, should give utterance to some
religious truth bearing upon  this most serious and
most grievous evil of our times and nation, they
should stop their ears, and taking counsel of sinister
interests, refuse to bear their testimony; that every
year dumbness should be defended by them as a 
DUTIES OF IRELIGIOUS PUBLIStIING SOCIETIES.  357
Christian virtue, and moral cowardice pleaded as a
duty, was enough to bring up again into our ears
that solemn denunciation which eighteen hundred
years ago made  Jerusalem tremble-" Woe unto
you scribes, pharisees and lawyers!"
And now, upon this day, in compact of evil, stood
again, in this extemporized temple, priest and lawyer, determined to justify their own recreancy, and
to forbid other people the rights of that free speech
which they had guiltily refused to employ. And this
anniversary meeting of the Tract Society had for its
primary object, this one thing-to gag men, and to
prevent free discussion. They dreaded honest men's
tongues. They knew that if those that were there
gathered together, had had the right to pass in
review their conduct, in the light of God's law, in
the light of God's providence, in the light of sober
Christian reason, they could no more stand up, tough
as they are, broadspread and rooted in prosperity,
than the mightiest oaks can stand when God sends
thunderbolts from heaven upon them.
And so they called not this year, as last, the special
pleaders of the clergy, but the tricksters of the law,
prepared with every mean device of caucus and
political manceuvre, to anticipate and ward off free
speech, and shield themselves behind this enforced
silence. Not one word was allowed to be said at that
meeting union those questions which the Almighty
God has sent upon this nation; which, in spite of
wrath, and leagued resistance of men of might, and
wealth, and worldly wisdom, he has, for twenty-five
years, sunk deeper and deeper in the hearts of men; 
358   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
with which he hath already wrought a revolutions of
opinion, and by which yet hlie will change the face of
affairs in this whole land. None of those things which
you think, which I think, which all men are thinking,
which  they  themselves,  per  force, think,  were
allowed to be spoken, but only pettifogging things,
technical things, managing, wire-pulling, caucusing
things.  Their object was to keep men from talking
who had something earnest to say, and let those men
talk who desired to say nothing.  It was, therefore,
a plea against fuillness, richness and substance of
moral conviction, in favor of emptiness and pretence.
And it became very evident that the time had come
when this [Boston] American Tract Society, which
had priority in the field over the other that held there
its disgraceful Anniversary, should again resume its
independence, and, in appropriate methods, express
the Christian sentiment of the Church in our day.
The Boston Tract Society has been, like some old
gentleman retiring from business, leaving to his sons
the conduct of his affairs; and yet, always, he keeps a
sharp eye upon their management.  When, at length,
he perceives that their prosperity is turning their
heads, and that they are running the concern into imminent perils, he assumes again into his own hands the
lapsed management. And so it is time that this Society should come forward again, and say to these
young men in the Opera Ilouse, "You are scarcely
competent to conduct the religious literature of the
Church."
But, before I speak further, allow me to call your
attention to some of the views uttered upon the occa 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS5 PUBLISHIING SOCIETIES. 359
sion of the late Anniversary, by the chief speaker,
and the most specious one, Daniel Lord. The following are his words: "As to the donors "-speaking of
the contributors of the Tract Society, he says —"' As
to the donors, they give their property to the charity;
it is an entire gift, parting with their right as proprietors.  After a thing is given, every man, woman,
and child knows, that the giver can no longer control
or direct it. If, therefore, all those who have contributed to make up this fund from the beginning of
this Society, even if the venerated dead could be
raised to be present, they could have no right to interfere with or change the administration of the fund.
They gave it away. But for what purpose, on what
plan did they give it? Ascertain this, and you ascertain the character of thie property and the plan of its
management. Learn on what plan it was solicited
and received, and then the property is to be protected
and devoted to this plan.  And every consideration
not only of law, but of justice and morality, of honor,
religion, and gratitude, secure its management in the
very way and to the precise object intended. It is
thus eminently a trust property.  The Society does
not own it for itself. If all of its members could be
collected together, and should agree to apply it to
their own use, such an attempt would shock, and such
an act be idle. Nor can they deviate in its use or
management from the plan on which it is given, for
the same reason."
Here let me say that with all the apparent fairness
of this statement, it is thoroughly deceitful, for it
mentions the object or purpose for which these funds 
360   DUTIES43 OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
were contributed, and the plan of management, as if
they were one, and the same thing, and the words
purpose  and plan are used as convertible terms,
bearing equivalent meanings; whereas, no distinction can be more important, no distinction can
touch the very marrow of things more really than
that which exists between, the object for which funds
are contributed, and the plan of administration by
which they shall be used for that object. SIr. Lord,
however, speaking of the objects and purposes for
which they were given, goes on to discuss, not what
those objects are, which is the very question at issue
between him and us-between him and the indignant community-but, by a dexterous and quiet
change, proceeds to discuss the questions of society
management. He proceeds thus:
"The plan of this charity is contained in its written
constitution; and, first, let us consider who are its
beneficiaries. They are the ignorant, the unenlightened, the needy, over the whole country. And how
are they to receive the benefits?  By the circulation
of religious tracts. Circulation may fairly be used as
a name to represent the beneficiaries. The object of
the charity is not to declare the principles of its managers or nmembers; not to discuss or settle controversies; not to declare for or against slavery; but to enlighten its beneficiaries by the circulation of tracts.
This is the limit of its action, on the plainest reading
of the paper."
Let the public, then, ponder this declaration made
by this eminent attorney, in the presence of the managers of the American Tract Society, at its Anni 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.  361
versary meeting, in the Opera Hlouse. Let every
man in the United, States ponder this received, and,
by the management, uncontradicted, declaration that
the object for which the funds of the American Tract
Society were solicited was not the discussion or settlement of controversies; was not the declarations of
the principles of its managers or members; was not
to declare for or against slavery; but that it was
simply the mechanical business of circulating tracts
without regard to what those tracts contain. If this
specious plea of Mr. Lord means anything, it means
that tracts are to be circulated by the Society without regard to the character of their contents, after
they shall once have become tracts.  But where are
tlracts born?  What is the origin of a tract?  Who
makes them?  Who generates them?  Who is their
father?  Do they grow on trees?  Are they dug out
of catacombs and pyramids? Are they, like gold and
silver, like diamonds and pearls, things created from
the foundation of the world?  And is the American
Tract Society but a vast catapult, built to fire these
foreordained and prepared missives and missiles into
the midst of the community?  Is the American Tract
Society, according to Mr. Lord, analogous to the
United States Mail service, receiving into its leathern
pouches already-written letters, with which the government has no right to meddle, and in whose contents it does not concern itself, and whose sole business it is to circulate them, and deposit them at the
points to which they are directed? Is the American
Tract Society, then, a vast religious Express Company,
which is to receive packages of tracts and books, and
16 
362   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
circulate them? And is this the business of the Tract
Society, not to make tracts, not to express great religious truths, not to develop great principles in their
relations to the actual human want in the times in
which we live?  Is it the object of the American
Tract Society merely to circulate something?  This,
certainly, is the position that Mr. Lord seems to
take.
Nor have we heard one indignant protest from any
member of the Executive Committee, or of the management, of the Tract Society. If such things are
right before a jury; if it be deemed right to gain a
temporary victory for one's clients, at the expense of
fact, and from any Courts of Justice, it certainly will
not be deemed right by the reflecting and religious
community, for a man to stand upon the religious
platform of a prominent benevolent society, and to
declare so deceptive and so false a thing as that the
funds of this Society were solicited, and were originally given, for the purpose simply of circulating tracts
without any regard to the contents which they contained. On the other hand, nothing was more universally well understood than that the American
Tract Society was organized for the purpose of prew
paring tracts as well as cireculating them, which
should apply the great principles of Divine truth revealed in the sacred Scriptures, to the actual wants,
to the errors, to the sins, to the experiences of mankind. That the management were to judge what
was expedient, may be true; but that the management, in the very nature of the trust committed to
them, were forbidden to discuss principles, and to de 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 363
dclare their own views of moral truth, is an assertion
so monstrous, so infidel to all faith in Scripture, and
to religion itself, that I marvel that so many men,
that knew better, did not stop their ill-advised advocate on the spot, and correct a misrepresentation
which, in the end, cannot fail to be most damaging
to the interests of these special pleaders and pettifogging managers.
According to this doctrine, then, if smuggling
should become a practice along our whole northern
coast, and maritime churches should have smuggling
deacons, and smuggling ministers, and smuggling
members, the management of the American Tract
Society would have no right to declare their views in
respect to the moral character of this act; and unless
they could have tracts already grown, on this subject,
hanging on the bushes, or wrapped up in the cerements of the past, they would have no right to
declare or discuss the Christian principles which govern this subject! When the American Tract Society
issued the most searching and fearless tracts, discussing the evils of intemperance, they transcended their
power, and abused their trust, according to their own
attorney! They had no business " to declare the principles of its managers or members" on this subject.
When  any great evil in the growing light of
Christianity is lifted up by the providence of God,
and made the mark at which the Church should
address its moral power, the Tract Society cannot,
except by an abuse of their trust, if this doctrine be
true that we have heard, discuss the nature of the
evil, or the duties of Christian men respecting 
361   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
it, nor in any wise touch it. "Their business," says
Mr. Lord, "is not to discuss, but to circulate." And
so, instead of a body of intelligent Christian men
gathered together to give universality to the truths
of the Gospel, we have but a vast charitable corporation, collected together  for the mere  mechanical
purpose of circulation. The Society is to know no
more what passes through it than a famnning machine,
that knows neither the grain which it saves nor the
chaff which it drives away. But we quote again:
" However proper, then, a treatise might be, however suitable, if it could be circulated to do good,
yet it cannot be circulated, it cannot be printed at
the expense of the fund, without a breach of trust.
What would be said of printing a tract in a language
which those to whom it was to be sent did not understand? And yet how does that differ from printing
tracts, which those to whom they are addressed will
not receive. Tracts on slavery might be able in their
teaching; tracts against polygamy the like; but how
idle to attempt to send the latter to the Mormons, or
the former to other parts of the country, where they
would be excluded.   And  this circumstance, of
whether they could or could not be circulated, must
be determined as a preliminary question of fact by
the managers of the Society."
Let every honest Christian man in these United
States consider this abominable doctrine that the
duty of a Christian Tract Society, in circulating the
truth, is to be judged and limited by the wishes of
corrupt and wicked men. If wicked men are willing
to receive light upon their wickedness, the Tract 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.  365
Society is permitted to send them knowledge; but if
wicked men do not desire that light should shine into
their darkness, Mfr. Lord declares, that without a
perversion of their trust, the Tract Society cannot
send them unwished-for and unwelcome Christian
truth.  He declares, most explicitly, that the preliminary business of the Tract Society is to ascertain
whether men are willing to receive the truth of
Christ, and that if they are not, they are in duty
bound, as administrators of a solemn trust, to withhold that truth!
Was this, then, the doctrine of that Christ who
came, not to bring peace, but the sword? Was this
the example of that teaching Saviour who confronted
the whole priestly rabble, and lawyer crew, that then,
as now again in our day, held the holiest places, that
they might pervert them only to the basest uses?
Was this the example of those apostolic heroes, who
went abroad, followed by mobs of infuriated men; by
enraged mechanics, whose business was interfered
with by their high morality; pursued and thrust at
by wandering mountebanks, whose gains they
destroyed by restoring their victims to health and
sanity? Was this the spirit that breathed through
those men, who in every age, have been found
worthy of the name of Christ-teachers, confessors,
martyrs, saintly pastors, and unsubdued' preachers,
who have borne solemn testimony against all wickedness, and brought upon themselves endless mischiefs,
because they would not forbear, and because they
would cast upon the unwilling face of darkness, the
whole effulgence of the light of God? And yet, 
366 DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
Mr. Lord dared to say-and there was not one priest
upon the platform that chose to contradict the declaration-that tracts on slavery, and tracts against
polygamy, and the like, must not be sent to those
that were guilty of either sin, unless it was known
beforehand that these sinners were willing to receive
them!
And this is what the Tract Society, with all their
high-sounding pretences, with all their paraded piety,
and all their ostentatious conscientiousness, have at
last led the Church to! That truth of Christ which
was revealed to be, not the suppliant and the slave
of men's caprices and appetites, but the master of
their conscience, the lord of their faith, the supreme
arbiter of their lives-that truth which is God's only
vicegerent upon earth, open-browed, clear-eyed, and
with a tongue that speaks in every language the
same things, and with divine authority, is, by this
last declaration, of the American Tract Society,
through their attorney, to ask permission of the
intemperate before it declares the sins of intemperance; to ask the consent of the incontinent before it
rebukes, by the blaze of Gospel chastity, the foul
corruptions of licentiousness; to ask the hard hand
before it preaches the duty of lenity and mercy to the
weak; to ask the Sabbath-breaker's permission before
it issues tracts on the sanctity of God's day; to ask
the gambling and the racing crew whether they may
print tracts against the special immoralities to which
they are liable; to ask the thief whether they may
circulate tracts upon dishonesty; the robber, whether
they may set forth the claims of justice; for, says 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 367
M,r. Lord, "Tracts on Slavery might be very able in
their teaching, tracts against polygamy the like, but
how idle to attempt to send the latter to the Mormons, or the former to other parts of the country
where they would be excluded."
But this is not all. Let us, for a moment, argue
the question upon Mr. Lord's own ground.  We
demand to know by what right it is said that tracts
will not be read in the South on the duties of master
and slaves? Hiow has it been ascertained that they
will not be welcome? Hiave these men taken counsel
of political firebrands  Hiave they taken counsel of
their cowardice?  Hiave they taken counsel of those
men who, long committed against the agitation of
slavery, are now ashamed to yield, and to own, by
yielding, that their whole past career has been mistaken?  The proper method of ascertaining whether
tracts would be read, is to make them, to offer them;
and when judiciously constructed tracts have been
tried, with all kindness and perseverance, and are
turned back upon the depository of the Society, then
it will be time to declare that they have been rejected. But to stand upon the precipice 6f their
cowardice; to grow dizzy by the mere looking over
into the abyss below; to refuse any attempt what ever, practically to test the question-this belongs
to those peculiar notions of Christian enterprise
which are characteristic of the American Tract So ciety.
On the other hand, I declare that there are hun dreds and thousands, and hundreds of thousands of
men, throughout all the slave States, who will as 
368   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
suredly receive, with gratitude, suitable tracts upon
this subject, and read them with conscientious
earnestness for the truth. I declare my conviction
that men living in the slave States, by ten thousands,
hate slavery vastly more than do the managers of the
American Tract Society; are less apologists for it;
are less indifferent to its wastes and its woes; are
more in sympathy with that spirit of liberty in the
New Testament, which has consumed so much evil in
the world, and is destined to consume every vestige
of slavery and of oppression. There are thousands of
ministers that will circulate tracts written in a spirit
of Christian love, bearing witness against the selfishness and the wrong of those that defraud the laborer
of his wages. Nay, there are thousands of men who
believe that slavery is a divine institution, who
yet desire to have the duties of the master more
thoroughly explored and taught; who earnestly
desire to carry themselves toward their slaves with
some degree of conscientiousness and Christian fidelity. There is not in these United States, there is not
upon this continent, there is not on the broad field of
the world, a province of labor more inviting, more
urgent, that promises a more abundant remuneration,
than the slave States of America.  Nowhere else has
the conscience lain so long fallow; nowhere else are
men more open to honest truths, spoken in a manly
way; nowhere else are men more frank in recanting
when they are wrong; nowhere else more fearless in
doing that which they see to be right. And I believe,
in my soul, that if instead of our northern doughfaces,
the management of this American Tract Society could 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 369
be put into the hands of any of thousands of men
who might be selected from the slaveholders of the
South, we should have a better expression from them
of Christian truth on the subject of human rights,
than now we are able to obtain from these men,
whose highest conception of duty seems to be, to do
right by the permission of evil, to scatter light under
the direction of darkness, and to establish righteousness by the consent of iniquity. I will myself stand
pledged-if any word of mine may be a guarantythat if the American Tract Society will print appropriate tracts upon this subject, in a Christian temper,
and with Christian fidelity expressing the truth of God,
I will circulate twenty million pages in one year.
If the Society will take the offer, I will take the job.
M[r. Lord then goes on to describe the duties of the
managers of this property. The life members of this
Society, together with the life directors, at an annual
meeting, elect the President, the Vice-President, the
Secretaries and the Directors. Then these directors,
together with the life directors, elect the Executive
Committee. This Executive Committee then assumes
all the authority and functions of the Society. The
whole force of the Society dies when they have put
the Executive Committee  into  their  chairs.  In
respect to this, Mr. Lord says:
" Hiow idle, then, to instruct this Committee?
What right have the members, who have exerted
their power of management by the election, to interfere with this veto power?   But the attempt to
instruct the Committee assumes to take away not the
veto of one, but the discretion of all. The plan of the
16* 
370   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
charity has not in it such an inconsistency. And how
impracticable to execute such a construction of it.
The publication and circulation of tracts must depend
on occasions, on emergencies, to be acted upon as
they rise. It has been wisely committed to a select,
an elected body, on the American idea of a representative system; not on the rash, reckless and often
arbitrary models of a mere democracy, casually collected and swayed by impulse."
True, technically there may be no right in the Society'to instruct; but the American Tract Society every
year brings its cause into all the churches of the land,
and professes to act in sympathy with their wishes.
When, then, at the annual meeting, the Church, by
its pastors and eminent laymen, come into their
assemblies, and express their ideas of Christian duty
and Christian fidelity, shall their mouths be stopped
by the technical plea that such free speech is an
unwarrantable attempt to instruct?  Are we to add
to all the other powers of this Executive Committee
the ascription of sufficient wisdom  in their own
selves?  Are they also to be supposed to be infallible
in judgment?  Has Mr. Lord found out, likewise,
among the other memorable things which he has
discovered, that the Executive Committee are not to
be approached, in deliberative popular assemblies, by
advice, by suggestion, by persuasion, by reasoning, by
deliberative wisdom? When, since the days that our
colonies sprang up on these shores, has it ever before
been known that a great religious society, dependent
upon the churches for its support, should sit without
rebuke to hear the practice of discussion and deliberta 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.   371
tion in popular bodies  decried?   And yet, the
Managers of the American Tract Society permitted
Mr. Lord to characterize our American religious
assemblies in language such as this:
"A popular meeting, swayed by passionate eloquence, sympathizing in local feelings, would be a
most unsafe depository of the functions in question.
It is also likely to be composed most extensively of
those who reside nearest to the place of meeting, and
the course of the charity would thus be made dependent, in a degree, on the place of meeting; and might
vary as that should'be  New York, or Boston, or
Syracuse, or Rochester."
And afterward, speaking of the superiority of the
judgment of this Executive Committee over the
judgment of the Society that was assembled in the
Academy of Music, he says:
." This trust has been wisely committed to a select,
an elected body, on the American idea of a representative system; not on the rash, reckless and often
arbitrary models of mere democracy, casually collected and swayed by impulse."
And yet-and no man knows it better than Mr.
Lord-such is the power of the popular will, when
that will is based upon information, upon intelligence, and upon experience, that there is not a court
of justice in the United States, that can long maintain an opinion adverse to that which has been
formed by the great court of the million outside of
itself. The majesty of the decisions of the people, in
all questions which are within the reach of their discretion, overawes all bodies known to our corn 
372  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
munity.  The United States Senate would not pre sume to pursue, for a year, unless under the merest
party influences, a course of legislation against which
the intelligent people in every State should rise up in
their popular assemblies and protest.  There is not a
State Legislature in all this Confederacy that would
choose or dare to pursue a course which was known
to be against the deliberate judgment of the great
majority of their constituents.  There is not a body
known to our political system that is not compelled to
hold, and that practically does not hold, in the utmost respect, the known judgment and wishes of the
masses of men in this community. It is reserved for
the American Tract Society to stand up in the midst
of churches, and of a Christian community that in
immense majorities condemn their conduct, and
declare themselves superior to such considerations
an elected body, by being representative, made
superior to the rash democracy of popular deliberate
assemblies, as Mr. Lord is pleased to style them!
And before whom were these disparaging words
uttered? In whose presence did this Executive Committee permit Mr. Lord to arrogate their superiority?
Venerable men there were, that were venerable
when some of the Committee were born.  Men were
there in scores, whose reading and habits of wise
reflection have made them as able in statesmanship
as they have been learned in theology. There is no
better school on earth in which to accumulate wisdom than the pastor's office; and from out of discussions; from studies where they had elaborated
thought in the calm seclusion of studious leisure, from 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISNG SOCIETIES. 373
the field where, among men of every temperament
and of every habit of thought, they had held argument; from actual contact with living, glowing,
sympathetic life, they had come up hither, to hear
Mr. Lord declare, that the Executive Committee was a
body so superior that they were not to be instructed
by the debates and the discussions of such an assembly as that!
It would seem bad enough for the American Tract
Society to refuse to proclaim a Gospel of liberty, or a
Gospel of rights to four million of men on this continent; but to attempt to justify their guilty silence by
decrying and gagging a Christian deliberative assembly, by undermining the foundations of free speech,
by destroying faith in the wisdom of popular deliberative bodies, was to act as oppressors always act; for
usurpation never fails to go on to injustice. -Men
whose rights have been taken away from them, are
always forbidden to complain. The Sceptre and the
Gag go together, the world over. The American
Tract Society, after contemptuously refusing to exercise free speech in behalf of the oppressed, next, and
characteristically, muzzled free speech and free discussion of their own conduct. Every man knows
that there was never a more ruthless thing done in a
Christian assembly than that which took place yesterday. It is bad enough to see the gross and wanton
injustice of arrogant men that manage the wires of
political affairs; but to see a body of Christian ministers and laymen bringing into their service the supple bands of lawyers, springing every parliamentary
trick and device in the face of free speech, dodging 
374 DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
issues, and hiding their own moral delinquencies, by
robbing men of the right of exposing them-this is
one of the worst things that has ever happened in
the long annals of degradation and crime brought
upon us by slavery. In a religious body, among
clergymen from all parts of the United States; in a
popular assembly, and by men reeking with devotion, and fuming with prayers, it is odious and disgusting beyond all reach of language.
And, now, let the common people of these United
States understand how this thing stands. According
to this new construction, the people are to give the
money; the Executive Committee are to spend it as
they please; and the people are not at liberty to
advise them, nor utter a word of protest, except out
of doors. You, who give the funds, if you give as
much as twenty dollars a year, and think to take out
a certificate of life membership; or, giving fifty dollars a year, if you think to take out a certificate of
life-directorship, are permitted to go into the- Court
of the Gentiles once a year, not to influence the
direction of your funds, but simply, under whip and
rein, under preconcerted political managements with
the previous question, and the laying of the question
on the table, cutting off all debate and explanation,
are to be permitted to vote for directors and secretaries. If you be only a twenty-dollar life member,
that ends your function. Like an insect that has
laid its egg, when your vote is dropped, you drop,
too, and are dead. Then the directors are permitted
one additional step in life. They vote for the Executive Committee, and after that they die, too, and are 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 3,75
to be heard of no more, until the time comes for
butterflies to fly again the next year, when, breaking
out of their chrysalis state, once more they may
shake the wings of ballot, and but once, to drop
again into the annual slumber. When once the
Executive Committee are elected, you are at their
mercy. You are not to say a single word. You are
not to advise them. Youl are not recognized as being
in existence.
I should delight to be an agent collecting money
for this Society for a short period. I would address
the farmers with the usual eloquence of those who
solicit charity, describing, first, the unspeakable wants
of the ignorant population of our land; and next, the
unspeakable piety of the members of the Executive
Committee of the American Tract Society; and next,
of that mysterious power which God has given to gold
and silver to bring together the much-needed piety of
the one extreme to the muchli-needed ignorance of the
other. "This is your duty," I should say to the
farmers, who, with hard toil and laborious economy,
have been endeavoring, penny by penny, to put their
sons through the academy or college, that they may
make ministers or missionaries of them, or that they
may become honorable civilians, or intelligent laborers of any grade-" It is your duty to help in this
glorious cause of tract distribution."  "'But," says
the farmer in his stupidity, " what will become of my
money if I shall give it-what will be done with it?"
"Why, it is going into the Treasury of the Lord."
"But what treasurer is that who holds the Lord's
bag?"  " Why, it is held by these devout and sainted 
376 DIUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISIIING SOCIETIES.
men who pray all day, and almost all night, and then
deny free discussion on a platform for the purposes of
the Lord."  "Butwhat is to be done with ourmoney?
What do they mean to print? What do they mean
to circulate?" My friends, I should be obliged to
say, "You are meddling with matters which do not
concern you. It is your business to give the money:
it is our business to spend it. If you wish to know
how it is spent, in due time, after it is all gone, you
shall find the tracks of it here in our annual report."
Gentlemen, this American Tract Society is a multiform and gigantic mill. It has its run of stones.
Some are appointed for wheat, some for corn, but
more for cobs; and they do not profess to consult the
will of those that approach their door with bags of
grain: they simply say to them, "This is what we
grind in this mill; if you choose to put your wheat
into that hopper we will grind wheat; your corn into
that hopper we will grind corn; your cobs into
yonder hopper, and we will give you cob-meal; but
wve do not profess to be directed any further by the
will of our customers than we choose. Here are our
arrangements; take them if you please. If you do
not like them, go somewhere else. We shall grind
just as we have arranged to grind. We will put in
no new stones, and make no alterations in our mill to
suit the notions of the people that live hereabouts."
And so, the American Tract Society say, "Gentlemen, pour your pocket-grists into our mill. We have
arranged how this shall be spent. We shall make no
changes. We are not to be instructed. We are not
to be influenced by the wild democracy of popular 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 377
deliberative bodies of old men. It is our business to
use these sacred funds; yours only to give us a chance
to use them."
And so I imagine that country gentlemen who had,
with very great pains and self-denial, been able to
give twenty and fifty dollars, that they might become
life-members and life-directors of the American Tract
Society, approached this great city at its recent anniversary, and were present in the Academy of Music.
They have come, as they fondly supposed, to take
some part in the administration of affairs. When
they go to the door of the Academy, he of the red
ticket is put on one side of the house; and he of the
white ticket on the other side; while he of the green
ticket is mounted up to the place of privilege upon
the operatic stage. The business proceeds. Something seems continually to be going on behind the
scenes. There is whispering, and buzzing, and consultation. A fore-arranged result is to be dragged
through the assembly. One thing there certainly is
not to be; no discussion is to be allowed; no free
speech is to take any part in this meeting. At length,
when the hour has passed, our country member and
director go out, and, meeting in the passage-way, a
little puzzled as to what they have done, one looks the
other in the face, and says-" What did you do on
your side of the house?" And the other replies,
"And what did you do on your side?" and both join
in saying, " What have they done on their side?"
I will defy anybody on earth to tell what has been
done, except that two men have been duped, and a
third has got the money. And all this misconduct 
378 DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
takes place under the sweetest names of religion
and devotion. These men propose no mischief without a holy sigh; they violate no right without a pious
groan; they never decry free discussion without lifting up their eyes to heaven; they wrest from us no
privileges, except with the clasping and holding up
devout hands in the act of prayer. These are all
good men, who read their Bibles, I think, until some
places in them must have become worn out, and their
contents forgotten. Surely, men must be very pious
who can endure conduct that would put to shame a
democratic political caucus.
I was yesterday urged vehemently to mingle in
this scene and to speak. But I loathed and scorned
the offer. Is it for a man like me to play in such
a scene as that, and watch the sudden opportunity to
jump upon the stage, there to be shoved or put down,
as might suit the convenience of the reverend lawyers, tricksters, or what-not?  I believe in free speech,
not for myself alone, but never half so sacredly as for
him against whom I have exercised my speech. Free
speech does not mean my right to say what I please,
but your right to speak back again. If there is anything in this world as sacred as religion itself, it is the
right which religion gives to speak of religion, to
speak of its principles, to apply them to every phase
of the human welfare; and if this land and age shall
stand by and behold the destruction of these most
sacred rights on the very platform of religious benevolence, and in the very professed service of religion by
religious men, then we have reached a crisis indeeda crisis, not of external force, but of decay of internal and fundamental principles and rights. 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUELISHING  SOCIS.  379
But these men have mistaken the temper of the
times, and spirit of the common people. There is a
public sentiment that will drown out even the Tract
Society. There is a public sentiment which, if it be
slow, is slow only that it may be certain and effectual. Confidence will not be revoked hastily. It
will not be too eagerly concluded that men once
trusted have become arrogant in office and corrupted
by power and seduced by the blandishments of flattery and success. But when once that confidence is
withdrawn, it will never return. If, then, there is
any seeming delay, it is only such delay as belongs to
the steps of majesty.   When  God is throned in
clouds, and armed with lightning, and approaches to
judgment and to justice, so sure in his heart is the
day of retribution, that he needs not to make haste.
There is no being so certain as God, and none so
slow; for, since the days of Mloses and the prophets,
there has never been an age when men, feeling the
bitter wants of the world, have not been compelled,
their own patience worn out, to cry, "I ow long, O
Lord,  how  long!"   To-day martyrs  cry, to day
oppressed and suffering patriots from out of dungeon
vaults do cry; to-day with million voices not suppressed, suffering slaves cry out, " O Lord, how
long!" And yet Hie dwells in eternity and in
silence, and takes to himself the infinite leisure of
eternity. But though he seems to delay, he never
fails to come, and at length it shall be said, " Our
God shall come and shall not keep silence." And I
believe that God will yet mark with the most condign punishment, those men who, under the name of 
380  DUTIIE  OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING  SOC IES.
religion, and for the sake of screening themselves
from responsibilities toward the poor and the oppressed, have violated our liberties and our rights.
I do not say that these men are not Christians.
Peter, I suppose, was a Christian when he denied
his Lord. I hope these men are Christians. But if
that is Christianity which they practise, they have
another New Testament than mine.
I turn now to another branch of the subject. For
the last hundred years, God has been developing in
this world some of the later and more wonderful
results of Christianity. First, Christianity acts as a
power upon the individual; next, upon men
in their social relations-setting up the family, establishing neighborhoods, promoting refinement in our
households and in communities. Next, it takes hold
upon laws and institutions, then, upon customs, and,
finally, upon the organic forms of society itself.'.
And in the mighty conflicts which result from this
strife of good with bad, of right with wrong, of love
with selfishness, the very frame of life is often
shaken, and society itself, broken up, passes away,
or assumes new forms. Beyond even this there is a
work which Christianity is developing.  Touched by
its divine spirit, every quality springs up, in each
age with new branches, and pushes forth blossoms,
and hangs redolent and glowing with surprising
fruits. The higher developments of the nobler feelings begin to embody themselves, and give to life
not only new ideas, but a before unimagined and, to
the natural man, inconceivable grandeur and moral
glory, both in things esthetic and in things ethic. 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 381
Since the world began, it has been the doctrine of
proud and haughty men, that the weak were made to
serve the strong;-and as, among lions and brute
beasts, the fierce and the strong destroy the weak,
and the race is propagated only from the more stalwart individuals, so this belluine morality has been
adopted and practised by societies of men.
The weak have been despised, have been crushed,
have been pushed down to the bottom, have been
made to grind in dark places, to work for that which
they reaped not, to sow in tears, in sorrow, in hopeless
despondency, that the indolent and the wicked
above them might reap that which they requited
not. Nor has this spirit been suffered to take the
spontaneous form which pride would give it. It
has come under the organizing power of Philosophy,
and it has received organic forms, until, now, selfishness has become legal and regular national and
organic wickedness, based upon wrong; and so
framed into a law and into systems of law, that
round about this interior Satanic element of cruel
selfishness has been gathered whatever there was
venerable in authority, whatever there was impressive in symbol, whatever there was beautiful in Art,
whatever there was attractive to the eye, to the ear,
and to every sense. And men, weak and ignorant
men! have been taught to clasp with tendrils of
affection and veneration systems whose very marrow
and life were the destruction of the poor for the sake
of the rich, the oppression of the weak for the pleasure of the strong.
But now, at length, the world has so far grown, in 
382  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
God's Providence and grace, that, emerging from infinite confusions and turmoils of pride and selfishness,
this question is seeking at length for a new adjudication at the bar of Christ's heart. For more than a
hundred years past that which has underlayed all
movements, that which has been the rudder of all
progress, that which has been the animating principle of all reform, has been, not, what are the rights
of the strong, of the wise, of the rich, of the powerful
in station and rank; but, what are the rights of the
poor and the weak, and what are the duties of those
that are strong to the weak! By that same power
which causes the sun to send summer into the soil,
and wakes from their rude dirt all things sweet and
beautiful, wholesome things from noxious, clean
things from fetid, fair and beautiful things from
waste and homeliness, literature has been taught to
bring forth new fruits, and in our age, instead of
that derisive spirit which characterized the literature of England in the days of Pope and of Sterne,
of Swift and of Dryden, there is breathed into it and
throughout it the most humane and yearning spirit
of benevolence! Even kings, not knowing what
they do (as ships that are sidewise swept over an
unknown current do not know that they are drifting)
have been obliged to declare humane sentiments
and to conform, in their policy, to this divine worldcurrent. Every nation of the globe, to-day, is moving in directions given by this gulf stream of God!
Never before on so broad a scale was Christian
power active in this world. Great as are the fruits 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 383
of preaching, noble as are the tasks and accomplish ments of self-denying missionaries among the
heathen, sweet and beautiful as are the aspects of
Christian life in pure and heavenly families, yet, not
in any, or all of these, is Christ so manifestly at work
as in these great world-heavings, in these unrecog nized, but universally felt movements, for the recon struction of society, of commerce, of civil polity, of
human life itself, upon the basis of humanity and
benevolence.
What shall the strong do with the weak? This is
to-day the question which God makes Asia to answer.
With this he questions Africa. With this he catechizes every fractious nation of Europe. With this
question he is shaking America. Nor is there yet
found one nation on the earth, though their Christianity has dwelt with them so long that their cathedrals
are hoary with age and their altars burnt out with
perpetual fires, that has yet learned to answer this
sublime interrogatory of ages!
The duty of the strong to the weak? Great Britain
says that the duty of the strong to the weak is to
compel them to perform remunerating industries!
Europe declares that the duty of the strong is to
make the iron hand of power yet stronger, and to
hold in more absolute subjection the now pinched
and cramped masses of the people. Africa, low,
brutal, animal, hears the question, but knows not
enough even to comprehend its meaning; and God
speaks to that benighted continent, as a child might
speak to the ocean-calling out for its father, its 
384  DUTIES OF REIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
mother, or its companions; and only the ceaseless
beating of the surf upon the shore, wave thundering
after wave, is its answer I
All the world over, the power of Christianity has
made the more intelligent stronger and continually
stronger; but as yet, it has left the others relatively
weaker than before. The top of society has gone
up, but the bottom has not followed it in any due
proportion.
And now, hath God answered this question? Hath
he declared his own mind? or anywhere recorded those
letters which are never to be effaced, those letters
declarative of his will? When God gave the law to
antiquity, he wrote it upon tables of stone, amid the
august terrors of Sinai's top. When he gave to the
world his later law, he wrote upon the living heart
of Christ in the silent majesty of Calvary! And in
his EXAMPLE we learn our duty.
Was it, then, to build himself up, that the Infinite
descended to our finite condition? Wandering among
ignorant and wicked men, was it for his own glory
that Christ groped? Was it that which he sought in
buffetings and mockery of a trial, in the fatal hour of
condemnation, in the slow cross-burdened walk to
Calvary, in the hours of unutterable anguish, which
not even the sun itself could behold?  Was it in the
silence of the rock sepulchre, garden-loved, that he
sought the elements of his own aggrandizement? Or,
was it rather to teach us by the whole power and
majesty of his example that he that would be chief
must be servant of all f Was it not to teach us that,
though re/, for our sakes he became poor, that we, 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS RUBLIStIIING SOCIETIES.  385
through his poverty, might become  rich?   And,
henceforth, is not the world's doctrine this Gospel,
that Power, Refinement, Intelligence, Wealth, Station, must hold themselves subject, under the law of
love, to the uses of all that are unfortunate, of all that
are weak, of all that are trodden down? The sun
hlangs in glory over the earth, not with its rays to
beat down, but, by all the power of its attraction, to
draw forth from out of the homely soil and dirt
growth of infinite things of beauty. And God hangs
above all things to draw all up out of weakness and
wickedness toward him. And every man of mankind
is to take his superiority as a level, an engine by
which he must draw all lesser men up to or toward
his condition.  There is but one Father Universal;
there is but one Family; there is but one Brotlherhood; and throughout all the boundless races and
infinite numbers of men, flthere is not a stranger, an
alien, a foreigner! Ye be all brethren and members
one of another!
Is not this one of the many mysteries that are disclosing themselves from the sublime act of Chlrist's
incarnation and atonement? If on earth there be one
thing memorable, which, wvanting no monument, shall
lift up its undiminished head through eternal ages,
itself its own monumenlt, is it not that act by which
the God of glory bowed down his Almighlty head,
and slept beneath all life and in the bosom of Death,
that he mnight destroy the one and give eternal power
to the other? No angelic head radiant with reflected
glory was that which pillowed itself upon ithe rock!
The moral and the marvel of this sacrifice required
17 
'QS6  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISIIING SOCIETIES.
that men should know that the Absolute, the Everlasting, the Universal Father, lived and moved by a
law of love, which made him willing minister and
servant of the weakest. And by the voice of his own
life, by the voice of Calvary, by the death, and by
the resurrection of his son, by the ever-living care
and fostering love of Christ advanced to be a Prince
and Saviour in Ileaven, God is now tea.ching mankind, unwilling scholars as they are, that the duty
of the strong toward the weak is to love them, to
take care of them, to educate them, to strengtlhen
them, to lift them uip with the might of their strength
to the very height of their own privileges!  And
so, men shall be helped, and you, helping them,
shall be thrice blessed yourselves; for, it is more
blessed to give than to receive! and, power gone out of
you for others returns to you again from their hearts
increased a thousand fold!
Interpreted from this sublime example, what is the
morality of the British Empire, whose sway in India
has been almost purely commercial, and which has
lookled.at men almost only in their relation to tile
opium-gardens and the indigo-fields?  Judged in the
light of Christ's precious example, what monarchy in
Europe, for five hundred years, is not condemned,
and what regnant policy, or statecraft, what bloodenriched territory, is not blackened and made odious
by the serene teaching of Love?
And we, of America, with suffering heart and
vailed faces, can any abhorrence be greater, to any
Christian, than that which we feel when we behold
the latest born of Time, most blessed, best tauglht, 
]DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 387
richlest in the heritage of all great things that martyrs, and confessors, and dying patriots have bequeathed to the world, have been most recreant,
most cruel, most haughty to the poor, most despotic
to the weak?  It is in America that old Roman
slavery flourishes as it never flourished in its own
native soil. The Imperial sceptre was milder than
the Democratic oppression!  But God has not left
hilnself without a witness, nor us without a testimony
that he means to save us! Beginning far back in
years, he has pressed unwelcome  truths upon this
nation with growing urgency! At first, this truth
of Christian humanity was born among us with
infant face, and with the weakness of a babe. It
seemed easy to overwhelm it.  And strong men
rushed upon it. Herods there were, in every church,
in every sect, in every State, in every legislature, ill
every neighborhood, up and out, seeking this child
Jesus to destroy it! But all of these, again, slew
without slaying; and he grew in stature, until, now,
Christ, represented in his poor and despised ones, is
stronger than all politics, than all churches, than all
commerce, than all civil affairs, " and the govern- ment shall be upon his shoulders!"
Near fifty years have passed since this sublime
movement. In that time ten thousand men, repenting that sooner they did not see the light that
dawned over where the young child lay, have borne
noble testimony; and the living words of God's truth
have been spoken in ten thousand pulpits; books
have begun to march in long procession; newspapers, in turn, have given their power to this cause, 
388  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISIIING SOCIETIES.
until, at lengthll, popular enthlusiasln inflamed, the
whole  community  has risen up, and  is bearing
earnest and solemn testimony to the rights of the
enslaved, and the duties of Christian men and patriots! In this long conflict, that Society, which ve,s
originated by holy men, for just such solemn work
as this; which was erected to be a platform  from
which the artillery of the Gospel might sweep every
evil; which was organized that, by the power of
organization, those tougher iniquities which defied
individual labor might find, in its organic power,
more than a match; this great, this mighlty association, has stood to be traitorous to its ewin great
trust, to admire itself, to laud its own fruitless
piety, and, surveying its presses, its loaded, groaning
shelves, and its.pious officers, to cry out, is not this
Great Babylon which I have built! If there be on
earth, at this day, one sight more melancholy or
more shameful than another, it is the sight of all
American Christian Association, established for no
other end than the propagation of Gospel moralities,
that, for half a century, has refused to bear a testimony in behalf of four million men, overrun, and
infested with every immorality which oppression can
breed, weighed down with every evil which it is the
intent of the Gospel to alleviate, destroyed by every
malignant mischief firom which the Gospel was
meant to be a salvation. To withhold bread from
starving cities, medicine from dying hospitals, rescue
from wolf-imperilled children, would be nothing compared with that stately and inhuman phariseeismn
which, for twice a score of years, has beheld without 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.  389
one pulsation of pity, without one outreaching of the
hands, waithout one utterance of the voice, this greatest error and wickedness known in our land and
generation.   If the crime itself be hideous, the
excuse is yet more nefarious. The Tract Mtanagement have refused their supreme duty under the plea
of preaching the Gospel! Thus telling the world
that there is a Gospel that can be preached devoid
of pity for the poor, empty of all sympathy for the
oppressed, deaf to the groans of slaves, and dumb to
all the petitions of the degraded and neglected! It
were bad enough to despise God's poor, but to
excuse it by a plea which maligns the very heart of
Christ, and slanders the spirit of his Gospel, is a
crime yet more unpardonable!
It is a pain and piercing to my heart that the
Church of Christ has not been found, with banner
advanced, far beyond all other bodies, leading on
the world to a victory.  I can never forget that my
father and my mother were members of Christ's
Church upon earth. And, even if Christ himself
had not sanctified the Church, this would have been
enough for me, that my father's and mother's hearts
had made it sacred!
But when both Father in heaven and father on
earth have left their memories in the bosom of the
Church, she must receive from me all that the
yearning heart, the deepest sensibility, and the most
earnest love and enthusiasm call bestow. If she
mighlt only be true to her trust, what matters it what
becomes of you or me?  If the name of Christ and
his Churcl  iiglihf glow with the renown of heroic 
390  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISIIING SOCIETIES.
humanities and difficult duties faithfully done, let us
be cast aside, as old and shattered armor, or as the
rind of golden fruit, peeled off that some longing lip
might suck the pulp!  WSllingly would I lie down
by the wayside; willingly would I have my hand para lyzed and my tongue silenced; willingly would I submiit to that most grievous and bitter calamity to an
active man, to stand uselessly aside and see the world
go past in all its movements of enterprise and adventure, if only by such sacrifice of myself I might behold
achievement, courage, enterprise, and heroic endeavor, in the revered Church of Christ! Ilow long
shall her ear be drowsy?  How long shall she sleep
in the garden where Christ, in anguish, sweats drops
of blood?  W hen will she wake, if not to save her
Master, at least to go with him to trial and to disgrace,
out of which shall come victory and glory?
What, for more than thirty years, has been the
agitation of this land?  What  has been that deep
undertone sounding up through all the clash of business, and over-sounding all the voices of politics, and
all the voices of the pulpit?  It has not been the
swell of the ocean, driven of storinms upon our coast;
it has not been the sighing of the wind through our
western forests-this deep thunder-toned diapason,
rolling through the land, has been the sighing of
the slave; and four million voices have lifted up
before God prayers and pleadings which have shaken
the very throne of mercy.   Throughout all this time
the Church heard that voice, but would not know
that it was the voice of God, speaking through the
afflictions of his despised ones. But hlie hlath rolled it 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 391
more and more audibly upon the ear, and at length
all the land has consented to listen, and to understand its mieaning, and to yield to its petition.
A great revolution has taken place in the opinions
and feelings of this whole nation. In my own day a
mighty conflict has risen, passed on, and ended victoriously for the right. I remember the days of early
mobs.   I remember when  anti-slavery sentiments
were spoken but ill whispers, as guilty things. I
remember when to be known as an Abolitionist was
to be disowned. I stood to see Birney's printing
press broken to pieces at Cincinnati, and dragged
into the Ohio River, and patrolled the streets armed,
under public requisition, to defend the dwellings of
the poor colored population against the ruthless
threatenings of the mob. I remember when the pioneer lecturers in the antislavery cause were driven by
unvitalized eggs from place to place throughout the
West.  I remember well the day when storehouses
were sacked, and dwellings pillaged, in this city of
New York.  I remember when a venerable man and
minister escaped with his life from his own house
because he was an advocate of the enslaved.
Within twenty years those parties which were the
most tyrannic have been ground out of existence.
Those churches that were the most intolerant of free
discussion on the question of human rights, have
been overrun by this providence of God, in favor of
freedom, and subdued to the truth. Synods, which
acted as dykes, have been overwhelmed and submerged by the rising flood.  General Assemblies,
like ships leaking on the sea, with all their pumps 
392   DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHIXG SOCIETIES.
and every device of caulking, have but just kept
themselves dry, and have been driven hither and
thither by this omnipotent fiood.  Those opinions
which twenty years ago would have shut up every
avenue of political honor in the North, are now found.
indispensable to the first step of advancement in
political life. The wheel has turned around. The
top is the bottom, and the bottom has gone up to the
top. A moral revolution has taken place upon half a
continent, and a decree has gone forth judging the
wickedness of slavery, and establishing thle righteousness of liberty.
During this whole struggle, the American Tract
Society, which was organized to speak God's truth to
man, has stood and beheld the whole conflict without
opening its lips, or uttering one single word.
Churches that were unfaithful have been brought
into line; States that were recreant have become
faithful; neighborhoods  that were false to liberty
have been converted to the truth; institutions that
scowled, and repulsed her claims, have long since
embraced the cause; but the American Tract Society,
with fatal consistency, from the beginning to the end,
has stood dumb. Its silence has testified that in
its judglment there was  nothing  in  the  Gospel
which it was its duty to speak in behalf of the
oppressed. In all the Word of God there was no lesslon of liberty of sufficient importance for it to publish. In that work which Christ was doing in our
O\VIwn age, it would have no part nor lot. Going back
to the sepulchre, it buried itself in the past, and
refused to follow the Saviour in all his new works of 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISIIING SOCIETIES. 393
love which he was performing ill our midst.  The
Gospel which it has preached has been a historic
Gospel. But the living work of God, and the mightiest workl of our time, it has ignored, despised,
rejected; and I charge upon this Society the guilt of
rejecting Christ.  It has refused to bear his Cross, to
suffer with him, to be pierced with his thorns, or to
tread in his footsteps. If in the day of judgment it
shall be counted a sin to have spoken for the enslaved, with any potency of voice, no condemnation
against the Tract Society will be issued, whatever
may  befall you or me.   They  have  never thus
sinned.
hIad this Society been, established for the publication of some special class of works, and had they then
refused to publish works that did not belong to their
specialty, they had been right. In England there is
a Shlaksperian Society, whose business it is to publishl
only of Shakspeare.   There is a Camden  Society.
with their historic specialty.   There is a IIansard
IKuollis Society, with their select list.  And if the
American Tract Society had been a denominational,
doctrinal society, or an ecclesiological society, or any
departmental publishingo association, we should not
have blamed her that she refused any extrinsic work;
but she was organized by Christian men, to declare
the whole counsel of God on the subject of public
morals, to this nation.   Sha was organized to give a
Christian literature, based upon Christian morals and
Christian truth, to this nation and to our times.
Under such circumstances, a deliberate and continual refusal to utter the truth of the Bible upon the
17* 
394  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISItING SOCIETIES.
subject of human rights, when millions were clamor ing for knowledge upon this subject, and when God,
by his providence, was turning  all good  men's
thoughts to these things, can be interpreted in no
other way than as a mighty infidelity to the triutli
committed to their hands.
And this mighty neglect has been made more re markable and shameful by the particularity with which
it has reprehended and hunted petty misdemeanors
and minute transgressions.  Upon ordinary stealing,
it has never feared to declare the whole counsel of
God; but the stealing of men, women and children,
has never yet been counted by it a crime worthy of
reprehension. To steal a thing has roused their holy
anger, but to steal a person leaves them quite complacent.   The violation of religious days; the disregard  of conventional  religious  usage;  random
irreverence or profanity,-tlthese have afforded them
targets for all their artillery'; but the violation of the
most sacred rights, social, civil, religious and domnestic, of four millions of men, has called forth from
them not one single word. This great overgrown
Society, with a hundred presses, goes out to seek the
man that chews tobacco, and runs him down, with
all its authority, for the wickedness of this indulgence; but the polygamy of the slave plantation;
the customary adulteries of slave relations; the breaking of hearts in the separation of families; the
unbounded concubinage of master and female slaves;
the separations of children; the ruthless sales of
human beings, coupled and catalogued with brute
animals,-upon all these things it has looked; and 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETILtS. 395
though urged, and besoulght, and pleaded with, to
this hour it has steadily refused to open its mouth or
to say one word. And yet, it pretends to be a Society for the publication of Christian truth and Christian doctrine!
Do young men and maidens, after the long day's
toils, see fit to gather together, and dance out the
hours of night? The American Tract Society instantly
arrays against them the moral influence of the Gospel.
Does some slave-trader, within sound of the national Capitol, gather together a band of hundreds
of slave men, and slave women, and slave children,
and begin that infernal coffie-dance between the
slave-pen and the burning plantation?  Against this
not one word can it find it its duty to speak from out
of God's truth. If ever, in our day, there was a case
which called again for Christ to speak and denounce
the miserable hypocrisy of men that tithed mint, anise
and cumin, but neglected the weightier matters of
the law-judgment, justice and mercy-this is the
one.
And what is that Gospel which they have
preached? Suppose that all our Bibles were destroyed, and we were again to reconstruct the
teachings of God's Word from the publications of
the American Tract Society, what Gospel could we
rear out of them? It would be a Gospel from which
would be left out that sublime enunciating sermon
of Christ-"The Spirit of the Lord is upon  me,
because he hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to
the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted,
to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering 
396  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIEI"S.
of sight to the blind, to set at liberty thloin that aile
bruised, to preach the acceptable year of' the Lord."
We could find in it no humanity for the oppressed;
no sympathy for yearning, sorrowing slave-mothlers;
no Golden Rule for slave masters; no doctrine upon
national justice.   Through  the  Bible which  the
American Tract Society have given this world, despotism might drive its chariot without a block or
hindrance. Along that Gospel road which the American Tract Society have thrown up, the most foul and
flagrant sins that are ever committed by oppression
might walk unchallenged by any sentinel, unarrested
by any officer. In so far as that Gospel is concerned,
which the American Tract Society has spread before
this nation, John Newton might again open the slave
trade, unrebuked, upon the coast of Africa. Fleets
mligllt land uncounted armies of slaves, and vast
auctions, suniidelir'g every natural tie, disperse them
all over the continent, and lecherous power and rank
brutality might domineer over the weak and helpless,
and all forms of dishonesty rising from the petty
proportion of civil stealing into tyrannic robberies,
and despotic usurpations of every human right and
liberty, and yet without one word of warning, one
word of rebuke, one word of judgment, from that
Gospel which the American Tract Society has given
to this nation!
And all this vast and wanton neglect is justified by
the plea that they are ordained not to meddle in
controversies, and to take sides with parties, but to
preach the Gospel.  Is this Gospel a thing that can
be preached while every human interest is neglected 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHflING SOCIETIES. 397
or disowned?  Is that Christ's Gospel that does not
meddle with living interests? Is the Gospel a bundle
of abstract truths, a bouquet of sentimentalities, an
airy realm of sweet imaginations and heavenly
visions?  Is there a Gospel of Christ that can be
preached consistently with the neglect of every want
in life? Is there, then, in this world, a Gospel of
Christ which is nothing for four million imbruted
slaves that cry day and night before God? It were
bad enough to maintain such wanton neglect and
inhumanity toward the poor; but to justify it by a
plea which destroys the charter of our religion, and
belies the very genius of the Gospel, is a wickedness
which combines in it all the most malignant traits of
infidelity. And whatever may be true of the private
lives and dispositions of the individuals who compose
the AIanagement of this Tract Society, there can be
no doubt thllat they have made the Tract Society an
enginie of illfidelity.  They have denied Christ; they
have crucified him again in his poor; they have shut
up their hearts against those things which were
dearest to the soul of the Saviour; they have
propagated the letter, and sacrificed the spirit of
Christianity. And no defection of doctrine, and no
mistaken theories of piety, and no enthusiasms of
moral sentiment, and no malignancies of fanaticism,
can, in the end, be worse than that fatal dogma which
the American Tract Society practically teach-that
there is a Gospel of doctrine which may be separated
from duty; that there is a piety without morality;
that there is a religious sentimentality disconnected
from religious ethics; that devotion may be separated 
398  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
from humanity; and that God will accept prayers,
and readings, and preachings, and singings, and selfdenials, in place of mercy, and charity, and helpfulness to the poor, and release to those in bondage.
If I were called upon to state who most promote
infidelity, do you think that I should say it was such
as Theodore Parker?  IHe is open and above-board.
We know his whole theory and philosophy. Mistaken as he is, he is not the most dangerous manai. Do
you think, then, that it is Garrison and Phillips-him
of the iron tongue, and him of the golden lips?  No,
not them.   Earnest, unswerving, faithful to their
convictions, they represent the fanaticism of that
part of the Gospel which the Tract Society has
abandoned and rejected.   Then it must be those
infamous peddlers of infidel books, that are dangerous. I should just as soon think of calling men dangerous who peddle cockroaches, and rats and vermin.
The men who seek such books are spoiled already.
I will tell you who are the dangerous infidels. Now,
as in the days of Christ, the men who hide worldly
hearts behind spiritual sentiments; the men that
substitute devotion for humanity; the men who
insist upon sacrifices in place of mercy and justice;
the men who have a text for every sin of omission
and commission, and holy precedents for every
devout neglect; who make long prayers while devouring widows' houses; who lift up holy eyes whenever
they are about to do a wicked thing; who pursue a
smooth selfishness; and who build themselves places
of power, and fortify their influence by all the words
and phrases of duty and devotedness; these are the 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING  SOCIETIES.  399
infidel men who take the garments of Christ to do
the work of the devil in. These men who profess to
do the work of righteousness while they impede the
workl of true religion by their shams, stand, in our
day, where the Scribes and Pharisees stood in Christ's
day.
Jerusalem lives its life over again in New York.
The Temple stands again in Nassau street, and
the priests and the lawyers may be found there at
the same arts which priest and lawyer practised in
the Temple of old. Laws and institutions grow old
and perish, but the human heart, never; and the
hypocrisies of inhuman religious men in the days of
Christ, which brought down his divinest indignation,
reappear again  in  every age.   As  spiders spin
their cobwebs in kings' palaces, so, in the holiest
places, hypocrisy weaves its web, and lurks for its
victims.
The heresies which Christ feared were not of the
head, but of the heart-the heresy of selfishness; the
heresy of religious pride; the haughty indifference of
those that were in prosperity to those that were in
trouble and adversity; the neglect of the poor, the
ignorant, the vicious, the criminal. It was not in the
Temple that his steps were most found, nor his voice
oftenest heard. The religious class he made his enemies, because it was against the religious class that he
levelled his most terrible denunciations. There may
be such a thing as religious aristocracy, and contemptuous religious refinement. Devotion has its selfishness,
worship may become a luxury. And in the day of
Christ, the arrogance of the priest, the subtle cunning 
400  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHIING SOCIETIES.
of the lawyer, and the conceited spirituality of the
devout, brought down the most terrible denunciations
from the divine lips.  And Christ taught then a lesson just as much needed now, that all religion is void
and worthless which leaves the ignorant untaught;
the wronged unredressed, the poor unsuccored, the
imprisoned unvisited, and the - captive unreleased.
And in the days of Christ, by Christ's own hands, the
whole weight of the Gospel was pivoted upon humanity in man to man.
One cannot look upon this ostentatious particularity
about minor morals in the Tract Society, and this
persistent neglect of great humanities, without repugnance.   Imagine  an army upon  our frontiers,
charged with the defence of the people. All around
the rude huts of the pioneers primeval forests stand
unbroken. In their shadows and twilights lurk countless bands of savage enemies. Their flocks and their
herds are imperilled by wolves and bears. Venomous
serpents yet infest the region. Uponi some alarm, the
settlers crowd the fort, beseeching protection. The
savage foe are upon them. Their houses are burned;
their crops are destroyed; wolves suck the blood of
their herds with impunity; but no soldier can be had.
Armed with combs, and searching the heads of children, they reply, " We cannot leave these important
matters to look after Indians."
Four millions of men cry out that the foot of the
oppressor is upon them. Four millions of men say,
"We do not own our wives, nor our little ones.  We
are living in adultery. We cannot go where we will.
Our bodies are not our own; our time is not our own. 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISIITNG socIiE',TES.  401
Every right is snatched from us.  Bretlhren, come
forth and help us."  But the Tract Society, lifting its
devout head from its domesticity, plies its fine-toothcomb philanthropy upon quids of tobacco; upon
siis of dancing; upon the transient peccadilloes of
liorality.
lIad the Executive Committee of the American
Tract Society stood in the place of the twelve Apostles in the primitive days of the Church, the world
would have never had a Gospel. Not one man of
them would have dared to preach in Jerusalem;
not one man of them would have taken the buffet of
an angry world. Some lawyer would have been
found easily satisfying them that to preach a thing
which men did not want to hear was throwing away
their labor.  Some Daniel Lord would have risen up
in their midst, and declared that they had as well
speak in a foreign tongue as preach things which the
people did not wish to hear. No Peter would have
brought on Pentecost in Jerusalem. No Paul would
have risen up, and traversed the globe with a fidelity
which arrayed against him the wealth, the refinement, the religion, and the learning of the selfish
world.
Think you that the holy Apostles asked leave of
men to speak? Did these sons of thunder go to their
ission chiefly careful how to save their own reputations?.Btt had it been these gentlemen of the Tract
Society, we should have had a new rendering of the
campaign.  The Executive Committee would never
have preached Christianity in old raging Jerusalem.
Christ would never have lost his life if he had pur 
402  DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES.
sued  the prudent  policy of this influence-loving
Tract Society. The apostles would have grown grey
in Jerusalem if they could have been permitted to
preach only what men wished to hear.  They iwere
persecuted for outspoken fidelity. Christ's last an(I
worst offence, and that which was the proximate
cause of his death, was his unsparing and terrible
rebuke of that religion which made -)evotion a substitute for Humanirty.  The Pharisees were so anxious
for the Church and its institutions, that they sacrificed
the very qualities for which a church is instituted.
And the Tract Society are now on the very moral
ground occupied by the old Pharisees. It is for the
sake of saving an institution formed only for the
spread of Truth they are sacrificing that very Truth.
For the sake of keeping unharmed an Institution of
Benevolence, they are refusing the most sacred duties
of Benevolence. Mloral qualities have become less
valued than the machinery by which these qualities
were to be propagated! Under the plea of preaching
Christ, they are refusing the very deeds which led
Christ to his victorious death. For the sake of sending the Gospel all over the land, they have emptied
themselves of that very courage-of that divine fidelity-of that tender consideration for the helpless,
which made the Gospel what it is. In the Apostles'
hands there was a Gospel of Courage. In the Tract
Society's hands it is a Gospel of Cowardice.  The Tract
Society means to save its life, and so loses it. The
Apostles were willing to lose their lives daily, and so
saved them.  It is not what influence men keep that
makes them strong, but what they give up for Christ'X 
DUTIES OF RELIGIOUS PUBLISHING SOCIETIES. 403
sake.   From  the Cross and the Sepulchre Christ
began to reign. Before, he was a man of sorrowafterward, a Prince  and Saviour!   The Apostles
gloried in persecution.   Suffering was a badge of
Fidelity. They carried the Gospel into the world as
a torch is carried into a cave, bringing down around
them every creature that could not bear the light.
That Gospel is now a dark lantern, and the Tract
Society carry it into the vast cavern of slavery with
such care not to open it, that every bird of darkness
sleeps on, undisturbed. Their Gospel. is a torch reversed!  liad these tract men been the Apostles, we
should now be Gentiles, and the whole earth heathens.
TIlE ENi). 
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"The Life of Johnson is assuredly a great, a very great work. Homer is
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