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SERMONS,

BY

HUGH B^AIR, D.D.RR.S. Ed.
ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF THE HIGH CHURCH.
AND PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.

TO WHICH IS PREFIXED,
THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOR,
BY JAMES FINLAYSON, D.D.

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.— WITH A PORTRAIT.

PRINTED VERBATIM FJROJT THE ORIGINAL EDITION.

LONDON :
PRINTED FOR T. TEGG & SON, CHEAPSIDE;
R. GRIFFIN AND CO. GLASGOW ; TEGG, WISE, AND TEGG, DUBLIN
ALSO JAMES AND SAMUEL A. TEGG, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.
1834.

LONDON;
PUINTED BY J, IIADDON, CASTLE STREET, FINSBURY.

TO

THE QUEEN.

Madam,
When the First Volume of these Sermons was published,
I did not presume to request the liberty of prefixing to
them a name so illustrious. Encouraged by the favour
able manner in which the Public has received Two
Volumes, I now humbly beg leave, on the publication of a
Third,* to lay them all before Your Majesty.
Had I been in doubt to whom they could be presented
with the greatest propriety, the public voice would instantly
have directed me to the Person to whom I have now the ho
nour of addressing myself. Discourses intended to pro
mote religion and virtue can be inscribed to none more
suitably than to one who, in the highest station of life, has
ever supported the cause of religion by her conspicuous
regard for it ; who has advanced the interests of virtue,
by her distinguished example ; and who, by a happy
union of the amiable with the estimable qualities, has
commanded the love and respect of a great nation.
It is a signal blessing to a kingdom, when a person
whose character would have reflected honour upon any
condition of fortune, is placed by Providence in that
elevated rank, which allows her virtues to shine with
extensive lustre, and to diffuse their auspicious influence
over a whole land.
* Dr. Blair's Sermons originally formed Five Volumes ; and this Dedi
cation was prefixed to the Third, which contained Sermons XXXI — L.

dedication.
That this influence of Your Majesty's virtues may
long continue to be felt; that while they alleviate the
cares, and increase the comfort, of our gracious Sove
reign; while they improve the minds, and contribute to
the felicity, of Your illustrious offspring ; they may, at
the same time, successfully exert their power in forming
the public manners on a pattern so worthy of imitation ;
shall be my sincere wish and earnest prayer.
I have the honour to be, with profound respect,
Madam,
Your Majesty's most humble,
And most devoted Servant,
HUGH BLAIR

TO THE READER.*

AFTER the very favourable reception which the Four former
Volumes of my Sermons have met with, both at home and
abroad, I had resolved not to presume on offering any more
to the Public. To this publication of another Volume, my present
situation gave rise : being now, by the infirmity of very advanced
age, laid aside from all the labours of the pulpit, and possessing,
of course, more retirement and leisure than formerly, it occurred
to me sometimes, to look back into Sermons, most of which
had been composed a great many years ago, with a view to
observe how far they agreed in the strain of thought with those
which I had written at a later period. In reviewing them,
passages sometimes appeared I imagined might be serviceable,
either for admonition or consolation, to various classes of persons ;
and the thought began to arise in my mind, that by employing
my present leisure, as long as health allowed, in preparing some
of those Discourses for the press, it might be in my power to be
still of some use in the world. Encouraged by this idea, I went
on to revise and correct one Sermon after another, often making
alterations and additions, till the present Volume arose.
Though the subjects of these Sermons be different from those
which I formerly published, some of the same sentiments and
expressions may occasionally be found to be repeated in them.
This is apt to happen, partly from that similarity of thought and
style which will run through all the compositions of an Author
who is not copying others, but writing from his own reflections ;
* Originally prefixed to Vol. V. containing Sermons LXXH — XCI.

X TO THE READER.
and partly, from the coincidence of some general topics, and
allusions which recur frequently in serious discourses of the
practical kind. Where any instances of this nature presented
themselves to my memory, I found, that without altering the
strain of the Sermon, I could not altogether suppress and omit
them ; and as it is not often they occur, I did not think it
requisite that they should be omitted. If the sentiment, where
first introduced, was in any degree useful or important, the
renewal of it, when brought forth under some different form,
enlarged perhaps, or abridged, or placed in connection with
some other topic, may be brought to strengthen and confirm the
impression of it. — With regard to errors or inaccuracies of any
other kind, the Author must trust to the indulgence of the
candid Reader.
HUGH BLATR.

PREFACE.

THE Sermons of Dr. Blair have for a long period been so highly
esteemed by the public, that any endeavour to procure for them
a higher portion of regard, or to recommend them more to general
approbation and esteem, would be an attempt on the part of the
publishers of the present volume, equally useless as presumptuous.
The variety, number, and importance, of the subjects discussed in
this collection, are such, that some one or other of them will suit
the case of every reader of every description, and in every situation
of life. They embrace every object that can affect the interest or
engage the attention of mankind ; and come home at once to every
man's business and bosom. They treat of life and death ; hell and
judgement ; of the superintendence of an over-ruling Providence,
who directs and governs all the affairs of this life ; of the certainty
of the rewards which await the just, who fulfil the precep ts and obey
the laws of their Creator and Redeemer, and the tremendous punish
ment which the wicked will suffer in another world, who break his
commandments and despise his statutes in this life. Here, as in the
Sacred Volume of Holy Writ, the good man who struggles with
adversity, overpowered, and almost overthrown, by the frauds and
deceit of his enemy, may learn that there is a God above him who
will plead his cause, and who, if he trusts in him, will one day re
venge his wrongs, and cover the head of his adversary with shame
and confusion : here the wicked man may learn and tremble, that,
although the Almighty may permit him to prosper for a time, a day
of retribution is near at hand, when he will be called to a strict ac
count for his transgressions, and receive the punishment due to his
iniquities. On the manner in which the several subjects are treated, it is
needless to dilate. Their sublime grandeur and awful dignity are
calculated to excite emotions of the most ardent devotion and pro
found humility ; while the heart and affections are engaged, and the
attention secured, by the charms of a style, at once easy, perspi
cuous, simple, elegant, and pure. Such beauties cannot fail to secure
the approbation, and interest the mind, of the most careless and in
attentive reader, who may happen to take up the work for the amuse
ment of an idle hour ; and, the attention once engaged, a regard

vi PREFACE.
to the precepts and doctrines inculcated in this excellent work can
not fail to correct and improve the heart.
Our late good and pious King was the friend and patron of Dr.
Blair, and frequently observed, he wished to hear that the Bible
and Blair's Sermons were in the hands of every youth in the united
kingdom. The publishers of the present volume flatter themselves
that, in presenting Blair's Sermons to, the public in one Family
Volume, they are not only furthering, in a very considerable degree,
the wishes of our venerable departed monarch, but are also perform
ing a most important duty to society, and more particularly to the
rising generation ; for, although numerous editions of this most
valuable work are before the public, the frugal and industrious have
been unable to procure them. In publishing, therefore, the present
Family Edition of these valuable Sermons, at a price which will en
able all classes to become purchasers, they are offering the most fa
vourable opportunity which has hitherto been presented to the
serious and devout part of the community, to possess themselves of
this important and inestimable work.
The present edition, although printed in a large and clear type,
in a plain and distinct manner, has been conducted with so much
care and attention to the arrangement of the matter, that every
word of the whole number of Sermons filling the five volumes of
which the former editions consisted, is now comprised in one hand
some Volume ; and the whole has been carefully printed from, and
compared with, the most accurate editions.

\ SHORT ACCOUNT

THE LIFE AND CHARACTER

DR. HUGH BLAIR.

DR. HUGH BLAIR was born at Edinburgh, on the 7th day of April,
1718. His father, John Blair, a respectable merchant in that city, was a
descendant of the ancient family of Blair in Ayrshire, and grandson of
the famous Mr. Robert Blair, Minister of St. Andrew's, Chaplain to
Charles I., and one of the most zealous and distinguished clergymen of
the period in which he lived. This worthy man, though firmly attached
to the cause of freedom, and to the Presbyterian form of church-govern
ment, and though actively engaged in all the measures adopted for their
support; yet, by his steady, temperate conduct, commanded the respect
even of his opponents. In .preference to all the other ecclesiastical leaders
of the covenanting party, he was selected by the King himself to fill
an oflice which, from the circumstances of the time, gave frequent access
to the Royal Person ; " because," said His Majesty, " that man is pious,
prudent, learned, and of a meek and moderate calm temper." — His talents
seem to hare descended as an inheritance to his posterity. For, of the
two sons who survived him, David, the eldest, was a clergyman of emi
nence in Edinburgh, father to Mr. Robert Blair, Minister of Athelstonford,
the celebrated author of the poem entitled The Grave ; and grandfather to
His Majesty's Solicitor-General for Scotland, whose masculine eloquence,
and profound knowledge of law, have, in the public estimation, placed him
indisputably at the head of the Scottish bar. From his youngest son
Hugh, who engaged in business as a merchant, and had the honour to fill

xii . THE LIFE OF
a high station in the magistracy, of Edinburgh, sprung the learned clergy
man, who is the subject of this narrative.
The views of Dr. Blair, from his earliest youth, were turned towards
the Church, and his education received a suitable direction. After the
usual grammatical course at school, he entered the Humanity Class in
the University of Edinburgh, in October 1730, and spent eleven years at
that celebrated seminary, assiduously employed in the literary and scien
tific studies prescribed by the Church of Scotland to all who are to become
candidates for her license to preach the Gospel. During this important
period, he was distinguished among his companions both for diligence and
proficiency ; and obtained from the Professors under whom" he studied
repeated testimonies of approbation. One of them deserves to be men
tioned particularly, because, in his own opinion, it determined the bent ot
his genius towards polite literature. An essay, n^l rs icaXe, or, On the
Beautiful, written by him when a student of logic in the usual course of
academical exercises, had the good fortune to attract the notice of Pro
fessor Stevenson, and, with circumstances honourable to the author,
was appointed to be read in public at the conclusion of the Session.
This mark of distinction made a deep impression on his mind ; and the
essay which merited it, he ever after recollected with partial affection, and
preserved to the day of his death as the first earnest of his fame.
At this time, Dr. Blair commenced a method of study which contributed
much to the accuracy and extent of his knowledge, and which he con
tinued to practice occasionally even after his reputation was fully establish
ed. It consisted in making abstracts of the most important works which
he read, and in digesting them according to the train of his own thoughts.
History in particular, he resolved to study in this manner ; and, in concert
with some of his youthful associates, he constructed a very comprehen
sive scheme of chronological tables, for receiving into its proper place
every important fact that should occur. The scheme devised by this
young student for his own private use was afterwards improved, filled up,
and given to the public, by his learned friend Dr. John Blair, Prebendary
of Westminster, in his valuable work, " The Chronology and History of
the World."
lit the year 1739, Dr. Blair took his degree of A.M. On that occasion
he printed and defended a thesis, De Fundamentis et Obligatione Legis
Naturce, which contains a short, but masterly, discussion of this important
subject, and exhibits, in elegant Latin, an outline of the moral principles,
which have been sinr.o more fully unfolded and illustrated in his Ser
mons. The University of Edinburgh, about this period, numbered among her
pupils many young men who were soon to make a distinguished figure in
the civil, the ecclesiastical, and the literary history of their country.
With most of them Dr. Blair entered into habits of intimate connexion,

DR. HUGH BLAIR. xiii
which no future competition or jealously occurred to interrupt, which held
them united through life in their views of public good, and which had
the most beneficial influence on their own improvement, on the progress
of elegance and taste among their contemporaries, and on the general in
terests of the community to which they belonged.
On the completion of this academical course, he underwent the cus
tomary trials before the Presbytery of Edinburgh, and received from that
venerable body a license to preach the Gospel, on the 21st of October,
1741. His public life now commenced with very favourable prospects.
The reputation which he brought from the University was fully justified by
his first appearances in the pulpit ; and, in a few months, the fame of his
eloquence procured for him a presentation to the parish of Colessie in Fife,
where he was ordained to the office of the holy ministry, on the 23rd of
September, 1742. But he was not permitted to remain long in this rural
retreat. A vacancy in the second charge of the Canongate of Edinburgh
furnished to his friends an opportunity of recalling him to a station more
suited to his talents. And though one of the most popular and eloquent
clergymen in the church was placed in competition with him, a great
majority of the electors decided in favour of this young orator, and re
stored him in July, 1743, to the bounds of his native city.
In this station Dr. Blair continued eleven years, discharging with great
fidelity and success the various duties of the pastoral ofiice. His dis
courses from the pulpit in particular attracted universal admiration. They
were composed with uncommon care ; and, ocpupying a middle place be
tween the dry metaphysical discussion of one class of preachers, and the
loose incoherent declamation of another, they blended together, in the
happiest manner, the light of argument with the warmth of exhortation,
and exhibited captivating specimens of what had hithcito been rarely
heard in Scotland, the polished, well compacted, and regular didactic
oration. In consequence of a call from the Town-Council and General Session
of Edinburgh, he was translated from the Canongate to Lady Yester's,
one of the city churches, on the 11th of October, 1754; and on the 15th
day of June, 1758, he was promoted to the High Church of Edinburgh,
the most important ecclesiastical charge in the kingdom. To this
charge he was raised at the request of the Lords of Council and Session,
and of the other distinguished official characters who have their seats in
that church. And the uniform prudence, ability, and success, which, for
a period of more than forty years, accompanied all his ministerial labours
in that conspicuous and difficult station, sufficiently evince the wisdom of
their choice.
Hitherto his attention seems to have been devoted almost exclusively
to the attainment of professional excellence, and to the regular discharge

xiv THE LIFE OF
of his parochial duties. No production of his pen had yet been given to
the world by himself, except two sermons preached on particular occa
sions ; some translations, in verse, of passages of Scripture for the Psalmody
of the Church ; and a few articles in the Edinburgh Review ; a publica
tion begun in 1755, and conducted for a short time by some of the ablest
men in the kingdom. But standing as he now did at the head of his
profession, and released by the labour of former years from the drudgery
of weekly preparation for the pulpit, he began to think seriously of a
plan to teach others that art, which had contributed so mucn to the esta
blishment- of his own fame. With this view, he communicated to his
friends a scheme of Lectures of composition ; and, having obtained the ap
probation of the University, he began to read them in the College on the
11th of December, 1759. To this undertaking he brought all the qualifica
tions requisite for executing it well ; and along with them a weight of
reputation, which could not fail to give effect to the lessons he should de
liver. For, besides the testimony given to his talents by his successive
promotions in the Church, the University of St. Andrew's, moved chiefly
by the merit of his eloquence, had in June 1757 conferred on him the de
gree of D.D. a literary honour which, at that time, was very rare in
Scotland. Accordingly, his first Course of Lectures was well attended,
and received with great applause. The patrons of the University, con
vinced that they would form a valuable addition to the system of education,
agreed in the following summer to institute a rhetorical class, under
his direction, as a permanent part of thair academical establishment;
and on the 7th of April, 1762, His Majesty was graciously pleased " To
erect and endow a Professorship of Rhetoric and Belles Lcttres in the
University of Edinburgh, and to appoint Dr. Blair, in consideration of his
qualifications, Regius Professor thereof, with a salary of 70/. These
Lectures he published in 1783, when he retired from the labours of the
office ; and the general voice of the Public has pronounced them to be a
most judicious, elegant, and comprehensive system of rules for forming
the style and cultivating the taste of youth.
About the time in which he was occupied in laying the foundations of
this useful institution, he had an opportunity of conferring another impor
tant obligation on the literary world, by the part which he acted in res
cuing from oblivion the Poems of Ossian. It was by the solicitation of
Dr. Blair and Mr. John Home, that Mr. Macpherson was induced to pub
lish his Fragments of Ancient Poetry ; and their patronage was of essential
service in procuring the subscription which enabled him to undertake his
tour through the Highlands for collecting the materials of Fingal, and of
those other delightful productions which bear the name of Ossian. To
these productions Dr. Blair applied the test of genuine criticism, and
soon after their publication gave an estimate of their merits in a Disser-

DR. HUGH BLAIR. xv
tation,, which, for beauty of language, delicacy of taste, and acuteness of
critical investigation, has few parallels. It was printed in 1763, and
spread the reputation of its author throughout Europe.
The great objects of his literary ambition being now attained, his
talents were for many years consecrated solely to the important and
peculiar employments of his station. It was not till the year 1777, that he
could be induced to favour the world with a volume of the Sermons which
had so long furnished instruction and delight to his own congregation.
But this volume being well received, the public approbation encouraged
him to proceed : three other volumes followed at different intervals ;
and all of them experienced a degree of success of which few publica
tions can boast. They circulated rapidly and widely wherever the English
tongue extends ; they were soon translated into almost all the languages
of Europe ; and His present Majesty, with that wise attention to the
interests of religion and literature which distinguishes his reign, was
graciously pleased to judge them worthy of public reward. By a royal
mandate to the Exchequer of Scotland, dated July 25th, 1780, a pension
of 200/. a year was conferred on their author, which continued unaltered
till his death.
The motives which gave rise to the present volume are sufficiently
explained by himself in his Address to the Reader.
The Sermons which it contains were composed at very different periods
of his life ; but they were all Written out anew in his own hand, and in
many parts recomposed, during the course of last summer, after he had
completed his eighty-second year. They were delivered to the publishers
about six weeks before his death, in the form and order in which they now
appear. And it may gratify his readers to know, that the last of them
which he composed, though not the last in the order adopted for publi
cation, was the Sermon on A Life of Dissipation and Pleasure — a sermon
written with great dignity and eloquence, and which should be regarded
as his solemn parting admonition to a class of men, whose conduct is
highly important to the community, and whose reformation and virtue he
had long laboured most zealously to promote.
The Sermons which he has given to the world are universally admitted
to be models in their kind ; and they will long remain durable monuments
of the piety, the genius, and sound judgement of the author. But they
formed only a small part of the discourses he prepared for the pulpit.
The remainder, modesty led him to think unfit for the press ; and,
influenced by an excusable solicitude for his reputation, he left behind him
an explicit injunction that his numerous manuscripts should be destroyed.
The greatness of their number was creditable to his professional character
and exhibited a convincing proof that his fame as a public teacher had
been honourably purchased, by the most unwearied application to the
private and unseen labours of his office. It rested on the uniform intrinsic

The life of
excellence of his Discourses, in point of matter and composition, rather
than on foreign attractions ; for his delivery, though distinct, serious,
and impressive, was not remarkably distinguished by that magic charm
of voice and action which captivates the senses and imagination, and
which, in the estimation of superficial hearers, constitutes the chief merit
of a preacher.
In that department of his professional duty, which regarded the
government of the church, Dr. Blair was steadily attached to the cause of
moderation. From diffidence, and perhaps from a certain degree of
inaptitude for extemporary speaking, he took a less public part in the
contests of ecclesiastical politics than some of his contemporaries ; and
from the same causes, he never would consent to become Moderator of
the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. But his influence
among his brethren was extensive : his opinion, guided by that sound
uprightness of judgement which formed the predominant feature of his
intellectual character, had been always held in high respect by the friends
with whom he acted ; and, for many of the last years of his life, it was
received by them almost as a law. The great leading principle in which
they cordially concurred with him, and which directed all their measures ;
was, to preserve the church, on the one side, from a slavish, corrupting
dependence on the civil power ; and, on the other, from a greater infusion
of democratical influence than is compatible with good order, and the
established constitution of the country.
The reputation which he acquired in the discharge of his public
duties, was well sustained by the great respectability of his private cha
racter. Deriving from family associations a strong sense of clerical
decorum, feeling on his heart deep impressions of religious and moral
obligation, and guided in his intercourse with the world by the same
correct and delicate taste which appeared in his writings, he was
eminently distinguished through life by the prudence, purity, and dignified
propriety of his conduct. His mind, by constitution and culture, was
admirably formed for enjoying happiness. Well balanced in itself by
the nice proportion and adjustment of its faculties, it did not incline him
to any of those eccentricities, either of opinion or of action, which are
too often the lot of genius : — free from all tincture of envy, it delighted
cordially in the prosperity and fame of his companions ; sensible to the
estimation in which he himself was held, it disposed him to dwell at
times on the thought of his success with a satisfaction which he did not
affect to conceal: inaccessible alike to gloomy and to peevish impres
sions, it was always master of its own movements, and ready, in an
uncommon degree to take an active and pleasing interest in every thing,
whether important or trifling, that happened to become for the moment
the object of his attention. This habit of mind, tempered with the most
unsuspecting simplicity, and united to eminent talents and inflexible

DR. HUGH BLAIR. xvii
integrity, while it secured to the last his own relish of life, was wonder
fully calculated to endear him to his friends, and to render him an
invaluable member of any society to which he belonged. Accordingly
there have been few men more universally respected by those who knew
him, more sincerely esteemed in the circle of his acquaintance, or more
tenderly beloved by those who enjoyed the blessings of his private and
domestic connexion.
In April, 1748, he married his cousin Katharine Bannatine, daughter
of the Reverend James Bannatine, one of the ministers of Edinburgh.
By her he had a son who died in infancy, and a daughter who lived to
her twenty-first year, the pride of her parents, and adorned with all the
accomplishments that became her age and sex. Mrs. Blair herself, a
woman of great good sense and spirit, was also taken from him a few
years before his death, after she had shared with the tenderest affection
in all his fortunes, and contributed near half a century to his happiness
and comfort.
Dr. Blair had been naturally of a feeble constitution of body ; but as
he grew up, his constitution acquired greater firmness and vigour.
Though liable to occasional attacks from some of the sharpest and most
painful diseases that afflict the human frame, he enjoyed a general state
of good health ; and, through habitual cheerfulness, temperance, -and
care, survived the usual term of human life. — For some years he had
felt himself unequal to the fatigue of instructing his very large congre
gations from the pulpit ; and, under the impression which this feeling
produced, he has been heard at times to say with a sigh, " that he was
left almost the last of his contemporaries." Yet he continued to the
end in the regular discharge of all his other official duties, and particu
larly in giving advice to the afflicted, who, from different quarters of the
kingdom, solicited his correspondence. His last summer was devoted,
to the preparation of this volume of Sermons ; and, in the course of it,
he exhibited a vigour of understanding and capacity of exertion equal to
that of his best days. He began the winter, pleased with himself on
account of the completion of this work ; and his friends were flattered
with the hope that he might live to enjoy the accession of emolument and
fame which he expected it would bring. But the seeds of a mortal
disease were lurking unperceived within him. On the 24th of December,
1800, he complained of a pain in his bowels, which, during that and the
following day, gave him but little uneasiness ; and he received as usual
the visits of his friends. On the afternoon of the 26th, the symptoms
became violent and alarming : — he felt that he was approaching the end
of his appointed course ; and retaining to the last moment the full possession
of his mental faculties, he expired on the morning of the 27th, with the
composure and hope which become a Christian pastor.

xviii THE LIFE OF
The lamentation for his death was universal and deep through the city
which he had so long instructed and adorned. Its magistrates, partici
pating in the general grief, appointed his church to be put in mourning :
and his colleague in it, the writer of this Narrative, who had often expe
rienced the inestimable value of his counsel and friendship, delivered on
the Sabbath after his funeral a discourse to his congregation, with an
xtract from which this account shall be closed. It is inserted here, at
e particular request of that very respectable body of men who com-
sed his Kirk Session, and who, by their public approbation of this
tribute to his memory, are desirous of transmitting, with his Sermons, to
posterity, a memorial of the veneration and esteem with which his con
duct had inspired them. — After exhorting to contemplate and follow the
patriarchs and saints of former ages, who, through faith and patience,
inherit the promises, the Preacher thus proceeded :
" In this competition for virtuous attainment, it may be often useful
to bring down your eye, from contemplating the departed worthies of
distant times and countries, towards patterns of imitation that are en
deared to you by more tender ties. If, in the relations of life, you have
had a connexion, — if, in the circle of your own family, you have had a
father, a husband, or a brother, who discharged with exemplary fidelity
the duties of his station, whom every tongue blessed as the friend of God
and man, and who died as he lived, full of faith and hope, place him
before you as the model of your conduct — conceive him bending from
his seat in the skies, pleased with your attachment, deeply interested in
your success, and cheering you in your labours of love. His image will
be as a guardian angel to admonish you when dangers approach, to
rouse within you every principle of virtuous exertion, and to inspire you
with strength to overcome.
" Our hearts. Christians, have been deeply pierced with the loss of a
most valuable connexion, of a venerable pastor, who watched long for
our souls, and with the most unwearied fidelity pointed out to us the
path of happiness. To you, and to the general interests of pure religion,
he was attached by many powerful obligations. A native of this city,
and descended from a family, which, in former times, had given several
bright ornaments to the Church of Scotland, he felt the warmest tenden
cies of nature co-operating with the principles of duty, to call forth all
his powers in the sacred service to which he was devoted. And, by the
blessing of God on his industry, he rose to an eminence in professional
merit, which has reflected distinguished honour on the city, on the church,
and on the country which produced him.
" It was the fortune of Dr. Blair to appear at a period when the
literature of his country was just beginning to receive a polish and an
useful direction; and when it was emulously cultivated by a brignt

DR. HUGH BLAIR. xix
constellation of young men who are destined to carry it to high perfec
tion. In concert with them, he applied himself with diligence and assi
duity to all those branches of study which could contribute to form him
for the eloquence of the pulpit. This was the department in which he
chose to excel ; to which all the force of his genius was directed ; and in
which he soon felt that his efforts were to be successful. For, from the
very commencement of his theological studies, he gave presages of his
future attainments ; and, in the societies of his youthful companions, laid
the foundations of that splendid reputation, which, through a long life of
meritorious service, continued to increase ; and which has procured for
him, as a religious instructor, access to the understandings and the hearts
of all the most cultivated inhabitants of the Christian world.
" To you, my brethren, who have long enjoyed the inestimable bles
sing of his immediate instruction, it will not be necessary to describe the
qualities of that luminous, fascinating eloquence with which he was accus
tomed to warm, and ravish, and amend your hearts. You may have
heard others who equalled, or even excelled, him in some of the requisites
of pulpit oratory, in occasional profoundness of thought, in vivid flashes
of imagination, or in pathetic addresses to the heart. But there never
was a public teacher in whom all these requisites were combined in juster
proportions, placed under the direction of a more exquisite sense of pro
priety, and employed with more uniform success to convey useful and
practical instruction. Standing on the foundation of the Apostles and
Prophets, he exhibited the doctrines of Christ in their genuine purity,
separated from the dross of superstition, and traced with inimitable ele
gance, through all their beneficial influence on the consolation, on the
order, and on the virtue of both public and private life. Hence his dis
courses, uniting in the most perfect form the attractions of utility and
beauty, gave a new and better tone to the style of instruction from the
-pulpit; and contributed, in a remarkable degree, to correct and refine
the religious, the moral, and the literary taste of the times in which
he lived.
" The universal admiration which attended his ministerial labours, was
some recompense to him for the exertions they had cost. But his chief
recompense arose from the consciousness of having contributed so emi
nently to' edify the Church of Christ, and from the improving influence
which his labours had shed on his own heart. For he was, at home and
in himself, the perfect image of that meekness, simplicity, gentleness,
and contentment, which his writings recommend. He was long happy
in his domestic relations ; and though doomed at last to feel, through
their loss in succession, the heaviest strokes of affliction, yet his mind,
fortified by religious habits, and buoyed up by his native tendency to
contentment, sustained itself on God, and enabled him to persevere to
the end, in the active and cheerful discharge of the duties of his station ,

sx THE LIFE OF DR. HUGH BLAIR
preparing for the world the blessings of elegant instruction ; tendering-
to the mourner the lessons of divine consolation ; guiding the young by
his counsels ; aiding the meritorious with his influence ; and supporting
by his voice and by his conduct the civil and ecclesiastical institutions of
his country.
" With such dispositions and habits, it was natural that he should
enjoy a distinguished portion of felicity. And perhaps there never was
a man who experienced more completely that the ways of wisdom are
ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace. His country
was proud of his merits, and at different times conferred on him, through
the hands of the Sovereign, the most honourable and substantial proofs
of her approbation : foreign lands learned from him the way of salvation :
he saw marks of deference and respect wherever he appeared : and he
felt within himself the gratulations of a good conscience, and the hope
of immortality. It was peculiarly delightful to see him in the latest
period of his life, at the venerable age of eighty-two, looking back on
almost three-score years spent in the public service of his God, pleased
with the recollections which it gave, possessing a mind still vigorous and
clear, the delight of his friends, sensible to the attentions which they
paid to him, burning with zeal for the good of the Church, and, with all
the ardour of youthful ambition, preparing the materials of a new claim
to the gratitude and admiration of posterity. In this active state of pre
paration, with the lamp of life still clear and bright, he was found by
the Great Lord of All, when he came to say, ' it is enough ;' and, after
a single night of pain, to call him gently to his rest.
"He has gone to give an account of his stewardship. The Church
mourns in him the loss of her brightest ornament. Let us submit to
the stroke with resignation and reverence ; and as the most acceptable
proof of respect to his memory, let us learn to practise the lessons which
he taught."
J. FINLAYSON.
Edinburgh,
March 13th, 1801.

CONTENTS.

Sermon I. — On the Union of Piety and Morality.
Acts x. 4. Thy prayers and thine alms are come up for a memorial be
fore God.  pAGE 1
Sermon II. — On the Influence of Religion upon Adversity.
Psalm xxvii. 5. — In the time of trouble, he shall hide me in his pavilion:
in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me ; and shall set me upon
a rock. .......... 9
Sermon III. — On the Influence of Religion upon Prosperity.
Psalm i. 3. — He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that
- bring eth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wittier,
and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. .... 20
Sermon IV.— On our Imperfect Knowledge of a Future State.
1 Corinth, xiii. 12. — For now we see through a glass darkly. . 29
Sermon V. — On the Death of Christ.
(Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of tie Lord's Supper.)
John xvii. 1 Jesus lifted up his eyes to Heaven, and said, Father, the
hour is come. . . ....... 40
Sermon VI. — On Gentleness.
James iii. 17. The wisdom that is from above, is — gentle — . 50
Sermon VII. — On the Disorders of the Passions.
Esther v. 13. Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mor-
decai the Jew sitting at the King's gate. .... 59
Sermon VIII. — On our Ignorance of Good and Evil in this Life.
Ecclesiastes vi. 12. Who knoweth what is good for man in this' life,
all the days of his vain life, which he spendeth as a shadow ? . 70

xxii CONTENTS.
Sermon IX. —On Religious Retirement.
Psalm iv. 4 Commune with your own heart, upon your bed, and ba
still.  Page 80
Sermon X. — On Devotion.
Acts x. 2. Cornelius — a devout man. — . . . 90
Sermon XI. — On the Duties of the Young.
Titus ii. 6. Young men likewise exhort to be sober-minded. . 104
Sermon XII. — On the Duties and Consolations of the Aged.
Proverbs xvi. 31. The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found
in the way of righteousness. ...... 116
Sermon XIII.— On the Power of Conscience.
Genesis xlii. 21, 22. And they said one to another, We are verily guilty
concerning our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul, when
he besought us ; and we would not hear : Therefore is this distress
come upon us. And Reuben answered them saying, Spake I not unto
you, saying, Do not sin against the child ; and ye would not hear ?
Therefore behold also his blood is required. . . . 128
Sermon XIV. — On the Mixture of Joy and Fear in Religion.
Psalm ii. 11. Rejoice with trembling. ..... 140
Sermon XV. — On the Motives to Constancy in Virtue.
Gal. vi. 9. And let us not be weary in well-doing ; for in due season
we shall reap, if we faint not ..... . 149
Sermon XVI — On the Importance of Order in Conduct.
1 Corinth, xiv. 40. Let all things be done — in order. . . 101
Sermon XVII. — On the Government of the Heart.
Proverbs iv. 23. Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for out of it are
the issues of life. ........ 170
Sermon XVIII. — The same Subject continued.
Proverbs iv. 23. Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for out of it are
the issues of life. ........ 179
Sermon XIX. — On the Unchangeableness of the Divine Nature.
James i. 17. Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and
cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variable
ness, neither shadow of turning. . . . . . 190
Sermon XX. — On the Compassion of Christ.
(Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.)
Hebrews iv. 15. We have not an High Priest, which cannot be touched
ivith the feelings of our infirmities ; but was in all points tempted
Uke as we are, yet without sin. ..... 202

CONTENTS. xxiii
Sermon XXL— On the Love of Praise.
John xii. 43. For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of
God  Page 212
Sermon XXII.— On the Proper Estimate of Human Life.
Ecclesiastes xii. 8. Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, all is va
nity  223
Sermon XXIII.— On Death.
Psalm xxiii. 4. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy
staff, they comfort me. ....... 236
Sermon XXIV.— On the Happiness of a Future State.
(Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.;
Revelat. vii. 9. After this I beheld, and lo ! a great multitude, which
no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and
tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with
white robes, and palms in their hands ..... 248
Sermon XXV. — On Candour.
1 Corinth, xiii. 5. Charity —thinketh no evil. . . . 259
Sermon XXVI.— On the Character of Joseph.
Genesis xlv. 5, 8. Now therefore be not grieved nor angry with your
selves that ye sold me hither ; for God did send me before you to pre
serve life.  So now it was not you that sent me hither, but
God  270
Sermon XXVII. — On the Character of Hazael.
2 Kings viii. 12, 13. And Hazael said, Why weepeth my Lord? And
he answered, Because I know the evil that thou wjlt do unto the chil
dren of Israel. Their strong holds wilt thou set on fire, and their
young men, wilt thou slay with the sword, and wilt dash their chil
dren, and rip up their women with child. And Hazael said, But
what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing ? and
Elisha answered, The Lord hath shewed me that thou shalt be king
over Syria. ...... . . 279
Sermon XXVIII. — On the Benefits to be derived from the House
of Mourning.
Ecclesiastes vii. 2 — 4. It is better to go to the house of mourning, than
to go to the house of feasting ; for that is the end of all men, and the
living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter ; for
by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart
of the wise is in the house of mourning ; but the heart of fools is in
the house of mirth. . . . . . ... . 290
Sermon XXIX. — On the Divine Government of the Passions of Men.
Psalm lxxvi. 10. Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee ; the
remainder of wrath shalt tkou restrain. . ... 301

xxiv CONTENTS.
Sermon XXX. — On the Importance of Religious Knowledge to
Mankind.
(Preached before the Society in Scotland for propagating Christian Knowledge.)
Isaiah xi. 9. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain ,
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters
cover the sea ........ PAGE 311
Sermon XXXI. — On the true Honour of Man.
Proverbs iv-s 8. Exalt her, and she shall promote thee ; she shall bring
thee to honour .... ..... 323
Sermon XXXII. — On Sensibility.
Romans xii. 15. Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them
that weep  330
Sermon XXXIII. — On the Improvement of Time.
Genesis xlvii. 8. And Pharaoh said xinto Jacob, How old art thou? 338
Sermon XXXIV. — On the Duties belonging to Middle Age.
1 Corinth, xiii. 11.  When I became a man, I put away childish
things .......... 345
Sermon XXXV.— On Death.
Ecclesiastes xii. 5.  Man goeth to his long home, and the
mourners go about the streets ...... 353
Sermon XXXVI. — On the Progress of Vice.
1 Corinth, xv. 33. Be not deceived : Evil Lommunications corrupt good
manners .......... 360
Sermon XXXVII. —On Fortitude.
Psalm xxvii. 3. Though an host should encamp against me, my heart
shall not fear  367
Sermon XXXVIII.— On Envy.
1 Corinth, xiii. 4. Charity envieth not  375
Sermon XXXIX. — On Idleness.
Matthew xx. 6.  Why stand ye here all the day idle? . 382
Sermon XL. — On the Sense of the Divine Presence.
Psalm lxxiii. 23.  / am continually with thee. . 390
Sermon XLI. — On Patience.
Luke xxi. 19. In your patience possess ye your souls. . . 398
Sermon XLII. — On Moderation.
Philippians iv. 5. Let your Moderation be known unto all Men . 406
Sermon XLIII. — On the Joy and the Bitterness of the Heart.
Proverbs xiv. 10. The heart knoweth his own bitterness, and a stranger
doth not intermeddle with his joy * . . . . . 414

CONTENTS. xxv .
Sermon XLIV. On Characters of Imperfect Goodness.
Mark x. 21. Then Jesus beholding him, loved him.  Page 422
Sermon XLV. — On the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, as a Pre
paration for Death.
(Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.)
Matthew xxvi. 29. But I say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of
this fruit of the vine, until that day wlien I drink it new with you in my
Father s kingdom. ........ 428
Sermon XLVI. — On the Use and Abuse of the World.
1 Corinth, vii. 31. They that use this world as not abusing it . 437
Sermon XLVI I. — On Extremes in Religious and Moral Conduct.
Proverbs iv. 27. Turn not to the right hand, nor to the left. . 444
Sermon XLVIII. — On Scoffing at Religion.
2 Peter iii. 3. There shall come in the last days, scoffers. . 451
Sermon XLTX. — On the Creation of the World.
Genesis i. 1. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. 458
Sermon L. — On the Dissolution of the World.
2 Peter iii. 10. But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night ;
in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the
elements shall melt with fervent heat ; the earth also, and the works that
are therein, shall be burnt up. ....... 466
Sermon LI. — On the Causes of Men's being weary of Life.
Job x. 1. My smd is weary of my life. ..... 474
Sermon LII. — On Charity as the End of the Commandment.
1 Timothy i. 5. Now the end of the commandment is charity, out of a
pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned. 481
Sermon LIII. — On our Lives being in the Hand of God.
(Preached at the beginning of a New Year.)
Psalm xxxi. 15. My times are in thy hand  488
Sermon LIV. — On the Mixture of Bad Men with the Good in Human
Society.
Matthew xiii. 30. Let both grow together until the harvest. . 495
Sermon LV. — On the Relief which the Gospel affords to the Distressed.
(Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.)
Matth. xi. 28. Come unto ,me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest. ,....•• 502

xxvi CONTENTS.
Sermon LVI. — On Luxury and Licentiousness.
Isaiah v. 12. The harp, and the viol, the tabret, and pipe, and wine, are
in their feasts; but they regard not the work of the Lord, neither consi
der the operation of his hands. ..... PAGE 511
Sermon LVII. — On the Presence of God in a Future State.
Psalm xvi. 11. Thou wilt shew me the path of life: In thy presence is
fulness of joy ; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore. 518
Sermon LVIII. — On Curiosity concerning the Affairs of Others.
John xxi. 21, 22. Peter seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall
this man do ? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come,
what is that to thee ? Follow thou me. ..... 525
Sermon LIX. — On our present Ignorance of the ways of God,
John xiii. 7. Jesus answered and said unto him, What I do, thou knowest
not now, but thou shalt know hereafter. .... 532
Sermon LX. — On the Slavery of Vice.
2 .Peter ii. 19. While they promise them liberty, they themselves are the
servants of corruption ; for of whom a man is overcome, of the same is
he brought in bondage. ....... 539
Sermon LXI. — On the Importance of Public Worship.
Psalm xxvi. 8. Lord, I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the
place where thine honour dwelleth. ..... 547
Sermon LXII. — On the Fashion of the World passing away.
1 Corinth, vii. 31. The fashion of this World passeth away. . 556
Sermon LXIII— On Tranquillity of Mind.
Psalm xv. 5. He that dreth these things shall never be moved. . 563
Sermon LXIV. — On the Misfortunes of Men being chargeable on
themselves.
Proverbs xix. 3. The foolishness of man perverteth his way, and his heart
fretteth against the Lord. ....... 570
Sermon LXV.— On Integrity as the Guide of Life.
Proverbs xi. 3. The integrity of the upright shall guide them. 577
Sermon LXVI. — On Submission to the Divine Will.
Job ii. 10. Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall wr net
receive evil. ... ..... 585
Sermon LXVI1. — On Friendship.
Proverbs xxvii. 10. Thine own friend, and thy father's friend,, fornahe
not  . 692

CONTENTS.

.^.¦iVil

Sermon LXVIII. — On the Conduct to be hold with regard to Future
Events.
Proverbs xxvii. 1. Boast not thysplf of to-morrcw ; for thou knowest not
what a day may bring forth. ... . Page 509
Sermon LXIX. — On following the Multitude to do Evil.
Exodus xxiii. 2. Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil. . 600
Sermon LXX.— On the Wisaom of God.
1 Timothy i. 17. Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the
only wise God, be honour and glory, for ever and ever ! Amen. . 614
Sermon LXXI. — On the Compassion and Beneficence of the Deity.
(Preached before the Society for the Benefit of the Sons of the Clergy of the Established
Church of Scotland, 20th May, 1767.)
Jeremiah xlix. 11. Leave thy fatherless children ; I will preserve them
alive ; and let thy widows trust in me. ..... 622
Sermon LXXII. — On Hopes and Disappointments.
Proverbs x. 28. The hope of the Righteous shall be gladness ; but the
expectation of the Wicked shall perish. ..... 632
Sermon LXXIII. — On the proper Disposition of the Heart towards
God.
Acts xvii. 28. In Him we live, and move, and have our Being. . 640
Sermon LXXIV. — On the Moral Character of Christ.
Acts x. 38. — Jesus of Nazareth — who went about doing good. . 648
Sermon LXXV. — On the Wounds of the Heart.
Proverbs xviiu 14. The spirit of man will sustain his infirmity : but a
wounded spirit who can bear ?...... 656
Sermon LXXVI. — On all things working together for good to the
Righteous.
Romans viii. 28. We know that all things work together for Good to
them that love God, to them who are the Called according to his
purpose. .......... 664
Sermon LXXVII. — On the Love of our Country.'
(Preached 18th April, 1793, on the Day of a National Fast appointed by Government,
on occasion of the War with the French Republic.)
Psalm cxxii. 6 — 9. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; they shall
prosper that love thee. Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity with
in thy palaces. For my brethren and companions' sake, I will now say,
Peace be within thee. Because of the house of the Lord our God, I will
wek thy peace. , ....... 674

xxviii CONTENTS
Sermon LXXVIII. — On a contented Mind.
2 Kings iv. 13. Say now unto her, " Behold thou hast been careful for
us with all this care; what is to be done for thee? Wouldst thou be
spoken for to the King, or to the Captain of the Host ?" And she
answered, " I dwell among mine own people." . . Page 684
Sermon LXXIX. — On drawing near to God.
(Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.)
Psalm Ixxiii. 28. It is good for me to draw near to God. . . 691
Sermon LXXX. — On Wisdom in Religious Conduct.
Psalm ci. 2. I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way. . . 699
Sermon LXXXI. — On the Immortality of the Soul, and a Future State.
2 Corinthians v. 1. For we know, that if our earthly house of this taber
nacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens. ...... 707
Sermon LXXXII. — On overcoming Evil with Good.
Romans xii. 21. Be not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with
good. ........... 716
Sermon LXXXIIT. — On a Life of Dissipation and Pleasure.
Proverbs xiv. 13. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end
of that mirth is heaviness. ....... 723
Sermon LXXXIV. — On the Conscience void of Offence.
Acts xxiv. 16. Herein do I exercise myself, to have always a conscience
void of offence toward God and toward men. . . . . 732
Sermon LXXXV.— On the Ascension of Christ.
(Preached in the Evening after the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.)
Luke xxiv. 50, 51. And he led them out as far as Bethany ; and he lift
ed up his hands and blessed them . And it came to pass while he blessed
them, he was parted from them and carried up into Heaven. . 739
Sermon LXXXVI.— On a Peaceable Disposition.
Romans xii. 18. If it be possible, as much as lietl in you, live peaceably
with all men. ........ 74R
Sermon LXXXVI I. — On Religious Joy, as giving Strength and
Support to Virtue.
Nehemiah viii. 10.  The joy of the Lord is your strength. . 757
Sermon LXXXVIIL— On the Folly of the Wisdom of the World.
I Corinthians iii. 19. The wisdom of this world is foolishness with
God ........... 764

CONTENTS xxix
Sermon LXXXIX. — On the Government of Human Affairs by
Providence.
Proverbs xvi. 9. A man's heart deviseth his way ; but the Lord directeth
his steps. .......... 772
Sermon XC. — On Prayer.
Psalm lxv. 2. 0 Thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh
come. .......... 779
Sermon XCI. — On the Last Judgement.
1 Corinthians v. 10. For we must all appear before the judgement-seat of
Christy that every one may receive the things done in his body, accord
ing to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad . . 790

SERMONS.

SERMON I.
ON THE UNION OF PIETY AND MORALITY.
Acts v. 4. — Thy prayers and thine alms are come up for a me
morial before God.
THE HIGH AND LOFTY ONE who inhabitelh eternity
dwelleth also with him that is of humble and contrite heart. In the
midst of his glory, the Almighty is not inattentive to the meanest
of his subjects. Neither obscurity of station, nor imperfection of
knowledge, sinks those below his regard who worship and obey him.
Eveiy prayer which they send up from their secret retirements is
listened to by him ; and every work of charity which they perform,
how unknown so ever to the world, attracts his notice. The text
presents a signal instance of this comfortable truth. In the city
of Csesarea, there dwelt a Roman centurion, a militaiy officer of
inferior rank, a Gentile, neither by birth nor religion entitled to
the privileges of the Jewish nation. But he was a devout and a
benevolent man ; who, according to his measure of religious
knowledge, studied to perform his duty, prayed to God always, and
gave much alms to the people. Such a character passed not un
observed by God. So highly was it honoured, that to this good
centurion an Angel was sent from heaven, in order to direct him to
the means of full instruction in the truth. The Angel accosts him
with this salutation, — Cornelius, Thy prayers and thine alms are
come up for a memorial before God.
It is to the conjunction of prayers arid alms that I purpose now
to direct your thoughts, as describing the respectable and amiable
character of a man, as forming the honour and the blessedness of
a true Christian ; piety, joined with charity, faith with good works,
devotion with morality. These are things which God hath con
nected, and which it is impious in man to separate. It is only
B

2 ON THE UNION OF [SermA.
when they remain united, that they can come up as a grateful
memorial before God. I shall first endeavour to show you, that
alms without prayers, or prayers without alms, morality without
devotion, or devotion without morality, are extremely defective j
and then shall point out the happy effects of their union.
Let us begin with considering the case of alms without prayers ;
that is, of good works without piety, or a proper sense of God
and religion. Examples of this are not uncommon in the world.
With many, virtue is, or at least is pretended to be, a respectable
and an honoured name, while piety sounds meanly in their ears.
They are men of the world, and they claim to be men of honour.
They rest upon their humanity, their public spirit, their probity,
and their truth. They arrogate to themselves all the manly and
the active virtues. Rut devout affections, and religious duties,
they treat with contempt, as founded on shadowy speculations,
and fit to employ the attention only of weak and superstitious
minds. Now, in opposition to such persons, I contend, that this
neglect of piety argues depravity of heart ; and that it infers an
irregular discharge of the duties of morality.
First, it argues internal depravity ; for it discovers a cold and a
hard heart. If there be any impression which man is formed by
nature to receive, it is a sense of religion. As soon as his mind
opens to observation and reflection, he discerns innumerable
marks of his dependant state. He finds himself placed by some
superior power, in a vast world, where the wisdom and goodness
of the Creator are conspicuous on every side. The magnificence,
the beauty, and order of nature, excite him to admire and adore.
When he looks up to that omnipotent hand which operates
throughout the universe, he is impressed with reverence. When
he receives blessings which he cannot avoid ascribing to divine
goodness, he is prompted to gratitude. The expressions of those
affections, under the various forms of religious worship, are no
other than the native effusions of the human heart. Ignorance
may mislead, and superstition may corrupt them ; but their origin
is derived from sentiments that are essential to man.
Cast your eyes over the whole earth. Explore the most remote
quarters of the east or the west. You may discover tribes of men
without policy, or laws, or cities, or any of the arts of life : but
no where will you find them without some form of religion In
every region you behold the prostrate worshipper, the temple, the
altar, and the offering. Wherever men have existed, they have
been sensible that some acknowledgment was due, on their part,
to the sovereign of the world. If, in their rudest and most ig
norant state, this obligation has been felt, what additional force
must it acquire by the improvements of human knowledge, but

Serai. I.] PIETY AND MORALITY. 3
especially by the great discoveries of the Christian revelation'?
Whatever, either from reverence or from gratitude, can excite men
to the worship of God, is by this revelation placed in such a light,
as one should think were sufficient to overawe the most thought
less and to melt the most obdurate mind.
Canst thou, then, pretend to be a man of reason, nay a man of
virtue, and yet continue regardless of one of the first and chief
dictates of human nature ? Where is thy sensibility to what is
right and fit, if that loud voice which calls all nations throughout
the earth to religious homage, has never been heard by thee ? Or,
if it has been heard, by what strange and false refinements hast
thou stifled . those natural sentiments which it tends to awaken ?
Calling thyself a son, a citizen, a friend ; claiming to be faithful
and affectionate in these relations ; hast thou no sense of what
thou owest to thy first parent, thy highest sovereign, thy greatest
benefactor ? Can it be consistent with virtue or honour, to
value thyself upon thy regard to inferior obligations, and yet to
violate that which is the most sacred and most ancient of all?
When simple instinct teaches the Tartar and the Indian, together
with his alms and good works, to join his prayers to that Power
whom he considers as the source of good, shall it be no reproach
in the most enlightened state of human nature, and under the
purest dispensation of religion, to have extinguished the sense of
gratitude to Heaven, and to slight all acknowledgment of the great
and the true God ? What does such conduct imply, but either an
entire want, or a wilful suppression, of some of the best and most
generous affections belonging' to human nature ? — Surely, there
must be an essential defect in that heart which remains cold and
insensible, where it ought to be affected most warmly. Surely
such a degree of depravity must be lodged there, as is sufficient to
taint all the other springs of pretended virtue.
But besides this, I must contend, in the second place, that
where religion is neglected, there can be no regular nor steady
practice of the duties of morality. The character will be often
inconsistent ; and virtue, placed on a basis too narrow to support
it,- will be always loose and tottering. For such is the propensity
of our nature to vice, so numerous are the temptations to a relaxed
and immoral conduct, that stronger restraints than those of mere
reason are necessary to be imposed on man. The sense of right
and wrong, the principle of honour, or the instinct of benevolence,
are barriers too feeble to withstand the strength of passion. In
the tranquil seasons of life, these natural principles may, per
haps, carry on the ordinary course of social duties with some
regularity. But wait until some trying emergence come. Let the
conflict of passions arise. Let the heart be either wounded by
o 2

4 ON THE UNION OF [Serm I.
sore distress, or agitated by violent emotions ; and you shall pre
sently see, that virtue without religion is inadequate to the govern
ment of life. It is destitute of its proper guard, of its firmest
support, of its chief encouragement. It will sink under the weight
of misfortune ; or will yield to the solicitation of guilt.
The great motives that produce constancy and firmness of action,
must be of a palpable and striking kind. A divine Legislator,
uttering his voice from heaven ; an omniscient Witness, beholding
us in all our retreats ; an almighty Governor, stretching forth his
arm to punish or reward, disclosing the secrets of the invisible
world, informing us of perpetual rest prepared hereafter for the
righteous, and of indignation and wrath awaiting the wicked : these
are the considerations which over-awe the world, which support
integrity, and check guilt. They add to virtue that solemnity
which should ever characterise it. To the admonitions of con
science they give the authority of a law. Co-operating with all
the good dispositions of a pious man, they strengthen and insure
their influence. On his alms you can have no certain dependence,
who thinks not of God, nor has joined prayer to his charitable
deeda. But when humanity is seconded by piety, the spring from
which it flows is rendered, of course, more regular and constant. —
In short, withdraw " religion, and you shake all the pillars of
morality. In every heart you weaken the influence of virtue :
and among the multitude, the bulk of mankind, you overthrow its
power. Having thus shown that morality without devotion is both
defective and unstable, I proceed to consider the other extreme,
of prayers without alms, devotion without morality.
In every age the practice has prevailed, of substituting certain
appearances of piety in the place of the great duties of humanity
and mercy. Too many there have always been, who flatter them
selves with the hope of obtaining the friendship of their Creator,
though they neglect to do justice to their fellow-creatures. But
such persons may be assured, that their supposed piety is al
together of a spurious kind. It is an invention of their own, un
known to reason, unknown to the word of God. In scripture we
are ever directed to try our faith by our works, our love of God by
our love of men. We are directed to consider piety as a principle
which regenerates the heart, and forms it to goodness. We are
taught that in vain we address any acts of homage to Christ, un
less we do the things which he saith ; and that love, peace, gentleness,
goodness, meekness, and temperance, are not only the injunctions of
his laws, but the native fruits of his spirit. [Luke vi. 46. Gal. v. 22.]
If therefore, while piety seems ardent, morality shall decline, you
have full reason to believe, that into that piety some corrupting

Serm. I.] PIETY AND MORALITY. 5
ingredients have entered. And if ever your regard to morality
shall totally fail; if, while you make many prayers, you give no
alms ; if, while you appear to be zealous for God, you are false or
unjust to men ; if you are hard or contracted in heart, severe in
your censures, and oppressive in your conduct; then conclude
with certainty, that what you had termed piety was no more than
an empty name. For as soon, according to the scripture simi
litude, will bitter waters flow from a sweet fountain, as such effects
be produced by genuine piety.
What you have called by that name, resolves itself into one or
other of three things. Either it is a hypocritical form of godliness,
assumed in order to impose on the world ; or, which is the most
favourable supposition, it is a transient impression of seriousness,
an accidental melting of the heart, which passes away like the
morning cloud and the early dew ; or, which I am afraid is too often
the case, it is the deliberate refuge of a deluded and superstitious,
but at the same time a corrupted, mind. For all men, even the
most depraved, are subject, more or less, to compunctions of
conscience. It has never been in their power to withdraw totally
beyond the reach of that warning voice, which tells them that
something is necessary to be done, in order to make their peace
with the Ruler of the world. But, backward at the same time to
resign the gains of dishonesty, or the pleasures of vice; averse
from submission to that sacred law, which enjoins righteousness in
its whole extent, they have often attempted to make a sort of com
position with Heaven ; a composition which, though they dare not
avow it in words, lurks in secret at the bottom of many a heart.
If God will only dispense with some articles of obedience, they
will repay him with abundant homage. If they fail in good
practice, they will study to be sound in belief; and by the number
of their prayers, will atone, in some measure, for their deficiency
in charitable deeds.
But the attempt is as vain as it is impious. From the simplest
and plainest principles of reason it must appear that religious wor
ship, disjoined from justice and virtue, can upon no account what
ever find acceptance with the Supreme Being. To what purpose
is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me ? saith the Lord. Bring
no more vain oblations. Incense is an abomination unto me. Trie
new moons and sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away
with; it is iniquity even the solemn meetings. [Isaiah i. 11, 14.] —
Cease, foolish and impious man ! cease to consider the Almighty
as a weak or vain-glorious being, who is to be appeased by thy
devout prostrations, and thy humble words ; or to be gratified by
the parade and ostentation of external worship. What is all thy
worship to him ? Will he eat the flesh of thy sacrifices, or drink the

6 ON THE UNION OF ISerm. I.
blood of offered goats ? Was worship required of thee, dost thou
think, upon his account, that thou mightest bring an increase to
his glory and felicity by thy weak and insignificant praises '(
Sooner mightest thou increase the splendour of the sun by a
lighted taper, or add to the thunder by thy voice. No : it is for
the sake of man, not of God, that worship and prayers are re
quired; not that God may be rendered more glorious, but that
man may be made better ; that he may be confirmed in a proper
sense of his dependent state, and acquire those pious and virtuous
dispositions in which his highest improvement consists.
Of all the principles in religion, one should take this to be the
most evident; and yet frequent admonitions are needed, to renew
the impression of it upon mankind. For what purpose did thy
Creator place thee in this world, in the midst of human society,
but that as a man among men thou mightest cultivate humanity;
that each in his place might contribute to the general welfare ; that
as a spouse, a brother, a son, or a friend, thou mightest act thy
part with an upright and a tender heart; and thus aspire to
resemble Him who ever consults the good of his creatures, and
whose tender mercies are over all his works? And darest thou, who
hast been sacrificing unsuspicious innocence to thy loose pleasures ;
thou, who hast been disturbing the repose of society by thine am
bition or craft ; thou, who, to increase thy treasures, hast been
making the widow and the orphan weep; darest thou approach
God with thy worship and thy prayers, and entertain the hope
that he will look down upon thee in peace? Will the God of
order and justice accept such poor compensation for his violated
laws ? Will the God of love regard the services of one who is an
enemy to his creatures ? Shall a corrupter of the society of men
aspire to the habitations of pure and blessed spirits ?-— Believe it,
He that saith he loveth God, must love his brother also. Cease to do
evil, learn to do well. Seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge
the fatherless, plead for the widow ! And then, Draw nigh to God,
and he iviil draw nigh to thee ; call upon him in the day of trouble,
and he will answer thee. Thy prayers and thine alms shall then
ascend in joint memorial before the Most High.
I have now shewn the evil of maiming and splitting religion ;
of dividing asunder two things, which though in theory they may
be separated, yet in practice must always co-exist, if either of
them be real ; devotion to God, and charity to men. Let us con
sider next the happy effects of their union.
Their union forms the consistent, the graceful, the respectable
character of the real Christian, the man of true worth. If you
leave either of them out of your system, even though you exce.
in the other, you can stand trial only in one point of view. It is

Serm. I.] PIETY AND MORALITY. 7
only on one side your character is fair ; on the other, it will always
be open to much reproach. And as you dishonour yourselves, sa
you dp great injustice to religion. For, by dividing its parts from
one another, you never fail to expose it to the censure of the world ;
and perhaps by this sort of partial and divided goodness, religion
has suffered more in the esteem of mankind, than by open profligacy.
The unbeliever will scoff at your piety, when he sees you negligent
of moral duties. The bigot will decry all morality, when he sees
you pretending to be a follower of virtue, though you be a despiser
of God. Whereas, he who fears God, and is at the same time just
and beneficent to men, exhibits religion to the world with full pro
priety. It shines in his conduct with its native splendour ; and its
rays throw a glory round him. His character is above reproach.
It is at once amiable and venerable. Malice itself is afraid to at
tack him : and even the worst men respect and honour him in their
hearts. This too is the man whose life will be most peaceful and happy.
He who fails materially either in piety or in virtue, is always ob
noxious to the anguish of remorse. His partial goodness may
flatter him in the day of superficial observation ; but when solitude
or distress awakens the powers of reflection, he shall be made to
feel that one part of duty performed, atones not for another which
is neglected. In the midst of his prayers, the remembrance of
injustice will upbraid him with hypocrisy : and in the distribution
of his alms, the prayers which the poor put up for him will make
him blush for his neglect of God. Conscience will supply the
place of the hand coming forth to write over against him on the
wall, Thou art weighed in the balance, and art found wanting. [Dan. v.
27.] Whereas he who holds both faith and a good conscience, who
attends equally to the discharge of his duty towards God and to
wards man, enjoys, as far as human imperfection allows, the sense
of fairness and consistency in conduct, of integrity and soundness
of heart.
The man of mere morality is a stranger to all the delicate and re
fined pleasures of devotion. In works of beneficence and mercy,
he may enjoy satisfaction. But his satisfaction is destitute of that
glow of affection, which enlivens the feelings of one who lifts his
heart at the same time to the Father of the Universe, and considers
himself as imitating God. The man again who rests solely in de
votion, if that devotion open not his heart to humanity, not only
remains a stranger to the pleasures of beneficence, but must often
undergo the pain arising from bad passions. But when beneficence
and devotion are united, they pour upon the man in whom they
meet, the full pleasures of a good and pure heart. His alms con
nect him with men, his prayers with God. He looks without

8 ON THE UNION, Sic. iSerm. T.
dismay on both worlds. All nature has to him a benign aspect
If engaged in active life, lie is the friend of men : and he is happy
in the exertions of that friendship. If left in retirement, he walks
among the works of nature as with God. Every object is enlivened
to him by the sense of the Divine presence. Every where he traces
the beneficent hand of the Author of nature ; and every where, with
glowing heart, he hears and answers his secret voice. When he
looks up to heaven, he rejoices in the thought that there dwells
that God whom he serves and honours ; that Saviour in whom he
trusts ; that spirit of grace from whose inspiration his piety and his
charity flow. When he looks around him on the world, he is
soothed with the pleasing remembrance of good offices which he
has done, or at least has studied to do, to many who dwell there.
How comfortable the reflection, that him no poor man can upbraid
for havihg withheld his due ; him no unfortunate man can reproach
for having seen and despised his sorrows ; but that on his head are
descending the prayers of the needy and the aged ; and that the
hands of those whom his protection has supported, or his bounty
has fed, are lifted up in secret to bless him !
Life, passed under the influence of such dispositions, naturallj
leads to a happy end. It is not enough to say, that faith and
piety, joined with active virtue, constitute the requisite preparation
for heaven. They, in truth, begin the enjoyment of heaven. In
every state of our existence, they form the chief ingredients of
felicity. Hence, they are the great marks of Christian regeneration.
They are the signatures of that Holy Spirit, by w'jich good men
are said to bo sealed unto the day of redemption. The text affords
a striking proof of the estimation in which they are held by God.-
Amidst that infinite variety of human events which pass under his
eye, the prayers and the alms of Cornelius attracted his particular
notice. He remarked the amiable dispositions, which rose in the
heart of this good man. But he saw that they were yet imperfect,
while he remained unenlightened by the principles of the Christian
religion. In order to remove this obstruction to his rising graces,
and to bring him to the full knowledge of that God whom he sought
to honour, he was favoured with a supernatural message from hea
ven. While the princes of the earth were left to act by the coun
cils of their own wisdom ; while, without interposition from above,
generals conquered or fell, according to the vicissitude of human
tilings ; to this good centurion an angel was commissioned from
the throne of God.
What can I say more or higher in praise of this blessed characte*
than that it is what God delights to honour ? Men single out, a
the objects of distinction, the great, the brave, or the renowned
But he who seeth not as man seeth, passing by those qualities which

Serm. II.] ON THE INFLUENCE, &c. 9
often shine with false splendour to human observation, looks to the
inward principles of action ; to those principles which form the
essence of a worthy character, and which, if called forth, would
give birth to whatever is laudable or excellent in conduct. Is there
one, though in humble station, or obscure life, who feareth God
and worketh righteousness : whose prayers and alms, proceeding in
regular unaffected tenour, bespeak the upright, the tender, the de
vout heart ? Those alms and prayers come up in memorial before
that God who is no respecter of persons. The Almighty beholds
him from his throne with complacency. Divine illumination is
ready to instruct him. Angels minister to him. They now mark
him out on earth as their future associate, and for him they make
ready in paradise the white robes, the palms, and the sceptres of
the just.
To this honour, to this blessedness, let our hearts continually
aspire ; and throughout the whole of life, let those solemn and sa
cred words with which I conclude, sound in our ears, and be the
great directory of our conduct. He hath shewed thee, 0 man, what
is good; and what doth the Lord thy God require of thee, but — to
do justly and love mercy — and to walk humbly with thy God?
[Micahvi. 8.]

SERMON IT.
ON THE INFLUENCE OF RELIGION UPON ADVERSITY.
Psalm xxvii. 5. — In the time of trouble, he shall hide me in his
pavilion; in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall
set me upon a rock.
The life of man has always been a very mixed state, full of un
certainty and vicissitudes, of anxieties and fears. In every reli
gious audience, there are many who fall under the denomination
of the unfortunate ; and the rest are ignorant how soon they may
be called to join them. For the prosperity of no man on earth is
stable and assured. Dark clouds may soon gather over the heads
of those whose sky is now most bright. In the midst of the
deceitful calm which they enjoy, the storm that is to overwhelm
them has perhaps already begun to ferment. If a man live many
years, and rejoice in them all; yet let him remember the days of
darkness, for they shall be many. [Eccles. xi. 8.]
Hence, to a thoughtful mind, no study can appear more
important, than how to be suitably prepared for the misfortunes
of life; so as to contemplate them in prospect, without dismay,
and, if they must befal, to bear them without dejection. Through

10 ON THE INFLUENCE OF {Serm. II.
out every age, the wisdom of the wise, the treasures of the rich,
and the power of the mighty, have been employed, either in
guarding their state against the approach of distress, or in render
ing themselves less vulnerable by its attacks. Power has endea
voured to remove adversity to a distance ; philosophy has studied,
when it drew nigh, to conquer it by patience; and wealth has
sought out every pleasure that can compensate or alleviate pain.
While the wisdom of the world is thus occupied, Religion has
been no less attentive to the same important object. It informs
us in the text, of a pavilion, which God erects to shelter his ser
vants in the time of' trouble; of a secret place in his tabernacle, into
which he brings them ; of a rock on which he sets them up ; and else
where he tells us of a shield and a buckler, which he spreads before
them, to cover them from the terror by night, and the arrow that
flieth by day. Now of what nature are those instruments of defence
which God is represented as providing with such solicitous care
for those who fear him ? Has he reared up any bulwarks, impreg
nable by misfortune, in order to separate the pious and virtuous
from the rest of mankind, and to screen them from the common dis
asters of life ? No ; to those disasters we behold them liable no less
than others. The defence which religion provides, is altogether
of an internal kind. It is the heart, not the outward state, which
it professes to guard. When the time of trouble comes, as come it
must to all, it places good men under the pavilion of the Almighty,
by affording them that security and peace which arise from the
belief of divine protection. It brings them into the secret of his
tabernacle, by opening to them sources of consolation which are
hidden from others. By that strength of mind with which it en
dows them, it sets them upon a rock, against which the tempest
may violently beat, but which it cannot shake.
How far the comforts proceeding from religion merit those high
titles under which they are here figuratively described, I shall in
this discourse endeavour to show. I shall for this end compare
together the situation of bad men, and that of the good, when both
are suffering the misfortunes ot life ; and then make such improve
ment as the subject will naturally suggest.
I. — Religion prepares the mind for encountering, with fortitude,
the most severe shocks of adversity ; whereas vice, by its natural
influence on the temper, tends to produce dejection under the slight
est trials. While worldly men enlarge their possessions, and ex
tend their connexions, they imagine that they are strengthening
themselves against all the possible vicissitudes of life. They say in
their hearts, My mountain stands strong, and I shall never be moved.
But so fatal is their delusion, that, instead of strengthening, they
are weakening, that which can only support them when those vicis-

Serm. II.] RELIGION UPON ADVERSITY. 11
situdes come. It is their mind which must then support them;
and their mind, by their sensual attachments, is corrupted and en
feebled. Addicted with intemperate fondness to the pleasures of
the world, they incur two great and certain evils ; they both exclude
themselves from every resource except the world ; and they increase
their sensibility to every blow which comes upon them from that
quarter. They have neither principles nor temper which can stand the
assault of trouble. They have no principles which lead them to
look beyond the ordinary rotation of events ; and therefore, when
misfortunes involve them, the prospect must be comfortless on every
side. Their crimes have disqualified them from looking up to the
assistance of any higher power than their own ability, or for relying
on any better guide than their own wisdom. And as from princi
ple they can derive no support, so in a temper corrupted by pros
perity they find no relief. They have lost that moderation of mind
which enables a wise man to accommodate himself to his situation.
Long fed with lalse hopes, they are exasperated and stung by every
disappointment. Luxurious and effeminate, they can bear no un
easiness. Proud and presumptuous they can brook no opposition.
By nourishing dispositions which so little suit this uncertain state,
they have infused a double portion of bitterness into the cup of woe;
they have sharpened the edge of that sword which is lifted up to
smite them. Strangers to all the temperate satisfactions of a good
and a pure mind; strangers to every pleasure except what was
seasoned by vice or vanity, their adversity is to the last degree dis
consolate. Health and opulence were the two pillars on which they
rested. Shake either of them ; and their whole edifice of hope and
comfort falls. Prostrate and forlorn, they are left on the ground,
obliged to join with the man of Ephraim in his abject lamentation,
They have taken away my gods which I have made, and what have I
more? [Judges xviii. 24.] — Such are the causes to which we must
ascribe the broken spirits, the peevish temper, and impatient pas
sions, that so often attend the declining age, or fallen fortunes, of
vicious men.
But how different is the condition of a truly good man in those
trying situations of life ! Religion had gradually prepared his mind
for all the events of this inconstant state. It had instructed him in
the nature of true happiness. It had early weaned him from the
undue love of the world, by discovering to him its vanity, and by
setting higher prospects in his view. Afflictions do not attack him
by surprise, and therefore do not overwhelm him. He was equipped
for the storm, as well as the calm, in this dubious navigation of life.
Under those conditions he knew himself to be brought hither, that
he was not to retain always the enjoyment of what he loved : and

12 ON THE INFLUENCE OF \_Serm. II.
therefore he is not overcome by disappointment, when that which
is mortal, dies ; when that which is mutable, begins to change ;
and when that which he knew to be transient, passes away.
All the principles which religion teaches, and all the habits which
it forms, are favourable to strength of mind. It will be found, that
whatever purifies, fortifies also the heart. In the course of living
righteously, soberly, and godly, a good man acquires a steady and
well-governed spirit. Trained, by Divine grace, to enjoy with mo
deration the advantages of the world, neither lifted up by success,
nor enervated with sensuality, he meets the changes in his lot with
out unmanly dejection. He is inured to temperance and restraint.
He has learned firmness and self-command. He is accustomed
to look up to that Supreme Providence, which disposes of human
affairs, not with reverence only, but with trust and hope.
The time of prosperity was to him not merely a season of barren
joy, but productive of much useful improvement. He had cultivated
his mind. He had stored it with useful knowledge, with good prin
ciples, and virtuous dispositions. These resources remain entire,
when the days of trouble come. They remain with him in sickness,
as in health ; in poverty, as in the midst of riches ; in his dark and
solitary hours, no less than when surrounded with friends and gay
society. From the glare of prosperity he can, without dejection,
withdraw into the shade. Excluded from several advantages of the
world, he may be obliged to retreat into a narrower circle, but
within that circle he will find many comforts left. His chief plea
sures were always of the calm, innocent, and temperate kind ; and
over these, the changes of the world have the least power. His
mind is a kingdom to him ; and he can still enjoy it. The world
did not bestow upon him all his enjoyments ; and therefore it is not
in the power of the world, by its most cruel attacks, to carry them
all away.
II- — The distresses of life are alleviated to good men by reflec
tions on their past conduct ; while, by such reflections, they are
highly aggravated to the bad. During the gay and active periods
of life, sinners elude, in some measure, the force of conscience.
Carried round in the world of affairs and pleasures; intent on
contrivance, or eager in pursuit; amused by hope, or elated by
enjoyment; they are sheltered, by that crowd of trifles which
surrounds them, from serious thought. But conscience is too great
a power, to remain always suppressed. There is in every man's
life, a period when he shall be made to stand forth as a real object
to his own view : and when that period comes, woe to him who is
galled by the sight! In the dark and solitary hours of distress,
with a mind hurt and sore from some recent wound of fortune,
how shall he bear to have his character for the first time disclosed

Serm. II.] RELIGION UPON ADVERSITY. 13
to him in that humiliating light under which guilt will necessarily
present it? Then the recollection of the past becomes dreadful.
It exhibits to him a life thrown away on vanities and follies, or
consumed in flagitiousness and sin ; no station properly supported ;
no material duties fulfilled. Crimes which had once been easilv
palliated, rise before him in their native deformity. The sense of
guilt mixes itself with all that has befallen him. He beholds, or
thinks that he beholds, the hand of God whom he hath offended,
openly stretched out against him. — At a season when a man
stands most in need of support, how intolerable is the weight of
this additional load, aggravating the depression of disease, dis
appointment, or old age ! How miserable his state, who is con
demned to endure at once the pangs of guilt, and the vexations of
calamity ! The spirit of a man may sustain his infirmities ; but a
wounded spirit who can bear ?
Whereas, he who is blessed with a clear conscience, enjoys, in
the worst conjunctures of human life, a peace, a dignity, an
elevation of mind peculiar to virtue. The testimony of a good
conscience is indeed to be always distinguished from that pre
sumptuous boast of innocence, which every good Christian totally
disclaims. The better he is, lie will be the more humble and sen
sible of his failings. But though he acknowledge that he can
claim nothing from God upon the footing of desert, yet he can
trust in his merciful acceptance through Jesus Christ, according to
the terms of the gospel. He can hope that his prayers and his
alms have come up in memorial before God. The piety and virtue
of his former life were as seeds sown in his prosperous state, of
which he reaps the fruits in the season of adversity. The riches,
the pleasures, and the friends of the world, may have made wings
to themselves and flown away. But the improvement which he
made of those advantages while they lasted, the temperate spirit
with which he enjoyed them, the beneficent actions which he
performed, and the good example which he set to others, remain
behind. By the memory of these he enjoys his prosperity a
second time in reflection ; and perhaps this second and reflected
enjoyment is not inferior to the first. It arrives at a more critical
and needful time. It affords him the highest satisfaction of
having extracted lasting pleasure from that which is short, and -of
having fixed that which by its nature was changing.—" If my
race be now about to end, I have this comfort, that it has not been
run in vain. I have fought the good fight, I have kept the
faith. My mind has no load. Futurity has no terrors. I have
endeavoured to do my duty, and to make my peace with God. I
leave the rest to heaven." These are the reflections which to the
upright make light arise in darkness; reflections which cheer the

14 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Sera. II.
lonely house of virtuous poverty, and attend the conscientious
sufferer into prison or exile ; which soothe the complaints of grief,
lighten the pressure of old age, and furnish to the bed of sickness
a cordial of more grateful relish, and more sovereign virtue, than
any which the world can afford.
Look abroad into life, and you will find the general sense of
mankind bearing witness to this important truth, that mind is
superior to fortune; that what one feels within is of much
greater importance than all that befalls him without. Let a man
be brought into some such severe and trying situation, as fixes the
attention of the public on his behaviour. The first question
which we put concerning him, is not, What does he suffer ? but,
How does he bear it ? Has he a quiet mind ? or, Does he appear
to be unhappy within ? If we judge him to be composed and firm,
resigned to Providence, and supported by conscious integrity, his
character rises, and his misery lessens in our view. We esteem
and admire, rather than pity him. Recollect what holy men
have endured for the sake of conscience, and with what cheerful
ness they have suffered. On the other hand, when conscience
has concurred with outward misfortunes in distressing the guilty,
think of the dreadful consequences which have ensued. How
often, upon a reverse of fortune, after abused prosperity, have
they madly hurried themselves over that precipice from which
there is no return ; and in what nature most abhors, the voluntary
extinction of life, have sought relief from that torment of reflec
tion, which has become too great for them to bear ?
Never then allow yourselves to imagine that misfortunes alone
form the chief misery of man. None but the guilty are completely
miserable. The misgiving and distrust, the accusations and re
proaches of their minds, the sense of having drawn down upon
their heads the evils which they suffer, and the terrifying expecta
tion of more and worse evils to come ; these are the essential
ingredients of human misery. They not only whet the edge, but
they envenom the darts of affliction, and add poison to the wound.
Whereas, when misfortunes assail a good man, they carry no such
fatal auxiliaries in their train ; they may ruffle the surface of his
soul ; but there is a strength within, which resists their farther
impression. The constitution of his mind is sound. The world
can inflict upon it no wounds, but what admit of cure.
III. — 111 men, in the time of trouble, can look up to no protector :
while good men commit themselves, with trust and hope, to the
care of Heaven. The human mind, naturally feeble, is made to
feel all its weakness by the pressure of adversity. Dejected with
evils' which overpower its strength, it relies no longer on itself.
It casts eveiy where around a wishing, exploring eye, for some

Serm II.] RELIGION UPON ADVERSITY. 15
shelter to screen, some power to uphold it ; and if, when
abandoned by the world, it can find nothing to which it may fly
in the room of the world, its state is truly forlorn. Now, whither
should the ungodly, in this situation, turn for aid ? after having
contended with the storms of adverse fortune till their spirits are
exhausted, gladly would they retreat at last to the sanctuary of
religion. But that sanctuaiy is shut against them; nay, it is
environed with terrors. They behold there, not a protector to
whom they can fly, but a judge whom they dread ; and in those
moments when they need his friendship the most they are reduced
to deprecate his wrath. If he once called when they refused, and
stretched out his hands when they would not regard, how much
reason have they to fear that he will leave them now to eat the fruit
of their own ways, and to be filled with their own devices ; that he
will laugh at their calamity, and mock when their fear cometh.
But of all the thoughts which can enter into the mind, in the
season of distress, the belief of an interest in his favour who rules
the world is the most soothing. Every form of religion has afforded
to virtuous men some degree of this consolation But it was re
served for the Christian revelation, to carry it to its highest point.
For it is the direct scope of that revelation, to accommodate itself
to the circumstances of man, under two main views ; as guilty in
the sight of God, and as struggling with the evils of the world.
Under the former, it discovers to him a Mediator and an atone
ment ; under the latter, it promises him the Spirit of grace and
consolation. It is a system of complete relief extended from our
spiritual to our temporal distresses. The same hand which holds
out forgiveness to the penitent, and assistance to the frail, dispenses
comfort and hope to the afflicted.
It deserves your particular notice, in this view, that there is no
character which God more frequently assumes to himself in the
sacred writings, than that of the Patron of the distressed. Com
passion is that attribute of his nature which he has chosen to place
in the greatest variety of lights, on purpose that he might accom
modate his majesty to our weakness, and provide a cordial for hu
man griefs. He is the hearer of all prayers ; but with particular
attention he i$ represented as listening to the cry of the poor, and
regarding tjie prayer of the destitute. All his creatures he governs
with justice and wisdom ; but he takes to himself, in a special man
ner, the charge of executing judgment for the oppressed, of protecting
the stranger, of delivering him who hath no helper, from the hand of
the spoiler. For the oppression of the poor, and for the sighing of the
needy, will I arise, saith the Lord, to set him in safety from him that
puff eth at him. He is the father of the fatherless, and the Judge of
the toidows, in his holy habitation. He raiseth themup that are bowed

16 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Sera. IL
down. He dwelleth with the contrite. He kealeth the broken in heart.
For he knoweth our frame ; he remembereth that we are dust. [Psalm ix.
8. — cii. 17.— cxlvi. 7. — lxviii. 5. — cxlvii. 3.— ciii. 14, &c] — If the
wisdom of his providence saw it necessary to place so many of his
creatures in an afflicted state, that state, however, he commiserates.
He disdains not to point out himself as the refuge of the virtuous and
pious ; and to invite them, amidst all their troubles, to pour out their
hearts before him. Those circumstances which estrange others
from them, interest him the more in their situation. The neglect or
scorn of the world exposes them not to any contempt in his sight.
No obscurity conceals them from his notice; and though they
should be forgotten by every friend on earth, they are remembered
by the God of heaven. That sigh, heaved from the afflicted bosom,
which is heard by no human ear, is listened to by him ; and that
tear is remarked, which falls unnoticed or despised by the world.
Such views of the Supreme Being impart the most sensible con
solation to every pious heart. They present his administration
under an aspect so mild and benign, as in a great measure to dis
perse the gloom which hangs over human life. A good man acts
with a vigour, and suffers with a patience, more than human, when
he believes himself contenanced by the Almighty. Injured or
oppressed by the world, he looks up to a Judge who will vindicate
his cause ; he appeals to a Witness who knows his integrity ; he
commits himself to a Friend who will never forsake him. When
tired with the vexations of life, devotion opens to him its quiet re
treat where the tumults of the world are hushed, and its cares are
lost in happy oblivion ; where the wicked cease from troubling, and
the weary are at rest. There his mind regains its serenity ; the agi
tation of passion is calmed ; and a softening balm is infused into
the wounds of the spirit. Disclosing to an invisible friend those
secret griefs which he has no encouragement to make known to
the world, his heart is lightened. He does not feel himself solitary
or forsaken. He believes God to be present with him, and the
Holy Ghost to be the inspirer of his consolations. From that secret
place of the Divine tabernacle, into which the Text represents him
as admitted, he hears this voice issue, Call upon me in the day of
trouble, and I will answer thee. Fear not ; for I am with thee. Be
not dismayed; for I am thy God. And as he hears a voice which
speaks to none but the pure in heart, so he beholds the hand of Pro
vidence conducting all the hidden springs and movements of the
universe ; and with a secret but unerring operation, directing every
event towards the happiness of the righteous. Those afflictions
which appear to others the messengers of the wrath of Heaven,
appear to him the ministers of sanctification and wisdom. Where
they discern nothing but the horrors of the tempest which

Sera. II.] RELIGION UPON ADVERSITY. 17
surrounds them, his more enlightened eye beholds the angel who
rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. Hence a peace
keeping the mind and heart, which is no where to be found but
under the pavilion of the Almighty
IV. — Good men are comforted under their troubles by the hope
sf Heaven ; while bad' men are not only deprived of this hope,
but distressed with fears arising frorn a future state. The soul of
man can never divest itself wholly of anxiety about its fate here
after. There are hours when even to the prosperous, in the midst
of their pleasures, eternity is an awful thought. But much more
when those pleasures, one after another, begin to withdraw;
when life alters its forms, and becomes dark and cheerless ; when
its changes warn the most inconsiderate, that what is so mutable
will soon pass entirely away ; then with pungent earnestness
comes home that question to the heart, Into that world are we
next to go ?  How miserable the man, who, under the distrac^
tions of calamity, hangs doubtful about an event which so nearly
concerns him ; who, in the midst of doubts and anxieties, ap-<
proaching to that awful boundary which separates this world from
the next, shudders at the dark prospect before, him ; wishing to
exist after death, and yet afraid of that existence; catching at
every feeble hope which superstition can afford him, and trembling,
in the same moment, from reflection upon his crimes.
But blessed be God who hath brought life and immortality to
light, who hath not only brought them 10 light, but secured them
to good men : and, byjjhe death and resurrection, of Jesus Christ.
hath begotten them unto the lively hope of an inhe rarice incorruptible,
and undefiled, and that fadeth not away. Justly is this hope styled
in Scripture, the anchor of the soul both sure and steadfast. For,
what an anchor is to a ship in a dark night, on an unknown coast
and amidst a boisterous ocean, that is this hope to the soul, when
distracted by the confusions of the world. In danger, it gives se-
purity ; amidst general fluctuation, it affords one fixed point of
rest. It is indeed the most eminent of all the advantages which
religion now confers. For, consider the mighty power of hope
over the human mind,. It js the universal comforter. It is the
spring of all human activity. Upon futurity, men are constantly
suspended. Animated by the prospect of some distant good,
they toil and suffer through the whole course of life ; and it is not
so much what they are at present, as what they hope to be in
some after time, that enlivens their motions, fixes attention, and
stimulates industry. Now, if in the common affairs of life, such
is the energy of hope, even when its object is neither very con
siderable, nor very certain ; what effects may it not be expected
to produce, when it rests upon an object so splendid as a life of

18 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Sera. II.
immortal felicity ? Were this hope entertained with that full per
suasion which Christian faith demands, it would, in truth, not
merely alleviate, but totally annihilate, all human miseries. It
would banish discontent, extinguish grief, and suspend the very
feeling of pain.
But allowing for the mixture of human frailty ; admitting those
abatements which our imperfection makes upon the effect of every
religious principle ; still you will find, that in proportion to the
degree in which the hope of heaven operates upon good men, they
will be tranquil under sufferings ; nay, they will be happy, in com
parison of those who enjoy no such relief. What indeed, in the
course of human affairs, is sufficient to distress, far less to over
whelm the mind of that man who can look down on all human
things from an elevation so much above them ? He is only a pas
senger through this world. He is travelling to a happier country.
How disagreeable soever the occurrences of his journey may be,
yet at every stage of that journey he receives the assurance that
he is drawing nearer and nearer to the period of rest and felicity.
— Endure, and thou shalt overcome. Persevere, and thou shalt
be successful. The time of trial hastens to a close. Thy
mansion is prepared above ; thy rest remaineth among the people
of God. The disorders which vice has introduced into the works
of God arc about to terminate; and all tears are soon to be
wiped away from the eyes of the just. — The firm assurance of
this happy conclusion to the vexations and the vanities of life,
works a greater effect on the sincere illiterate Christian, than
all the refinements of philosophy can work on the most learned
Infidel. These may gratify the mind that is at ease; may soothe
the heart when slightly discomposed; but when it is sore and
deeply torn, when bereaved of its best and most beloved comforts,
the only consolations that can then find access, arise from the hope
of a better world ; where those comforts shall be again restored,
and all the virtuous shall be assembled, in the presence of him
who made them. Such hopes banish that despair which over
whelms, and leaves only that tender melancholy which softens
the heart, and often renders the whole character more gentle and
amiable. Of this nature are the resources which religion provides for
good men. By its previous discipline, it trains them to fortitude ;
by the reflections of a good conscience it soothes, by the sense of
Divine favour it supports, them ; and when every comfort fails
them on earth, it cheers them with the hope of heaven. Dis
tinguishing his servants with such advantages, God is justly said
to erect his pavilion over them in the evil time. He not only
spreads a tent for them in the wilderness, but he transforms in some

Serm. IL] RELIGION UPON ADVERSITY. 19
measure the state of nature around them. To use the beautiful
language of ancient prophecy: In the desert, the thirsty land,
where no water is, he openeths prings. Instead of the thoriii he
maketh the fir tree to come up ; instead of the briar, the myrtle to
spring. In the midst of the habitation of dragons, he maketh green
pastures rise, and still waters flow around, his people.
The improvement to be made of these truths is as obvious as
it is important. Let us study so to conduct our lives, that we
may be qualified for deriving such consolations from religion. To
their reality, and their importance, all mankind bear witness. For
no sooner are they overtaken by distress, than to religion they fly.
This throughout every age, has been the universal shelter which the
young and the old, the high and the low, the giddy and the serious,
have sought to gain as soon as they found that rest could be no
where else procured for the weary head or the aching heart. But
amidst those multitudes that crowd to religion for relief, how few
are entitled to approach that sacred source of comfort ! on what
feeble props do their hopes and pretensions rest ! How much
superstition mingles with that religion to which men are driven by
distress and fear ! — You must first apply to it as the guide of life,
before you can have recourse to it as the refuge of sorrow. You
must submit to its legislative authority, and experience its renew
ing influence, before you can look for its consolatory effect. You
must secure the testimony of a good conscience, and peace with
God through Jesus Christ ; otherwise, when the floods shall come,
and the rains descend, and the winds blow, the house which you had
proposed for your retreat shall prove the house founded on the sand,
not on the rock.
There are two plans, and there are but two, on which any man
can propose to conduct himself through the dangers and distresses
of human life. The one is a plan of worldly wisdom ; the other,
that of determined adherence to conscience. He who acts upon
the former, lays principle aside, and trusts his defence to his art
and ability. He avails himself of every advantage which his
knowledge of the world suggests. He attends to nothing but
what he considers as his interest ; and unconfined by conscience,
pursues it by every course which promises him success. This plan,
though too often adopted, will be found, on trial, ineffectual and
deceitful. For human ability is an unequal match for the violent
and unforeseen vicissitudes of the world. When those torrents
rise in their might, they sweep away in a moment the banks which
worldly wisdom had reared for defence, and overwhelm alike the
crafty and the artless. In the mean time, persons of this charac
ter condemn themselves to live a most unquiet life. They pass
their days in perpetual anxiety, listening to every motion ; startled
c 2

20 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Serm. Ill
by every alarm ; changing their measures on every new occurrence
and when distress breaks in over all their defences, they are lef\
under it hopeless and disconsolate.
The plan, which, in opposition to this, religion recommends, as
both more honourable in itself, and more effectual for security,
is, at all hazards, to do your duty, and to leave the consequences
to God. Let him who would act upon this plan, adopt for the
rule of his conduct that maxim of the Psalmist, Trust in the
Lord, and do good. [Psalm xxxviii. 3.] To firm integrity let him
join a humble reliance on God. Let his adherence to duty en
courage his religious trust. Let his religious trust inspire him
with fortitude in the performance of his duty. Let him know no
path but the straight and direct one. In the most critical mo
ments of action, let him ask no farther questions, than what is
the right, the fit, the worthy part? How, as a man, and as a
Christian, it becomes him to act? Having received the decision
of conscience, let him commit his way unto the Lord. Let him
without trepidation or wavering proceed in discharging his duty ;
resolved, that though the world may make him unfortunate, it
shall never make him base ; and confiding, that in what God and
his conscience require him to act or suffer, God and a good con
science, will support him.  Such principles as these arc the
best preparation for the vicissitudes of the human lot. They are
the shield of inward peace. He who thinks and acts thus, shall
be exposed to no wounds, but what religion can cure. He may
feel the blows of adversity ; but he shall not know the wounds of
the heart.

SERMON III.
ON THE INFLUENCE OF RELIGION UPON PROSPERITY.
Psalm i. 3. — He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water,
that bringeth forth his fruit in his season : his leaf also shall not
wither, and whatsoever he doth t,hall prosper.
The happy influence of religion upon human life, in the time of
adversity, has been considered in the preceding discourse. Con
cerning this, the sentiments of men are more generally agreed, thai;
with respect to some other prerogatives which religion claims.
They veiy readily assign to it the office of a Comforter. But as
long as their state is prosperous, they are apt to account it an unne
cessary guest, perhaps an unwelcome intruder. Let us not be thus
unjust to religion, nor confine its importance to one period only ii?
the life of man. It was never intended to be merely the nurse,

Serm. III.] RELIGION UPON PROSPERITY. %i
of sickness, and the staff of old age. I purpose now to show you,
that it is no less essential to the enjoyment of prosperity, than to the
comfort of adversity ; that prosperity is prosperous, if we may be
allowed the expression, to a good man only ; and that to every
Jther person, it will prove, notwithstanding its fair appearance, a
barren and joyless state.
The Psalmist, in the text, by an image taken from one of the
most beautiful objects in nature, describes a man who flourishes in
full prosperity. But to whom is the description limited ? To him
as the preceding verses inform us, that walketh not in the council of
the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat
of the scornful, but hath his delight in the law of God. He only is
like the tree planted by the rivers of water .- whilst the ungodly, as he
adds, are not so ; but how prosperous soever they may appear to
the world, are in truth but like the chaff which the wind driveth away.
In confirmation of this doctrine, I shall lay before you some of
those circumstances which distinguish the prosperity of the good
man beyond that of the sinner ; and shall conclude with pointing
out the dangers and miseries into which the latter is apt to be be
trayed by his favourable situation in the world.
I. — Piety, and gratitude to God, contribute in a high degree to
enliven prosperity. Gratitude is a pleasing emotion. The sense
of being distinguished by the kindness of another, gladdens the
heart, warms it with reciprocal affection, and gives to any pos
session, which is agreeable in itself, a double relish, from its being
the gift of a friend. Favours conferred by men, I acknowledge,
may prove burdensome. For human virtue is never perfect : and
sometimes unreasonable expectations on the one side, sometimes
a mortifying sense of dependence on the other, corrode in secret
the pleasure of benefits, and convert the obligations of friendship
into grounds of jealousy. But nothing of this kind can affect the
intercourse of gratitude with Heaven. Its favours are wholly dis
interested ; and with a gratitude the most cordial and unsuspicious
a good man looks up to that Almighty Benefactor, who aims at no
end but the happiness of those whom he blesses, and who desires
no return from them but a devout and thankful heart. While
others can trace their prosperity to no higher source than a concur
rence of worldly causes, and, often, of mean or trifling incidents
which occasionally favoured their designs, with what superior
satisfaction does the servant of God remark the hand of that gra
cious Power which hath raised him up ; which hath happily con
ducted him through the various steps of life, and crowned him
with the most favourable distinction beyond his equals ?
Let us farther consider, that not only gratitude for the past, but
a cheering sense of God's favour at the present, enter into the pious

22 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Sera. II'.
emotion. They are only the virtuous, who in their prosperous
days hear this voice addressed to them : Go thy way, eat thy bread
with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart ;for God now accepteth
thy works. [Eccles. ix. 7.] He who is the Author of their prosperity
gives them a title to enjoy, with complacency, his own gift,
While bad men snatch the pleasures of the world as by stealth,
without countenance from God, the proprietor of the world ; the
righteous sit openly down to the feast of life, under the smile of
approving Heaven. No guilty fears damp their joys. The bless*
ing of God rests upon all that they possess ! his protection sur
rounds them ; and hence, in the habitations of the righteous is found
the voice of rejoicing and salvation. A lustre unknown to others in
vests, in their sight, the whole face of nature. Their piety reflects
a sunshine from heaven upon the prosperity of the world ; unites,
in one point of view, the smiling aspect, both of the powers above
and of the objects below. Not only have they as full a relish as
others, of the innocent pleasures of life, but, moreover, in these
they hold communion with God. In all that is good or fair, they
trace his hand. From the beauties of nature, from the improve
ments of art, from the enjoyments of social life, they. raise their
affection to the source of all the happiness which surrounds them ;
and thus widen the sphere 'of their pleasures, by adding intellec
tual, and spiritual, to earthly joys.
For illustration of what I have said on this head, remark that
cheerful enjoyment of a prosperous state which King David had,
when he wrote the twenty-third Psalm ; and compare the highest
pleasures of the riotous sinner, with the happy and satisfied spirit
"which breathes thoughout that Psalm — In the midst of the splen
dour of royalty, with what amiable simplicity of gratitude does he
look up to the Lord as his Shepherd; happier in ascribing all his
success to divine favour, than to the policy of his councils, or to
the force of his arms ! How many instances of divine goodness
arose before him in pleasing remembrance when with such relish he
speaks of the green pastures and still waters beside which God had led
him ; of his cup which lie hath made to overflow ; and of the table which
he hath prepared for him in the presence of his enemies ! With what
perfect tranquillity does he look forward to the time of his passing
through the valley of the shadow of death; unappalledby that Spec
tre, whose most distant appearance blasts the prosperity of sinners !
He fears no evil, as long as the rod and the staff of his Divine Shep
herd are with him; and through all the unknown periods of this
and of future existence, > commits himself to his guidance with se
cure and triumphant hope. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life ; and I will dwell in the house of I he lord for
ever. — What a purified, sentimental enjoyment of prosperity, is here

Sera. III.] RELIGION UPON PROSPERITY. 23
exhibited ! How different from that gross relish of worldly plea
sures, which belongs to those who behold only the terrestrial side
of things ; who raise their views to no higher objects than the suc
cession of human contingencies, and the weak efforts of human
ability ; who have no protector or patron in the heavens, to enliven
their prosperity, or to warm their hearts with gratitude and trust.
II. — Religion affords to good men peculiar security in the enjoy
ment of their prosperity. One of the first reflections which must
strike every thinking man, after his situation in the world has be
come agreeable, is, that the continuance of such a situation is most
uncertain. From a variety of causes, he lies open to change. On
many sides he sees that he may be pierced ; and the wider his
comforts extend, the broader is the mark which he spreads to the
arrows of misfortune. Hence many a secret alarm to the reflecting
mind ; and to those who reject all such alarms, the real danger in
creases, in proportion to their improvident security.
By worldly assistance it is vain to think of providing any effec
tual defence, seeing the world's mutability is the very cause of our
terror. It is from a higher principle, from a power superior to
the world, that relief must be sought amidst such disquietudes of
the heart. He who in his prosperity can look up to One who is
witness to his moderation, humanity, and charity ; he who can
appeal to Heaven, that he has not been elated by pride, nor over
come by pleasure, but has studied to employ its gifts to the ho
nour of the Giver ; this man, if there be any truth in religion, if
there be any benignity or goodness in the administration of the
universe, has just cause for encouragement and hope. Not that an
interest in the divine grace will perpetuate to a good man, more
than to others, a life of unruffled prosperity. Change and altera
tion form the very essence of the world. But let the world change
around him at pleasure, he has ground to hope that it shall not
be able to make him unhappy. Whatever may vary, God's pro
vidence is still the same ; and his love to the righteous remains
unaltered. If it shall be the Divine will to remove one comfort,
he trusts that some other shall be given. Whatever is given,
whatever is taken away, he confides that in the last result all shall
work for Ms good, -• ~
Hence he is not disturbed, like bad men, by the instability of
the world. Dangers, which overcome others, shake not his more
steady mind. He enjoys the pleasures of life pure and unalloyed,
because he enjoys them as long as they last, without anxious ter
rors. They are not his all, his only good. He welcomes them
when they arrive ; and when they pass away, he can eye them, as
they depart, without agony or despair. His prosperity strikes a
deeper and firmer root than that of the ungodly. And for this

24 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Sera. III.
reason he is compared, in the text, to a tree planted by the river j
of water ; a tree whose branches the tempest may indeed bend, but
whose roots it cannot touch ; a tree which may occasionally be
stripped of its leaves and blossoms, but which still maintains its
fclace, and in due season flourishes anew. Whereas the sinner in
his prosperity, according to the allusion in the book of Job, re
sembles the rush that groweth up in the mire — [Job viii. 11.] — a
slender reed, that may flourish green for a while by the side of the
brook, as long as it is cherished by the sun, and fanned by the
breeze ; till the first bitter blast breaks its feeble stem, roots it out
from its bed, and lays it in the dust. Lo ! such is the prosperity
of them that forget God; and thus their hope shall perish.
III. — Religion forms good men to the most proper temper for
the enjoyment of prosperity. A little reflection may satisfy us,
that mere possession, even granting it to be secure, does not con
stitute enjoyment. Give a man all that is in the power of the
world to bestow ; surround him with riches ; crown him with ho
nours ; invest him, if you will, with absolute dominion ; but leave
him at the same time under some secret oppression or heaviness of
heart, you bestow indeed the materials of enjoyment, but you
deprive him of ability to extract it : you set a feast before him, but
he wants the power of tasting it. Hence prosperity is so often an
equivocal word, denoting merely affluence of possession, but un
justly applied to the miserable possessor.
We all know the effects which any indisposition of the body,
even though slight, produces on external prosperity. Visit the
gayest and most fortunate man on earth, only with sleepless
nights ; disorder any single organ of the senses : corrode but one
of his smallest nerves ; and you shall presently see all his gaiety
vanish ; and you shall hear him complain that he is a miserable
creature, and express his envy of the peasant and the cottager.—
And can you believe that a disease in the soul is less fatal to en
joyment than a disease in the animal frame ; or that a sound mind
is not as essential as a sound body to the prosperity of man ? Let
Us rate sensual gratifications as high as we please, we shall be made
to feel that the seat of enjoyment is in the soul. The corrupted
temper, and the guilty passions of the bad, frustrate the effect of
every' advantage which the world confers on them. The world
may call them men of pleasure : butofall men they are the greatest
foes to pleasure. From their eagerness to grasp, they strangle and
destroy it. None but the temperate, the regular, and the virtuous,
know how to enjoy prosperity. They bring to its comforts the
manly relish of a sound uncorrupted mind. They stop at the
proper point, before enjoyment degenerates into disgust, and plea
sure is converted into pain. They are strangers to those complaints

Sera. III.], RELIGION UPON PROSPERITY. 25
which flow from spleen, caprice, and all the fantastical distresses
of a vitiated mind. While riotous indulgence enervates both the
body and the mind, purity and virtue heighten all the powers of
human fruition. Moderate and simple pleasures relish high with
the temperate ; in the midst of his studied refinements, the volup
tuary languishes.
Wherever guilt mingles with prosperity, a certain gloom and
heaviness enter along with it. Vicious intrigues never fail to
entangle and embarrass those who engage in them. But innocence
confers ease and freedom on the mind ; leaves it open to every
pleasing sensation ; gives a lightness to the spirits, similar to the
native gaiety of youth and health ; ill imitated, and ill supplied,
by that forced levity of the vicious, which arises not from the
health, but from the drunkenness of the mind.
Feeble are all pleasures in which the heart has no part. The
selfish gratifications of the bad are both narrow in their circle, and
short in their duration. But prosperity is redoubled to a good
man, by his generous use of it. It is reflected back upon him from
every one whom he makes happy. In the intercourse of domestic
affection, in the attachment of friends, the gratitude of dependants,
the esteem and good-will of all who know him, he sees blessings
multiplied round him, on every side. When the ear heard me, then
it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me : Because
I delivered the poor that cried, the fatherless, and him that had none
to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon
me, and I caused the widow's heart to sing with joy. I was eyes to the
blind, and feet was I to the lame : I was a father to the poor ; and the
cause which I knew not, I searched out. — [Job xxix. 11, 17.] Thus,
while the righteous flourisheth like a tree planted by the rivers of
water, he bringeth forth also his fruit in his season ; and that fruit,
to pursue the allusion of the text, he brings forth, not for himself
alone. He flourishes, not like a tree in some solitary desert, which
Scatters its blossoms to the wind, and communicates neither fruit
nor shade to any living thing ; but like a tree in the midst of an
inhabited country, which to some affords friendly shelter, to others,
fruit ; which is not only admired by all for its beauty, but blessed
by the traveler for the shade, and by the hungry for the sustenance
it hath given.
IV. — Religion heightens the prosperity of good men, by the
prospect which it affords them of greater happiness to come in
another world. I shewed in the foregoing discourse, the mighty
effect of the hope of Heaven, in relieving the mind under the
troubles of life. And sure, if this hope be able to support the fall
ing, it cannot but improve the flourishing state of man ; if it can
dispel the thickest gloom of adversity, it must needs enliven
prosperity by the additional lustre which it throws upon it. What

26 ON THE INFLUENCE OF [Sera. III.
is present, is never sufficient to give us full satisfaction. To
the present we must always join some agreeable anticipations
of futurity, in order to complete our pleasure. What an accession
then must the prosperity of the righteous man receive, when, borne
with a smooth and gentle gale along the current of life, and look
ing round on all the blessings of his state, he can consider these
as no more than an introduction to higher scenes which are here
after to open ; he can view his present life, as only the porch
through which he is to pass into the palace of bliss ; and his pre
sent joys, as but a feeble stream, dispensed for his occasional re
freshment, until he arrive at that river of life, which flows at God's
right hand!— Such prospects purify the mind, at the same time
that they gladden it. They prevent the good man from setting
too high a value on his present possessions ; and thereby assist
him in maintaining, amidst the temptations of worldly pleasure,
that command of himself which is so essential to the wise and
temperate enjoyment of prosperity.
It is the fate of all human pleasures, by continuance, to fade ;
of most of them, to cloy. Hence, in the most prosperous state,
there are frequent intervals of langour, and even of dejection. —
There are vacuities in the happiest life, which it is not in the power
of the world to fill up. What relief so adapted to those vacant or
dejected periods, as the pleasing hopes which arise from immor
tality ! How barren and imperfect that prosperity, which can have
recourse to no such subsidiary comfort, in order to animate the
stagnation of vulgar life, and to supply the insufficiency of worldly
pleasures !
Worldly prosperity declines with declining life. In youth its
relish was brisk and poignant. It becomes more sober as life
advances ; and flattens as life descends. He who lately overflowed
with cheerful spirits and high hopes, begins to look back with
heaviness on the days of former years. He thinks of his old com
panions who are gone ; and reviews past scenes, more agreeable
than any which are likely to return. The activity of pursuit is
weakened. The gaiety of amusement is fled. The gratifications
of sense languish. When his accustomed pleasures, one after
another, thus steal treacherously away, what can he, who is an
utter stranger to religion, and to the hope of Heaven, substitute in
their place?— But even in that drooping period, the promises and
hopes of religion support the spirits of a good man to the latest
hour. His leaf, it is said in the text, shall not wither. It shall not
be in the power of time to blast his prosperity ; but old age shall
receive him into a quiet retreat, where, if lively sensations fail,
gentle pleasures remain to soothe him. That hope of immortality,
which formerly improved his other enjoyments, now in a great
measure supplies their absence. Its importance rises, in propor-

Sera. III.] RELIGION UPON PROSPERITY. 27
tion as its object draws near. He is not forsaken by the world,
but retires from it with dignity ; reviewing with a calm mind the
part which he has acted, and trusting to the promise of God for an
approaching reward. Such sentiments and expectation shed a
pleasing tranquillity, over the old age of the righteous man. They
make the evening of his days to go down unclouded ; and allow the
stream of life, though fallen low, to run clear to the last drop.
Thus I haye shewn, I hope, with full evidence, what material
ingredients religion and a good conscience are in the prosperily
of life. Separated from them, prosperity, how fair soever it may
seem to the world, is insipid, nay frequently noxious to the pos
sessor : united with them, it rises into a real blessing bestowed by
God upon man. God giveth to a man that is good in his sight,
icisdom, and knowledge, and joy ; but to the sinner he giveth sore
travail, to gather and to heap up, that he may give to him that
is good before God. — [Eccles. ii. 26.]
Allow me now to conclude the subject, with representing to the
prosperous men of the world, those crimes and miseries into which
the abuse of their condition is likely to betray them, and calling
upon them to beware of the dangers with which they are threat
ened. It is unfortunate for mankind, that those situations which favoui
pleasure are too generally adverse to virtue. Virtue requires in
ternal government and discipline ; prosperity relaxes the mind, and
inflames the passions. Virtue is supported by a regard to what is
future; prosperity attaches us wholly to what is present. The
characteristics of virtue are modesty and humility; the most com
mon attendants of prosperity are pride and presumption. One
should think, that prosperity would prove the strongest incitement
jto remember and to honour that God who bestows it. Yet such
is the perverseness of human nature, that it proves much oftener
the motive to impiety. The changes of the world call the atten
tion of men to an invisible power. But a train of events proceed
ing according to their wish, leads them to nothing beyond what
they see. The Supreme Giver is concealed from view by his own
gifts. This instance of success they ascribe to a fortunate concur
rence of worldly causes ; that acquisition, to their own skill and
industry; unmindful of Him, who from the beginning arranged
that series of causes, and who placed them in circumstances where
their industry could operate with success. From forgetting God,
they too often proceed to despise him. All that is light or giddy
in their minds is set in motion by the gale of prosperity. Arro
gance and self-sufficiency are lifted up ; and their state is consider
ed, as secured by their own strength. Hence that pride of counte
nance, through which the wicked in their prosperity, as David
observes, refuse to seek after God. They are described as tpcaAwg

28 ON THE INFLUENCE, Sec. [Sera. III.
loftily, and setting their mouth against the Heavens. They take the
timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the sound of the organ ; and they say
unto God, Depart from us, for we desire not the knoioledge of thy
ways. What is the Almighty that we should serve him ? Or, what
profit should we have, if we pray unto him.
They say unto God, depart from us.— What an impious voice '
Could we have believed it possible, that worldly pleasures should
so far intoxicate any human heart ? Wretched and infatuated men !
Have you ever examined on what your confidence rests? You
have said in your hearts, You shall never be moved ; you fancy your
selves placed on a mountain which standeth strong. - Awake from
those flattering dreams, and behold how every thing totters around
you ! You stand on the edge of a precipice ; and the ground is
sliding away below your feet. In your health, life, possessions,
connections, pleasures, principles of destruction work. The mine
advances in secret, which saps the foundations, while you revel on
the surface. No mighty effort, no long preparation of events, is
needed to overturn your prosperity. By slow degrees it rose.
Long time, much labour, and the concurrence of many assisting
causes, were necessary to rear it up ; but one slight incident can
entirely overthrow it. Suspicions are infused into the patron or
the prince on whom you depend ; and 'your disgrace ensues. Ex
ercise, or amusement, kindles a fever in the veins of those whom
you loved ; and you are robbed of your comforts and hopes. A
few grains of sand lodge themselves within you ; and the rest of
your life is disease and misery. Ten thousand contingencies ever
float on the current of life, the smallest of which, if it meet your
frail bark in the passing, is sufficient to dash it in pieces. — Is this
a place, is this a time, to swell with fancied security, to riot in un
lawful pleasures, and, by your disregard of moral and religious du
ties, to brave the government of the Almighty ? He hath stamp
ed every possession of man with this inscription, Rejoice with
trembling. Throughout every age, he hath pointed his peculiar
displeasure against the confidence of presumption, and the arro
gance of prosperity. He hath pronounced, that Whosoever exalteth
himself shall be abased. And shall neither the admonitions which
you receive from the visible inconstancy of the world, nor the de
clarations of the Divine displeasure, be sufficient to check your
thoughtless career ? know that, by your impiety, you multiply the
dangers which already threaten you on every side ; you accelerate
the speed with which the changes of the world advance to your
destruction. The Almighty touches with his rod that edifice of
dust, on which you stand, the boast of your strength ; and, at
that instant, it crumbles to nothing,
As men, then, bethink yourselves of human instability. As
Ohristians, reverence the awful government of God. Insure your

Serm. IV.] ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE, &c. 29
prosperity, by consecrating it to religion and virtue. Be humble
in your elevation ; be moderate in your views ; be submissive to
Him who hath raised and distinguished you. Forget not, that on
his providence you are as dependent, and to the obedience of his,
laws as much bound, as the meanest of your fellow-creature^
Disgrace not your station, by that grossness of sensuality, that.
levity of dissipation, or that insolence of rank, which bespeak a
little mind. Let the affability of your behaviour show that you
remember the natural equality of men. Let your moderation iii
pleasure, your command of passion, and your steady regard to the
great duties of life, show that you possess a mind worthy of your
fortune. Establish your character on the basis of esteem ; not on
the flattery of dependents, or the praise of sycophants, but on the
respect of the wise and the good. Let innocence preside over
your enjoyments. Let usefulness and beneficence, not ostenta
tion and vanity, direct the train of your pursuits. Let your alms,
together with your prayers, come up in memorial before God. So
shall your prosperity, under the blessing of Heaven, be as the shin
ing light which shineth more and more, unto the perfect day. So shall
it resemble those celestial fires which glow above, with beneficent,
with regular, and permanent lustre ; and not prove that mirth of
fools, which by Solomon is compared to the crackling of thorns un
der a pot, a glittering and fervent blaze, but speedily extinct.
On the whole, let this be our conclusion, that, both in prospe
rity and in adversity, religion is the safest guide of human life.
Conducted by its light, we reap the pleasures, and at the same time
escape the dangers, of a prosperous state. Sheltered under it'
protection, we stand the shock of adversity with most intrepidity
and suffer least from the violence of the storm. He that desireth
life, and loveth many days that he may see good, let him keep his
tongue from evil, and his lips from guile. Let him depart from evil,
and do good. Let him seek peace with God, and pursue it. Then,
in his adversity, God shall hide him in his pavilion. In his prospe
rity, he shall flourish like a tree planted by the rivers of water. Th'
ungodly are not so ; but are like the chaff, light and vile, which the
wind driveth away.

SERMON IV.
ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE OF A FUTURE STATE.
1 Cor. xiii. 12. — For now we see through a glass darkly.
The Apostle here describes the imperfection of our knowledge
with relation to spiritual and eternal objects. He employs two

30 ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE [Serm. I
metaphors to represent more strongly the disadvantages under
which we lie : One, that we see those objects through a glass, that
is, through the intervention of a medium which obscures their
glory; the other, that we see them in a riddle or enigma, which
our translators have rendered by seeing them darkly ; that is, the
truth in part is discovered, in part concealed, and placed beyond
our comprehension. >
This description, however just and true, cannot fail to occasion
some perplexity to an inquiring mind. For it may seem strange,
that so much darkness should be left upon those celestial objects,
towards which we are at the same time commanded to aspire. We
are strangers in the universe of God. Confined to that spot on
which we dwell, we are permitted to know nothing of what is trans
acting in the regions above us and around us. By much labour,
we acquire a superficial acquaintance with a few sensible objects
which we find in our present habitation ; but we enter and we de
part, under a total ignorance of the nature and laws of the spiri
tual world. One subject in particular, when our thoughts proceed
in this train, must often recur upon the mind with peculiar anxiety ;
that is, the immortality of the soul, and the future state of man.
Exposed as we are at present to such variety of afflictions, and
subjected to so much disappointment in all our pursuits of happi
ness, why, it may be said, has our gracious Creator denied us the
consolation of a full discoveiy of our future existence, if indeed
such an existence be prepared for us ?— Reason, it is true, suggests
many arguments in behalf of immortality; Revelation gives full
assurance of it. Yet even that Gospel, which is said to haye
brought life and immortality to light, allows us to see only through a
glass darkly. It doth not yet appear what we shall be. Our know^
ledge of a future world is very imperfect ; our ideas of it are faint
and confused. It is not displayed in such a manner as to make
an impression suited to the importance of the object. The faith
even of the best men is much inferior, both in clearness and in
force, to the evidence of sense ; and proves on many occasions in
sufficient to counterbalance the temptations of the present world.
Happy moments indeed there sometimes are in the lives of pious
men ; when, sequestered from worldly cares, and borne up on the
wings of divine contemplation, they rise to a near and transporting
view of immortal glory. But such efforts of the mind are rare, and
cannot be long supported. When the spirit of meditation subsides,
this lively sense of a future state decays ; and though the general
belief of it remain, yet even good men, when they return to the
ordinary business and cares of life, seem to rejoin the multitude,
and to re-assume the same hopes, and fears,, and interests, which
influence the rest of the world.

Sera. IV.] OF A. FUTURE STATE. 31
From such reflections a considerable difficulty respecting this im
portant subject, either arises, or seems to arise. Was such an ob
scure and imperfect discoveiy of another life worthy to proceed
from God ? Does it not afford some ground, either to tax his good
ness, or to suspect the evidence of its coming from him? — This is
the point which we are now to consider ; and let us consider it with
that close attention which the subject merits. Let us inquire,
whether we have any reason, either to complain of Providence, or
to object to the evidence of a future state, because that evidence
is not of a more sensible and striking nature. Let us attempt
humbly to trace the reasons why, though permitted to know and
see somewhat of the eternal world, we are nevertheless permitted
only to know in part, and to see through a glass darkly.
It plainly appears to be the plan of the Deity, in all his dispen
sations, to mix light with darkness, evidence with uncertainty.
Whatever the reasons of this procedure be, the fact is undeniable.
He is described in the Old Testament as a God that hideth himself.
[Isaiah xiv. 15.] Clouds and darkness are said to surround him.
His way is in the sea, and his path in the great waters ; his footsteps
are not known. Both the works and the ways of God are full of
mystery. In the ordinary course of his government, innumerable
events occur which perplex us to the utmost. There is a certain
limit to all our inquiries of religion, beyond which if we attempt
to proceed, we are lost in a maze of inextricable difficulties. Even
that revelation which affords such material instruction to man, con
cerning his duty and his happiness, leaves many doubts unresolv
ed. Why it was not given sooner ; why not to all men ; why there
should be so many things in it hard to be understood ; are difficul
ties not inconsiderable, in the midst of that incontestible evidence
by which it is supported. If then, the future state of man be not
placed in so full and clear a light as we desire, this is no more than
what the analogy of all religion, both natural and revealed, gave
us reason to expect.
But such a solution of the difficulty will be thought imperfect.
It may, perhaps, not give much satisfaction to show, that all re
ligion abounds with difficulties of a like nature. Our situation, it
will be said, is so much the more to be lamented, that not on one
side only we are confined in our inquiries, but on all hands envi
roned with mysterious obscurity. — Let us then, if so much dissatis
fied with our condition, give scope for once to fancy, and consider
how the plan of providence might be rectified to our wish. Let
us call upon the Sceptic, and" desire him to say, what measure of
information would afford him entire satisfaction,
This, he will tell us, requires not any long or deep deliberation.
He desires only to have his view enlarged beyond the limits of this

82 ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE [Sera. IV
corporeal state. Instead of resting upon evidence which requiies
discussion, which must be supported by much reasoning, and which,
after all, he alleges, yields very imperfect information, he demands
the everlasting mansions to be so displayed, if in truth such
mansions there be, as to place faith on a level wifti the evidence
of sense. What noble and happy effects, he exclaims, would in.
stantly follow, if man thus beheld his present and his future ex
istence at once before him ! He would then become worthy of his
rank in the creation. Instead of being the sport, as now, of degrad
ing passions and childish attachments, he would act solely on the
principles of immortality. His pursuit of virtue would be steady ;
his life would be undisturbed and happy. Superior to the attacks
of distress, and to the solicitations of pleasure, he would advance,
by a regular process, towards those divine rewards and honours
which were continually present to his view.  Thus Fancy, with
as much ease and confidence as if it were a perfect judge of crea
tion, erects a new world to itself, and exults with admiration of its
own work. But let us pause, and suspend this admiration, till we
coolly examine the consequences that would follow from this sup
posed reformation of the universe.
Consider the nature and circumstances of man. Introduced
into the world in an indigent condition, he is supported at first by
the care of others ; and, as soon as he begins to act for himself,
finds labour and industry to be necessary for sustaining his life,
and supplying his wants. Mutual defence and interest gives rise to
society ; and society, when formed, requires distinctions of property,
diversity of conditions, subordinations of ranks, and a multiplicity
of occupations, in order to advance the general good. The services
of the poor, and the protection of the rich, become reciprocally
necessary. The governors and the governed must co-operate
for general safety. Various arts must be studied; some respect
ing the cultivation of the mind, others the care of the body : some
to ward off the evils, and some to provide the conveniences, of life.
In a word, by the destination of- his Creator, and the necessities
of his nature, man commences, at once, an active, not merely a
contemplative, being. Religion assumes him as such. It supposes
him employed in this world, as on a busy stage. It regulates, but
does not abolish, the enterprises and cares of ordinary life. It ad
dresses itself to the various ranks of society ; to the rich and the
poor, to the magistrate and the subject. It rebukes the slothful
directs the diligent how to labour ; and requires every man to df»
his own buisness.
Suppose, now, that veil to be withdrawn which conceals another
world from our view. Let all obscurity vanish ; let us no longer
see darkly, as through a glass; but let every man enjoy that intui-

Serm. IV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 33
tive perception of divine and eternal objects which the sceptic was
supposed to desire*. The immediate effect of such a discovery
would be, to annihilate in our eye all human objects, and to pro
duce a total stagnation in the affairs of the world. Were the
celestial glory exposed to our admiring view ; did the angelic har
mony sound in our enraptured ears ; what earthly concerns would
have the power of engaging1 our attention for a single moment ?
All the studies and pursuits, the arts and labours, which now em
ploy the activity of man, which support the order or promote the
happiness of society, would lie neglected and abandoned. Those
desires and fears, those hopes and interests, by which we are at
present stimulated, would cease to operate. Human life would pre
sent no objects sufficient to rouse the mind ; to kindle the spirit of
enterprise, or to urge the hand of industry. If the mere sense of
duty engaged a good man to take some part in the business of the
world, the task, when submitted to, would prove distasteful. Even
the preservation of life would be slighted, if he were not bound to
it by the authority of God. Impatient of his confinement within
this tabernacle of dust, languishing for the happy day of his
translation to those glorious regions which were displayed to his,
sight, he would sojourn on earth as a melancholy exile. What
ever Providence has prepared for the entertainment of man, would
be viewed with contempt. Whatever is now attractive in society *
would appear insipid. In a word, he would be no longer a fit inha
bitant of this world, nor be qualified for those exertions which are
allotted to him in his present sphere of being. But, all his facul
ties being sublimated above the measure of humanity, he would be
in the condition of a being of superior order, who, obliged to re
side among men, would regard their pursuits with scorn, as dreams,
trifles, and puerile amusements of a day.
But to this reasoning it may perhaps be replied, that such con
sequences as I have now stated, supposing them to follow, deserve
not much regard. — For what though the present arrangement of hu
man affairs were entirely changed, by a clearer view and a stronger
impression of our future state ? Would not such a change prove
the highest blessing to man ? Is not his attachment to worldly ob
jects the great source both of his misery and his guilt ? Employed in
perpetual contemplation of heavenly objects, and in preparation
for the enjoyment of them, would he not become more virtuous,
and of ceurse more happy, than the nature of his present employ
ments and attachments permits him to be ? — Allowing for a mo
ment the consequence to be such, this much is yielded, that, upon
the supposition- which was made, man would not be the creature
which he now is, nor human life the state which we now behold.
How far the change would contribute to his welfare, comes to be
considered. . d

34 ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE [Serm. IV.
If there be any principle fully ascertained by religion, it is, Thqt
this life was intended for a state of trial and improvement to man.
His preparation for a better world required a gradual purification
carried on by steps of progressive discipline. The situation, there*
fore, here assigned him, was such as to answer this design, by cal
ling forth all his active powers, by giving full scope to his moral
dispositions, and bringing to light his own character. Hence it
became proper, that difficulty and temptation should arise in the
course of his duty. Ample rewards were promised to virtue ; but
these rewards were left, as yet in obscurity and distant prospect.
The impressions of sense were so balanced against the discoveries
of immortality, as to allow a conflict between faith and sense, be
tween conscience and desire, between present pleasure and future
good. In this conflict, the souls of good men are tried, improved,
and strengthened. In this field their honours are-reaped. Here
are formed the capital virtues of fortitude, temperance, and self-
denial ; moderation in prosperity, patience in adversity, submis
sion to the will of God, and charity and forgiveness to men,
amidst the various competitions of worldly interest.
Such is the plan of Divine wisdom for man's improvement.
But put the case that the plans devised by human wisdom were to
take place, and that the rewards of the just were to be more fully
displayed to view ; the exercise of all those graces which I have
mentioned, would be entirely superseded. Their very names
would be unknown. Every temptation being withdrawn, eveiy
worldly attachment being subdued by the overpowering discoveries
of eternity, no trial of sincerity, no discrimination of characters,
would remain ; no opportunity would be afforded for those active ex
ertions, which are the means of purifying and perfecting the good.
On the competition between time and eternity, depends the chief
exercise of human virtue. The obscurity which at present hangs
over eternal objects, preserves the competition. Remove that
obscurity, and you remove human virtue from its place. You
overthrow that whole system of discipline, by which imperfect
creatures are, in this life, gradually trained up for a more perfect
state. This, then, is the conclusion to which at last we arrive : That
the full display which was demanded, of the heavenly glory-,
would be so far from improving the human soul that it would
abolish those virtues and duties which are the great instruments
of its improvement. It would be unsuitable to the character of
man in every view, either as an active being, or a moral agent.
It would ..disqualify him for taking part in the affairs of the world;
for relishing the pleasures, or for discharging the duties of life :
In a word, it would entirely defeat the nurnose of his being placed

Sera. IV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 35
on this earth:" and the question, Why the Almighty has been
pleased to leave a spiritual world, and the future existence of man.
under so much obscurity, resolves in the end into this, Why there
should be such a creature as "man in the universe of God ? — Such
is the issue of the improvements proposed to be made on the plans
of Providence. They add to the discoveries of the superior wis
dom of God, and of the presumption and folly of man.
From what has been said, it now appears, That no reasonable
objection to the belief of a future state arises from the imperfect
discoveries of it which we enjoy; from the difficulties that are
mingled with its evidence; from our seeing as through a glass,
darkly, and being left to walk by faith and not by sight. It can
not be otherwise, it ought not to be otherwise, in our present
state. The evidence which is afforded, is sufficient for the con
viction of a candid mind, sufficient for a rational ground of con
duct; though not so striking as to withdraw our attention from
the present world, or altogether to overcome the impression of
sensible objects. In such evidence, it becomes us to acquiesce,
without indulging either doubts or complaints, on account of our
not receiving all the satisfaction which we fondly desire, but which
our present immaturity of being excludes. For, upon the supposi
tion of immortality, this life is no other than the childhood of
existence; and the measures of our knowledge must be propor
tioned to such a state. To the successive stages of human life,
from infancy to old age, belong certain peculiar attachments,
certain cares, desires, and interests; which open not abruptly,
but by gradual advances on the mind, as it becomes fit to receive
them, and is prepared for acting the part to which, in their order,
they pertain. Hence, in the education of a child, no one thinks
of inspiring him all at once with the knowledge, the sentiments,
and views of a man, and with contempt for the exercises and
amusements of childhood. On the contrary, employments suited
to his age are allowed to occupy him. By these his. powers are
gradually unfolded ; and advantage is taken of his youthful pur
suits, to improve and strengthen his .mind ; till, step by step, he
is led on to higher prospects, and prepared for a larger and more
important scene of action.
This analogy, which so happily illustrates the present conduct
of the Deity towards man, deserves attention the more, as it is
the very illustration used* by the Apostle, when treating of this
subject in the context. Now, says he, we know in part — but when
fhat which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done Q,way.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I
thought -as achjld! but when I became a man, I put away childish
things. For now we see through a glass, darkly, % but then face to

36 ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE [Sera. IV.
face : Now I know in part : but then, I shall know even as I am
known. Under the care of the Almighty, our education is now
going on, from a mortal to an immortal state. As much light is
let in upon us, as we can bear without injury. When the objects
become too splendid and dazzling for our sight, the curtain is
drawn. Exercised in such a field of action, as suits the strength
of our unripened powers, we are, at the same time, by proper
prospects and hopes, prompted to aspire towards the manhood of
our nature, the time when childish things shall be put away. But
still, betwixt those future prospects, and the impression of present
objects, such an accurate proportion is established, as on the one hand
shall not produce a total contempt of earthly things, while we as
pire to those that are heavenly ; and on the other, shall not en
courage such a degree of attachment to our present state, as would
render us unworthy of future advancement. In a word, the whole
course of things is so ordered, that we neither, by an irregular and
precipitate education, become men too soon ; nor, by a fond and
trifling indulgence, be suffered to continue children for ever.
Let these reflections not only remove the doubts which may
arise from our obscure knowledge of immortality, but likewise pro
duce the highest admiration of the wisdom of our Creator. The
structure of the natural world affords innumerable instances of pro
found design, which no attentive spectator can survey without
wonder ; in the moral world, where the workmanship is of much
finer and more delicate contexture, subjects of still greater admi
ration open to view. But admiration must rise to its highest point
when those parts of the moral constitution, which at first were re
puted blemishes, which carried the appearance of objections, either
to the wisdom or the goodness of Providence, are discovered, on
more accurate inspection, to be adjusted with the most exquisite
propriety. We have now seen that the darkness of man's condi
tion is no less essential to his well-being, than the light which he
enjoys. His internal powers, and his external situation, appear
to be exactly fitted to each other. Those complaints which we
are apt to make, of our limited capacity and narrow views, of our
inability to penetrate farther into the future destination of man,
are found, from the foregoing observations, to be just as unreason
able, as the childish complaints of our not being formed with a
microscopic eye, nor furnished with an eagle's wing; that is, of
not being endowed with powers which «vould subvert the nature,
and counteract the laws, of our present state.
In order to do justice to the subject, I must observe, that the
same reasoning which has been now employed" with respect to our'
knowledge of immortality, is equally applicable to many othgr
branches of intellectual knowledge. Thus, why we are permitted

Sera. IV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 37
to know so little of the nature of that Eternal Being who rules the
universe ; why the manner in which he operates on the natural and
moral world, is wholly concealed ; why we are kept in such igno
rance with respect to the extent of his works, to the nature and
agency of spiritual beings, and even with respect to the union be
tween our own soul and body : To all these, and several other in
quiries of the same kind, which often employ the solicitous re
searches of speculative men, the answer is the same that was given
to the interesting question which makes the subject of our dis
course. The degree of knowledge desired, would prove incompa
tible with the design, and with the proper business, of this life. It
would raise us to a sphere too exalted ; would reveal objects too
great and striking for our present faculties ; would excite feelings
too strong for us to bear ; in a word, would unfit us for thinking
or acting like human creatures. It is therefore reserved for a
more advanced period of our nature; and the hand of Infinite
wisdom hath in mercy drawn a veil over scenes which would over
power the sight of mortals.
One instance, in particular, of Divine wisdom is so illustrious,
and corresponds so remarkably with our present subject, that I
cannot pass it over without notice ; that is, the concealment under
which Providence has placed the future events of our life on earth.
The desire of penetrating into this unknown region, has ever been
one of the most anxious passions of men. It has often seized the
wise as well as the credulous, and given rise to many vain and
impious superstitions throughout the whole earth. Burning with
curiosity at the approach of some critical event, and impatient
under the. perplexity of conjecture and doubt, how cruel is Provi
dence, we are apt to exclaim, in denying to man the power of
foresight, and in limiting him to the knowledge of the present mo
ment ! Were he permitted to look forward into the course of des
tiny, how much more suitably would he be prepared for, the various
turns and changes in his life ! With what moderation would he
enjoy his prosperity under the fore-knowledge of an approaching
reverse ! And with what eagerness be prompted to improve the
flying hours,, by seeing the inevitable term draw nigh which ,
was to finish his course !
But while fancy indulges such vain desires, and criminal com
plaints, this coveted fore-knowledge must clearly uppear to the
eye of Reason, to be the most fatal gift which the Almighty could
bestow. If, in, this present mixed state, all the. successive scenes
of distress, through which we are to pass, were laid before us in
one view, perpetual sadness would overcast our life. Hardly would
any transient gleams of intervening joy.be able to force their way
through, the cloud. Faint would be the relish of pleasures of -which

3.8 ON OUR IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE [Sera. IV.
we foresaw the close. Insupportable the burden of afflictions, un
der which we were oppressed by a load not only of present, but o.
an anticipated sorrow. Friends would begin their union, with
lamenting the day which was to dissolve it ; and, with weeping eye,
the parent would every moment behold the child whom he knew
that he was to lose. In short, as soon as that mysterious veil,
which now covers futurity, was lifted up, all the gaiety of life
would disappear ; its flattering hopes, its pleasing illusions, would
vanish ; and nothing but its vanity and sadness remain. The fore
sight of the hour of death would continually interrupt the course
of human affairs, and the overwhelming prospect of the future,
instead of exciting men to proper activity, would render them
immoveable with consternation and dismay.  -How much more,
friendly is that mixture of knowledge and ignorance which is
allotted to him in this state ! Ignorant of the events which are
to befall us, and of the precise term which is to conclude our life,
by this ignorance our enjoyment of present objects is favoured;
and knowing that death is certain, and that human affairs are full
of change, by this knowledge our attachment to those objects is
moderated. Precisely in the same manner, as by the mixture of
evidence and obscurity which remains on the prospect of a future
state, a proper balance is preserved betwixt our love of this life,
and our desire of a better.
The longer that our thoughts dwell on this subject, the more we
must be convinced, that in nothing the Divine wisdom is more
admirable, than in proportioning knowledge to the necessities of
man. Instead of lamenting our condition, that we are permitted
only to see as through a glass darkly, we have reason to bless our
Creator, no less for what he hath concealed, than for what he hath
allowed us to know. He is wonderful in council, as he is excellent
in working. He is wise in heart, and his thoughts are deep. How
unsearchable are the riches of the wisdom of the knowledge of God !
From the whole view which we have taken of the subject, this
important instruction arises, that the great design of all the know
ledge, and in particular of the religious knowledge which God hath
. afforded us, is, to fit us for discharging the duties of life. No use
less discoveries are made to us in religion : no discoveries even
of useless truths, beyond the precise degree of information which
is subservient to right conduct. To this great end all our informa
tion points. In this centre all the lines of knowledge meet. Life
and immortality are brought to light in the gospel ; yet not so dis
played as to gratify the curiosity of the world with an astonishing
spectacle ; but only so far made known, as to assist and support
us in the practice of our duty. If the discovery were more imper
fect, it would excite no desire of immortality ; if it were more full

o

Sera. IV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 39
and striking, it would render us careless of life. On the first sup
position, no sufficient motive to virtue would appear ; on the second
no proper trial of it would remain. In the one case, we should
think and act like men who have their portion only in this world !
in the other case, like men who have no concern with this world
at all. Whereas now, by the wise constitution of Heaven, we are
placed in the most favourable situation for acting with propriety,
our allotted part here ; and for rising, in due course, to higher
honour and happiness hereafter.
Let us then second the kind intentions of Providence, and act
upon the plan which it hath pointed out. Checking our inquisitive
solicitude about what the Almighty hath concealed, let us dili
gently improve what he hath made known. Inhabitants of the
earth, we are at the same time, candidates for Heaven. Looking
Upon these as only different views of one consistent character f let
us carry on our preparation for Heaven, not by abstracting our
selves from the concerns of this world, but by fulfilling the duties
and offices of every station in life. Living soberly, righteously, and
godly in this present world, let us look for that blessed hope, and the
glorious appearing of the great God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ.
Before I conclude, it may be proper to observe, that the reason
ings in this discourse give no ground to apprehend any danger of
our being too much influenced by the belief of a future starte. I
have shown the hurtful effects which would follow from too bright
and full a discovery of the glory of that state ; and in showing this,
1" have justified the decree of Providence, which permits no such
discoveiy. But as our nature is at present constituted, attached
by so many strong connexions to the world of sense, and enjoying
a communication so feeble and distant with the world of spirits,
we need fear" no danger from cultivating intercourse with the latter
as much as possible. On the contrary, from that intercourse the
chief sec-urity of our virtue is to be sought. The bias of 0*- na
ture leans so much towards sense, that from this side the peril is to
be dreaded; and on this side the defence is to be provided.
Let us then walk by faith. Let us strengthen this principle of
action to the utmost of our power. Let us implore the Divine
grace, to strengthen it within us more and more ; That we may
thence derive .an antidote against that subtle poison, which in
cessant commerce with the objects of sense diffuses through our
souls ; that ".we may hence acquire purity and, dignity of manners
sujted to- our divine hopes ; and, undented by the pleasures of the
world, unshaken by its terrors, may preserve to the end one con
stant tenor of integrity. Till at last, having under the conduct
of Christian faith happily finished the period of discipline, we enter
on that state, where a far nobler -scene shall open ; where eternal

40 ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. [Serm.V.
objects shall shine in their native splendour ; where, this twihght
of mortal life being past, the Sun of righteousness shall rise; and, that
which is perfect being come, that which is in part shall be done away.

SERMON V.
ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST.
[Preached at the celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.]
John xvii. 1. — Jesus lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father J
the hour is come.
These were the words of our blessed Lord on a memorable oc
casion. The feast of the passover drew nigh, at which he knew
that he was to suffer. The night was arrived wherein he was to be
delivered into the hands of his enemies. He had spent the evening
in conference with his disciples ; like a dying father in the midst
of his family, mingling consolations with his last instructions.
When, he. had ended his discourse to them, he If ted up his eyes to
Heaven, and with the words which I have now read, began that
solemn prayer of intercession for the church, which closed his
ministry. Immediately after, he went forth with his disciples into
the garden of Gethsemane, and surrendered himself to those who
came to apprehend him.
Such was the situation of our 'tLord at the time of his pro
nouncing these words. He saw his mission on the point of being .
accomplished. He had the prospect full before him, of all that he
was about to suffer — Father ! the hour is come. — What hour ? — An
hour, the most critical, the most pregnant with great events, since
hours had begun to be numbered, since time had begun to run. It
was the hour in which the Son of God was to terminate the labours
of his important life, by a death still more important and illustrious ;
the hour of atoning, by his sufferings, for the guilt of mankind ;
the hour of accomplishing prophecies, types, and symbols, which
had been carried on through a series of ages ; the hour of con
cluding the old, and of introducing into the world the new, dis
pensation of religion ; the hour of his triumphing over the world,
and death, and hell ; the hour of his erecting that spiritual king
dom which is to last for ever. Such Js the hour. Such are the
events, which you . are to commemorate in the sacrament of our
Lord's Supper. I shall attempt to set them before you as proper
subjects, at this time, of your devout meditation. To display them
in their genuine majesty, is beyond the ability of man.
I. — This was the hour in which Christ was glorified by his suf-

Sera. V.] ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. 41
ferings. The whole of his life had discovered much real greatness
under a mean appearance. Through the cloud of his humiliation,
his native lustre often broke forth ; but never did it shine so bright,
as 'in this last, this trying hour. It was indeed the hour of dis
tress, and of blood. He knew it to be such ; and when he uttered
the words of the Text, he had before his eyes the executioner
and the cross, the scourge, the nails, and the spear. But by
prospects of this nature his soul was not to be overcome. It is
distress which ennobles every great character; and distress was
to glorify the Son of God. He was now to teach all mankind, by
his example, how to suffer and to die. He was to stand forth
before his enemiess as the faithful witness of the truth ; justifying
by his behaviour the character which he assumed, and sealing
with his blood the doctrines which he taught,
What magnanimity in all his words and actions on this great
occasion ! The court of Herod, the judgement-hall of Pilate,
the hill of Calvary, were so many theatres prepared for his dis
playing all the virtues of a constant and patient mind. When led
forth to suffer, the first voice which we hear from him, is a gene
rous lamentation over the fate of his unfortunate, though guilty,
country ; and, to the last moment of his life, we behold him in
possession of the same gentle and benevolent spirit. No upbraid
ing, no complaining expression escaped from his lips, during the
long and painful approaches of a cruel death. He betrayed no
symptom of a weak or a vulgar, of a discomposed or impatient,
mind. With 'the utmost attention of filial 'tenderness he com
mitted his aged mother to the care of his beloved disciple. {John
xix.*26, 27.]* With all the dignity of a sovereign, he conferred
pardon on a penitent fellow-sufferer. With a greatness of mind
beyond example, he spent his last moments in apologies and
prayers for those who were shedding his blood.
By wonders in heaven, and wonders on earth, was this hour
distinguished. All nature seemed to feel it ; and the dead and
the living bore witness of its importance, The veil of the temple
was rent in twain. The earth shook. There was darkness over
all the land. The graves were opened, and many who slept arose,
and went into the holy City. Nor were these the only prodigies
of this awful hour*.-* The most hardened hearts were subdued and
changed. The judge who, in order to gratify the multitude,
passed sentence against him, publicly attested his innocence.
The Roman centurion who presided at the execution, glorified God,
and acknowledged the sufferer to be more -than man. After he
saw the things which had passed, he said, Certainly this was a right
eous person ; truly this was the Son of God. The Jewish male
factor who was crucified with him, addressed him as a King, and

42 ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. ' [Sera. V
implored his favour. Even the crowd ' of insensible spectators,
Who had come forth as to a common spectacle, and who began
with clamours and insults, returned home smiting their breasts. —
Look back on the heroes, the philosophers, the legislators- of old.
View them in their last moments. Recall every circumstance
which distinguished their departure from the world. Where can
you find such an assemblage of high virtues, and of great events,
as concurred at the death of Christ ? Where so many testimonies
given to the dignity of the dying person, by earth and by
heaven ?
II. — This was the hour in which Christ atoned for the sins of
mankind, and accomplished our eternal redemption. It was the
hour when that great sacrifice was offered up, the efficacy of
which reaches back to the first transgression of man, and extends
forward to the end of time ; the hour when, from the cross, as
from an high altar, the blood was flowing, which washed away
the guilt of the nations.
This awful dispensation of the Almighty contains mysteries
which are beyond the discovery of man. It is one of those things
into which the Angels -desire to look. What has been revealed to
us is, That the death of Christ was the interposition of Heaven
for preventing the ruin of human kind. We know, that, under
the government of God, misery is the natural consequence of guilt.
After rational creatures had, by their criminal conduct, introduced
disorder into the Divine kingdom, there was no ground to believe,
that by their penitence and prayers alone they could prevent the
destruction which threatened them. The prevalence of propitia
tory sacrifices throughout the earth, proclaims it to be the general
sense of mankind, that mere repentance was not of sufficient avail
to expiate sin or to stop its penal effects. By the constant allusions
which are carried on in the New Testament to the sacrifices under
the Law, as pre-signifyuig a great atonement made by Christ,
and by the strong expressions which are used in describing the
effects of his death, the sacred writers show, as plainly as lan
guage allows, that there was an efficacy in his sufferings, far
beyond that of mere example and instruction. .The nature and
extent of that efficacy, we are unable, as yet, fully to trace. 'Part
we are capable of beholding ; and the wisdom* of what we behold, ,
we have reason to adore. We discern, in this plan of redemption,
the evil of sin strongly exhibited ; and the justice of the Divine
government- awfully exemplified, in Christ suffering for sinners.
But let us not imagine, that our present discoveries unfold the
whole influence of the death of Christ. It is connected with
causes into which we cannot penetrate. ¦ It produces consequences
too extensive for us to explore, (jod's thoughts are not as our

Sera. V.] ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. 43
thoughts. In all things we see only in part ; and here, if any where
we see also as through a glass, darkly.
This, however, is fully manifest, that redemption is • one of the
most glorious works "of the Almighty. If the hour of the creation
of the world was great and illustrious ; that hour, when, from the
dark and formless mass, this fair system of nature arose at the
Divine command; when the morning stars sang together, and all
the sons of God shouted for joy ; no less illustrious is the hour of
the restoration of the world ; the hour when, from condemnation
and misery, it emerged into happiness and peace. With less ex
ternal majesty it was attended, but is, on that account, the more
wonderful, that, urider an appearance so simple, such great events
were covered.
III. — In this hour the long series of prophecies, visions, types,
and figures were accomplished. This was the centre in which
they all met : this the point towards which they had tended and
verged, throughout the course of so many generations. You be
hold the Law and the Prophets standing, if we may speak so,
at the foot of the cross, and doing homage. You behold Moses
and Aaron bearing the ark of the covenant ; David and Elijah pre
senting the oracle of testimony. You behold all the priests and
sacrifices, all the rites and ordinances, all the types and symbols
assembled together to receive their consummation. Without the
death of Christ* the worship* and ceremonies of the Law would
have remained a • pompous, but unmeaning, institution. In the
hour when he was crucified, the book with the seven seals was opened.
Every rite assumed its significancy ; every prediction met its
event ; every symbol displayed its correspondence.
The dark and seemingly ambiguous method of conveying im-.
portant discoveries under figures and emblems, was not peculiai
to the sacred 'books. The spirit of God in pre-signifying the
death of Christ, adopted that plan, according to which the whole
knowledge of those early ages was propagated .through the world.
Under 'the veil of mysterious allusion, all wisdom was then con
cealed. From the sensible world, images where every-where bor
rowed, to describe things unseen. More was understood to be
meant than was 'openly expressed. By enigmatical rites, the
Priest communicated his doctrines ; by parables and allegories,
the Philosopher instructed his disciples ; even the Legislator, by
figurative sayings, commanded the reverence of the people.
Agreeably to this prevailing mode of instruction, the whole dis
pensation* of the Old Testament was so conducted, as to be the
shadow and figure' of a spiritual system. Every remarkable
event, every distinguished personage, under the Law, is inter
preted in the New Testament, as bearing reference to the hour ol

44 ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. [Sera. V.
which we treat. If Isaac was laid upon the altar as an innocent
victim ; if David was driven from his throne by the wicked, and
restored by the hand of God ; if the brazen serpent was lifted up
to heal the people ; if the rock was smitten by Moses, to furnish
drink in the wilderness; all were types of Christ, and alluded to
his death.
In predicting the same event the language of ancient pro
phecy was magnificent, but seemingly contradictory : for it fore
told a Messiah, who was to be at once a sufferer and a conqueror.
The Star was to come out of Jacob, and the Branch to spring from
the stem of Jesse. The Angel of the Covenant, the desire of all na
tions, was to come suddenly to his temple ; and to him was to be the
gathering of the people. Yet, at the same time, he was to be de
spised and rejected of men ; he was to be taken from prison and from
judgment, and to be led as a lamb to the slaughter. Though he was
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, yet the Gentiles
were to come to his light, and Kings to the brightness of his rising.
In the hour when Christ died, those prophetical riddles were solv
ed : those seeming contradictions were reconciled. The obscurity
of oracles, and the ambiguity of types, vanished. The sun of
righteousness rose ; and, together with the dawn of religion, those
shadows passed away.
IV. — This was the hour of the abolition of the Law, and the
introduction of the Gospel ; the hour of terminating the old and
of beginning the new dispensation of religious knowledge and
worship throughout the earth. Viewed in this light, it forms the
most august sera which is to be found in the history of mankind.
When Christ was suffering on the cross,. we are informed by one
of the Evangelists, that he said, I thirst , and that they filled a
sponge with vinegar, and put it to his mouth. After he had tasted
the vinegar, knowing that all things were now accomplished, and the
scriptures fulfilled, he said, It is finished'; [John xix. 28, 29, 30.]
that is, This offered draught of vinegar was the last circumstance
predicted by an ancient Prophet, [Psalm lxix. 22.] that remained
to be fulfilled. The vision and the prophecy .are now sealed":
The Mosaic dispensation is closed. And he bowed his head and
gave up the ghost.
It is finished.— When he uttered these words, he changed the
state of the universe. At that moment the law ceased, and the
gospel commenced. This was the ever-memorable point of time
which separated the old and the new world from each other. On
one side of the point of separation, you behold the law, with its
priests, its sacrifices, and its rites, retiring from sight. On the other
side, you behold the Gospel, with its simple and venerable institu
tions, coming forward into view. Significantly was the veil of the

Ser.V.] ON THE DEATH, OF CHRIST. 45
temple rent in this hour ; for the glory then departed from between
the cherubim. The legal high priest delivered up his Urim and
Thummim, his breast plate, his robes, and his incense : and Christ
stood forth as the great High Priest of all succeeding generations.
By that one sacrifice which he now offered, he abolished
sacrifices for ever. Altars on which the fire had blazed for ages,
were now to smoke no more. Victims were no more to bleed.
Not with the blood of bulls and goats, but with his own blood he now
entered into the Holy Place, there to appear in the presence of God
for us.
This was the hour of association and union to all the worship
pers of God. When Christ said, It is finished, he threw down the
wall of partition which had so long divided the Gentile from the
Jew. He gathered into one, all the faithful out of every kindred
and people. He proclaimed the hour to be come, when the. know
ledge of the true God should be no longer confined to one nation,
nor his worship to one temple ; but over all the earth, the worship
pers of the Father should serve him in spirit and in truth. From
that hour they who dwelt in the uttermost ends of the earth, stran
gers ti> the covenant of promise, began to be brought nigh. In that
hour the light of the gospel dawned from afar on the British
Islands. During a long course of 'ages, Providence seemed to be occu
pied in preparing the world for this revolution. The whole Jewish
economy was intended to usher it in. The knowledge of God
was preserved unextinguished in one corner of the world, that
thence, in due time, might issue forth the light which was to over
spread the earth. Successive revelations gradually enlarged the
views of men beyond the narrow bounds of Judaea, to a more ex
tensive kingdom of God. Signs and miracles awakened their ex
pectation, and directed their eyes towards this great event. Whe
ther God descended on the flaming mountain, or spoke by the
Prophet's voice ; whether he scattered his chosen people into cap
tivity, or re-assembled them in their own land ; he was still carry
ing on a progressive plan, which was accomplished at the death of
Christ. Not only in the territories of Israel, but over al tne earth, the
great dispensations of Providence respected the approach of this
important hour. If empires rose or fell ; if war divided, or peace
united,- the nations ; if learning civilized their manners, or philoso
phy enlarged their views ; all was, by the secret decree of Heaven, ,
made to ripen the world for that fulness of time, when Christ was
to publish the whole counsel of God. The Persian, the Macedo
nian, the Roman conqueror, entered upon the stage eqeh at his pre
dicted period ; and though he meant not so, neither did his heart think

46 ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. [Ser. V.
so, ministered to this hour. The revolutions of power, and the
succession of monarchies, were so arranged by Providence, as to
facilitate the progress of the Gospel through the habitable- world,
after the day had arrived, when the stone which was cut out of the
mountain without hands, should become a great mountain and fill the
earth. [Dan. ii. 34, 35.] This was the day which Abraham saw
afar off, and was glad. This was the day which many Prophets, and
Kings, and righteous men, desired to see, but could? not ; the day for
which the earnest expectation of the creature, long oppressed with
ignorance, and bewildered in superstition, might be justly said to
wait. V. — This was the hour of Christ's triumph over all the powers
of darkness; the hour in which he overthrew dominions and
thrones, led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men. The contest
which the kingdom of darknesss had long maintained against the
kingdom of light was now brought to its crisis. The period was
come when the seed of the woman, shall bruise the head of the serpent'.
For many ages, the most gross superstition had filled the earth.
The glory of the incorruptible God was every where, except in the
land of Judaea, changed into images made like to corruptible man, and
to birds, and beasts, and creeping things. The world, which the Al
mighty created for himself, seemed to have become a temple of
idols. Even to vices and passions altars were raised ; and what
was entitled Religion, was in effect a discipline of impurity. In
the midst of this universal darkness, Satan had erected his throne •
and the learned and the polished, as well as the savage nations, bow
ed down before him. But at the hour when Christ appeared on the
cross, the signal of his defeat was given. His kingdom suddenly
departed from him : the reign of idolatry passed away : He was
beheld to fall like lightning from heaven. In that hour the founda
tion of every Pagan temple shook. The statue of every false god
tottered on its base. The priest fled from his falling shrine ; and
the Heathen oracles became dumb for ever.
As on the cross, Christ triumphed over Satan, so he overcame
his auxiliary, the world. Long had it assailed him with its temp
tations and discouragements ; in this hour of severe trial, he sur
mounted them all. Formerly he had despised the pleasures of
the world. He now baffled it's terrors. Hence he is justly said
to have crucified the world. By his sufferings he ennobled distress ;
and he darkened the lustre of the pomp and vanities of life. He
discovered to his followers the path which leads, through afflic
tion, to glory and to victory ; and he imparted to them the same
spirit which enabled him to overcome. My kingdom is not of this
world. In this world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer,
I have overcome the world. [John xvi. 33.]

Sera. V.] .ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST 47
Death also, the last foe of man, was the victim of this hour
The formidable appearance of the spectre remained ; but his dart
was taken away. For, in the hour when Christ expiated guilt, he
disarmed death, by securing the resurrection of the just. When
he said to his penitent fellow-sufferer, To-day thou shalt be with me
in i paradise, he announced to all his followers the certainty of
heavenly bliss. He declared the cherubims to be dismissed, and
the flaming sword to be sheathed, which had been appointed at the
• fall, to keep from man the way of the tree of life. [Gen. iii. 24.]
Faint, before this period, had been the hope, indistinct the pros
pect, which even good men enjoyed of the heavenly kingdom. —
Life and immortality were now brought to livht. From the hill of
.Calvary the first clear and certain view was given to the world of
the everlasting mansions. Since, that hour, they have been the
perpetual consolation of believers in Christ. Under trouble, they
soothe their minds ; amidst temptation, they support their virtue ;
and in their dying moments enable them to say, O death! where is
thy sting ? O grave ! where is thy victory ?
. VI. — This was the hour when our Lord erected that spiritual
kingdom which is never to end. How vain are the counsels and
designs of men ! How shallow is the policy of the wicked !
How short their triumphing ! The enemies of Christ imagined
that in "this hour they had successfully accomplished their plan for
his destruction. They believed, that they had entirely scattered
the small party of his followers, and had extinguished his name
and his honour for ever. In derision they addressed him as a King.
They clothed him with purple robes ; they crowned him with a
crown of thorns ; they put a reed into his hand ; and, with insult
ing mockery, bowed the knee before him. Blind and impious
inert! How little did they know that the Almighty was, at that
moment setting him as a King on the hill of Sion; giving him the
Heathenfor his inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for
his possession ! How little did they know that their badges , of
mock royalty were at that moment converted into the signals of
absolute dominion, and the instruments of irresistible power !
The reed which they put into his hands became a rod of iron,
with which he was to break in pieces his enemies ; a sceptre with
which he was to rule the universe in righteousness.' The cross,
which they though was to stigmatize him with infamy, became
the ensign of his renown. Instead of being the reproach of his
followers, it was to be their boast and their glory. The cross was
to shine on palaces and churches, throughout the earth. It was
to be assumed as the distinction of the most powerful monarchs,
and to wave in the banner of victorious armies when the memory
of Herod and Pilate should be accursed ; when Jerusalem should

48 ' ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST. [Sera. V.
be reduced to ashes, and the Jews be vagabonds over all the
world. These were the triumphs which commenced at this hour. Our
Lord saw them already in their birth ; he saw of the travail of his
soul, and was satisfied. He beheld the word of God going forth,
conquering, and to conquer ; subduing, to the obedience of his
laws, the subduers of the world; carrying light into the regions
of darkness, and mildness into the habitations of cruelty. He
beheld the Gentiles waiting below the cross, to receive the Gospel.
He beheld Ethiopia and the Isles stretching out their hands to God ;
the desert beginning to rejoice and to blossom as the rose ; and the
knoufledge of the Lord filling the earth, as the waters cover the sea.
Well pleased, he said, It is finished. As a conqueror, he retired
from the field, reviewing his triumphs : He bowed his head and gave
up the Ghost. — —From that hour, Christ was no longer a mortal
man, but Head over all things to the Church ; the glorious King of
men and angels, of whose dominion there shall be no end. His
triumphs shall perpetually increase. His name shall endure for
ever ; it shall last as long as the sun ; men shall be blest in Mm, and all.
nations shall call him blessed.
Such were the transactions, such the effects, of this ever memo
rable hour. With all those great events was the mind of our Lord
filled, when he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father ! the
hour is come.
From this view which we have taken of this subject, permit me
to suggest, what ground it affords to confide in the mercy of God
for the. pardon of sin ; to trust to his faithfulness, for the accom
plishment of all his promises ; and to approach to him, with gra
titude and devotion, in acts of worship.
In the first place, the death of Christ affords us ground to con
fide in the Divine mercy for the pardon of sin. All the steps of
that high dispensation of Providence, which we have considered,
lead directly to this conclusion, He that spared not his own son, but
delivered him up for us nil, how shall he not with him also freely give
us all things ? [Rom. viii. 32.] This is the final result of the dis
coveries of the Gospel. On this rests the great system of conso
lation, which it hath reared up for men. We are not left to dubi
ous and intricate reasonings, concerning the conduct which God
may be expected to hold towards his offending creatures : but we
are led to the view of important and illustrious facts, which strike
the mind with evidence irresistible. For is it possible to believe,
that such great operations, as I have endeavoured to describe, were
carried on by the Almighty in vain ? Did he excite in the hearts of
his creatures such encouraging hopes, without any intention to ful
fil them ? After so long a preparation of goodness, could he mean

Se»m. V.] ON THE DEATH OF CHRIST
to deny forgiveness to the penitent and the humble? When,
come by the sense of guilt, man looks up with an astonished eye
to the justice of his Creator, let him recollect that hour of which
the text speaks, and be comforted. The signals of Divine mercy
erected in his view, are too conspicuous to be either distrusted 01
mistaken. In the next place, the discoveries of this hour afford the highest
reason to trust in the Divine faithfulness, for the accomplishment
of every promise which remains yet unfulfilled. For this was the
hour of the completion of God's ancient covenant.
It was the performance of the mercy promised to the fathers. We
behold the consummation of a great plan, which, throughout a
course of ages, had been uniformly pursued ; and which, against
every human appearance, was, at the appointed moment, exactly
fulfilled. No word that is gone out of the mouth of the Lord shall
fail. No length of time alters his purpose. No obstacles can re
tard it. Towards the ends accomplished in this hour, the most
repugnant instruments were made to operate. We discern God
bending to his purpose the jarring passions, the opposite interests,
and even the vices of men ; uniting seeming contrarieties in his
scheme; making the wrath of man to praise him ; obliging the am
bition of Princes, the prejudices of the Jews, the malice of Satan,
all to concur, either in bringing forward this hour, or in compl it-
ing its destined effects With what entire confidence ought we to
wait for the fulfilment of all his other promises in their due time ;
even when events are most embroiled, and the prospect is most dis
couraging : Although thou say est, Thou canst not see him ; yet judge
ment is before him; therefore trust thou in him. Be attentive only
to perform thy duty ; leave the event to God ; and be assured, that
under the direction of his Providence, all things shall work together
for a happy issue.
Lastly, the consideration of this whole subject tends to excite
gratitude and devotion, when we approach to God in acts of wor
ship. The hour of which I have discoursed, presents him to us
in the amiable light of the Deliverer of mankind, the Restorer of
our forfeited hopes. We behold the greatness of the Almighty,
softened bv the mild radiance of condescension and mercy. We
behold him diminishing the awful distance at which we stand from
his presence,., by appointing for us a Mediator and Intercessor,
through whom' the humble may, without dismay, approach to
Him who made them. By such views of the Divine nature, Chris
tian faith lays the foundation for a worship which shall be at once
rational and affectionate ; a worship, in which the light of the un
derstanding shall concur with the devotion of the heart, and the
most profound reverence be united with the most cordial love,

50 ON GENTLENESS. [Sera. VI.
Christian faith is not a system of speculative, truths. It is not a
lesson of moral instruction only. By a train of high discoveries
which it reveals, by a succession of interesting objects which it
places in our view, it is calculated to elevate the mind, to purify
the affections, and, by the assistance of devotion, to confirm and
encourage virtue. Such, in particular, is the scope of that Divine
institution, the Sacrament of our Lord's Supper. To this happy
purpose let it conduce, by concentering in one striking point of
light, all that the Gospel has displayed of what is most important
to man. Touched with just contrition for past offences, and filled
with a grateful sense of Divine goodness, let us come to the altar
of God ; and, with a humble faith in his infinite mercies, devote
ourselves to his service for ever,

SERMON VI.
ON GENTLENESS.
James iii. 17. — The wisdom that is' from above, is — gentle — .
To be wise in our own eyes, to be wise in the opinion of the world,
and to be wise in the sight of God, are three things so very dif
ferent, as rarely to coincide. One may often be wise in his own
eyes, who is far from being so in the judgement of the world ; and
to be reputed a prudent man by the world, is no security for being
accounted wise by God. As there is a worldly happiness, which
God perceives to be no other than disguised misery ; as there are
worldly honours, which in his estimation are reproach ; so there
is a worldly wisdom, which in his sight is- foolishness. Of this
worldly wisdom the characters are given in the context, and placed
in contrast with those of the wisdom which is from above. The one
is the wisdom of the crafty ; the other that of the upright. The one
terminates in selfishness ; the other in charity. The one is full of
strife and bitter envyings ; the other of mercy and of good fruits.
One of the chief characters by which the wisdom from above is
distinguished, is gentleness, of which I am now to discourse. Of
this there is the greater occasion to discourse, because it is too
seldom viewed in a religious light ; and is more readily considered
by the bulk of men, as a mere felicity of nature, or an exterior ac
complishment of manners, than as a Christian virtue, which they
are bound to cultivate. I shall first explain the nature of this vir-'
tue ; and shall then offer some arguments to recommend, and some
directions to facilitate, the practice of it.
I begin with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tame-
ness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of

Serm. VI.] ON GENTLENESS. 51
others. That passive tameness, which submits without struggle
to every encroachment of the violent and assuming, forms no part
of Christian duty ; but, on the contrary, is destructive of general
happiness and order. That unlimited complaisance, which, on
every occasion, falls in with the opinions and manners of others,
is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent
of many vices. It overthrows all steadiness of principle ; and
produces that sinful conformity with the world which taints the
whole character. In the present corrupted state of human man
ners, always to assent and to comply is the very worst maxim we
can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of
Christian morals, without opposing the world on various occasions,
even though we should stand alone. That gentleness, therefore,
which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the
mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants. It
renounces no just right from fear. It gives up no important truth
from flattery It is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind,
but it necessarily requires a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in
order to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only, the
polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced.
It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for vir
tue and truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and arro
gance, to violence and oppression. It is, properly, that part of
the great virtue of charity which makes us unwilling to give pain
to any of our brethren. Compassion prompts us to relieve their
wants. Forbearance prevents us from retaliating their injuries.
Meekness restrains our angry passions ; candour, our severe judge
ments. Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners ;
and, by a constant train of human attentions, studies to alleviate
the burden of common misery. Its office, therefore, is extensive.
It is not, like some other virtues, called forth on peculiar emer
gencies ; but it is continually in action, when we are engaged in
intercourse with men. It ought to form our address, to regulate
our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour.
I must warn you,, however, not to confound this gentle wisdom
which is from above, with that artificial courtesy, that studied
smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the
world. Such accomplishments, the most frivolous and empty may
-possess. Too often they are employed by the artful, as a snare;
¦i : top often affected by the hard and unfeeling, as a cover to the
baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid ob
serving the homage which even in such instances the world is con
strained to pay to virtue. In order to render society agreeable.it is
¦-,- found, necessary to assume somewhat, that may at least carry its
appearance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is

52 ON GENTLENESS. [Sera. VI.
courted, when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form
has been reduced into an art ; and, in the commerce of life, the
first study of all who would either gain the esteem or win the heart
of others, is to learn the speech, and to adopt the manners, of
candour, gentleness, and humanity. But that gentleness which
is the characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue,
its seat in the heart : and let me add, nothing, except what flows
from the heart, can render even external manners truly pleasing.
For no assumed behaviour can at all times hide the real character.
In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there
is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the studied manners
of the most finished courtier.
True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to him
who made us, and to the common nature of which we all share. It
arises from reflection on our own failings and wants ; and from just
views of the condition and the duty of man. It is native feeling,
heightened and improved by principle. It is the heart which easily
relents ; which feels for every thing that is human ; and is backward
and slow to inflict the least wound. It is affable in its address,
and mild in its demeanour ; ever ready to oblige, and willing to be
obliged by others ; breathing habitual kindness towards friends,
courtesy to strangers, long-suffering to enemies. It exercises au
thority with moderation; administers reproof with tenderness;
confers favours with ease and modesty. It is unassuming in opi
nion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles ;
is slow to contradict, and still slower to blame ; but prompt to
allay dissension, and to restore peace. It neither intermeddles
unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the se
crets, of others. It delights above all things to alleviate distress,
and if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at least the griev
ing heart. Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never
burdensome. It seeks to please, rather than to shine and dazzle ;
and conceals with care that superiority, either of talents or of rank,
which is oppressive to those who are beneath it. In a word, it is
that spirit and that tenor of manners, which the Gospel of Christ
enjoins, when it commands us to bear one another's burdens ; to
rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep ; to
please every one his neighbour for his good ; to be kind and tender
hearted ; to be pitiful, and courteous ; to support the weak, and to be
patient towards all men.
Having now sufficiently explained the nature of this amiable
virtue, I proceed to recommend it to your practice. Let me, for
this end, desire you to consider the duty which you owe to God ;
to consider the relation which you bear one to another ; to con-
' sider your 6wn interest.

Serm. VI.] ON GENTLENESS. 53
I. — Consider the duty which you owe to God. When you
survey his works, nothing is so conspicuous as his greatness and
majesty. When you consult his word, nothing is more remark
able than his attention to soften that greatness, and to place it in
the mildest and least oppressive light. He not only characterizes
himself as the God of consolation, but, with condescending gentle
ness, he particularly accommodates himself to the situation of the
unfortunate. He dwelleth with the humble and contrite. He hideth
not his face when the afflicted cry, He healeth the broken in heart, and
bindeth up their wounds. — When his Son came to be the Saviour of
the world, he was eminent for the same attribute of mild and gen
tle goodness. Long before his birth, it was prophesied of him
that he should not strive, nor cry, nor cause his voice to be heard in
the streets ; that the bruised reed he should not break, nor quench the
smoking flax ; [Matth. xii. 19, 20.] And after his death this dis
tinguishing feature in his character was so universally remembered,
that the Apostle Paul, on occasion of a request which he makes
to the Corinthians uses those remarkable expressions, I beseech you
by the meekness and gentleness of Christ. [2 Cor. x. 1.] During all
his intercourse with men, no harshness, or pride, or stately dis
tance, appeared in his demeanour. In his access he was easy ; in
his manners simple; in his answers, mild; in his whole beha
viour, humble and obliging. Learn of me, said he, for I am meek,
and lowly in heart. — As the Son of God is the pattern, so the Holy
Ghost is the inspirer of gentleness. His name is the Comforter, the
Spirit of Grace and Peace His fruits, or operations on the human
mind, are love, meekness, gentleness, and long-suffering. [Gal. v. 22.]
Thus, by every discovery of the Godhead, honour is conferred upon
gentleness. It is held up to our view, as peculiarly connected with
Celestial Nature. And suitable to such discoveries, is the whole
strain of the Gospel. It were unnecessary to appeal to any single
precept. You need only open the New Testament, to find this
virtue perpetually inculcated. Charity, or love, is the capital
figure ever presented to our view; and gentleness, forbearance,
and forgiveness, are the sounds ever recurring on our ear.
So predominant, indeed, is this spirit throughout the Christian
dispensation, that even the vices and corruption of men have not
been able altogether to defeat its tendency. Though that dispen
sation is far from having hitherto produced its full effect upon
the world, yet we can clearly trace its influence in humanizing the
manners of men. Remarkable, in this respect, is the victory
which it has gained over those powers of violence and cruelty which
belong to the infernal kingdom. Wherever Christianity prevails,
it has discouraged, and, in some degree, abolished slavery. It has
rescued human nature from that ignominious yoke, under which,

54 ON GENTLENESS. [Sera. VI.
in former ages, the one half of mankind groaned. It has intro
duced more equality between the two sexes, and rendered the con
jugal union more rational and happy. It has abated the ferocious
ness of war. It has mitigated the rigour of despotism, mitigated
the cruelty of punishment ; in a word, has reduced mankind from
their ancient barbarity, into a more humane and gentle state. — Do
we pretend respect and zeal for this religion, and at the same time
allow ourselves in that harshness and severity, which are so con
tradictory to its genius ? Too plainly we show, that it has no power
over our hearts. We may retain the Christian name ; but we have
abandoned the Christian spirit.
II. — Consider the relation which you bear to one another.
Man, as a solitary individual, is a very wretched being. As long
as he stands detached from his kind, he is possessed, neither of
happiness nor of strength. We are formed by nature to unite ; we
are impelled towards each other by the compassionate instincts
in our frame; we are linked by a thousand connexions founded
on common wants. Gentleness, therefore, or, as it is very pro-
properly termed, humanity, is what man, as such, in every station,
owes to man. To be inaccessible, contemptuous, and hard of
heart, is to revolt against our own nature ; is, in the language of
scripture, to hide ourselves from our own flesh. Accordingly, as all
feel the claim which they have to mildness and humanity, so all
are sensibly hurt by the want of it in others. On no side are we
more vulnerable. No complaint is more feelingly made, than
that of the harsh and rugged manners of persons with whom we
have intercourse. But how seldom do we transfer the cause to
ourselves, or examine how far we are guilty of inflicting on others,
whose sensibility is the same with ours, those very wounds of which
we so loudly complain !
But, perhaps, it will be pleaded by some, That this gentleness
on which we now insist regards only those smaller offices of life
which in their eye are not essential to religion and goodness.
Negligent, they confess, on slight occasions, of the government
of" their temper, or the regulation of their behaviour, they are at
tentive, as they pretend, to the great duties of beneficence ; and,
ready, whenever the opportunity presents, to perform important
services to their fellow-creatures. But let such persons reflect,
that the occasions of performing those important good deeds very
rarely occur. Perhaps their situation in life, or the _ nature of
their connexions, may in a great measure exclude them from
such opportunities. Great events give scope for great virtues ;
but the main tenor of human life is composed of small occur
rences. Within the round of these, lie the materials of the hap
piness of most men ; the subjects of their duty and the trials of

Serm. VI.] ON GENTLENESS. 55
their, virtue. Virtue must be formed and supported, not by un-
frequent :acts, but by daily and repeated exertions. In order to
its becoming either vigorous or useful, it must be habitually ac
tive ; not breaking forth occasionally with a transient lustre, like
the blaze of the comet ; but regular in its returns, like the light of
day :; -not like the aromatic gale, which sometimes feasts the
sense;, but like the ordinaiy breeze, which purifies the air, and
renders .it healthful.
Years may pass over our heads, without affording any opportunity
for acts of high beneficence or extensive utility. Whereas, not a
day passes, but in the common transactions of life, and especially
in the intercourse of domestic society, gentleness finds place for
promoting the happiness of others, and for strengthening in our
selves the habit of virtue. Nay, by seasonable discoveries of a hu
mane spirit, we sometimes contribute more materially to the advance
ment of happiness, than by actions which are seemingly more im
portant. There are situations, not a few, in human life, where
the encouraging reception, the condescending behaviour, and the
look of sympathy, bring . greater relief to the heart than the most
bountiful gift. While, on the other side, when the hand of libe
rality is extended to bestow, the want of gentleness is sufficient to
frustrate the intention- of the benefit. We sour those whom we
mean to oblige ; and,; by conferring favours with ostentation and
harshness, we convert them into injuries. Can any disposition
then be held to possess a low place in the scale of virtue, whose
influence is so considerable on the happiness of the world ?
Gentleness is, in truth, the great avenue to mutual enjoyment.
Amidst the strife of interfering interests, it tempers the violenoe of
contention, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony. It softens ani
mosities ; renews endearments ; and renders the countenance of
man a refreshment to man. Banish gentleness from the earth ;
suppose the world to be filled with none but harsh and conten
tious spirits ; and what sort of society would remain ? the solitude
of the desert was preferable to it. The conflict of jarring elements
in chaos ; the cave, where subterraneous winds contend and roar ;
the den, where serpents hiss, and beasts of the forest howl ; would
be the only proper representations of such assemblies of men — Oh,
that I had wings like a dove ! for then I would fly away, and
be at rest. Lo ! then I would wander far off, and remain in the
wilderness ; I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and
tempest : for I have seen violence and strife in the city. Mischief
and sorrow are in the midst of it : deceit and guile depart not from
her streets. — [Psalm lv. 6, 7, 8.] Strange ! that where men have all
one common interest, they should so often absurdly concur in de
feating it ! Has not nature already provided a sufficient quantity

56 ON GENTLENESS. [Sera. IV.
of unavoidable evils for the state of man ? As if we did not suffer
enough from the storm which beats upon us without, must we con
spire also, in those societies where we assemble in order to find a
retreat from that storm, to harass one another ? — But if the sense
of duty, and of common happiness, be insufficient to recommend
the virtue of which we treat, then let me desire you,
III. — To consider your own interest. Whatever ends a good
man can be supposed to pursue, gentleness will be found to favour
them. It prepossesses and wins every heart. It persuades, when
every other argument fails ; often disarms the fierce, and melts
the stubborn. Whereas harshness confirms the opposition it
would subdue ; and, of an indifferent person, creates an enemy. He
who could overlook an injury committed in the collision of interest,
will long and severely lesent the slights of a contemptuous beha
viour. — To the man of gentleness, the world is generally disposed
to ascribe every other good quality. The higher endowments of
the mind we admire at a distance, and when any impropriety of
behaviour accompanies them, we admire without love. They are
like some of the distant stars, whose beneficial influence reaches
not to us. Whereas, of the influence of gentleness, all in some
degree partake, and therefore all love it. The man of this "cha
racter rises in the world without a struggle, and flourishes without
envy. His misfortunes are universally lamented ; and his failings
are easily forgiven.
But whatever may be the effect of this virtue on our external
condition, its influence on our internal enjoyment is certain and
powerful That inward tranquillity which it promotes, is the first
requisite to every pleasurable feeling. It is the calm and clear
atmosphere, the serenity and sunshine of the mind. When benig
nity and gentleness reign within, we are always least in hazard of
being ruffled from without ; every person, and every occurrence,
are beheld in the most favourable light. But let some clouds of
disgust and ill-humour gather on the mind ; and immediately the
scene changes. Nature seems transformed ; and the appearance
of all things is blackened to our view. The gentle mind is like
the smooth stream, which reflects every object in its just propor
tion, and in its fairest colours. The violent spirit, like troubled
waters, renders back the images of things distorted and broken ;
and communicates to them all that disordered motion which arises
solely from its own agitation.
Offences must come. As soon may the waves of the sea cease to
roll, as provocations to arise from human corruption and frailty-
Attacked by great injuries, the man of mild and gentle spirit will
feel what human nature feels ; and will defend and resent, as his
duty allows him. But to those slight provocations, and frivolous

Sera. VI.] ON GENTLENESS. 57
offences, which are the most frequent causes of disquiet, he is.
happily superior. Hence, his days flow in a far more placid tenor
than those of others, exempted from the numberless discomposures
vhich agitate vulgar minds. Inspired with higher sentiments ;
caught to regard with indulgent eye the frailties of men, the omis
sions of the careless, the follies of the imprudent, and the levity
of the fickle ; he retreats into the calmness of his spirit, as into an
undisturbed sanctuary ; and quietly allows the usual current of
life to hold its course.
This virtue has another, and still more important, connexion
with our interest, by means of that relation which our present be
haviour bears to our eternal state. Heaven is the region of gen
tleness and friendship : Hell, of fierceness and animosity. If then
as the scripture instructs us, according to what we now sow, we must
hereafter reap; it follows, that the cultivation of a gentle temper
is necessary to prepare us for heavenly felicity, and that the indul
gence of harsh dispositions is the introduction to future misery.
Men, I am afraid, too often separate those articles of their belief
which relate to eternity, from the ordinary affairs of the world.
They connect them with the seasons of seriousness and gravity.
They leave them with much respect, as in a high region, to which,
only on great occasions, they resort; and, when they descend
into common life, consider themselves as at liberty to give free
scope to their humours and passions. Whereas, in fact, it is their
behaviour in the daily train of social intercourse, which, more than
¦\ny other cause, fixes and determines their spiritual character ;
|radually instilling those dispositions, and forming those habits,
which affect their everlasting condition. With regard to trifles,
perhaps their malignant dispositions may chiefly be indulged.
But let them remember well, that those trifles, by increasing the
growth of peevishness and passion, become pregnant with the
most serious mischiefs ; and may fit them, before they are aware,
for being the future companions of none but infernal spirits.
I mean not to say, that, in order to our preparation for Heaven,
it is enough to be mild and gentle ; or that this virtue alone will
cover all our sins. Through the felicity of natural constitution,
a certain degree of this benignity may be possessed by some
whose hearts are in other respects corrupt, and their lives irregular.
But what I mean to assert is, that where no attention is given to
the government of temper, meetness for Heaven is not yet acquired,
and the regenerating power of religion is as yet unknown. One
of the first works of the spirit of God is, to infuse into every heart
which it inhabits, that gentle wisdom which is from above. They who
are Christ's have crucified the flesh with its affections and lusts ; but let
it not be forgotten, that among the works of the flesh, hatred, vari-

58 ON GENTLENESS. [Sera. VI,
Mice, emulations, wrath, strife, and envyings, are as expressly enu
merated, as uncleanness, murders, drunkenness, and revellings. [Gal.
v. 19, 20, 21.] They who continue either in the one, or the other,
shall not inherit, indeed cannot inherit, the kingdom of God.
Having thus shewn the importance of gentleness, both as a
moral virtue, and as a Christian grace, I shall conclude the sub
ject, with briefly suggesting some considerations which may be of
use to facilitate the practice of it.
For this end, let me advise you to view your character with an
impartial eye ; and to learn, from your own failings, to give that
indulgence which in your turn you claim. It is pride which fills
the world with so much harshness and severity. In the fulness of
self-estimation, we forget what we are. We claim attentions to
which we are not entitled. We are rigorous to offences, as if we
had never offended ; unfeeling to distress, as if we knew not what
it was to suffer. From those airy regions of pride and folly, let
us descend to our proper level. Let us survey the natural equality
on which Providence has placed man with man, and reflect on the
infirmities common to all. If the reflection on natural equality
and mutual offences be insufficient to prompt humanity, let us at
least remember what we are in the sight of God. Have we none
of that forbearance to give to one another, which we all so ear
nestly intreat from Heaven ? Can we look for clemency or gentle
ness from our Judge, when we are so backward to show it to our
own brethren ?
Accustom yourselves also to reflect on the small moment of
those things which are the usual incentives to violence and con
tention. In the ruffled and angry hour, we view every appearance
through a false medium. The most inconsiderable point of interest,
or honour, swells into a momentous object ; and the slightest attack
seems to threaten immediate ruin. But after passion or pride has
subsided, we look round in vain for the mighty mischiefs we dreaded.
The fabric which our disturbed imagination had; reared, totally
disappears, But though the cause of contention has dwindled
away, its consequences remain. We have alierlated a friend, we
have embittered an enemy; we have sown the seeds of future sus
picion, malevolence, or disgust. — Suspend your violence, I beseech
you, for a moment, when causes of discord occur. Anticipate that
period of coolness, which of itself will soon arrive. Allow your
selves to think, how little you have any prospect of gaining by fierce
contention; but how much of the true happiness of life you are
certain of throwing away. Easily, and from the smallest chink,
the bitter waves of strife are let forth ; but their course cannot be
foreseen ; and he seldom fails of suffering most from their poisonous
effect, who first allowed them to flow-

Sera VII.] ON THE DISORDERS 59
But gentleness will, most of all, be promoted by frequent views
of those great objects which our holy religion presents. Let the
prospects of immortality fill your minds. Look upon this world
as a state of passage. Consider yourselves as engaged in the pur
suit of higher interests ; as acting now, under the eye of God,
an introductory part to a more important scene. Elevated by such
sentiments, your minds will become calm and sedate. You will
look down, as from a superior station, on the petty disturbances
of the world. They are the selfish, the sensual, and the vain,
who are most subject to the impotence of passion. They are link
ed so closely to the world ; by so many sides they touch every
object, and every person around them, that they are pepetually
hurt, and perpetually hurting others. But the spirit of true reli
gion removes us to a proper distance from the grating objects of
worldly contention. It leaves us sufficiently connected with the
world, for acting our part in it with propriety ; but disengages us
from it so far, as to weaken its power of disturbing our tranquil
lity. It inspires magnanimity ; and magnanimity always breathes
gentleness. It leads us to view the follies of men with pity, not
with rancour ; and to treat with the mildness of a superior nature,
what in little minds would call forth all the bitterness of passion.
Aided by such considerations, let us cultivate that gentle wisdom,
which is, in so many respects, important both to our duty and
our happiness. Let us assume it as the ornament of every age, and
of every station. Let it temper the petulance of youth, and soften
the moroseness of old age. Let it mitigate authority in those who
rule, and promote deference among those who obey. I conclude
with repeating the caution, not to mistake for true gentleness that
flimsy imitation of it called polished manners, which often, among
men of the world, under a smooth appearance, conceals much as
perity. Let yours be native gentleness of heart, flowing from the
love of God, and the love of man. Unite this amiable spirit with
a proper zeal for all that is right, and just, and true. Let piety
be combined in your character with humanity. Let determined
integrity dwell in a mild and gentle breast. A character thus sup
ported will command more real respect, than can be procured by
the most shining accomplishments, when separated from virtue.

SERMON VII.
ON THE DISORDERS OF THE PASSIONS.
Esther v. 13. — Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see
Mordecai the Jew sitting at the King's gate.
These are the words of one, who, though high in station and in
power, confessed himself to be miserable. They relate to a me-

60 ON THE DISORDERS [Sera. VIL
morable occurrence in the Persian history, under the reign of Aha
suerus, who is supposed to be the Prince known among the Greek
historians by the name of Artaxerxes. Ahasuerus had advanced
to the chief dignity in his kingdom, Haman, an Amalekite, who
inherited all the ancient enmity of his race to the Jewish nation.
He appears, from what is recorded of him, to have been a very
wicked minister. Raised to greatness without merit, he employed
nis power solely for the gratification of his passions. As the ho
nours which he possessed were next to royal, his pride was every
day fed with that servile homage which is peculiar to Asiatic courts ;
and all the servants of the King prostrated themselves before him.
In the midst of this general adulation, one person only stooped
not to Haman. This was Mordecai the Jew ; who, knowing this
Amalekite to be an enemy of the people of God, and, with vir
tuous indignation, despising that insolence of prosperity with which
he saw him lifted up, bowed not, nor did him reverence. On this ap
pearance of disrespect from Mordecai, Haman was full of wrath :
but he thought scorn to lay hands on Mordecai alone. Personal re
venge was not sufficient to satisfy him. So violent and black
were his passion, that he resolved to exterminate the whole nation
to which Mordecai belonged. Abusing, for this cruel purpose!
the favour of his credulous Sovereign, he obtained a decree to be
sent forth, that, against a certain day, all the Jews throughout
the Persian dominions should be put to the sword. Meanwhile,
confident of success, and blind to approaching ruin, he continued
exu ting in his prosperity. Invited by Ahasuerus to a royal ban
quet, which Esther the Queen had prepared, he went forth that
d"AJ j°yful, and with a glad heart. But behold how slight an inci
dent was sufficient to poison his joy ! As he went forth, he saw
Mordecai in the King's gate; and observed, that still he refused
to do him homage. He stood not uv, nor was moved for him
although he well knew the formidable designs which Haman was
preparing to execute. One private man, who despised his great
ness, and disdained submission, while a whole kingdom trembled
before him; one spirit, which the utmost stretch of his power
could neither subdue nor humble, blasted his triumphs. His whole
soul was shaken with a storm of passion. Wrath, pride, and de
sire of revenge, rose into fury. With difficulty he restrained him
self n public ; but, as soon as he came to his own house, he was
forced to disclose the agony of his mind. He gathered together
his fr'ends and family, with Zeresh his wife. He told them of the
glory of his riches, and the multitude of his children, and all the things
wherein the King had promoted him, and how he had advanced him
above the princes a::d servants of the King. He said, moreover, Yea
Esther the Queen did let no man come in with the Kins: unto the ban-

Sera. VII.] OF THE PASSIONS. 61
quet that she had prepared, but myself: and to-morrow also am I in
vited unto her with the King. — After this preamble, what is the con
clusion ? Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai:
the Jew sitting at the King's gate.
The sequel of Haman's history I shall not now pursue. It might
afford matter for much instruction, by the conspicuous justice of
God in his fall and punishment. But, contemplating only the
singular situation in which the text presents him, and the violent
agitation of his mind which it displays, the following reflections
naturally arise, which, together with some practical improvements,
shall make the subject of this discourse. I. How miserable is vice,
when one guilty passion creates so much torment ! II. How una
vailing is prosperity, when, in the height of it, a single disappoint
ment can destroy the relish of all its pleasures ! III. How weak is
human nature, which, in the absence of real, is thus prone to form
to itself imaginary woes.
I. How miserable is vice, when one guilty passion is capable of
creating so much torment ! When we discourse to you of the in
ternal misery of sinners ; when we represent the pangs which they
suffer from violent passions, and a corrupted heart ; we are some
times suspected of chosing a theme for declamation, and of height
ening the picture which we draw, by colours borrowed from fancy.
They whose minds are, by nature, happily tranquil, or whose si
tuation in life removes them from the disturbance and tumult of
passion, can hardly conceive, that as long as the body is at ease,
and the external condition prosperous, any thing which- passes
within the mind should cause such exquisite woe. But, for the
truth of our assertions, we appeal to the history of mankind. We
might reason from the constitution of the rational frame ; where
the understanding is appointed to be supreme, and the passions tin
be subordinate ; and where, if this due arrangement of its parts be
overthrown, misery as necessarily ensues, as pain is consequent
in the animal frame upon the distortion of its members. But, laying
speculations of this kind aside, it is sufficient to lead you to the
view of facts, the import of which can neither be controverted
nor mistaken. This is, indeed, the great advantage of history,
that it is a mirror which holds up mankind to their own view.
For, in all ages, human nature has been the same. In the circle
of worldly affairs, the same characters and situations are perpe-
petually returning ; and in the follies and passions, the vices and
crimes, of the generations that are past, we read those of the pre
sent. Attend then to the. instance now before us ; and conceive, if
you can, a person more thoroughly wretched, than one reduced
to make this humiliating confession, that though surrounded with

62 ON THE DISORDERS [Sera. VII
power, opulence, and pleasure, he was lost to all happiness
through the fierceness of his resentment ; and was at that moment
stung by disappointment, and torn by rage beyond what he could
bear. All this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew
sitting at the King's gate. Had this been a soliloquy of Hainan's
within himself, it would have been a sufficient discovery of his
misery ; but when we consider it as a confession which he makes
to others, it is a proof that his misery was become insupportable.
For such agitations of the mind every man strives to conceal, be
cause he knows they dishonour him. Other griefs and sorrows
he can, with freedom, pour out to a confidant. What he suffers
from the injustice or malice of the world, he is not ashamed to ac
knowledge. But when his suffering arises from the bad disposi
tions of his own heart ; when, in the height of prosperity, he is
rendered miserable solely by disappointed pride, eveiy ordinary
motive for communication ceases. Nothing but the violence of
anguish can drive him to confess a passion which renders him
odious, and a weakness which renders him despicable. To what
extremity, in particular, must he be reduced, before he can dis
close to his own family the infamous secret of InY misery ? In the
eye of his family every man wishes to appear respectable, and to
cover from their knowledge whatever may vilify or degrade him.
Attacked or reproached abroad, he consoles himself with his im
portance at home ; and in domestic attachment and respect, seeks
for some compensation for the injustice of the world. Judge then
of the degree of torment which Haman endured, by its breaking
through all these restraints, and forcing him to publish his shame
before those from whom all men seek most to hide it. How severe
must have been the conflict which he underwent within himself,
before he called together his wife and all his friends for this pur
pose ! How dreadful the agony he suffered at the moment of his
confession, when, to the astonished company, he laid open the
cause of his distress !
Assemble all the evils which poverty, distress, or violence, can
inflict, and their stings will be found by far less pungent, than
those which such guilty passions dart into the heart. Amidst the
ordinary calamities of the world, the mind can exert its powers,
and suggest relief: and the mind is properly the man; the suf
ferer, and his sufferings, can be distinguished. But those dis
orders of passion, by seizing directly on the mind, attack human
nature in its stong-hold, and cut off its last resource. They pe
netrate to the very seat cf sensation ; and convert all the powers
of thought into instruments of torture.
Let us remark, in the event that is now before us, the awful
hand of God ; and admire his justice, in thus making the sinner's

Sera. VII.] OF THE PASSIONS. 63
own wickedness to reprove him, and his backslidings to correct him.
Sceptics reason in vain against the reality of divine government.
It is not a subject of dispute. It is a fact which carries the evi
dence of sense, and displays itself before our eyes. We see the
Almighty manifestly pursuing the sinner with evil. We see him con
necting with every single deviation from duty, those wounds of the
spirit which occasion the most exquisite torments. He hath not
merely promulgated his laws now, and delayed the distribution of
rewards and punishments until a future period of being : but the
sanctions of his laws already take place ; their effects appear ;
and with such infinite wisdom are they contrived, as to require no
other executioners of justice against the sinner, than his own
guilty passions. God needs not come forth from his secret placej
in order to bring him to punishment. He needs not call thunder
down from the heavens, nor raise any ministers of wrath from the
abyss below. He needs only say, Ephraim is joined to his idols ;
let him alone : and, at that instant, the sinner becomes his own tor
mentor. The infernal fire begins, of itself, to kindle within him.
The worm that never dies, seizes on his heart.
Let us remark also, from this example, how imperfectly we can
judge from external appearances, concerning real happiness or
misery. All Persia, it is probable, envied Haman as the happiest
person in the empire ; while yet, at the moment of which we now
treat, there was not within its bounds one more thoroughly wretch
ed. We are seduced and deceived by that false glare which pros
perity sometimes throws around bad men. We are^tempted to
imitate their crimes, in order to partake of their imagined felicity.
But remember Haman, and beware of the snare. Think not, when
you behold a pageant of grandeur displayed to public view, that
you discern the ensign of certain happiness. In order to form any
just conclusion, you must follow the great man into the retired
apartment, where he lays aside his disguise ; you must not only
be able to penetrate into the interior of families, but you must
have a faculty by which you can look into the inside of hearts.
Were you endowed with such a power, you would most commonly
behold good men, in proportion to their goodness, satisfied and
easy ; you would behold atrocious sinners always restless and un
happy. Unjust are our complaints, of the promiscuous distribution made
by Providence, of its favours among men. From superficial views
such complaints arise. The distribution of the goods of fortune,
indeed, may often be promiscuous ; that is, disproportioned to the
moral characters of men ; but the allotment of real happiness is
never so. For to the wicked there is no peace. They are like the
troubled sea when it cannot rest. They travel with pain all their days.

64 ON THE DISORDERS ^Serm. VII.
'Trouble and anguish prevail against them. Terrors make them afraia
on every side. A dreadful sound is in their ears ; and they are in great
fear where no fear is. — Hitherto we have considered Haman under
the character of a veiy wicked man, tormented by criminal pas
sions. Let us now consider him merely as a child of fortune, a
prosperous man of the world ; and proceed to observe,
II. — How unavailing worldly prosperity is, since, in the midst
of it, a single disappointment is sufficient to embitter all its plea
sures. We might at first imagine, that the natural effect of pros
perity would be to diffuse over the mind a prevailing satisfaction,
which the lesser evils of life could not ruffle or disturb. We might
expect, that as one, in the full glow of health, despises the incle
mency of weather ; so one in possession of all the advantages of
high power and station, should disregard slight injuries ; and, at
perfect ease with himself, should view, in the most favourable
light, the behaviour of others around him. Such effects would
indeed follow, if worldly prosperity contained in itself the true
principles of human felicity. But, as it possesses them not, the
very reverse of those consequences generally obtains. Prosperity
debilitates, instead of strengthening the mind. Its most common
effect is, to create an extreme sensibility to the slightest wound.
It foments impatient desires ; and raises expectations which no
success can satisfy. It fosters a false delicacy, which sickens in
the midst of indulgence. By repeated gratification, it blunts the
feelings of men to what is pleasing ; and leaves them unhappily
acute to whatever is uneasy. Hence, the gale which another
would scarcely feel, is to the prosperous a rude tempest. Hence,
the rose-leaf doubled below them on the couch, as it is told of the
effeminate Sybarite, breaks their rest. Hence, the disrespect
shown by Mordecai preyed with such violence on the heart of
Haman. Upon no principle of reason can we assign a sufficient
cause for all the distress which this incident occasioned to him.
The cause lay not in the external incident. It lay within himself;
it arose from a mind distempered by prosperity.
Let this example correct that blind eagerness, with which we
rush to the chace of worldly greatness and honours. I say not,
that it should altogether divert us from pursuing them ; since,
when enjoyed with temperance and wisdom, they may doubtless
both enlarge our utility, and contribute to our comfort. But let
it teach us not to over-rate them. Let it convince us, that unless
we add to them the necessary correctives of piety and virtue,
they are by themselves more likely to render us wretched, than to
make us happy.
Let the memorable fate of Haman suggest to us also, how often,
besides corrupting the mind an \ engendering internal misery, they

Sera. VII.] ON THE PASSIONS. 65
lead us among precipices, and betray us into ruin. At the mo
ment when fortune seemed to smile upon him with the most serene
and settled aspect, she was digging in secret the pit for his fall.
Prosperity was weaving around his head the web of destruction.
Success inflamed his pride ; pride increased his thirst of revenge ;
the revenge which, for the sake of one man, he sought to execute
on a whole nation, incensed the Queen ; and he is doomed to
suffer the same death which he had prepared for Mordecai. — Had
Haman remained in a private station, he might have arrived at a
peaceable old age. He might have been, I shall not say, a good or
a happy man, yet probably far less guilty and less wretched than
when placed at the head of the greatest empire in the East. Who
knoweth what is good for man in this life ; all the days of his vain
life, which he spendeth as a shadow ?
An extensive contemplation of human affairs will lead us to this
conclusion, that among the different conditions and ranks of men,
the balance of happiness is preserved in a great measure equal ;
and that the high and the low, the rich and the poor, approach, in
point of real enjoyment, much nearer to each other, than is com
monly imagined. In'thelotof man, mutual compensations, both
of pleasure and of pain, universally take place. Providence never
intended, that any state here should be either completely happy or
entirely miserable. If the feelings of pleasure are more numerous,
and more lively, in the higher departments of life, such also are
those of pain. If greatness flatters our vanity, it multiplies our
dangers. If opulence increases our gratifications, it increases,
in the same proportion, our desires and demands. If the poor are
confined to a more narrow circle, yet within that circle lie most
of those natural satisfactions, which, after all the refinements of
art, are found to be the most genuine and true. In a state there
fore, where there is neither so much to be coveted on the one
hand, nor to be dreaded on the other, as at first appears, how sub
missive ought we to be to the disposal of Providence ! How tem
perate in our desires and pursuits ! how much more attentive to
preserve our virtue, and to improve our minds, than to gain the
doubtful and equivocal advantages of worldly prosperity !  But
now, laying aside the consideration of Haman's great crimes ;
laying aside his high prosperity ; viewing him simply as a man ;
let us observe, from his history,
III. — How weak human nature is, which in the absence of real,
is thus prone to create to itself imaginary, woes. All this availeth
me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the King's
gate,  What was it, O Haman ! to thee, though Mordecai had
continued to sit there and neglected to do thee homage ? would
the banquet have been on that account the less magnificent, thy
v

66 ON THE DISORDERS [Sera. VII.
palace less splendid, or thy retinue less numerous ? Could the dis
respect of an obscure stranger dishonour the favour of a mighty
King ? In the midst of a thousand submissive courtiers, was one
sullen countenance an object worthy of drawing thy notice, or of
troubling thy repose ? — Alas ! in Haman we behold too just a pic
ture of what often passes within ourselves. We never know what
it is to be long at ease. Let the world cease from changing around
us : let external things keep that situation in which we most wish
them to remain ; yet somewhat from within shall soon arise, to dis
turb our happiness. A Mordecai appears, or seems to appear,
silting at the gate. Some vexation, which our fancy has either en
tirely created, or at least has unreasonably aggravated, corrodes us
in secret ; and until that be removed, all that we enjoy availeth us
nothing. Thus, while we are incessantly complaining of the vanity
and the evils of human life, we make that vanity, and we increase
those evils. Unskilled in the art of extracting happiness from the
objects around us, our ingenuity solely appears in converting them
into misery.
Let it not be thought, that troubles of this kind are incident
only to the great and the mighty. Though they perhaps, from the
intemperance of their passions, are peculiarly exposed to them ;
yet the disease itself belongs to human nature, and spreads through
all ranks. In the humble and seemingly quiet shade of private life
discontent broods over its imaginary sorrows ; preys upon the citi
zen, no less than upon the courtier ; and often nourishes passions
equally malignant in the cottage and in the palace. Having once
seized the mind, it spreads its own gloom over every surrounding
object ; it every where searches out materials for itself; and in no
direction more frequently employs its unhappy activity, than in
creating divisions amongst mankind, and in magnifying slight
provocations into mortal injuries. Those self-created miseries, ima
ginary in the cause, but real in the suffering, will be found to form
a proportion of human evils, not inferior, either in severity or in
number, to all that we endure from the unavoidable calamities of
life. In situations where much comfort might be enjoyed, this
man's superiority, and that man's neglect, our jealousy of a friend,
our hatred of a rival, an imagined affront, or a mistaken point of ho
nour, allow us no repose. Hence, discords in families, animosities
among friends, and wars among nations. Hence, Haman miserable
in the midst of all that greatness could bestow. Hence, multitudes
in the most obscure stations, for whom Providence seemed to have
prepared a quiet life, no less eager in their petty broils, nor less
tormented by their passions, than if princely honours were the
prize for which they contended.
From this train of observation, which the Text has suggested.

Serm. VII.] OF THE PASSIONS. 67
can we avoid reflecting upon the disorder in which human nature
plainly appears at present to lie ? We have beheld, in Haman, the
picture of that misery which arises from evil passions ; of that un-
happiness, which is incident to the highest prosperity; of that
discontent, which is common to every state. Whether we con
sider him as a bad man, a prosperous man, or simply as a man, in
every light we behold reason too weak for passion. This is the
source of the reigning evil : this is the root of the universal disease.
The story of Haman. only shows us, what human nature has too
generally appeared to be in every age. Hence, when we read the
history of nations, what do we read but the history of the follies
and crimes of men ? We may dignify those recorded transactions,
by calling them the intrigues of statesmen, and the exploits of
conquerors ; but they are, in truth, no other than the efforts of
discontent to escape from its misery, and the struggles of eon-
tending passions among unhappy men. The history of mankind
has ever been a continued tragedy ; the world, a great theatre ex
hibiting the same repeated scene of the follies of men shooting
forth into guilt, and of their passions fermenting, by a quick pro
cess, into misery.
But can we believe, that the nature of man came forth in this
state from the hands of its gracious Creator? did he frame this
world, and store it with inhabitants, solely that it might be reple
nished with crimes and misfortunes ? — In the moral, as well as
in the natural world, .ve may plainly discern- the signs of some
violent convulsion, which has shattered the original workmanship
of the Almighty. Amidst this wreck of human nature, traces still
remain which indicate its Author. Those high powers of consci
ence arid reason, that capacity for happiness, that ardour of enter
prise, that glow of affection, which often break through the gloom
of human vanity and guilt, are like the scattered columns, the
broken arches, and defaced sculptures, of some fallen temple,
whose ancient splendour appears amidst its ruins. So conspicuous
in human nature are those characters, both of a high origin, and
of a degraded state, that, by many religious sects throughout the
earth, they have been seen and confessed. A tradition seems to
have pervaded almost all nations, that the human race had either
through some offence forfeited, or through some misfortune lost
that station of primaeval honour which they once possessed. But
while from this doctrine, ill understood and involved in many fa
bulous tales, the nations wandering in Pagan darkness could draw
no consequences that were just ; while, totally ignorant of the na
ture of the disease, they sought in vain for the remedy ; the same
divine revelation, which has informed us in what manner our apos-
tacy arose from the abuse of our rational powers, has instructed
us also how we may be restored to virtue and to happiness.

68 ON THE DISORDERS [Sera. VII.
Let us, therefore, study to improve the assistance which this
revelation affords for the restoration of our nature, and the reco
very of our felicity. With humble and grateful minds, let us ap
ply to those medicinal springs which it hath opened, for curing the
disorders of our heart and passions. In this view, let us, with re
verence, look up to that Divine Personage, who descended into
this world, on purpose to be the life and the light of men; who came,
in the fulness of grace and truth, to repair the desolation of many
generations, to restore order among the works of God, and to raise
up a new earth and new heavens, wherein righteousness should dwell
for ever. Under his tuition let us put ourselves ; and amidst the
storms of passion to which we are here exposed, and the slippery
paths which we are left to tread, never trust presumptuously to our
own understanding. Thankful that a Heavenly Conductor vouch
safes his aid, let us earnestly pray, that from him may descend
divine light to guide our steps, and divine strength to fortify our
minds. Let us pray, that his grace may keep us from all intem
perate passions, and mistaken pursuits of pleasure ; that, whether
it shall be his will to give or to deny us earthly prosperity, he
may bless us with a calm, a sound, and well-regulated mind ; may
give us moderation in success, and fortitude under disappoint
ment ; and may enable us so to take warning from the crimes and
miseries of others, as to escape the snares of guilt.
While we thus maintain a due dependence on God, let us also
exert ourselves with care in acting our own part. From the whole
of what has been said, this important instruction arises, that the
happiness of every man dependa more upon the state of his own
mind, than upon any one external circumstance ; nay, more than
upon all external things put together. We have seen that inor
dinate passions are the great disturbers of life ; and that, unless we
possess a good conscience, and a well-governed mind, discontent
will blast every enjoyment, and the highest prosperity will prove
only disguised miseiy. Fix then this conclusion in your minds,
that the destruction of your virtue is the destruction of your peace.
Keep thy heart with all diligence ; govern it with the greatest care ;
for out of it are the issues of life. In no station, in no period, think
yourselves secure from the dangers which spring from your pas
sions. Every age and every station they beset ; from youth to
grey heirs, and from the peasant to the prince.
At your first setting out in life, especially when unacquaint
ed with the world and its snares, when every pleasure enchants
with its smile, and every object shines with the gloss of novelty ;
beware of the seducing appearances which surround you, and re
collect what others have suffered from the power of headstrong de
sire. If you allow any passion, even though it be esteemed inno-

Sera. VII.] OF THE PASSIONS. 69
cent, to acquire an absolute ascendant, your inward peace will be
impaired. But if any, which has the taint of guilt, take early pos
session of your mind, you may date from that moment the ruin of
your tranquillity. Nor with the season of youth does the peril end.
To the impetuosity of youthful desire, succeed the more sobfr,
but no less dangerous, attachments of advancing years ; when the
passions which are connected with interest and ambition begin their
reign, and too frequently extend their malignant influence, even
over those periods of life which ought to be most tranquil. From
the first to the last of man's abode on earth, the discipline must
never be relaxed, of guarding the heart from the dominion of pas
sion. Eager passions, and violent desires, were not made for man.
They exceed his sphere. They find no adequate objects on earth ;
and of course can be productive of nothing but misery. The
certain consequence of indulging them is, that there shall come
an evil day, when the anguish of disappointment shall drive us to
acknowledge that all which we enjoy availeth us nothing.
You are not to imagine, that the warnings which I have given
in this discourse, are applicable only to the case of such signal of
fenders as he was, of whom the Text treats. Think not, as I am
afraid too many do, that because your passions have not hurried
you into atrocious deeds, they have therefore wrought no mischief;
and have left no sting behind them. By a continued series of
loose, though apparently trivial gratifications, the heart is often
as thoroughly corrupted, as by the commission of any one of those
enormous crimes which spring from great ambition, or great re
venge. Habit gives the passions strength, while the absence of
glaring guilt seemingly justifies them ; and, unawakened by re
morse, the sinner proceeds in his course, till he wax bold in guiif,
and become ripe for ruin. For, by gradual and latent steps, the
destruction of our virtue advances. Did the evil unveil itself at
the beginning ; did the storm which is to overthrow our peace, dis
cover, as it rose, all its horrors, precautions would more frequently
be taken against it. But we are imperceptibly betrayed ; and from
one licentious attachment, one criminal passion, are, by a train
of consequences, drawn on to another, till the government of our
minds is irrecoverably lost. The enticing and the odious passions
are, in this respect, similar in their process ; and, though by dif
ferent roads, conduct at last to the same issue. David, when he
first beheld Bathsheba, did not plan the death of Uriah. Haman
was not delivered up all at once to the madness of revenge. His
passions rose with the rising tide of prosperity ; and pride com
pleted what prosperity began. What was originally no more than
displeasure at Mordecai's disrespect, increased with every invita
tion he received to the banquet of the Queen ; till it impelled him

70 ON OUR IGNORANCE OF [Sera. VIII.
to devise the slaughter of a whole nation, and ended in a degree
of rage which confounded his reason, and hurried him to ruin. In
this manner, every criminal passion, in its progress, swells and
blackens ; and what was at first a small cloud, such as the prophet's
servant saw, no bigger than a man's hand rising from the sea,
[1 Kings xviii. 44.] is soon found to carry the tempest in its womb.

SERMON VIII.
ON OUR IGNORANCE OF GOOD AND EVIL IN THIS LIFE.
Eccles. vi. 12. — Who knoweth what is good for man in this life, all
the days of his vain life, which he spendeth as a shadow ?
The measure according to which knowledge is dispensed to man,
affords conspicuous proofs of divine wisdom. In many instances,
we clearly perceive, that either more or less would have proved
detrimental to his state ; that entire ignorance would have deprived
him of proper motives to action ; and that complete discovery would
have raised him to a sphere too high for his present powers. He
•is, therefore, permitted to know only in part ; and to see through a
glasS, darkly. He is left in that state of conjecture, and partial
information, which, though it may occasionally subject him to
distress, yet, on the whole, conduces most to his improvement ;
which affords him knowledge sufficient for the purposes of virtue,
and of active life, without disturbing the operations of his mind
by a light too bright and dazzling. This evidently holds with re
spect to that degree of obscurity which now covers the great laws
of Nature, the decrees of the Supreme Being, the state of the
invisible world, the future events of our own life, and the thoughts
and designs which pass within the breast of others. — [Vide Ser
mon IV.]
But there is an ignorance of another kind, with respect to
which the application of this remark may appear more dubious ;
the ignorance under which men labour concerning their happiness
in the present life, and the means of obtaining it. If there be
foundation for Solomon's complaint in the Text, who knoweth what
is good for man in this life ? this consequence may be thought in
evitably to follow, that the days of his life must be vain in every
sense ; not only because they are fleeting, but because they are
empty too, like the shadow. For to what purpose are all his la
bours in the pursuit of an object, which it is not in his power to
discover or ascertain? Let us then seriously inquire, what ac
count can be given of our present ignorance, respecting what is

Serm. VTIT .] GOOD AND EVIL IN THIS LIFE. 71
good for us in this life ; whether nothing be left, but only to wander
in uncertainty amidst this darkness, and to lament it as the sad
consequence of our fallen state ; or whether such instructions may
not be derived from it, as give ground for acknowledging, that by
this, as by all its other appointments, the wisdom of Providence
brings real good out of seeming evil. I shall, in order to deter
mine this point, first endeavour to illustrate the doctrine of the
Text, that we know not, or at most know imperfectly, what is good
for us in this life : I shall next explain the causes to which this
defect in our knowledge is owing : and then shall show the pur
poses which it was intended to serve, and the effects which it
ought to produce on our conduct.
The whole history of mankind seems a comment on the doctrine
of the text. When we review the course of human affairs, one of
the first objects which every where attracts our notice is, the mis
taken judgement of men concerning their own interest. The sore
evil which Solomon long ago remarked with respect to riches, of
their being kept by the owners thereof to their hurt, takes place
equally with respect to dominion and power, and all the splendid
objects and high stations of life. We every day behold men climb
ing, by painful steps, to that dangerous height, which, in the end,
renders their fall more severe, and their ruin more conspicuous.
But it is not to high stations that the doctrine of the Text is limit
ed. In the crimes by which too often these are gained, and in the
misfortunes which they afterwards bring forth, the greater part of
every audience may think themselves little concerned. Leaving
such themes, therefore, to the poet and the historian, let us come
nearer to ourselves, and survey the ordinary walk of life.
Around us, we every where behold a busy multitude. Restless
and uneasy in their present situation, they are incessantly employ
ed in accomplishing a change of it ; and, as soon as their wish is
fulfilled, we discern, by their behaviour, that they are as dissatisfied
as they were before. Where they expected to have found a para
dise, they find a desert. The man of business pines for leisure.
The leisure for which he had longed, proves an irksome gloom ;
and, through want of employment, he languishes, sickens, and dies.
The man of retirement fancies no state to be so happy as that of
active life. But he has not engaged long in the tumults and con
tests of the world, until he finds cause to look back with regret on
the calm hours of his former privacy and retreat. Beauty, wit,
eloquence,, and fame, are eagerly desired by persons in every rank
of life. They are the parent's fondest wish for his child ; the am
bition of the young, and the admiration of the old. And yet, in
what numberless instances have they proved, to those who pos
sessed them, no other than shining snares ; seductions to vice, in-

72 ON OUR IGNORANCE OF [Serm. VIII.
stigations to folly, and, in the end, sources of misery ! Comfort
ably might their days have passed, had they been less conspicu
ous. But the distinctions which brought them forth to notice,
conferred splendour, and withdrew happiness. Long life is, of all
others, the most general, and seemingly the most innocent, object
of desire. With respect to this, too, we so frequently err, that it
would have been a blessing to many, to have had their wish denied.
There was a period when they might have quitted the stage with
honour, and in peace. But, by living too long, they outlived their
reputation ; outlived their family, their friends, and comforts ; and
reaped nothing from the continuance of days, except to feel the
pressure of age, to taste the dregs of life, and to behold a wider
compass of human misery.
Man walketh in a vain shadow. His fears are often as vain as his
wishes. As what flattered him in expectation, frequently wounds
him in ' possession ; so, the event to which he looked forward with
an anxious and fearful eye, has often, when it arrived, laid its ter
rors aside; nay, has brought in its train unexpected blessings.
Both good and evil are beheld at a distance through a perspective
which deceives. The colours of objects, when nigh, are entirely
different from what they appeared when they were viewed in
futurity. The fact then being undoubtedly certain, that it is common for
men to be deceived in their prospects of happiness, let us next
inquire into the causes of that deception. Let us attend to those
peculiar circumstances in our state, which render us such incom
petent judges of future good or evil in this life.
First, we are not sufficiently acquainted with ourselves to fore
see our future feelings. We judge by the sensations of the present
moment ; -and, in the fervour of desire, pronounce confidently con
cerning the desired object. But we reflect not that our minds,
like our bodies, undergo great alteration, from the situations into
which they are thrown, and the progressive stages of life through
which they pass. Hence, concerning any condition which is yet
untried, we conjecture with much uncertainty. In imagination,
we carry our present wants, inclinations, and sentiments, into the
state of life to which we aspire. But no sooner have we entered
on it, than our sentiments and inclinations change. New wants
and desires arise ; new objects are required to gratify them ; and
by consequence our old dissatisfaction returns, and the void which
was to have been filled, remains as great as it was before.
But next, supposing our knowledge of ourselves sufficient to
direct us in the choice of happiness, yet still we are liable to err,
from our ignorance of the connexions which subsist between our
own condition and that of others. No individual can be happy

Sera. VIII.] GOOD AND EVIL IN THIS LIFE. 73
unless the circumstances of those around him be so adjusted as to
conspire with his interest. For, in human society, no happiness
or misery stands unconnected and independent. Our fortunes are
interwoven by threads innumerable. We touch one another on all
sides. One man's misfortune or success, his wisdom or his folly,
often, by its consequences, reaches through multitudes. Such a
system is far too complicated for our arrangement. It requires
adjustments beyond our skill and power. It is a chaos of events
into which our eye cannot pierce ; and is capable of regulation,
only by Him who perceives at one glance the relation of each to all.
. Farther, as we are ignorant of the events which will arise from
the combination of our circumstances with those of others, . so we
are equally ignorant of the influence which the present transactions
of our life may have upon those which are future. The important
question is not, What is good for a man one day ? but, What is
good for him all the days of his life ? — Not, what will yield him a
few scattered pleasures ? but, What will render his life happy on
the whole amount ? And is he able to answer that question, who
knoweth not what one day may bring forth ; who cannot tell,
whether the events of it may not branch out into consequences
which will assume a direction quite opposite to that in which they
set forth, and spread themselves over all his life to come ? There
is not any present moment that is unconnected with some future
one. The life of every man is a continued chain of incidents, each
link of which hangs upon the former. The transition from cause
to effect, from event to event, is often carried on by secret steps,
which our foresight cannot divine, and our sagacity is unable to
trace. Evil may, at some future period, bring forth good ; and
good may bring forth evil, both equally unexpected. Had the
Patriarch, Joseph, continued to loiter under his father's fond in
dulgence, he might have lived an obscure and insignificant life.
From the pit and the prison, arose the incidents which made him
the ruler of Egypt, and the saviour of his father's house.
Lastly, Supposing every other incapacity to be removed, our
ignorance of the dangers to which our spiritual state is exposed,
would disqualify us for judging soundly concerning our true hap
piness. Higher interests than those of the present world are now
depending. • All that is done or suffered by us here, ultimately
refers to that immortal world, for which good men are trained up,
under the care of an Almighty Parent. We are as incompetent
judges of the measures necessary to be pursued for this end, as
children are of the proper conduct to be held in their education.
We foresee the dangers of our spiritual, still less than we do those
oi our natural state ; because we are les.j attentive to trace them.
We are still more exposed to vice than to misery : because the

71 ON OUR IGNORANCE OF [Sera. VIII.
confidence which we place in our virtue is yet worse founded
than that which we place in our wisdom. Can you esteem him
prosperous who is raised to a situation which flatters his passions,
but which corrupts his principles, disorders his temper, and,
finally, oversets his virtue? In the ardour of pursuit, how little
are these effects foreseen ! And yet, how often are they accom
plished by a change of condition ! Latent corruptions are called
forth ; seeds of guilt are quickened into life : a growth of crimes
arises, which, had it not been for the fatal culture of prosperity,
would never- have seen the light. How often is man, boastful as
he is of reason, merely the creature of his fortune ; formed and
moulded by the incidents of his life! — Hazael, when yet a private
man, detested the thoughts of cruelty. Thou shalt slay the young
men with the sword, saith the Prophet : Thou shalt dash the children,
and rip up the women with child. Is thy servant a dog, replied Ha
zael, that he should do these things? — [2 Kings viii. 12, 13.] But
no sooner was he clothed with the coveted purple, than it seemed
to taint his nature. He committed the crimes of which, at a dis
tance, he believed himself incapable ; and became the bloody tyrant
whose character his soul once abhorred.
Such then, at present, is man ; thus incapable of pronouncing
with certainty concerning his own good or evil. Of futurity, he
discerns little; and even that little he sees through a cloud. Ig
norant of the alteration which his sentiments and desires will un
dergo, from new situations in life ; ignorant of the consequences
which will follow from the combination of his circumstances with
those of others around him ; ignorant of the influence which the
present may have on the future events of his life ; ignorant of the
effect which a change of condition may produce on his moral
character, and his eternal interests ; how can he know what is good
for him all the days of his vain life, which he spendeth as a shadow ?
Instead of only lamenting this ignorance, let us, in the last place,
consider how it ought to be improved : what duties it suggests ;
and what wise ends it was intended by Providence to promote.
I. — Let this doctrine teach us to proceed with caution and cir
cumspection, through a world where evil so frequently lurks under
the form of good. To be humble and modest in opinion, to be
vigilant and attentive in conduct, to distrust fair appearances and
to restrain rash desires, are instructions which the darkness of our
present state should strongly inculcate. God hath appointed our
situation to be so ambiguous, in order both to call forth the exer
tion of those intelligent powers which he hath given us, and to
enforce our dependance on his gracious aid. It is not in man that
walketh, to direct his steps. Surrounded with so many bewildering
paths, among which the wisest are ready to stray, how earnestly

Serm. VIII.] GOOD AND EVIL IN THIS LIFE. 75
should we implore, and how • thankfully should we receive, that
divine illumination which is promised in Scripture to the pious
and the humble ! The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him.
He will guide them with his counsel. He will teach them the way
that they should choose. But what must be the fate of him, who,
amidst all the dangers attending human conduct, neither looks up
to Heaven for direction, nor properly exerts that reason which
God hath given him ? If, to the most diligent inquirer, it proves
so difficult a task to distinguish true good from those fallacious
appearances with whichit is ever blended, how should he disco
ver it who brings neither patience nor attention to the search ; who
applies to no other counsellor than present pleasure, and, with a
rash and credulous mind, delivers himself up to every suggestion
of desire ?
This admonition I particularly direct to those, who are in a
period of life too often characterized by forward presumption and
headlong pursuit. The self-conceit of the young is the great
source of those dangers to which they are exposed, and it is pe
culiarly unfortunate, that the age which stands most in need of
the counsel of the wise, should be the most prone to contemn it.
Confident in the opinions which they adopt, and in the measures
which they pursue, they seem as if they understood Solomon to
say, not, Who knoweth, but, who is ignorant of what is good for
man all the days of his life ? The bliss to be aimed at, is, in their
opinion, fully apparent. It is not the danger of mistake, but the
failure of success, which they dread. Activity to seize, not saga
city to discern, is the only requisite which they value.  How
long shall it be, ere the fate of your predecessors in the same
course teach you wisdom ? How long shall the experience of all
-ages continue to lift its voice to you in vain ? Beholding the
ocean on which you are embarked covered with wrecks, are not
those fatal signals sufficient to admonish you of the hidden rock ?
If, in Paradise itself, there was a tree which bare fruit fair to the
eye but mortal in its effects, how much more, in this fallen state,
may such deceiving appearances be expected to abound ! The
whole state of Nature is now become a scene of delusion to the
sensual mind. Hardly any thing is what it appears to be. And
what flatters most, is always farthest from reality. There are voices
which sing around you ; but whose strains allure to ruin. There
is a banquet spread, where poison is in every dish. There is a
couch which invites you to repose ; but to slumber upon it is death.
In such a situation, be not high-minded, but fear. Let sobriety
temper your unwary ardour. Let modesty check your rash pre
sumption. Let wisdom be the offspring of reflection now, rather
than the fruit of bitter experience hereafter.

76 ON OUR IGNORANCE OF [Sera. VIII.
II. — Let our ignorance of what is good or evil, correct anxiety
about worldly success. As rashness is the vice of youth, the op
posite extreme of immoderate care, is the vice of advancing years.
The doctrine which I have illustrated, is equally adapted for
checking both. Since we are so often betrayed into evil by the
mistaken pursuit of good, care and attention are requisite, both in
forming our choice, and in conducting our pursuit ; but, since our
attention and care are liable to be so often frustrated, they should
never be allowed to deprive us of tranquillity.
The ignorance in which we are left concerning good and evil, is
not such as to supersede prudence in conduct : for wisdom is still
found to excel folly, as far as light excelleth darkness. But it is
that degree of uncertainty, which ought to render us temperate in
pursuit ; which ought to calm the perturbation of hope and fear,
and to cure the pain of anxiety. Anxiety is the poison of human
life. It is the parent of many sins, 'and of more miseries. In a
world where every thing is so doubtful, where you may succeed in
your wish, and be miserable ; where you may be disappointed, and
be blest in the disappointment ; what means this restless stir and
commotion of mind ? Can your solicitude alter the course, or un
ravel the intricacy, of human events ? Can your curiosity pierce
through the cloud which the Supreme Being hath made impene
trable to mortal eye ?— To provide against every important danger
by the employment of the most promising means, is the office of
wisdom. But at this point wisdom stops. It commands you to
retire, after you have done all that was incumbent on you, and to
possess your mind in peace. By going beyond this point; by
giving yourselves up to immoderate concern about unknown events,
you can do nothing to advance your success, and you do much to
ruin your peace. You plant within your breast the thorn which is
long to gall you. To the vanity of life, you add a vexation of
spirit, which is wholly of your own creation, not of Divine appoint-"
ment. For, the dubious goods of this world were never designed
by God to raise such eager attachment. They were given to man ,
for his occasional refreshment, not for his chief felicity. By set
ting an excessive value upon objects which were intended only for
your secondary regard, you change their nature. Seeking more
satisfaction from them than they are able to afford, you receive
less than they might give. From a mistaken care to secure your
happiness, you bring upon yourselves certain misery.
HI-— Let our ignorance of good and evil determine us to follow
Providence, and to resign ourselves to God. One of the most
important lessons which can be given to man, is resignation to
his Maker ; and nothing inculcates it more than the experience of
his own inability to guide himself. You know not what is good

Sera. VIII.] GOOD AND EVIL IN THIS LIFE. 77
for you, in the future periods of life. But God perfectly knows
it ; and, if you faithfully serve him, you have reason to believe
that he will always consult it. Before him lies the whole succes
sion of events which are to fill up your existence. It is in hi ;
power to arrange and model them at his pleasure, and so to adapt
»ne thing to another, as to fulfil his promise of making them all
work together for good to those who love him. Here then, amidst
the agitations of desire, and the perplexities of doubt, is one
fixed point of rest. By this let us abide ; and dismiss our anxiety
about things uncertain and unknown. Acquaint yourselves with
God, and be at peace. Secure the one thing needful. Study to ac
quire an interest in the Divine favour ; and you may safely surren
der yourselves to the Divine administration.
When tempted to repine at your condition, reflect how uncer
tain it is, whether you should have been happier in any other.
Remembering the vanity of many of your former wishes, and the
fallacy which you have so often experienced in your schemes of
happiness, be thankful that you are placed under a wiser direc
tion than your own. Be not too particular in your petitions to
Heaven, concerning your temporal interest. Suffer God to go
vern the world according to his own plan ; and only pray, that he
would bestow what his unerring wisdom deems to be best for you
on the whole. In a word, Commit your way unto the Lord. Trust
in him, and do good. Follow wherever his Providence leads ;
comply with whatever his will requires ; and leave all the rest
to him.
IV.— Let our ignorance of what is good for us in this life, pre
vent our taking any unlawful step, in order to compass our most
favourite designs. Were the sinner bribed with any certain and
unquestionable advantage; could the means which he employs
ensure his success, and could that success ensure his comfort;
he might have some apology to offer for deviating from the path
of virtue. But the doctrine which I have illustrated deprives him
of all excuse, and places his folly in the most striking light. He
climbs the steep rock, and treads on the edge of a precipice, in
order to catch a shadow. He has cause to dread not only the un
certainty of the event which he wishes to accomplish, but the
nature also of that event when accomplished. He is not only
liable to that disappointment of success, which so often frustrates
all the designs of men ; but liable to a disappointment still more
cruel, that of being successful and miserable at once. Riches
and pleasures are the chief temptations to criminal deeds. Yet
those riches, when obtained, may very possibly overwhelm him
with unforeseen miseries. Those pleasures may cut short his
health and life. And is it for such doubtful and. fallacious rewards,

78 ON OUR IGNORANCE OF [Serm. VIII.
, that the deceiver fills his mouth with lies, the friend betrays his
1 benefactor, the apostate renounces his faith, and the assassin co
vers himself with blood ?
Whoever commits a crime, incurs a certain evil for a most un
certain good. What will turn to his advantage in the course of
this life, he cannot with any assurance know. But this he may
know, with full certainty, that by breaking the Divine command
ments, he will draw upon his head that displeasure of the Al
mighty, which shall crush him for ever. The advantages of this
world, even when innocently gained, are uncertain blessings;
when obtained by criminal means, they carry a curse in their bo
som. To the virtuous, they are often no more than chaff. To the
guilty they are always poison.
V. — Let our imperfect knowledge of what is good or evil, at
tach us the more to those few things concerning which there can
be no doubt of their being truly good. Of temporal things which
belong to this class, the catalogue, it must be confessed, is small.
Perhaps the chief worldly good we should wish to enjoy, is a
sound mind in a sound body. Health and peace, a moderate for
tune, and a few friends, sum up all the undoubted articles of tem
poral felicity. Wise was the man who addressed this prayer to
God : Remove far from me vanity and lies. Give me neither poverty
nor riches. Feed me with food convenient for me. Lest I be full
and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord ? Or lest I be poor and steal,
and take the name of my God in vain. [Prov. xxx. 8, 9.] He
whose wishes respecting the possessions of this world, are the
most reasonable and bounded, is likely to lead the safest, and,
for that reason, the most desirable life. By aspiring too high,
we frequently miss the happiness which, by a less ambitious aim,
we might have gained. High happiness on earth is rather a pic
ture which the imagination forms, than a reality which man is al
lowed to possess.
But with regard to spiritual felicity, we are not confined to such
humble views. Clear and determinate objects are proposed to our
pursuit ; and full scope is given to the most ardent desire. The
forgiveness of our sins, and the assistance of God's holy grace
to guide our life ; the improvement of our minds in knowledge
and wisdom, in piety and virtue ; the protection and favour of the
great Father of all, of the blessed Redeemer of mankind, and of
the Spirit of sanctification and comfort ; these are objects, in the
pursuit of which there is no room for hesitation and distrust, nor
any ground for the question in my Text, Who knoioeth what is good
for man ? Had Providence spread an equal obscurity over hap
piness of every kind, we might have had some reason to complain
cf the vanity of our condition. But we are not left to so hard a

Sera. VIII.] GOOD AND EVIL IN THIS LIFE. 79
fate, The Son of God hath descended from Heaven to be the
Light of the World. He hath removed that veil which covered
true bliss from the search of wandering mortals, and hath taught
them the way which leads to life. Worldly enjoyments are shown
to be hollow and deceitful, with an express intention to direct
their affections towards those which are spiritual. The same dis
coveries which diminish the value of the one, serve to increase
that of the other. Finally,
IV. — Let our ignorance of what is good or evil here below,
lead our thoughts and desires to a better world. I have endea
voured to vindicate the wisdom of Providence, by showing the
many useful purposes which this ignorance at present promotes.
It serves to check presumption and rashness, and to enforce a
diligent exertion of our rational powers, joined with a humble
dependence on Divine aid. It moderates eager passions respect
ing worldly success. It inculcates resignation to the disposal of
a Providence which is much wiser than man. It restrains us from
employing unlawful means in order to compass our most favourite
designs. It tends to attach us more closely to those things which
are unquestionably good. It is therefore such a degree of igno
rance as suits the present circumstances of man, better than more
complete information concerning good and evil.
At the same time, the causes which render this obscurity neces
sary, too plainly indicate a broken and a corrupted state of human
nature. They shew this life to be a state of trial. They suggest
the ideas of a land of pilgrimage, not of the house of rest. Low-
minded and base is he, who aspires to no higher portion; who
could be satisfied to spend his whole existence in chasing those
treacherous appearances of good, which so often mock his pur
suit. What shadow can be more vain, than the life of the great
est part of mankind ? Of all that eager and bustling crowd which
we behold on the earth, how few discover the path of true hap
piness ! How few can we find whose activity has not been misem
ployed, and whose course terminates not in confessions of disap
pointments ! Is this the state, are these the habitations, to
which a rational spirit, with all its high hopes and great capaci
ties, is to be limited for ever? — Let us bless that God who hath
set nobler prospects before us ; who, by the death and resurrec
tion of his Son Jesus Christ, hath begotten us to the lively hope of
an inheritance incorruptible, undeflled, and that fadeth not away,
reserved in the heavenc: Let us show ourselves worthy of such a
hope, by setting our affections upon the things above, not upon things
on the earth. Let us walk by faith and not by sight ; and, amidst
the obscurity of this faint and dubious twilight, console ourselves
with the expectation of a brighter day which is soon to open.

80 ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. [Sam. IX.
This earth is the land of shadows. But we hope to pass into the
world of realities; where the proper objects of human desire
shall be displayed; where the substance of that bliss shall be
found, whose image only we now pursue ; where no fallacious
hopes shall any longer allure, no smiling appearances shall betray,
no insidious joys shall sting, but where truth shall be inseparably
united with pleasure, and, the mists which hang over this prelimi
nary state being dissipated, the perfect knowledge of good shall
lead to the full enjoyment of it Ibr ever.

SERMON IX.
ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT.

Psalm iv. 4. — Commune with your own heart, upon your bed,
and be still.
Much communing with themselves there has always been among
mankind, though frequently, God knows, to no purpose, or to a
purpose worse than none. Could we discover the employments
of men in retirement, how often should we find their thoughts
occupied with subjects which they would be ashamed to own !
What a large share have ambition and avarice, at some times the
grossest passions, and at other times the meanest trifles, in their
solitary musings ! They carry the world, with all its vices, into
their retreat ; and may be said to dwell in the midst of the world,
even when they seem to be alone.
This, surely, is not that sort of communing which the Psalmist
recommends. For this is not properly communing with our heart,
but rather holding secret intercourse with the world. What the
Psalmist means to recommend, is religious recollection; that
exercise of thought which is connected with the precept given in
the preceding words, to stand in awe, and sin not. It is to com
mune with ourselves, under the character of spiritual and immor
tal beings ; and to ponder those paths of our feet, which are lead
ing us to eternity. I shrll, in the first place, show the advantages
of such serious retiremenj and meditation ; and shall, in the se
cond place, point out some of the principal subjects which ought
to employ us in our retreat.
The advantages of retiring from the world, to commune with our
heart, will be found to be great, whether we regard our happiness
in this world, or our preparation for the world to come.
Let us consider them, first, with respect to our happiness in
this world. It will readily occur to you, that an entire retreat
from worldly affairs is not what religion requires ; nor does it even
enjoin a great retreat from them. Some stations of life would

Sera. IX.] ON RELIGIOute RETIREMENT. 81
not permit this ; and there are few stations which render it neces
sary. The chief field, both of the duty and of the improvement
of man, lies in active life. By the graces and virtues which he
exercises amidst his fellow-creatures, he is trained up for heaven.
A total retreat from the world is so far from being, as the Roman
Catholic Church holds, the perfection of religion, that, some par
ticular cases excepted, it is no other than the abuse of it.
But, though entire retreat would lay us aside from the part for
which Providence chiefly intended us, it is certain, that, without
occasional retreat, we must act that part very ill. There wifl be
neither consistency in the conduct, nor dignity in the character,
of one who sets apart no share of his time for meditation and re
flection. In the heat and bustle of life, while passion is every
moment throwing false colours on the objects around us, nothing
can be viewed in a just light. If you wish that reason should
exert her native power, you must step aside from the crowd, into
the cool and silent shade. It is there, that, with sober and steady
eye, she examines what is good or ill, what is wise or foolish, in
human conduct ; she looks back on the past, she looks forward to
the future; and forms plans, not for the present moment only,
but for the whole of life. How should that man discharge any
part of his duty aright, who never suffers his passions to cool ?
And how should his passions cool, who is engaged, without inter
ruption, in the tumult of the world ? This incessant stir may be
called the perpetual drunkenness of life. It raises that eager fer
mentation of spirit, which will be ever sending forth the dan
gerous fumes of rashness and folly. Whereas he who mingles re
ligious retreat with worldly affairs, remains calm, and master of
himself. He is not whirled round and rendered giddy by the agi
tations of the world ; but from that sacred retirement, in which
he has been conversant among higher objects, comes forth into
the world with manly tranquillity, fortified by the principles which
he has formed, and prepared for whatever may befall.
As he who is unacquainted with retreat, cannot sustain any
character with propriety, so neither can he enjoy the world with
any advantage. Of the two classes of men who are most apt to
be negligent of this duty, the men of pleasure and the men of
business, it is hard to say which suffer most in point of enjoy
ment from that neglect. To the former every moment appears to
be lost, which partakes not of the vivacity of amusement. To
connect one plan of- gaiety with another, is their whole study :
till, in a very short time, nothing remains but to tread the same
beaten round : to enjoy what they have already enjoyed, and to
see what they have often seen. Pleasures, thus drawn to the
dregs, become vapid and tasteless. What might have pleased

82 ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. [Serm. IX.
long, if enjoyed with temperance and mingled retirement, being
devoured with such eager haste, speedily surfeits and disgusts.
Hence, these are the persons, who, after having run through a
rapid course of pleasure, after having glittered for a few years in
the foremost line of public amusements, are the most apt to fly at
last to a melancholy retreat ; not led by religion or reason, but
driven by disappointed hopes, and exhausted spirits, to the pen
sive conclusion that all is vanity.
If uninterrupted intercourse with the world wear out the man
of pleasure, it no less oppresses the man of business and ambition.
The strongest spirits must at length sink under it. The happiest
temper must be soured by incessant returns of the opposition, the
inconstancy, and treachery, of men. For he who lives always in
the bustle of the world, lives in a perpetual warfare. Here an
enemy encounters, there a rival supplants him. The ingratitude
of a friend stings him this hour ; and the pride of a superior
wounds him the next. In vain he flies for relief to trifling amuse
ments. These may afford a temporary opiate to care; but they
communicate no strength to the mind. On the contrary, they
leave it more soft and defenceless, when molestations and injuries
renew their attack.
Let him who wishes for an effectual cure to all the wounds
which the world can inflict, retire from intercourse with men to
intercourse with God. When he enters into his closet and shuts
the door, let him shut out, at the same time, all intrusion of
worldly care; and dwell among objects divine and immortal. —
Those fair prospects of order and peace shall there open to his
view, which form the most perfect contrast to the confusion and
misery of this earth. The celestial inhabitants quarrel not ;
among them there is neither ingratitude, nor envy, nor tumult.
Men may harass one another ; but in the kingdom of God, con
cord and tranquillity reign for ever. — From such objects there
beams upon the mind of the pious man, a pure and enlivening
light ; there is diffused over his heart a holy calm. His agitated
spirit re-assumes its firmness, and regains its peace. The world
sinks in its importance ; and the load of mortality and misery
loses almost all its weight. The green pastures open, and the
still waters flow around him, beside which the Shepherd of Israel
guides his flock. The disturbances and alarms, so formidable to
those who are engaged in the tumults of the world, seem to him
only like thunder rolling afar off; like the noise of distant waters,
whose sound he hears, whose course he trace's, but whose waves
touch him not. — As religious retirement is thus evidently condu
cive to our happiness in this life, so,
In the second place, it is absolutely necessary, in order to pre-

Sera. 1X.J ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. 83
pare us for the life to come. He who lives always in public, can
not live to his own soul. The world lieth in wickedness ; and with
good reason the Christian is exhorted, not to be conformed to it,
but transformed by the renewing of his mind. Our conversation and
intercourse with the world is, in several respects, an education for
vice. From our earliest youth we are accustomed to hear riches
, and honours extolled as the chief possessions of man ; and pro
posed to us, as the principal aim of our future pursuits We are
trained up, to look with admiration on the flattering marks of dis
tinction which they bestow. In quest of those fancied blessings,
we see the multitude around us eager and fervent. Principles of
duty we may, perhaps, hear sometimes inculcated ; but we sel
dom behold them brought into competition with worldly profit.
The soft names and plausible colours, under which deceit, sensu
ality, and revenge, are presented to us in common discourse,
weaken, by degrees, our natural sense of the distinction between
good and evil. We often meet with crimes authorised by high ex
amples, and rewarded with the caresses and smiles of the world.
We discover, perhaps, at last, that those whom we are taught to
reverence, and to regard as our patterns of conduct, act upon
principles no purer than those of others. Thus breathing habitu
ally a contagious air, how certain is our ruin, unless we some
times retreat from this pestilential region, and seek for proper
correctives of the disorders which are contracted there ? Religious
retirement both abates the disease, and furnishes the remedy. It
lessens the corrupting influence of the world, and it gives oppor
tunity for better principles to exert their power. He wl i is accus
tomed to turn aside, and commune with himself, will, sometimes
at least, hear the truths which the multitude do not tell him.
A more sound instructor will lift his voice, and awaken within the
heart those latent suggestions, which the world had overpowered
and suppressed.
The acts of prayer and devotion, the exercises of faith and re
pentance, all the great and peculiar duties of the religion of Christ,
necessarily suppose retirement from the world. This was one
chief end of their institution, that they might be the means of oc
casionally sequestering us from that great scene of vice and folly,
the continued presence of which is so hurtful. Solitude is' the
hallowed ground which religion hath, in every age, chosen for her
own. There, her inspiration is felt, and her secret mysteries ele
vate the soul. There, falls the tear of contrition ; there, rises to
wards Heaven the sigh of the heart ; there, melts the soul with
all the tenderness of devotion, and pours itself forth before him
who made, and him who redeemed, it. How can any one, who is
-unacquainted with such employments of mind, be fit for Heaven ?

84 ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. [Sera. IX.
If Heaven be the habitation of pure affections, and of intellectual
joy, can such a state be relished by him who is always immersed
among sensible objects, and has never acquired any taste for the
pleasures of the understanding and the heart ?
The great and the worthy, the pious and the virtuous, have ever
been addicted to serious retirement. It is the characteristic of
little and frivolous minds, to be wholly occupied with the vulgar
objects of life. These fill up their desires, and supply all the en
tertainment which their coarse apprehensions can relish. But a
more refined and enlarged mind leaves the world behind it, feels
a call for higher pleasures, and seeks them in retreat. The man
of public spirit has recourse to it, in order to form plans for gene
ral good; the man of genius, in order to dwell on his favourite
themes ; the philosopher, to pursue his discoveries ; the saint, to
improve himself in grace. Isaac went out to meditate in the fields,
at the evening tide. David, amidst all the splendour of royalty,
often bears witness both to the pleasure which he received, and
to the benefit which he reaped, from devout meditation, i" com
muned with my own heart, and my spirit made diligent search. I
thought on my ways, and turned my feet unto God's testimonies. In
the multitude of thoughts within me, his comforts delight my soul.
Our blessed Saviour himself, though, of all who ever lived on
earth, he needed least the assistance of religious retreat, yet, by
his frequent practice, has done it signal honour. Often were the
garden, the mountain, and the silence of the night, sought by him,
for intercourse with heaven. When he had sent the multitude away,
he went up into a mountain, apart, to pray.
The advantages of religious retirement will still more clearly ap
pear, by considering, as was proposed, in the next place, some
of those great objects which should there employ our thoughts.
I shall mention only three, which are of the most plain and ac
knowledged importance ; God, the world, and our own character.
I. — When you retire from the world, commune with your hearts
concerning God. Impressions of Deity, besides their being the
principle of what is strictly termed religion, are the great support
of all moral sentiment, and virtuous conduct, among men. But
with what difficulty are they preserved in any due degree of force,
amidst the affairs and avocations of the world ? While the crowd
of surrounding objects is ever rushing on the imagination, and oc
cupying the senses and the heart, what is not only absent from
view, but, by its nature, invisible, is apt to vanish like a shadow.
Hence it is given as the character of wicked men in Scripture, that
they are without God in the world. They deny not, perhaps, that
he does exist ; but it is the same to them as though he did not :
for having lost him from their view, his existence has no effect on

Sera. IX.] ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. 85
their conduct. If, at any time, the idea of God arises in their
mind, it rises like a terrifying phantom, which they hasten to expel,
and which they gladly fancy to be unreal, because they see it makes
so little impression on others around them.
Let him who retires to serious meditation, begin with impress
ing deeply on his mind this important truth, that there is undoubt
edly a Supreme Governor, who presides over the universe. But
let him not imagine that to commune with his heart concerning
God, is to search into the mysteries of the Divine nature, or to
attempt a discovery of the whole plan of Providence. Long enough
he may bewilder himself in this maze, without making any profi
ciency in the practical knowledge of God. Shall he who knows
so little of his own nature, or of the nature of the objects with
which he is surrounded, expect to comprehend the Being who
made him ? To commune with ourselves, to any useful purpose,
on this subject, is to bring home to our souls the internal autho
ritative sense of God, as a Sovereign and a Father. It is not
to speculate about what is mysterious in his essence, but to con
template what is displayed of his perfections. It is to realize the
presence of the Supreme Being, so as to produce the most pro
found veneration ; and to awaken the earnest desire of as near an
approach as our nature will permit, to that great Fountain of hap
piness and life.
After this manner was that holy man affeeted> who. uttered this
ardent wish, O that I knew where I might find him, that I might
come even to his seat! [Job xxii. 3.] If with such a frame of mind
you seek after God, be assured that he is not far from you ; and
that, though you are not permitted as yet to come to his seat, you
may, at least, reach the footstool of his throne, and touch the
robe that covers him. In the midst of your solitary musings, lift
your eyes, and behold all nature full of God. Look up to the fir
mament and admire his glory. Look round on the earth, and
observe his presence every where displayed. If the gay landscape,
or the fruitful field, presentj themselves to your eye, behold him
smiling upon his works. If the mountain raise its lofty head, or
the expanse of waters roll its tide before you, contemplate, in
those great and solemn objects, his power and majesty. Nature,
in all its diversities, is a varied manifestation of the Deity. If you
were to take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts
of the sea, even there you would find him. For in him you live and
move. He fills and animates all space. In the barren wilderness,
as in the peopled region, you can trace his footsteps ; and in the
deepest solitude, you may hear a voice which testifies of him.
Him, indeed, you are never to confound with the workmanship
of his hands. Nature, in its most awful or most pleasing scenes*

86 ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. [Sera. IX.
exhibits no more than different forms of inanimate matter. But
on these dead forms is impressed the glory of a living spirit. Ine
beauty, or the greatness, which appears in them, flows from the
Fountain of all greatness and beauty ; in him it centers ; of his
perfection it reflects an image ; and towards him should lead your
view. — In conversing with a fellow creature on earth, it is not
with his body we converse, though it is his body only which we
see. From his words and actions we conceive his mind ; with his
mind, though invisible, we hold correspondence, and direct to
wards this spiritual essence our affection and regard. In like
manner, though here we behold no more of God than what his works
display, 'yet, in those displays, we are capable of perceiving the
universal Spirit, and of holding correspondence with this unseen
Being, in veneration, gratitude, and love.
It is thus that a -pious man, in his retired meditations, viewing
natural objects with a spiritual eye, communes with his heart con
cerning God. He walks among the various scenes of nature as
within the precincts of a great temple, in the habitual exercise of
devotion. To those discoveries of the Supreme Being in his
works, let him apply the comment of his word. From the world
of Nature let him follow God into the world of Grace. When con
ducted from the outer courts into this inmost sanctuary of the
temple, he shall feel himself brought still more nigh to the Sacred
Presence. In the great plan of Divine Wisdom, for extirpating
the evils produced by sin, he shall receive the interpretation of
many of the hidden mysteries of Nature. He shall discover in
Christ, the Deity made, in some degree, visible to sense. In the
beneficent works which he performed, and the gracious under
taking which he accomplished, he shall behold the brightness of the
Father's glory, and shall discern it to be full of grace and truth. —
From the sacred retreat wherein his thoughts have been thus em
ployed, he returns to the world like a superior being. He carries
into active life those pure and elevating sentiments to which the
giddy crowd are strangers. A certain odour of sanctity remains
upon his mind, which, for a while at least, will repel the contagion
of the world.
II. — Commune with your heart, in the season of retirement con
cerning the world. The world is the great deceiver, whose falla
cious arts it highly imports us to detect. But, in the midst of its
pleasures and pursuits, the detection is impossible. We tread,
as within an enchanted circle, where nothing appears as it truly
is. It is only in retreat that the charm can be broken". Did men
employ that retreat, not in carrying on the delusions which the
world has begun, not in .forming plans of imaginary bliss, but in
subjecting the happiness which the world affords to a strict dis-

Sera. IX.] ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. 87
cussion, the spell would dissolve ; and, in tne room of the unreal
prospects which had long amused them, the nakedness of the world
would appear.
Prepare yourselves, then, to encounter the light of truth. Re
solve rather to bear the disappointment of some flattering hopes,
than to wander for ever in the paradise of fools. While others
meditate in secret on the means of attaining worldly success, let
it be your employment to scrutinize that success itself. Calculate
fairly to what it amounts, and whether you are not losers, on
the whole, by your apparent gain. Look back for this purpose on
your past life. Trace it from your earliest youth; and put the
question to yourselves, what have been its happiest periods ? Were
they those of quiet and innocence, or those of ambition and in
trigue ? Has your real enjoyment uniformly kept pace with what the
world calls prosperity? As you were advanced in wealth or station,
did you proportionably advance in happiness ? Has success, al
most in any one instance, fulfilled your expectation ? Where you
reckoned upon most enjoyment, have you not often found least ?
Wherever guilt entered into your pleasures, did not its sting long
remain, after the gratification was past?  Such questions as
these, candidly answered, would, in a great measure, unmask the
world. They would expose the vanity of its pretensions ; and con
vince you, that there are other springs than those which the world
affords, to which you must apply for happiness.
While you commune with your heart concerning what the world
now is, consider also what it will one day appear to be. Antici
pate the awful , moment of your bidding it an eternal farewell
Think, what reflections shall most probably arise when you are
quitting the field, and looking back on the scene of action. In
what light will your closing eyes contemplate those vanities which
now shine so bright, and those interests which now swell into such
high importance ? What part will you then wish to have acted ?
What shall then appear momentous, what trifling, in human con
duct 1 Let the sober sentiments which such anticipations suggest,
temper now your misplaced ardour. Let the last conclusions
which you shall form, enter into the present estimate which you
make of the world, and of. life.
Moreover, in communing with yourselves concerning the world
contemplate it as subject to the Divine dominion. The greatei
part of men behold nothing more than the rotation of human af
fairs. They see a great crowd ever in motion ; the fortunes of men
alternately rising and falling ; virtue often distressed, and prospe
rity appearing to be the purchase of worldly wisdom. But this is
only the outside of things. Behind the curtain there is a far
greater scene, which is beheld by none but the retired religious

88 ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. [Sera. IX
spectator. Lift up that curtain, when you are alone with God.
View the world with the eye of a Christian ; and you shall see,
that while mans heart deviseth his way, it is the Lord that directeth
his steps. You shall see, that however men appear to. move and
act after their own pleasure, they are, nevertheless, retained in
secret bonds by the Almighty, and all their operations rendered
subservient to the ends of his moral government. You shall be
hold him obliging the wrath of man to praise him ; punishing the
sinner by means of his own iniquities ; from the trials of the
righteous, bringing forth their reward ; and to a state of seeming
universal confusion, preparing the wisest and most equitable issue.
While the fashion of this world is passing away, you shall discern
the glory of another rising to succeed it. You. shall behold all
human events, our griefs and our joys, our love and our hatred,
our character and our memory, absorbed in the ocean of eternity ;
and no trace of our present existence left, except its being for
ever well with the righteous and ill tvith the wicked.  Such a view
of the world, frequently presented to our minds, could not fail to
enforce those solemn conclusions : There' is no wisdom nor counsel
against the Lord. Fear God, and keep his commandments ; for this
is the whole of man. What is a man profited, if he shall gain t/ie
whole world, and lose his own soul.
III. — Commune with your heart concerning yourselves, and
your real character. To acquire a thorough knowledge of ourselves
is an attainment no less difficult than important. For men are ge
nerally unwilling to see their own imperfections ; and when they
are willing to inquire into them, their self-love imposes on their
j udgement. Their intercourse with one another assists the delusion
to which, of themselves, they are prone. For the ordinary com
merce of the world is a commerce of flattery and falsehood ; where
reciprocally they deceive and are deceived, where every one ap
pears under an assumed form, professes esteem which he does not
feel, and bestows praise in order to receive it. It is only in re
treat where those false semblances disappear, and those flattering
voices are silent, that a man can learn to think soberly of himself,
and as he ought to think.
It has been said, that there are three characters which every
man sustains ; and these often extremely different from one ano
ther : one, which he possesses in his own opinion ; another, which
he carries in the estimation of the world ; and a third, which he
bears in the judgement of God. It is only the last which ascer
tains what he really is. — Whether the character which the world
forms of you be above or below the truth, it imports you not much
to know. But it is of eternal consequence, that the character,
which you possess in your own eyes, be formed upon that which

Sera. IX.] ON RELIGIOUS RETIREMENT. 89
you bear in the sight of God. In order to try it by this great
standard, you must lay aside, as much as possible, all partiality
to yourselves ; and in the season of retirement, explore your heart
with such accurate scrutiny, as may bring your hidden defects to
light. Inquire, for this purpose, whether you be not conscious, that
the fair opinion which the world entertains of you, is founded on
their partial knowledge both of your abilities and your virtues.
Would you be willing that all your actions should be publicly can
vassed ? could you bear to have your thoughts laid open ? are there
no parts of your life which you would be uneasy if an enemy could
discover ? — In what light, then, must these appear to God ? When
you have kept free of vice, has your innocence proceeded from pu
rity of principle, or from worldly motives ? rise there no envy or
malignity within you, when you compare your own condition with
that of others ? have you been as solicitous to regulate your heart,
as to preserve your manners from reproach ? Professing yourselves
to be Christians, has the spirit of Christ appeared in your con
duct ? Declaring that you hope for immortality, has that hope
surmounted undue attachments to the present life ?
Such investigation as this, seriously pursued, might produce to
every man many discoveries of himself; discoveries not pleasing
perhaps to vanity, but salutary and useful. For he can be only a
flatterer, but no true friend to himself, who aims not at knowing
his own defects as well as virtues. By imposing on the world, he-
may carry on some plan of fancied profit ; but, by imposing on
his heart, what can he propose to gain? He feedeth on ashes; a
deceived heart hath turned him aside, that he cannot deliver his soul,
nor say, is there" not a lie in my right hand. [Isaiah xliv. 20.]
Thus, I have set before you some of those great objects which
ought to employ your meditation in religious retirement. I have
endeavoured to introduce you to a proper intercourse with your
heart, concerning God, the world, and your own character. Let
this intercourse terminate in fixing the principles of your future
conduct. Let it serve to introduce consistency into your life. No-
. thing can be more wavering and disjointed, than the behaviour of
those who are holy men of the world, and have never been inured
to commune with themselves. Dissipation is a more frequent
cause of their ruin than determined impiety. It is not so much
because they have adopted bad principles, as because they have
never attended to principles of any kind, that their lives are so full
of incoherence and disorder.— You hover on the borders of sin and
duty. One day you read the Scriptures, you hear religious dis
courses, and form good resolutions. Next day you plunge into
the world, and forget the serious impression, as if it had never

90 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X
been made. The impression is again renewed, and again effaced ;
and in this circle your life revolves. Is such conduct worthy of
creatures endowed with intelligent powers ? Shall the close of life
overtake you, before you have determined how to live ? Shall the
day never come, that is to find you steady in your views, decided
in your plans, and engaged in a course of action which your mind
approves ? If you wish that day ever to arrive, retirement and me
ditation must first bring you home to yourselves, from the dissi
pation in which you are now scattered ; must teach you to fix such
aims, and to lay down such rules of conduct, as are suitable to ra
tional and immortal beings. Then will your character become
uniform and respectable. Then you may hope that your life will
proceed in such a train as shall prepare you, when it is finished,
for joining the society of more exalted spirits.

SERMON X.
ON DEVOTION.
Acts x. 2. — Cornelius  A devout man —
That religion is essential to the welfare of man, can be proved
by the most convincing arguments. But these, how demonstra
tive soever, are insufficient to support its authority over human
conduct. For arguments may convince the understanding, when
they cannot conquer the passions. Irresistible they seem in the
calm hours of retreat; but, in the season of action, they often va
nish into smoke. There are other and more powerful springs, which
influence the o-reat movements of the human frame. In order to
operate with success on the active powers, the heart must be gain
ed. Sentiment and affection must be brought to the aid of reason.
It is not enough that men believe religion to be a wise and rational
rule of conduct, unless they relish it as agreeable, and find it to
carry its own reward. Happy is the man, who, in the conflict of
desire between God and the world, can oppose not only argument
to argument, but pleasure to pleasure ; who, to the external al
lurements of sense, can oppose the internal joys of devotion ; and
to the uncertain promises of a flattering world, the certain expe
rience of that peace of God which passeth understanding, keeping his
mind and heart. — Such is the temper and spirit of a devout man.
Such was the character of Cornelius, that good centurion, whose
prayers and alms are said to have come up in memorial before God.
Of this character I intend, through Divine assistance, to dis
course; and shall endeavour, I. To explain the nature of devotion;

Sera. X.] ON DEVOTION. 91
II. To justify and recommend it ; and, III. To rectify some mis
takes concerning it.
I. Devotion is the lively exercise of those affections, which we
owe to the Supreme Being. It comprehends several emotions of
the heart, which all terminate on the same great object. The chief
of them are veneration, gratitude, desire, and resignation.
It implies, first, profound veneration of God. By veneration, I
understand an affection compounded of awe and love, the affection
which, of all others, it best becomes creatures to bear towards
their infinitely perfect Creator. Awe is the first sentiment that
rises in the soul at the view of his greatness. But, in the heart of
a devout man, it is a solemn and elevating, not a dejecting emo
tion ; for he glows, rather than trembles, in the Divine presence.
It is not the superstitious dread of unknown power, but the ho-
, mage yielded by the heart, to him who is, at once, the greatest
and the best of Beings, Omnipotence, viewed alone, would be a
formidable object. But, considered in conjunction with the moral
perfections of the Divine nature, it serves to heighten devotion.
Goodness affects the heart with double energy, when residing ip
one so exalted. The goodness which we adore in- him, is not like
that which is common among men, a weak, mutable, undiscern-
ing fondness, ill qualified to be the ground of assured trust. It is
the goodness of a perfect Governor, acting upon a regular exten
sive plan ; a steady principle of benevolence, conducted by wis
dom ; which, subject to no variableness or shadow of turning, free
from all partiality and caprice, incapable of being either soothed by
flattery or ruffled by resentment, resembles, in its calm and equal
lustre, the eternal serenity of the highest heavens. Thy mercy,
O Lord ! is in the heavens, and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the
clouds. Thy righteousness is like the great mountains, and thy judge
ments are a great depth.
Such are the conceptions of the great God, which fill with vene
ration the heart of a devout man. His veneration is not confined
to acts of immediate worship. It is the habitual temper of his
soul. Not only when engaged in prayer or praise, but in the si
lence of retirement, and even amidst the occupations of the world,
the Divine Being dwells upon his thoughts. No place, and no
object, appears to him void of God. On the works of Nature, he
views the impression of his hand ; and in the actions of men, he
traces the operation of his Providence. Whatever he beholds on
earth, that is beautiful or fair, that is great or good, he refers to
God, as to the supreme origin of all the excellence which is scat
tered throughout his works. From those effects he rises to the
first cause. From those streams he ascends to the fountain whence
they flow. By those rays he is led tr that eternal source of light
in which they center.

92 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X.
Devotion implies, secondly, sincere gratitude to God for all his
benefits. This is a warmer emotion than simple veneration. Ve
neration looks up to the Deity, as he is in himself ; gratitude re
gards what he is towards us. When a devout man surveys this
vast universe, where beauty and goodness are every where predo
minant -y when he reflects on those numberless multitudes of
creatures, who, in their different stations, enjoy the blessings of
existence ; and when, at the same time, he looks up to an uni
versal Father, who hath thus filled creation with life and happi
ness ; his heart glows within him. He adores that disinterested
goodness which prompted the Almighty to raise up so many orders
of intelligent beings, not that he might receive, but that he might
give and impart 'that he might pour forth himself, and com
municate to the spirits which he formed, some emanations of his
felicity. The goodness of this Supreme Benefactor he gratefully contem
plates, as displayed in his own state. He reviews the events of
his life ; and, in every comfort which has sweetened it, he discerns
the Divine hand. Does he remember with affection the parents
under whose care he grew up, and the companions with whom he
passed his youthful life ? Is he now happy, in his family rising
around him ; in the spouse who loves him, or in the children who
give him comfort and joy ? Into every tender remembrance of the
past, and every pleasing enjoyment of the present, devotion enters ;
for in all those beloved objects, it recognizes God. The commu
nication of love from heart to heart is an effusion of his goodness.
From his inspiration descends all the friendship which ever glowed
on earth ; and therefore, to him it justly returns in gratitude, and
terminates on him.
But this life, with all its interests, is but a small part of human
existence. A devout man looks forward to immortality, and dis
covers still higher subjects of gratitude. He views himself as a
guilty creature, whom Divine benignity has received into grace ;
whose forfeited hopes it has restored ; and to whom it has opened
the most glorious prospects of future felicity. Such generosity
shewn to the fallen and miserable, is yet more affecting to the
heart, than favours conferred on the innocent. He contemplates,
with astonishment, the labours of the Son of God, in accomplish
ing redemption for men ; and his soul overflows with thankfulness
to him, who loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood.
— What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits ? Bless the Lord,
O my soul ! and all that is within me, bless his holy name ; whofor-
giveth all thine iniquities, and healeth all thy diseases ; who redeemeth
thy life from destruction, and crowneth thee with loving-kindness, and
with tender mercies.

Serm. X.? ON DEVOTION. 93
Devotion implies, thirdly, the desire of the soul after the favour
of the Supreme Being, as its chief good and final rest. To infe
rior enjoyments, the devout man allots inferior and secondary at
tachment. He disclaims not every earthly affection. He pretends
not to renounce all pleasure in the comforts of his present state.
Such an unnatural renunciation humanity forbids, and religion
cannot require. But from these he expects not his supreme bliss.
He discerns the vanity which belongs to them all ; and beyond the
circle of mutable objects which surround him, he aspires after
some principles of more perfect felicity, which shall not be sub
ject to change or decay. But where is this complete and perma
nent good to be found ? Ambition pursues it in courts and palaces ;
and returns from the pursuit, loaded with sorrows. Pleasure
seeks it among sensual joys ; and retires with the confession of
disappointment. The deep saith, it is not in me; and the sea saith,
it is not with me ; it cannot be gotten for gold ; neither shall silver be
weighed for the price thereof. Its place is not in the land of the living.
True happiness dwells with God ; and from the light, of his coun
tenance, it beams upon the devout man. His voice is, Whom have
I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside
thee. After exploring heaven and earth for happiness, they seem
to him a mighty void, a wilderness of shadows, where all would
be empty and unsubstantial without God. But in his favour and
love, he finds what supplies every defect of temporal objects ; and
assures tranquillity to his heart, amidst all the changes of his ex
istence. Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel ; and thou shalt re
ceive me to thy glory. My flesh and my heart faileth ; but God is
the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.
From these sentiments and affections, Devotion advances,
fourthly, to an entire resignation of the soul to God. It is the
consummation of trust and hope. It banishes anxious cares and
murmuring thoughts. It reconciles us to every appointment of
Divine Providence ; and resolves every wish into the desire of
pleasing him whom our hearts adore. Its genuine breathings are
to this effect. " Conduct me, O God ! in what path soever seem-
" eth good to thee. In nothing shall I ever arraign thy sacred
" will. Dost thou require me to part with any worldly advantages,
" for the sake of virtue and a good conscience ? I give them up.
" Dost thou command me to relinquish my friends, or my coun-
" try ? At thy call I cheerfully leave them. Dost thou summon me
" away from this world ? Lo ! I am ready to depart. Thou hast
made, thou hast redeemed me, and I am thine. Myself, and all
that belongs to me, I surrender to thy disposal. Let the men of
the world have their portion in this life. Be it mine, to behold thy
"face in righteousness ; avd when I awake to be satisfied with thy
" likeness."

94 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X.
This, surely, is one 01 the noblest acts of which the human mind
is capable, when thus, if we may be allowed the expression, it
unites itself with God. Nor can any devotion be genuine, which
inspires not sentiments of this nature. For devotion is not to be
considered as a transient glow of affection, occasioned by some
casual impressions of Divine goodness, which are suffered to re
main unconnected with the conduct of life. It is a powerful
principle, which penetrates the soul ; which purifies the affections
from debasing attachments : and, by a fixed and steady regard to
God, subdues every sinful passion, and forms the inclinations to
piety and virtue.
Such, in general, are the dispositions that constitute devotion.
It is the union of veneration, gratitude, desire, and resignation.
It expresses not so much the performance of any particular duty,
as the spirit which must animate all religious duties. It stands
opposed not merely to downright vice ; but to a heart which is
cold and insensible* to sacred things; which from compulsion per
haps, and a sense of interest, preserves some regard to the Divine
commands, but obeys them without ardour, love, or joy. — I proceed,
II. — To recommend this devout spirit to your imitation. I begin
with observing, That it is of the utmost consequence to guard
against extremes of eveiy kind in religion. We must beware,
lest, by seeking to avoid one rock, we split upon another. It has
been long the subject of remark, that superstition and enthusiasm
are two capital sources of delusion ; superstition, on the one hand,
attaching men with immoderate zeal to the ritual and external
part of religion ; and enthusiasm, on the other, directing their
whole attention to internal emotions, and mystical communica
tions with the spiritual world ; while neither the one nor the other
has paid sufficient regard to the great moral duties of the Christian
life. But, running with intemperate eagerness from these two
great abuses of religion, men have neglected to observe, that there
are extremes opposite to each of them, into which they are in ha
zard of precipitating themselves. Thus, the horror of superstition
has sometimes reached so far as to produce contempt for all ex
ternal institutions ; as if it were possible for religion to subsist in
the world, without forms of worship, or public acknowledgment
of God. It has also happened that some, who, in the main, are
well affected to the cause of goodness, observing that persons of a
devout turn have at times been carried, by warm affections, into
unjustifiable excesses, have thence hastily concluded that all devo
tion was a-kin to enthusiasm ; and, separating religion totally from
the heart and affections, have reduced it to a frigid observance of
what they call the rules of virtue. This is the extreme which I
purpose at present to combat, by shewing you, first, That true de-

Sera. X.] ON DEVOTION. 95
votion is rational, and well-founded ; next, That it is of the high
est importance to every other part of religion and virtue; and lastly,
That it is the most conducive to happiness.
In the first place, True devotion is rational, and well-founded.
It takes its rise from affections, which are essential to the human
frame. We are formed by Nature to admire what is great, and to
love what is amiable. Even inanimate objects have power to
excite those emotions. The magnificent prospects of the natural
world fill the mind with reverential awe. Its beautiful scenes
create delight. When we survey the actions and behaviour of our
fellow creatures, the affections glow with greater ardour ; and if to
be unmoved, in the former case, argues a defect of sensibility in
our powers, it discovers, in the latter, an odious hardness and
depravity in the heart. The tenderness of an affectionate parent,
the generosity of a forgiving enemy, the public spirit of a patriot
or a hero, often fill the eyes with tears, and swell the breast with
emotions too big for utterance. The object of those affections is
frequently raised above us, in condition and rank. Let us suppose
him raised also above us in nature. Let us imagine, that an angel
or any being of a superior order, had condescended to be our friend,
our guide and patron ; no person, sure, would hold the exaltation
of his benefactor's character to be an argument why he should
love and revere him less. — Strange ! that the attachment and vene
ration, the warmth and overflowing of heart, which excellence and
goodness on every other occasion command, should begin to be
accounted irrational, as soon as the Supreme Being becomes their
object. For what reason must human sensibility be extinct to
wards him alone ? Are all benefits entitled to gratitude, except the
highest and the best ? Shall goodness cease to be amiable, only
because it is perfect ?
It will, perhaps, be said, that an unknown and invisible being is
not qualified to raise affection in the human heart. Wrapt up in
the mysterious obscurity of his nature, he escapes our search, and
affords no determinate object to our love or desire. We go forward,
but he is not there ; and backward, but we cannot perceive him • On
the left hand, where he worketh, but we cannot behold him : He hideth
himself on the right hand, that we cannot see him. [Job xxiii. 8, 9.1
 Notwithstanding this obscurity, is there any being in the uni.
verse more real and certain, than the Creator of the world, and
the Supporter of all existence ? Is he, in whom we live and move,
too distant from us to excite devotion ? His form and essence, in
deed, we cannot, see; but to be unseen, and imperfectly known,
in many other instances, precludes neither gratitude nor love. It
is not the sight, so much as the strong conception, or deep im<
pression of an object, which affects the passions. We glow with

96 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X.
admiration of personages, who have lived in a distant age. Whole
nations have been transported with zeal and affection for the gene
rous hero, or public deliverer, whom they knew only by fame.
Nay, properly speaking, the direct object of our love is, in every
case, invisible, for that on which affection is placed, is the mind,
the soul, the internal character of our fellow creatures ; which,
surely, is no less concealed, than the Divine Nature itself is, from
the view of sense. From actions, we can only infer the disposi
tions of men ; from what we see of their behaviour, we collect what
is invisible ; but the conjecture which we form is, at best, imper
fect ; and when their actions excite our love, much of their heart
remains still unknown. I ask, then, in what respect God is less
qualified than any other being to be an object of affection ? Con
vinced that he exists ; beholding his goodness spread abroad in his
works, exerted in the government of the world, displayed in some
measure to sense, in the actions of his son Jesus Christ ; are we
not furnished with every essential requisite which the heart de
mands, in order to indulge the most warm, and at the same time
the most rational, emotions ?
If these considerations justify the reasonableness of devotion, as
expressed in veneration, love, and gratitude, the same train of
thought will equally justify it when appearing in the forms of de
sire, delight, or resignation. The latter are, indeed, the conse
quence of the former. For we cannot but desire some communi
cation with what we love ; and will naturally resign ourselves to
one, on whom we have placed the full confidence of affection.
The aspirations of a devout man after the favour of God, are the
effects of that earnest wish for happiness which glows in every
breast. All men have somewhat that may be called the object of
their devotion; reputation, pleasure, learning, riches, or whatever
apparent good has strongly attached their heart. This becomes
the centre of attraction, which draws them towards it ; which
quickens and regulates all their motions. While the men of the
world are thus influenced by the objects which they severally wor
ship, shall he only who directs all his devotion towards the Su
preme Being, be excluded from a place in the system of rational
conduct ? or be censured for having passions, whose sensibility
corresponds to the great cause which moves them ? — Having vin
dicated the reasonableness of devotion, I come,
In the second place, to shew its importance, and the high place
which it possesses in the system of religion. I address myself new
to those, who, though they reject not devotion as irrational, yet
consider it as an unnecessary refinement ; an attainment which may
be safely left to recluse and sequestered persons, who aim at un
common sanctity The solid and material duties of a good life,

Sera. X.] ON DEVOTION. 97
they hold to be in a great measure independent of devout af
fection ; and think them sufficiently supported, by their necessary
connexion with our interest, both in this and in a future world.
They insist much upon religion being a calm, a sober, and rational
principle of conduct.  1 admit that it is veiy laudable to have
a rational religion. But I must admonish you, that it is both re
proachful and criminal, to have an insensible heart. If we reduce
religion into so cool a state, as not to admit love, affection, and
desire, we shall leave it in possession of small influence over hu
man life. Look abroad into the world, and observe how few act
upon deliberate and rational views of their true interest. The
bulk of mankind are impelled by their feelings. They are attract
ed by appearances of good. Taste and inclination rule their con
duct. To direct their inclination and taste towards the highest
objects ; to form a relish within them, for virtuous and spiritual
enjoyment ; to introduce religion into the heart, is the province of
devotion ; and hence arises its importance to the interests of
goodness. Agreeably to this doctrine, the great Author of our religion, who
well knew what was in man, laid the foundation of his whole sys
tem in the regeneration of the heart. The change which was to
be accomplished on his followers, he did not purpose to effect,
merely by regulating their external conduct ; but by forming
within them a new nature ; by taking away the heart of stone, and
giving them a heart of flesh; that is, a heart relenting and tender,
yielding to the Divine impulse, and readily susceptible of devout
impressions. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart,
and mind, and soul, and strength. This is the first and great com
mandment. My son, give me thy heart, is the call of God to each
of us : and, indeed, if the heart be withheld, it is not easy to
conceive what other offering we can present, that will be accept
able to him.
Of what nature must that man's religion be, who professes to
worship God, and to believe in Christ ; and yet raises his thoughts
towards God, and his Saviour, without any warmth of gratitude
or love ? I speak not of those occasional decays of pious affec
tion, to which the best are subject, but of a total insensibility to
this part of- religion. Surely, let the outward behaviour be ever
so irreproachable, there must be some essential defect in a heart
which remains always unmoved at the view o^ infinite goodness.
The affections cannot, in this case, be deemed to flow in their na
tural channel. Spme concealed malignity must have tainted the
inward frame. This is not the man whom you would choose for
vour bosom friend; or whose heart you could expect to answer,
with reciprocal warmth, to yours. His virtue,, if it deserve that
11

98 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X.
name, is not of the most amiable sort; and may, with reason,
receive the appellation (often injudiciously bestowed) of cold and
dry morality. Svch a person must, as yet, be far from the kingdom
of Heaven.
As devotion is thus essential to religion in its principle, so it
enters into the proper discharge of all its duties. It diffuses an
auspicious influence over the whole of virtue. The prevailing
temper of the mind is formed by its most frequent employments.
Intercourse with Supreme perfection camaot, therefore, but ennoble
and improve it. The pure love of God naturally connects itself with
the love of man. Hence, devotion has been often found a powerful
instrument in humanizing the manners of men, and taming their
unruly passions. It smooths what is rough, and softens what is
fierce, in our nature. It is the great purifier of the affections. It
inspires contempt of the low gratifications belonging to animal
life. It promotes a humble and cheerful contentment with our
lot ; and subdues that eager desire of riches and of power which
has filled this unhappy world with crimes and misery. Finally, it
bestows that enlargement of heart in the service of God, which is
the great principle both of perseverance, and of progress in virtue.
He who, unacquainted with devout affections, sets himself to keep
the Divine commandments, will advance in obedience with a slow
and languid pace ; like one, who, carrying a heavy burden, toils to
mount the hill. But he whose heart devotion has warmed, will
proceed on his way, cheerful and rejoicing. The one performs
his duty, only because it is commanded ; the other, because he
loves it. The one is inclined to do no more than necessity requires ;
the other seeks to excel. The one looks for his reward in some
what besides religion ; the other finds it in religion itself : it is
his meat and drink to do the will of that heavenly Father whom he
loves and adores. Which of these two is likely to make the
greatest improvement in goodness, is easily discerned. Let us
consider, In the third place, the influence of devotion on the happiness
of life. Whatever promotes and strengthens virtue, whatever
calms and regulates the temper, is a source of happiness. Devo
tion, as I have just now shown, produces those effects in a remark
able degree. It inspires composure of spirit, mildness, and be
nignity; weakens the painful, and cherishes the pleasing, emo
tions ; and, by these means, carries on the' life of a pious man, in
a smooth and placid tenor.
Besides exerting this habitual influence on the mind, devotion
opens a field of enjoyments, to which the vicious are entire
strangers ; enjoyments the more valuable, as they peculiarly be
long to retirement when the world leaves us, and to adversity

Sera. X.] ON DEVOTION. 99
when it becomes our foe. These are the two seasons, for which
every wise man would most wish to provide some hidden store of
comfort. For, let him be placed in the most favourable situation
which the human state admits, the world can neither always amuse
him, nor always shield him from distress There will be many hours
of vacuity, and many of dejection, in his life. If he be a stranger
to God, and to devotion, how dreary will the gloom of solitude
often prove ! With what oppressive weight will sickness, disap
pointment, or old age, fall upon his spirits ! But, for those pen
sive periods, the pious man has a relief prepared. From the tire
some repetition of the common vanities of life, or from the painful
corrosion of its cares and sorrows, devotion transports him into a
new region ; and surrounds him there with such objects as are the
most fitted to cheer the dejection, to calm the tumults, and to
heal the wounds, of his heart. If the world has been empty and
delusive, it gladdens him with the prospect of a higher and better
order of things about to arise. If men have been ungrateful and
base, it displays before him the faithfulness of that Supreme Being,
who, though every other friend fail, will never forsake him. Con
sult your experience, and you will find, that the two greatest
sources of inward joy, are the exercise of love directed towards a
deserving object, and the exercise of hope terminating on some
high and assured happiness. Both these are supplied by devotion ;
and therefore we have no reason to be surprised, if, on some occa
sions, it fill the hearts of good men with a satisfaction not to be
expressed. The refined pleasures of a pious mind, are in many respects,
superior to the coarse gratifications of sense. They are pleasures
which belong to the highest powers and best affections of the
soul; whereas the gratifications of sense reside in the lowest re
gion of our nature. To the one, the soul stoops below its native
dignity. The other, raises it above itself. The one, leave always a
comfortless, often a mortifying, remembrance behind them. The
other, are reviewed with applause and delight. The pleasures of
sense resemble a foaming torrent, which, after a disorderly course,
speedily runs out, and leaves an empty and offensive channel. But
the pleasures of devotion resemble the equable current of a pure
river, which enlivens the fields through which it passes, and dif
fuses verdure and fertility along its banks. To thee, O Devotion !
we owe the highest improvement of our nature, and much of the
enjoyment of our life. Thou art the support of our virtue, and the
rest of our souls, in this turbulent world. Thou composest the
thoughts. Thou calmest the passions. Thouexaltest the heart.
Thy communications, and thine only, are imparted to the low, no
less than to the high; to th: Door as well as to the rich. In thy

100 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X.
presence, worldly distinctions cease: and under thy influence,
worldly sorrows are forgotten. Thou art the balm of the wounded
mind. Thy sanctuary is ever open to the miserable ; inaccessible
only to the unrighteous and impure. Thou beginnest on earth, the
temper of Heaven. In thee, the host of angels and blessed spirits
eternally rejoice. It now remains,
III.— To endeavour to correct some errors into which men are
apt to fall concerning devotion. For it is but too obvious, that
errors are often committed in this part of religion. These fre
quently disfigure its appearance before the world, and subject it to
unjust reproach. Let us therefore attend deliberately to its nature,
so as to distinguish pure and rational devotion, of which I have
hitherto treated, from that which is, in any degree, spurious and
adulterated. In the first place, it is an error to place devotion in the mere
performance of any external act of worship. Prayer, and praise,
together with the ordinances peculiar to the Christian religion, are
the appointed means of raising the heart towards the Supreme Be
ing. They are the instituted signs of Devotion ; the language in
which it naturally expresses itself. But let us remember, that they
are signs and expressions only ; and we all know, that, hi various
cases, these may not correspond to the thing signified. It is in
the disposition of the heart, not in the motion of the lips, or in the
posture of the body, that devotion consists. The heart may pray,
or praise, when no words are uttered. But if the heart be un
concerned or ill affected, all the words we can utter, how properly
framed soever, are no other than empty and unacceptable sounds in
the ear of the Almighty.
In the second place, it is an error to conceive the pleasures and
advantages of devotion to be indiscriminately open to all. Devotion,
like many parts of religion, may in some lights be considered as a
privilege, and in others as a duty. It is the duty of all, to love
God, and to resign themselves to his will. But it is the privilege of
good men only, to rejoice in God, and to confide in his friendship.
Hence a certaift preparation is requisite, for the enjoyment of devo-
tion-in its whole extent. Not only must the life be reformed from
gross enormities, but the heart must have undergone that change
which the Gospel demands. A competent knowledge, of God must
be acquired. A proper foundation must be laid in faith and repent
ance, for intercourse with Heaven.
They who would rush all at once from the arms of the world,
into the sacred retreat of devotion ; they who imagine that retreat
to stand always ready for the reception of such as betake them
selves to it, for no reason, but because every other refuge excludes
them, betray gross ignorance of this part of religion. They bring

Serm. X.] ON DEVOTION. 101
to it, faculties unqualified to taste its pleasures ; and they grasp
at hopes, to which they are not intitled. By incorporating with
devotion the unnatural mixture of their unsanctified passions, they
defile and corrupt it. Hence, that gloom which has often spread
over it. Hence, those superstitious mortifications and austerities,
oy which the falsely devout hope to purchase favour from God ;
haunted by the terrors of a guilty conscience, and vainly strug
gling to substitute a servile and cringing homage, in the room of
the pure affections of a renewed heart. On such altars the hallow
ed fire of true devotion cannot burn ; nor can any incense ascend
from them, that shall be grateful to Heaven. Bring no more vain
oblations. Wash ye, make you clean, put away the evil of your do
ings from before mine eyes, saith the Lord. Cease to do evil; learn to
do well. Then draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. —
But though devotion requires a pure heart, and a virtuous life,
and necessarily supposes the exercise of frequent retirement, I
must observe,
In the third place, that it is an error to conceive it as requiring
an entire retreat from the world. Devotion, like every other branch
of religion, was intended to fit us for discharging the duties of life.
We serve God, by being useful to one another. It is evident from
the frame of our nature, and from our common necessities and
wants, that we were designed by Providence for an active part on
this earth. The Gospel of Christ, accordingly, considers us as
engaged in the concerns of the world ; and directs its exhortations
to men, in all the various relations, characters, and employments
of civil life. Abstraction from society, therefore, and total dedi
cation of our time to devout exercises, cannot be the most proper
method of acquiring the favour of God.
I mean not, however, to throw any blame on those, who, having
lost all relish for the ordinary pursuits of life, in consequence of
severe wounds which they have received from affliction ; who,
being left to stand alone, and discerning their connections with
the world to be in some measure broken off, choose to seek tran
quillity in a religious retirement, and to consecrate their days en
tirely to God. Situations sometimes occur, which both justify
a great degree of retreat from the world, and entitle it to respect.
But, with regard to the bulk of mankind, Christian devotion nei
ther requires nor implies any such sequestration from the affairs of
men. Nay, for the most part, it will be cultivated with greater
success, by those who mingle it with the active employments of
life. For the mind, when entirely occupied by any one object, is
in hazard of viewing it at last through a false medium. Objects,
especially so great and sublime as those of devotion, when we at
tempt to fix upon them unremitting attention, overstretch and. dis-

102 ON DEVOTION. [Sera. X
order our feeble powers. The mind, by being relaxed, returns to
them with more advantage. As none of our organs can bear in
tense sensations without injury; as the eye, when dazzled with
overpowering light, beholds imaginary colours, and loses the real
distinction of objects ; so the mind, when overheated by perpetual
contemplation of celestial things, has been sometimes found to
mistake the strong impressions of fancy, for supernatural commu
nications from above. To the employments of devotion, as to all
other things, there are due limits. There is a certain temperate
sphere, within which it preserves longest its proper exertion, and
most successfully promotes the purposes for which it was designed.
In the fourth place, it is an error to imagine, that devotion en
joins a total contempt of all the pleasures and amusements of hu
man society. It checks, indeed, that spirit of dissipation which
is too prevalent. It not only prohibits pleasures which are un
lawful, but likewise that unlawful degree of attachment to plea
sures in themselves innocent, which withdraws the attention of
man from what is serious and important. But it brings amuse
ment under due limitation, without extirpating it. It forbids it as
the business, but permits it as the relaxation, of life. For there
is nothing in the spirit of true religion, which is hostile to a cheer
ful enjoyment of our situation in the world.
They who look with a severe and indignant eye upon all the re
creations by which the cares of men are relieved, and the union of
society is cemented, are, in two respects, injurious to religion.
First, they exhibit it to others under a forbidding form, by cloth'
ing it with the garb of so much unnecessary austerity. And next,
they deprive the world of the benefit which their example might
afford, in drawing the line between innocent and dangerous plea
sures. By a temperate participation of those which are innocent,
they might successfully exert that authority which a virtuous and
respectable character always possesses, in restraining undue ex
cess. They would show the young and the unwary, at what point
they ought to stop. They would have it in their power to regu
late, in some degree, the public manners ; to check extravagance,
to humble presumption, and put vice to the blush. But, through
injudicious severity, they fall short of the good they might per
form. By an indiscriminate censure of all amusement, they de
tract from the weight of their reproof, when amusement becomes
undoubtedly sinful. By totally withdrawing themselves from the
circle of cheerful life, they deliver up the entertainments of society
into the hands of the loose and the corrupted ; and permit the
blind power of fashion, uncontrolled, to establish its own standards,
and to exercise its dangerous sway over the world.
In the fifth place, it is an error to believe, that devotion nou-

Sera. X.J ON DEVOTION 103
rishes a spirit of severity, in judging of the manners and charac
ters of others. Under this reproach, indeed, it has so long suffer
ed in the world, that, with too many, the appellation of devout,
suggests no other character, but that of a sour and recluse bigot,
who delights in censure. But the reproach is unjust ; for such a
spirit is entirely opposite to the nature of true devotion. The very
first traces which it imprints on the mind, are candour and humi
lity. Its principles are liberal. Its genius is unassuming and mild.
Severe only to itself, it makes every allowance for others which
humanity can suggest. It claims no privilege of looking into their
hearts, or of deciding with respect to their eternal state. — If your
supposed devotion produce contraiy effects ; if it infuse harshness
into your sentiments, and acrimony into your speech; you may
conclude, that, under a serious appearance, carnal passions lurk.
And, if ever it shall so far lift you up with self-conceit, as to
make you establish your own opinions as an infallible standard for
the whole Christian world, and lead you to consign to perdition
all who differ from you, either in some doctrinal tenets, or in the
mode of pressing them: you may rest assured, that to much
pride you have joined much ignorance, both of the nature of devo
tion, and of the Gospel of Christ. Finally,
In the sixth place, it is an error to think, that perpetual rap
ture and spiritual joy belong to devotion. Devout feelings admit
very different degrees of warmth and exaltation. Some persons,
by the frame of their minds, are much more susceptible than others
of the tender emotions. They more readily relent at the view of
divine goodness, glow with a warmer ardour of love, and, by con
sequence, rise to a higher elevation of joy and hope. But, in the
midst of still and ' calm affections, devotion often dwells ; and,
though it produce no transpoits in the mind, diffuses over it a
steady serenity. Devout sensations not only vary in their degree,
according to the frame of different tempers ; but, even among the
best disposed, suffer much interruption and decay. It were too
much to expect; that, in the present state of human frailty, those
happy feelings should be uniform and constant. Oppression of
worldly cares, languor of spirits, and infirmities of health, fre
quently indispose us for the enjoyment of devout affections. Pious
men, on these occasions, are in hazard of passing judgement on
their own state with too much severity ; as if, for some great ini
quity, they were condemned by God to final hardness of heart.
Hence arises that melancholy which has been seen to overcloud
them ; and which has given occasion to many contemptuous scoffs
of ungodly men. But it is a melancholy which deserves to be
treated with tenderness, not with contempt. It is the excess of
virtuous and pious sensibility. It is the overflowing of a heart

104 ON THE DUTIES [Serm. XI.
affected, in an extreme degree, with the humble sense of its own
failings, and with ardent concern to attain the favour of God
A weakness, however, we admit it to be, though not a crime;
and hold it to be perfectly separable from the essence of devotion
For contrition, though it may melt, ought not to sink or over
power the heart of a Christian. The tear of repentance brings its
own relief. Religion is a spring of consolation, not of terror, to
every well-informed mind, which, in a proper manner, rests its
hope on the infinite goodness of God, and the all-sufficient merits
of Christ.
To conclude. Let us remove from devotion all those mistakes,
to which the corruptions of men, or their ignorance and prejudices,
have given rise. With us, let it be the worship of God, in spirit
and in truth ; the elevation of the soul towards him in simplicity
and love. Let us pursue it as the principle of virtuous conduct
and of inward peace ; by frequent and serious meditation on the
great objects of religion, let us lay ourselves open to its influence.
By means of the institutions of the Gospel, let us cherish its im
pressions. And, above 'all, let us pray to God, that he may es
tablish its power in our hearts. For here, if any where, his as
sistance is requisite. The spirit of devotion is his gift. From his
inspiration it proceeds. Towards him it tends ; and in his pre
sence, hereafter, it shall attain its full perfection.

SERMON XI.
ON THE DUTIES OF THE YOUNG.
Titus ii. 6. — Young men likewise exhort, to be sober-minded.
Sobriety of mind is one of those virtues which the present
condition of human life strongly inculcates. The uncertainty of
its enjoyments checks presumption ; the multiplicity of its dangers
demands perpetual caution. Moderation, vigilance, and self-
government, are duties incumbent on all ; but especially on such
as are beginning the journey of life. To them, therefore, the
admonition in the Text is, with great propriety, directed ; though
there is reason to fear that by them it is in hazard of being least
regarded. Experience enforces the admonition on the most giddy,
after they have advanced in years. But the whole state of youth
ful views and passions, is adverse to sobriety of mind. The scenes
which present themselves, at our entering upon the world, are
uncommonly flattering. Whatever they be in themselves, the
lively spirits of the young gild every opening prospect. The field

Serm. XL] OF THE YOUNG. 1 05
of hope appears to stretch wide before them. Pleasure seems to
put forth its blossoms on every side. Impelled by desire, forward
they rush with inconsiderate ardour : Prompt to decide, and to
choose ; averse to hesitate, or to enquire ; credulous, because un
taught by experience ; rash, because unacquainted with danger ;
headstrong, because unsubdued by disappointment. Hence arise
the perils, of which it is my design at present to warn them. I
shall take sobriety of mind, in its most comprehensive sense, as
including the whole of that discipline which religion and virtue
prescribe to youth, Though the words of the Text are directly
addressed to young men, yet, as the same admonition is given in a
preceding verse to the other sex, the instructions which arise from
the Text are to be considered as common to both. I intend, first,
to show them the importance of beginning early to give serious
attention to their conduct ; and, next, to point out those virtues
which they ought chiefly to cultivate.
As soon as you are capable of reflection, you must perceive that
there is a right and a wrong in human actions. You see, that those
who are born with the same advantages of fortune, are not all
equally prosperous in the course of life. While some of them, by
wise and steady conduct, attain distinctions in the world, and pass
their days with comfort and honour ; others of the same rank, by
mean and vicious behaviour, forfeit the advantages of their birth,
involve themselves m much misery, and end in being a disgrace
to their friends, and a burden on society. Early then, you may
learn, that it is not on the external condition in which you find
yourselves placed, but on the part which you are to act, that your
welfare or unhappiness, your honour or infamy, depend. Now,
when beginning to act that part, what can be of greater moment
than to regulate your plan of conduct with the most- serious atten
tion, before you have yet committed any fatal or irretrievable
errors? If, instead of exerting reflection for this valuable pur
pose, you deliver yourselves up, at so critical a time, to sloth and
pleasure; if you refuse to listen to any counsellor but humour, or
to attend to any pursuit except that of amusement ; if you allow
yourselves to float loose and careless on the tide of life, ready to
receive any direction which the current of fashion may chance to
give you, what can you expect to follow from such beginnings 1
While so many around you are undergoing the sad consequences of
a like indiscretion, for what reason shall not those consequences
extend to you ? Shall you attain success without that preparation,
and escape dangers without that precaution, which is required of
others ? Shall happiness grow up to you of its own accord, and
solicit your acceptance, when, to the rest of mankind, it is the
fruit of long cultivation, and the acquisition of labour and care?

106 ON THE DUTIES [Serm. XI.
Deceive not yourselves with such arrogant hopes. Whatever be
your rank, Providence will not, for your sake, reverse its esta
blished order. The author of your being hath enjoined you to
take heed to your ways; to ponder the paths of your feet ; to remem
ber your Creator in the days of your youth. lie hath decreed, that
they only who seek after wisdom shall find it ; that fools shall be
afflicted, because of their transgressions ; and that whoso refuseth in
struction shall destroy his own soul. By listening to these admo
nitions, and tempering the vivacity of youth with a proper mixture
of serious thought, you may ensure cheerfulness for the rest of
life ; but, by delivering yourselves up at present to giddiness and
levity, you lay the foundation of lasting heaviness of heart.
When you look forward to those plans of life, which either your
circumstances have suggested, or your friends have proposed, you
will nqt hesitate to acknowledge, that, in order to pursue them
with advantage, some previous discipline is requisite. Be assured,
that, whatever is to be your profession, no education is more ne
cessary to your success, than the acquirement of virtuous disposi
tions and habits. This is the universal preparation for every cha
racter, and every station in life. Bad as the world is, respect is
always paid to virtue. In the course of human affairs, it will be
found that a plain understanding, joined with acknowledged
worth, contributes more to prosperity, than the brightest parts
without probity or honour. Whether science or business, or
public life, be your aim, virtue still enters, for a principal share,
into all those great departments of society. It is connected with
eminence, in every liberal art ; with- reputation, in every branch
of fair and useful business ; with distinction in every public sta
tion. The vigour which it gives the mind, and the weight which
it adds to character; the generous sentiments which it breathes,
the undaunted spirit which it inspires, the ardour of diligence
which it quickens, the freedom which it procures from pernicious
and dishonourable avocations ; are the foundations of all that is
high in fame, or great in success, among men.
Whatever ornamental or engaging endowments you now pos
sess, virtue is a necessary requisite, in order to their shining with
proper lustre. Feeble are the attractions of the fairest form, if it
be suspected that nothing within corresponds to the pleasing ap
pearance without. Short are the triumphs of wit, when it is sup
posed to be the vehicle of malice. By whatever arts you may at
first attract the attention, you can hold the esteem and secure
the hearts of others, only by amiable dispositions, and the ac
complishments of the mind. These are qualities whose influence
will last, when the lustre of all that once sparkled and dazzled
has passed away.

Sera. XL] ON THE YOUNG. 107
Let not then the season of youth be barren of improvements so
essential to your future felicity and honour. Now is the seed
time of life ; and according to what you sow you shall reap, four
character is now, under Divine assistance, of your own forming ;
your fate is, in some measure, put into your own hands. Your
nature is as yet pliant and soft. Habits have not established their
dominion. Prejudices have not pre-occupied your understanding.
The world has not had time to contract and debase your affections.
All your powers are more vigorous, disembarrassed, and free, than
they will be at any future period. Whatever impulse you now
give to your desires and passions, the direction is likely to con
tinue. It will form' the channel in which your life is to run ; nay,
it may determine its everlasting issue. Consider then the employ
ment of this important period, as the highest trust which shall
ever be committed to you ; as, in a great measure, decisive of
your happiness in time and in eternity. As, in the succession of
the seasons, each, by the invariable laws of Nature, affects the
productions of what is next in course ; so, in human life, every
period of our age, according as it is well or ill spent, influences
the happiness of that which is to follow. Virtuous youth gradu
ally brings forward accomplished and flourishing manhood ; and
such manhood passes of itself, without uneasiness, into respect
able and tranquil old age. But when nature is turned out of its
regular course, disorder takes place in the moral, just as in the
vegetable, world. If the spring put forth no blossoms, in sum
mer there will be no beauty, and in autumn no fruit. So, if youth
be trifled away without improvement, manhood will be contempt
ible, and old age miserable. If the beginnings of life have been
vanity, its latter end can be no other than vexation of spirit.
Having thus shown the importance of beginning early to give
serious attention to conduct, I come, next, to point out the vir
tues which are most necessary to be cultivated in youth. Wha<-
I shall, I. — Recommend, is piety to God. With this I begin, both as
a foundation of good morals, and as a disposition particularly
graceful and becoming in youth. To be void of it, argues a cold
heart, destitute of some of the best affections which belong to that
age. Youth is the season of warm and generous emotions. The
heart should then, spontaneously, rise into the admiration of
what is great, glow "with the love of what is fair and excellent,
and melt at the discovery of tenderness and goodness. Where
can any object be found, so pioper to kindle those affections, as
the Father of the universe, and the Author of all felicity? UnT
moved by veneration, can you contemplate that grandeur and
majesty, which his works every where display ? Untouched by gra-

108 ON THE DUTIES [Sera. XL
titude, can you view that profusion of good, which, in this pleasing
season of life, his beneficent hand pours around you ? Happy
in the love and affection of those with whom you are connected,
look up to the Supreme Being, as the inspirer of all the friendship
which has ever been shown you by others ; himself, your best and
your first friend ; formerly the supporter of your infancy, and
the guide of your childhood ; now, the guardian of your youth,
and the hope of your coming years. View religious homage, as
a natural expression of gratitude to him for all his goodness. Con
sider it as the service of the God of your fathers; of him to whom
your parents devoted you ; of him whom in former ages your an
cestors honoured ; and by whom they are now rewarded, and
blessed in Heaven. Connected with so many tender sensibilities
of soul, let religion be, with you, not the cold and barren off
spring of speculation, but the warm and vigorous dictate of the
heart. But though piety chiefly belong to the heart, yet the aid of
the understanding is requisite to give a proper direction to the
devout affections. You must endeavour, therefore, to acquire
just views, both of the great principles of natural religion, and of
the peculiar doctrines of the Gospel. For this end, study the
sacred Scriptures. Consult the word of God, more than the sys
tems of men, if you would know the truth in its native purity.
When, upon rational and sober inquiry, you have established your
principles, suffer them not to be shaken by the scoffs of the licen
tious, or the cavils of the sceptical. Remember, that in the exa
mination of eveiy great and comprehensive plan, such as that of
Christianity, difficulties may be expected to occur ; and that rea
sonable evidence is not to be rejected, because the nature of our
present state allows us only to know in part, and to see through a
glass, darkly.
Impress your minds with reverence for all that is sacred. Let
no wantonness of youthful spirits, no compliance with the intem
perate mirth of others, ever betray you into profane sallies. Be
sides the guilt which is thereby incurred, nothing gives a more
odious appearance of petulance and presumption to youth, than
the affectation of treating religion with levity. Instead of being
an evidence of superior understanding, it discovers a pert and
shallow mind ; which, vain of the first smatterings of knowledge,
presumes to make light of what the rest of mankind revere.
At the same time you are not to imagine, that, when exhorted
to be religious, you are called upon to become more formal and
solemn in your manners than others of the same years, or to erect
yourselves into supercilious reprovers of those around you. The
spirit of true religion breathes gentleness and affability. It gives

Srra. XL] OF THE YOUNG. 109
a native, unaffected ease to the behaviour. It is social, kind, and
cheerful ; far removed from that gloomy and illiberal superstition
which clouds the brow, sharpens the temper, dejects the spirit,
and teaches men to fit themselves for another world, by neglecting
the concerns of this. Let your religion, on the contrary, connect
preparation for Heaven, with an honourable discharge of the
duties of active life. Let it be associated in your imagination,
with all that is manly and useful ; with whatsoever things are true,
are just, are pure, are lovely, are of good report, wherever there is
any virtue, and whenever there is any praise. Of such religion
discover, on every proper occasion, that you are not ashamed ;
but avoid making any unnecessary ostentation of it before the
world. II. — To piety, join modesty and docility, reverence of your pa
rents, and submission to those who are your superiors in know
ledge, in station, and in years. Dependence and obedience be
long to youth. Modesty is one of its chief ornaments ; and has
ever been esteemed a presage of rising merit. When entering on
the career of life, it is your part, not to assume the reins as yet
into your hands ; but to commit yourselves to the guidance of the
more experienced, and to become wise by the wisdom of those
who have gone before you.
Of all the follies incident to youth, there are none which ei
ther deform its present appearance, or blast the prospect of its fu
ture prosperity, more than self-conceit, presumption, and obsti
nacy. By checking its natural progress in improvement, they fix
it in long immaturity ; and frequently produce mischiefs, which
can never be repaired. Yet these are vices too commonly found
among the young. Big with enterprise, and elated by hope, they
resolve to trust for success to none but themselves. Full of their
own abilities, they deride the admonitions which are given them
by their friends, as the timorous suggestions of age. Too wise
to learn, too impatient to deliberate, too forward to be restrained,
they plunge, with precipitant indiscretion, into the midst of all
the dangers with which life abounds. Seest thou a young man wise
in his own conceit ? There is more hope of a fool, than of him. — Posi
tive as you now are in your opinions, and confident in your as
sertions, be assured that the time approaches when both men and
things will appear to you in a different light. , Many characters
which you now admire, will, by and by, sink in your esteem ; and
many opinions, of which you are at present most tenacious, will
alter as you advance in years. Distrust, therefore, that glare of
youthful presumption, which dazzles your eyes. Abound not in
your own sense. Put not yourselves forward with too much eager
ness; nor imagine, that, by the impetuosity of juvenile ardour

110 ON THE DUTIES. [Sera. XI.
you can overturn systems which have been long established, and
change the face of the world. Learn not to think more highly of
yourselves than you ought to think, but to think soberly. By patient
and gradual progression in improvement, you may, in due time,
command lasting esteem ; but by assuming, at present, a tone of
superiority, to which you have no title, you will disgust those
whose approbation it is most important to gain. Forward vivacity
may fit you to be the companion of an idle hour. More solid qua
lities must recommend you to the wise, and mark you out for
importance and consideration in subsequent life.
III. — It is necessary to recommend to you, sincerity and truth.
This is the basis of every virtue. That darkness of character,
where we can see no heart, those foldings of art, through which
no native affection is allowed to penetrate, present an object, un-
amiable in every season of life, but particularly odious in youth.
If, at an age when the heart is warm, when the emotions are strong,
and when nature is expected to show itself free and open, you
can already smile and deceive, what are we to look for when you
shall be longer hackneyed in the ways of men ; when interest shall
have completed the obduration of your heart, and experience shall
have improved you in all the arts of guile ? Dissimulation in youth,
is the fore-runner of perfidy in old age. Its first appearance is the
fatal omen of growing depravity, and future shame. It degrades
parts and learning, obscures the lustre of every accomplishment,
and sinks you into contempt with God and man.
As you value, therefore, the approbation of Heaven, or the esteem
of the world, cultivate the love of truth. In all your proceedings, be
direct and consistent. Ingenuity and candour possess the most pow
erful charm ; they bespeak universal favour, and carry an apology for
almost every failing. The lip of truth shall be established for ever ; but
a lying tongue is but for a moment. [Prov. xii. 19.] The path of truth
is a plain and a safe path ; that of falsehood is a perplexing maze.
After the first departure from sincerity, it is not in our power to stop.
One artifice unavoidably leads on to another ; till, as the intricacy of
the labyrinth increases, you are left entangled in your own snare.
Deceit discovers a little mind, which stops at temporary expedi
ents, without rising to comprehensive views of conduct. It be
trays, at the same time, a dastardly spirit. It is the resource of
one who wants courage to avow his designs, or to rest upon him
self. Whereas, openness of character displays that generous bold
ness which ought to distinguish youth. To set out in the world
with no other principle than a crafty attention to interest, betokens
one who is destined for creeping through the. inferior walks of life.
But to give an early preference to honour above gain, when they
stand in competition ; to despise every advantage which cannot be

Sera. XL] OF THE YOUNG, 111
attained without dishonest arts ; to brook no meanness ; and to
stoop to no dissimulation ; are the indications of a great mind,
the presages of future eminence and distinction in life.
At the same time, this virtuous sincerity is perfectly consistent
with the most prudent vigilance and caution. It is opposed to
cunning, not to true wisdom. It is not the simplicity of a weak
and improvident, but the candour of an enlarged and noble mind ;
of one who scorns deceit, because he account? it both base and
unprofitable ; and who seeks no disguise, because he needs none
to hide him. Lord ! who shall abide in thy tabernacle ? Who shall
ascend into thy holy hill ? He that walketh uprightly and worketh
righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.
IV. — Youth is the proper season of cultivating the benevolent
and humane affections. As a great part of your happiness is to
depend on the connexions which you form with others, it is of
high importance that you acquire, betimes, the temper and the
manners which will render such connections comfortable. Let a
sense of justice be the foundation of all your social qualities. In
your' most early intercourse with the world, and even in your
youthful amusements, let no unfairness be found. Engrave on
your mind that sacred rule of doing all things to others, accord
ing as you wish that they should do unto you. For this end, impress
yourselves with a deep sense of the original and natural equality
of men. Whatever advantages of birth or fortune you possess,
never display them with an ostentatious superiority. Leave the
subordinations of rank, to regulate the intercourse of more ad
vanced years. At present, it becomes you to act among your
companions as man with man. Remember how unkr.own to you
are the vicissitudes of the world ; and how often they, on whom
ignorant and contemptuous young men once looked down with
scorn', have risen to be their superiors in future years.
Compassion is an emotion of which you ought never to be
ashamed. Graceful in youth is the tear of sympathy, and the
heart that melts at the tale of woe. Let not ease and indulgence
contract your affections, and wrap you up in selfish enjoyment.
But go sometimes to the house of mourning, as well as to the house
of feasting. Accustom yourselves to think of the distresses of hu
man life ; as the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the weep
ing orphan. Thou shalt not harden thy heart, nor shut thy hand
from thy poor brother ; but thou shalt surely give unto him in the day
of his need. And thine heart shall not be grieved when thou givesi
unto him ; because that for this thing, the Lord thy God shall bless
thee in all thy works. [Deut. xv. 7, 10.] Never sport with pain and
iistress, in any of your amusements ; nor treat even the meanest
¦jisect with wanton cruelty.

112 ON THE DUTIES [Sera. XI.
In your minds, there is commonly a strong propensity to parti
cular intimacies and friendships. Youth, indeed, is the season
when friendships are sometimes formed, which not only continue
through succeeding life, but which glow to the last, with a ten
derness unknown to the connexions begun in cooler years. The
propensity therefore is not to be discouraged ; though, at the same
time, it must be regulated with much circumspection and care.
Too many of the pretended friendships of youth, are mere combi
nations in pleasure. They are often founded on capricious likings ;
suddenly contracted, and as suddenly dissolved. Sometimes they
are the effect of interested complaisance and flattery on the one
side, and of credulous fondness on the other. Beware of such
rash and dangerous connexions, which may afterwards load you
with dishonour. Remember, that by the character of those whom
you choose for your friends, your own is likely to be formed, and
will certainly be judged of by the world. Be slow, therefore, and
cautious in contracting intimacy ; but when a virtuous friendship
is once established, consider it as a sacred engagement. Expose
not yourselves to the reproach of lightness and inconstancy, which
always bespeak either a trifling, or a base mind. Reveal none of
the secrets of your friend. Be faithful to his interests. Forsake
him not in danger. Abhor the thought of acquiring any advan
tage by his prejudice or hurt. There is a friend that loveth at all
times, and a brother that is born for adversity. Thine own friend,
and thy father's friend, forsake not. [Prov. xvii. 17. — xxvii. 10.]
Finally, on this head ; in order to render yourselves amiable in
society, correct every appearance of harshness in behaviour. Let
that courtesy distinguish your demeanour, which springs not so
much from studied politeness, as from a mild and gentle heart.
Follow the customs of the world in matters indifferent, but stop
when they become sinful. Let your manners be simple and natu
ral ; and of course they will be engaging. Affectation is certain
deformity. By forming themselves in fantastic models, and vying
with one another in every reigning folly, the young begin with
being ridiculous, and end in being vicious and immoral.
V. — Let me particularly exhort youth to temperance in pleasure :
let me admonish them, to beware of that rock on which thou
sands, from race to race, continue to split. The love of pleasure
natural to man in every period of his life, glows at this age with
excessive ardour. Novelty adds fresh charms, as yet, to every
gratification. The world appears to spread a continual feast ; and
health, vigour, and high spirits, invite them to partake of it with
out restraint. In vain we warn them of latent dangers. Religion
is accused of insufferable severity, in prohibiting enjoyment ; and
the old, when they offer their admonitions, are upbraided with ha.-

Sera. XL] OF THE YOUNG. 113
ving forgot that they once were young. And yet, my friends,
to what do the restraints of religion, and the counsels of age, with
respect to pleasure, amount ? They may all be comprised in few
words ; not to hurt yourselves, and not to hurt others, by your pur
suit of pleasure. Within these bounds pleasure is lawful ; beyond
them, it becomes criminal, because it is ruinous. Are these re
straints, any other than what a wise man would choose to impose
on himself? We call you not to renounce pleasure, but to enjoy
it in safety. Instead of abridging it, we exhort you to pursue it
on an extensive plan. We propose measures for securing its pos
session, and for prolonging its duration.
Consult your whole nature. Consider yourselves not only as
sensitive, but as rational beings ; not only as rational, but social ;
not only as social, but immortal. Whatever violates your nature,
in any of these respects, cannot afford true pleasure ; any more
than that which undermines an essential part of the vital system
can promote health. For the truth of this conclusion, we appeal,
not merely to the authority of religion, nor to the testimony of the
aged, but to yourselves and your own experience. We ask, Whe
ther you have not found, that in a course of criminal excess, your
pleasure was more than compensated by succeeding pain ? Whe
ther, if not from every particular instance, yet from every habit,
at least, of unlawful gratification, there did not spring some thorn
to wound you, there did not arise some consequence to make you
repent of it in the issue ? How long then, ye simple ones ! will ye
love\ simplicity] How long repeat the same round of pernicious
folly, and tamely expose yourselves to be caught in the same
snare ? If you have any consideration, or any firmness left, avoid
temptations, for which you have found yourselves unequal, with
as much care as you would shun pestilential infection. Break off
all connections with the loose and profligate. When sinners entice
thee, consent thou not. Look not on the wine when it is red, when it
giveth its colour in the cup : for at the last it biteth like a serpent, and
stingeth like an adder. Remove thy way from the strange woman,
and come not near the door of her house. Let not thine heart incline to
her ways : for her house is the way to hell. Thou goest after her as
a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life.
By these unhappy excesses of irregular pleasure in youth, how
many amiable dispositions are corrupted or destroyed ! How mam-
rising capacities and powers are suppressed ! How many flatter
ing hopes of parents and friends are totally extinguished ! Who
but must , drop a tear over human nature, when he beholds that
morning which arose so bright, overcast with such untimely
darkness ; that good humour which once captivated all hearts,
that vivacity which spaikled in every company, those abilities
I

114 ON THE DUTIES [Sera. XI
which were fitted for adorning the highest station, all sacrificed
at the shrine of low sensuality ; and one- who was formed for run
ning the fair career of life in the midst of public esteem, cut off
by his vices at the beginning of his course, or sunk, for the whole-
of it, into insignificancy and contempt ! — These, O sinful pleasure !
are thy trophies. It is thus, that, co-operating with the foe of
God and man, thou degradest human honour, and blastest the
opening prospects of human felicity.
VI. — Diligence, industry, and proper improvement of time, are
material duties of the young. To no purpose are they endowed
with the best abilities, if they want activity for exerting them.
Unavailing, in this case, will be every direction that can be given
them, either for their temporal or spiritual welfare. In youth,
the habits of industry are more easily acquired. In youth, the
incentives to it are strongest from ambition and from duty, from
emulation and hope, from all the prospects which the beginning
of life affords. If dead to these calls, you already languish in
slothful inaction, what will be able to quicken the more sluggish
current of advancing years ?
Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but the
foundation of pleasure. Nothing is so opposite to the true enjoy
ment of life, as the relaxed and feeble state of an indolent mind.
He who is a stranger to industry, may possess, but he cannot
enjoy. For it is labour only which gives the relish to pleasure. It
is the appointed vehicle of every good, to man. It is the indispen
sable condition of our possessing a sound mind in a sound body.
Sloth is so inconsistent with both, that it is hard to determine
whether it be a greater foe to virtue, or to health and happiness.
Inactive as it is in itself, its effects are fatally powerful. Though
it appear a slowly flowing stream, yet it undermines all that is stable
and flourishing. It not only saps the foundation of every virtue,
but pours upon you a deluge of crimes and evils. It is like water
which first putrifies by stagnation, and then sends up noxious va
pours, and fills the atmosphere with death.
Fly, therefore, from idleness, as the certain parent both of guilt
and of ruin. And under idleness I include, not mere inaction
only, but all that circle of trifling occupations, in which too many
saunter away their youth ; perpetually engaged in frivolous society,
or public amusements ; in the labours of dress, or the osten
tation of their persons. — Is this the foundation which you lay for
future usefulness and esteem ? By such accomplishments do you
hope to reccommend yourselves to the thinking part of the world,
and to answer the expectations of your friends and your country ?
— Amusements, youth requires. It were vain, it were cruel, to
prohibit them. But though allowable as the relaxation, they are

Serm. XI.] OF THE YOUNG. 115
most culpable as the business, of the young. For they then be
come the gulph of time, and the poison of the mind. They foment
bad passions. They weaken the manly powers. They sink the
native vigour of youth into contemptible effeminacy.
Redeeming your time from such dangerous waste, seek to fill it
with employments which you may review with satisfaction. The
acquisition of knowledge is one of the most honourable occupa
tions of youth. The desire of it discovers a liberal mind, and is
connected with many accomplishments, and many virtues. But
though your train of life should not lead you to study, the course
of education always furnishes proper employments to a well-dis
posed mind. Whatever you pursue, be emulous to excel. Gene
rous ambition, and sensibility to praise, are, especially at your
age, among the marks, of virtue. Think not that any affluence of
fortune, or any elevation of rank, exempt you from the duties of
application and industry. Industry is the law of our being ; it is
the demand of Nature, of Reason, and of God. Remember always,
that the years which now pass over your heads, leave permanent
memorials behind them. From your thoughtless minds they may
escape ; but they remain in the remembrance of God. They form
an important part of the register of your life. They will hereafter
bear testimony, either for or against you, at that day, when, for
all your actions, but particularly for the employments of youth,
you must give an account to God.
Thus I have set before you some of the chief qualifications
which belong to that sober mind, that virtuous and religious cha
racter, which the Apostle in my Text recommends to youth ; piety,
modesty, truth, benevolence, temperance, and industry. Whe
ther your future course is destined to be long or short, after this
manner it should commence; and, if it continue to be thus con
ducted, its conclusion, at what time soever it arrives, will not be
inglorious or unhappy. For, honourable age is not that which
standeth in length of time, or that which is measured by number of
years. But wisdom is the grey hair to man, and an unspotted life is
old age.
Let me finish the subject with recalling your attention to that
dependence on the blessing of Heaven, which, amidst all your en
deavours after improvement, you ought continually to preserve.
It is too common with the young, even when they resolve to tread
the path of virtue and honour, to set out with presumptuous confi
dence in themselves. Trusting to their own abilities for carrying
them successfully through life, they are careless of applying to
God, or of deriving any assistance from what they are apt to reckon
the gloomy discipline of religion. Alas ! how little do they know
the dangers which await them ! Neither human wisdom, nor
I 2

116 ON THE DUTIES AND [Sera. XII.
human virtue, unsupported by religion, are equal to the trying
situations which often occur in life. By the shock of temptation,
how frequently have the most virtuous intentions been overthrown !
Under the pressure of disaster how often has the greatest con
stancy sunk ! Eveiy good, and every perfect gift, is from above.
Wisdom and virtue, as well as riches and honour, come from God.
Destitute of his favour, you are in no better situation with all your
boasted abilities than orphans left to wander in a trackless desert,
without any guide to conduct them, or any shelter to cover them
from the gathering storm. Correct, then, this ill-founded arro
gance. Expect not, that your happiness can be independent of
him who made you. By faith and repentance, apply to the Re
deemer of the world. By piety and prayer, seek the protection
of the God of Heaven. I conclude with the solemn words, in
which a great Prince delivered his dying charge to his son ; words
which every young person ought to consider as addressed to him
self, and to engrave deeply on his heart : Thou Solomon, my son,
know thou the God of thy fathers ; and serve him with a perfect heart,
and with a willing mind. For the Lord searcheth all hearts, and un-
derstandeth all the imaginations of the thoughts. If thou seek him,
he will be found of thee ; but if thou forsake him he will cast thee off
for ever. [1 Chron. xxviii. 9.]

SERMON XII.
ON THE DUTIES AND CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED.
Proverbs xvi. 31. — The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be
found in the way of righteousness.
To fear God, and to keep his commandments, is the rule of our duty,
in every period of life. But, as the light which guides our steps
varies with the progress of the day, so the rule of religious conduct
is diversified in its application by the different stages of our pre
sent existence. To every age, there belongs a distinct propriety of
behaviour. There arises from it, a series of duties peculiar to itself.
Of those which are incumbent on youth, I have treated in the
preceding Discourse. As we advance from youth to middle age,
a new field of action opens, and a different character is required.
The flow of gay and impetuous spirits begins to subside. Life
gradually assumes a graver cast ; the mind a more sedate and
thoughtful turn. The attention is now transferred from pleasure
to interest ; that is, to pleasure diffused over a wider extent, and
measured by a larger scale. Formerly, the enjoyment of the pre
sent moment occupied the whole attention. Now, no action ter-

Serm. XIL] CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED. 117
ruinates ultimately in itself, but refers to some more distant aim.
Wealth and power, the instruments of lasting gratification, are
now coveted more than any single pleasure. Prudence and fore
sight lay their plans. Industry carries on its patient efforts. Ac
tivity pushes forward : address winds round. Here, an enemy is
to be overcome; there, a rival to be displaced. Competitions
warm ; and the strife of the world thickens on every side. To
guide men through this busy period, without loss of integrity ; to
guard them against the temptations which arise from mistaken or
interfering interests ; to, call them from worldly pursuits to serious
thoughts of their spiritual concerns, is the great office of religion.
But as this includes, in a great measure, the whole compass of
moral duty, as the general strain of religious exhortation is ad-
-dressed to those who are in this season of life ; a delineation of
the virtues properly belonging to middle age, may appear unne
cessary, and would lead us into too wide a field. Let us therefore
turn our view to a bounded prospect ; and contemplate a period of
life, the duties of which are circumscribed within narrower limits.
Old age is a stage of the human course, which every one hopes to
reach ; and therefore the consideration of it interests us all. It is
a period justly entitled to general respect. Even its failings ought
to be touched with a gentle hand : and though the petulant, and
the vain, may despise the hoary head ; yet the wisest of men has
asserted in the Text, that when found in the way of righteousness,
it is a crown of glory. I shall first offer some counsels, concerning
the errors which are most incident to the aged. Secondly, I shall
suggest the peculiar duties they ought to practise ; and, thirdly,
point out the consolations they may enjoy.
I. — As the follies and vices of youth are chiefly derived from in
experience and presumption, so almost all the errors of age may
be traced up to the feebleness and distresses peculiar to that time
of life. Though, in every part of life, vexations occur, yet, in
former years, either business, or pleasure, served to obliterate their
impression, by supplying occupation to the mind. Old age begins
its advances, with disqualifying men for relishing the one, and
for taking an active part in the other. While it withdraws their
accustomed supports, it imposes, at the same time, the additional
burden of growing infirmities. In the former stages of their jour
ney, hope continued to flatter them with many a fair and enticing
prospect. But in proportion as old age increases, those pleasing
illusions vanish. Life- is contracted within a narrow and barren
circle. Year after year steals somewhat away from their store of
comfort, deprives them of some of their ancient friends, blunts
some of their powers of sensation, or incapacitates them for some
function of life

118 ON THE DUTIES AND [Serin. XII.
Though, in the plan of Providence, it is wisely ordered, that be
fore we are called away from the world, our attachment to it
should be gradually loosened ; though it be fit in itself, that, as in
the day of human life there is a morning and a noon, so there
"should be an evening also, when the lengthening shadows shall
admonish us of approaching night ; yet we have no reason to be
surprised, if they who are arrived at this dejecting season, feel and
lament the change which they suffer. The complaints, therefore,
of the aged, should meet with tenderness, rather than censure.
The burden under which they labour ought to be viewed with
sympathy, by those who must bear it in their turn, and who, per
haps, hereafter may complain of it as bitterly. At the same time,
the old should consider, that all the seasons of life have their se
veral trials allotted to them ; and that to bear the infirmities of age
with becoming patience, is as much their duty, as is that of the
young to resist the temptations of youthful pleasure. By calmly
enduring, for the short time that remains, what Providence is
pleased to inflict, they both express a resignation most acceptable
to God, and recommend themselves to the esteem and assistance
of all who are around them.
But though the querulous temper imputed to old age, is to be
considered as a natural infirmity, rather than as a vice ; the same
apology cannot be made for that peevish disgust at the manners,
and that malignant censure of the enjoyments, of the young, which
is sometimes found to accompany declining years. Nothing can
be more unjust, than to take offence at others, on account of their
partaking of' pleasures, which it is past your time to enjoy. By
indulging this fretful temper, you both aggravate the uneasiness
of age, and you alienate those on whose affection much of your
comfort depends. In order to make the two extremes of life unite
in amicable society, it is greatly to be wished that the youno-
would look forward, and consider that they shall one day be old ;
and that the old would look back, and, remembering that they
once were young, make proper allowances for the temper and the
manners of youth.
But, instead of this, it is too common to find the aged at de
clared enmity with the whole system of present customs and man
ners; perpetually complaining of the growing depravity of the
world, and of the astonishing vices and follies of the rising gene
ration. All things, according to them, are rushing fast into ruin.
Decency and good order have become extinct, ever since that
happy discipline, under which they spent their youth, has passed
away.— Part, at least, of this displeasure, you may fairly impute
to the infirmity of age, which throws its own gloom on every sur
rounding object. Similar lamentations were in the days of your

sera. XII.] CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED. 119
youth, poured forth by your fathers ; and they who are now
young, shall, when it comes to their turn, inveigh, in the like
strain, against those who succeed them. Great has been the cor
ruption of the world in every age. Sufficient ground there is for
the complaints made by serious observers, at all times, of abound
ing iniquity and folly. But though particular modes of vice pre
vail in one age more than in others, it does not follow, that on that
age all iniquity is accumulated. It is the form, perhaps, more
than the quantity of corruption, which makes the distinction. In
the worst of times, God hath assured us, that there shall be always
a seed who shall serve him. [Psalm xxii. 30.] Say not thou, What
is the cause that the former days were better than these ? For thou
dost not inquire wisely concerning this. Be not righteous overmuch ;
neither make thyself overwise. [Eccles. vii. 10, 16.] Former follies
pass away and are forgotten. Those which are present, strike
observation, and sharpen censure. Had the depravation of the
world continued to increase in proportion to those gloomy calcu
lations, which, for so many centuries past, have estimated each
race as worse than the preceding ; by this time, not one ray of
good sense, not one spark of piety and virtue, must have remained
unextinguished among mankind.
One of the vices' of old age, which appears the most unaccount
able, is that covetous attachment to worldly interest, with which
it is often charged. But this, too, can naturally be deduced from
the sense of its feebleness and decay. In proportion as the vigour
both of body and mind declines, timidity may be expected to in
crease. With anxious and fearful eye, the aged look forward to
the evils which threaten them, and to the chanees which may
befall. Hence, they are sometimes apt to overvalue riches, as the
instrument of their defence against these dangers, and as the most
certain means of securing them against solitude and disrespect.
But though their apprehensions may justify a cautious frugality,
they can by no means excuse a sordid avarice. It is no less
absurd than it is culpable, in the old, from the dread of uncertain
futurity, to deny themselves the enj oyment of the present ; and to
increase in anxiety about their journey, in proportion as it draws
nearer to its close. There are more effectual methods of com
manding respect from the world, than the mere possession of
wealth. Let them be charitable, and do good. Let them mix
beneficence to their friends, with a cheerful enjoyment of the
comforts which benefit their state. They will then receive the
returns of real respect and love. Whereas, by their riches, thev
procure no more than pretended demonstrations of regard ; while
their ill-judged parsimony occasions many secret wishes for their
death.

120 ON THE DUTIES AND [Sera. XII.
As increasing years debilitate the body,' so they weaken the
force, and diminish the warmth, of the affections. Chilled .by the
nand of time, the heart loses that tender sensibility, with which it
once entered into the concerns and sorrows of others. It is, in
truth, a merciful appointment of Providence, that as they who see
many days, must behold many a sad scene, the impressions of
grief upon their heart should be blunted by being often repeated ;
and that, in proportion as their power of advancing the, prosperity
of others decreases, their participation of the misfortunes of others
should also lessen. However, as in eveiy period of life, humanity
and friendship contribute to happiness, it is both the duty and the
interest of the aged, to cherish the ' remains of the kind affections ;
and from the days of former years, to recall such impressions as
may tend to soften their hearts. Let them not, from having suf
fered much in the course of their long pilgrimage, become callous
to the sufferings of others ; but, remembering that they still are
men, let them study to keep their heart open to the sense of
human woe. Practised in the ways of men, they are apt to be
suspicious of design and fraud ; for the knowledge and the dis
trust of mankind too often go together. Let not, however, that
wary caution, which is the fruit of their experience, degenerate into
craft. Experience ought also to have taught them, that amidst
all the falsehood of men, integrity is the best defence ; and that he
who continueth to the end to walk uprightly, shall continue to
walk surely. Having thus offered some admonitions concerning
the errors most incident to age, I proceed,
II. — To point out the duties which peculiarly belong to it.
The first which I shall mention, is a timely retreat from the
world. In every part of life, we are in hazard of being too deeply
immersed in its cares. But, during its vigorous periods, the im
pulse of active spirit, the necessary business of our station, and the
allowable endeavours to advance our fortune by fair industry,
render it difficult to observe true moderation. In old age, all the
motives of eager pursuit diminish. The voice of nature then calls
you to leave to others the bustle and contest of the world ; and
gradually to disengage yourselves from a burden, which begins to
exceed your strength. Having borne your share of the heat and
labour of the day, let the evening of life be passed in the cool
and quiet shade. It is only in the shade, that the virtues of old
age can flourish. There, its duties are discharged with more suc
cess ; and there, its comforts are enjoyed with greatest satisfaction.
By the retreat of old age, however, I do not mean a total ces
sation from every worldly employment. There is an error in this
as well as in the opposite extreme. Persons who have been long
harassed with business and care, sometimes imagine, that when

Serm. XII.] CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED 121
life declines, they cannot make their retirement from the world
too complete. But where they expected a delicious enjoyment of
leisure and ease, they have often found a melancholy solitude.
Few are able, in any period of their days, to bear a total abstrac
tion from the world. There remains a vacancy which they cannot
fill up. Incapable of being always employed in the exercises of
religion, and often little qualified for the entertainments of the un
derstanding, they are in hazard of becoming a burden to them
selves, and to all with whom they are connected. It is, therefore,
the duty of the aged, not so much to withdraw entirely from
worldly business, as to contract its circle ; not so much to break
off, as to loosen, their communication with active life. Continuing
that train of occupation to which they have been most accustomed,
let them pursue it with less intenseness ; relaxing their efforts, as
their powers decline ; retiring more and more from public observa
tion, to domestic scenes, and serious thoughts ; till, as the decays
of life advance, the world shall of itself withdraw to a greater
distance from their view, its objects shall gradually yield their
place to others of more importance ; and its tumults shall sound
in their ears only like a noise which is heard from afar.
If it be the duty of the old, to retreat betimes from the fatigues
of worldly care, it is still more incumbent on them to quit the
pursuit of such pleasures as are unsuitable to their years. Cheer
fulness in old age, is graceful. It is the natural concomitant
of virtue. But the cheerfulness of age is widely different from
the levity of youth. Many things are allowable in that early
period, which, in maturer years, would deserve censure; but
which, in old age, become both ridiculous and criminal. By
awkwardly affecting to imitate the manners, and to mingle in the
vanities, of the young, as the aged depart from the dignity, so they
forfeit the privileges of grey heirs. But if, by follies of this
kind, they are degraded, they are exposed to much deeper blame,
by descending into vicious pleasure, and continuing to hover round
those sinful gratifications to which they were once addicted.
Amusement and relaxation the aged require, and may enjoy. But
let them consider well, that, by every intemperate indulgence, they
accelerate decay ; instead of enlivening, they oppress, and preci
pitate their declining state. Ease, safety, and respect, are the
proper enjoyments of age. Within these bounds let it remain,
and not vainly attempt to break through that barrier by which na
ture has separated the pleasures of youth from the comforts left
to the concluding years of life.
A material part of the duty of the aged consists in studying to
be useful to the race who are to succeed them. Here opens to
them an extensive field, in which they may so employ themselves,

122 ON THE DUTIES AND [Sera. XII.
as considerably to advance the interests of religion, and the hap
piness of mankind. To them it belongs, to impart to the young
the fruit of their long experience, to instruct them in their proper
conduct, and to warn them of the various dangers of life ; by wise
counsel, to temper their precipitate ardour ; and, both by precept
and example, to form them to piety and virtue.
It is not by rigorous discipline, and unrelaxing austerity, that
they can maintain an ascendant over youthful minds. The con
straint which their presence will impose, and the aversion which
their manners will create, if the one be constantly awful, and the
other severe, tend to frustrate the effect of all their wisdom. They
must assume the spirit of the companion and the friend ; and mix,
with the authority of age, a proper degree of indulgence to the
manners of the young. Instead of lessening the respect due to
their years by such condescension, they take the surest method to
increase it. Old age never appears with greater dignity, than
when, tempered with mildness, and enlivened with good humour,
it acts as the guide and the patron of youth. Religion, displayed
in such a character, strikes the beholders, as at once amiable
and venerable. They revere its power, when they see it adding
so much grace to the decays of nature, and shedding so pleasing
a lustre over the evening of life. The young wish to tread in the
same steps, and to arrive at the close of their days with equal
honour. They listen with attention to counsels which are mingled
with tenderness, and rendered respectable by grey heirs. For,
notwithstanding all its presumption, youth naturally bends before
superior knowledge and years. Aged wisdom, when joined with
acknowledged virtue, exerts an authority over the human mind,
greater even than that which arises from power and station. It
can check the most forward, abash the most profligate, and strike
with awe the most giddy and unthinking.
In the midst of their endeavours to be useful to others, let not
the aged forget those religious employments which their own state
particularly requires. The first of these is reflection on their past
behaviour, with a view to discover the errors which they have
committed ; and, as far as remaining life allows, to apply themselves
to repentance and amendment. — Long has the world bewildered
you in its maze, and imposed upon you by its arts. The time is
now come, when this great seducer should mislead you no more.
From the calm station at which you are arrived, sequestered from
the crowd of the deceiving and the deceived, review your conduct
with the eye of Christians and immortal beings. After all the
tumult of life is over, what now remains to afford you solid satis
faction ? Have you served God with fidelity, and discharged
your part to your fellow-creatures with integrity and a good con-

Serm. XII,] CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED. 123
science ? Can you look forward without terror to that day which
is to dissolve your connection with this world, and to bring you
into the presence of him who made you, in order to give an account
of your actions ? — The retrospect of life is seldom wholly unat
tended by uneasiness and shame. Though to the good and the
bad it presents a very different scene ; yet, to all men, it recalls
much guilt incurred, and much time mis-spent. It too much re
sembles the review which a traveller takes from some eminence,
of a barren country, through which he has passed, where the
heath and the desert form the chief prospect ; diversified only by
a few scattered spots of imperfect cultivation.
Turn then your thoughts to the proper 4nethods of making your
peace with God through Jesus Christ, and implore, from Divine
grace, that new heart, and right spirit, which will fit you for a bet
ter world. Let devotion fill up many of those hours which are now
vacant from worldly business and care. Let your affections dwell
among divine and immortal objects. In silent and thoughtful
meditation, walk as on the shore of that vast pcean, upon which
you are soon to embark. Summon up all the considerations, which
should reconcile you to your departure from life ; and which may
prepare you for going through its last scene with firmness and de
cency. Often let your thanksgivings ascend to God, for that
watchful care with which he has hitherto conducted you through
the long journey of life. Often let your prayers be heard, that in
what remains of your pilgrimage, he may not forsake you ; and
that, when you enter into the valley of the shadow of death, he
may there support you with his staff, and defend you with his rod. —
Amidst such thoughts and cares, let old age find you employed ;
betaking yourselves to a timely retreat ; disengaged both from the
oppressive load of business, and from the unseasonable pursuit of
pleasure ; applying yourselves to form the succeeding race, by
your counsels, to virtue and wisdom ; reviewing seriously your
past life ; by repentance and devotion, preparing yourselves for a
better; and with humble, and manly composure expecting that
hour which nature cannot now long delay. It remains,
III. — To suggest the consolations which belong to old age, when
thus found in the way of righteousness.
I must introduce them with observing, that nothing is more
reasonable in itself, than to submit patiently to those infirmities of
Nature which are brought on by the increase of years. You knew
before-hand what you had to expect, when you numbered the
successive summers and winters ' which were passing over your
heads. Old age did not attack you by surprise, nor was it forced
upon you against your choice. Often, and earnestly, did you
wish to see long life and many days. When arrived at the desired

124 ON THE DUTIES AND [Sera. XII.
period, have you any just cause to complain, on account of en
during what the constitution of our being imposes on all? Did
you expect, that for your sake, Providence was to alter its esta
blished order? Throughout the whole vegetable, sensible, and
rational world, whatever makes progress towards maturity, as soon
as it has passed that point, begins to verge towards decay. It is
as natural for old age to be frail, as for the stalk to bend under the
ripened ear, or for the autumnal leaf to change its hue. To this
law all who went before you have submitted ; and all who shall
come after you must yield. After they have flourished for a sea
son, they shall fade like you, when the period of decline arrives,
and bow under the pressure of years.
During the whole progress of the human course, the principal
materials of our comfort or uneasiness lie within ourselves.
Every age will prove burdensome to those who have no fund of
happiness in their own breast. Preserve them, if you could, from
infirmity of frame ; bestow upon them, if it were possible, perpe
tual youth ; still they would be restless and miserable, through
the influence of ill governed passions. It is not surprising, that
such persons are peevish and querulous when old. Unjustly they
impute to their time of life, that misery with which their vices
and follies embitter every age. Whereas, to good men, no period of
life is unsupportable, because they draw their chief happiness from
sources which are independent of age or time. Wisdom, piety,
and virtue, grow not old with our bodies. They suffer no decay,
from length of days. To them only belongs unplterable and un
fading youth. Those that be planted in the house of the Lord, shall
flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit
in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing. [Psalm xcii. 13, 14.]
You can now, it is true, no longer relish many of those pleasures
which once amused you. Your sensations are less quick than
formerly; your days more languishing. But if you have quitted
the region of pleasure, in return you possess that of tranquillity
and repose. If you are strangers to the vivacity of enjoyment, you
are free, at the same time, from the pain of violent and often dis
appointed desire. Much fatigue, much vexation, as well as vanity,
attend that turbulence of life in which the younger part of man
kind are engaged. Amidst those keen^ pursuits and seeming,plea-
sures, for which you envy them, often they feel their own misery,
and look forward with a wishful eye to the season of calmness and
retreat. For on all sides of human life, the balance of happiness
is adjusted with more equality than at first appears ; and if old
age throws some new distresses into the scale, it lightens also the
weight of others. Many passions which formerly disturbed your
tranquillity, have now suhsided. Many competitions which long

Sera. XII.] CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED. 125
filled your days with disquiet and strife, are now at an end. Many
afflictions which once rent your hearts with violent anguish, are
now softened into a tender emotion, on the remembrance of past
woe. In the beginnings of life, there was room for much appre
hension, concerning what might befall in its progress. Your
security was never untroubled. Your hopes were interrupted by
many anxieties and fears. Having finished the career of labour
and danger, your anxiety ought of course to lessen. Ready to
enter into the harbour, you can look back, as from a secure sta
tion, upon the perils you have escaped, upon the tempest by
which you were tossed, and upon the multitudes who are still en
gaged in conflicting with the storm. •
If you have acted your part with integrity and honour, you
are justly entitled to respect, and you will generally receive it.
For rarely, or never, is old age contemned, unless when, by vice
or folly, it renders itself contemptible. Though length of time
may have worn off superficial ornaments, yet what old age loses in
grace, it often gains in dignity. The veneration, as was -before
observed, which grey hairs command, puts it in the power of the
aged to maintain a very important place in human society. They
are so far from being insignificant in the world, that families long
holden together by their authority, and societies accustomed to be
guided by their counsels, have frequently had cause to regret their
loss, more than that of the most vigorous and young. To success
of every kind, the head which directs is no less essential than the
hand which executes. Vain, nay, often dangerous, were youthful
enterprize, if not conducted by aged prudence. I said, Days should
speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom. [Job xxii. 7.]
Therefore, thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the
face of the old man, and fear thy God. [Lev. xix. 32.]
Though, in old age, the circle of your pleasures is more con
tracted than it has formerly been, yet within its limits many
of those enjoyments remain, which are most grateful to human
nature. Temperate mirth is not extinguished by advanced
years. The mild pleasures of domestic life still cheer the heart.
The entertainments of conversation, and social intercourse, con
tinue unimpaired. The desire of knowledge is not abated by the
frailty of the body ; and the leisure of old age affords many oppor
tunities for gratifying that desire. The sphere of your observation
and reflection is so much enlarged by long acquaintance with the
world, as to supply, within itself, a wide range of improving
thought. To recall the various revolutions which have occurred
since you began to act your part in life ; to compare the characters
of past and present times ; to trace the hand of Providence, in all
the incidents of your own lot ; to contemplate, with thoughtful

126 ON THE DUTIES AND [Serm. Xii.
eye, the successive new appearances which the world has assumed
around you, in government, education, opinions, customs, and
modes of living ; these are employments, no less entertaining than
instructive to the mind.
While you are engaged in such employments, you are, perhaps,
surrounded with your families, who treat you with attention and
respect ; you are honoured by your friends ; your character is
established ; you are placed beyond the reach of clamour, and the
strife of tongues ; and, free from distracting cares, you can attend.
calmly to your eternal interests. For such comforts as these, have
you not cause most thankfully to acknowledge the goodness of
Heaven? Do they not afford you ground to pass the remainder
of your days in resignation and peace ; disposing yourselves to rise
in due time, like satisfied guests, from the banquet that has been
set before you ; and to praise and bless, when you depart, the great
Master of the feast ? To a man that is good in his sight, whether
he be young or old, God giveth wisdom, and knowledge, and joy.
For every season of life, the benignity of his providence hath pre
pared its own satisfactions, while his wisdom hath appointed its
peculiar trials. No age is doomed to total infelicity ; provided
that we attempt not to do violence to Nature, by seeking to extort
from one age the pleasures of another ; and to gather, in the Win
ter of life, those flowers which were destined to blossom only in its
Summer, or its Spring.
But perhaps it will be said, that I have considered old age only
in its first stages, and in its most favourable point of light ; before
the faculties are as yet much impaired, and when disease or afflic
tion has laid no additional load on the burden of years. Let us
then view it with all its aggravations of distress. Let us suppose
it arrived at its utmost verge, worn out with infirmities, and bowed
down by sickness and sorrow. Still there remains this consola
tion, that it is not long ere the weary shall be at rest. Having pass
ed through so many of the toils of life, you may now surely, when
your pilgrimage touches on its close, bear, without extreme impa
tience, the hardships of its concluding stage. From the inestima
ble promises of the Gospel, and from the gracious presence of
God, the afflictions of old age cannot seclude you. Though your
heart should begin to faint, and your flesh to fail, there is One who
can be the strength of your heart, and your portion for ever. Even.
to your old age, saith the Lord, I am he ; and even to hoary hairs
will I carry you. I have made, and I will bear ; even I will carry,
and will deliver you. [Isa. xlvi. 4.] — Leave thy fatherless children ;
I will preserve them alive; und let thy ividows trust in me. [Sex.
xlix. 11.]
There is undoubtedly a period, when there ought to be a satiety

Sera. XII.] CONSOLATIONS OF THE AGED. 127
of life, as there is of all other things; and when death shall be
viewed as your merciful dismission from a long warfare. To come
to the grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn comelh in, in its
season, [Job v. 26.] is the natural termination of the human course.
Amidst multiplying infirmities, to prolong life beyond its usual
bounds, and to draw out your existence here to the last and foulest
dregs, ought not to be the wish of any wise man. Is it desirable,
to continue lingering on the borders of the grave, after every tie
which connects you with life is broken ; and to be left a solitary
individual, in the midst of a new generation, whose faces you
hardly know ? The shades of your departed friends rise up before
you, and warn you, that it is time to depart. Nature and Provi
dence summon you, to be gathered to your fathers. Reason ad
monishes you, that, as your predecessors made way for you, it is
just that you should yield your place to those who have arisen to
succeed you on this busy stage ; who, for a while, shall fill it with
their actions and their sufferings, their virtues and their crimes ;
and then shall, in their turn, withdraw, and be joined to the for
gotten multitudes of former ages.
Could death, indeed, be considered in no other view than as
the close of life, it would afford only a melancholy retreat. The
total extinction of being is a thought, which human nature, in its
most distressed circumstances, cannot bear without dejection. —
But, blessed be God ! far other prospects revive the spirits of the
aged, who have spent their life in piety and virtue. To them,
death is not the extinction, but the renovation, of the living prin
ciple ; its removal from the earthly house of this tabernacle, to the
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Having fought
the good fight ; having finished their course, and kept the faith ;
there is laid up for them the crown of righteousness. The Saviour
of the world hath not only brought immortality to light, but placed
it within the reach of their hope and trust. By making atonement
for their guilt, he hath prepared their way within the veil ; and
secured to them the possession of an inheritance incorruptible and
undefiledr reserved in the heavens. — Such are the hopes and prospects
which cheer the sorrows of old age, and surmount the fear of death.
Faith and piety are the only adequate supports of human nature in
all its great emergencies. After they have guided us through the
various trials of life, they uphold us, at last, amidst the ruins of
this falling frame ; and when the silver cord is just ready to be loosed,
and the golden bowl to be broken ; when the pitcher is broken at the
fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern ; they enable us to say,
O Death ! where is thy sting ? O Grave ! where is thy victory ?

128 ON THE POWER [Serm. XII.
SERMON XIII.
ON THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE.
Genesis xiii. 21, 22. — And they said one to another, We are verily
guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul,
when he besought us ; and we would not hear ; therefore is this dis
tress come upon us. And Reuben answered them, saying, Spake I
not unto you, saying, Do not sin against the child; and ye would
not hear ? Therefore behold also his blood is required.
This book of Genesis displays a more singular and interesting
scene, than was ever presented to the world by any other histo
rical record. It carries us back to the beginning of time, and ex
hibits mankind in their infant and rising state. It shews us hu
man manners in their primitive simplicity, before the arts of re
finement had polished the behaviour, or disguised the characters
of men ; when they gave vent to their passions without dissimu
lation, and spoke their sentiments without reserve. Few great
societies were, as yet, formed on the earth. Men lived in scat
tered tribes. The transactions of families made the chief mate
rials of history ; and they are related in this book, with that beau
tiful simplicity, which, in the highest degree, both delights the
imagination and affects the heart.
Of all the patriarchal histories, that of Joseph and his. brethren
is the most remarkable, for the characters of the actors, the in
structive nature of the events, and the surprising revolutions of
worldly fortune. As far as relates to the Text, and is necessary
for explaining it, the story is to the following purpose : 
Joseph, the youngest except one of the sons of Jacob, was distin
guished by his father with such marks of peculiar affection, as
excited the envy of his brethren. Having related to them, in the
openness of his heart, certain dreams which portended his future
advancement above them, their jealously rose to such a height,
that they unnaturally conspired his destruction. Seizing the op
portunity of his being at a distance from home, they first threw
him into a pit, and afterwards sold him for a slave ; imposing on
their father by a false relation of his death. When they had thus
gratified their resentment, they lost all remembrance of their
crime. The family of Jacob was rich and powerful ; and several
years passed away, during which they lived in prosperity ; without
being touched, as far as appears, with, the least remorse for the
cruel deed which they had committed.
Meanwhile, Joseph was safely conducted by the hand of Provi-

Sera. XIII.] OF CONSCIENCE. 129
dence, through a variety of dangers, until, from the lowest condi
tion, he rose at last to be chief favourite of the King of Egypt, the
most powerful monarch at that time in the world. While he pos
sessed this high dignity, a general famine distressed all the neigh
bouring countries. In Egypt alone, by means of his foresight and
prudent administration, plenty still reigned. Compelled to have
recourse to that kingdom for supply of food, the brethren of
Joseph, upon this occasion, appeared in his presence, and made
their humble application to him, for liberty to purchase corn ; little
suspecting the Governor of the land, before whom they bowed
down their faces to the earth, to be him, whom long ago they had
sold as a slave to the Ishmaelites. But Joseph no sooner saw,
than he knew, his brethren ; and, at this unexpected meeting, his
heart melted within him. Fraternal tenderness arose in all its
warmth, and totally effaced from his generous breast the impres
sion of their ancient cruelty. Though, from that moment, he be
gan to prepare for them a surprise of joy, yet he so far constrained
himself as to assume an appearance of great severity. By this,
he intended both to oblige them to bring into Egypt his youngest
and most beloved brother, whose presence he instantly required ;
and also, to awaken within them a due sense of the crime which
they had formerly perpetrated. Accordingly, his behaviour pro
duced the designed effect. For while they were in this situation,
strangers in a foreign land, where they had fallen, as they con
ceived, into extreme distress ; where they were thrown into prison
by the Governor, and treated with rigour, for which they could
assign no cause ; the reflection mentioned in the Text arose in
their minds. Conscience brought to remembrance their former
sins. It recalled, in particular, their long-forgotten cruelty to
Joseph; and without hesitation, they interpreted their present dis
tress to be a judgement, for this crime, inflicted by Heaven. They
said one to another, We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in
that we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought us, and we would
not hear ; therefore is this distress come upon us.— Behold, also, his
blood is required.
From this instructive passage of history, the following obser
vations naturally arise. I. That a sense of right and wrong in con
duct, or of moral good and evil, belongs to human nature. II. That
it produces an apprehension of merited punishment, when we
have committed evil. III. That although this inward sentiment
be stifled during the season of prosperity, yet in adversity it
will revive. And, IV. That when it revives, it determines us to
consider every distress which we suffer, from what cause soever
it has arisen, as an actual infliction of punishment by Heaven.
K

130 ON THE POWER [Sera. XIII
The consideration of these particulars will lead us to a very
serious view of the nature of man, and of the government of God.
I.— There belongs to human nature a sense of moral good and
evil, or a faculty which distinguishes right from wrong, in action
and conduct. They said one to another, we are verily guilty.  In
an age, when the law was not yet given, when no external re
velation of the Divine will subsisted, except what had been handed
down among the patriarchs from one generation to another; the
brethren of Joseph reasoned concerning their conduct upon the
same moral principles, and were affected by the same feelings, of
which we are conscious at this day. ¦ Such sentiments are coeval
with human nature ; for they are the remains of a law which was
originally written in our heart. In the darkest regions of the earth,
and among the rudest tribes of men, a distinction has ever been
made between just and unjust, between a duty and a crime. '
Throughout all the intercourse of human beings these distinctions
are supposed. They are the foundation of the mutual trust which
the transactions of life require; nay, the very entertainments of
society constantly appeal to them. The historian, who studies to
magnify his hero, by representing him as just and generous ; the
poet, who seeks to interest the world in his fictions, by engaging
the heart in behalf of distressed virtue ; are sufficient to confute the
sceptic, who denies any natural perception of a distinction in actions.
But though a sense of moral good and evil be deeply impressed
on the heart of man, yet it is not of sufficient power to regulate
his life. In his present corrupted state, it is both too general to
afford him full direction in conduct, and too feeble to withstand
the opposition of contrary principles in his nature. It is often
perverted by ignorance and superstition ; it is too easily overcome
by passion and desire. Hence the importance of that divine re
velation, which communicates both light and strength ; which, by
the instructive discoveries it makes, and by the powerful assistance
it supplies, raises man to a station infinitely superior to that which
he possesses under the mere light of Nature.
It is of consequence, however, to remark, that this revelation
necessarily supposes an antecedent sense of right and wrong to
take place in the human mind. It addresses itself to men, as pos
sessed of such a faculty ; and, when it commands them, in general.
terms, to pursue whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are
honest, whatsoever things are just, pure, lovely, or of good report,
if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, it plainly appeals
to the native dictates of their heart. Nay, unless men were en
dowed by nature with some sense of duty or of moral obligation,
they could reap no benefit from revelation; they would remain
incapable of all religion whatever. For, in vain were a, system of

Serm. XIII.] OF CONSCIENCE. 131
duty prescribed to them by the word of God ; allegiance were in
vain required towards their Creator, or love and gratitude enjoined
towards their Redeemer ; if, previously, there was no principle in
their nature, which made them feel the obligations of duty, of
allegiance, and of gratitude. They could have no ideas corre
sponding to such terms ; nor any conviction, that, independently
of fear or interest, they were bound to regard, either him who
made, or him who redeemed them. This, therefore, is to be held
as a "principle fundamental to all religion : that there is in human
nature, an approving or condemning sense of conduct ; by means
of which, they who have not the law, are a law unto themselves.
[Rom. ii. 14.] They who, from a mistaken zeal for the honour of
Divine revelation, either deny the existence, or vilify the authority
of natural religion, are not aware, that by disallowing the sense of
obligation, they undermine the foundation on which revelation builds
its power of commanding the heart.
The Text leads us to observe, that one of the cases in which the
natural sense of good and evil operates most forcibly, is when men
have been guilty of injustice or inhumanity. We saw the anguish
of our brother's soul, when he besought us, and we would not hear.
An inward principle prompts us to do good to others ; but with
much greater authority, it checks and condemns us, when we have
done them injuries. This part of the human constitution deserves
to be remarked as a signal proof of the wisdom of its Author, and
of the gracious provision which he has made for the welfare of
mankind. We are all committed, in some measure, to the care and
assistance of one another. But our mutual influence reaches much
farther with respect to the evils, than with respect to the enjoyments
of those around us. To advance their prosperity, is often beyond
our ability ; but to inflict injuries, is almost always within our
power : and, at the same time, self-interest very frequently tempts
us to commit them. With the utmost propriety, therefore, we are
so framed, that the influence of the moral principle should be most
authoritative, in cases where its aid is most needed ; that to pro
mote the happiness of others, should appear to us as praiseworthy,
indeed, and generous ; but that, to abstain from injuring them,
should be felt as matter of the strictest duty. — Amidst the distress
which the Patriarchs suffered in Egypt, had only this suggestion
occurred, "We saw our brother beginning to prosper, and we
contributed not to his advancement," their minds would have
been more easily quieted. But, when their reflection was, We
saw his anguish, when he besought us, and we would not hear,
then compunction turned upon them its sharpest edge. I proceed
to observe,
II. — That our natural sense of right and wrong, produces an ap-

i32 ON THE POWER [Sera. XIII.
prehension of merited punishment when we have committed a crime.
When it is employed in surveying the behaviour of others, it dis
tinguishes some actions, as laudable and excellent ; and disapproves-
of others, as evil and base. But when it is directed upon our own
conduct, it assumes a higher office, and exercises the authority of a
judge. It is then properly termed Conscience ; and the sentiments
which it awakens, upon the perpetration of a crime, are styled Re
morse. Therefore, said the brethren of Joseph, is this distress come
upon us ; behold, also, his blood is required. They acknowledged
not only that they had committed a wrong, but a wrong for which
they were justly doomed to suffer.
Did not conscience suggest this natural relation between guilt
and punishment, the mere principle of approbation, or disapproba
tion, with respect to moral conduct, would prove of small efficacy.
For disapprobation attends, in some degree, every conviction of im
propriety or folly. When one has acted unsuitably to his interest,
or has trespassed against the rules of prudence or decorum, he re
flects upon his conduct with pain, and acknowledges that he de
serves blame. But the difference between the sense of misconduct,
and the sense of guilt, consists in this, that the latter penetrates
much deeper into the heart. It makes the criminal feel, that he is
not only blameable, but justly punishable, for the part which he has
acted. With reference to this office of conscience, the inspired
writers frequently speak of it, in terms borrowed from the awful
solemnities of judicial procedure ; as bearing witness for or against
us ; accusing or excusing, judging and condemning. It will be
found, that in the language of most nations, terms of the same
import are applied to the operations of conscience ; expressing
the sense which all mankind have, of its passing sentence upon
them, and pronouncing rewards or punishments to be due to theii
actions. The sense of punishment merited, you are farther to observe can
never be separated from the dread, that, at some time or other,
punishment shall be actually inflicted. This dread is not confined
to the vengeance of man. For let the sinner's evil deeds be ever so
thoroughly concealed from the knowledge of the world, his inward
alarms are not quieted by that consideration. Now punishment is
the sanction of a law. Every law supposes a rightful superior ; and
therefore, when conscience threatens punishment to secret crimes,
it manifestly recognizes a Supreme Governor, from whom nothing-
is hidden. The belief of our being accountable to him, is what the
most hardened wickedness has never been able to eradicate. It is
a belief which arises, not merely from reasoning, but from internal
sentiment. Conscience is felt to act as the delegate of an in
visible ruler ; both anticipating his sentence, and foreboding its
execution.

Serm. XIII.] OF CONSCIENCE. 133
Hence rise the terrors which so often haunt guilt, and rise in
proportion to its atrocity. In the history of all nations, the tyrant
and the oppressor, the bloody and the flagitious, have been ever
pointed out as fearful, unquiet, and restless ; subject to alarms and
apprehensions of an unaccountable kind. And surely, to live 'un
der such disquietude, from the dread of merited punishment, is
already to undergo one of the most severe punishments which hu
man nature can suffer. When the world threatens us with any of
its evils, we know the extent, and discern the limits, of the danger.
We see the quarter on which we are exposed to its attack.' We
measure our own strength with that of our adversary ; and can take
precautions, either for making resistance or for contriving escape.
But when an awakened conscience places before the sinner the just
vengeance of the Almighty, the prospect is confounding, because
the danger is boundless. It is a dark unknown which threatens
him. The arm that is stretched over him, he can neither see nor
resist. On every side he dreads it; and on every object which
surrounds him, he looks with terror, because he is conscious that
every object can be employed against him as an instrument of
wrath, No wonder that the lonesome solitude, or the midnight
hour, should strike him with horror. His troubled mind beholds
forms, which other men see not; and hears voices, which sound
only in the ear of guilt. A hand appears to come forth and to
write upon the wall over-against him, as it did of old in the sight
of an impious monarch. He shall find no ease nor rest. For the
Lord shall give him a trembling heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow
of mind ; and his life shall hang in doubt before him ; and he shall
fear day and night, and have none assurance of his life. In the morn
ing he shall say, Would to God it were even ; and at even he shall say,
Would to God it were morning ; for the fear of his heart wherewith
he shall fear, and for the sight which his eyes shall see. His life shall
be grievous unto him. [Deut. xxviii. 65, 66, 67. Isa. xv. 4.] — Ad- '
versity, how blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver, in comparison
with those of guilt ! — But if such be the power of conscience,
whence, it maybe asked, comes it to pass, that its influence is
not more general, either in restraining men from the commission
of - sin, or in leading them to a timely repentance ? This brings
me to observe,
III. — That during a course of prosperity, the operations of con
science are often suspended; and that adversity is the season
which restores them to their proper force. At the time when
crimes are committed, the mind is too much heated by passion,
and engrossed by the object of its pursuit, to be capable of proper
reflection. After this tumult of spirits has subsided, if a train of
new passions be at hand to employ its activity, or a succession of

134 ON THE POWER [Sera. XIII.
pleasurable objects occur to engage its attention, it may for a while
remain, though not entirely free from inward misgivings, yet un
conscious of the degree of its guilt. Dissipated among the amuse
ments of life, the sinner escapes in some measure from his own
view. If he reflects upon himself at all, the continuance of pros
perity seems to him a strong justification of his conduct. For it
will be found, that, in the hearts of all men, there is a natural pro
pensity to judge of the favour of the Supreme Being, from the
course of external events. When they are borne with a smooth
gale along the stream of life, and behold every thing proceeding
according to their wish, hardly can they be brought to believe,
that Providence is their enemy. Basking in the sunshine of pros
perity, they suppose themselves to enjoy the smile of indulgent
Heaven ; and fondly conclude, that they are on terms of friendship
with all above, and with all below. Easy they find it, then, to
spread over the greatest crimes a covering, thin, indeed, and
slight, yet sufficient to conceal them from a superficial view.
Of this we have a very remarkable instance in those brethren of
Joseph, whose history we now consider. Not only from the si
lence of the inspired writer, we have ground to believe that their
remorse was stifled, while their prosperity remained ; but we are
able to trace some of the pretences, by which, during that period,
they quieted their minds. For when they were contriving the de
struction of Joseph, we find Judah saying to his brethren, What
profit is it, if we slay our brother, and conceal his blood ? Let us
sell him to the Ishmaelites ; and let not our hand be upon him ; for
he is our brother, and our flesh : and his brethren were content. [Gen.
xxxvii. 26, 27.] Here you behold them justifying their crime, by
a sort of pretended humanity ; and making light of selling their
brother for a slave, because they did not take away his life. How
strangely are the opinions of men altered, by a change in their
condition ! How different is this sentiment of the Patriarchs,
from that which they afterwards entertained of the same action,
when, as you see in the Text, the remembrance of it wrung their
hearts with anguish.
But men, in truth, differ as much from themselves, in prosperity
and in adversity, as if they were different creatures. In prosperity
every thing tends to flatter and deceive. In adversity, the illu
sions of life vanish. Its avocations, and its pleasures, no longer
afford the sinner that shelter he was wont to find from conscience.
Formerly he made a part of the crowd. He now feels himself a
solitary individual, left alone with God, and with his own mind.
His spirits are not supported, as before, by fallacious views of the
favour of Heaven. The candle of the Lord shines not on his head ;
his pride is humbled ; and his affections are softened for receiving

Sera. XIII.] OF CONSCIENCE. 135
every serious impression. In this situation, a man's iniquity is
sure to find him out. Whatever has been notoriously criminal in
his former conduct, rises as a spectre, and places itself before him.
The increased sensibility of his mind renders him alive to feelings
which lately were faint ; and wounds which had been ill-healed
bleed afresh. When men take the timbrel and the harp, and rejoice
at the sound of the organ, they say, What is the Almighty that we
should serve him ? But when they are holden in the cords of affliction,
then he sheweth them their work, and their transgression, that they
have exceeded. He openeth also their ears to discipline; and com-
mandeth that they return from iniquity.
Hence, we may perceive the great usefulness and propriety of
that interchange of conditions, which takes place in human life.
By prosperity, God gives scope to our passions, and makes trial
of our dispositions. By adversity, he revives the serious principle
within. Neither the one, nor the other, could be borne entire and
unmixed. Man, always prosperous, would be giddy and insolent ;
always afflicted, would be sullen and despondent. Hopes and
fears, joy and sorrow, are therefore so blended in his life, as both
to give room for worldly pursuits and to recall, from time to time,
the admonitions of conscience. Of the proportion in which they
should be mixed for this purpose, we are very incompetent judges
From our ignorance of the degree of discipline which the spiritual
state of others requires, we often censure Providence unjustly, for
its severity towards them: and, from the vanity and rashness of
our wishes, we complain, without reason, of its rigour to ourselves.
While we consult nothing but our ease, God attends to our spiri
tual improvement. When we seek what is pleasing, he sends what
is useful. When, by drinking too deep of worldly prosperity, we
draw in a secret poison, he mercifully infuses a medicine, at the
time that he troubles and embitters the waters. It remains now
to observe,
IV. — That when conscience is thoroughly awakened, it deter
mines the sinner to consider every calamity which he suffers as a
positive infliction of punishment by Heaven. As it had before
alarmed him with threatenings of Divine displeasure, it tells him,
when he falls under distress, that the threatened day of account is
come. Afflictions, on some occasions, rise directly out of our
sins. Thus diseases are brought on by intemperance; poverty
springs from idleness ; and disgrace from presumption. In such
cases, the punishment is so closely connected with the crime, thai
it is impossible to avoid discerning the relation which the one
bears to the other. But the appointment of Providence, which
we now consider, reaches farther than this. God has framed us
so, that distresses, which have no perceivable connexion with our

136 ON THE POWER [Serm. XIII.
former crimes, are nevertheless interpreted by conscience, to be
inflicted on their account. They force themselves upon our ap
prehension under this view. They are made to carry, not only
that degree of pain which properly belongs to themselves, but
that additional torment also, which arises from the belief of their
being the vengeance of the Almighty.
Let a man fall unexpectedly into some deep calamity. Let that
calamity be brought upon him, either by means which the world
calls fortuitous ; or by a train of incidents, in which his own mis
conduct or guilt has apparently had no part ; yet one of the first
questions, which, in such a situation, he puts to himself is, What
have I done to deserve this ? His reflection is, almost instinc
tively, drawn back upon his former life ; and if, in the course of
that retrospect, any flagrant guilty deed occur to smite his con
science, on this he cannot avoid resting with anxiety and terror,
and connecting it in his imagination with what he now suffers.
He sees, or thinks that he sees, a Divine arm lifted up ; and what,
in other circumstances, he would have called a reverse of fortune,
he now views as a judgment of Heaven.
When the brethren of Joseph, confined in the Egyptian prison,
were bewailing the distress into which they had fallen, there was
no circumstance which pointed out any relation between their pre
sent misfortune, and their former cruelty to their brother. A long
course of years had intervened, during which they flourished in
wealth and ease. They were now far from the scene of their
crime ; in a foreign land , where they believed themselves utterly
unknown, and where they had done nothing to offend. But con
science formed a connexion between events, which, according
to the ordinary apprehension of men, were entirely independent of
each other. It made them recollect, that they, who once had
been deaf to the supplications of a brother, were now left friend
less and forlorn, imploring pity in vain from an unrelenting Gover
nor ; and that they who had first conspired to kill their brother,
and afterwards sold him for a slave, were themselves deprived of
liberty, and threatened with an ignominious death. How unde
servedly soever these evils befel them on the part of men, they
confessed them to be just on the part of Providence. They con
cluded the hour of retribution to be arrived ; and in the person of
the Governor of Egypt, they beheld the Ruler of the world call
ing them to account for guilt. Therefore is this distress come upon
us : Behold, also, his blood is required.
Similar sentiments on like occasions will be found not uncom
mon among mankind. Pious men, there is no doubt, are at all
times disposed to look up to God, and to acknowledge his hand
in every event of life. But what I now observe is, that where

Serm. XIII.] OF CONSCIENCE. 137
no habitual acknowledgement of God takes place ; nay, where a
daring contempt of his authority has prevailed ; conscience, never
theless, constrains men, in the day of their distress, to recognize
God, under the most awful of all characters, the avenger of past
guilt. Herein the wisdom of God appears in such a light, as justly to
claim our highest admiration. The ordinary course of his Provi
dence is carried on by human means. He has settled a train of
events, which proceed in a regular succession of causes and effects,
without his appearing to interpose, or to act. But these, on pro
per occasions, are made to affect the human mind in the . same
manner as if he were beheld descending from his throne, to punish
the sinner with his own hand. Were God to suspend the laws of
Nature, on occasion of every great crime that was committed on
earth, and to govern the world by frequent interpositions of a
miraculous kind, the whole order of human affairs would be un
hinged ; no plans of action could be formed ; and no scope would
be given for the probation and trial of men. On the other hand,
were the operation of second causes allowed to conceal a Divine
hand totally from view, all sense of superior government would be
lost ; the world would seem to be void of God ; the sinner would
perceive nothing but chance and fortune in the distresses which he
suffered. Whereas by its being so ordered, that several incidents
of life shall carry the same force, and strike the mind with the
same impression, as if they were supernatural interpositions, the
fear of God is kept alive among men, and the order of human af
fairs is, at the same time, preserved unbroken. The sinner sees his
distresses to be the immediate effect of human violence or oppression ;
and is obliged, at the same moment, to consider it as a divine judg
ment. His conscience gives to an ordinary misfortune all the edge
and the sting of a visitation from Heaven.
From the train of thought which the Text has suggested, several
inferences naturally follow. But I shall confine myself to two
which claim your particular attention.
The first is the clear evidence which the preceding observations
afford, of a Divine government now exercised over mankind.
This 'most important and awful of all truths cannot be too often pre
sented to our view, or too strongly impressed on our mind. To*
the imperfect conviction of it, which obtains in the world, must
be ascribed, in a great measure, the prevalence of sin. Did men
firmly believe that the Almighty Being, who formed them, is
carrying on a system of administration which will not leave guilt
unpunished, it is impossible that they could remain so inattentive,
as we often behold them, to their moral conduct. But the bulk of
mankind are giddy and thoughtless. Struck by the superficial

138 ON THE POWER [Sera. XIII.
appearances of pleasure, which accompany licentiousness, they
inquire no farther ; and deliver themselves up to their senses and
their passions. Whereas, were they to reflect, but for a moment,
upon that view which has now been given of human nature, they
might soon be satisfied, that the moral government of God is no
matter of doubtful discussion. It is a fact, no less obvious and
incontestible, than the government exercised by those earthly
rulers whom we behold with the ensigns of their office before our
eyes. To govern, is to require a certain course of action, or to prescribe
a law ; and to enforce that law, by a suitable distribution of rewards
and punishments. Now, God has not only invested conscience, as
we have seen, with authority to promulgate, but endowed it also
with power to enforce his law. By plain inward approbation and peace
on the side of virtue, he gave it the sanction of reward. But this
was not enough. Pain is a more powerful principle than pleasure.
To escape misery, is a stronger motive for action, than to obtain
good. God, therefore, so framed human nature, that the painful
sense of ill -desert should attend the commission of crimes ; that
this sense of ill-desert should necessarily produce the dread of punish
ment ; and that this dread should so operate on the mind, in the
time of distress, as to make the sinner conceive Providence to be
engaged against him, and to be concerned in inflicting the punish
ment which he suffers. All these impressions he hath stamped
upon the heart with his own hand. He hath made them con
stituent parts of our frame ; on purpose that, by the union of so many
strong and pungent sentiments, he might enforce repentance and
reformation, and publish to the human race his detestation of sin.
Were he to speak to us from the clouds, his voice could not be
more decisive. What we discern to be interwoven with the con
texture of human nature, and to pervade the whole course of human
affairs, carries an evidence not to be resisted. We might, with as
much reason, doubt whether the sun was intended to enlighten the
earth, or the rain to fertilize it ; as whether he who has framed the
human mind, intended to announce righteousness to mankind as
his law.
The second inference which I make from the foregoing dis
course, respects the intimate connexion, which those operations of
conscience have, with the peculiar and distinguishing doctrines of
the Gospel of Christ. They will be found to accord with them so
remarkably .as to furnish an answer to some of those objections,
which superficial reasoners are apt to raise against the Christian
revelation. In particular, they coincide with that awful view
which the gospel gives us, of the future consequences of guilt.
If the sinner is now constrained by conscience to view the

Sera. XIII.] OF CONSCIENCE. 139
Almighty as pursuing him with evil for long-forgotten crimes, how
naturally must he conclude, that, in a subsequent period of exis
tence, the Divine administration will proceed upon the same plan,
and complete what has been left imperfect here ? If, during this
life, which is only the time of trial, the displeasure of providence
at sin is displayed by tokens so manifest, what may be appre
hended to follow, when justice, which at present only begins to
be executed, shall be carried to its consummation ? What con
science forebodes, revelation verifies ; assuring us that a day is
appointed when God will render to every man according to his
works ; to them, who by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for
glory, honour, and immortality ; eternal life : But unto them that are
contentious, and obey not the truth, but obey unrighteousness ; indig
nation and wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon every soul of man
that doth evil, of the Jew first, and also of the Gentile. For there is
no respect of persons with God. For as many as have sinned without
the law, shall also perish without the law ; and as many as have sinned
in the law, shall be judged by the law. [Rom. ii. 7 — 13.]
While the threatejiings of conscience thus strengthen the evi
dence of the scripture-doctrine concerning future punishments,
they likewise pave the way for the belief of what is revealed con
cerning the method of our deliverance by Christ. They suggest
to the sinner, some deep and dark malignity contained in guilt,
which has drawn upon his head such high displeasure from
Heaven. They call forth his most anxious efforts, to avert the
effects of that displeasure ; and to propitiate his offended Judge.
Some atonement, he is conscious, must be made ; and the voice
of nature has, in every age, loudly demanded suffering, as the
proper atonement for guilt. Hence, mankind have constantly fled
for refuge to such substitutions as they could devise, to place in
the room of the offender ; and, as by general consent, victims have
every where been slain, and expiatory sacrifices have been offered
up on innumerable altars. Wherewith shall I come before the Lord,
and bow myself before the most high God ? Shall I come before him
with burnt offerings, and calves of a year old ? Will the Lord be
pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil?
Or, shall I give my first-born for my transgressions ; the fruit of my
body, for the sin of my soul? [Micah vi. 6, 7.] These per
plexities and agitations of a guilty conscience, may be termed
preludes, in some measure, to the Gospel of Christ. They are
the pointings of unenlightened nature, towards that method of
relief which the grace of God has provided. Nature felt its ina
bility to extricate itself from the consequences of guilt: the
Gospel reveals the plan of Divine interposition and aid. Nature
confessed some atonement to be necessary : the Gospel discovers,

140 ON THE MIXTURE OF [Sera. XIV.
that the necessary atonement is made. The remedy is no sooner
presented, than its suitableness to the disease appears ; and the
great mystery of redemption, though it reaches, in its full extent,
beyond our comprehension, yet, as far as it is revealed, holds a
visible congruity with the sentiments of conscience and of Nature.
Natural and revealed religion proceed from the same Author ;
and, of course, are analogous and consistent. They are part of the
same plan of Providence. They 'are connected measures of the
same system of government. The serious belief of the one, is the
best preparation for the reception of the other. Both concur in
impressing our mind with a deep sense of one most important
truth, which is the result of this whole discourse, That as we sow
now, we must reap; that under the government of God, no one
shall be permitted, with impunity, to gratify. his criminal passions,
and to make light of the great duties of life.

SERMON XIV.
ON THE MIXTURE OF JOY AND FEAR IN RELIGION
Psalm ii. 11. — Rejoice with trembling.
Joy and fear are two great springs of human action. The mixed
condition of this world gives scope for both ; and, according as
the one or the other predominates, it influences the general tenour
of our conduct. Each of them possesses a proper place in reli
gion. To serve the Lord with gladness, is the exhortation of the
psalmist David. [Psalm c. 2.] To serve him with reverence and
godly fear, is the admonition of the apostle Paul. [Heb. xii. 28.]
But under the present imperfection of human nature, each of these
principles may be carried to a dangerous extreme. When the
whole of religion is placed in joy, it is in hazard of rising into un
warrantable rapture. When it rests altogether on fear, it degene
rates into superstitious servility. The text enjoins a due mixture
of both ; and inculcates this important maxim, That joy, tempered
with fear, is the proper disposition of a good man. In discoursing
of this subject, I shall endeavour to show, first, That joy is essen
tial to religion ; and next, That, for various reasons, this joy ought
to be mixed with fear ; whence we shall be able to ascertain the
nature of that steady and composed spirit, which is most suitable
to our present condition, and most acceptable to God.
I. Joy is essential to religion, in two respects ; as religion inspires
joy, and as it requires it. In other words ; to rejoice is both the
privilege and the duty of good men.

Sera. XIV.] JOY AND FEAR IN RELIGION. 141
In the first place, Religion inspires joy. It affords just ground
of gladness to all who firmly believe its doctrines, and sincerely
study to obey its laws. For it confers on them the two most
material requisites of joy ; a favourable situation of things with
out, and a proper disposition of mind within, to relish that favour
able situation.
When they examine their situation without, they behold them
selves placed in the world, which is still full of the influence of a
gracious Providence ; where beauty and good are every where pre
dominant ; where various comforts are bestowed ; and where, if
any be withheld, they have reason to believe that they are with
held by parental wisdom. Among the crowd that encompass
them, they may be at a loss to discern who are their friends, and
who their enemies. But it is sufficient to know, that they are un
der the protection of an invisible Guardian, whose power can keep
them from every evil. All the steps of his conduct, they may be
unable to trace. Events may befal them, of which they can give
no account. But as long as they are satisfied that the system of
Divine government is founded on mercy, no present occurrences
are able to destroy their peace. For he who spared not his own Son,
but delivered him up for them, how shall he not with him freely give
them all things ? If their nature is frail, Divine assistance is pro
mised to strengthen it. If their virtue is imperfect, a dispensation
is opened which gives them the hope of pardon. If their external
circumstances be in any respect unfavourable, it is because a higher
interest is consulted. All things, they are assured, shall work [to
gether for their good. On their prosperity rests the blessing ; on
their adversity the sanctifying Spirit of the Almighty. Old age
may advance and life decay ; but beyond those boundaries of na
ture, faith opens the prospect of their lasting felicity. Without
anxiety they pass through the different periods of their present ex
istence, because they know it to be no more than an introduction
to immortality.
As such a situation of things without, lays a solid foundation for
joy; so the disposition which religion forms within, promotes the
relish of it. It is indeed from within that the chief sources of en
joyment or trouble rise. The minds of bad men are always dis
orderly ; and hence their lives are generally uneasy. In vain they
take the timbrel, and the harp, and endeavour to rejoice at the sound
of the organ. Spleen and disgust pursue them through all the
haunts of amusement. Pride and ill-humour torment them. Op
pressed with discontent, their spirits flag; and their worn-out
pleasures afford them entertainment no more. But religion sub
dues those malignant passions, which are the troubles of human
repose ; which either overcast the mind with the gloom of peevish-

l4z ON THE MIXTURE OF ¦ [Serm. XIV.
ness, or disquiet it by the violence of agitation. It infuses, in their
room, those mild and gentle dispositions whose natural effect is to
smooth the tenour of the soul. Benevolence and candour, mode
ration and temperance, wherever they reign, produce cheerfulness
and serenity. The consciousness of integrity gives ease and free
dom to the mind. It enables good men to extract from every ob
ject, the whole satisfaction which it is capable of yielding ; and
adds the flavour of innocence to all their external pleasures.
In the second place, as religion naturally inspires joy, so what
it inspires it commands us to cherish. As a necessary proof of
our sincerity, it requires cheerfulness in the performance of our
duty ; because, if this be wanting, our religion discovers itself not
to be genuine in principle, and in practice it cannot be stable.
Religious obedience, destitute of joy, is not genuine in its
principle. For, did either faith or hope, the love of God or the
love of goodness, rule the heart, they could not fail to produce sa
tisfaction in piety and virtue. All those causes of joy which I
have mentioned would then operate ; and their native effect on
the mind would follow. The prospects which religion opens,
would gladden, and the affections which it inspires would soothe
the heart. We serve with pleasure the benefactor whom we love.
We rejoice in every study and pursuit to which we are sincerely
attached. If we serve not God with pleasure, it is because we
know him not, or love him not. If we rejoice not in virtue, it is
because our affection is alienated from it, and our inclinations are
depraved. We give too evident proof, that either we believe not
the principles of religion, or that we feel not their power. Ex
clude joy from religion, and you leave no other motives to it, ex
cept compulsion and interest. But are these suitable grounds on
which to rest the whole of our obedience to the Supreme Being?
My son, give me thy heart, is the call of God. Surely, if there be
no pleasure in fulfilling his commands, the heart is not given him ;
and, in that case, the multitude of sacrifices, and burnt offerings is
brought to his altar in vain. l
As religion, destitute of joy, is imperfect in its principle, so, in
practice it must be unstable. In vain you endeavour to fix any
man to the regular performance of that in which he finds no plea
sure. Bind him ever so fast by interest or fear, he will contrive
some method of eluding the obligation. Ingenuity is never so
fertile of evasions as where pleasure is all on the one side, and
mere precept on the other. He may study to save appearances.
He may dissemble and constrain himself. But his heart revolts
in secret ; and the weight of inclination will, in the end, draw the
practice after it. If perseverance is not to be expected, still less
can zeal be looked for from him, who, in his religious duties, trem-

Sera. XIV.] JOY AND FEAR IN RELIGION. 143
bles without rejoicing. Every attempt towards virtue which he
forms, will be feeble and awkward. He applies to it as a task;
he dreads the task-master ; but he will labour no more than neces
sity enjoins. To escape from punishment is his sole aim. He
bargains for immunity, by every duty which he performs ; and all
beyond, he esteems superfluous toil. — Such religion as this, can
neither purify the heart nor prepare it for heavenly bliss. It is the
refuge of an abject mind. It may form the ritual of the monk, or
prescribe the penance of the idolater ; but has no concern with the
homage of him who loorships the Father in spirit and in truth. His
character is, that the joy of the Lord is his strength. [Neh. viii. 10.]
It attaches his heart to religion. It inspires his zeal. It supports
his constancy, and accelerates his progress.
There is no man but has some object to which he cleaves for
enjoyment ; somewhat that flatters him with distant hope, or
affords him present pleasure. Joy is the end towards which all
rational beings tend. For the sake of it they live : it resembles
the air they breathe, which is necessary for the motion of the
heart, and all the vital functions. But as the breathing of in
fected air proves fatal to life, in the same manner joy, drawn
from a corrupted source, is destructive both of virtue and of true
happiness. When you have no pleasure in goodness, you may
with certainty conclude the reason to be, that your pleasure is
all derived from an opposite quarter. You have exhausted your
affection upon the world. You have drunk too much of its poi
soned waters to have any relish for a pure spring.
Estimate therefore the genuineness of your religious principles ;
estimate the degree of your stability in religious practice, by the
degree of your satisfaction in piety and virtue. Be assured, that
where your treasure is, there will your delight be also. The
worldly man rejoices in his possessions ; the voluptuous in his
pleasures ; the social in his friends and companions The truly
good man rejoices in doing justly, loving mercy, and walking hum
bly with the Lord his God. He is happy when employed in the
regular discharge of the great duties of life. Spontaneous, they
flow from the affections of a pure heart. Not only from the keep
ing of the divine commandments he expects, but in the keeping
of them he enjoys, a great reward. Accordingly, in the sentiments
of holy men recorded in Scripture, we find this spirit every where
prevalent. Their language was, Thy statutes have I taken as mine
heritage for ever ; for they are the rejoicing of my heart. They are
my songs in the house of my pilgrimage. They are sweeter than
honey and the honey-comb. Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and
there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee. They did not
receive the spirit of bondage, but the spirit of adoption. They vxre

144 ON THE MIXTURE OF [Sera. XIV.
filled with peace and joy in believing. They rejoiced in hope of
the glory of God. As soon as the ^Ethiopian Eunuch received from
Philip the light of the Gospel, that light revived and cheered his
heart. A new sun seemed to arise ; a new glory to shine around
him. Every object brightened ; and he went on his way rejoicing.
[Acts viii. 39.] After the same manner should every good man
proceed in his journey through life, with a serene and cheerful
spirit. Consternation and dejection let him leave to the slaves of
guilt ; who have every thing to dread, both from this world and
the next. If he appear before others with a dispirited aspect,
he dishonours religion ; and affords ground for suspicion, that he
is either ignorant of its nature, or a stranger to its power.
Thus I have shown joy to be essential to religion. It is the
spirit which it inspires, and which it requires, in good men. But
in our present state, the best principles may be carried to a dan
gerous excess ; and joy, like other things, has its due limits. To
serve God with unmixed delight, belongs to more advanced
spirits in a happier world. In this region of imperfection, some
infusions from a different cup must of necessity tincture our joy.
Let us then,
II. — Turn to the other side of the argument, and consider the
reasons which render it proper, that when we rejoice, we should
rejoice with trembling.
In the first place, because all the objects of religion, which
afford ground for joy, tend to inspire, at the same time, reverence
and fear. We serve a Benefactor, it is true, in whom we have
reason to delight ; whose purposes are gracious ; whose law is
the plan of our happiness. But this Benefactor, is the King eter
nal, immortal, and invisible; at whose presence the mountains
shake, and Nature trembles. Every good, and every perfect gift,
come down from him. But the hand which confers them, we can
not see. Mysterious obscurity rests upon his essence. He dwell-
eth in the secret place of thunder ; and clouds and darkness sur
round him. He is the Hearer of prayer ; but we lift our voice to
him from afar. Into his immediate presence no access is permitted.
Our warmest devotion admits no familiarity with him. God is in
Heaven, and thou upon earth ; therefore, let thy words be few.
If his omniscience administers comfort in our secret distress, it
likewise fills with awe the heart that is conscious of guilt. For,
if he knows our frame, and remembers we are dust, our iniquities,
also, we ever before him ; our secret sins in the light of his
countenance. Throughout all his dispensations, greatness, in conjunction
with goodness, strikes our view; and wherever we behold the
Parent, we behold the Legislator also. The death of Christ, in

Sera, XIV.] JOY AND FEAR IN RELIGION. 145
behalf of a guilty world, is the chief ground of religious hope
and joy. But it is no less the ground of reverence, when, in this
high transaction, we contemplate God, as at once strict in jus
tice, and great in mercy. I the Lord keep mercy for thousands of
them that fear me, I forgive their iniquity, transgression, and sin;
but I will by no means clear the guilty. When we open the book of
the law, we find promises and threatenings mingled in the same
page. On the one side, we see Heaven displayed in all its glory :
on the other, Hell opening its terrors. In short, in whatever
light we view religion, it appears solemn and venerable. It is a
temple full of Majesty, to which the worshippers may approach
with comfort in the hope of obtaining grace, and finding mercy;
but where they cannot enter without being impressed with awe.
If we may be permitted to compare spiritual with natural things,
religion resembles not those scenes of natural beauty where every
object smiles. It cannot be likened to the gay landscape or the
flowery field. It resembles more the august and sublime appear
ances of Nature; the lofty mountain, the expanded ocean, and
the starry firmament ; at the sight of which, the mind is at once
overawed and delighted ; and -from the union of grandeur with
beauty, derives a pleasing but a serious emotion.
In the second place, as joy, tempered by fear, suits the na
ture of religion, so it is requisite for the proper regulation of the
conduct of man. Let his joy flow from the best and purest source ;
yet, if it remain long unmixed, it is apt to become dangerous
to virtue. As waters, which are never stirred nor troubled, gather
a sediment which putrifies them ; so the undisturbed continuance
of placid sensations engenders disorders in the human soul.
It is wisely ordered in our present state, that joy and fear,
hope and grief, should act alternately as checks and balances
upon each other, in order to prevent an excess in any of them,
which our nature could not bear. If we were subject to no alarms
of danger, the wisest would soon become improvident ; and the
most humble, presumptuous. Man is a pilgrim on earth. Were
his path to be always smooth and flowery, he would be tempted
to relinquish his guide, and to forget the purpose of his journey.
Caution and fear are the shields of happiness. Unguarded joy be
gets indolence; indolence produces security; security leads to
rashness ; and rashness ends in ruin. In order to rejoice long,
it is necessary that we rejoice with trembling. Had our first pa
rents observed this rule, man might have been still in paradise.
He who saith in his heart, My mountain stands strong; I shall
never be moved; may be assured, that his state already begins to
totter. Religion, therefore, performs a kind office, in giving us
the admonition of the Text. It inspires cheerfulness in the ser-
L

146 ON THE MIXTURE OF [Sera. XIV.
vice of God. It proposes joy as our chief spring of action. But
it supports joy, by guarding it with fear; not suppressing, but
regulating its indulgence ; requiring us to rejoice, like persons
who have obtained a treasure, which, through want of vigilance,
they are exposed to lose. Dependent beings are formed for sub
mission; and to submit, is to stand in awe. Because the Lord
reigneth, let the earth be glad. We are the subjects of God ; and
therefore may justly rejoice. But still we are subjects ; and
therefore, trembling must mix itself with our joy.
In the third place, the unstable condition of all human things
naturally inspires fear instead of joy. The spirit to which re
ligion forms us, must undoubtedly correspond to the state in which
we are placed, and to the part which is assigned us to act. Now,
the first view under which our present state appears, is that of
fallen creatures, who are undergoing, in this world, probation and
trial for their recoveiy ; and are commanded to work out their sal
vation with fear and trembling. This view of our condition infers
not habitual dejection of mind. It requires not melancholy ab
straction from the affairs, and contempt of the amusements, of
life. But it inspires humility. It enforces dependence on divine
aid ; and calls forth the voice of supplication to Heaven. In a
situation so critical, and where interests so important are at stake,
every reasonable person must confess, that seriousness ought to
temper rejoicing.
Were there in human life any fixed point of stability and rest,
attainable by man ; could we, at any one moment, assure our
selves that there remained no latent source of danger either t<>
our temporal or our spiritual state; then I admit we might lay
trembling aside, and rejoice in full security. But, alas ! no such
safe station, no such moment of confidence, is allowed to man
during his warfare on earth. Vicissitudes of good and evil, of
trials and consolations, fill up his life. The best intentioned are
sometimes betrayed into crimes; the most prudent overwhelmed
with misfortunes. The world is like a wheel incessantly revolv
ing, on which human things alternately rise and fall. What is
past of our life has been a chequered scene. On its remaining
periods, uncertainty and darkness rest. Futurity is an unknown
region, into which no man can look forward without awe, because
he cannot tell what forms of danger or trial may meet him
there. This we know well, that in every period of our life, the
path of happiness shall be found steep and arduous; but swift
and easy the descent to ruin. What, with much exertion of care
and vigilance, we had built up, one unwary action may, in an
evil hour, overthrow. The props of human confidence are, in
general, insecure. The sphere of human pleasures . is narrow,

Sera. XIV.] JOY AND FEAR IN RELIGION. 147
While we form schemes for strengthening the one, and for enlarg
ing the other, death, meanwhile, advances. Life, with a swift,
though insensible course, glides away ; and, like a river which
undermines its banks, gradually impairs our state. Year after
year steals something from us ; till the decaying fabric totter of
itself, and crumble at length into dust. So that, whether we con
sider life or death, time or eternity, all things appear to concur in
giving to man the admonition of the Text, rejoice with trembling.
I have now shown in what respects religion both promotes joy,
and inspires seriousness. It places us in the most favourable si
tuation, which human life affords, for joy ; and it gives us eveiy
assistance, for relishing that joy. It renders it our duty to culti
vate the satisfaction which it yields. It demands a cheerful spirit,
in order to ascertain the sincerity of our principles, and to con
firm us in good practice. At the same time, the joy which it in
spires, is tempered with fear by the genius of religion itself; by
the danger to which unguarded joy would expose us ; and by the
impropriety of indulging it, in a situation so mixed as the present.
The trembling which is here enjoined, is not to be understood as
signifying a pusillanimous dejection. It imports' no more than
that caution and sobriety, which prudence dictates, as belonging
to our state. By connecting such trembling with our joy, reli
gion means to recommend to us a cheerful, but a composed spirit,
equally remote from the humiliating depression of fear, and the
exulting levity of joy. Always to rejoice, is to be a fool. Always
to tremble, is to be a slave. It is a modest cheerfulness, a chas
tened joy, a manly seriousness, which becomes the servant of
God. But is this, it may perhaps be said, the whole amount of that
boasted satisfaction which religion bestows ? Is this all the com
pensation which it makes for those sacrifices it exacts ? Are not
the terms which vice holds out far more enticing, when it permits
us to gratify every desire; and, in return for our surmounting
the timorous scruples of conscience, promises us a life of gaiety,
festivity, and unrestrained joy ? — Such promises vice may indeed
make ; but how far it fulfils them, we may safely refer to the deter
mination of the greatest sensualist, when he has finished his career,
and looks back on what he has enjoyed. Ask him, whether he would
recommend to his children and his friends, to hold the same course ;
and whether, with his dying breath, he dare assure them, that the
gratifications of licentiousness afford the greatest enjoyment of
life? Whatever hopes vice may at the beginning inspire, yet,
after the trial is made, it has been always found that criminal plea
sures are the bane of happiness, the poison, not the cordial, of
our present state. They are pleasures compensated by an infinite

148 ON THE MIXTURE OF, Sec. [Serm. XIV.
overbalance of pain ; moments of delights, succeeded by years of
regret; purchased at the expense of injured reputation, broken
health, and ruined peace. Even abstracting from their pernicious
consequences, they are, for most part, in themselves treacherous
pleasures; unsound and disturbed in the moments of enjoyment.
In the midst of such laughter the heart is sorrowful. Often is the
smile of gaiety assumed while the heart aches within : and, though
folly may laugh, guilt will sting. Correcting this pernicious
phrenzy of pleasure, and reducing it to a more sober and regulat
ed state, religion is, in truth, no other than wisdom, introducing
peace and order into the life of man.
While religion condemns such pleasures as are immoral, it is
chargeable with no improper austerity in respect to those which
are of an innocent kind. Think not, that by the cautious dis
cipline which it prescribes, it excludes you from all gay enjoy
ment of life ; withi» the compass of that sedate spirit, to which
it forms you, all that is innocently pleasing will be found to lie.
It is a mistake to imagine, that in constant effusions of giddy
mirth, or in that flutter of spirits which is excited by a round of
diversions, the chief enjoyment of our state consists. — Were this
the case, the vain and the frivolous would be on better terms for
happiness, than the wise, the great, and the good. To arrange
the plans of amusement, or to preside in the haunts of jollity,
would be more desirable, than to exert the highest effort of men
tal powers for the benefit of nations. A consequence so absurd,
is sufficient to explode the principle from which it flows. To the
amusements and lesser joys of the world, religion assigns their
proper place. It admits of them, as relaxations from care, as
instruments of promoting the union of men, and of enlivening
their social intercourse. But though, as long as they are kept
within due bounds, it does not censure nor condemn them, nei
ther does it propose them as rewards to the virtuous, or as the
principal objects of their pursuit. To such it points out nobler
ends of action. Their felicity it engages them to seek in the dis
charge of an useful, an upright, and honourable part in life ;
and, as the habitual tenour of their mind, it promotes cheerful
ness and discourages levity.
Between these two there is a wide distinction : and the mind
which is most open to levity is frequently a stranger to cheerful
ness. It has been remarked, that transports of intemperate mirth
are often no more than flashes from the dark cloud ; and that in
proportion to the violence of the effulgence is the succeeding
gloom. Levity may be the forced production of folly or vice :
cheerfulness is the natural offspring of wisdom and virtue only.
The one is an occasional agitation ; the other a permanent habit

Sera. XV.] ON THE MOTIVES TO, &c. 149
The one degrades the character, the other is perfectly consistent
with the dignity of reason, and the steady and manly spirit of
religion. To aim at a constant succession of high and vivid sen
sations of pleasure, is an idea of happiness altogether chimerical.
Calm and temperate enjoyment is the utmost that is allotted
to man.- Beyond this, we struggle in vain to raise our state ;
and, in fact, depress our joys by endeavouring to heighten them.
Instead of those fallacious hopes of perpetual felicity, with
which the world would allure us, religion confers upon us a cheer
ful tranquillity. Instead of dazzling us with meteors of joys which
sparkle and expire, it sheds around us a calm and steady light
By mixing trembling with our joy, it renders that joy more solid,
more equal, and more lasting.
In this spirit, then, let us serve God, and hold our course
through life. Let us approach to the Divine Being, as to a
sovereign of whom we stand in awe, and to a father in whom we
trust. In our conduct let us be cautious and humble, as those
who have ground to fear ; well pleased and cheerful, as those who
have cause to rejoice. Let us show the world that a religious tem
per is a temper sedate, not sad ; that a religious behaviour, is a
behaviour regulated, not stiff and formal. Thus we shall use the
world as not abusing it; we shall pass through its various changes,
with the least discomposure ; and we. shall vindicate religion from
the reproaches of those who would attribute to it either enthusias
tic joys or slavish terrors. We shall show that it is a rational rule
of life, worthy of the perfection of God, and suited to the nature
and state of man.

SERMON XV.
ON THE MOTIVES TO CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE.
Gal. vi. 9. — And let us not be weary in well-doing : for in due
season we shall reap, if we faint not.
Discontent is the most general of all the evils which trouble
the life of man. It is a disease which every where finds ma
terials to feed itself ; for, if real distresses be wanting, it substitutes
such as are imaginary in their place. It converts even the good
things of the world, when they have been long enjoyed, into oc
casions of disgust. In the midst of prosperity, it disposes us to
complain; and renders tranquillity tiresome, only because it is
uniform. There is no wonder that this spirit of restlessness and
dissatisfaction, which corrupts every terrestial enjoyment, should

150 ON THE MOTIVES TO [Serm. XV.
have sometimes penetrated into the region of virtue. Good men
are not without their frailties ; and the perverseness incident to
human nature too readily leads us, who become weary of all other
things, to be weary, also, in well-doing.
Let me put a case, which perhaps will be found not unfrequent
in ordinary life. Suppose a person, after much commerce with
the world, to be convinced of its vanity. He has seen its most
flattering hopes to be fallacious. He has felt its most boasted
pleasures to be unsatisfactory. He resolves, therefore, to place
his happiness in virtue ; and, disregarding all temptations from
interest, to adhere to what is right and honourable in conduct.
He cultivates acquaintance with religion. He performs, with
seriousness, the offices of devotion. He lays down to himself,
a rational and useful plan of life ; and, with satisfaction, holds
on for a while in this reformed course. But, by degrees, dis
couragements arise. The peace which he hoped to enjoy is inter
rupted, either by his own frailties, or by the vices of others.
Passions, which had not been thoroughly subdued, struggle for
their accustomed gratification. The pleasure which he expected
to find in devotion, sometimes fails him ; and the injustice of the
world often sours and frets him. Friends prove ungrateful; ene
mies misrepresent, rivals supplant, him : and part, at least, of the
mortifications which he suffers, he begins to ascribe to virtue. —
Is this all the reward of my serving God, and renouncing the plea
sures of sin ? Verily, in vain I have cleansed my heart and washed
my hands in innocency. Behold! the ungodly prosper in the world,
and have more than heart can wish ; while, all the day long, I am
plagued, and chastened every morning  To such persons as these,
and to all who are in hazard of being infected with their spirit, I
now address myself. In reply to their complaints, I purpose to
show, That in no state they can choose on earth, by no plan of
conduct they can form, is it possible for them to escape uneasiness
and disappointment ; that in a life of virtue, they will suffer less
uneasiness, and fewer disappointments, than in a course of vice ;
they will possess much higher resources and advantages; and
they will be assured of complete reward at the end. From these
considerations, I hope to make it appear, that there is no suffi
cient reason for our being weary in well doing ; and that, taking
human life upon the whole, Virtue is far the most eligible portion
of man.
I- — Uneasiness and disappointment are inseparable, in some de
gree, from every state on earth. Were it in the power of the world
to render those who attach themselves to it satisfied and happy,
you might then, I admit, have some title to complain, if you found
yourselves placed upon worse terms in the service of God. But

Sera. XV.] CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE. 151
this is so far from being the case, that among the multitude who
devote themselves to earthly pleasure, you will not find a single
person who has completely attained his aim. Inquire into the
condition of the high and the low, of the gay and the serious, of the
men of business and the men of pleasure, and you shall behold
them all occupied in supplying some want, or in removing some
distress. No man is pleased with being precisely what he is.
Every where there is a void ; generally, even in the most prosper
ous life, there is some corner possessed by sorrow. He who is en
gaged in business pines for leisure. He who enjoys leisure, lan
guishes for want of employment. In a single state, we envy the
comforts of a family. In conjugal life, we are chagrined with do
mestic cares. In a safe station, we regret the want of objects for
enterprise. In an enterprising life, we lament the want of safety.
It is the doom of man, that his sky should never be free from all
clouds. He is, at present, in an exiled and fallen state. The ob
jects which surround him are beneath his native dignity. God
has tinged them all with vanity, on purpose to make him feel, that
this is not his rest ; that here he is not in his proper place, nor ar
rived at his true home.
If, therefore you aim at a condition which shall be exempted
from every disquiet, you pursue a phantom ; you increase the va
nity and vexation of life, by engaging in a chase so fruitless.
If you complain of virtue, because there is incident to it a por
tion of that uneasiness which is found in every other state, your
complaint is most unreasonable. You claim an immunity from
evil, which belongs not to the lot of man. Reconcile yourselves,
then, to your condition ; and, instead of looking for perfect hap
piness any where on earth, gladly embrace that state which con*
tains the fewest sorrows.
II. — Though no condition of human life is free from uneasiness,
I contend, that the uneasiness belonging to a sinful course is
far greater than what attends a course of well-doing. If you be
weary of the labours of virtue, be assured, that the world, when
ever you try the exchange, will lay upon you a much heavier load.
It is the outside only of a licentious life, which is gay and smiling.
Within, it conceals toil and trouble, and deadly sorrow. For
vice poisons human happiness in the spring, by introducing dis
order into the heart. Those passions which it seems to indulge,
it onlv feeds with imperfect gratifications ; and thereby strengthens
them for preying, in the end, on their unhappy victims.
It is a great mistake to imagine that the pain of self-denial is
confined to virtue. He who follows the world, as much as he who
follows Christ, must take up his cross; and to him, assuredly, it
will prove a more oppressive burden. Vice allows all our passions

162 ON THE MOTIVES OF [Sera. XV
to range uncontrouled ; and where each claims to be superior,
it is impossible to gratify all. The predominant desire can only
be indulged at the expense of its rival. No mortifications which
virtue exacts, are most severe than those which ambition imposes
upon the love of ease, pride upon interest, and covetousness
upon vanity. Self-denial, therefore, belongs, in common, to vice
and virtue ; but with this remarkable difference, that the passions
which virtue requires us to mortify, it tends to weaken ; whereas
those which vice obliges us to deny, it, at the same time,
strengthens. The one diminishes the pain of self-denial, by mo
derating the demand of passion ; the other increases it, by ren
dering those demands imperious and violent. What distresses,
that occur in the calm life of virtue, can be compared to those
tortures which remorse of conscience inflicts on the wicked ; to
those severe humiliations, arising from guilt combined with mis
fortunes, which sink them to the dust ; to those violent agitations
of shame and disappointment which sometimes drive them to the
most fatal extremities, and make them abhor their existence !
How often, in the midst of those disastrous situations into which
their crimes have brought them, have they cursed the seductions
of vice ; and with bitter regret looked back to the day on which
they first forsook the path of innocence ?
But, perhaps, you imagine, that to such miseries as these, great
criminals only are exposed ; and that, by a wary and cautious
management, it is possible to avoid them. Take vice and virtue,
then, in the most general point of view. Compare God and the
world as two masters, the one or other of whom you must obey ;
and consider fairly in whose service there will be reason for
your being weary soonest, and repenting most frequently. The
world is both a hard and capricious master. To submit to a long
servitude, in the view of a recompense from which they are exclu
ded in the end, is known to be often the fate of those who are
devoted to the world. They sacrifice their present ease to their
future propects. They court the great and flatter the multitude.
They prostitute their conscience, and dishonour their character :
and, after all their efforts, how uncertain is their success ! Com
petitors jostle, and outstrip them. The more artful deceive, the
more violent overthrow, them. Fair prospects once smiled ; but
clouds soon gather ; the sky is darkened ; the scene changes ; and
that fickle world, which a moment before had flattered, the next
moments forgets them.
God is never mistaken in the character of his servants ; for he
seeth their hearts, andjudgeth according to the truth. But the world
is often deceived in those who court its favour ; and, of course, is
unjust in the distribution of its rewards. Flattery gains the ear

Sera. XV.] CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE. 153
of power. Fraud supplants innocence ; and the pretending and
assuming occupy the place of the worthy and the modest. In
vain you claim any merit with the world, on account of your good
intentions. The world knows them not; regards them not. It
judges of you solely by your actions ; and what is worse, by the
success of your actions, which often depends not on yourselves.
But in the sight of the Supreme Being, good intentions supply the
place of good deeds, which you had not the opportunity of perform
ing. , The well-meant endeavours of the poor, find the same ac
ceptance with him as the generous actions of the rich. The widow's
mite, is, in his eye, a costly offering, and even he who giveth to a
disciple, a cup of cold water, when he can give him no more, goeth
not without his reward.
As the world is unjust in its judgements, so it is ungrateful in its
requitals. Time speedily effaces the memory of the greatest ser
vices; and when we can repeat them no more, we are neglected
and thrown aside. It was the saying of a noted great man of the
world, on the fall of his fortunes, " Had I served God as faithfully
as I have done my King, he would not have forsaken me in my
old age." Unfaithfulness and ingratitude are unknown to God.
With him no new favourites arise, to usurp the place or to bear off
the rewards of his ancient servants. Even to your old age, I am
He ; and even to hoary hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I
will bear ; even I will carry, and will deliver you, saith the Lord
Almighty. [Isaiah xlvi. 4.J  Since, then, in our several depart
ments, we must labour, what comparison is there between labour
ing for God, and for the world ? How unjust are they who become
weary so much sooner in the service of God, than they do in that
of the most severe and imperious of all masters.
III. — The resources of virtue are much greater than those of the
world; the compensations which it makes for our distresses, far
more valuable. Perpetual success belongs neither to the one nor
the other. But under disappointments, when they occur, virtue
bears us up ; the world allows us to sink. When the mind of a
good man is hurt by misfortunes, religion administers the cordial
and infuses the balm. Whereas, the world inflicts wounds, and
then leaves them to fester. It brings sorrows, but it provides no
consolation. Consolation is entirely the province of religion.
Supposing religion to be inferior to vice in external advantages, it
must be allowed to possess internal peace in a much higher de
gree. This is so certain, that almost all men, at some period or
other of their life, look forward to it, as to a desirable retreat.
When the ends of their present pursuit shall be accomplished, they
propose to themselves much satisfaction in an honourable dis
charge of the duties of their station, amidst those moderate pas-

154 ON THE MOTIVES TO [Sera. XV.
sions and temperate pleasures, which innocence allows. That which
all men agree in holding to be second in importance to the pursuit
which they follow, may be safely esteemed to be the first in real
worth ; and it may be concluded that, if they were not blinded by
seme prevailing passion, they would discern and adopt it as such.
It is the peculiar effect of virtue, to make a man's chief happi
ness arise from himself and his own conduct. A bad man is
wholly the creature of the world. He hangs upon its favour, lives
by its cmiles, and is happy or miserable, in proportion to his suc
cess. But to a virtuous man, success in worldly undertakings is
but a secondary object. To discharge his own part with integrity
and honour is his chief aim. If he has done properly what was
incumbent on him to do, his mind is at rest ; to Providence he
leaves the event. His witness is in Heaven, and his record is on
high. Satisfied with the approbation of God, and the testimony
of a good conscience, he enjoys himself, and despises the triumphs
of guilt. In proportion as such manly principles rule your heart,
you will become independent of the world ; and will forbear com
plaining of its discouragements. It is the imperfection of your
virtue, which occasions you to be weary in well-doing. It is be
cause your hearts remain divided between God and the world,
that you are so often discontented; partly wishing to discharge
your duty, and partly seeking your happiness from somewhat that
is repugnant to your duty. Study to be more consistent in prin
ciple, and more uniform in practice, and your peace will be more
unbroken. Though virtue may appear at first sight, to contract the bounds
of enjoyment, you will find, upon reflection, that, in truth, it
enlarges them. If it restrains the excess of some pleasures, it
favours and increases others. It precludes you from none, but
such as are either fantastic and imaginary, or pernicious and de
structive. Whatever is truly valuable in human enjoyment, it
allows to a good man, no less than to others. It not only allows
him such pleasures, but heightens them,, by that grateful relish
which a good conscience gives to every pleasure. It not only
heightens them, but adds to them, also, the peculiar satisfactions
which flow from virtuous sentiments, from devout affections, and
religious hopes. On how much worse terms is the sinner placed,
in the midst of his boasted gratifications ? His portion is confined
to this world. His good things are all of one sort only ; he has
neither knowledge nor relish of any thing beyond them. His
enjoyment, therefore, rests on a much narrower basis, that that of
the servants of God. Enlarge, as much as you please, the circle
of worldly gratifications ; yet, if nothing of the mind and the heart,
nothing of a refined and moral nature enter into that circle, and

Sera. XV.] CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE. 155
vary the enjoyment, languor and weariness soon succeed. Among
whom do you hear more peevish expressions of discontent, or more
frequent complaints of low spirits, than among the professed votaries
of worldly pleasure ?
Vice and virtue, in their progress, as in every other respect, hold
an opposite course. The beginnings of vice are enticing. The first
steps of worldly advancement are flattering and pleasing. But the
continuance of success blunts enjoyment, and flattens desire.
Whereas, the beginnings of virtue are laborious. But by perseve
rance its labours diminish, and its pleasures increase. As it ripens
into confirmed habit, it becomes both smoother in practice and more
complete in its reward. In a worldly life, the termination of our
hopes always meets our view. We see a boundary before us, be
yond which we cannot reach. But the prospects of virtue are
growing and endless. The righteous shall hold on in his way ; and
he that hath clean hands shall wax stronger and stronger. The path
of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto
the perfect day. This brings me to consider,
IV — The assured hope which good men enjoy, of a full reward
at last. I have endeavoured, by several considerations, to correct
your impatience under the present discouragements of virtue. I
have shown many high advantages, which it already possesses.
But now, laying all these aside ; supposing virtue to have brought,
you no advantage, but to have only engaged you in perpetual
struggles with an evil world ; the Text suggests what is sufficient
to answer every objection, and to silence every complaint : In due
season you shall reap, if you faint not. It is not a loose encourage
ment, or a dubious hope, which is held forth to us. A direct and
explicit declaration is made by the Spirit of God, that piety and
virtue, how discouraged soever, or oppressed they may be for a
while, shall not be frustrated of their reward , but that in due season,
when the period which is fixed by the divine decree shall come,
all who have not been weary in well doing, though they may have
sown in tears, shall reap in joy. As this great principle of faith is
so essential to our present argument, and is indeed the foundation
of all religion, it will be proper that we now take a view of the
grounds on which it rests. By fixing our attention both on the
proofs which reason suggests, and on the discoveries which revela
tion has made, of a state of future retribution, we shall take an
effectual method of confirming our adherence to' religion, and of
baffling those temptations which might lead us to be weary in well
doing. The first, and most obvious presumption, which reason affords
in behalf of future rewards to the righteous, arises from the im
perfect distribution of good and evil in our present state. Not

156 ON THE MOTIVES TO [Serm. XV.
withstanding what I have advanced concerning the pleasures and
advantages of virtue, it cannot be denied, that the happiness of
good men is often left incomplete. The vicious possess advan
tages to which they have no right ; while the conscientious suffer
for the sake of virtue, and groan under distresses which they have
not merited from the world. Indeed, were the distribution of good
and evil, in this life, altogether promiscuous ; could it be said with
truth, that the moral condition of men had no influence whatever
upon their happiness or misery ; I admit, that from such a state of
things, no presumption would arise of any future retribution being
intended.' They who delight to aggravate the miseries of life, and
the distresses of virtue, do no service to the argument in behalf of
Providence. For, if total disorder be found to prevail now,
suspicions may, too justly arise, of its prevailing for ever. If he
who rules the universe, entirely neglects virtue here, the probability
must be small of his rewarding it hereafter. But this is far from
being the true state of the fact. What human life presents to the
view of an impartial observer, is by no means a scene of entire
confusion ; but a state of order, begun and carried on a certain
length. Virtue is so far from being neglected by the Governor of the
world, that from many evident marks it appears to be a chief object
of his care. In the constitution of human nature, a foundation
is laid for comfort to the righteous, and for internal punishment
to the wicked. Throughout the course of divine government,
tendencies towards the happiness of the one, and the misery of
the other, constantly appear. They are so conspicuous, as not to
have escaped the notice of the rudest nations. Over the whole
earth they have diffused the belief, that Piovidence is propitious
to virtue, and averse to guilt. Yet these tendencies .are, some
times, disappointed of their effect, and that which Providence
visibly favours, is left, at present, without an adequate
reward. From such an imperfect distribution of happiness, what are we
to conclude, but that this system is the beginning, not the whole,
of things ; the opening only of a more extensive plan, whose con
summation reaches into a future world ? If God has already set
his throne for judgement ; if he has visibly begun to reward and to
punish, in some degree, on earth, he cannot mean to leave the
exercise of government incomplete. Having laid the foundation
of a great and noble structure, he will in due time rear it up to
perfection. The unfinished parts of the fabric evidently show,
that a future building is intended. All his other works are con
structed according to the most full and exact proportion. In the
natural world, nothing is sufficient, nothing redundant. It is in
the moral world only that we discover irregularity and defect. It

Serm. XV.] CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE. 157
falls short of that order and perfection which appear in the rest of
the creation. It exhibits not, in its present state, the same fea
tures of complete wisdom, justice, or goodness. But can we be
lieve, that, under the government of the Supreme Being, those
apparent disorders shall not be rectified at the last ? Or, that from
his conduct towards his rational creatures, the chief of his works,
the sole objection against his perfection, shall be allowed to rise,
and shall continue unremoved for ever.
On the supposition of future rewards and punishments, a satis
fying account can be given of all the disorders which at present
take place on earth. Christianity explains their origin, and
traces them to their issue. Man, fallen from his primeval feli
city, is now undergoing probation and discipline for his final
state. Divine justice remains, for a season, concealed ; and al
lows men to act their parts with freedom on this theatre, that
their characters may be formed and ascertained. Amidst discou
ragements and afflictions, the righteous, give proof of their fidelity,
and acquire the habits of virtue. But, if you suppose the events
of this life to have no reference to another, the whole state of man
becomes not only inexplicable, but contradictory and inconsis
tent. The powers of the inferior animals are perfectly suited to
their station. They know nothing higher than their present con
dition. In gratifying their appetites, they fulfil their destiny, and
pass away. Man, alone, comes forth to act a part, which carries
no meaning, and tends to no end. Endowed with capacities,
which extend far beyond his present sphere ; fitted by his rational
nature for running the race of immortality : he is stopped short in
the very entrance of his course. He squanders his activity on
pursuits, which he discerns to be vain. He languishes for know
ledge, which is placed beyond his reach. He thirsts after a hap
piness, which he is doomed never to enjoy. He sees and laments
the disasters of his state ; and yet, upon this supposition, can find
nothing to remedy them. — Has the eternal God any pleasure in
sporting himself with such a scene of misery and folly, as this
life, if it had no connexion with another, must exhibit to his eye ?
Did he call into existence this magnificent universe, adorn it with
so much beauty and splendour, and surround it with those glorious
luminaries which we behold in the heavens, only that some
generations of mortal men might arise to behold these wonders,
and then disappear ior ever ? How unsuitable, in this case, were
the habitation of the wretched inhabitant ! How inconsistent the
commencement of his being, and the mighty preparation of his
powers and faculties, with his despicable end ! How contradictory,
in fine, were every thing which concerns the state of man, to the
wisdom and perfection of his Maker !

158 ON THE MOTIVES TO [Sera. XV.
Throughout all ages, and among all nations, the persuasion of
a future life has prevailed. It sprung not from the refinements of
science, or the speculations of philosophy ; but from a deeper and
stronger root, the natural sentiments of- the human heart. Hence
it is common to the philosopher and the savage ; and is found in
the most barbarous, as well as in the most civilized regions. Even
the belief of the being of a God, is not more general on the earth
than the belief of immortality. Dark, indeed, and confused, were
the notions which men entertained concerning a future state. Yet
still, in that state, they looked for retribution, both to the good
and the bad ; and in the perfection of such pleasures as they knew
best and valued most highly, they placed the rewards of the virtu
ous. So universal a consent seems plainly to indicate an -original
determination given to the soul by its Creator It shows this great
truth to be native and congenial to man.
When we look into our own breasts, we find various anticipa
tions and presages of future existence. Most of our great and high
passions extend beyond the limits of this life. The ambitious and
the self-denied, the great, the good, and the wicked, all take in
terest in what is to happen after they shall have left the earth.
That passion for fame, which inspires so much of the activity of
mankind, plainly is animated by the persuasion, that conscious
ness is to survive the dissolution of the body. The virtuous are
supported by the hope, the guilty tormented with the dread, of
what is to take place after death. As death approaches, the
hopes of the one and the fears of the other, are found to redou
ble. The soul, when issuing hence, seems more clearly to discern
its future abode. All the operations of conscience proceed upon
the belief of immortality. The whole moral conduct of men re
fers to it. All legislators have supposed it. All religions are built
upon it. It is so essential to the order of society, that, were it
erased, human laws would prove ineffectual restraints from evil,
and a deluge of crimes and miseries would overflow the earth.
To suppose this universal and powerful belief to be without found
ation in truth, is to suppose that a principle of delusion was in
terwoven with the nature of man ; is to suppose, that his Creator
was reduced to the necessity of impressing his heart with a false
hood, in order to make him answer the purposes of his being.
But though these arguments be strong, yet all arguments are
liable to objection. Perhaps this general belief, of which I have
spoken, has been owing to inclination and desire, more than to
evidence. Perhaps, in our reasonings on this subject from the
divine perfections, we flatter ourselves with being of more conse
quence than we truly are, in the system of the universe. Hence,
the great importance of a discovery proceeding from God him-

Sera. XV.] CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE. 159
self, which gives full authority to all that reason had suggested,
and places this capital truth beyond the reach of suspicion or
distrust. The method which Christianity has taken to convey to us the
evidence of a future state, highly deserves our attention. Had the
Gospel been addressed, like a system of philosophy, solely to the
understanding of men ; had it aimed only at enlightening the stu
dious and reflecting, it would have confined itself to abstract
truth ; it would have simply informed us, that the righteous are
hereafter to be rewarded, and sinners to be punished. Such a
declaration as that contained in the Text would have been suffi
cient : Be not weary in luell-doing ; for in due season you shall reap,
if you faint not. But the Gospel has not stopped, at barely an
nouncing life and immortality to mankind. It was calculated for
popular edification. It was intended to be the religion not merely
of the few, whose understanding was to be informed; but of. the
many, whose imagination was to be impressed, and whose passions
were to be awakened, in order to give the truth its due influence
over them. Upon this account it not only reveals the certainty of
a future state, but, in the person of the great Founder of our re
ligion, exhibits a series of acts relating to it, by means of which,
our senses, our imaginations, and passions, all become interested
in this great object.
The resurrection of Christ from the grave was designed to be a
sensible evidence, that death infers not a final extinction of the
living principle. He rose, in order to shew, that, in our name, he
had conquered death, and was become the fruits of them that sleep.
Nor did he only rise from the grave ; but, by ascending to heaven
in a visible form, before many witnesses, gave an ocular specimen
of the transition from this world into the region of the blessed.
The employments which now occupy him there, are fully declared.
As our forerunner he hath entered within the veil. He appears in the
presence of God for us. He maketh perpetual intercession for his peo
ple. I go, saith he, to my Father and to your Father, to my God and
your God. In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to pre
pare a place for you. I will come again, and receive you to myself,
that where I am, there you may be also. The circumstances of his
coming again, are distinctly foretold. The sounding of the last
trumpet, the resurrection of the dead, the appearance of the Judge,
and the solemnity with which he shall discriminate the good from
the bad, are all described. The veiy words in which he shall pro
nounce the final sentence, are recited in our hearing : Come, ye
blessed of my Father! inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the
foundation of the world. Then shall the holy and the just be caught
up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. They shall enter with

160 ON THE MOTIVES, &c, [Sera. XV.
him into the city of the living God. They shall possess the new
earth and new heavens, wherein dwelleth righteousness. God shall
wipe away all tears from their eyes. They shall behold his face in
righteousness, and be satisfied with his likeness for ever. — By record
ing such a train of striking circumstances and facts, the Gospel
familiarizes us in some measure with a future state. By accom
modating this great discovery, in so useful a manner, to the con
ceptions of men, it furnishes a strong intrinsic evidence of its
divine origin.
Thus, upon the whole, whether you consult your reason, or
listen to the discoveries of revelation, you behold our argument
confirmed ; you behold a life of piety and virtue issuing in im
mortal felicity. Of what worldly pursuit can it be pronounced,
that its reward is certain ? Look every where around you, and you
shall see, that the race is far from being always to the swift, or the
battle to the strong. The most diligent, the most wise, the most
accomplished, may, after all their labours, be disappointed in the
end ; and be left to suffer the regret of having spent their strength
for nought. But for the righteous is laid up the crown of life.
Their final happiness is prepared in the eternal plan of Providence,
and secured by the labours and sufferings of the Saviour of the
world Cease, then, from your unjust complaints against virtue and
religion. Leave discontent and peevishness to worldly men. In
no period of distress, in no moment of disappointment, allow
yourselves to suspect that piety and integrity are fruitless. In
every state of being, they lead to happiness. If you enjoy not at
present their full rewards, it is because the season of recompense
is not yet come. For, in due season you shall reap. There is a
time which is proper for reward, and there is a period which be
longs to trial. How long the one should last, and when the other
should arrive, belongs not to you to determine. It is fixed by the
wise, though unknown, decree of the Almighty. But be assured,
that, He that cometh shall come, and will not tarry He shall come
in due season, to restore perfect order among his works ; to bring
rest to the weary, comfort to the afflicted, and just retribution to
all men. Behold! saith the faithful and true Witness, I come
quickly, and my reivard is with me. To him that overcometh will I
give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of
God. I will give him the morning star I will make him a pillar in
my temple. He shall be clothed in white raiment ; and shall sit down
with me on my throne. [Rev. xxii. 12. — ii. 7. 28. — iii. 12. 5. 21 ]

Serm. XVI.] ON THE IMPORTANCE OF, &c. 161
SERMON XVI.
ON THE IMPORTANCE OF ORDER IN CONDUCT.
1 Corinthians xvi. 40 — Let all things be done — in order.
Religion, like every regular and well-conducted system, is
composed of a variety of parts ; each of which possesses its sepa
rate importance, and contributes to the peifection of the whole.
Some graces are essential to it ; such as faith and repentance, the
love pf God, and the love of our neighbour ; which, for that rea
son, must be often inculcated on men. There are other disposi
tions and habits which, though they hold not so high a rank, yet
are necessary to the introduction and support of the former ; and
therefore, in religious exhortations, these also justly claim a
place. Of this nature is that regard to order, method and regu
larity, which the apostle enjoins us in the text to carry through
the whole of life. Whether you consider it as, in itself, a moral
duty, or not, yet I hope soon to convince you that it is essential
to the proper discharge of almost all duties ; and merits, upon
that account, a greater degree of attention than is commonly paid
to it in a religious view.
If you look abroad into the world, you may be satisfied at the
first glance, that a vicious and libertine life is always a life of con
fusion. Thence it is natural to infer, that order is friendly to re
ligion. As the neglect of it coincides with vice, so the preserva
tion of it must assist virtue. By the appointment of Providence,
it is indispensably requisite to worldly prosperity. Thence arises
a presumption, that it is connected also with spiritual improve
ment. When you behold a man's affairs, through negligence and
misconduct, involved in disorder, you naturally conclude that
his ruin approaches. You may at the same time justly suspect,
that-the causes which affect his temporal welfare, operate also to
the prejudice of his moral interests. The apostle teaches us in this
chapter, that God is not the author of confusion. [Ver. 33.] He is a
lover of order; and all his works are full of order. But, where
confusion is, there is, its close attendant, every evil work. [James
iii. 16.] In the sequel of this discourse, I shall point out some of
those parts of conduct wherein it is most material to virtue that
order take place ; and then shall conclude with showing the high
advantages which attend it. Allow me to recommend to you
order in the conduct of your affairs ; order in the distribution
of your time ; order in the management of your fortune ; order in
the regulation of your amusements ; order in the arrangement of
your society. Thus, let all things be done in order.

162 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF [Serm. XVI.
I. — Maintain order in the conduct of your worldly affairs. Every
man, in every station of life, has some concerns, private, domestic,
or public, which require successive attention ; he is placed in some
sphere of active duty. Let the employments which belong to that
sphere be so arranged, that each may keep its place without jostling
another ; and that that which regards the world may not interfere
with what is due to God. In proportion to the multiplicity of
affairs, the observance of order becomes more indispensable. But
scarcely is there any train of life so simple and uniform, but what
will suffer through the neglect of it. I speak not now of suffering
in point of worldly interests. I call upon you to attend to higher
interests ; to remember that the orderly conduct of your temporal
affairs, forms a great part of your duty as Christians.
Many, indeed, can hardly be persuaded of this truth. A strong
propensity has, in every age, appeared among men, to sequestrate
religion from the commerce of the world. Seasons of retreat and
devotion they are willing to appropriate to God ; but the world they
consider as their own province. They carry on a sort of separate
interest there. Nay, by the respect which, on particular occasions,
they pay to religion, they too often imagine that they have acquir
ed the liberty of acting, in worldly matters, according to what plan
they choose. How entirely do such persons mistake the design
of Christianity ! In this world you are placed by Providence as
on a great field of trial. By the necessities of your nature, you
are called forth to different employments. By many ties, you are
connected with human society. From superiors and inferiors,
from neighbours and equals, from friends and enemies, demands
arise and obligations circulate through all the ranks of life. This
active scene was contrived by the wisdom of Heaven, on purpose
that it might bring into exercise all the virtues of the Christian
character ; your justice, candour, and veracity, in dealing with one
another ; your fidelity to every trust, and your conscientious dis
charge of every office which is committed to you ; your affection
for your friends ; your forgiveness of enemies ; your charity to the
distressed ; your attention to the interests of your family. It is by
fulfilling all these obligations, in proper succession, that you show
your conversation to be such as becometh the Gospel of Christ. It is
thus you make" your light to shine before men, that they may see
your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven. It is
thus you are rendered meet for the inheritance of the saints in light.
But how can those various duties be discharged by persons who
are ever in that hurry and perplexity which disorder creates ? You
wish, perhaps, to perform what your character and station require.
But, from the confusion in which you have allowed yourselves to
be involved, you find it to have become impossible. What was

Serm. XVI.] ORDER IN CONDUCT. 163
neglected to be done in its proper place, thrusts itself forward at
an inconvenient season. A multitude of affairs crowd upon you
together. Different obligations distract you ; and this distraction
is sometimes the cause, sometimes the pretence, of equally ne
glecting them all, or, at least, of sacrificing the greatei to the
lesser. Hence arise so many inconsistent characters, and such frequent
instances of partial and divided goodness, as we find in the world ,
appearances of generosity without justice, honour without truth,
probity to men without reverence of God. He who conducts his
affairs with method and regularity, meets every duty in its proper
place, and assigns it its due rank. But where there is no order in
conduct, there can be no uniformity in character. The natural
connexion and arrangement of duties are lost. If virtue appear
at all, it will only be in fits and starts. The authority of con
science may occasionally operate, when our situation affords it
room for exertion. But in other circumstances of equal import
ance, every moral sentiment will be overpowered by the tumultu
ous bustle of worldly affairs. Fretfulness of temper, too, will
generally characterise those who are negligent of order. The
hurry in which they live, and the embarrassments with which they
are surrounded, keep their spirits in perpetual ferment. Con
flicting with difficulties which they are unable to overcome, con
scious of their own misconduct, but ashamed to confess it, they
are engaged in many a secret struggle ; and the uneasiness which
they suffer within, recoils in bad humour on all who are around
them. Hence the wretched resources to which, at last, they are
obliged to fly, in order to quiet their cares. In despair of being
able to unravel what they have suffered to become so perplexed,
they sometimes sink into supine indolence, sometimes throw them
selves into the arms of intemperance and loose pleasure ; by either
of which they aggravate their guilt, and accelerate their ruin.
To the end that order may be maintained in your affairs, it is
necessary, II. — That you attend to order in the distribution of your time.
Time you ought to consider as a sacred trust committed to you
by God, of which you are now the depositaries, and are to render
account at the last. That portion of it which he has allotted you,
is intended pa tly for the concerns of this world, partly for those
of the next. Let each of these occupy, in the distribution of your
time, that space which properly belongs to it. Let not the hours
of hospitality and pleasure interfere with the discharge of your
necessary affairs ; and let not what you call necessary affairs en
croach upon the time which is due to devotion. To every thing
there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven. — ¦

164 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF [Serm. XVI.
[Eccles. iii. 1.] If you delay till to-morrow, what ought to be done
to-day, you overcharge the morrow with a burden which belongs
not to it. You load the wheels of time, and prevent it from carry
ing you along smoothly. He who every morning plans the trans
actions of the day, and follows out that plan, carries on a thread
which will guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life.
The orderly arrangement of his time is like a ray of light which
darts itself through all his affairs. But where no plan is laid,
where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of
incidents, all things lie huddled together in one chaos, which ad
mits neither of distribution nor review.
The first requisite for introducing order into the management of
time, is to be impressed with a just sense of its value. Consider
well how much depends upon it, and how fast it flies away. The
bulk of men are in nothing more capricious and inconsistent than
in their appreciation of time. When they think of it as the mea
sure of their continuance on earth, they highly prize it, and with
the greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it out. But when they view
it in separate parcels, they appear to hold it in contempt, and
squander it with inconsiderate profusion. While they complain
that life is short, they are often wishing its different periods at an
end. Covetous of every other possession, of time only they are
prodigal. They allow every idle man to be master of this pro
perty, and make every frivolous occupation welcome that can help
them to consume it. Among those who are so careless of time,
it is not to be expected that order should be observed in its dis
tribution. But, by this fatal neglect, how many materials of severe
and lasting regret are they laying up in store for themselves !
The time which they suffer to pass away in the midst of confusion,
bitter repentance seeks afterwards in vain to recall. What was
omitted to be done at its proper moment, arises to be the torment
of some future season. Manhood is disgraced by the consequences
of neglected youth. Old age, oppressed by cares that belonged
to a former period, labours under a burden not its own. At
the close of life, the dying man beholds with anguish that his days
are finishing, when his preparation for eternity is hardly com
menced. Such are the effects of a disorderly waste of time,
through not attending to its value. Every thing in the life of
such persons is misplaced. Nothing is performed aright, from
not being performed in due season.
But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time, takes the
proper method of escaping those manifold evils. He is justly said
to redeem the time. By proper management he prolongs it. He
lives much in little space ; more in a few years than others do in
many. He can live to God and his own soul, and at the same time

Sera. XVI.] ORDER IN CONDUCT. 165
attend to all the lawful interests of the present world. He looks
back on the past, and provides for the future. He catches and
arrests the hours as they fly. They are marked down for useful
purposes, and their memory remains. Whereas, those hours fleet
by the man of confusion like a shadow. His days and years are
either blanks of which he has no remembrance, or they are filled
up with such _ a confused and irregular succession of unfinished
transactions, that though he remembers he has been busy, yet he
can give no account of the business which has employed him. Of
him, more than of any other, it may with justice be pronounced,
that he walketh in a vain show ; he is disquieted in vain.
III. — Introduce order into the management of your fortune.
Whatever it be, let the administration of it proceed with method
and economy. From time to time examine your situation ; and
proportion your expense to your growing or diminishing revenue.
Provide what is necessary before you indulge in what is superfluous.
Study to do justice to all with whom you deal, before you affect the
praise of liberality. In a word, fix such a plan of living as you find
that your circumstances will fairly admit, and adhere to it invariably
against every temptation to improper excess.
No admonition respecting morals is more necessary than this,
to the age in which we live ; an age manifestly distinguished by a
propensity to thoughtless profusion ; wherein all the different ranks
of men are observed to press with forward vanity on those who
are above them ; . to vie with their superiors in every mode of luxury
and ostentation ; and to seek no farther argument for j ustifying
extravagance, than the fashion of the times, and the supposed
necessity of living like others around them. This turn of mind
begets contempt for sober and orderly plans of life. It overthrows
all regard to domestic concerns and duties. It pushes men on to
hazardous and visionary schemes of gain ; and unfortunately unites
the two extremes of grasping with rapaciousness, and of squan
dering with profusion. In the midst of such disorder, no prospe
rity can be of long continuance. While confusion grows upon
men's affairs, and prodigality at the same time wastes their sub
stance, poverty makes its advances like an armed man. They
tremble at the view of the approaching evil; but have lost the
force of mind to make provision against it. Accustomed to move
in a round of society and pleasures disproportioned to their con
dition, they are unable to break through the enchantments of
habit ; and with their eyes open, sink into the gulph which is be
fore them. Poverty enforces dependence; and dependence in
creases corruption. Necessity first betrays them into mean com
pliances ; next, impels them to open crimes ; and, beginning with
ostentation and extravagance, they end in infamy and guilt. Such

166 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF [Serm. XVI.
are the consequences of neglecting order in our worldly circum
stances. Such is the circle in which the profuse and the dissolute
daily run.  To what cause, so much as to the want of order,
can we attribute those scenes of distress which so frequently ex
cite our pity ; families, that once were flourishing, reduced to ruin ;
and the melancholy widow and neglected orphan thrown forth,
friendless, upon the world ? What cause has been more fruitful
in engendering those atrocious crimes which fill society with dis
quiet and terror ; in training the gamester to fraud, the robber to
violence, and even the assassin to blood ?
Be assured, then, that order, frugality, and economy, are the
necessary supports of every personal and private virtue. How
humble soever these qualities may appear to some, they are,
nevertheless, the basis on which liberty, independence, and true
honour, must rise. He who has the steadiness to arrange his affairs
with method and regularity, and to conduct his train of life agree
ably to his circumstances, can be master of himself in every situ
ation into which he may be thrown. He is under no necessity to
flatter or to lie, to stoop to what is mean, or to commit what is
criminal. But he who wants that firmness of mind which the
observance of order requires, is held in bondage to the world, he
can neither act his part with courage as a man, nor with fidelity
as a Christian. From the moment you have allowed yourselves to
pass the line of economy, and live beyond your fortune, you have
entered on the path of danger. Precipices surround you on all
sides. Every step which you take may lead to mischiefs, that, as
yet, lie hidden ; and to crimes that will end in your everlasting per
dition. IV. — Observe order in your amusements ; that is, allow them no
more than their proper place ; study to keep them within due
bounds ; mingle them in a temperate succession with serious du
ties, and the higher business of life. Human life cannot proceed
to advantage without some measure of relaxation and entertain
ment. We require relief from care. We are not formed for a
perpetual stretch of serious thought. By too intense and con
tinued application, our feeble powers would soon be worn out. At
the same time, from our propensity to ease and pleasure, amuse
ment proves, among all ranks of men, the most dangerous foe to
order ; for it tends incessantly to usurp and encroach, to widen
its territories, to thrust itself into the place of more important con
cerns, and thereby to disturb and counteract the natural course of
things. One frivolous amusement indulged out of season, will
often carry perplexity and confusion through a long succession of
affairs. Amusements, therefore, though they be of an innocent kind.

Sera. XVI.] ORDER IN CONDUCT. 167
require steady government, to keep them within a due and limited
province. But such as are of an irregular and vicious nature, are
not to be governed, but to be banished from every orderly society.
As soon as a man seeks his happiness from the gaming-table, the
. midnight revel, and the other haunts of licentiousness, confusion
seizes upon him as its own. There will no longer be order in his
family, nor order in his affairs, nor order in his time. The most
important concerns of life are abandoned. Even the order of na
ture is by such persons inverted ; night is changed into day, and
day into night. Character, honour, and interest itself, are trampled
under foot. You may with certainty prognosticate the ruin of
these men to be just at hand. Disorder, arisen to its height, has
nearly accomplished its work. The spots of death are upon them.
Let every one who would escape the pestilential contagion, fly
with haste from their company.
V. — Preserve order in the arrangement of your society, that is,
entangle not yourselves in a perpetual and promiscuous crowd;
select with prudence and propriety those with whom you choose
to associate ; let company and retreat succeed each other at mea
sured intervals. There can be no order in his life, who allots not
a due share of his time to retirement and reflection. He can nei
ther prudently arrange his temporal affairs, nor properly attend to
his spiritual interests. He lives not to himself, but to the world.
By continual dissipation, he is rendered giddy and thoughtless.
He unavoidably contracts from the world, that spirit of disorder
and confusion which is so prevalent in it.
It is not a sufficient preservative against this evil, that the circles
of society in which you are engaged, are not of a libertine and
vicious kind. If they withdraw you from that attention to your
selves, and your domestic concerns, which becomes a good man,
they are subversive of order, and inconsistent with duty. What is
innocent in itself, degenerates into guilt from being carried to ex
cess ; an idle, trifling society, is near akin to such as is corrupting.
One of the first principles of order is, to learn to be happy at home.
It is in domestic retreat that every wise and virtuous man finds his
chief satisfaction. It is there he forms the plans which regulate
his public conduct. He who knows not how to enjoy himself
when alone, can never be long happy abroad. To his vacant mind,
company may afford a temporary relief; but when forced to return
to himself, he will be so much more oppressed and languid.
Whereas, by a due mixture of public and private life, we keep free
from the snares of both, and enjoy each to greater advantage.
When we review those different parts of behaviour to which I
have shown that order is essential, it must necessarily occur to
you, that they are all mutually connected, and hang upon each

168 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF [Sera. XVI.
other. Throughout your affairs, your time, your expense, your
amusements, your society, the principle, of order must be equally
carried, if you expect to reap any of its happy fruits. For, if into
any one of those great departments of life you suffer disorder tc
enter, it will spread through all the rest. In vain, for instance,
you purpose to be orderly in the conduct of your affairs, if you be
irregular in the distribution of your time. In vain you attempt
to regulate your expense, if into your amusements, or your society,
disorder has crept. You have admitted a principle of confusion,
which will defeat all your plans, and perplex and entangle what
you sought to arrange. Uniformity is above all things necessary
to order. If you desire that any thing should proceed according
to method and rule, let all things, as the text exhorts, be done in
order. I must also admonish you, that in small as well as in great af
fairs, a due regard to order is requisite. I mean not that you
ought to look on those minute attentions which are apt to occupy
frivolous minds, as connected either with virtue or wisdom. But
I exhort you to remember, that disorder, like other immoralities,
frequently takes rise from inconsiderable beginnings. They who,
in the lesser transactions of life, are totally negligent of rule, will
be in hazard of extending that negligence, by degrees, to such af
fairs and duties as will render them criminal. Remissness grows
on all who study not to guard against it ; and it is only by frequent
exercise that the habits of order and punctuality can be thoroughly
confirmed. From what has been said, the great importance of this princi
ple to moral and religious conduct must already be evident. Let
us, however, conclude with taking a summary view of the advan
tages which attend it.
First, the observance of order serves to correct that negligence
which makes you omit some duties, and that hurry and precipi
tancy which make you perform others imperfectly. Your atten
tion is thereby directed to its proper objects. You follow the
straight path which Providence has pointed out to man ; in the
course of which all the different business of life presents itself
regularly to him on every side. God and man, time and eternity,
possess their proper stations, arise in succession to his view, and
attract his care. Whereas, he who runs on in a disorderly course,
speedily involves himself in a labyrinth, where he is surrounded
with intricacy and darkness. The crooked paths into which he
strikes, turn him aside from the proper line of human pursuit ;
hide from his sight the objects which he ought chiefly to regard,
and bring others under his view, which serve no purpose but to
distract and mislead him.

Sera. XVI.] ORDER IN CONDUCT. 169
Next, by attending to order, you avoid idleness, that most
fruitful source of crimes and evils. Acting upon a plan, meeting
eveiy _thing in its own place, you constantly find innocent and
useful employment for time. You are never at a loss how to
dispose of your hours, or to fill up life agreeably. In the course
of human action, there are two extremes equally dangerous to vir
tue ; the multiplicity of affairs, and the total want of them.
The man of order stands in the middle between these two extremes,
and suffers from neither. He is occupied, but not oppressed.
Whereas the disorderly, overloading one part of time, and leav
ing another vacant, are at one period overwhelmed with business,
and at another, either idle through want of employment, or indo
lent through perplexity. Those seasons of indolence and idleness
which recur so often in their life, are their most dangerous mo
ments. The mind, unhappy in its situation, and clinging to every
object which can occupy or amuse it, is then aptest to throw itself
into the arms of every vice and every folly.
Farther, by the preservation of order, you check inconstancy
and levity. Fickle, by nature, is the human heart. It is fond of
change ; and perpetually tends to start aside from the straight
line of conduct. Hence arises the propriety of bringing ourselves
under subjection to method and rule ; which, though at first it
may prove constraining, yet by degrees, and from the experience
of its happy effects, becomes natural and agreeable. It rectifies
those irregularities of temper and manners to which we give the
name of caprice ; and which are distinguishing characteristics of
a disorderly mind. It is the parent of steadiness of conduct. It
forms consistency of character. It is the ground of all the con
fidence we repose in one another. For, the disorderly we know
not where to find. In him only can we place any trust who is
uniform and regular ; who lives by principle, not by humour ;
who acts upon a plan, and not by. desultory motions.
The advantages of order hitherto mentioned belong to rectitude
¦of conduct. Consider also how important it is to your self-enjoy
ment and felicity. Order is the source of peace ; and peace is
the highest of all temporal blessings. Order is indeed the only
region in which tranquillity dwells. The very mention of con
fusion imports disturbance and vexation. Is it possible for that
man to be happy, who cannot look into the state of his affairs,
or the tenour of his conduct, without discerning all to be embroil
ed ; who is either in the midst of remorse for what he has neg
lected to do, or in the midst of hurry to overtake what he finds,
too late, was necessary to have been done ? Such as live accord
ing to order may be compared to the celestial bodies, which
move in regular courses, and by stated laws ; whose influence is

170 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Sera. XVII.
beneficent ; whose operations are quiet and tranquil. The disor
derly resemble those tumultuous elements on earth, which, by
sudden and violent irruptions disturb the course of nature by
mismanagement of affairs, by excess in expense, by irregularity
in the indulgence of company and amusement, they are perpe
tually creating molestation both to themselves and others. They
depart from their road to seek pleasure; and instead of it, they
every where raise up sorrows. Being always found out of their
proper place, they of course interfere and jar with others. The
disorders which they raise never fail to spread beyond their own
line, and to involve many in confusion and distress ; whence they
necessarily become the authors of tumult and contention, of dis
cord and enmity. Whereas, order is the foundation of union.
It allows every man to carry on his own affairs without disturbing
his neighbour. It is the golden chain which holds together the
societies of men in friendship and peace.
In fine, the man of order is connected with all the higher powers
and principles in the universe. He is the follower of God. He
walks with him, and acts upon his plan. His character is formed
on the spirit which religion breathes. For, religion in general, and
the religion of Christ in particular, may be called the great dis
cipline of order. To walk sinfully, and to walk disorderly, are
synonymous terms in Scripture from such as walk disorderly we are
commanded, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, to withdraw
ourselves. [2 Thess. iii. 6.] The kingdom of Satan is the reign of
disorder and darkness. To restore order among the works of God,
was the end for which the Son of God descended to the earth. He
requires order to be observed in his church. His undertaking is to
be consummated in that perfect order which he shall introduce at
the last day. In the new earth and the new heavens, undisturbed
order shall for ever prevail among the spirits of the just made per
fect ; and whatever farther preparation may be requisite for our
being admitted to join their society, it is certain that we shall never
share in it unless we make it now our study to do all things decently
and in order.

SERMON XVII.
ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE HEART.
Proverbs iv. 23 — Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of ti are
the issues of life.
Among the many wise counsels given by this inspired writer,
there is none which deserves greater regard than that contained

Sera. XVII.] OF THE HEART. 171
in the text. Its importance, however, is too seldom perceived by
the generality of men. They are apt to consider the regulation of
external conduct as 'the chief object of religion. If they can act
their part with decency, and maintain a fair character, they con
ceive their duty to be fulfilled. What passes in the mean time
within their mind, they suppose to be of no great consequence,
either to themselves, or to the world, In opposition to this dan
gerous plan of morality, the wise man exhorts us to keep the
heart ; that is, to attend not only to our actions, but to our
thoughts and desires ; and to keep the heart with all diligence, that
is, with sedulous and unremitting care ; for which he assigns this
reason, that out of the heart are the issues of life. — In discoursing
on this subject I propose to consider, separately, the govern
ment of the thoughts, of the passions, and of the temper. But
before entering on any of these, let us begin with inquiring, in
what sense the issues of life axe said to be out of the heart ; that
we may discern the force of the argument which the text suggests,
to recommend this great duty of keeping the heart.
The issues of life are justly said to be out of the heart, because
the state of the heart is what determines our moral character, and
what forms our chief happiness or misery.
First, It is the state of the heart which determines our moral
character. The tenour of our actions will always correspond to the
dispositions that prevail within. To dissemble, or to suppress
them, is a fruitless attempt. In spite of our efforts, they will per
petually break forth in our behaviour. On whatever side the
weight of inclination hangs, it will draw the practice after it. In
vain, therefore, you study to preserve your hands clean, unless
you resolve at the same time to keep your heart pure. Make the
tree good, as our Saviour directs, and then its fruits will be good
also. For out of the heart proceed not only evil thoughts, but mur
ders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies,
[Matth. xv. 19.] If that fountain be once poisoned, you can never
expect that salubrious streams will flow from it. Throughout the
whole of their course, they will carry the taint of the parent spring.
But it is not merely from its influence on external action, that
the importance of the heart to our moral character arises. Inde
pendent of all action, it is, in truth, the state of the heart itself
which forms our character in the sight of God. With our fellow-
creatures, actions must ever hold the chief rank; because, by
these only we can judge of one another ; by these, we effect each
other's welfare ; and therefore to these alone the regulation of
human law extends. But in the eye of that Supreme Being, to
whom our whole internal frame is uncovered, dispositions hold
the place of actions ; and it is not so much what we perform, as

172 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Sera. XVII.
the motive which moves us to performance, that constitutes us
good or evil in his sight. Even among men the morality of
actions is estimated by the principle from which they are judged
to proceed ; and such as the principle is, such is the man accounted
to be. One, for instance, may spend much of his fortune in cha
ritable actions ; and yet, if he is believed to be influenced by mere
ostentation, he is deemed not charitable, but vain. He may
labour unweariedly to serve the public ; but if he is prompted by
the desire of rising into power, he is held, not public spirited, but
ambitious ; and if he bestows a benefit, purely that he may re
ceive a greater in return, no man would reckon him generous, but
selfish and interested. If reason thus clearly teaches us to esti
mate the value of actions by the dispositions which give them
birth, it is an obvious conclusion, that according to those dispo
sitions, we are all ranked and classed by him who seeth into every
heart. The rectification of our principles of action is the pri
mary object of religious discipline ; and in proportion as this is
more or less advanced, we are more or less religious. Accordingly,
the regeneration of the heart is every where represented in the
Gospel as the most essential requisite in the character of a Christian.
Secondly, The state of the heart not only determines our moral
character, but forms our principal happiness or misery. External
situations of fortune are no farther of consequence, than as they
operate on the heart ; and their operation there is far from corre
sponding to the degree of worldly prosperity or adversity. If,
from any internal cause, a man's peace of mind be disturbed, in
vain you load him with all the honours or riches which the world
can bestow. They remain without, like things at a distance from
him. They reach not the source of enjoyment. Discomposed
thoughts, agitated passions, and a ruffled temper, poison every
ingredient of pleasure which the world holds out ; and overcast
every object which presents itself, with a melancholy gloom. In
order to acquire a capacity of happiness, it must be our first study
to rectify such inward disorders. Whatever discipline tends to
accomplish this purpose, is of greater importance to man, than the
acquisition of the advantages of fortune. These are precarious,
and doubtful in their effect; internal tranquillity is a certain good.
These are only means, but that is the end. These are no more
than instruments of satisfaction ; that is satisfaction itself.
Justly it is said by the Wise Man, that he who hath no rule ovef
his spirit, is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.
[Prov. xxv. 28.] All is waste ;• all is in disorder and .ruins within
him. He possesses no defence against dangers of any sort. He
lies open to every insurrection of ill-humour, and every invasion
of distress. Whereas, he who is employed in regulating his mind,

Sera. XVII.] OF THE HEART. 173
is making provision against all the accidents of life. He is erecting
a fortress, into which, in the day of danger, he can retreat with
safety. And hence, amidst those endeavours to secure happiness,
which incessantly employ the life of man, the careful regulation,
or the improvident neglect, of the inward frame, forms the chief
distinction between wisdom and folly.
Thus it appears with how much propriety the issues of life are
said to be out of the heart. Here rise those great springs of human
conduct, whence the main currents flow of our virtue or our vice ;
of our happiness or our misery. Besides this powerful argument
for keeping the heart with all diligence, I must mention another im
portant consideration, taken from the present state of human
nature. Think what your heart now is, and what must be the
consequence of remitting your vigilance in watching over it.
With too much justice it is said in Scripture, to be deceitful above
all things, and desperately wicked. -Itc bias of innate corruption
gives it a perpetual tendency downwards into vice and disorder.
To direct and impel it upwards, requires a constant effort. Expe
rience may convince you, that almost every desire has a propensity
to wander into an improper direction ; that every passion tends
to excess ; and that around your imagination there perpetually
crowds a whole swarm of vain and corrupting thoughts. After
all the care that can be bestowed by the best men on the regula
tion of the heart, it frequently baffles their efforts to keep it under
proper discipline. Into what universal tumult then must it rise, if
- no vigilance be employed, and no government be exercised over it .
Inattention and remissness are all that the great adversary of man
kind desires, in order to gain full advantage. While you sleep, he
sows his tares in the field. The house which he finds vacant and
unguarded, he presently garnishes with evil spirits.
Add to this, that the human temper is to be considered as a
system, the parts of which have a mutual dependence on each
other. Introduce disorder into any one part, and you derange the
whole. Suffer but one passion to go out of its place, or to acquire
an unnatural force, and presently the balance of the soul will be
broken ; its powers will jar among themselves, and their operations
become discordant. Keep thy heart, therefore, with all diligence,
for all thy diligence is here required. And, though thine own
keeping alone will not avail, unless the assistance of a higher
power concur, yet of this be well assured, that no aid from heaven
is to be expected, if thou shalt neglect to exert thyself in per
forming, the part assigned thee.
Having now shown the importance of exercising government
over the heart, I proceed to consider more particularly in what the
government consists, as it respects the thoughts, the passions, and
the temper.

174 ON THE GOVERNMENT. {Serm. XVII.
I begin with the thoughts, which are the prime movers of the
whole human conduct. All that makes a figure on the great
theatre of the world, the employments of the busy, the enterprizes-
of the ambitious, and the exploits of the warlike, the virtues
which form the happiness, and the crimes which occasion the
misery of mankind, originate in that silent and secret recess of
thought which is hidden from every human eye. The secrecy and
silence which reign there, favour the prejudice, entertained by too
many, that thought is exempted from all control. Passions, they
perhaps admit, require government and restraint, because they are
violent emotions, and disturb society. But with their thoughts,
they plead, no one is concerned. By these, as long as they re
main in their bosom, no offence can be given, and no injury com
mitted. To enjoy unrestrained the full range of imagination,
appears to them the native right and privilege of man.
Had they to do with none but their fellow-creatures, such
reasoning might be specious. But they ought to remember, that
in the sight of the Supreme Being, thoughts bear the character of
good or evil as much as actions ; and that they are, in especial
manner, the subjects of Divine jurisdiction, because they are cog
nizable at no other tribunal. The moral regulation of our thoughts
is the particular test of our reverence for God. If we restrain our
passions from breaking forth into open disorders, while we abandon
our imagination in secret to corruption, we show that virtue
rests with us upon regard to men ; and that, however we may act
a part in public with propriety, there is before our eyes no fear of
that God who searcheth the heart, and requireth truth in the inward
parts. But, even abstracting from this awful consideration, the govern
ment of our thoughts must appear to be of high consequence,
from their direct influence on conduct. It is plain, that thought
gives the first impulse to every principle of action. Actions are,
in truth, no other than thoughts ripened into consistency and sub
stance. So certain is this, that to judge with precision of the
character of any man, and to foretel with confidence what part he
will act, no more were requisite, than to be rendered capable of
viewing the current of thought which passes_ most frequently
within him. Though by such a method we have no access to
judge of one another, yet thus it is always in our power to judge
of ourselves. Each of us, by impartially scrutinizing his indulged
and favourite thoughts, may discover the whole secret of his real
character. This consideration alone is sufficient to show- of what
importance the government of thought is to the keeping of the heart.
But, supposing us convinced of its importance, a question may
arise, how far it is within our power, and in what degree thoughts

Sera. XVII.] OF THE HEART. 175
are subject to the command of the will? It is plain that they are
not always the offspring of choice. Often they are inevitably im
pressed upon the mind by surrounding objects. Often they start
up, as of themselves, without any principle of introduction which
we are able to trace. As the wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou
canst not tell whence it cometh, nor whither it goeth, equally rapid in
its transitions, and inscrutable in its progress, is the course of
thought. Moving along a train of connexions which are too de
licate for our observation, it defeats all endeavours either to' explore
or to stop its path. Hence, vain and fantastic imaginations some
times break in upon the most settled attention, and disturb even
the devout exercises of pious minds. Instances of this sort must
be placed to the ac'count of human frailty. They are misfortunes
to be deplored, rather than crimes to be condemned ; and our gra
cious Creator, who knows our frame, and remembers we are dust,
will not be severe in marking every such error and wandering of
the mind. But, after these allowances are made, still there re
mains much scope for the proper government of thought; and a
multitude of cases occur, in which we are no less accountable for
what we think, than for what we do.
As, first, when the introduction of any train of thought depends
upon ourselves, and is our voluntary act ; by turning our attention
towards such objects, awakening such passions, or engaging in
such employments, as we know must give a peculiar determination
to our thoughts. Next, when thoughts, by whatever accident
they may have been originally suggested, are indulged with deli
beration and complacency. Though the mind has been passive in
their reception, and therefore free from blame ; yet, if it be active
in their continuance, the guilt becomes its own. They may have
intruded at first, like, unbidden guests ; but, if when entered they
are made welcome, and kindly entertained, the case is the same as
if they had been invited from the beginning. If we be thus
accountable to God for thoughts either voluntarily introduced, or
deliberately indulged, we are no less so, in the last place, for those
which find admittance into our hearts from supine negligence,
from total relaxation of attention, from allowing our imagination
to rove with entire licence, like the eyes of the fool towards the ends
of the earth. Our minds are, in this case, thrown open to folly and
vanity. They are prostituted to every evil thing which pleases to
take possession. The consequences must all be charged to our
account ; and in vain we plead excuse from human infirmity.
Hence it appears, that the great object at which we are to aim in
governing our thoughts is, to take the most effectual measures for
preventing the introduction of such as are sinful, and for hastening
their expulsion, if they shall have introduced themselves without
consent of the will.

176 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Sera. XVII.
But when we descend into our breasts, and examine how far
we have studied to keep this object' in view, who can tell how oft
he hath offended? In no article of religion or morals are men
more culpably remiss, than in the unrestrained indulgence they
give to fancy ; and that too, for most part, without remorse.
Since the time that Reason began to exert her power, Thought,
during our waking hours, has been active in every breast, without
a moment's suspension or pause. The current of ideas has been
always flowing. The wheels of the spiritual engine have circulated
with perpetual motion. Let me ask, what has been the fruit of this
incessant activity with the greatest part of mankind ? Of the in
numerable hours that have been employed in thought, how few
are marked with any permanent or useful effect ! How many have
either passed away in idle dreams, or have been abandoned to
anxious discontented musings; to unsocial and malignant pas
sions, or to irregular and criminal desires ! Had I power to lay
open that store-house of iniquity, which the hearts of too many
conceal ; could I draw out and read to them a list of all the
imaginations they have devised, and all the passions they have
indulged in secret ; what a picture of men would I present to them
selves ! What crimes would they appear to have perpetrated in
fancy, which to their most intimate companions they durst not
reveal !
Even when men imagine their thoughts to be innocently em
ployed, they too commonly suffer them to run out into extravagant
imaginations, and chimerical plans of what they could wish to
attain, or choose to be, if they could frame the course of things
according to their desire. Though such employments of fancy
come not under the same description with those which are plainly
criminal, yet wholly unblameable they seldom are. Besides the
waste of time which they occasion, and the misapplication which
they indicate of those intellectual powers that were given to us for
much nobler purposes, such romantic speculation leads us always
into the neighbourhood of forbidden regions. They place us on
dangerous ground. They are for the most part connected with
some one bad passion; and they always nourish a giddy and
frivolous turn of thought. They unfit the mind for applying with
vigour to rational pursuits, or for acquiescing' in sober plans of'
conduct. From that ideal world in which it allows itself to dwell,
it returns to the commerce of men, unbent and relaxed, sickly
and tainted, averse from discharging the duties, and sometimes
disqualified even for relishing the pleasures, of ordinary life.
0 Jerusalem, wash thine heart from wickedness. How long shall thy
vain thoughts lodge within thee. [Jerem. iv. 15.]— In order to guard
against all such corruption and abuses of thought as I have men
tioned, it may be profitable to attend to the following rules :

Sera. XVIL] OF THE HEART. i77
In the first place, study to acquire the habit of attention to
thought. No study is more important ; for, in proportion to the
degree in which this habit is possessed, such commonly is the
degree of intellectual improvement. It is the power of attention
which in a great measure distinguishes the wise and the great
from the vulgar and trifling herd of men. The latter are accus
tomed to think, or rather to dream, without knowing the subject of
their thoughts. In their unconnected rovings, they pursue no
end; they follow no track. Every thing floats loose and dis
jointed on the surface of their mind ; like leaves scattered and
blown about on the face of the waters.
In order to lead your thoughts into any useful direction, your
first care must be, to acquire the power of fixing them, and of re
straining their irregular motions. Inure yourself to form a plan of
proper meditation ; to pursue it steadily ; and with severe autho
rity to keep the door shut against intrusions of wandering fancy.
Let your mind, for this purpose, become a frequent object to
itself. Let your thoughts be made the subject of thought and re
view. — " To what is my attention at present directed ? Could I
disclose it without a blush to the world ? Were God instantly to
call me into judgement, what account could I give of it to him ?
Shall I be the wiser or the better for dwelling on such thoughts
as now fill my mind ? Are they entirely consistent with my inno
cence, and with my present and future peace ? If they are not,
to what purpose do I indulge such unprofitable or dangerous
musings?" — By frequent exercise of this inward scrutiny, we
might gradually bring imagination under discipline, and turn the
powers of thought to their proper use, as means of improve
ment, instead of suffering them to be only the instruments of
vanity and guilt.
In the second place, hi order to the government of thought, it
is necessary to guard against idleness. Idleness is the great fo-
menter of all corruptions in the human heart. In particular, it is
the parent of loose imaginations and inordinate desires. The ever
active and restless power of thought, if not employed about what
is good, will naturally and unavoidably engender evil. Imagine
not that mere occupation, of whatever kind it be, will exempt you
from the blame and danger of an idle life. Perhaps the worst
species of idleness is a dissipated, though seemingly busy life,
spent in the haunts of loose society, and in the chace of perpetual
amusement. Hence, a giddy mind, alternately elated and deject
ed with trifles, occupied with no recollection of the. past but what
is fruitless, and with no plans for the future but what are either
frivolous or guilty.
As, therefore, you would govern your ' thoughts, or indeed as
N

178 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Sera. XVII. '
you would have any thoughts that are worthy of being governed,
provide honourable employment for the native activity of your
minds. Keep knowledge, virtue, and usefulness, ever in view.
Let your life proceed in a train of such pursuits as are worthy of
a Christian, of a rational and social being. While these are regu
larly carried on as the main business of life, let amusement pos
sess no more than its proper place in the distribution of your time.
Take particular care that your amusements be of an irreproach
able kind, and that all your society be either improving or inno
cent. So shall the stream of your thoughts be made to run in a
pure channel. Manly occupations and virtuous principles will
expel the taint, which never fails to communicate to the vacant
mind. In the third place, when criminal thoughts arise, attend to all
the proper methods of speedily suppressing them. Take example
from the unhappy industry which sinners discover in banishing
good ones, when a natural sense of religion forces them on their
conscience. How anxiously do they fly from themselves ! How
studiously do they drown the voice which upbraids them in the
noise of company or diversion ! What numerous artifices do they
employ to evade the uneasiness which returns of reflection would
produee ! — Were we to use equal diligence in preventing the en
trance of vicious suggestions, or in expelling them when entered,
why should we not be equally successful in a much better cause ?
As soon as you are sensible that any dangerous passion begins to
ferment, instantly call in other passions, and other ideas, to your
aid. Hasten to turn your thoughts into a different direction.
Summon up whatever you have found to be of power for compos
ing and harmonizing your mind. Fly for assistance to serious
studies, to prayer, and devotion; or even fly to business, or in
nocent society, if solitude be in hazard of favouring the seduction.
By such means, you may stop the progress of the growing evil.
You may apply an antidote, before the poison has had time to
work its full effect.
In the fouth place, it will be particularly useful to impress your
minds with an habitual sense of the presence of the Almighty.
When we reflect what a strong check the belief of divine omni
science is calculated to give to all criminal thoughts, we are tempted
to suspect that even by Christians this article of faith is not
received with sincere conviction. For who but must confess, that
if he knew a parent, a friend, or a neighbour, to have the power
of looking into his heart, he durst not allow himself that un
bounded scope which he now gives to his imagination and desire?
Whence, then, comes it to pass, that men, without fear or con
cern, bring into the presence of the awful Majesty of Heaven,

Serm. XVIIL] OF THE HEART. 179
that folly and licentiousness of thought which would make them
blush and tremble, if one of their own fellow-creatures could de
scry it ? At the same time, no principle is supported by clearer
evidence, than the omniscience of God. All religious sects have
admitted it, all societies of men, in their oaths and covenants, ap
peal to it. The Sovereign of the universe cannot but know what
passes throughout his dominions. He who supports all nature
must needs pervade and fill it. He who formed the heart, is cer
tainly conscious to what passes within it.
Never let this great article of faith escape from your view. In
thinking, as well as in acting, accustom yourselves to look up
with reverence to that piercing eye of divine observation, which
never slumbers nor sleeps. Behold a pen always writing over your
head, and making up that great record of your thoughts, words,
and actions, from which at last you are to be judged. Think
that you are never less alone, than when by yourselves ; for then
ic he still with you, whose inspection is of greater consequence
than that of all mankind. Let these awful considerations not
only check the dissipation of corrupt fancy, but infuse into your
spirits that solemn composure which is the parent of meditation
and wisdom. Let them not only expel what is evil, but introduce
in its stead what is pure and holy ; elevating your thoughts to
divine and eternal objects, and acting as the counterpoise to those
attractions of the world which would draw your whole attention
downwards to sense and vanity.

SERMON XVIII.
THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.

Proverbs iv. 23. — Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of
it are the issues of life.
Having treated, in the foregoing Discourse, of the government
of the thoughts, I proceed to consider the government of the pas
sions, as the next great duty included in the keeping of the heart.
Passions are strong emotions of the mind, occasioned by the
view of apprehending good or evil. They are original parts of the
constitution of our nature ; and. therefore to extirpate them is a
mistaken aim. Religion requires no more of us, than to moderate
an<j rule them. When our blessed Lord assumed the nature,
without the corruption, of man, he was subject to like passions
with us. On some occasions, he felt the risings of anger. He
was often touched with pity. He was grieved in spirit; he sor
rowed, and he wept.

180 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Sera. XVIII. '
Passions, when properly directed, may be subservient to very
useful ends. They rouse the dormant powers of the soul. They
are even found to exalt them. They often raise a man above him
self, and render him more penetrating, vigorous, and masterly,
than he is in his calmer hours. Actuated by some high passion,
he conceives great designs, and surmounts all difficulties in the
execution. He is inspired with more lofty sentiments, and en
dowed with more persuasive utterance, than he possesses at any
other time. Passions are the active forces of the soul. They are
its highest powers brought into movement and exertion. But like
all other great powers, they are either useful or destructive, ac
cording to their direction and degree; as wind and fire are in
strumental in carrying on many of the beneficent operations of
nature; but when they rise to much violence, or deviate from
their proper course, their path is marked with ruin.
It is the present infelicity of human nature, that those strong
emotions of the mind are become too powerful for the principle
which ought to regulate them. This is one of the unhappy con
sequences of our apostacy from God, that the influence of reason
is weakened, and that of passion strengthened within the heart.
When man revolted from his Maker, his passions rebelled against
himself; and, from being originally the ministers of reason, have
become the tyrants of the soul. Hence, in treating of this sub
ject, two things may be assumed as principles : first, that through
the present weakness of the understanding, our passions are often
directed towards improper objects ; and next, that even when their
direction is just, and their objects are innocent, they perpetually
tend to run into excess ; they always hurry us towards their grati
fication with a blind and dangerous impetuosity. On these two
points, then, turns the whole government of our passions : first,
to ascertain the proper objects of their pursuit ; and next, to re
strain them in that pursuit, when they would carry us beyond the
bounds of reason. If there be any passion which intrudes itself
unseasonably into our mind, which darkens and troubles- our
judgement, or habitually discomposes our temper ; which unfits
us for properly discharging the duties, or disqualifies us for cheer
fully enjoying the comforts of life, we may certainly conclude it
to have gained a dangerous ascendant. The great object which
we ought to propose to ourselves is, to acquire a firm and steadfast
mind, which the infatuation of passion shall not seduce, nor its
violence shake; which, resting on fixed principles, shall, in the
midst of contending emotions, remain free and master of itself;
able to listen calmly to the voice of conscience, and prepared to
obey its dictates without hesitation.
To obtain, if possible, such command of passion, is one of the

Sera. XVIII.] OF THE HEART. 181
highest attainments of the rational nature, Arguments to snow
its importance crowd upon us from every quarter. If there be any
fertile source of mischief to human life, it is beyond doubt, the
misrule of passion. It is this which poisons the enjoyment of in
dividuals, overturns the order of society, and strews the path of life
with so many miseries, as to render it indeed the valley of tears-
All those great scenes of public calamity, which we behold with
astonishment and horror, have originated from the source of violent
passions. These have overspread the earth with bloodshed. These
have pointed the assassin's dagger, and filled the poisoned bowl.
These, in every age, have furnished too copious materials for
the orator's pathetic declamation, and for the poet's tragical
song. When from public life we descend to private conduct, though
passions operate not there in such a wide and destructive sphere,
we shall find its influence to be no less baneful. 1 need not men
tion the black and fierce passions, such as envy, jealousy, and
revenge, whose effects are obviously noxious, and whose agitations
are immediate misery. But take any of the licentious and sensual
kind. Suppose it to have unlimited scope; trace it throughout
its course ; and you- will find that gradually, as it rises, it taints
the soundness, and troubles the peace, of his mind over whom
it reigns ; that in its progress, it engages him in pursuits which
are marked either with danger or with shame; that in the end,
it wastes his fortune, destroys his health, or debases his character ;
and aggravates all the miseries in which it has involved him with
the concluding" pangs of bitter remorse. Through all the stages
of this fatal course, how many have heretofore run ! What
multitudes do we daily behold pursuing it, with blind and headlong
steps !
But, on the evils which flow from unrestrained passions, it is
needless to enlarge. Hardly are there any so ignorant or inconsi
derate as not to admit, that where passion is allowed to reign
both happiness and virtue must be impaired. I proceed therefore
to what is of more consequence, to suggest some directions which
may be useful in assisting us to preserve the government of our
passions. ' In the first place, we must study to acquire just views of the
comparative importance of those objects that are most ready to
attract desire. The erroneous opinions which we form concerning
happiness and misery, give rise to all the mistaken and dangerous
passions which embroil our life. We suffer ourselves to be daz
zled by unreal appearances of pleasure. We follow, with precipi
tancy whithersoever the crowd leads. We admire, without exami
nation, what our predecessors have admired. We fly from every

182 ON THE GOVERNMENT. [Sera. XVIII.
shadow at which we see others tremble. Thus, agitated by vain
fears and deceitful hopes, we are hurried into eager contests about
objects which are in themselves of no value. By rectifying our
opinions, we would strike at the root of the evil. If our vain ima-;
ginations were chastened, the tumult of our passions would subside.
It is observed, that the young and the ignorant are always the
most violent in pursuit. The knowledge which is forced upon them
by longer acquaintance with the world, moderates their impetuosity.
Study then to anticipate, by reflection, that knowledge which ex
perience often purchases at too dear a price. Inure yourselves to
frequent consideration of the emptiness of those pleasures which
excite so much strife and commotion among mankind. Think
how much more of true enjoyment is lost by the violence of pas
sion, than by the want of those things which give occasion to that
passion. Persuade yourselves, that the favour of God and the posses
sion of virtue form the chief happiness of the rational nature. Let
a contented mind, and a peaceful life, hold the next place in your
estimation. These are the conclusions which the wise and thinking
part of mankind have always formed. To these conclusions, after
having run the race of passion, you would probably come at the last
By forming them betimes, you, will make a seasonable escape from
that tempestuous region ; through which none can pass without
suffering misery, contracting guilt, and undergoing severe re
morse. In the second place, in order to attain the command of passion
it is requisite to acquire the power of self-denial. The self-denial
of a Christian, consists not in perpetual austerity of life, and uni
versal renunciation of the innocent comforts of the world. Reli
gion requires no such unnecessary sacrifices, nor is any such foe to
present enjoyment. It consists in our being ready, on preper oc
casions, to abstain from pleasure, or to submit to suffering, for the
sake of duty and conscience, or from a view to some higher and
more extensive good. If we possess not this power, we shall be
the prey of every loose inclination that chances to arise. Pam
pered by continual indulgence, all our passions will become muti
nous and headstrong. Desire, not reason, will be the ruling prin
ciple of our conduct.
As, therefore, you would keep your passions within due bounds.
you must betimes accustom them to know the reins. You must
not wait till some critical occasion for the exercise of self-denial
occur. In vain you will attempt to act with authority, if your first
essay be made when temptation has inflamed the mind. In cooler
hours, you must sometimes abridge your enjoyment even of what
is innocent. In the midst of lawful pleasure, you must maintain
moderation, abstemiousness, and self-command. The observance

Sera. XVIIL] OF THE HEART. 183
of this discipline is the only method of supporting reason in its
proper ascendant. For if you allow yourselves always to stretch
to the utmost point of innocence and safety, beyond that point
you will infallibly be hurried, when passion shall arise in its might
to shake the heart.
In the third place, impress your minds deeply with this persua
sion, that nothing is what it appears to be when you are under the
power of passion. Be assured, that no judgement which you then
form, can in the least be depended upon as sound or true. The
fumes which arise from a heart boiling with violent, passions, never
fail to darken and trouble the understanding. When the gourd
withered, under the shade of which the prophet Jonah reposed ;
his mind, already ruffled by the disappointment of his predictions,
lost, on occasion of this slight incident, all command of itself;
and, in the midst of his impatience, he wished to die, rather than
to live. Instead of being calmed by that expostulating voice,
Dost thou well, O Jonah ! to be angry because of the gourd ? he
replied with great emotion, I do well to be angry, even unto death.
But did Jonah think so when his passion had abated ? Do these
sentiments bear the least resemblance to that humble and devout
prayer, which, on another occasion, when in his calm mind, he
put up to God. [See Jonah ii,] No two persons can differ more
from each other, than the same person differs from himself, when
agitated by passion, and when master of his reason. I do well to
be angry, is the language of every man when his mind is inflamed.
Every passion justifies itself, It brings in a thousand pretences
to its aid. It borrows many a false colour, to hide its deformity.
It possesses a sort of magic, by which it can magnify or diminish
objects at pleasure, and transform the appearance of every thing
within its sphere.
Let the knowledge of this imposture which passion practises,
place you continually on your guard. Let the remembrance of it
be ever at hand, to check the extravagant judgements which you
are apt to pass in those moments of delusion. Listen to no sug
gestion which then arises. Form no conclusions on which you
are to act. Assure yourselves that every thing is beheld through
a false medium. Have patience for a little, and the illusion will
vanish ; the atmosphere will clear up around you, and objects re
turn to be viewed in their native colours and just dimensions.
In the fourth place, oppose early the beginnings of passion.
Avoid particularly all such objects as are apt to excite passions
which you know to predominate within you. As soon as you find
the tempest rising, have recourse to every proper method, either
of allaying its violence, or of escaping to a calmer shore. Hasten
to call up emotions of an opposite nature. Study to conquer one

184 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Serm. XVIII.
passion, by means of some other which is of less dangerous ten
dency. Never account any thing small or trivial "which is in
hazard of introducing disorder into your heart. Never make light
of any desire which you feel gaining such progress as to threaten
entire dominion. Blandishing it will appear at the first. As a
gentle and innocent emotion, it may steal into the heart ; but as
it advances, it is likely to pierce you through with many sorrows.
What you indulged as a favourite amusement, will shortly become
a serious business ; and, in the end, may prove the burden of your
life. Most of our passions flatter us in their rise. But, their be
ginnings are treacherous ; their growth is imperceptible ; and the
evils which they carry in their train lie concealed, until their domi
nion is established. What Solomon says of one of them holds
true of them all, that their beginning is as when one letteth out
water. [Prov. xvii. 14.] It issues from a small chink, which once
might have been easily stopped ; but, being neglected, it is soon
widened by the stream ; till the bank is at last totally thrown down,
and the flood is at liberty to deluge the whole plain.
In the fifth place the excess of every passion will be moderated
by frequent meditation on the vanity of the world, the short con
tinuance of life, the approach of death, judgement, and eternity.
The imaginary degree of importance which the neglect of such
meditation suffers us to bestow on temporal things, is one great
cause of our vehemence in desire, and our eagerness in pursuit.
We attach ourselves to the objects around us, as if we could en
joy them for ever. Higher and more enlarged prospects of the
destination of man, would naturally cool his misplaced ardour.
For what can appear so considerable in human affairs, as to dis
compose or agitate the mind of him to whose view eternity lies
open, and all the greatness of the universe of God ? How con
temptible will seem to him this hurry of spirits, this turmoil of
passion, about things which are so soon to end ! — Where are they
who once disturbed the world with the violence of their contests,
and filled it with the renown of their exploits ? What now re
mains of their designs and enterprises, of their passions and pur
suits, of their triumphs and their glory ? The flood of time has
passed over them, and swept them away, as if they had never
been. The fashion of the world changes continually around us.
We succeed one another in the human course, like troops of pil
grims on their journey. Absurdly we spend our time in contend
ing about the trifles of a day, while we ought to be preparing for
a higher existence. Eternity is just at hand to close this intro
ductory scene. It is fast rolling towards us, like the tide of a vast
ocean, ready to swallow up all human concerns, and to leave no
trace behind it, except the consequences of our good or bad deeds,

Sera. XVIII.] OF THE HEART. 185
which shall last for ever.  Let such reflections allay the heat of
passion. Let them reduce all human things to their proper
standard. From frivolous pursuits let them recall our attention
to objects of real importance ; to the proper business of man ; to
the improvement of our nature, the -discharge of our duty, the
rational and religious conduct of human life.
In the last place, to our own endeavours for regulating our pas
sions, let us join earnest prayer to God. Here, if any where, divine
assistance is requisite. For such is the present blindness and im
perfection of human nature, that even to discover all the disorders
of our heart, is become difficult ; much more to rectify them, is
beyond our power. To that superior aid, then, which is promised
to the pious and upright, let us look up with humble minds ; be
seeching the Father of mercies, that while we study to act our own
part with resolution and vigilance, he would forgive our returning
weakness ; would strengthen our constancy in resisting the assaults
of passion ; and enable us by his grace so to govern our minds,
that without considerable interruptions we may proceed in a course
of piety and virtue.
It now remains to treat of the government of temper, as includ
ed in the keeping of the heart. Passions are quick and strong
emotions, which by degrees subside. Temper is the disposition
which remains after these emotions are past, and which forms the
habitual propensity of the soul. The passions are like the stream
when it is swoln by the torrent, and ruffled by the winds. The
temper resembles it when running within its bed, with its natural
velocity and force. The influence of temper is more silent and
imperceptible than that of passion. It operates with less violence ;
but as its operation is constant, it produces effects no less con
siderable. It is evident, therefore, that it highly deserves to be
considered in a religious view.
Many, indeed, are averse to behold it in this light. They place
a good temper upon the same footing with a healthy constitution
of body. They consider it as a natural felicity which some enjoy ;
but for the want of which, others are not morally culpable, nor
accountable to God; and hence the opinion has sometimes pre
vailed, that a bad temper might be consistent with a state of
grace. If this were true, it would overturn that whole doctrine of
which the Gospel is so full, that regeneration, or change of nature,
is the essential characteristic of a Christian. It would suppose
that grace might dwell amidst malevolence and rancour, and that
heaven might be enjoyed by such as are strangers to charity and
love. It will readily be admitted, that some, by the original
frame of their mind, are more favourably inclined than others
towards certain good dispositions and habits. But this affords no

186 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Sera XV11L
justification to those who neglect to oppose the corruptions to
which they are prone. Let no man imagine that the human heart
is a soil altogether unsusceptible of culture ; or that the worst
temper may not, through the assistance of ^grace, be reformed by
attention and discipline. Settled depravity of temper is always
owing to our own indulgence. If, in place of checking, we nourish
that malignity of disposition to which we are inclined, all the con
sequences will be placed to our account, and every excuse from
natural constitution be rejected at the tribunal of Heaven.
The proper regulation of temper affects the character of man in
every relation which he bears ; and includes the whole circle of
religious and moral duties. This, therefore, is a- subject of too
great extent to be comprehended in one discourse. But it may
be useful to take a general view of it ; and, before we conclude the
doctrine of keeping the heart, to show what the habitual temper
of a good man ought to be, with respect to God, to his neighbour,
and to himself.
First, with respect to God, what he ought to cultivate is a de
vout temper. This imports more than the care of performing the
offices of religious worship. It denotes the sensibility of heart
towards the Supreme Being, which springs from a deep impression
of his perfection on the soul. It stands opposed, not only to that
disregard of God which forms the description of the impious, but
to that absence of religious affections which sometimes prevails
among those who are imperfectly good. They acknowledge,
perhaps, the obligations of duty. They feel some concern to work
out their salvation. But they apply to their duty through mere
constraint ; and serve God without affection or complacency. —
More liberal and generous sentiments animate the man who is of
a devout temper. God dwells upon his thoughts as a benefactor
and a father, to whose voice he hearkens with joy. Amidst the
occurrences of life, his mind naturally opens to the admiration of
his wisdom, the reverence of his power, the love of his trans-
cendant goodness. All nature appears to his view as stamped with
the impress of these perfections. Habitual gratitude to his Maker
for mercies past, and cheerful resignation to his will in all time to
come, are the native effusions of his heart.
Such a temper as this deserves to be cultivated with the utmost
attention; for it contributes, in a high degree, both to our im
provement and our happiness. It refines and it exalts human
nature. It softens that hardness which our hearts are ready to
contract from frequent intercourse with this rugged world. It
facilitates the discharge of every duty towards God and man. At
the same time it is a temper peaceful and serene, elevated and re
joicing. It forms the current of our affections to flow in a placid

Serm. XVIII.] OF THE HEART. 187
tenour. It opens pleasing prospects to the mind. It banishes harsh
and bitter passions ; and places us above the reach of many of the
annoyances of worldly life. When the temper is truly devout, the
peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keepeth the heart and
soul. I proceed,
Secondly, To point out the proper state of our temper with
respect to one another. It is evident in the general, that if we
consult either public welfare or private happiness, Christian cha
rity ought to regulate our disposition in mutual intercourse. But
as this great principle admits of several diversified appearances, let
us consider some of the chief forms under which it ought to show
itself in the usual tenour of life. Universal benevolence to man
kind, when it rests in the abstract, in a loose indeterminate idea,
rather than a principle of real effect; and too often floats as an
useless speculation in the head, instead of affecting the temper and
the heart.
What first presents itself to be recommended, is a peaceable tem
per ; a disposition averse to give offence, and desirous of cultiva
ting harmony and amicable intercourse in society. This supposes
yielding and condescending manners, unwillingness to contend with
others about trifles, and, in contests that are unavoidable, proper
moderation of spirit. Such a temper is the first principle of self-
enjoyment. It is the basis of all order and happiness among man
kind. The positive and contentious, the rude and quarrelsome, are
the bane of society. They seem destined to blast the small share
of comfort which nature has here allotted to man. But they can
not disturb the peace of others, more than they break their own.
The hurricane rages first in their own bosom, before it is let forth
upon the world. In the tempest which they raise, they are always
tost ; and frequently it is their lot to perish.
A peaceable temper must be supported by a candid one, or a
disposition to view the conduct of others with fairness and impar
tiality. This stands opposed to a jealous and suspicious temper,
which ascribes every action to the worst motive, and throws a
black shade over every character. As you would be happy in
yourselves, or in your connexions with others, guard against this
malignant spirit. Study that charity which thinketh no evil; that
temper which, without degenerating into credulity, will dispose
you to be just ; and which can allow you to observe an error with
out imputing it as a crime. Thus you will be kept free from that
continued irritation which imaginary injuries raise in a suspicious
breast; and will walk among men as your brethren, not your
enemies. But to be peaceable, and to be candid, is not all that is required
of a good man. He must cultivate a kind, generous, and sympa-

188 ON THE GOVERNMENT [Serm. XVIII
thizing temper which feels for distress/ wherever it is beheld ,
which enters into the concerns of his friends with ardour; and
to all with whom he has intercourse, is gentle, obliging, and humane.
How amiable appears such a disposition, when contrasted with a
malicious or envious temper, which wraps itself up in its own nar
row interest, looks with an evil eye on the success of others, and, with
an unnatural satisfaction, feeds on their disappointments or miseries !
How little does he know of the true happiness of life, who is a
stranger to that intercourse of good offices and kind affections which
by a pleasing charm, attach men to one another, and circulate joy
from heart to heart !
You are not to imagine, that a benevolent temper finds no exer
cise, unless when opportunities offer of performing actions of high
generosity, or of extensive utility. These may seldom occur. The
condition of the greater part of mankind, in a good measure, pre
cludes them. But in the ordinary round of human affairs a
thousand occasions daily present themselves, of mitigating the vex
ations which others suffer, of soothing their minds, cf aiding their
interest, of promoting their cheerfulness or ease. Such occasions
may relate to the smaller incidents of life. But let us remember,
that of small incidents the system of human life is chiefly
composed. The attentions which respect these when suggested by
real benignity of temper, are often more material to the happiness
of those around us, than actions which carry the appearance
of greater dignity and splendour. No wise or good man ought
to account any rules of behaviour as below his regard, which
tend to cement the great brotherhood of mankind in comfortable
union. Particularly amidst that familiar intercourse which belongs to do
mestic life, all the virtues of temper find an ample range. It is
very unfortunate, that within that circle, men too often think
themselves at liberty to give unrestrained vent to the caprice of pas
sion and humour. Whereas, there, on the contrary, more than any
where, it concerns them to attend to the government of their heart ;
to check what is violent in their tempers, and to soften what is
harsh in their manners. For there the temper is formed. There
the real character displays itself. The forms of the world disguise
men when abroad. But within his own family, every man is known
to be what he truly is. — In all our intercourse, then, with others,
particularly in that which is closest and most intimate, let us culti
vate a peaceable, a candid, a gentle and friendly temper. This is
the temper to which, by repeated injunctions, our holy religion seeks
to form us. This was the temper of Christ. This is the temper of
Heaven. We are now to consider thirdly, The proper state of temper

Serm. XVIII.] OF THE HEART. 189
as it respects the individual himself. The basis of all the good
dispositions which belong to this head, is humility. By this 1
understand, not that meanness of spirit which leads a man to un
dervalue himself, and to sink below his rank and character ; but
what the Scripture expresses with great propriety, when it exhorts
every man, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think,
but to think soberly [Rom. xii. 3.] He who adopts all the flatter
ing suggestions of self-love, and forms claims upon the world pro
portioned to the imaginary opinion which he has conceived of his
merit, is preparing for himself a thousand mortifications. Whereas
by checking the risings of ill-founded vanity, and retreating
within those bounds which a moderate estimation of our character
prescribes, we escape the miseries which always pursue an arro
gant mind, and recommend ourselves to the favour both of God
and man.
Hence will naturally arise a contented temper, which is one of
the greatest blessings that can be enjoyed by man, and one of the
most material requisites to the proper discharge of the duties of
every station. For, a fretful and discontented temper renders one
incapable of performing aright any part in life. It is unthankful
and impious towards God ; and towards men, provoking and un
just., It is a gangrene, which preys on the vitals, and infects the
whole constitution with disease and putrefaction. Subdue pride and
vanity, and you will take the most effectual method of eradicating
this distemper. You will no longer behold the objects around you
with jaundiced eyes. You will take in good part the blessings
which Providence is pleased to bestow, and the degree of favour
which your fellow-creatures are disposed to grant you. Viewing
yourselves, with all your imperfections and failings, in a just light,
you will rather be surprised at your enjoying so many good things
than discontented, because there are many which you want.
From a humble and contented temper will spring a cheerful one.
This, if not in itself a virtue, is at least the garb in which virtue
should be always arrayed. Piety and goodness ought never to be
marked with that dejection which sometimes takes rise from
superstition, but which is the proper portion only of guilt. At the
same time, the cheerfulness belonging to virtue is to be carefully
distinguished from that light and giddy temper which characterizes
folly, and is so often found among the dissipated and vicious part
of mankind. Their gaiety is owing to a total want of reflection ;
and brings with it the usual consequences of an unthinking habit,
shame, remorse, and heaviness of heart in the end. The cheer
fulness of a well-regulated mind springs from a good conscience
and the favour of Heaven, and is bounded by temperance and
reason. It makes a man happy in himself, and promotes the hap-

190 ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS [Sera. XIX.
piness of all around him. It is the clear and calm sunshine of a
mind illuminated by piety and virtue. It crowns all other good
dispositions, and comprehends the general effect which they ought
to produce on the heart.
Such, on the whole, is the temper, or habitual frame of mind,
in a good man : devout towards God ; towards men peaceable,
candid, affectionate, and humane; within himself humble, con
tented, and cheerful. To the establishment of this happy temper,
all the directions which I before suggested for the due regulation
of the thoughts, and for the government of the passions, naturally
conduce ; in this they ought to issue ; and when this temper is
thoroughly formed within us, then may the heart be esteemed to
have been kept with all diligence. That we may be thus enabled
to keep it, for the sake both of present enjoyment, and of prepara
tion for greater happiness, let us earnestly pray to Heaven. A
greater blessing we cannot implore of the Almighty, than that he
who made the human heart, and who knows its frailties, would
assist us to subject it to that discipline' which religion requires,
which reason approves, but which his grace alone can enable us to
maintain.

SERMON XIX.
ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS OF THE DIVINE NATURE.
James i. 17. — Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and
cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness,
neither shadow of turning.
The Divine Nature, in some views, attracts our love; in others,
commands oui reverence ; in all, is entitled to the highest attention
from the human mind. We never elevate our thoughts, in a proper
manner, towards the Supreme Being, without returning to our
own sphere with sentiments more improved ; and if, at any time,
his greatness oppresses our thoughts, his moral perfections always
afford us relief. His almighty power, his infinite wisdom, and su
preme goodness, are sounds familiar to our ears. In his immuta
bility we are less accustomed to consider him ; and yet it is this
perfection which, perhaps, more than any other, distinguishes the
divine nature from the human ; gives complete energy to all its
other attributes, and entitles it to the highest adoration. For,
hence are derived the regular order of nature, and the stedfastness
of the universe. Hence flows the unchanging tenour of those
laws which, from age to age, regulate the conduct of mankind

Sera. XIX.] OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 191
Hence the uniformity of that government, and the certainty of
those promises which are the ground of our trust and security.
Goodness could produce no more than feeble and wavering hopes,
and power would command very imperfect reverence, if we were
left to suspect the plans which goodness had framed might alter,
or that the power of carrying them into execution might decrease.
The contemplation of God, therefore, as unchangeable in his na
ture and in all his perfections, must undoubtedly be fruitful both
of instruction and of consolation to man. I shall first endeavour
to illustrate, in some degree, the nature of the divine immutability ;
and then make application of it to our own conduct.
Every good and every perfect gift cometh down from the Father of
Lights. The title which in the text is given to the Deity, carries
an elegant allusion to the Sun, the source of light, the most uni
versal benefactor of nature, the most regular and constant of all the
great bodies with which we are acquainted in the universe. Yet
even with the Sun there are certain degrees of variableness. He
apparently rises and sets; he seems to approach nearer to us in
summer, and to retire farther off in winter ; his influence is varied
by the seasons, and his lustre is affected by the clouds. Whereas,
with him who is the Father of Lights, of whose everlasting bright
ness the glory of the Sun is but a faint image, there is no shadow
of turning, nor the most distant approach to change. In his being
or essence it is plain that alteration can never take place. For, as
his existence is derived from no prior cause, nor dependent on any
thing without himself, his nature can be influenced by no power,
can be affected by no accident, can be impaired by no time. From
everlasting to everlasting, he continues the same. Hence it is said
that he only hath immortality : that is, he possesses it in a manner
incommunicable to all other beings. Eternity is described as the
high and holy place in which he dwelleth ; it is a habitation in which
none but the Father of Lights can enter. The name which he taketh
to himself is, I am. Of other things, some have been and others
shall be ; but this is he, which is, which was, and which is to come.
All time is his ; it is measured out by him in limited portions to the
various orders of created beings ; but his own existence fills equally
every point of duration ; the first and the last, the beginning and
the end, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.
As in his essence, so in his attributes and perfections, it is im
possible there can be any change. To imperfect natures only it
belongs to improve and to decay. Every alteration which they un
dergo in their abilities or dispositions, flows either from internal
defect, or from the influence of a superior cause. But as no higher
cause can bring from without any accession to the divine nature,
so within itself it contains no principle of decay. For the same

192 ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS [Sera. XIX
reason that the self-existent Being was from the beginning powerful
and wise, just and good, he must continue unalterably so for
ever. Hence, with much propriety, the divine perfections are de
scribed in Scripture by allusions to those objects to which we
ascribe the most permanent stability. His righteousness is like the
strong mountains. His mercy is in the heavens ; and his faithfulness
reacheth unto the clouds. These perfections of the divine nature
differ widely from the human virtues, which are their faint shadows.
The justice of men is at one time severe, at another time relenting ;
their goodness is sometimes Confined to a partial fondness for a few,
sometimes runs out into a blind indulgence towards all. But good
ness and justice are in the Supreme Being calm and steady princi
ples of action, which, enlightened by perfect wisdom, and never
either warped by partiality, or disturbed by passion, persevere in
one regular and constant tenour. Among men, they may some
times break forth with transient splendour, like those wandering
fires which illuminate for a little the darkness of the night. But
in God, they shine with that uniform brightness, which we can
liken to nothing so much as to the untroubled, eternal lustre of the
highest heavens.
From this follows, what is chiefly material for us to attend to,
that in the course of his operations towards mankind, in his coun
sels and decrees, in his laws, his promises, and in his threatenings,
there is no variableness nor shadow of turning with the Almighty.
Known to him from the beginning were all his works. In the divine
idea the whole system of nature existed, long before the founda
tions of the earth were laid. When he said, Let there be light, he
only realised the great plan which, from everlasting, he had formed
in his own mind. Foreseen by him was every revolution which
the course of ages was to produce. Whatever the counsels of men
can effect, was comprehended in his decree. No new emergency
can arise to surprise him. No agitations of anger or of sorrow, of
fear or of hope, can shake his mind or influence his conduct. He
rests in the eternal possession of that supreme beatitude, which
neither the virtues nor the crimes of men can in the least affect.
From a motiye of overflowing goodness, he reared up the universe.
As the eternal lover of righteousness, he rules it. The whole
system of his government is fixed ; his laws are irrevocable ; and,
what he once loveth, he loveth to the end. In Scripture, indeed, he
is sometimes said to be grieved, and to repent. But such expres
sions, it is obvious, are employed from accommodation to common
conception. In the same manner, when bodily organs are, in other
passages, ascribed to God, the Scripture, as a rule of life ad
dressed to the multitude, must make use of the language of men. The
divine nature, represented in its native sublimity, would have tran-

Serm XIX.] OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 193
scended all human conception. When, upon the reformation of
sinners, God is said to repent of the evil which he hath threatened
against them, this intimates no more than that he suits his dispen
sations to the alterations which take place in the characters of men.
His disposition towards good and evil continues the same, but
varies in its application, as its objects vary ; just as the laws them
selves, which are capable of no change of affection, bring rewards
or punishments at different times to the same person, according as
his behaviour alters. Immutability is indeed so closely connected
with the notion of supreme perfection, that wherever any rational
conceptions of a Deity have taken place, this attribute has been
ascribed to him. Reason taught the wise and reflecting in every
age to believe, that as what is eternal cannot die, so what is perfect
can never vary, and that the great Governor of the universe could
be no other than an unchangeable Being.
From the contemplation of this obvious, but fundamental truth,
let us proceed to the practical improvement of it. Let us consider
what effect the serious consideration of it ought to produce on our
mind and behaviour.
It will be proper to begin this head of discourse by removing
an objection which the doctrine I have illustrated may appear to
form against religious services, and in particular against the duty
of prayer. To what purpose, it may be urged, is homage addressed
to a Being whose purpose is unalterably fixed ; to whom our right
eousness extendeth not ; whom by no arguments we can persuade,
and by no supplications we can molify ? The objection would have
weight, if our religious addresses were designed to work any
alteration on God ; either by giving him information of what he did
not know ; or, by exciting affections which he did not possess ; or,
by inducing him to change measures which he had previously form
ed. But they are only crude and imperfect notions of religion
which can suggest such ideas. The change which our devotions
are intended to make, is upon ourselves, not upon the Almighty.
Their chief efficacy is derived from the good dispositions which
they raise and cherish in the human soul. By pouring out pious
sentiments and desires before God, by adoring his perfection, and
confessing our own unworthiness, by expressing our dependence
on his aid, our gratitude for his past favours, our submission to his
present will, our trust in his future mercy, we cultivate such affec
tions as suit our place and station in the universe, and are thereby
prepared for becoming objects of the divine grace. Accordingly,
frequent assurances are given in Scripture, that the prayers of
sincere worshippers, preferred through the great Mediator, shall be
productive of the happiest effects. When they ask, they shall receive.
ichen they seek, they shall find ; when they knock, it shall be opened to

194 ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS [Sera. XIX.
them. Prayer is appointed to be the channel for conveying the
divine grace to mankind, because the wisdom of Heaven saw it to
be one of the most powerful means of improving the human heart.
When religious homage is considered in this light, as a great
instrument of spiritual and moral improvement, all the objections
which scepticism can form from the divine immutability, conclude
with no more force against prayer, than against every other mean of
improvement which reason has suggested to man. If prayer be
superfluous, because God is unchangeable, we might upon similar
grounds conclude, that it is needless to labour the earth, to nourish
our bodies, or to cultivate our minds, because the fertility of the
ground, the continuance of our life, and the degree of our under
standing, depend upon an immutable Sovereign, and were from all
eternity foreseen by him. Such absurd conclusions reason has
ever repudiated. To every plain and sound understanding it has
clearly dictated, that to explore the unknown purposes of Heaven
belongs not to us ; but that He who decrees the end, certainly re
quires the means ; and that, in the diligent employment of all the
means which can advance either our temporal or spiritual felicity,
the chief exertions of human wisdom and duty consist. Assuming
it then for an undoubted principle, that religion is a reasonable ser
vice, and that, though with the Father of Lights there be no varia
bleness, the homage of his creatures is nevertheless, for the wisest
reasons, required by him. I proceed to show what sentiments the
contemplation of divine immutability should raise in our minds,
and what duties it should chiefly enforce.
I- — Let it excite us to admire and adore. Filled with profound
reverence, let us look up to that Supreme Being who sits from ever
lasting on the throne of the universe ; moving all things, but re
maining immoveable himself; directing every revolution of the
creation, but affected by no revolutions of events or of time. He
beholds the heavens and the earth wax old as a garment, and decay
like a vesture. At their appointed periods he raises up, or he dis
solves worlds. But amidst all the convulsions of changing and
perishing nature, his glory and felicity remain unaltered. — The
view of great and stupendous objects in the natural world strikes
the mind with solemn awe. What veneration, then, ought to be
inspired by the contemplation of an object so sublime as the eternal
and unchangeable Ruler of the universe ! The composure and
stillness of thought introduced by such a meditation, has a power
ful tendency both to purify and to elevate the heart. It effaces,
for a time, those trivial ideas, and extinguishes those low passions,
which arise from the circle of vain and passing objects around us.
It opens the mind to all the sentiments of devotion ; and accom
panies devotion with that profound reverence, which guards it

Sera. XIX.] OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 195
from every improper excess. When we consider the Supreme
Being as employed in works of love ; when we think of his con
descension to the human race in sending his Son to dwell on the
earth ; encouraged by favours, and warmed by gratitude, we are
sometimes in danger of presuming too much on his goodness, and
of indulging a certain fondness of affection, which is unsuitable to
our humble and dependent state. It is necessary that he should
frequently appear to our minds in all that majesty with which the
immutability of his nature clothes him ; in order that reverence
may be combined with love, and that a mixture of sacred awe may
chasten the rapturous effusions of warm devotion. Servile fear,
indeed, would crush the spirit of ingenuous and affectionate homage.
But that reverence which springs from elevated conceptions of the
divine nature, has a happy effect in checking the forwardness of
imagination, restraining our affection within due bounds, and com
posing our thoughts at the same time that it exalts them.
When, from the adoration of the unchangeable perfection of
the Almighty, we return to the view of our own state, the first sen
timent which ought naturally to arise, is that of self-abasement.
We are too apt to be lifted up by any little distinctions which we
possess ; and to fancy ourselves great, only because there are
others whom we consider as less. But what is man, with all his
advantages and boasted powers, before the eternal Father of Lights?
With God there is no variableness ; with man there is no stability.
Virtue and vice divide the empire of his mind ; and wisdom and
folly alternately rule him. Hence he is changeable in his designs,
fickle in his friendship, fluctuating in his whole character. His
life is a series of contradictions. He is one thing to-day, and
another to-morrow ; sometimes obliged by experience to alter his
purpose, and often led to change it through levity. Variable and
unequal himself, he is surrounded with fleeting objects. He is
placed as in the midst of a torrent, where all things are rolling by,
and nothing keeps its place. He has hardly time to contemplate
this scene of vicissitude, before he too is swept away. Thus cir
cumstanced in himself, and in all the objects with which he is con
nected, let him be admonished to be humble and modest. Let the
contemplation of the unchanging glory of his Creator inspire him
with sentiments of due submission. Let it teach him to know
his proper place ; and check that vanity which is so ready to betraj
him to guilt.
Let the same meditation affect him with a deep sense of what
he owes to the goodness of the Deity. His goodness never ap
pears in so striking a light, as when viewed in connection with
his greatness. The description which is given of him in the text,
calls, in this view, for our particular attention. It presents to us
o2

196 ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS [Sera. XIX.
the most amiable union of condescension with majesty, of the
moral with the natural perfections of God, which can possibly be
exhibited to the imagination of man. From the Father of Lights,
with whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning, cometh
down every good and perfect gift. The most independent of all
Beings is represented as the most beneficent. He who is eter
nal and immutable, exalted above all, and incapable of receiving
returns from any, is the liberal and unwearied Giver of every
thing that is good. — Let such views of the divine nature not only
call forth gratitude and praise, but prompt us to imitate what we
adore. Let them shew us that benevolence is divine ; that to stoop
from our fancied grandeur in order to assist and relieve one ano
ther, is so far from being any degradation of character, that it is
our truest honour, and our nearest resemblance to the Father of
Lights. II.— Let the consideration of the divine immutability convince
us that the method of attaining the favour of Heaven is one and
invariable. Were the Almighty a capricious and inconstant Being,
like man, we should be at a loss what tenour of conduct to
hold. In order to conciliate his grace, we might think of applying
sometimes to one supposed principle of his inclination, sometimes
to another ; and, bewildered amidst various attempts, would
be overwhelmed with dismay. The guilty would essay to flatter
him. The timid, sometimes by austere mortifications, sometimes
by costly gifts, sometimes by obsequious rites, would try to ap
pease him. Hence, in fact, have arisen all the corruptions of
religious worship among men ; from their forming the divine cha
racter upon their own, and ascribing to the Sovereign of the
Universe the mutability of human passions. God is represented by
the psalmist David as saying to the wicked, Thou thoughtest that
I was altogether such an one as thyself. [Psalm 1. 21.] This con
tinues to be the description of all the superstitious and enthusi
astic sects, which, since the days of David, have sprung up in
the world.
It is our peculiar happiness, under the Gospel, to have God re
vealed to us in his genuine character ; as without variableness or
shadow of turning. We know that at no time there is any change
either in his affections, or in the plan of his administration. One
light always shines upon us from above. One clear and direct
path is always pointed out to man. The Supreme Being is, and
was, and ever will be, the supporter of order and virtue; the
righteous Lord, loving righteousness. The external forms of religion
may vary ; but under all dispensations which proceed from God,
'ts substance is the same. It tends continually to one point, the
purification of man's heart and life This was the object of the

Sera. XIX.] OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 197
original law of nature. This was the scope of the Mosaic insti
tution amidst all its sacrifices and rites ; and this is unquestion
ably the end of the Gospel. So invariably constant is God to this
purpose, that the dispensation of mercy in Christ Jesus, which
admits of the vicarious atonement and righteousness of a Re
deemer, makes no change in our obligation to fulfil the duties of
a good life. The Redeemer himself hath taught us, that to the
end of time the moral law continues in its full force ; and that till
heaven and earth pass away, one jot or tittle shall in no wise pass from
it. [Matth. v. 18.] This is the only institution known to men,
whose authority is unchanging and constant. Human laws rise
and fall with the empires that gave them birth. Systems of phi
losophy vary with the progress of knowledge and light. Man
ners, sentiments, and opinions, alter with the course of time.
But throughout all ages, and amidst all revolutions, the rule of
moral and religious conduct is the same. It partakes of that im
mutability of the divine nature, on which it is founded. Such as
it was delivered to the first worshippers of God, it continues to be,
at this day, to us ; and such it shall remain to our posterity for
ever. III. — Let the contemplation of this perfection cf the divine na
ture teach us to imitate, as far as our frailty will permit, that con
stancy and steadfastness which we adore. All the moral attri
butes of the Supreme Being are standards of character towards
which we ought to aspire. But as in all these perfections there
are properties peculiar to the divine nature, our endeavours to re
semble them are laid under great restrictions by the dissimilarity
between our nature and the divine. With respect to that attribute
which we now consider, the circumstances are evident which pre
clude improper imitation. To man it is frequently necessary to
correct his errors, and to change his conduct. An attempt, there
fore, to continue wholly invariable, would, in our situation, be no
other than imprudent and criminal obstinacy. But withal, the
immediate rectitude of the Deity should lead us to aspire after fixed
ness of principle, and uniformity in conduct, as the glory of the ,
rational nature. Impressed with the sense of that supreme excel
lence which results from unchanging goodness, faithfulness, and
truth, let us become ashamed of that levity which degrades the
human character. Let us ponder our paths, act upon a well-regu
lated plan, and remain Consistent with ourselves. Contemplating
the glory of the Father of Lights, let us aim at being transformed,
in some degree, into the same image, from glory to glory. Finally,
IV. — Let the divine immutability become the ground of confi
dence and trust to good men, amidst all the revolutions of this
uncertain world. This is one of the chief improvements to be

198 ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS [Sera. XIX.
made of the subject, and therefore requires full illustration. There
are three lights in which we may view the benefits redounding to us
from that attribute of God which we now consider. It assures us
of the constancy of Nature ; of the regular administration of Pro
vidence ; of the certain accomplishment of all the divine promises.
First, it gives us ground to depend on the constant and uniform
course of Nature. On the unchangeableness of God rests the sta
bility of the universe. What we call the laws of Nature, are . no
other than the decrees of the Supreme Being. It is because He is
without variableness or shadow of turning, that those laws have con
tinued the same since the beginning of the world ; that the Sun so
constantly observes his time of rising and going down ; that the
seasons annually return ; the tides periodically ebb and flow ; the
earth yields its fruit at stated intervals ; and the human body and
mental powers advance to maturity by a regular progress. In all
those motions and operations which are incessantly going on
throughout nature, there is no stop nor interruption ; no change
nor innovation ; no deflection from their main scope. The same
powerful and steady hand which gave the first impulse to the
powers of nature, restrains them from ever exceeding their pre
scribed line. Hence arises the chief comfort of our present life.
We find ourselves in a regular and orderly world. We look for
ward to a known succession of events. We are enabled to form
plans of action. From the cause, we calculate the effect ; and
from the past, we reason with confidence concerning the future.
Accustomed from our infancy to this constancy in Nature, we
are hardly sensible of the blessing. Familiarity has the same ef
fect here, as in many other enjoyments, to efface gratitude. But
let us for a moment, take an opposite view of things. Let us
suppose, that we had any cause to dread capriciousness, or change,
in the Power who rules the course of Nature ; any ground to sus
pect that, but for one day, the Sun might not rise, nor the cur
rent of the waters hold their usual course, nor the laws of motion
and vegetation proceed as we have been accustomed to behold
them. What dismay would instantly fill all hearts ! What horror
would seem to overspread the whole face of Nature ! What part
could we act, or whither could we run, in the midst of convul
sions, which overturned all the measures we had formed for hap
piness, or for safety? The present abode of man would then be
come, as Job describes the region of the grave, a land of dark
ness, as darkness itself, and the shadow of death ; without any order ;
and where the light is as darkness. [Job x. 22.] With what joy
ought we then to recognise an unvarying and steadfast Ruler,
under whose dominion we have no such disasters to dread ; but
can depend on the course of Nature continuing to proceed as it

Serm. XIX.] OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 199
has ever gone on, until the period shall arrive of its final dissolu
tion! But though the great laws of Nature be constant like their Au
thor, yet in the affairs of men, there is much variety and change.
All that regards our present possessions and enjoyments was, for
wise reasons, left, in a great measure, uncertain ; and from this
uncertainty arises the distress of human life. Sensible of the
changes to which we lie open, we look round with anxious eyes,
and eagerly grasp at every object which appears to promise us se
curity. But in vain is the whole circle of human things explored
with this view. There is nothing on earth so stable as to assure
us of undisturbed rest, nor so powerful as to afford us constant
protection. Time, death, and change, triumph over all the labours
of men. What we build up, they incessantly destroy. The public
condition of nations, and the private fortunes of individuals,
are alike subject to reverse. Life never retains long the same form.
Its whole scenery is continually shifting round us.  Amidst
those endless vicissitudes, what can give any firm consolation,
any satisfying rest to the heart, except the dominion of a wise and
righteous Sovereign, with whom there is no variableness nor shadow •
of turning? Though all things change, and we ourselves be
involved in the general mutability, yet as long as there is fixed
and permanent goodness at the head of the universe, we are as
sured that the great interests of all good men shall be safe. That
river perpetually flows, the streams whereof make glad the city of
God. We know that the Supreme Being loved righteousness
from the beginning of days, and that he will continue to love it
to the last. Under his government none of those revolutions hap
pen which have place among the' kingdoms of the earth ; where
princes die, and new sovereigns ascend the throne ; new ministers
and new counsels succeed ; the whole face of affairs is changed ;
and former plans fall into oblivion. But the throne of the Lord is
established for ever ; and the thoughts of his heart endure to all gene
rations. We serve the same God whom our fathers worshipped,
and whom our posterity shall adore. His unchanging dominion
comprehends all events and all ages ; establishes a connecting
principle which holds together the past, the present, and the fu
ture ; gives stability to things which in themselves are fluctuating,
and extracts order from those which appear most confused.
Well may the earth rejoice and the multitude of isles be glad, because
there reigneth over the universe such an immutable Lord.-
Were you to unhinge this great article of faith ; were you either
to say with the fool, that there is no God, or to suppose with
the superstitious, that the God who rules is variable and capri
cious ; you would, indeed, lay the axe to the root of the tree, and

200 ON THE UNCHANGEABLENESS [Sera. XIX.
cut down, with one blow, the hope and security of mankind.
For you would then leave nothing in the whole compass of nature,
but a round of casual and transitory being ; no foundation of trust,
no protection to the righteous, no steadfast principle to uphold and
to regulate the succession of existence. Instead of that magnifi
cent spectacle which the world now exhibits, when beheld in con
nexion with the divine government, it would then only present to
view a multitude of short-lived creatures, springing out of the
dust, wandering on the face of the earth without guide or pro
tector, struggling for a few years against the torrent of uncertainty
and change ; and then sinking into utter oblivion, and vanishing
like visions of the night. Mysterious obscurity would involve the
beginning of things ; disorder would mark their progress ; and
the blackness of darkness would cover their final result. Whereas,
when Faith enables us to recover an universal Sovereign, whose
power never fails, and whose wisdom and goodness never change,
the prospect clears up on every side. A ray from the great source
of light seems to illuminate the whole creation. Good men dis
cover a parent and a friend. They attain a fortress in every dan
ger ; a refuge amidst all storms ; a dwelling place in all generations.
They are no longer afraid of evil tidings. Their heart is fixed,
trusting in the Lord.
Though these reasonings, from the unchanging tenor of divine
government, cannot but afford much comfort to good men, their
satisfaction, however, becomes still more complete, when they
consider the explicit promises which are given them in the word
of God. The immutability of the divine purpose assures them
most perfectly of those promises being fulfilled in due time, how
adverse soever circumstances may at present appear to their ac
complishment. The Strength of Israel is not a man that he should
lie, nor the son of man that he should repent. Hath he said it, and
shall he not do it ? Hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good ?
Men have the command only of the present time. When that is
suffered to pass, changes may befall, either in their own state, or
in the situation of things around them, which shall defeat their
best intentions in our behalf, and render all their promises fruit
less. Hence, even setting aside the danger of human incon
stancy, the confidence which we now repose on any earthly pro
tector is extremely imperfect. Man, in his highest glory, is but
a reed floating on the stream of time, and forced to follow every
new direction of the current. But God is the rock of ages. All
time is equally in his hands. Intervening accidents cannot em
barrass him ; nor any unforeseen obstacle retard the performance
of his most distant promise. One day is with the Lord as a thou
sand years and a thousand years as one da /. There is no vicissi-

Sera. XIX.] OF THE DIVINE NATURE. 201
tude in the human state in which good men cannot take sanctuary
with him as a sure and abiding friend ; the safe conductor of their
pilgrimage here, as well as the eternal rest of their souls here
after. All their patrons may desert them, and all their friends
may die ; but the Lord still lives, who is their rock ; and the most
high God, who is their Redeemer. He hath promised that he will
not leave them when they are old, nor forsake them when their strength
faileth ; and that even when their hearts shall faint, and their flesh
fail, he will be the strength of their heart, and their portion for ever.
His immutability is not only the ground of trust in him during
their own abode on earth, but gives them the satisfaction of looking
forward to the same wise and good administration as continued
to the end of time. When departing hence, and bidding adieu to
life, with all its changeful scenes, they can with comfort and
peace leave their family, their friends, and their dearest concerns
in the hands of that God who reigneth for ever, and whose counte
nance shall always behold the upright with the same complacency.
My days are like a shadow that declineth, and I am withered like the
grass. But thou, O Lord, shalt endure for ever ; and thy remem
brance to all generations. The children of thy servants shall continue ;
and their seed shall be established before thee. [Psalm cii. 11, 12, 28.]
Such are the benefits which good men may derive from medi
tating on God as without variableness or shadow of turning. It in
spires them with sentiments of devout, humble, and grateful ado
ration. It points out to them the unvaiying tenour of conduct
which they ought to hold ; checks their fickleness and incon
stancy ; and amidst all distresses and fears, affords them comfort.
The immutability of God is the surest basis on which their hopes
can be built. It is indeed the piilar on which the whole universe
rests. — On such serious and solemn meditations let our thoughts
often dwell, in order to correct that folly and levity which are so
apt to take possession of the human heart. And if our minds be
overawed, and even depressed with so high a view of the divine
nature, let them be relieved by the reflection, that to this
unchangeable God we are permitted to look up, through a gracious
Mediator, who, though possessed of divine perfection, is not un
conscious of human distress and frailty.

202 ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. [Serm. XX.
SERMON XX.
ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST.
[Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.]
Hebrews iv. 15. — We have not an high priest which cannot be touched
with the feelings of our infirmities ; but was in all points tempted
like as we are, yet without sin.
When we compare the counsels of Providence with the plans
of men, we find a like difference obtain, as in the works of nature
compared with those of art. The works of art may, at first view,
appear the most finished and beautiful ; but when the eye is assisted
to pry into their contexture, the nicest workmanship is discerned
to be rough and blemished. Whereas the works of nature gain
by the most accurate examination ; and those which, on a super
ficial survey, 'appear defective or rude, the more intimately they are
inspected, discover the more exact construction and consummate
beauty. In the same manner, the systems of worldly policy, though
at first they seem plausible and profound, soon betray, in their
progress, the narrowness of the human understanding ; while those
dispensations of Providence, which appeared to furnish objections
either against the goodness or the wisdom of Heaven, have, upon
a more extensive view of their consequences, frequently afforded
the most striking proofs of both.
God manifested in the flesh, was to the Jews a stumbling-block,
and to the Greeks foolishness. It contradicted every prepossession
which their confined ideas of religion and philosophy led them to
entertain. If a superior Being was to interpose for the restoration
of a degenerate world, they concluded that he would certainly ap
pear in celestial majesty. But the thoughts of God are not as
the thoughts of men. The divine wisdom saw it to be fit that
the Saviour of mankind should in all things be made like unto those
whom he came to save. By living as a man among men, he dis
pensed instruction in the most winning manner. He added to
instruction the grace and the force of his own example. He
accommodated that example to the most trying and difficult situa
tions of human life ; and, by suffering a painful death, he both
taught men how to suffer and die ; and, in that nature which had
offended, he offered a solemn expiation to God for human guilt.
Besides these ends, so worthy of God, which -were accomplished
by the incarnation of Christ, another, of high importance, is sug
gested in the text. Human life is to good men, as well as to
others, a state of suffering and distress. To supply them with
proper consolation and encouragement during such a state, was

Serm. XX.] ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. 203
one great purpose of the undertaking of Christ. With this view
he assumed the office of their high priest, or mediator with God ;
and the encouragement which this office affords them, will be
proportioned to their assured belief, first of his power, and next
of his compassion. His power is set forth in the verse preceding
the text, and the proper argument is founded upon it. Seeing
that toe have a great high priest who is passed into the heavens,
Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession. But though
it be encouraging to know that our high priest is the Son of God,
and that he is passed into the heavens, yet these facts alone are not
sufficient to render him the full object of our confidence. For, as
the apostle afterwards observes, it belongs to the character of a
high priest to be taken from among men, that he may have com
passion on the ignorant and them that are out of the way, seeing
that he himself is compassed with infirmity. In order then to satisfy
us of our high priest's possessing also the qualifications of mercy
and compassion, we are told that he is touched with the feeling of
our infirmities, and was in all points tempted like as we are. The
force of this consideration I purpose now to illustrate. I shall
first explain the facts which are stated in the text, and then show
how from these our Saviour's compassion is to be inferred, and in
what manner it may be accommodated to the consolation and
hope of good men, amidsfvarious exigencies of life.
The assertion in the text, of Christ's being touched with the
feeling of our infirmities, plainly implies that he had full experience
both of the external distresses, and of the internal sorrows, of hu
man nature. Assuming a body such as ours, he subjected himself
to all the natural consequences of corporeal frailty. He did not
choose for himself an easy and opulent condition, in order to glide
through the world with the least molestation. He did not suit his
mission to the upper ranks of mankind chiefly, by assimilating his
state to theirs ; but, born in meanness and bred up to labour, he
submitted to the inconveniencies of that poor and toilsome life,
which falls to the share of the most numerous part of the human
race. Whatever is severe in the disregard of relations or the
ingratitude of friends, in the scorn of the proud or the insults of
the mean, in the virulence of reproach or the sharpness of pain,
was undergone by Christ. Though his life was short, he fami
liarized himself in it with a wide compass of human woe ; and there
is almost no distressful situation to which we can be reduced, but
what he has experienced before us. There is not the least reason
to imagine, that the eminence of his nature raised him above the
sensations of trouble and grief. Had this been the case, he would
have been a sufferer in appearance only, not in reality ; there would
have been no merit in his patience, or in the resignation which he

204 ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. [Sera. XX
expressed. On the contrary, it appears, from many circumstances,
that the sensibility of his nature was tender and exquisite. He
affected none of that hard indifference in which some ancient
philosophers vainly gloried. He felt as a man, and he sympa
thised with the feelings of others. On different occasions, we are
informed that he was troubled in spirit, that he groaned, and that
he wept. The relation of his agony in the garden of Gethsemane,
exhibits a striking picture of the sensations of innocent nature
oppressed with anguish. It discovers all the conflict between the
dread of suffering on the one hand, and the sense of duty on the
other ; the man struggling for a while with human weakness, and
in the end recollected in virtue, and rising superior to the objects
of dismay which were then in his view. Father ! if it be possible,
let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou
wilt. Thy will be done. Thus was our JSaviour touched with the
feeling of our infirmities. He was a man of sorrows, and acquainted
with grief.
It is added in the Text, that he was in all points tempted like
as we are. To be tempted is, in the language of Scripture, to
undergo such trials of virtue as are accompanied with difficulty
and conflict. Though our Lord was not liable to any temptations
from depravity of nature, yet he was perpetually exposed to such
as arise from situations the most adverse to virtue. His whole life
was in this respect a course of temptation ; that is, a severe trial
of his constancy by every discouragement. He suffered repeated
provocations both from friends and foes. His endeavours to do
good were requited with the most obstinate and perverse opposi
tion. Sometimes, by the solicitations of ignorant multitudes,
he was tempted to accept the proffers of worldly greatness.
Oftener, by the insults of multitudes, more blind and brutal, he
was tempted to desert an office which exposed him to so much
misery. Together with the world, the powers of darkness also
combined their efforts against him. We are informed that he was
led into the wilderness, and amidst the horrors of a wild and dreary
solitude, was tempted of the devil. The great adversary of man
kind seems to have been permitted to exert unusual proofs of his
power and malice, on purpose that the trial of our Saviour's con- ;
stancy might be more complete, and his victoiy over him more1
illustrious and distinguished.
From all these circumstances, the conclusion is obvious, that
our Lord knows, from personal experience, all the discouragements
and temptations which virtue can suffer. Though he participated
not of the corruption, yet he felt the weakness, of human nature.
He felt the strength of passion. He is no stranger to the distur
bance and commotion, which either the attacks of the world or the

Sera. XX.j ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST; 205
powers of darkness, are able to raise within the breast of man.
One remarkable difference, indeed, takes place between our
temptations and those of Christ. Though he was tempted like as
we are, yet he was without sin Though the conflict was the same,
the issue was different. We are often foiled : He always over
came. But his disconformity to us in this respect, is far from
weakening the strength of our present argument. For sin con
tracts and hardens the heart. Every degree of guilt incurred by
yielding to temptation tends to debase the mind, and to weaken
the generous and benevolent principles of human nature. If, from
our ' Lord's being tempted like as we are, we have any ground to
expect his sympathy ; from his being tempted, yet without sin, we
are entitled to hope that his sympathy, unallayed and perfect, will
operate with more complete energy.
From this view of the facts which are stated in the Text, I pro
ceed to show how justly we may infer our Saviour's compassion,
and in what manner it is to be accommodated to the consolation of
good men amidst various exigencies of life.
It has been the universal opinion of mankind, that personal ex
perience of suffering humanizes the heart. In the school of afflic
tion, compassion is always supposed to be most thoroughly learned :
and hence, in the laws of Moses, when the Israelites are com
manded not to oppress the stranger, this reason is given, for you
know the heart of a stranger, seeing you were strangers yourselves in
the land of Egypt. [Exod. xxiii. 9.] The distressed, accordingly,
fly for consolation to those who have been their companions in
woe. They decline the prosperous, and look up to them with a
suspicious eye. They consider them as ignorant of their feelings,
and therefore regardless of their complaints. Amidst the mani
fold sorrows of life, then, how soothing is the thought, that our
great Intercessor with God was a fellow-sufferer with ourselves,
while he passed through this valley of tears.
But it was necessary for Christ, it may be said, to assume our
nature in order so acquire the knowledge of its infirmity and
distress. As a divine person, was he not perfectly acquainted
with our frame before he descended to the earth ? Did he stand
in need of being prompted to compassion by the experience of our
sorrows ? Could his experimental knowledge of human weakness
increase the benevolence of a nature which before was perfect? —
No : he submitted to be touched with the feeling of our infirmities,
and to be tempted like as we are ; not in order to become acquainted
with our nature, but to satisfy us that he knew it perfectly ; not in
order to acquire any new degree of goodness, but to give us the
firmer confidence in the goodness which he possessed, and to con
vey the sense of it to our hearts with greater force and effect.

206 ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. [Serm. XX.
Distrust is a weakness peculiarly incident to the miserable.
They are apt to reject hope, to indulge fear, and to tinge, with the
dark colour of their own minds, every object which is offered for
their encouragement. The representations given us of the Deity
in Scripture, afford, undoubtedly, much ground for trust in his
goodness. But the perfection of an Almighty Being, who dwelleth
in the secret place of eternity, whom no man hath seen or can see,
is overwhelming to a timid apprehension. The goodness which it
promises is a new and unknown form of goodness. Whatever
proceeds from a nature so far superior to our own, is beheld with
a degree of awe, which is ready to overpower hope. Upon this
account, under the Old Testament dispensation, the Supreme
Being is often described with the attributes of a man, in order to
give a shade and softening to his greatness, and to accommodate
his goodness more to our capacity. The relentings of a friend,
the pity of a parent, and the sighs of a mourner, are ascribed to
the Almighty. But we easily perceive such attributes to be no
more than figures and allusions. The comfort which they afford
is not definite nor precise. They leave the mind under an anxious
uncertainty, lest it err in its interpretation of those allegories of
mercy. In the person of Jesus Christ, the object of our trust is
brought nearer to ourselves ; and of course adapted more effec
tually to our encouragement. Those well-known tender affections,
which are only figuratively ascribed to the Divinity, are in our
great Mediator thoroughly realized. His goodness is the goodness
of human nature, exalted and rendered perfect. It is that species
of goodness with which we are best acquainted, compassion to the
unhappy ; and compassion cultivated by that discipline which we
know to be the most powerful, the experience of sorrows.
For such reasons as these, because the children are partakers of
flesh and blood, Christ himself likewise took part of the same. In
all things it behoved him to be made like unto his brethren, that
he might be a merciful as well as a faithful high priest. When
we consider his assumption of our nature in this light, what a mild
and amiable aspect does it give to the government of Heaven ! —
What attentive solicitude of goodness is shown in carrying on the
dispensation of our redemption upon a plan so perfectly calculated
to banish all distrust, and to revive the most timid and dejected
heart! How naturally does that inference follow, which the
Apostle makes in the verse immediately succeeding the text ; let us,
therefore, come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain
mercy, and find grace to help in time of need ? More particularly,
in consequence of the doctrine which I have illustrated, we are
taught to hope.
I. — That, under all our infirmities and errors, regard will be had

Sera. XX.] ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. 207
to human imperfection ; that a merciful distinction will be made
between what is weak and what is wilfully criminal in our con
duct ; and that such measures of obedience only will be exacted,
as are proportioned to our circumstances and powers. What can
more encourage our religious services, than to be assured that the
God whom we worship knows our frame, and remembers we are dust ;
and that the Mediator, through whom we worship him, is touched
with the feeling of our infirmities. The most virtuous are the most
apt to be dejected with the sense of their frailty. While vain and
superficial men are easily flattered with favourable views of them
selves and fond hopes of divine acceptance, the slightest appre
hension of guilt is ready to alarm the humble and delicate mind ;
just as on coarse bodies an impression is not easily made, while
those of finer contexture are soon hurt ; and as, on an exquisite
polish, the least speck is visible. But though religion promotes
great sensibility to all feelings of a moral nature, yet it gives no
countenance to excessive and superstitious fears. That humility
which checks presumption, and that jealousy which inspires vigi
lance, are favourable to piety ; while those suspicions which lead
to despondency are injurious to God, hurtful to ourselves, and
repugnant to that whole system of mercy which I have been
illustrating. You complain, that when you engage in the solemn exercises of
devotion, your spirits are depressed by a load of cares and sorrows ;
that in your thoughts there is no composure, and in your affections
no elevation ; that after your utmost essays, you are incapable of
fixing your attention steadily on God, or of sending up your
prayers to him with becoming warmth and fulness of heart. This
debility and wandering of mind you are apt to impute to some un
common degree of guilt. You consider it as the symptom of
incurable hardness of heart, and as a melancholy proof of your
being abandoned by God. — Such fears as these, in a great measure,
refute themselves. If you were really obdurate, you would be in
sensible of guilt. Your complaints of hardness of heart, are an
evidence of your heart being at that moment contrite and actually
relenting. Are there any circumstances of inward discomposure and
perplexity, of which he is unconscious, who, at a critical period
of his life, was heavy and sore amazed ; [Mark xiv. 33.] : who was
obliged to complain that his soul was troubled within him, and to
acknowledge, that though the spirit was willing, yet the flesh was
weak ? To a superior nature, untouched with human frailty, you
might in such situations look up with some degree of terror. But.
He, who remembers the struggles of his own soul, will not surely
judge yours like a hard and unfeeling master. Acquainted with
the inmost recesses of human nature, he perceives the sincerity of

208 ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. [Sera. XX
your intentions ; he sees the combat you maintain ; he knows how
much of your present confusion and disorder is to be imputed, not
to your inclination and will, but to an infirm, an aged, or diseased
body, or to a weak and wounded spirit ; and therefore will be far
from rejecting your attempts to serve him, on account of the infir
mities which you lament. He hears the voice of those secret as
pirations which your are unable to express in words, or to form
into prayer. Every penitential tear which your contrition sheds,
pleads your cause more powerfully with him, than all the argu
ments with which you could fill your mouth.
II.— From our Saviour's experience of human misery, we may
justly hope that he will so compassionately regard our distressed
estate, as to prevent us from being loaded with unnecessary trou
bles. He will not wantonly add affliction to the afflicted; nor
willingly crush what he sees to be already broken. In the course
of that high administration which he now exercises, he may
indeed judge certain intermixtures of adversity to be proper for
our improvement. These are trials of virtue, through which all,
without exception, must pass. Rugged was the road by which
our Divine Mediator himself went before us to glory ; and by be
coming our companion in distress, he meant to reconcile us to our
lot. He ennobled adversity by sharing it with us. He raised
poverty from contempt, by assuming it for his own condition.
The severity of his trials tends to lighten ours. When the general
of an army lies on the same hard ground, drinks of the same cold
stream, carries the same weight of armour with the lowest centinel,
can any of his soldiers repine at what they endure ?
Whatever afflictions our Lord may judge to be necessary for us,
of this we may rest assured, that he will deal them forth, not with
harsh and imperious authority, but with the tenderness of one who
knows from experience how deeply the human heart is wounded
by every stroke of adversity. He will not lay more upon us than
he sees we are able to bear. Though he cause grief, yet will he have
compassion according to the multitude of his tender mercies. He will
stay his rough wind in the day of the east wind ; [Isaiah xxvii. 8.]
For it is his state, but not his nature, which is now changed.
Notwithstanding his high exaltation, he still retains the compas
sionate sentiments of the man of sorrows. Still, we are assured, by
an inspired writer, he is not ashamed to call us brethren. [Heb. ii. 11.]
And with the heart of a brother, he regards those few and troubled
days, such as his own once were, which good men are doomed to
pass in this evil world.
From his compassion, indeed, we are not to expect that fond
indulgence or unseasonable relief by which the weak pity of men
frequently injures its objects. It >s to the material interests, more

Sera XX.] ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST 209
than to the present case of good men, that he attends. When
under the impatience of sorrow we exclaim, Hath he forgotten to be
gracious ? Hath he in anger shut up nis tender mercies ? — we recol-
ect not in whose hands we are. His compassion is not diminished,
when its operations are most concealed. It continues equally to
flow, though the channels by which it is conducted towards us lie
too deep for our observation. Amidst our present ignorance of
what is good or ill for us in this life, it is sufficient for us to know
that the immediate administration of universal government is placed
in the hands of the most attentive and compassionate friend of
mankind. How greatly does this consideration alleviate the burden
of human woe ! How happily does it connect with, the awful
dispensations of religion, the mildest ideas of tenderness and hu
manity !
III. — The Text leads us to hope, that amidst all the infirmities of
our state, both under the temptations and under the distresses of
life, our hlessed Lord will afford us a proper measure of assistance
and support. In that he hath suffered being tempted, he is able to
succour them who either suffer or, are tempted; [Heb. ii. 18.] that is
he is perfectly qualified for discharging this beneficent office ; he
knows exactly where the wound bleeds, where the burden presses,
what relief will prove most seasonable, and how it can be most
successfully applied. The manner in which it is conveyed by him
to the heart, we may be at a loss to explain ; but no argument can
be thence drawn against the credibility of the fact. The operations
which the power of God carries on in the natural world, are no less
mysterious than those which we are taught to believe that his spirit
performs in the moral world. If we can give no account of what
is every day before our eyes, how a seed becomes a tree, or how the
child rises unto a man, is it any wonder that we should be unable
to explain how virtue is supported, and constancy strengthened by
God within the heart ? If men by their counsels and suggestions
can influence the minds of one another, must not divine suggestion
and counsel produce a much greater effect ? Surely, the Father of
Spirits must, by a thousand ways, have access to the spirits which
he has made, so as to give them what determination, or impart to
them what assistance he thinks proper, without injuring their frame
or disturbing their rational p'owers.
Accordingly, wherever any notions of religion have taken place
among mankind, this belief has in some measure prevailed, that
to the virtuous under distress, aid was communicated from above.
This sentiment is so congruous to our natural impressions of the
divine benignity, that both among poets and philosophers of
ancient times it was a favourite idea, and often occurs in their
Writings. But what among them was no more than loose conjec-
v

210 ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. [Sera. XX.
ture or feeble hope, has received full confirmation from the gospel
of Christ. Not only is the promise of divine assistance expressly
given to Christians, but their faith in that promise is strengthened
by an argument which must carry conviction to every heart. If
Christ had full experience of the insufficiency of human nature to
overcome the difficulties wherewith it is now surrounded, will he
withhold from his followers that grace without which he sees they
must perish in the evil day ? If, in the season of his temptation
and distress, an angel was sent from heaven to strengthen him,
[Luke xxii. 43.] shall no celestial messenger be employed by him
on the like kind errand to those whom he styles his brethren ?
Can we believe that he who once bore our griefs, and carried our sor
rows, will, from that height of glory to which he is now exalted,
look down upon us here, contending with the storm of adversity,
labouring to follow his steps through the steep and difficult paths
of virtue, exposed on every side to arrows aimed against us by the
powers of darkness ; and that, seeing our distress and hearing our
supplications, he will remain an unconcerned spectator, without
vouchsafing us either assistance to support our frailty, or protection
to screen us amidst surrounding dangers ? Where were then the
benevolence of a Divine Nature ? Where the compassion of that
Mediator who was trained to mercy in the school of sorrow ? Far
from us be such ungrateful suspicions of the generous friend of hu
man kind ! — Let us exert ourselves as we can, and we shall be assis
ted. Let us pray and we shall be heard ; for there is one to present
our prayers, whom the Father heareth always. These, will he say,
are my followers on earth, passing through that thorny path of
temptation and sorrow which I once trod. Now I am no more in
the world; but these are in the world. Holy Father! thine they
were, and thou gavest them me. Keep them through thine own name.
Sanctify them through thy truth. Keep them from the evil one :
that they may be where I am, and may behold the glory which thou
hast given me. [John, xvii.]
Such is the comfort which arises to us from our Saviour's parti
cipation of the infirmities of human nature ; and thus it may be
applied to various situations of anxiety and distress.
When we review what has been' said, it is necessary that, in the
first place, I guard you against a certain misimprovement which
may be made of this doctrine. The amiable view which it gives
of our Lord's clemency, may flatter some men with unwarrantable
hopes, and lead them to imagine, that in his experience of human
weakness an apology is to be found for every crime. Persons of
this character must be taught that his compassion differs widely
from that undistinguishing and capricious indulgence which is some
times found among men. It is the compassion of an impartial mind

Sera; XX.] ON THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. 211
enlightened by wisdom and guided by justice, extending to the
frailties of the sincere, but not to the sins of the presumptuous,
and least of all to the crimes of those who encourage themselves
in evil from the hope that they shall meet with compassion. ,,
A course of deliberate guilt admits of no apology from the
weakness of human nature. For, notwithstanding all the infirmities
incident to it, no man is under the necessity of being wicked.
So far is our Saviour's experience of nature from affording any
ground of hope to presumptuous offenders, that it ought to fill
them with terror. For it shows them how thoroughly qualified
he is to discriminate accurately the characters of men, and to mark
the boundaries between frailty and perverseness. He who from
his own feelings well knows all the workings of the human heart,
clearly discerns how different their temper is from what was once
his own. He perceives that vice, not virtue, is their choice ; and
that instead of resisting temptation, they resist conscience. He
sees that infirmity affords them no excuse ; and that the real cause •
of their acting a criminal part, is not because they cannot do bet
ter, but, in truth, because they will not. Having forfeited every
title to compassion, they are left in the hands of justice ; and ac
cording as they have sown, they must expect to reap.
But, in the next place, to such as are sincere and upright, the
doctrine which I have illustrated affords high encouragement, and
powerfully recommends the Christian religion. It places that re
ligion in its proper point of view, as a medicinal plan, intended
both for the recoveiy of mankind from guilt, and for their conso
lation under trouble. The law was given by Moses ; but grace and
truth came by Jesus Christ. The Law was a dispensation of mere
authority. The Gospel is a dispensation, not of authority only,
but of relief. If it discovers new duties and imposes new obliga
tions, it opens also sources of comfort which were before unknown
to the world.
A Mediator between God and his creatures was an object after
which men in all nations, and under all forms, of religion, had long
and anxiously sought. The follies of superstition have served to
disclose to us, in this instance, the sentiments of nature. The
whole religion of paganism was a system of mediation and inter
cession. Depressed by a conscious sense of guilt, nature shrunk
at the thought of adventuring on a direct approach to the Sove
reign of the universe ; and laboured to find out some auspicious
introductor to that awful presence. With blind and trembling eager
ness the nations fled to subordinate deities, to tutelar gods, and
to departed spirits, as their patrons and advocates above. Them
they studied to soothe with such costly gifts, such pompous rites,
or such humble supplications as they thought might incline them
p 2

212 ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. [Sera. XXI.
to favour their cause, and to support their interests with the Su
preme Divinity. While mankind were bewildered in this darkness,
the Gospel not only revealed the true Mediator, who in this view
may be justly called the desire of all nations, but placed his cha
racter and office in a light most admirably fitted, as has been shown
in this Discourse, to support the interest of virtue in the world,
and to encourage the humble, without flattering the presumptuous.
What plan of religion could be more suited to the circumstances
of man, or more worthy of the goodness of his Creator ? What
more animating to the pious worshipper, in performing those so
lemn acts of devotion to which we are called by the service of this
day? I cannot conclude without taking notice how remarkably this
dispensation of religion is calculated to promote a spirit of huma
nity and compassion among men, by those very means which it
employs for inspiring devotion towards God. We are now draw
ing nigh to the Supreme Being through a Mediator, for whose
compassion we pray, on account of the experience which he has
had of our frailty. We trust, that having been acquainted with
distress, he will not despise nor abhor the affliction of the afflicted.
The argument by which we plead for his compassion, concludes
still more strongly for mutual charity and sympathy with one
another. He, who in the midst of the common sufferings of life,
feels not for the distressed ; he who relents not at his neighbour's
g;rief, nor scans his failings with the eye of a brother, must be sen
sible that he excludes himself from the commiseration of Christ.
He makes void the argument by which he pleads for his mercy ;
nay, he establishes a precedent against himself. Thus, the Chris
tian religion approves itself as worthy of God, by connecting de
votion in strict union with charity. As in its precepts the love of
God and the love of man are joined, so in its institutions the exer
cise of both is called forth ; and to worship God through the me
diation of a compassionate High Priest, necessarily supposes in the
worshippers a spirit of compassion towards their own brethren.

SERMON XXI.
ON THE LOVE OP PRAISE.
John xii. 43. — For they loved the praise of men more than the praise
of God.
The state of man on earth is manifestly designed for the
trial of his virtue. Temptations every where occur : and per
petual vigilance and attention are required. There is ho passion
or principle of acticn in his nature, which rray not, if left to itself,

Sera. XXL] ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. 213
betray him into some criminal excess. Corruption gains entrance,
not only by those passions which are apparently of dangerous
tendency, such as covetousness, and love of pleasure ; but by
means of those also which are seemingly the most fair and inno
cent, such as the desire of esteem and praise. Of this, the text
suggests a remarkable instance. When our Lord appeared in
the land of Judea, the purity of his doctrine, and the evidence of
his miracles, procured him a considerable number of followers,
chiefly among the lower classes of men. But the Pharisees, who
were the leading and fashionable sect, galled with the freedom of
his reproofs, decried him as an impostor. Hence it came to pass,
that though some of the rulers believed in him, yet, because of the
Pharisees, they did not confess him. Rulers, persons who, by their
rank and education, ought to have been superior to any popular
prejudice, were so far overawed by the opinions of others, as to
stifle their conviction, to dissemble their faith, and to join with
the prevailing party, in condemning one whom in their hearts they
revered : for which this reason is given, that they loved the praise of
men, more than the praise of God. Since, then, the love of praise can
mislead men into such culpable and dishonest conduct, let us, with
some attention, examine the nature of this passion. Let us con
sider how far it is an allowable principle of action ; when it begins
to be criminal ; and upon what accounts we ought to guard against
its acquiring the entire ascendant.
We are intended by Providence to be connected with one an
other in society. Single unassisted individuals could make small
advances towards any valuable improvement. By means of society,
our wants are supplied, and our lives rendered comfortable ; our
capacities are enlarged, and our virtuous affections called forth into
proper exercise. In order to confirm our mutual connexion, it was
necessary that some attracting power, which had the effect of
drawing men together, and strengthening the social ties, should
pervade the human system. Nothing could more happily fulfil this
purpose, than our being so formed as to desire the esteem, and to
delight in the good opinion, of each other. Had such a propensity
been wanting, and selfish principles left to occupy its place, society
must have proved an unharmonious and discordant state. Instead
of mutual attraction, a repulsive power would have prevailed.
Among men who had no regard to the approbation of one another,
all intercourse would have been jarring and offensive. For the
wisest ends, therefore the desire of praise was made an original and
powerful principle in the human breast.
To a variety of good purposes it is subservient, and on many
occasions co-operates with the principle of virtue. It awakens us

214 ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. [Sera. XXI.
from sloth, invigorates activity, and stimulates our efforts to excel.
It has given rise to most of the splendid, and to many of the use
ful enterprizes of men. It has animated the patriot and fired the
hero. Magnanimity, generosity, and fortitude are what all man
kind admire. Hence, such as were actuated by the desire of ex
tensive fame, have been prompted to deeds which either participated
of the spirit, or, at least, carried the apperance, of distinguished
virtue. The .desire of praise is generally connected with all the
finer sensibilities of human nature. It affords a ground on which
exhortation, counsel, and reproof, can work a proper effect.
Whereas, to be entirely destitute of this passion, betokens an ig
noble mind, on which no moral impression is easily made. Where
there is no desire of praise, there will be also no sense of reproach :
and if that be extinguished, one of the -principal guards of virtue
is removed, and the path opened to many opprobrious pursuits.
He whose countenance never glowed with shame, and whose heart
never beat at the sound of praise, is not destined for any honourable
distinction ; is likely to grovel in the sordid quest of gain, or to
slumber life away in the indolence of selfish pleasures.
Abstracting from the sentiments which are connected with the
love of praise as a principle of action, the esteem of our fellow-
creatures is an object which, on account of the advantages it
brings, may be lawfully pursued. It is necessary to our success
in every fair and honest undertaking. Not only our private in
terest, but our public usefulness, depends in a great measure upon
it. The sphere of our influence is contracted or enlarged in pro
portion to the degree in which we enjoy the good opinion of the
public. Men listen with an unwilling ear to one whom they do
not honour ; while a respected character adds weight to example,
and authority to counsel. To desire the esteem of others for the
sake of its effects, is not only allowable, but in many cases is our
duty ; and to be totally indifferent to praise and censure, is so far
from being a virtue, that it is a real defect in character.
But while the love of' praise is admitted to be a natural, and, in
so many respects, an useful principle of action, we are to observe,
that it is entitled to no more than our secondary regard. It has
its boundary set ; by transgressing which, it is at once transformed
from an innocent into a most dangerous passion. More sacred and
venerable principles claim the chief direction of human conduct.
All the good effects which we have ascribed to the desire of praise,
are produced by it when remaining in a subordinate station. But
when, passing its natural line, it becomes the ruling spring of con
duct ; when the regard which we pay to the opinions of men, en-
croaches on that reverence which we owe to the voice of consci-

Sera. XXL] ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE 215
ence and the sense of duty ; the love of praise having then gone
out of its proper place, instead of improving, corrupts ; and in
stead of elevating, debases our nature. The proportion which this
passion holds to other principles of action, is what renders it either
innocent or criminal. The crime with which the Jewish rulers are
charged in the text, was, not that they loved the praise of men ;
but that they loved it more than the praise of God.
Even in cases where there is no direct competition between our
duty and our fancied honour, between the praise of men and the
praise of God, the passion for applause may become criminal, by
occupying the place of a better principle. When vain-glory
usurps the throne of virtue ; when ostentation produces actions
which conscience ought to have dictated; such actions, however
specious, have no claim to moral or religious praise. We know
that good deeds, done merely to be seen of men, lose their reward
with God. If, on occasion of some trying conjuncture, which
makes us hesitate concerning our line of conduct, the first question
which occurs to us, be, not whether an action is right in itself,
and such as a good man ought to perform, but whether it is such
as will find acceptance with the world, and be favourable to our
fame, the conclusion is too evident, that the desire of applause
has obtained an undue ascendant. What a wise and good man
ought to study, is to preserve his mind free from any such soli
citude concerning praise, as may be in hazard of overcoming his
sense of duty. The approbation of men he may wish to obtain,
as far as is consistent with the approbation of God. But when
both cannot be enjoyed together, there ought to be no suspense,
He is to retire, contented with the testimony of a good conscience ;
and to show, by the firmness of his behaviour, that, in the cause
of truth and virtue, he is superior to all opinion. — Let us now
proceed to consider the arguments which should support such a
spirit, and guard us against the improper influence of praise or
censure in the course of our duty.
In the first place, the praise of, men is not an object of such
value in itself, as to be entitled to become the leading principle of
conduct. We degrade our character, when we allow it more than
subordinate regard. Like other worldly goods, it is apt to dazzle
us with a false lustre ; but, if we would ascertain its true worth, let
us reflect both on whom it is bestowed, and from whom it proceeds.
Were the applause of the world always the reward of merit ; were
it appropriated to such alone as by real abilities, or by worthy ac
tions, are entitled to rise above the crowd ; we might justly be flat
tered by possessing a rare and valuable distinction. But, how far
is this from being the case in fact ? How often have the despicabl
and the vile, by dexter nsly catching the favour of the multitude

216 ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. [Sera. XXI.
soared upon the wings of popular applause, while the virtuous and
the deserving have been either buried in obscurity, or obliged to
encounter the attacks of unjust reproach ? The laurels which human
praise confers, are withered and blasted by the unworthiness of
those who wear them. Let the man who is vain of public favour,
be humbled by the reflection, that, in the midst of his success, he
is mingled with a crowd of impostors and deceivers, of hypocrites
and enthusiasts, of ignorant pretenders and superficial reasoners,
who, by various arts, have attained as high a rank as himself in
temporary fame.
We may easily be satisfied that applause will be often shared by
the undeserving, if we allow ourselves to consider from whom it
proceeds. When it is the approbation of the wise only, and the
good, which is pursued, the love of praise may be then accounted
to contain itself with just bounds, and to run in its proper channel.
But the testimony of the discerning few, modest and unassuming
as they commonly are, forms but a small part of the public voice.
It seldom amounts to more than a whisper, which amidst the ge
neral clamour is drowned. When the love of praise has taken
possession of the mind, it confines not itself to an object so limited.
It grows into an appetite for indiscriminate praise. And who
are they that confer this praise ? A mixed multitude of men,
who in their whole conduct are guided by humour and caprice,
far more than by reason ; who admire false appearances, and pur
sue false gods ; who enquire superficially and judge rashly ; whose
sentiments are for the most part erroneous, always changeable,
and often inconsistent. Nor let any one imagine, that by looking
above the crowd, and courting the praise of the fashionable and
the great, he makes sure of true honour. There are a great vulgar,
as well as a small. Rank often makes no difference in the under
standings of men, or in their judicious distribution of praise.
Luxury, pride, and vanity, have frequently as much influence in
corrupting the sentiments of the great, as ignorance, bigotry, and
prejudice, have in misleading the opinions of the crowd. — And is
it to such judges as these that you submit the supreme direction
of your conduct ? Do you stoop to court their favour as your
chief distinction, when an object of so much juster and higher
ambition is presented to you, in the praise of God ? God is the
only unerring Judge of what is excellent. His approbation alone
is the substance, all other praise is but the shadow of honour. The
character which you bear in his sight, is your only real one. How
contemptible does it render you, to be indifferent with respect to
this, and to be solicitous about a name only, a fictitious, imagi
nary character, which has no existence except in the opinions of
a few weak and credulous men . around you ? They see no farther

Sera. XXL] ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. 217
than the outside of things. They can judge of you by actions
only ; and not by the comprehensive view of all your actions, but
by such merely, as you have had opportunity of bringing forth
to public notice. But the Sovereign of the world beholds you in
every light in which you can be placed. The silent virtues of a
generous purpose, and a pious heart, attract his notice, equally
with the most splendid deeds. From him you may reap the praise
of good actions which 'you had no opportunity of performing.
For he sees them in their principle ; he judges of you by your
intentions ; he knows what you would have done. You may be in
his eyes a hero or a martyr, without undergoing "the labours* of
the one, or the sufferings of the other. His inspection, therefore,
opens a much wider field for praise, than what the world can afford
you ; and for praise, too, certainly far more illustrious in the
eye of reason. Every real artist studies to approve himself to such
as are knowing in his art. To their judgement he appeals. On
their approbation he rests his character, and not on the praise of
the unskilled and rude. In the highest art of all, that of life, and
conduct, shall the opinions of ignorant men come into the most
distant competition with his approbation, who is the searcher of
all hearts, and the standard of all perfection ? — The testimony of
his praise is not indeed as yet openly bestowed. But though the
voice of the Almighty sound not in 'your ears, yet by conscience,
his sacred vicegerent, it is capable of being conveyed to your
heart. The softest whisper of divine approbation is sweeter to the
soul of a virtuous man, than the loudest shouts of that tumultuary
applause which proceeds from the world.
Consider, farther, how narrow and circumscribed in its limits
that fame is, which the vain-glorious man so eagerly pursues. In
order to show him this, I shall not bid him reflect that it is con
fined to a small district of the earth ; and that when he looks a
little beyond the region which he inhabits, he will find himself as
much unknown as the most obscure person around him. I shall
not desire him to consider, that in the gulph of oblivion, where
all human memorials are swallowed up, his name and fame must
soon be inevitably lost. He may imagine that ample honours
remain to gratify ambition, though his reputation extend not over
the whole globe, nor last till the end of time ; but let him calmly
reflect, that within the narrow boundaries of that country to which
he belongs, and during that small portion of time which his life
fills up, his reputation, great as he may fancy it to be, occupies
no more than an inconsiderable corner. Let him think what mul
titudes of those among whom he dwells, are totally ignorant of
his name and character : how many imagine themselves too im
portant to regard him; how many are too much occupied with

218 ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. [Sera. XXI.
their own wants and pursuits, to pay him the least attention ; and
where is reputation is in any degree spread, how often it has
been attacked, and how may rivals are daily rising to abate it :
having attended to these circumstances, he will find sufficient
materials for humiliation in the midst of the highest applause.
 From all these considerations it clearly appears, that though
the esteem of our fellow-creatures be pleasing, and the pursuit of
it, in a moderate degree, be fair and lawful, yet that it affords no
such object to desire, as entitles it to be a ruling principle.
In the second place, an excessive love of praise never fails to
undermine the regard due to conscience, and to corrupt the heart.
It turns off the eye of the mind from the ends which it ought
chiefly to keep in view ; and sets up a false light for its guide.
Its influence is the more dangerous, as the colour which it as
sumes is often fair ; and its garb and appearance are nearly allied
to that of virtue. The love of glory, I before admitted, may give
birth to actions which are both splendid and useful. At a dis
tance, they strike the eye with uncommon brightness ; but on a
nearer and stricter survey, their lustre is often tarnished. They
are found to want that sacred and venerable dignity which cha
racterises true virtue. Little passions and selfish interests entered
into the motives of those who performed them. They were jea
lous of a competitor. They sought to humble a rival. They
looked round for spectators to admire them. All is magnanimity,
generosity, and courage, to public view. But the ignoble source,
whence these seeming virtues take their rise, is hidden. Without
appears the hero ; within, is found the man of dust and clay. Con
sult such as have been intimately connected with the followers of
renown ; and seldom or never will you find that they held them in
the same esteem with those who viewed them from afar. There
is nothing, except simplicity of intention and purity of principle,
that can stand the test of near approach and strict examina
tion. But, supposing the virtue of vain-glorious men not to be always
false, it certainly cannot be depended upon as firm or sure. Con
stancy and steadiness are to be looked for from him only whose
conduct is regulated by a sense of what is right ; whose praise is
not of men, but of God; wdiose motive to discharge his duty is
always the same. Change, as much as you please, the situation of
such a man ; let applause, or let censure be his lot ; let the public
voice, which this day has extolled him, to-morrow as loudly decry
him ; on the tenour of his behaviour these changes produce no
effect. He moves in a higher sphere. As the sun in his orbit is
not interrupted by the mists and storms of the atmosphere below,
so, regardless of the opinions of men, through honour and dishonour.

Serm. XXL] ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE 219
through good report and bad report, he pursues the path which con
science has marked out. Whereas, the apparent virtues of that
man whose eye is fixed on the world are precarious and temporary.
Supported only by circumstances, occasions, and particular re
gards, they fluctuate and fall with these. Excited by public ad
miration, they disappear when it is withdrawn ; like those exha
lations which, raised by heat from the earth, glitter in the air with
momentary splendour, and then fall back to the ground from
whence they sprung.
The intemperate love of praise not only weakens the true prin
ciples of probity, by substituting inferior motives in their stead,
but frequently also impels men to actions which are directly cri
minal. It obliges them to follow the current of popular opinion
whithersoever it may carry them; and hence shipwreck is often
made both of faith and of a good conscience. According as circum
stances lead them to court the acclamations of the multitude, or
to pursue the applause of the great, vices of different kinds will
stain their character. In one situation, they will make hypocri
tical professions of religion. In another, they will be ashamed of
their Redeemer, and of his words. They will be afraid to appear
in their own form, or to utter their genuine sentiments. Their
whole character will become fictitious, opinions will be assumed,
speech and behaviour modelled, and even the countenance formed,
as prevailing taste exacts. From one who has submitted to such
prostitution for the sake of praise, you can no longer expect fide
lity or attachment on any trying occasion. In private life, he will
be a timorous and treacherous friend. In public conduct, he will
be supple and versatile; ready to desert the cause which he had
espoused, and to veer with every shifting wind of popular favour.
In fine, all becomes unsound and hollow in that heart, where, in
stead of regard to the divine approbation, there reigns the sovereign
desire of pleasing men.
In the third place, this passion, when it becomes predominant,
most commonly defeats its own end, and deprives men of the ho
nour which they are so eager to gain. Without preserving liberty
and independence, we can never command respect. That servi
lity of spirit which subjects us to the opinion of others, and ren
ders us tributaries to the world for the sake of applause, is what
all mankind despise- They look up with reverence to one who,
unawed by their censures, acts according to his own sense of
things, and follows the free impulse of an honourable mind. But
him who hangs totally on their judgement, they consider as theis
vassal. They even enjoy a malignant pleasure in humbling his va
nity, and withholding that praise which he is seen to court. By
artifice and show, he may shine for a time in the public eye ; but

220 ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. " [Sera. XXI.
it is only as long as he can support the belief of acting from prin
ciple. When the inconsistencies into which he falls detect his
character, his reputation passes away like the pageant of a day.
No man ever obtained lasting fame, who did not, on several occa
sions, contradict the prejudices of popular opinion.
There is no course of behaviour which will at all times please
all men. That which pleases most generally, and which only
commands durable praise, is religion and virtue. Sincere piety
towards God, kind affection to men, and fidelity in the discharge
of all the duties of life ; a conscience pure and undefiled ; a heart
firm to 'ustice and to truth, superior to all terrors that would
shake, and insensible of all pleasures that would betray it ; uncon
querable by the opposition of the world, and resigned to God
alone : these are the qualities which render a. man truly respectable
and great. Such a character may in evil times, incur unjust re
proach. But the clouds which envy or prejudice has gathered
around it, will gradually disperse ; and its brightness will come
forth, in the end, as the noon-day. As soon as it is thoroughly
known, it finds a witness in every breast. It forces approbation,
even from the most degenerate. The human heart is so formed as
to be attuned, if we may use the expression, to its praise. In
fact, it is this firm and inflexible virtue, this determined regard
to principle beyond all opinion, which has crowned the characters
of such as now stand highest in the rolls of lasting fame. The
truly illustrious are they who did not court the praise of the world,
but who performed the actions which deserve it. They were per
haps traduced in their life-time, by those whom they opposed.
But posterity has done them ample justice; and they are the men
whom the voice of ages now concurs in celebrating. The memorial
of virtue is immortal ; because it is approved of God and of men.
When it is present, men take example at it; and when it is gone, they
desire it. It weareth a crown, and triumpheth for ever : having got
ten the victory ; striving for undefiled rewards. [Wisdom of Solo
mon iv. 1, 2.]
In the fourth place, as an immoderate passion for human praise
is dangerous to virtue, and unfavourable to true honour ; so it is
destructive of self-enjoyment and inward peace. Regard to the
praise of God prescribes a simple and consistent tenour of conduct,
which in all situations is the same ; which engages us in no per
plexities, and requires no artful refinement. Walking uprightly,
we walk surely, because we tread an even and open path. But he
who turns aside from the straight road of duty, in order to gain
applause, involves himself in an intricate labyrinth. He will be
often embarrassed concerning the course which he ought to hold.
His mind will Le always on the stretch. He will be obliged to

Sera. XXL] ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. 221
listen with anxious attention to every whisper of the popular voice
The demands of those masters whom he has submitted to serve,
will prove frequently contradictory and inconsistent. He has
prepared a yoke for his neck, which he must resolve to bear, how
much soever it may gall him.
The toils of virtue are honourable. The mind is supported
under them by the consciousness of acting a right and becoming
part. But the labours to which he is doomed who is enslaved to
the desire of praise, are aggravated by reflection both on the un
certainty of the recompense which he pursues, and on the debase
ment to which he submits. Conscience will, from time to time,
remind him of the improper sacrifices which he has made, and of
the forfeiture which he has incurred, of the praise of God for the
sake of praise from men. Suppose him to receive all the rewards
which the mistaken opinion of the world can bestow, its loudest
applause will often' be unable to drown the upbraidings of an in
ward voice ; and if a man is reduced to be ashamed of himself,
what avails it to him to be caressed by others^?
But, in truth, the reward- towards which he looks who proposes
human praise as his ultimate object, will be always flying like a
shadow before him. So capricious and uncertain, so fickle and
mutable, is the favour of the multitude, that it proves the most
unsatisfactory of all pursuits in which men can be engaged. He
who sets his heart on it, is preparing for himself perpetual morti
fications. If the greatest and best can seldom retain it long, we
may easily believe, that from the vain and undeserving, it will sud
denly escape. There is no character but what on some side is
vulnerable by censure. He who lifts himself up to the observation
and notice of the world, is, of all men, the least likely to avoid it.
For he draws upon himself a thousand eyes, that will narrowly in
spect him in eveiy part. Every opportunity will be watched; of
bringing him down to the common level. His errors will be more
divulged, and his infirmities more magnified, than those of others.
In proportion to his eagerness for praise, will be his sensibility to
reproach. Nor is it reproach alone that will wound him. He will
be as much dejected by silence and neglect. He puts himself
under the power of every one to humble him, by withholding ex
pected praise. Even when praise is bestowed, he is mortified by
its being either faint or trite. He pines when his reputation stag
nates. The degree of applause to which he has been accustomed,
grows insipid ; and to be always praised from the same topics, be
comes at last mnch the same with not being praised at all.
All these chagrins and disquietudes are happily avoided by him
who keeps so troublesome a passion within its due bounds; who
is more desirous of being truly worthy, than of being thought so

222 ON THE LOVE OF PRAISE. [Serm. XXI.
who pursues the praise of tha, world with manly temperance, and
in subordination to the praise of God. He is neither made giddy
by the intoxicating vapour of applause, nor humbled and cast down
by the unmerited attacks of censure. Resting on a higher appro
bation, he enjoys himself, in peace, whether human praise stays
with him, or flies away. With me it is a small thing to be judged of
you, or of man's judgement. He that judgeth me is the Lord. My
witness is in heaven, and my record is on high.
In the fifth and last place, the advantages which redound from
the praise of men, are not such as can bear to be put in compe
tition with those which flow from the praise of God. The former
are necessarily confined within the verge of our present existence.
The latter follow us beyond the grave, and extend through all
eternity. Not only is the praise of men limited in its effects to
this life, but also to particular situations of it. In the days of
health and ease, it may brighten the sunshine of prosperity. It
may then soothe the ear with pleasing accents, and gratify the
imagination with fancied triumphs. But when the distressful
seasons of life arrive, it will be found altogether hollow and un
substantial : and, surety, the value of any possession is to be chiefly
estimated by the relief which it can bring us, in the .time of our
greatest need. When the mind is cast down with sorrow and
grief, when sickness spreads its gloom around us, or death rises
in awful prospect to our view, the opinions and the discourses of
the world will appear trifling and insignificant. To one who is
occupied with nearer and more affecting interests, the praise or the
censure of the world will seem like the noise of distant voices, in
which he has small concern. But then is the season when the
praise of God supports and upholds the labouring soul. Brought
home to the heart by the testimony of a good conscience, and by
the Divine Spirit bearing witness with our spirits, it inspires fortitude,
and produces a peace which passeth understanding.
At present, we behold an irregular and disordered state of things.
Virtue is often deprived of its proper honours, and vice usurps
them in its stead. The characters of men are mistaken; and
ignorance and folly dispose of human applause. But the day
hastens apace, which shall close this scene of errors, and vindicate
the rights of justice and truth. Then shall be rendered to every man
according to his works Envy shall no longer have the power of
obscuring merit, nor popular prejudices be able to support the
undeserving. Hidden, worth shall be brought to light, and secret
crimes revealed. Many who passed through the world m the
silent obscurity of humble but steady goodness, shall be distin
guished as the favourites of Heaven ; while the proud, the ambi
tious, and the vain, are left to everlasting dishonour. The Great

Sera. XXII.] ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE, 8cc. 223
Judge hath declared, that whosoever hath been ashamed of him and
of his words, of that man shall he be ashamed when he cometh in the
glory of his Father, with all the holy angels. Every departure from
duty shall, at the period of final retribution, terminate in igno
miny. True honour and true virtue shall be seen to coincide;
and when all human fame has passed away like smoke, the only
praise which shall be for ever remembered, is that divine testimony,
Well done, thou good and faithful servant : enter thou into the joy
of thy Lord.
These arguments clearly show the importance of preserving the
love of praise under proper subordination to the principle of duty.
In itself, it is an useful motive to action ; but when allowed to
extend its influence too far, it corrupts the whole character, and
produces guilt, disgrace, and misery. To be entirely destitute of
it, is a defect. To be governed by it, is depravity. The proper
adjustment of the several principles of action in human nature, is
a matter that deserves our highest attention. For, when any one
of them becomes either too weak or too strong, it endangers both
our virtue and our happiness. Keep thy heart therefore with all
diligence ; pray that God would enable thee to keep it with success :
for out of the heart are the issues of life.

SERMON XXIT.
ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE OP HUMAN LIFE.
Ecclesiastes xii. 8. — Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher; all
is vanity.
No serious maxim has been more generally adopted, than that of
the text. In every age, the vanity of human life has been the theme
of declamation, and the subject of complaint. It is a conclusion
in which men of all characters and ranks, the high and the low,
the young and the old, the religious and the worldly, have more
frequently concurred, than in any other. But how just soever the
conclusion may be, the premises which lead to it are often false.
For it is prompted by various motives, and derived from very *
different views of things. ¦ Sometimes the language of the text is
assumed by a sceptic, who cavils at Providence, and censures the
constitution of the world. Sometimes it is the complaint of a
peevish man, who is discontented with his station, and ruffled by
the disappointment of unreasonable hopes. Sometimes it is the
style of the licentious, when groaning under miseries in which .
their vices have involved them. Invectives against the vanity of

224 ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE [Sera. XXII.
the world, which come from any of these quarters, deserve no
regard ; as they are the dictates of impiety, of spleen, or of folly.
The only case in which the sentiment of the text claims our atten
tion is, when uttered, not as an aspe^ion on Providence, or a re
flection on human affairs in general ; not as the language of private
discontent, or the result of guilty sufferings ; but as the sober con
clusion of a wise and good man, concerning the imperfection of
that happiness which rests solely on worldly pleasures. These, in
their fairest form, are not what they seem to be. They never
bestow that complete satisfaction which they promise ; and there
fore he who looks to nothing beyond them, shall have frequent
cause to deplore their vanity.
Nothing is of higher importance to us, as men and as Christians,
than to form a proper estimate of human life, without either load
ing it with imaginary evils, or expecting from it greater advantages
that it is able to yield. It shall be my business, therefore, in this
discourse, to distinguish a just and religious sense of the vanity of
the world, from the unreasonable complaints of it which we often
hear. I shall endeavour, I. To show in what sense it is true that
all earthly pleasures are vanity. II. To enquire how this vanity
of the world can be reconciled with the perfections of its great
Author. III. To examine whether there are not some real and
solid enjoyments in human life, which fall not under this general
charge of vanity. And, IV. To point out the proper improve
ment to be made of such a state as the life of man shall appear on
the whole to be.
I. — I am to show, in what sense it is true that all human plea
sures are vanity. This is a topic which might be embellished with
the pomp of much description. But I shall studiously avoid
exaggeration, and only point out a threefold vanity in human life,
which every impartial observer cannot but admit ; disappointment
in pursuit, dissatisfaction in enjoyment, uncertainty in possession.
First, Disappointment in pursuit. When we look around us on
the world, we every where behold a busy multitude, intent on the
prosecution of various designs which their wants or desires have
suggested. We behold them employing every method which in
genuity can devise, some the patience of industry, some the bold
ness of enterprise, others the dexterity of stratagem, in order to
compass their ends. Of this incessant stir and activity, what is
the fruit ? In comparison of the crowd who have toiled in vain,
how small is the number of the successful ! Or rather, where is
the man who will declare, that in every point he has completed
his plan, and attained his utmost wish? No extent of human
, abilities has been able to discover a path, which, in any line of
lite, leads unerringly to success. The race is not always to the

Sera. XXIL] OF HUMAN LIFE. 225
swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor riches to men of understanding.
We may form our plans with the most profound sagacity, and with
the most vigilant caution may guard against dangers on every side.
But some unforeseen occurrence comes across, which baffles our
wisdom, and lays our labours in the dust.
Were such disappointments confined to those who aspire at
engrossing the higher departments of life, the misfortune would be
less. The humiliation of the mighty, and the fall of ambition
from its towering height, little concern the bulk of mankind.
These are subjects on which, as on distant meteors, they gaze from
afar, without drawing personal instruction from events so much
above them. But, alas ! when we deseend into the regions of
private life, we find disappointment and blasted hope equally pre
valent there. Neither the moderation of our views, nor the justice
of our pretensions, can ensure success. But time and chance hap
pen to all. Against the stream of events, both the worthy and the
undeserving are obliged to struggle ; and both are frequently over
borne alike by the current.
Besides disappointment in pursuit, dissatisfaction in enjoyment
is a farther vanity to which the human state is subject. This is
the severest of all mortifications ; after having been successful in
the pursuit, to be baffled in the enjoyment itself. Yet this is
found to be an evil still more general than the former. Some may
be so fortunate as to attain what they have pursued ; but none are
rendered completely happy by what they have attained. Disap
pointed hope is misery ; and yet successful hope is only imperfect
bliss. Look through all the ranks of mankind. Examine the con
dition of those who appear most prosperous ; and you will find that
they are never just what they desire to be. If retired, they languish
for action ; if busy, they complain of fatigue. If in middle life,
they are impatient for distinction ; if in high stations, they sigh
after freedom and ease. Something is still wanting to that pleni
tude of satisfaction which they expect to acquire. Together with
every wish that is gratified, a new demand arises. One void opens
in the heart, as another is filled. On wishes, wishes grow ; and to
the end, it is rather the expectation of what they have not, than
the enjoyment of what they have, which occupies and interests
the most successful.
This dissatisfaction, in the midst of human pleasure, springs
partly from the nature of our enjoyments themselves, and partly
from circumstances which corrupt them. No worldly enjoyments
are adequate to the high desires and powers of an immortal spirit.
Fancy paints them at a distance with splendid colours ; but pos
session unveils the fallacy. The eagerness of passion bestows upon
them at first, a brisk and lively relish. But it is their fate always
Q

226 ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE [Sera. XXII
to pall by familiarity, and sometimes to pass from satiety into disgust.
Happy would the poor man think himself if he could enter on all
the treasures of the rich, and happy for a short while he might be ;
but, before he had long contemplated and admired his state, his
possessions would seem to lessen, and his cares would grow.
Add to the unsatisfying nature of our pleasures, the attending
circumstances which never fail to corrupt them. For, such as they
are, they are at no time possessed unmixed. To human lips it is
not given to taste the cup of pure joy. When external cir
cumstances show fairest to the world, the envied man groans in
private under his own burden. Some vexation disquiets, some
passion corrodes, him ; some distress, either felt or feared, gnaws
like a worm the root of his felicity. When there is nothing from
without to disturb the prosperous, a secret poison operates within.
For worldly happiness ever tends to destroy itself, by corrupting
the heart. It fosters the loose and the violent passions. It en
genders noxious habits ; and taints the mind with a false delicacy,
which makes it feel a thousand unreal evils.
But put the case in the most favourable light.. Lay aside from
human pleasures both disappointment in pursuit, and deceitfulness
in enjoyment ; suppose them to be fully attainable, and completely
satisfactory; still there remains to he considered the vanity of
uncertain possession and short duration. Were there in worldly
things any fixed point of security which we could gain, the mind
would then have some basis on which to rest. But our condition
is such, that every thing wavers and totters around us. Boast not
thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring
forth. It is much if, during its course, thou hearest not of some
what to disquiet or alarm thee. For life never proceeds long in
an uniform train. It is continually varied by unexpected events.
The seeds of alteration are every where sown ; and the sunshine of
prosperity commonly accelerates their growth. If your enjoyments
be numerous, you lie more open on different sides to be wounded.
If you have possessed them long, you have greater cause to dread
an approaching change. By slow degrees prosperity rises ; but
rapid is the progress of evil. It requires no preparation to bring
it forward. The edifice which it cost much time and labour to
erect, one inauspicious event, one sudden blow, can level with the
dust. Even, supposing the accidents of life to leave us untouched,
human bliss must still be transitory ; for man changes of himself.
No course of enjoyment can delight us long. What amused our
youth, loses its charm in maturer age. As years advance, our
powers are blunted, and our pleasurable feelings decline. The silent
lapse of time is ever carrying somewhat from us, till at length
the period comes when all must be swept away. The prospect of

Sera. XXII.] OF HUMAN LIFE. ' 227
this termination of our labours and pursuits is sufficient to mark
our state with vanity. Our days are a hand-breath, and our age
is as nothing. Within that little space is all our enterprise bounded.
We crowd it with toils and care, with contention and strife. We
project great designs, entertain high hopes, and then leave oui
plans unfinished, and sink into oblivion.
Thus much let it suffice to have said concerning the vanity of
the world. That too much has not been said, must appear to every
one who considers how generally mankind lean to the opposite
side ; and how often, by undue attachment to the present state,
they both feed the most sinful passions, and pierce themselves
through with many sorrows. Let us proceed to inquire,
II. — How this vanity of the world can be reconciled with the
perfections of its Divine Author? This inquiry involves that
great difficulty which has perplexed the thoughtful and serious in
every age. If God be good, whence the evil that fills the earth ?
In answer to this interesting question, let us observe,
In the first place, that the present condition of man was not his
original or primary state. We are informed by divine revelation,
that it is the consequence of his voluntary apostacy from God and
a state of innocence. By this his nature was corrupted, his powers
were enfeebled, and . vanity and vexation introduced into his life-
All nature became involved in the condemnation of man. The earth
was cursed upon his account, and the whole creation made to
groan and travail in pain.
How mysterious soever the account of this fall may appear to
us, many circumstances concur to authenticate the fact, and to
show that human nature and the human state have undergone an
unhappy change. The belief of this has obtained in almost all
nations and religions. It can be traced through all the fables" of
antiquity. , An obscure tradition appears to have pervaded the
whole earth, that man is not now what he was at first ; but that, in
consequence of some transgression against his great Lord, a state
of degradation and exile succeeded to a condition that was more
flourishing and happy. As our nature carries plain marks of per
version and disorder, so the world which we inhabit bears the
symptoms of having been convulsed in all its frame. Naturalists
point out to us every where the traces of some violent change
which it has suffered. Islands torn from the continent, burning
mountains, shattered precipices, uninhabitable wastes, give it
all the appearance of a mighty ruin. The physical and moral state
of man in this world mutually sympathize and correspond. They
indicate not a regular and orderly structure, either of matter or of
mind, but the remains of somewhat that was once more fair and
magrnificent. Let us observe,
Q2

228 ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE [Sera. XXII.
In the second place, that as this was not the original, so it is not
intended to be the final, state of man. Though, in consequence
of the abuse of the human powers, sin and vanity were introduced
into this region of the universe, it was not the purpose of the Cre
ator that they should be permitted to reign for ever. He hath made
ample provision for the recovery of the penitent and faithful part
of his subjects, by the merciful undertaking of that great Restorei
of the world, our Lord Jesus Christ. By him, life and immortality
were both purchased and brought to light. The new heavens and
the new earth are discovered, wherein dwelleth righteousness ; where,
through the divine grace, human nature shall regain its original
honours, and man shall return to be what once he was in Paradise.
Through those high discoveries of the Gospel, this life appears to
good men only in the light of an intermediate and preparatory state.
Its vanity and misery, in a manner, disappear. They have every
reason to submit, without complaint, to its laws, and to wait in pa
tience till the appointed time come for the restitution of all things.
Let us take notice,
In the third place, That a future state being made known, we can
account, in a satisfying manner, for the present distress of human
life, without the smallest impeachment of divine goodness. The
sufferings we here undergo are converted into discipline and im
provement. Through the blessing of Heaven, good is extracted
from apparent evil ; and the very misery which originated from
sin, is rendered the means of correcting sinful passions, and pre
paring us for felicity. There is much reason to believe, that crea
tures as imperfect as we are, require some such preliminary state of
experience, before they can recover the perfection of their nature.
It is in the midst of disappointments and trials that we learn the
insufficiency of temporal things to happiness, and are taught to
seek it from God and Virtue. By these, the violence of our pas
sions is tamed, and our minds are formed to sobriety and reflection.
In the varieties of life, occasioned by the vicissitude of worldly
fortune, we are inured to habits both of the active and the suffer
ing virtues. How much soever we complain of the vanity of the
world, facts plainly show, that if its vanity were less, it could not
answer the purpose of salutary discipline. Unsatisfactory as it is,
its pleasures are still too apt to corrupt our hearts. How fatal, then,
must the consequences have been, had it yielded us more complete
enjoyment ! If, with all its troubles, we are in danger of being too
much attached to it, how entirely would it have seduced our affec
tions, if no troubles had been mingled with its pleasures !
These observations serve in a great measure to obviate the dif
ficulties which arise from the apparent vanity of the human state,
by showing how, upon the Christian system, that vanity may be

Sera. XXII.] OF HUMAN LIFE. 229
reconciled with the infinite goodness of the Sovereign of the uni
verse. The present condition of man is not that for which he was
originally designed ; it is not to be his final state; and during his
passage through the world, the distresses which he undergoes are
rendered medicinal and improving. After having taken this view
of things, the cloud, which, in the preceding part of the discourse,
appeared to sit so thick, upon human life, begins to be dissipated.
We now perceive that man is not abandoned by his Creator. We
discern great and good designs going on in his behalf. We are
allowed to entertain better hopes ; and are encouraged to inquire,
as was proposed for the'
Hid head of discourse : Whether there be not, in the present
condition of human life, some real and solid enjoyments which
come not under the general charge of vanity of vanities. The doc
trine of the text is to be considered as chiefly addressed to worldly
men. Them, Solomon means to teach, that all expectations of
bliss, which rest solely on earthly possessions and pleasures, shall
end in disappointment. But surely he did not intend to assert,
that there is no material difference in the pursuits of men, or that
no real happiness of any kind could now be attained by the virtuous.
For, besides the unanswerable objection which this would form
against the divine administration, it would directly contradict what
he elsewhere asserts ; that while God giveth sore travail to the
sinner, he giveth to the man that is. good in his sight, wisdom, and
knowledge, and joy. [Eccles. ii. 26.] It may, it must indeed, be
admitted, that unmixed and complete happiness is unknown on
earth. No regulation of conduct can altogether prevent passions
from disturbing our peace, and misfortunes from wounding our
heart. But after this concession is made, will it fo^ow, that there
is no object on earth which deserves our pursuit, or that all enjoy
ment becomes contemptible, which is not perfect ? Let us survey
our state with an impartial eye, and be just to the various gifts of
Heaven. How vain soever this life, considered in itself, may be,
the comforts and hopes of religion are sufficient to give solidity to
the enjoyments of the righteous. In the exercise of good affec
tions, and the testimony of an approving conscience ; in the sense
of peace and reconciliation with God through the great Redeemer
of mankind ; in the firm confidence of being conducted through
all the trials of life by infinite wisdom and goodness ; and in the
joyful prospect of arriving in the end at immortal felicity ; they
possess a happiness which, descending from a purer and more per
fect region than this world, partakes not of its vanity.
Besides the enjoyments peculiar to religion, there are other
pleasures of our present state, which, though of an inferior order,
must not be overlooked in the estimate of human life. It is neces-

230 ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE [Sera. XXII.
sary to call attention to these, in order to check that repining and
unthankful spirit to which man is always too prone. Some degree
of importance must bo allowed to the comforts of health, to the
innocent gratifications of sense, and to the entertainment afforded
us by all the beautiful scenes of nature ; some, to the pursuits and
amusements of social life; and more, to the internal enjoyments
of thought and reflection, and to the pleasures of affectionate in
tercourse with those whom we love. These comforts are often held
in too low estimation, merely because they are ordinary and com
mon ; although that be the circumstance which ought, in reason,
to enhance their value. They lie open, in some degree, to all ;
extend through every rank of life, and fill up . agreeably many of
those spaces in our ' present existence which are not occupied with
higher objects, or with serious cares.
We are in several respects unjust to Providence in the computa
tion of our pleasures and our pains. We number the hours which
are spent in distress or sorrow; but.we forget those which have
passed away, if not in high enjoyment, yet in the midst of those gen
tle satisfactions and placid emotions which make life glide smoothly
along. We complain of the frequent disappointments which we
suffer in our pursuits. But we recollect . not, that it is in pur
suit, more than in attainment, that our pleasure now consists. In
the present state of human nature, man derives more enjoyment
from the exertion of his active powers in the midst of toils and ef
forts, than he could receive from a still and uniform possession of
the object which he strives to gain. The solace of the mind, under
all its labours, is hope ; and there are few situations which en
tirely exclude it. Forms of expected bliss are often gleaming
upon us through a cloud, to revive and exhilarate the most dis
tressed. If pains be scattered through all the conditions of life, so
also are pleasures. Happiness, as far as life affords it, can be ex-
grossed by no rank of men to the exclusion of the rest ; on the
contrary, it is often found where, at first view, it would have been
least expected. When the human condition appears most depressed,
the feelings of men, through the gracious appointment of Pro
vidence, adjust themselves wonderfully to their state, and enable
them to extract satisfaction from sources that are totally unknown
to others. Were the great body of men fairly to compute the
hours which they pass in ease, and even with some degree of
pleasure, they would be found far to exceed the number of those
which are spent in absolute pain either of body or mind. But in
order to make a still more accurate estimation of the degree of sa
tisfaction which, in the midst of earthly vanity, man is permitted
to enjoy, the three following observations claim our attention :
The first is, that many of the evils which occasion our com-

Sera. XXII.] OF HUMAN LIFE. 231
plaints of the world are wholly imaginary. They derive thei^ ex
istence from fancy and humour, and childish subjection to the
opinion of others. The distress which they produce, I admit, is
real ; but its reality arises not from the nature of things, but from
that disorder of imagination which a small measure of reflection
might rectify. In proof of this, we may observe that the persons
who live most simply, and follow the dictates of plain unadulterat
ed nature, are most exempted from this class of evils. It is among
the higher ranks of mankind that they chiefly abound ; where fan
tastic refinements, sickly delicacy, and eager emulation, open a
thousand sources of vexation peculiar to themselves. Life cannot
but prove vain.to them who affect a disrelish of every pleasure that
is not both exquisite and new ; who measure enjoyment, not by
their own feelings, but by the standard of fashion; who think
themselves miserable if others do not admire their state. It is
not from wants or sorrows that their complaints arise ; but, though
it .may appear a paradox, from too much freedom from sorrow and
want ; from the languor of vacant life, and the irritation occasion
ed by those stagnating humours which ease and indulgence have
bred within them. In their case, therefore, it is not the vanity of
the world, but the vanity of their minds, which is to be accused.
Fancy has raised up the spectres which haunt them. Fancy has
formed the cloud which hangs over their life. Did they allow the
light of reason to break forth, the spectres would vanish, and the
cloud be dispelled.
The second obseivation on this head is, that, of those evils
which may be called real, because they owe not their existence to
fancy, nor can be removed by rectifying opinion, a great propor
tion is brought upon us by our own misconduct. Diseases, pover
ty, disappointment, and shame, are far from being, in every in
stance, the unavoidable doom of men. They are much more fre
quently the offspring of their own misguided choice. Intempe
rance engenders disease, sloth produces poverty, pride creates dis
appointments, and dishonesty exposes to shame. The ungoverned
passions of men betray them into a thousand follies ; their follies
into crimes; and their crimes into misfortunes. Yet nothing is
more common than for such as have been the authors of their own
misery, to make loud complaints of the hard fate of man, and to
take revenge upon the human condition by arraigning its supposed
vanity The foolishness of man first perverteth his way, and then
his heart fretteth against the Lord.
I do not, however, maintain that it is within our power to be
altogether free of those self-procured evils. For perfection of any
kind is beyond the reach of man. Where is the wisdom that never
errs? where the just man that offendeth not? Nevertheless, much

232 ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE. [Sera. XXII.
is here left to ourselves ; and, imperfect as we are, the conse
quences of right or of wrong conduct make a wide difference in
the happiness of men. Experience every oay shows, that a sound,
a well-governed, and virtuous mind, contributes greatly to smooth
the path of life ; and that wisdom excelleth folly as far as light ex-
celleth darkness. The way of the wicked is as darkness ; they know
not at what they stumble. But the righteousness of the perfect shall
direct his ways ; and he that walketh uprightly walketh surely. The
tendency of the one is towards a plain and safe region. The
course of the other leads him amidst snares and precipices. The
one occasionally may, the other unavoidably must, incur much
trouble. Let us not then confound, under one general charge,
those evils of the world which belong to the lot of humanity, and
those which, through divine assistance, a wise and good man may,
in a great measure, escape.
The third observation which I make, respects those evils which
are both real and unavoidable; from which neither wisdom nor
goodness can procure our exemption. Under these this comfort
remains, that if they cannot be prevented, there are means, how
ever, by which they may be much alleviated. Religion is the
great principle which acts under such circumstances, as the cor
rective of human vanity. It inspires fortitude, supports patience,
and by its prospects and promises, darts a cheering ray into the
darkest shade of human life. If it cannot secure the virtuous
from disappointment in their pursuits, it forms them to such a
temper as renders their disappointments more light and easy than
those of other men. If it does not banish dissatisfaction from their
worldly pleasures, it confers spiritual pleasures in their stead. If it
ensures them not the possession of what they love, it furnishes
comfort under the loss. As far as it establishes a contented frame
of mind, it supplies the want of all that worldly men covet to pos
sess. Compare the behaviour of the sensual and corrupted with
that of the upright and holy, when both are feeling the effects of
human vanity, and the difference of their situation will be mani
fest. Among the former you arc likely to find a querulous and
dejected, among the latter, a composed and manly spirit. The la
mentations of the one excite a mixture of pity and contempt;
while the dignity which the other maintains in distress, commands
respect. The sufferings of the former settle into a peevish and
fretful disposition ; those of the latter soften the temper, and im
prove the heart. These consequences extend so far as to give
ground for asserting, that a good man enjoys more happiness in
the course of a seemingly unprosperous life, than a bad man does
in the midst of affluence and luxury. What a conspicuous proof of
this is afforded by the Apostle Paul, who, from the very depth of

Sera. XXII.] OF HUMAN LIFE. 233
affliction, could send forth such a triumphant voice as proclaims
the complete victory which he had gained over the evils of life !
Troubled on every side, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair ;
persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed. For,
though our outward man perish, our inward man is renewed, day by
day. [2 Corinth, iv. 8, 9, 16.] Such, though perhaps in an in
ferior degree, will be the influence of a genuine religious principle
upon all true Christians. It begins to perform that office to them
here, which hereafter it will more completely discharge, of wiping
away the tears from their eyes.
Such, upon the whole, is the estimate which we are to form of
human life. Much vanity will always belong to it ; though the
degree of its vanity will depend, in a great measure, on our own
character and conduct. To the vicious, it presents nothing but a
continued scene of disappointment and dissatisfaction. To the
good, it is a mixed state of things ; where many real comforts may
be enjoyed ; where many resources under trouble may be obtained ;
but where trouble, in one form or other is to be expected as the lot
of man. From this view of human life,
The first practical conclusion which we are to draw is, that it
highly concerns us not to be unreasonable in our expectations of
worldly felicity. Let us always remember where we are; from
what causes the human state has become subject to depression ;
and upon what account it must remain under its present law.
Such is the infatuation of self-love, that though in the general
doctrine of the vanity of the world all men agree, yet almost every
one flatters himself that his own case is to be an exception from
the common rule. He rests on expectations which he thinks can
not foil him ; and though the present be not altogether according
to his wish, yet with the confidence of certain hope he anticipates
futurity. Hence the anguish of disappointment fills the world ;
and evils, which are of themselves sufficiently severe, oppress with
double force the unprepared and unsuspecting mind. Nothing
therefore is of greater consequence to our peace, than to have
always before our eyes such views of the world as shall prevent
our expecting more from it than it is destined to afford. We de
stroy our joys by devouring them before-hand with too eager ex
pectation. We ruin the happiness of life when we attempt to raise
it too high. A tolerable and comfortable state is all that we can
propose to ourselves on earth. Peace and contentment, not bliss
nor transport, is the full portion of man. Perfect joy is reserved for
heaven. But while we repress too sanguine hopes formed upon human
life, let us, in the second place, guard against the other extreme,
of repining and discontent. Enough has been already said to

234 ON THE PROPER ESTIMATE [Sera. XXII.
show, that, notwithstanding the vanity of the world, a considerable
degree of comfort is attainable in the present state. Let the re
collection of this serve to reconcile us to our condition, and to
check the arrogance of complaints and murmurs. — What art thou
O son of man ! who, having sprung but yesterday out of the dust,
darest to lift up thy voice against thy Maker, and to arraign hi?
Providence, because all things are not ordered according to thy
wish ? What title hast thou to find fault with the order of the
universe, whose lot is so much beyond what thy virtue or merit
gave thee ground to claim ? Is it nothing to thee, to have been
introduced into this magnificent world ; to have been admitted as
a spectator of the divine wisdom and works ; and to have had ac
cess to all the comforts which Nature, with- a bountiful hand, has
poured forth around thee ? Are all the hours forgotten which thou
hast passed in ease, in complacency, or joy? Is it a small favour
in thy eyes, that the hand of divine mercy has been stretched forth
to aid thee, and, if thou reject not its proffered assistance, is ready
to conduct thee into a happier state of existence ? When thou
comparest thy condition with thy desert, blush, and be ashamed
of thy complaints. Be silent, be grateful, and adore. Receive
with thankfulness the blessings which are allowed thee. Revere
that government which at present refuses thee more. Rest in this
conclusion, that though there be evils in the world, its Creator is
wise and good, and has been bountiful to thee.
In the third place, the view which we have taken of human life
should naturally direct us to such pursuits as may have most influ
ence for correcting its vanity. There are two great lines of con
duct which offer themselves to our choice. The one leads towards
the goods of the mind ; the other towards those of fortune. The
former, which is adopted only by the few, engages us chiefly in
forming our principles, regulating our dispositions, improving all
our inward powers. The latter, which in every age has been fol
lowed by the multitude, points at no other end but attaining the
conveniences and pleasures of external life. It is obvious, that, in
this last pursuit, the vanity of the world will encounter us at every
step. For this is the region in which it reigns, and where it chiefly
displays its power. At the same time, to lay the world totally out
of view, is a vain attempt. The numberless ties by which we are
connected with external things, put it out of our power to behold
them with indifference. But though we cannot wrap ourselves up
entirely in the care of the mind, yet the more we make its welfare
our chief object, the nearer shall we approach to that happy inde
pendence on the world, which places us beyond the reach of suffer
ing from its vanity.
That discipline, therefore, which corrects the eagerness of worldly

Serm. XXII ] OF HUMAN LIFE. 235
passions, which fortifies the heart with virtuous principles, which
enlightens the mind with useful knowledge, and furnishes to it
matter of enjoyment from within itself, is of more consequence to
real felicity, than all the provision which we can make of the goods
of fortune. To this let us bend our chief attention. Let us keep
the heart with all diligence, seeing out of it are the issues of life.
Let us account our minds the most important province which is
committed to our care ; and, if we cannot rule fortune, study at least
to rule ourselves. Let us propose for our object, not worldly success
which it depends not on us to obtain ; but that upright and hono
rable discharge of our duty, in every conjuncture, which, through
the divine assistance, is always within our power. Let our happi
ness be sought where our proper praise is found ; and that be ac
counted our only real evil, which is the evil of our nature ; not that
which is either the appointment of Providence, or which arises from
the evil of others.
But, in order to carry on with success this rational and manly
plan of conduct, it is necessary, in the last place, that to moral we
ioin religious discipline. Under the present imperfection of our
minds, and amidst the frequent shocks which we receive from hu
man evils, much do we stand in need of eveiy assistance for sup
porting our constancy. Of all assistance to which we can have re
course, none is so powerful as what may he derived from the
principles of the Christian faith. He who builds on any other
foundation, will find in the day of trial, that he had built his house
on the sand. Man is formed by his nature to look up to a supe
rior Being, and to lean upon a strength that is greater than his
own. All the considerations which he can offer for confirming- his
mind, presuppose this resource, and derive from it their principal
efficacy. Never, then, let us lose sig^t of those great objects which reli
gion brings under our view, if we hope to stand firm and erect
amidst the dangers and distresses of our present state. Let us
cultivate all that connexion with the great Father of Spirits which
our condition admits ; by piety and prayer ; by dependence on his
aid, and trust in his promises ; by a devout sense of his presence,
and a continual endeavour to acquire his grace and favour. Let
us, with humble faith and reverence, commit ourselves to the
blessed Redeemer of the world; encouraged by the discoveries
which he has made to us of the divine mercy, and by the hopes
which he has afforded us of being raised to a nobler and happier
station in the kingdom of God. So shall virtue, grounded upon
piety, attain its full strength. Inspired with a religious spirit,
and guided by rational principles, we shall be enabled to hold a
steady course through this mixed region of pleasure and pain, of

236 ON DEATH. [Sera. XXIII.
hope and fear ; until the period arrive when that cloud which the
present vanity of- the world throws over human affairs, shall entirely
disappear, and eternal light be diffused over all the works and ways
of God.

SERMON XXIII.
ON DEATH.

Psalm xxiii. 4. — Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art iviih me; thy
rod and thy staff they comfort me.
This Psalm exhibits the pleasing picture of a pious man re
joicing in the goodness of Heaven. He looks around him on his
state, and his heart overflows with gratitude. When he reviews
the past part of his life, he contemplates God as his shepherd who
hath made him lie down in green pastures, and led him beside the
still waters. When he considers the present, he beholds his divine
Benefactor preparing a table for him in the presence of his enemies,
and making his cup run over. When he looks forward to the future,
he confides in the same goodness, as continuing to follow him all
the days of his life, and bringing him to dwell in the house of the
Lord for ever. Amidst these images of tranquillity and happiness,
one object presents itself, which is sufficient to overcast the minds
and to damp the joy of the greatest part of men ; that is, the ap
proach of death. But on the Psalmist it produced no such effect.
With perfect composure and serenity, he looks forward to the time
when he is to pass through the valley of the shadow of death. The
prospect, instead of dejecting him, appears to heighten his triumph,
by that security which the presence of his Almighty Guardian af
forded him. I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; and pursuing
the allusion with which he bad begun, exults in the hope that the
shepherd who had hitherto conducted him, would support him with
his staff, while he passed through that dark and perilous region,
and with his rod, or pastoral crgok, would guard him from every
danger. Such is the happy distinction which good men enjoy, in a situa
tion the most formidable to human nature. That threatening
spectre which appals others, carries no terror to them. While
worldly men are justly said through fear of death to be all their
life-time subject to bondage, to the righteous only it belongs to look
on death and smile. Since then it is in the power of religion to
confer upon us so high a privilege, let us adventure to contem
plate steadily this last foe whom we must all encounter. Let us
consider what death is in itself, and by what means good men are

Sera. XXIII.] ON DEATH. 237
enabled to meet it with fortitude. Though the subject may be
reckoned gloomy, it must be admitted to be interesting. The
close of life is a solemn and important event, to which every wise
man will have regard in the general tenour of his conduct. No
one can act his part with propriety, who considers not how it is
to terminate ; and to exclude from our thoughts what we cannot
prevent from actually taking place, is the refuge of none but the
timorous and weak. We are more encouraged to enter on this
meditation, by reflecting on the superior advantages which, as
Christians, we enjoy for overcoming the fear of death, beyond that
holy man whose sentiment is now before us. Those great objects,
which he beheld through the medium of types and figures, are
clearly revealed to us. That dispensation of grace, which in his
days began to open, is now completed. That life and immortality,
which then only dawned on the world, have now shone forth with
full light and splendour.
Death may be considered in three views : as the separation of
the soul from the body ; as the conclusion of the present life ; as
the entrance into a new state of existence. In the first view, it is
regarded as painful and agonizing. In the second, it is melan
choly and dejecting. In the third, it is awful and alarming. One
of the first inquiries which occurs concerning it is, for what pur
poses it was clothed with all these terrors ? Why, under the
government of a gracious Being, the termination of life was loaded
with so much sorrow and distress ? We know that, in conse
quence of the fall, death was inflicted as a punishment upon the
human race. But no unnecessary severities are ever exercised by
God, and the wisdom and goodness of the divine plan will be much
illustrated, by observing, that all the formidable circumstances
which attend death, are, in the present situation of mankind, abso
lutely requisite to the proper government of the world. The ter
rors of death are, in fact, the great guardians of life. They excite
in every individual that desire of self-preservation, which is Na
ture's first law. They reconcile him to bear the distresses of life
with patience. They prompt him to undergo its useful and ne
cessary labours with alacrity ; and they restrain him from many of
those evil courses by which his safety would be endangered. While
they are in so many respects beneficial to the individual, they are,
at the same time, the safeguard of society. If death were not
dreaded and abhorred as it is by men, no public order could be
preserved in the world. The sword of authority were lifted up in
vain. The sanctions of law would lose their effect. The scaffold
and the executioner would be derided ; and the violent left to
trample unrestrained on the rights of the peaceful. If, notwith
standing the restraints which self-preservation imposes, society is

238 ON DEATH. TSera. XXIII.
so often disturbed by the crimes of the wicked, what a scene of
confusion would it become, if capital punishments, which are the last
resource of government, were of no influence to deter offenders !
For such important ends, the conclusion of life has, by the ap
pointment of Providence, been made an awful object. The valley
of death has been planted with terrors to the apprehension of men.
Here, as in many other instances, what seemed at first to arraign
the goodness of the Deity, is, upon inquiry, found to confirm it.
But though, for the most salutary purposes, it was requisite that
the fear of death should be a powerful principle in human nature,
yet, like our other propensities, it is apt, when left to itself, to run
into excess. Over many, it usurps such an ascendant, as to debase
their character, and to defeat the chief ends of living. To preserve
it within such bounds that it shall not interrupt us in performing
the proper offices and duties of life, is the distinction of the brave
man above the coward ; and to surmount it in such a degree, that
it shall not, even in near prospect deject our spirit, or trouble our
peace, is the great preference which virtue enjoys above guilt. It
has been the study of the wise and reflecting, in every age, to attain
this steadiness of mind. Philosophy pursued it as its chief object ;
and professed that the great end of its discipline was, to enable its
votaries to conquer the fear of death. Let us, then, before we have
recourse to the more powerful aid of Religion, hearken for a little
to what Reason has suggested on this subject. Her assistance
may, perhaps, be not entirely despicable ; and though the armour
which she offers be not completely of proof, it may serve, however,
to turn aside, or to blunt, some of the shafts which are aimed
against us by the last foe.
After this manner she may be supposed to address mankind, in
order to reconcile them to their fate.  Children of men ! it is
well known to you, that you are a mortal race. Death is the law
of your nature, the tribute of your being, the debt which all are
bound to pay. On these terms you received life, that you should
be ready to give it up when Providence calls you to make room
for others, who, in like manner, when their time is come, shall
follow you. He who is unwilling to submit to death when heaven
decrees it, deserves not to have lived. You might as reasonably
complain that you did not live before the time appointed for your
coming into the world, as lament that you are not to live longer,
when the period of your quitting it is arrived. What Divine Pro
vidence hath made necessary, human prudence ought to comply
with cheerfully. Submit, at any rate, you must; and is it not
much better to follow, of your own accord, than to be dragged
reluctantly, and by force ? What privilege have you to plead, or
what reason to urge, why you should possess an exemption from

Sera. XXIII.] ON DEATH. 239
the common doom ? All things around you are mortal and perish
ing. Cities, states, and empires, have their period set. The
proudest monuments of human art moulder into dust. Even the
works of nature wax old and decay. In the midst of this universal
tendency to change, could you expect that to your frame alone a
permanent duration should be given ? All who have gone before
you have submitted to the stroke of death. All who are to come
after you, shall undergo the same fate. The great and the good,
the prince and the peasant, the renowned and the obscure, travel
alike the road which leads to the grave. At the moment when
you expire, thousands throughout the world shall, together with
you, be yielding up their breath. Can that be held a great cala
mity, which is common to you with eveiy thing that lives on earth ;
which is an event as much according to the course of nature as it
is that leaves should fall in autumn, or that fruit should drop from
the tree when it is fully ripe ?
The pain of death cannot be very long, and is probably less
severe than what you have at other times experienced. The pomp
of death is more terrifying than death itself. It is to the weakness
of imagination that it owes its chief power of dejecting your spirits ;
for, when the force of the mind is roused, there is almost no passion
in our nature but what has showed itself able to overcome the fear
of death. Honour has defied death ; love has despised it ; shame
has rushed upoa it ; revenge has disregarded it ; grief a thousand
times has wished for its approach. Is it not strange that reason
and virtue cannot give you strength to surmount that fear, which,
even in feeble minds, so many passions have conquered ? What
inconsistency is there in complaining so much of the evils of life,
and being at the same time so afraid of what is to terminate them
all ! Who can tell whether his future life might not teem with
disasters and miseries, as yet unknown, were it to be prolonged
according to his wish ! At any rate, is it desirable to draw life
out to the last dregs, and to wait till old age pour upon you its
whole store of diseases and sorrows ? You lament that you are
to die ; but, did you view your situation properly, you would have
much greater cause to lament, if you were chained to this life for
two or three hundred years, without possibility of release. Ex-
"pect, therefore, calmly, that which is natural in itself, and which
must be fit, because it is the appointment of Heaven. Perform
your duty as a good subject of the Deity, during the time allotted
you, and rejoice that a period is fixed for your dismission from
the present warfare, Remember, that a slavish dread of death
destroys all the comfort of that life which you seek to preserve.
Better to undergo the stroke of death at once, than to live in per
petual misery from the fear of dying.

'240 ON DEATH. [Ser. XXIII.
Such discourses as tnese, are specious at least, and plausible.
The arguments are not without strength, and ought to produce som e
effect on a considerate reflecting mind. But it is to be suspected
that their effect will be chiefly felt when the mind is calm and at
ease ; rather when speculating upon death at a distance than when
beholding it at hand. When the critical moment arrives, which
places the anxious trembling soul on the borders of an unknown
world, reasonings drawn from necessity and propriety, will be of
small avail to quiet its alarms. In order to afford relief you must
give it hope ; you must promise it protection ; you must offer some
what on which it can lay hold for support amidst the struggles of
labouring nature. Hence, the great importance of those-discoveries
which revelation has made, and of those principles with which it
fortifies the heart. To the consideration of these, let us next pro
ceed, and observe their superior efficacy for surmounting the fear
of Death. In order to judge of their importance, it will be proper
to take a view of death in each of those lights in-which it appears
most formidable to mankind.
It may be considered, first, as the termination of our present
existence ; the final period of all its joys and hopes. The conclud
ing scene of any course of action in which we have been engaged
with pleasure, even the last sight of objects which we have been
long accustomed to behold, seldom fails of striking the mind with
painful regret. How many circumstances will concur to heighten
that regret, when the time comes of our bidding an eternal adieu
to the light of day ; to every pursuit which had occupied our atten
tion as citizens of the world ; and to every friend and relation who
had attached our hearts ! How dejecting is the thought to the
greater part of men, that the sun shall rise, and the seasons shall
return to others, but no more to them ; and that, while their neigh
bours are engaged in the usual affairs' of life, they shall be shut up
in a dark, lonesome mansion, forgotten and cut off from amonc
men, as though they never had been ! I said, in the cutting off my
days, I shall go to the gates of the grave. I am deprived of the
residue of my years. I shall not see the Lord again in the land of
the living. I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the
world. [Isaiah xxxviii. 10, 11.]
Let us now observe, that the dejection in which we are apt to
sink at such a juncture, will bear proportion to the degree of our
attachment to the objects which we leave, and to the importance
of those resources which remain with us when they are gone. He
who is taking farewell of a country, through which he had travelled
with satisfaction, and he, who is driven from his" native land, with
which he had connected every idea of settlement and comfort,
will have very different feelings at the time of departure. Such is.

Sera. XXIII.] ON DEATH. 241
the difference which, at the rbour of death, takes place between
the righteous and the ungodly. The latter knows nothing higher
or better than the present state of existence. His interests, his
pleasures, his expectations, all centered here. He lived solely
for the enjoyments of this world. Dreadful, therefore, and in
supportable must be that event which separates him from these
for ever. Whereas, the culture of religion had previously formed
the mind of a Christian for a calm and easy transition from this
life. It had instructed him in the proper estimate of sublunary
happiness. It had set higher prospects before him. It had
formed him to a more refined taste of enjoyment, than what the
common round of worldly amusements could gratify. It gave him
connexions and alliances with spiritual objects, which are un
known to the men of the world. Hence, though he be attached
to life by the natural feelings of humanity, he is raised above the
weak and unmanly regret, of parting with it. He knew that it was
intended as preparatory only to a' succeeding state. As soon as
the season of preparation should be finished, he expected a remo
val ; and when Providence gives the signal, he bids adieu to the
world with composed resolution and undisturbed heart. What
though death interrupt him in the middle of his designs, and break
off the plans which he had formed, of being useful to his family and
the world ? All these he leaves with tranquillity in the hands of
that Providence to which he has ever been accustomed to look up
with resignation ; which governed the world wisely and graciously
before he existed ; and which he knows will continue to govern it
with equal wisdom and benignity when he shall be in it no more.
The time of his departure was not left to his own choice ; but he
believes it to be the most proper, because it is the time chosen by
Him who cannot err. Honourable age is not that which standeth in
length of time, nor that which is measured by number of years. But
wisdom is the grey hair to man ; and an unspotted life is old age.
[Wisdom of Solomon iv. 8, 9.] When he beholds his friends and
relations mourning around him, his heart- may melt, but will not be
overpowered ; for he is relieved by the thought that he is bidding
them only a temporary not an eternal farewell. He commends
them in the mean time, to the blessing of that God, whom he has
served ; and while he is parting from them, he hears a voice which
soothes his spirit with those comforting words, Leave thy fatherless
children ; I will preserve them alive ; and let thy widows trust in me,
[Jerem. xlix. 11.]
But death is more than the conclusion of human life. It is the
o-ate, which, at the same time that it closes on this world, opens
into eternity. Under this' view, it has often been the subject o(
terror to the serious and reflecting. The transition they were

242 ON DEATH. [Sera. XXIII
about to make was awful. Before them lay a vast undiscovered
region, from whose bourn no traveller ever returned to bring in
formation of the reception which he found, or the objects which
he met with there. The first conception which suggests itself is,
that the disembodied spirit is to appear before its Creator, who is
then to act as its Judge. The strict inquisition which it must un
dergo, the impartial doom which it must hear pronounced, and
the unalterable state to which it shall be assigned, are awful forms
rising before the imagination. They are ideas which conscience
forces upon all. Mankind can neither avoid considering them
selves as accountable creatures, nor avoid viewing death as the
season when their account is to be given. Such a sentiment is
with most men the source of dread ; with all men, of anxiety. To
a certain degree a good conscience will convey comfort. The
reflection on a well-spent life makes a wide difference between the
last moments of the righteous and the sinner. But whose con
science is so clear as to strike him with no remorse? Whose
righteousness is so unblemished as to abide the scrutiny of the
great searcher of hearts ? Who dares rest his everlasting fate
upon his perfect conformity to the rule of duty throughout the
whole of his life ?
We must not judge of the sentiments of men at the approach of
death, by their ordinary train of thought in the days of health and
ease. Their views of moral conduct are then, too generally,
superficial ; slight excuses satisfy their minds, and the avocations of
life prevent their attention from dwelling long on disagreeable
subjects. But when altogether withdrawn from the affairs of the
world, they are left to their own reflections on past conduct, with
their spirits enfeebled by disease, and their minds impressed with
the terrors of an invisible region ; the most resolute are apt to
despond, and even the virtuous are in danger of sinking under the
remembrance of their errors and frailties. The trembling mind
casts every where around an anxious exploring eye after any power
that can uphold, any mercy that will shield and save it. And
accordingly we see how eagerly every device has been embraced,
which superstition could invent, in various countries, for quieting
the alarms of the departing spirit.
Here appears the great importance of those discoveries which
Christianity has made concerning the government of the universe.
It displays the ensigns of grace and clemency. It reveals the
Almighty, not as a creator only and a judge, but as a compassionate
parent, who knows our frame, who remembers we are dust, who
pities us as a father pitieth his children; and with whom there is for
giveness, that he may be loved as well as feared. These general
views, however, of the, divine administration, would not have been

Sera XXIII.] ON DEATH. 243
sufficient to give full relief, "if they had not been confirmed by cer
tain decisive facts to which the mind can appeal amidst all its
doubts and fears. Two such facts the Gospel holds forth to us,
particularly adapted to the situation of human nature in its greatest
extremity ; the atonement, and the intercession of Christ. There
is no sentiment more natural to man than this, that guilt must be
expiated by suffering. All government is founded on the principle,
that public justice requires compensation for crimes ; and all
religions proceed upon the belief, that, in order to the pardon of
the sinner, atonement must be made to the justice of heaven.
Hence the endless variety of sacrifices, victims, and expiations,
which have filled the earth. The great sacrifice which our
Redeemer offered for guilt, coincides with these natural sentiments
of mankind in giving ease to the heart. It shows us the forfeit of
guilt paid by a divine personage in our behalf; and allows us to
look up to the Governor of the world, as merciful to the guilty in
consistency with justice and, order. But still some anxiety might
remain concerning the extension of that mercy to our own case in
particular. An invisible sovereign is an awful idea ; almighty
unknown power is always formidable, and would be ready to
overwhelm the spirit of the feeble, were not an intercessor with
that sovereign revealed. This intercessor is one who lived and
acted in our own nature ; who not only knows, but who experienced
our frailty ; who has all the feelings of a brother for human
infirmity and distress ; who himself passed through that valley of
the shadow of death which is now opening on us ; to whose powerful
mediation with his Father, we have every encouragement to com
mit the charge of our departing spirit. — Such is the -provision
which Christianity has made for comforting the last hours of man.
The atonement, and the intercession of Christ, are the refuge of
the penitent sinner, and the consolation of the saint. By their
means, the throne of the universe is encircled with mercy. The
cloud which hung over the invisible world begins to be dispersed ;
and hope brightens through the gloom.
But what completes the triumph of good men over death, is
the prospect of eternal felicity. This was the great object after •
which all nations have sighed, as the only complete remedy both
of the miseries of life and the fears of death. On this, the learned
and the ignorant, the civilized and the savage tribes of mankind,
bent their longing eyes ; eagerly grasping at every argument, and
fondly indulging every hope, that could promise them a propitious
Deity, and a prolongation of existence in a happier state. But
beyond wishes and feeble expectations, the light of nature could
hardly, reach. Even the most cultivated, philosophical mind was,
at the hour of dissolution, left in painful suspense. Christianity
e2 •

244 ON DEATH. [Serm. XXIII.
has put an end to all hesitation and doubt on this important sub
ject. It has drawn aside the veil through which reason essayed
to penetrate ; and has displayed to full view the future dwellings
of the spirits of the just, the mansions of everlas'ting rest, the city
of the living God. Not only has it informed us that a state of
perfect felicity is prepared for the righteous, but it has added to
this information a variety of circumstances which render that state
sensible to our imagination, and encouraging to our hopes. It
represents it as fully secured by the gracious undertaking of the
Saviour of the world. It describes it as an inheritance, to which he
has given his followers a right and title. He is said to have taken
possession of it in their name. He rose from the grave as the first
fruits of them that sleep; and, under the character of their_/bre-rwn-
ner, entered into the heavenly regions. I am the resurrection and
the life. He that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shall he
live. I give unto my sheep eternal life. I ascend to my Father and
your Father, to my God and your God. - [John xi. 25. — xx. 17.]
Hence, to those who have lived a virtuous life, and who died in
the faith of Christ, the whole aspect of death is changed. Death
is to them no longer the tyrant who approaches with his iron rod,
but the messenger who brings the tidings of life and liberty. The
prospects which open to them cheer their minds. Even in the
valley of death's shade, green pastures appear to rise. They
view themselves as going forth, not to lie silent and solitary in
the darkness of the grave, not to wander forsaken in the wide
deserts of the universe, not even to pass into a region where they
are altogether strangers and unknown ; but to enter on a land,
new indeed to sight, but by faith and hope frequented long be
fore ; where they shall continue to be under the charge of him who
hath hitherto been their guardian, be re-united to many of their
ancient and beloved friends, and admitted to join the innumerable
multitude, gathered out of all nations, and tongues, and people, who
stand before the throne of God. They leave behind the dregs of
their nature ; and exchange this confined and gloomy apartment
of the universe, for the glorious mansions of their Father's house.
Blessed, , surely, are the dying in this hope, and blessed the dead
, in this fruition, resting from their labours, and followed by their
' works. Good men are detained at present in the outer court of
the temple : Death admits them into the holy place. As yet, they
sojourn in the territories of pilgrimage and exile : Death brings
them home to the native land of Spirits. In this world they are
divided from one another, and mingled with the worthless and
vile ; Death unites in one assembly all the pure and the just. In
the sight of the universe they seemed to die, and their departure was
taken for utter destruction. But they are in peace. Their reward

Serm. XXIII.] ON DEATH. 245
also is with the Lord, and the care of them with the Most High.
[Wisdom of Solomon, iii. 2, 3.— v. 15.] 0 Death! where is now
thy sting ? O Grave 1 where 'is thy victory ? Where are the terrors
with which thou hast so long affrighted the nations ? Where are
thy dreary and desolate domains, the haunts of spectres and shades,
the abhorred dwellings of darkness- and corruption? At the touch
of the divine rod, thy visionary horrors have fled. The spell is bro
ken. The dawn of the celestial- morning has dispelled thy dismal
gloom ; and, instead of the habitations of dragons, appears the para
dise of God.
But supposing both the regret of quitting life, and the dread of
entering into a future state, to be overcome, there is still one cir
cumstance which renders death formidable to many ; that is, the
shock which nature is apprehending to sustain at the separation
of the soul from the body. Formidable, I admit, this may justly
render it to them whose languishing spirits have no inward fund
whence they can then draw relief. Firmness and strength o,f mind
are peculiarly requisite for the support of nature in its last extre
mity ; and that strength is supplied by religion. The testimony
of a good conscience, and the remembrance of a virtuous life, a
well-grounded trust in the divine acceptance, and a firm hope of
future felicity, are principles sufficient to give composure and for
titude to the heart, even in the midst of agony. In what a high
degree they can suspend or alleviate the feelings of pain, has been
fully demonstrated by the magnanimous behaviour of such as have
suffered death in the cause of conscience and religion. How often
has the world beheld them advancing to meet that supposed king of
terrors, not with calmness only, but with joy ; raised by divine pros
pects and hopes, into an entire neglect and contempt of bodily suf
fering. It is not. without reason that a peculiar assistance from Heaven
is looked for by good men at the hour of death. As they are
taught to believe, that in all the emergencies' of their life divine
goodness has watched over them, they have ground to conclude,
that at the last it will not forsake them ; but that, at the season :
when its aid is most needed, it shall be most liberally communica
ted. Accordingly, a persuasion so congruous to the benignity
and compassion of the Father of mercies, has been the comfort of
pious men in eveiy age. My flesh and my heart faileth ; but God
is the strength of my heart. In the valley of the shadow of death I
will fear no evil, for thou art with me. When the rod and staff of
this Shepherd of Israel are held forth to his expiring servants, de
clining nature needs no other support. The secret influence of his
reviving Spirit is sufficient for their consolation and strength, while
the painful struggle with mortality lasts ; till at length, when the

246 ON DEATH. [Sera. XXIII.
moment arrives that the silver cord must be loosed, and the golden
bowl be broken, their almighty protector carries off the immortal
spirit unhurt by the fall of its earthly tabernacle, and places it in
a better mansion. — How respectable and happy is such a conclusion
of human life, when one in this manner quits the stage of time,
honoured and supported with the presence of his Creator, and en
joying till the last moment of reflection, the pleasing thought that
he has not lived in vain ! I have fought a good fight ; I have finish
ed my course ; [ have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up
for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord the righteous Judge
shall give me at that day. [2 Tim. iv. 7, 8.]
After the view which we have taken of the advantages possess
ed by good men for overcoming the fears of death, the first senti
ment which should arise in our minds, is gratitude to Heaven for
the hopes which we enjoy by means of the Christian religion.
How depressed and calamitous was the human condition, as long
as the terror of death hung, like a dark cloud, over the inhabi
tants of the earth ; when, after all the toils of life, the melancholy
silence of the grave appeared finally to close the scene of exist
ence ; or, if a future state opened behind it, that state teemed
with all those forms of horror which conscious guilt could suggest
to a terrified imagination ! The happiest change which ever took
place in the circumstances of the human race, is that produced by
the discoveries with which we are blessed concerning the govern
ment of the universe, the redemption of the world, and the future
destination of man. How much dignity is thereby added to the
human character, and state ! What light and cheerfulness is intro- -
duced into our abode ! What eternal praise is due to Him, who
according to his abundant mercy, hath begotten us again into a lively
hope, by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheri-
ance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in
heaven !
The next effect which the subject we have considered should
produce, is an earnest desire to acquire those advantages which
good men enjoy at their death. The road which leads to them is
plain and obvious. A paaceful and happy death is, by the ap
pointment of Heaven, connected with a holy and virtuous life.
Let us renounce criminal pursuits and pleasures, let us fear God
and keep his commandments ; let us hold faith and a good con
science, if we hope "for comfort at our last hour. To prepare for
this last hour every wise man should consider as his most impor
tant concern. Death may justly be held the test of life. Let a
man have supported his character with esteem and applause, as
long as he has acted on the busy stage of the world, if at the end
he sinks into dejection and terror, all his former honour is ef-

Sera. XXIII.] ON DEATH. 247
faced ; he departs under the imputation of either a guilty cons
cience or a pusillanimous mind. In the other parts of human con
duct, disguise and subtlety may impose on the world ; but seldom
can artifice be supported in the hour of death. The mask most
commonly falls off, and the genuine character appears. When we
behold the scene of life closed with proper composure and dignity,
we naturally infer integrity and fortitude. We are led to believe
that divine assistance supports the soul, and we presage its transi
tion into a happier mansion. Mark the perfect man, and behold the
upright ; for the end of that man is peace. [Psalm xxxvii. 37.]
The last instruction, which our subject points out, respects the
manner in which a wise and good man ought to stand affected to
wards life and death. He ought not to be servilely attached to the
one. He has no reason abjectly to dread the other. Life is the
gift of God, which he may justly cherish and hold dear. Nay,
he is bound by all fair . means to guard and preserve it, that he
may continue to be useful in that post of duty where Providence
has placed him. , But there are higher principles to which the love
t)f life should remain subordinate. Wherever religion, virtue, or true
honour call him forth to danger, life ought to be hazarded without
fear. There is a generous contempt of death, which should dis
tinguish those who live and walk by the faith of immortality. This
is the source of courage in a Christian. His behaviour ought to
show the elevation of his soul above the present world ; ought to
discover the liberty which he possesses, of following the native sen
timents of his mind, without any of those restraints and fetters
which the fear of death imposes on vicious men.
At the same time, this rational contempt of death must carefully «
be distinguished from that inconsiderate and thoughtless indif
ference, with which some have affected to treat it. This is what
cannot be justified on any principle of reason. Human life is na
trifle, which men may play away at their pleasure. Death, in every
view, is an important event. It is the most solemn crisis of the
human existence. A good man has reason to meet it with a calm.
and firm mind. But no man is entitled to treat it with ostentatious
levity. It calls for manly seriousness of thought. It requires all
the recollection of which we are capable ; that with the proper dis
position of dependent beings, when the dust is about to return to
its dust, we may deliver up the spirit to him who gave it.

248 ON THE HAPPINESS [Serm. XXIV.
SERMON XXIV.
ON THE HAPPINESS OF A FUTURE STATE.
I'Preached at the celebration of the Sacrament of the Lo-d's Supper.]
Revelations vii. 9. — After this I beheld, and lo ! a great multitude,
which no man could number, of all nations and kindreds, and peo
ple, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb,
clothed with white robes, and palms in thei* hands.
In this mysterious book of Scripture, many revolutions were fore
told which were to take place in the church of God. They are
not indeed so foretold as to afford clear and precise information
concerning the time of their coming to pass. It would have
been, on many accounts, improper to have lifted up too far that
awful veil which covers futurity. The intention of the Spirit of
God was not to gratify the curiosity of the learned, by disclosing
to them the fate of monarchies and nations, but to satisfy the se
rious concerning the general plan and final issue of the Divine
Government. Amidst those distresses which befel Christians
during the first ages, the discoveries made in this book were pe
culiarly seasonable; as they showed that there was an Almighty
Guardian, who watched with particular attention over the inter
ests of the church which he had formed, who foresaw all the
commotions which were to happen among the kingdoms of the
earth, and would so overrule them as to promote in the end the
cause of truth. This is the chief scope of those mystic visions
with which the Apostle John was favoured ; of seals opened in
heaven ; of trumpets sounding ; and vials poured forth. The
kingdom of darkness was to maintain for awhile a violent, struggle
against the kingdom of light. But at the conclusion, a voice
was to be heard as the voice of many waters and of mighty Ihundr--
ings, saying, Allelujah, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.
The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord,
and of his Christ, for he shall reign for ever. Rev. xix. 6. — xi. 15.]
Such is the prospect with which the Divine Spirit at intervals en
lightens, and with which he finally terminates, the many dark
and direful scenes that are exhibited in this book. In closino
the canon of Scripture, he, with great propriety, leaves upon our
mind deep impressions of the triumphs of righteousness, and of the
blessedness of the redeemed. After this I beheld, and lo, a great
multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds,
and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb,
clothed with while robes, with palms in their hands.

Sera. XXIV.] OF A FUTURE STATE 249
These words present a beautiful description of the happiness of
saints in heaven, a subject on which it is, at all times, both
comfortable and improving to meditate. On this day in particu-
ar, when we are to commemorate the dying love of our Saviour,
we cannot be better employed than in contemplating what his love
hath purchased, in order both to awaken our gratitude, and to
confirm our attachment to him. The sacrament of the Supper is
the oath of our fidelity. Let us dispose ourselves for celebrating
it, by taking a view of the rewards which await the faithful. I
shall, for this end, in several observations from the words of the
text, taken in connexion with the context, endeavour to illustrate,
in some imperfect degree, the prospect which is here afforded us of
a state of future- felicity ; and then shall make a practical improve
ment on the subject.
I. — What the words of the text most obviously suggest is, that
heaven is to be considered as a state of blessed society. A multi
tude, a numerous assembly, are here represented as sharing to
gether the same, felicity and honour. Without society it is im
possible for man to be happy. Place him in a region where he
was surrounded with every pleasure; yet there, if he found him
self a solitary individual, he would pine and languish. They are
hot merely our wants, and our mutual dependence, but our native
instincts also, which impel us to associate together. The inter
course which we here maintain with our fellows, is a source of
our chief enjoyments. But alas ! how much are these allayed by
a variety of disagreeable circumstances that enter into all our con
nexions ! Sometimes we suffer from the distresses of those whom
we love; and sometimes from their vices or frailties. Where
friendship is cordial it is exposed to the wounds of painful sym
pathy, and to the anguish of violent separation. Where it is so
cool as not to occasion sympathetic pains, it is never productive of
much pleasure. The ordinary commerce of the world consists
in a circulation of frivolous intercourse, in which the heart has no
concern. It is generally insipid, and often soured by the slightest
difference in humour, or opposition of interest. We fly to com
pany, in order to be relieved from wearisome correspondence
with ourselves, and the vexations which we meet with in society
drive us back again into solitude. Even among the virtuous,
dissensions arise ; and disagreement in opinion too often produces
alienation of heart. We form few connexions where somewhat
does not occur to disappoint our hopes. The beginnings are often
pleasing. We flatter ourselves with having found those who will
never give us any disgust. But weaknesses are too soon disco
vered. Suspicion arises ; and love waxes cold. We are jealous

250 ON THE HAPPINESS [Sera. XXIV.
of one another, and accustomed to live in disguise. A studied
civility assumes the name, without the pleasure, of friendship,
and secret animosity and envy are often concealed under the ca
resses of dissembled affection.
Hence the pleasure of earthly society, like all our other plea
sures, is extremely imperfect ; and can give us a very faint con
ception of the joy that must arise from the society of perfect spi
rits in a happier world. Here, it is with difficulty that we can se
lect from the corrupted crowd a few with whom we wish to asso
ciate in strict union. There, are assembled all the wise, the holy,
and the just, who ever existed in the universe of God; without any
distress to trouble their mutual bliss, or any source of disagree
ment to interrupt their perpetual harmony. Artifice and conceal
ment are unknown there. There, no competitors struggle, no
factions contend, no rivals supplant each other. The voice of
discord never rises, the whisper of suspicion never circulates,
among those innocent' and benevolent spirits. Each, happy in
himself, participates in . the happiness of all the rest ; and, by re
ciprocal communications of love and friendship, at once receives
from, and adds to the sum of general felicity. Renew the memory
of the most affectionate friends with whom you were blest in any
period of your life. Divest them of all those infirmities which ad
here to the human character. Recall the most pleasing and tender
moments which you ever enjoyed in their society ; and the re
membrance of those sensations may assist you in conceiving that
felicity which is possessed by the saints above. The happiness of
brethren dwelling together in unity is, with great justice and beauty,
compared by the Psalmist to such things as are most refreshing to
the heart of man ; to the fragrancy of the richest odours, and to
the reviving influence of soft ethereal dews. It is like the precious
ointment poured on the head of Aaron ; and like the dew of Herman,
even the dew that descendeth on the mountains of Zion, where the Lord
commandeth the blessing, even life for evermore. [Psalm cxxxiii. 2.]
Besides the felicity which springs from perfect love, there are
two circumstances which particularly enhance the blessedness of
that multitude who stand before the throne ; these are, access to the
most exalted society, and renewal of the most tender connexions.
The former is pointed out in the Scripture by joining the innumer
able company of angels, and the general assembly and church of the
first-born; by sitting down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in
the kingdom of heaven; [Heb. xii. 22, 23. Matth. viii. 11.] a pro
mise which opens the sublimest prospects to the human mind. It
allows good men to entertain the hope, that, separated from all
the dregs of the human mass, from that mixed and polluted crowd

Ser. XXIV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 251
in the midst of which they now dwell, they shall be permitted to
mingle with prophets, patriarchs, and apostles, with legislators and
heroes, with all those great and illustrious spirits who have shone
in former ages as the servants of God, or the benefactors of men ;
whose deeds we are accustomed to celehrate ; whose steps we now
follow at a distance : and whose names we pronounce with venera
tion. United to this high assembly, the blessed at the same time re
new those ancient connexions with virtuous friends which had been \
dissolved by death. The prospect of this awakens in the heart
the most pleasing and tender sentiment which perhaps can fill it in
this mortal state. For, of all the sorrows which we are here
doomed to endure,' none is so bitter as that occasioned by the fatal
stroke which separates us, in appearance, for ever, from those to
whom either nature or friendship had intimately joined our hearts.
Memory, from time to time, renews the anguish ; opens the wound
which seemed once to have been closed ; and, by recalling joys that
are past and gone, touches every spring of painful sensibility.
In these agonizing moments how relieving the thought, that
the separation is only temporary, not eternal ! that there is a
time to come, of re-union with those with whom our happiest
days were spent ; whose joys and sorrows once were ours ; and
from whom, after we shall have landed on the peaceful shore, where
they dwell, no revolutions of nature shall ever be able to part us
more ! — Such is the society of the blessed above. Of such are the
multitude composed who stand before the throne. Let us now
observe. II. — That this is not only a blessed but a numerous society. It
is called a multitude, a great multitude, a great multitude which no
man could number. These expressions convey the most enlarged
views of the kingdom of glory. Dismay not yourselves with the
apprehension of heaven being a confined and almost inaccessible
region, into which it is barely possible for a small handfuk to gain
admission, after making their escape from the general wreck 01
the human race. In my Father's house, said oor Saviour, there are
many mansions. That city of the living God, towards which you
profess to bend your course, is prepared for the reception of citizens
innumerable. It already abounds with inhabitants ; and more
and more shall be added to it, until the end of time. Whatever
difficulties there are in the way which leads to it, they have been
often surmounted. The path, though narrow, is neither impassable
nor untrodden. Though the gate stands not so wide as that
which opens into hell, yet through the narrow gate multitudes have
entered, and been crowned.
It is much to be lamented, that, among all denominations of

252 ON THE HAPPINESS [Sera. XXIV.
Christians, the uncharitable spirit has prevailed, of unwarrantably
circumscribing the terms of divine grace within a narrow circle of
their own drawing. The one half of the Christian world has often
doomed the other, without mercy, to eternal perdition. Without the
pale of that church to which each sect belongs, they seem to hold
it impossible for salvation to be attained. But is this the genuine
spirit of the Gospel ? Can a Christian believe the effects of the
sufferings of Christ to be no greater than these ? For this did the
Son of God descend from the highest heavens, and pour out his
soul unto the death, that only a few, who adopt the same modes
of expression, and join in the same forms of worship with us, might
be brought to the kingdom of heaven. Is this all the deliverance he
has wrought upon the earth? He was with child; he was in pain;
and shall he not see of the travail of his soul, and be satisfied ?
Surely the Scripture has given us full grounds lo conclude, that the
trophies of our Redeemer's graceshall correspond to the greatness of
his power. The Captain of our salvation shall bring many sons with
himself to glory. The pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.
He shall see his seed; He shall justify many. Men shall be blessed
in him, and all nations shall call him blessed. For our farther en
couragement let us observe,
III. — That the heavenly society is represented in the text, as
gathered out of all the varieties of the human race. This is inti
mated by the remarkable expressions, of a multitude which no man
could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues ;
as if designed on purpose to correct our narrow notions of the ex
tent and power of divine grace. They whom distant seas and re
gions now divide, whose languages and manners are at present
strange to one another, shall then mingle in the same assembly.
No situation is so remote, and no station so unfavourable, as to pre
clude access to the heavenly felicity. A road is opened by the di
vine spirit to those blissful habitations, from all corners of the earth,
and from all conditions of human life ; from the peopled city, and
from the solitary desert ; from the cottages of the poor, and from
the palaces of kings ; from the dwellings of ignorance and simpli
city, and from the regions of science and improvement. They shall
come, says our blessed Lord himself, from the east, and from the
west, from the north and from the south, and sit down in the kingdom
of God. [Luke xiii. 29.]
Such discoveries serve both to enlarge our conceptions of the
extent of divine goodness, and to remove those fears which are
ready to arise from particular situations in life. Were you permit
ted to draw aside the veil, and to view that diversified assembly of
the blessed who surround the throne, you would behold among
them numbers who have overcome the same difficulties which en-

Sera. XXIV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 253
counter you, and which you dread as insuperable. You would
behold there the uninstructed, with whom an upright intention
supplied the place of knowledge ; the feeble, whom divine grace
had strengthened ; and the misled whom it had brought back into
the right path. You would behold the young who had surmounted
the allurements of youthful pleasure, and the old who had borne
the distress of age with undecayed constancy ; many whom want
could not tempt to dishonesty ; many whom riches did not seduce
into pride and impiety ; many who, in the most difficult and en
snaring circumstances, in the midst of camps and armies, and cor
rupted courts, had preserved unsullied integrity. In a word, from
all kindreds and tongues ; that is, from all ranks of life, and all tribes
of men, even from among publicans and sinners, you would behold
those whom divine assistance had conducted to future glory. —
And is not the same assistance, in its full extent, offered also to
us? Encompassed, while we run the Christian race, with this
cloud of witnesses who have finished their course with success ;
animated, while we fight the good fight, with the shouts of those
who have overcome and are crowned, shall despair enervate or
deject our minds ? From the happy multitude above, there issues
a voice which ought to sound perpetually in the ear of faith. Be
ye faithful unto the death ; and ye shall receive the crown of life :
be ye strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might : be followers
of us, who, through faith and patience, are now inheriting the
promises. Consider,
IV. — The description given in the Text, of the happiness and
glory of the heavenly society. They were beheld by the Apostle
standing before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white
robes, and palms in their hands. All that these palms and white
robes import, it is not given us now to understand. We know that
among all nations they have been^ used as ensigns of joy and vic
tory; and are undoubtedly employed here to represent that dis
tinguished felicity and honour to which human nature shall be then
advanced. But we must be endowed with the faculties of the
blessed, in order to comprehend their employments and pleasures ;
and therefore on this part of the subject I shall not attempt to
enlarge. The silence of humble and respectful hope better becomes
us, than the indulgence of those excursions of fancy, which degrade
the subject they endeavour to exalt.
One circumstance only cannot fail to attract particular atteu
tion : that the blessed are here described as standing before the
throne and before the Lamb ; that is, enjoying the immediate pre
sence of the great Creator, and of the merciful Redeemer of the
world. The unhappy distance at which we are now removed from
God, is the source of all our woes. Those territories which we in-

254 ON THE HAPPINESS [Sera. XXIV.
habit, are not His abode. They are regions of exile. They are
the dwellings of a fallen race; and are condemned to be invested
with clouds and darkness. Here God standeth afar off. In vain
we often pursue his presence through his works, his ways, and his
religious institutions. He is said to be a God that hideth himself.
He divelleth, as to us, in the secret place of thunder. He holdeth
back the face of his throne, and spreadeth a thick cloud upon it. The
manifestations of his presence shall be the signal for the renova
tion of all things. When that Sun of righteousness breaks forth
from the cloud which now conceals him, sorrow and sin, and every
evil thing, shall fly away before the brightness of his face. For
neither guilt nor misery can remain where God dwells. As the
rising of the sun transforms at once the face of nature, and con
verts the whole extent of space, over which his beams are spread,
into a region of light ; so shall the divine presence, as soon as it is
revealed, diffuse universal bliss over all who behold it. It imports
fulness of joy, and pleasure for evermore. The inspired writer of
this book thus describes its effects : There shall be no more death,
neither sorrow, nor crying, nor pain : for the former things are passed
away. He that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things
new. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more. But the
Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall
lead them unto living fountains of water. God shall wipe away all tears
from their eyes. But, descending from this too sublime theme, let us,
V. — Turn our attention to a circumstance in the state of future
happiness, more commensurate to our present conceptions, which
is suggested by the commentary upon the words of the Text given
in the sequel of the chapter. And one of the elders answered, saying
unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes ? And
whence came they ? And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And
he said unto me, These are they which come out. of great tribulation.
[Rev. vii. 13, 14.] This explanatory circumstance may relate par
ticularly to the case of those primitive sufferers who endured severe
persecution in the cause of the gospel. But, in general, it presents
this natural and beautiful view of the future felicity of good men,
that it is their rest from the troubles and toils of life. For, to all,
even to the happiest, human life is tribulation and conflict. No
man is thoroughly at ease in his condition. Pursuits succeeding
to pursuits, keep us in constant agitation ; while frequent returns
of disappointment break our plans and oppress our spirits. Fa
tigued by such a variety of toils, mankind have ever looked forward
to rest as their favourite object. Throughout all their ranks, from
the highest to the lowest, they are in perpetual chase of it ; and
it perpetually flies before them. It is an object which here they are
doomed always to seek, and never to enjoy.

Germ. XXIV.] OF A FUTURE STATE. 255
The nature and laws of our present state admit not the gratifi
cation of this favourite wish. For, besides the necessity of trouble,
in order to fulfil the purposes of discipline and improvement, our
very happiness, such as it is in the world, requires a circulation of
labours. Our enjoyment consists in pursuit, not in attainment.
Attainment is with us, for most part, the grave of pleasure. Had
we no object to excite fresh activity, and to impel us to new toils,
human life would quickly stagnate in melancholy indolence. At
the same time, the current of all our wishes tends to repose.
Imaginary forms float incessantly before our view, of the happiness
which is to be enjoyed in rest: and from this conflict between
our wishes on the one hand, and our actual situation on the other,
arise much of the disquiet, and much of the infelicity, of human
life. It is only in heaven that the tranquil repose, which on earth
is no more than a pleasing phantom, shall be fully realized. There,
remaineth at last a rest for the people of God; rest from the dis
turbance of passion, the vanity of pursuit, and the vexation of
disappointment; rest from all the sins and the sorrows of this
miserable world ; rest which shall not be merely an indolent ces
sation from labour, but a full and satisfying enjoyment. Good
men shall rest from their labours and their works shall follow them
They have come out of great tribulation. They have fulfilled, with
honour, their appointed course of trial. They have sat down in
the seat of the Conqueror ; '"and of past labours nothing remains
but the pleasing review, and the happy fruits. There is still to be
considered, VI. — One very material circumstance, descriptive both of the
character and of the happiness of those who enjoy the heavenly
bliss. Not only have they come out of great tribulation, but, as the
Spirit of God adds in explaining the Text, they have washed their
robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.. [Rev. vii. 14.]
Two things are here suggested ; the sanctity of the blessed, and
the means by which it is attained.
First, their sanctity or purity is emblematically described, by their
being clothed in robes which are washed and made white. In order
to qualify human nature for the enjoyment of such happiness as
I have endeavoured to describe, it must undergo a change so great
as to receive in Scripture the appellation of a new birth ; a change
to which all the institutions of religion, and all the operations of
grace, contribute in this life, but which is not completed till the
next. In this sanctity, or regeneration, consist not only the neces
sary preparations for future felicity, but, which is not so commonly
attended to, consists an essential part of that felicity itself. For
whence arises the misery of this present world ? It is not owing
to our cloudy atmosphere, our changing seasons, and inclement

256 ON THE HAPPINESS [Sera. XXIV.
skies. It is not owing to the debility of our bodies, or to the
unequal distribution of the goods of fortune. Amidst all disadvan
tages of this kind, a pure, a steadfast, and enlightened mind,
possessed of exalted virtue, could enjoy itself in peace, and smile
at the impotent assaults of fortune and the elements. It is within
ourselves that misery has fixed its seat. Our disordered hearts,
our guilty passions, our violent prejudices, and misplaced desires,
are the instruments of the torment which we endure. These
sharpen the darts which adversity would otherwise point in vain
against us. These are the vials of wrath which pour forth plagues
on the inhabitants of the earth, and make the dwellings of nations
become the abodes of woe. Thence, discontent and remorse gnaw
the hearts of individuals. Thence, society is torn by open violence,
or undermined by secret treachery ; and the man transformed into
a savage to man.
But suppose sin to be banished from the world ; suppose perfect
purity and charity to descend from Heaven, and to animate ' every
human breast; and you would behold the present habitation of
men changed into the paradise of God. The undisturbed enjoy
ment of a holy mind, and of. a blissful union with one another,
would scarcely allow us to feel those external evils of which we
now so loudly complain. All nature would assume a different
appearance around us. That golden age, which was so long the
subject of the philosopher's dream, and of the poet's song, would
in fact take place. According to the beautiful language of ancient
prophecy ; springs would then rise in the desert, and rivers be opened
in the thirsty land. The wilderness and the solitary place would be
glad. The wolf would dwell with the lamb, and the leopard lie down
¦with the kid. Judgement would dwell in the wilderness, and right
eousness remain in the fruitful field. The desert would rejoice, and
blossom as the rose.  If such, even in this world, would be the
effects of innocence and virtue completely restored, how much
greater must they be in that new earth and those new heavens,
where rectitude of nature shall be combined with every circum
stance of external felicity? It is the present imperfect state of
human virtue, that hinders us from conceiving fully the influence
of righteousness upon happiness. The robes in which the best
men are now clothed, 1„ use the language of the Text, are sullied
with so many stains, as to convey no adequate idea of the original
beauty which belongs to the garb of righteousness. But when
these stains shall be washed away, when these robes shall be made
perfectly white and pure, a lustre will flow from them, of which
we can, as yet, form no conception.
But how are the robes of the blessed thus washed ? Whence is
derived that spotless purity in which they are arrayed ? The Spirit

Serm. XXI V.J OF A FUTURE STATE. 257 ,
of <31od hath answered us, from the blood of the Lamb; leading
our thoughts to that high dispensation of mercy, to which the
saints above owe their establishment, first in grace, and then in
glory. From that blood which was shed for the remission of sins,
flow both the atonement of human guilt, and the regeneration of
human nature. Human nature had fallen too low to be capable of
retrieving itself. It could not regain its primitive innocence, and
still less was capable of raising itself so high in the scale of exist
ence, as to mingle with angels. We had neither sufficient know
ledge to discover, nor virtue to merit, nor ability to qualify our
selves for enjoying celestial glory. Heaven must have been either
covered from our view by perpetual darkness, or only beheld from
afar as an inaccessible region, if Christ had not interposed to open
for us a new and living way within the veil. The obligations which
ills generous undertaking has conferred upon the human race, will
tend highly to increase the felicity of the blessed. The sense of
being distinguished by so illustrious a benefactor, and the corre
sponding returns of gratitude and love to him, form some of the
most pleasing of those emotions which shall continue to delight
them through all eternity.
From those views of a state of future happiness which the Text
has suggested, various instructions, relating to life and practice,
naturally arise. We are taught to rectify our notions of felicity ;
to look for it, not in what is external, but in what relates to the mind
and heart ; in good dispositions and a purified soul ; in unity and
friendship with one another ; and in the divine presence and favour.
If such things form the principal articles of future bliss, they can
not but be essential to our happiness in the more early periods of
existence ; and he who seeks his chief enjoyment from an oppo
site quarter, errs widely from the path which conducts to felicity.
We are farther taught whence to derive constancy and perse
verance, amidst the present discouragements of a virtuous life. In
this world we often behold good men depressed, and the wicked
prospering around us. Our best deeds meet with unjust returns
from an ungrateful world. Sincerity is over-reached by craft, and
innocence falls a victim to power. But let us not on such occasions
say within ourselves, that in vain we have cleansed our hearts, ana
washed our hands in innocency. Let us rest on the assurance, that
these disorders extend not far in the kingdom of God. They af
fect only the first stage of existence. They relate to discipline and
trial, which will soon be finished. In that permanent state which
is about to open, a new and better order of things shall arise.
When dejected with the evils of life, let us look up to that happy
multitude who have come out of great tribulation, and now stand be
fore the throne , Until the day arrive which shall join us to that
s 1

258 ON THE HAPPINESS, &c. iSerm. Xaiv".
blessed assembly, let us show ourselves worthy of the hope that is
before us, by supporting, with a constant mind, the trials of our
fidelity. Be patient ; staSlish your hearts. The coming of the Lord
draweth nigh.
From the prospects which the Text has afforded, we may like
wise learn what the spirit is which should regulate our life. Sanc
tity of conduct, dignity of character, elevation of affections,
become those who expect to mingle with angels and spirits of just
men made perfect. I mean not that such prospects should carry
away our whole attention from the present world, where, undoubt
edly, lies the chief scene of human action, of human duty. But
while we act as inhabitants of the earth, we ought at the same
time so to remember our connexion with a better world, as not to
debase ourselves with what is mean, not to defile ourselves with
what is impure, not to entangle ourselves among what is ensnaring,
in the present state. Let neither its advantages elate, nor its dis
appointments deject us ; but with an equal spirit, with a mind full
of immortality, let us pass through all the changes of this mortal
fife. Finally, let the discoveries of future happiness inspire us with
suitable, gratitude to God and Christ; to the eternal Father, who
originally decreed such rewards for the righteous ; and to the Son,
who acts in the high character of the Dispenser of the divine mer
cies, and the great Restorer of the fallen race of men. Particu
larly when approaching to God in solemn acts of devotion, such
as we are this day to perform, let gratitude be alive and ardent
in our heart. The commemoration of our Saviour's death is in a
high degree suited to awaken every emotion of tenderness and
love. It brings before us, under one view, all the obligations
which we lie under to this great benefactor of mankind. When
just ready to suffer for our sake, he instituted this holy sacrament,
and said, Do this in remembrance of me. — Whom, O blessed Jesus !
shall we ever remember, if we are capable of forgetting Thee ?
Thee, to whom we owe the forgiveness of sin, and the restoration
of divine favour; our victory over death, and our hope of life
eternal ! Thou hast enlarged our views beyond these territories of
disorders and darkness. Thou hast discovered to us the city of the
living God. Thou settest open the gates of that new Jerusalem,
and leadest us into the path of life. Thou, from age to age, ga-
therest out of every nation, and kindred, and people, that multitude
which stand before the throne. Thou bringest them out of great tri
bulation. Thine are the white robes with which they are invested ;
thine, the palms which they bear ; and by Thee they are placed
under the light of the divine countenance for ever.

Serm. XXV.] ON CANDOUR. 259
SERMON XXV.
ON CANDOUR
1 Corinth, xiii. 5. — Charity— thinketh no evil.
Religion and government are the two great foundations of
order and comfort among mankind. Government restrains the
outrages and crimes which would be subversive of society, secures
the property, and defends the lives, of its subjects. But the de
fect of government is, that human laws can extend no farther than
to the actions of men. Though they protect us from external
violence, they leave us open on different sides to be wounded. By
the vices which prevail in society, our tranquillity may be disturbed,
and our lives in various ways embittered, while government can
give us no redress. Religion supplies the insufficiency of law, by
striking at the root of those disorders which occasion so much
misery in the world. Its professed scope is to regulate, not actions
alone, but the temper and inclinations. By this means it ascends
to the sources of conduct ; and very ineffectual would the wisest
system of legislation prove for the happiness of mankind, if it did
not derive aid from religion, in softening the dispositions of men.
and checking many of those evil passions to which the influence of
law cannot possibly reach.
We are led to this reflection by the description given, in the con
text, of charity, that great principle in the Christian system. The
A postle places it in a variety of lights, and under each of them
explains its operation by its internal effects ; not by the actions to
which it gives rise, but by the dispositions which it produces in
the heart. He justly supposes, that, if the temper be duly regu
lated, propriety of action will follow, and .good order take place
in external behaviour. Of those characters of charity, I have
chosen one for the subject of this Discourse, which leads to the
consideration of a virtue highly important to us, both as Christians
and as members of society. I shall endeavour, first, to explain
the temper here pointed out, by showing what this description of
charity imports, that it thinketh no evil ; and then to recommend
such a disposition, and to display the bad effects of an opposite
turn of mind.
I. — Let us consider what this description of charity imports.
You will easily perceive that the expression in the text is not o be
understood in a sense altogether unlimited ; as if there were no
occasion on which we are to think unfavourably of others. To
view all the actions of men with the same degree of complacency,
s2

260 ON CANDOUR. [Sera. XXV.
would be contrary both to common understanding, and to many
express precepts of religion. In a world, where so much depravity
abounds, were we to think and speak equally well of all, we must
either be insensible of the distinction between right and wrong, or
be indifferent to that distinction when we perceived it. Religion
renders it our duty to abhor that which is evil ; and on many occa
sions, to express our indignation openly against it. But the Apostle,
with great propriety, describes the temper* which he is recom
mending, in such strong and general terms, as might guard us
against that extreme, to which we are naturally most prone, of
rash and unjust suspicion. The virtue which he means to incul
cate, is that which is known by the name of candour ; a virtue
which, as soon as it is mentioned, every one will acknowledge to
be essential to the character of a worthy man ; a virtue which we
seldom fail of ascribing to any person whom we seek to recom
mend to the esteem of others ; but which, I am afraid, when we
examine our own conduct in a religious view, is seldom the sub
ject of inquiry.
It is necessary to observe, that true candour is altogether dif
ferent from that guarded, inoffensive language, and that studied
openness of behaviour, which we so frequently meet with among
men of the world. Smiling, very often, is the aspect, and smooth
are the words, of those who inwardly are the most ready to think
evil of others. That candour which is a Christian virtue, con
sists not in fairness of speech, but in fairness of heart. It may
want the blandishment of external courtesy, but supplies its place
with humane and generous liberality of sentiment. Its manners
are unaffected, and its professions cordial. Exempt, on one hand,
from the dark jealousy of a suspicious mind ; it is no less removed,
on the other, from that easy credulity which is imposed on by
every specious pretence. It is. perfectly consistent with extensive
knowledge of the world, and with due attention to our own safety.
In that various intercourse which we are obliged to carry on with
persons of very different character, suspicion, to a certain degree,
is a necessary guard. It is only when it exceeds the bounds of
prudent caution, that it degenerates into vice. There is a proper
mean between undistinguishing credulity and universal jealousy,
which a sound understanding discerns, and which the man of can
dour studies to preserve.
He makes allowance for the mixture of evil with good, which is
to be found in every human character. He expects none to be
faultless ; and he is unwilling to believe that there is any without
some commendable quality. In the midst of many defects, he can
discover a virtue. Under the influence of personal resentment, he
can be just to the merit of an enemy. He never lends an open ear

Sem.XXV.] ON CANDOUR. 261
to those defamatory reports and dark suggestions, which among the
tribes of the censorious circulate with so much rapidity, and meet
with such ready acceptance. He is not hasty to judge, and he re
quires full evidence before he will condemn. As long as an action
can be ascribed to different motives, he holds it as no mark of sa
gacity to impute it always to the worst. Where there is just ground
for doubt, he keeps his judgement undecided ; and, during the pe
riod of suspense, leans to the most charitable construction which
an action can bear. When he must condemn, he condemns with re
gret ; and without those aggravations which the severity of others
adds to the crime. He listens calmly to the apology of the offender,
and readily admits every extenuating circumstance which equity
can suggest. How much soever he may blame the principles of
any sect or party, he never confounds, under one general censure,
all who belong to that party or sect. He charges them not with
such consequences of their tenets, as they refuse and disavow.
From one wrong opinion, he does not infer the subversion of all
sound principles ; nor, from one bad action, conclude that all re
gard to conscience is overthrown. When he beholds the mote in his
brother's eye, he remembers the beam in his own. He commiserates
human frailty ; and judges of others, according to the principles
by which he would think it reasonable that they should judge of
him. In a word, he views men and actions in the clear sunshine
of charity and good-nature ; and not in that dark and sullen shade
which jealousy and party-spirit throw over all characters. — Such
being, in general, the spirit of that charity which thinketh no evil,
I proceed, II. — To recommend, by various arguments, this important branch
of Christian virtue.
Let us begin with observing what a necessary requisite it is to
the proper discharge of all the social duties. I need not spend
time in showing that these hold a very high rank in the Christian
system. The encomium which the Apostle in this chapter be
stows upon charity, is alone sufficient to prove it. He places this
grace at the head of all the gifts and endowments which can be
possessed by man ; and assures us, that though we had all faith, so
that we could remove mountains, yet if we be destitute of charity,
it will profit us nothing. Accordingly, love, gentleness, meekness, and
long-suffering, are enumerated as distinguishing fruits of the spirit
of Christ. [Gal. v. 22, 23.] But it is impossible for such virtues
as these to find place in a breast, where the propensity to think
evil of others is predominant. Charitable and candid thoughts,
of men are the necessary introduction to all good-will and kind
ness. They form, if we may speak so, the only climate in which
jove can grow up and flourish. A suspicious temper checks in the

262 ON CANDOUR. [Sera. XXV.
bud every kind affection. It hardens the heart, and estranges man
from man. What friendship or gratitude can you expect from him,
who views all your conduct with distrustful eyes, and ascribes
every benefit you confer to artifice and stratagem ? The utmost
which you can hope from one of this character, is justice in his
dealings : nor even that can you be assured of; as the suspicions
to which he is a prey will afford him frequent pretexts for depart
ing from truth, and for defending himself with the same arms
which he conceives to be employed against him. Unhappy will
they be who are joined with him by any close connexion ; exposed
to every malignant suspicion which arises in his own mind, and to
every unjust suggestion which the malice of others may insinuate
against them. That store of poison which is collected within
him, frequently throws out its venom on all who are within its
reach. As a companion, he will be severe and satirical ; as a
friend, captious and dangerous ; in his domestic sphere, harsh,
jealous, and irascible ; in his civil capacity, seditious and turbulent,
prone to impute the conduct of his superiors to improper motives,
and upon loose information to condemn their conduct.
The contrary of all this may be expected from a candid temper.
Whatever is amiable in manners, or useful in society, naturally and
easily ingrafts itself upon it. Gentleness, humanity, and compas
sion, flow from it as their native spring. Open and cheerful in it
self, it diffuses cheerfulness and good-humour over all who are un
der its influence. It is the chief ground of mutual confidence and
union among men. It prevents those animosities from arising,
which are the offspring of groundless prejudice ; or, by its benign
interposition, allays them when arisen. In the magistrate, it tem
pers justice with lenity. Among subjects, it promotes good order
and submission. It connects humanity with piety. For he who
is not given to think evil of his fellow-creatures, will not be ready
to censure the dispensations of his Creator. Whereas the same
turn of mind which renders one jealous and unjust towards men,
will incline him to be querulous and impious towards God.
In the second place, As a suspicious uncharitable spirit is incon
sistent with all social virtue and happiness, so, in itself, it is unrea
sonable and unjust. In order to form sound opinions concerning
characters and actions, two things are especially requisite, informa
tion and impartiality. But such as are most forward to decide un
favourably, are commonly destitute of both. Instead of possess--
ing, or even requiring, full information, the grounds on which they
proceed are frequently the most slight and frivolous. A tale, per
haps, which the idle have invented, the inquisitive have listened to,
and the credulous have propagated, or a real incident which ru
mour, in carrying it along, has exaggerated and disguised, sup-

Sera. XXV.] ON CANDOUR. 263
plies them with materials of confident assertion, and decisive
judgement. From an action, they presently look into the heart,
and infer the motive. This supposed motive they conclude to be
the ruling principle ; and pronounce at once concerning the whole
character. Nothing can be more contrary both to equity and to sound rea
son, than such precipitate judgements. Any man who attends to'
what passes within himself, may easily discern what a complicated
system the human character is, and what a variety of circumstances
must be taken into the account, in order to estimate it truly.
No single instance of conduct whatever, is sufficient to determine
it. As from one worthy action it were credulity, not charity, to
conclude a person to be free from all vice; so from one which is
censurable, it is perfectly unjust to infer that the author of it is
without conscience and without merit. Did you know all the at
tending circumstances, it might appear in an excusable light ; nay,
perhaps, under a commendable form. - The motives of the actor
may have been entirely different from those which you ascribe to
him ; and, where you suppose him impelled by bad design, he may
have been prompted by conscience and mistaken principle. Ad
mitting the action to have been in every view criminal, he may
have been hurried into it through inadvertency and surprise. He
may have sincerely repented ; and the virtuous principle may have
now regained its full vigour. Perhaps this was the corner of
frailty ; the quarter on which he lay open to the incursions of temp
tation ; while the other avenues of his heart were firmly guarded by
conscience. No error is more palpable than to look for uniformity from hu
man nature ; though it is commonly on the supposition of it that
our general conclusions concerning character are formed. Mankind
are consistent neither in good nor in evil. In the present state of
frailty, all is mixed and blended. The strongest contrarieties of
piety and hypocrisy, of generosity and avarice, of truth and du
plicity, often meet in one character. The purest human virtue is
consistent with some vice ; and in the midst of much vice and
disorder, amiable, nay respectable, qualities may be found. There
are few cases in which we have ground to conclude that all good
ness is lost. At the bottom of the character there may lie some
sparks of piety and virtue suppressed, but not extinguished ;
which, kept alive by the breath of Heaven, and gathering strength
in secret reflection, may, from the first favourable opening which
is- afforded them, be ready to break forth with splendour and force. .
¦ — Placed, then, in a situation of so much uncertainty and dark
ness, where our knowledge of the hearts and characters of men is
so limited, and our judgements concerning them are so apt to err,

264 ON CANDOUR. [Serm. XXV.
tvhat a continual call do we receive, either to suspend our judge
ment, or to give it on the favourable side ! especially when we con
sider, that as, through imperfect information we are unqualified for
deciding soundly, so, through want of impartiality, we are often
tempted to decide wrong. How much this enforces the argument
for candour will appear, by considering,
In the third place, What the sources are of those severe and
uncharitable opinions which we are so ready to form. Were th?
mind altogether free from prepossession and bias, it might avail
itself to more advantage of the scanty knowledge which it pos
sesses. But this is so far from being the case, that on every side
we are encumbered with prejudices, and warped by passions, which
exert their influence in nothing more than in leading us to think
evil of others. At all times we are justly said to see through a
glass darkly; but passion and prejudice, looking through a glass
which distorts the form of the objects, make us also see falsely.
It is one of the misfortunes of our present situation, that some
of the good dispositions of human nature are apt to betray us into
frailties and vices. Thus, it often happens, that the laudable at
tachment which we contract to the country, or the church, to
which we belong, or to some political denomination under which
we class ourselves, both confines our affections within too narrow
a sphere, and gives rise to violent prejudices against such as come
under an opposite description. Not contented with being in the
right ourselves, we must find all others in the wrong. We claim
an exclusive possession of goodness and wisdom; and from ap
proving warmly of those who join us, we proceed to condemn,
with much acrimony, not only the principles, but the characters,
of those from whom we differ. Hence, persons of well-disposed
minds, are too often, through the strength of partial good affection,
involved in the crime of uncharitable judgement. They rashly
extend to every individual the severe opinion which they have
unwarrantably conceived of a whole body. This man is of a party
whose principles we reckon slavish ; and therefore his whole sen
timents are corrupted. That man belongs to a religious sect
which we are accustomed to deem bigoted; and therefore he is
incapable of any generous or liberal thought. Another is con
nected with a sect which we have been taught to account relaxed ;
and therefore he can have no sanctity. — Are these the judgements
of candour and charity ? Is true piety or virtue so very limited
in its nature, as to be confined to such alone as see every thing
with our eyes, and follow exactly the train of our ideas ? Was
there ever any great community so corrupt as not to include within
it individuals of real worth.
, Besides prepossessions of this nature, which sometimes mislead

Sera. XXV.] ON CANDOUR. 2G5
the honest mind, there are other, and much more culpable, causes
of uncharitable judgement. Pride is hurt and wounded by every
excellence in which it can claim no share ; and, from eagerness to
discover a blemish, rests upon the slightest appearance of one, as
a satisfying proof. When rivalry and competition concur with pride,
our desire to espy defects increases, and, by consequence, the
grounds of censure multiply. Where no opposition of interest
takes place, envy has too much influence in warping the judgement
of many. Even when none of these causes operate, the inward con
sciousness of depravity is sufficient to fill the mind with evil thoughts
of others. Whence should a man so readily draw his opinion of
men, as from that character with which he is best acquainted, be
cause it is his own ? A person of low and base mind naturally im
putes to others the sentiments which he finds congenial to himself;
and is incredulous of every excellency, which to him is totally un
known. He enjoys, besides, consolation in the thought, that others
are no better than himself; that his weaknesses and crimes are
those of all men ; and that such as appear most distinguished for
virtue possess no real superiority, except greater dexterity in con
cealing their vices. Soothing themselves with this doctrine in secret,
too many foster and strengthen the bad opinion which they entertain
of all mankind. Rarely, if ever, have you ground to think well of
that man's heart who is, on every occasion, given to think-the worst
of others. Let us observe,
In the fourth place, that suitable to the sources whence a jealous
and suspicious temper proceeds, are the effects which it produces in
the world, the crimes and mischiefs with which it fills society. It
possesses this unhappy distinction beyond the other failings of the
human heart, that, while it impels men to violent deeds, it justifies,
to their own apprehension, the excesses which they commit
Amidst the uproar of other bad passions, conscience acts as a
restraining power. As soon as the tumult subsides, remorse exerts
its influence, and renders the sinner sensible of the evil which he
has done. But the uncharitable man is unfortunately set loose
from any such check or controul. Through the infatuation of pre
judice, his judgement is perverted ; conscience is misled ; the light
within him is turned into darkness. Viewing the objects of his
displeasure as evil men, he thinks himself entitled to give that
displeasure full vent; and, in committing the most inhuman
actions, may sometimes imagine that he is doing good service to
God. The first fruits of an evil-thinking spirit are calumny and de
traction, by which society is so often embroiled, and men are set
at variance with one another, But did it proceed no farther than
censorious speech, the mischief would be less. Much greater and

266 ON CANDOUR. [Sera. XXV.
more serious evils frequently ensue. What direful effects, for
instance, have often flowed from rash and ill-founded jealousy in
private life? No sooner has one allowed that demon to take
possession of his mind, than it perverts his understanding, and
taints all his faculties. Haunting him by night and by day,
bringing perpetually before him the odious and disquieting forms
which it has raised up, it blackens every appearance to his view ;
gives to trifles, which are in themselves light as air, the weight of
full confirmation ;. till what was at first a dubious surmise, or a
slight displeasure, rises at length into full belief and implacable
fury. Hence families torn with the most violent convulsions ; the
husband armed against the wife, the father against the son, the
friend against the friend ; the plan of treachery and assassination
contrived, and the dagger plunged into the bosom of the innocent.
In public life, how often have kingdoms been shaken with all the
violence of war and rebellion, from the unjust suspicions which
subjects had conceived of their rulers ; or the rash jealousy which
princes had entertained of their people ! — But it is in religious
dissensions chiefly, that the mischievous power of uncharitable
prejudice has displayed its full atrocity. Religion is always found
to heighten every passion on which it acts, and to render every con
test into which it enters, uncommonly ardent ; because the objects
which it presents are of such a nature, as strongly to seize and en
gage the human mind. When zeal for their own principles has
prompted men to view those of a different persuasion in the odious
lights which bigotiy suggests, every sentiment of humanity has
too often been extinguished. The mild influence of that religion
which breathes nothing but gentleness, has proved too feeble to re
strain the violent and bloody hand of persecution ; and the
uncharitable spirit, raging among contending parties, has filled the
world with such calamities and crimes, as have brought disgrace on
the Christian name.
Let us attend particularly to one awful instance of the guilt
which men may contract, and of the ruin which they may bring
upon themselves, through the want of fairness and candour. The
nation of the Jews were almost noted for a narrow and uncharit
able spirit. When John the Baptist, and our Blessed Lord, appear
ed among them,* because the former was austere in his temper
and retired in his life, they pronounce d of him that he had an evil
spirit ; and, because the latter was open and sociable in his man
ners, they held him to be destitute of that sanctity which became
a prophet. Their prejudice against our Lord took its first rise
from a most frivolous and contemptible cause. Is not this the
son of the Carpenter ? Can any good thing come out of Nazareth ?
When his miracles repelled this reproach, and sufficiently proved

Serm. XXV.] ON CANDOUR. 267
the eminence of his character, still they fostered their prejudices
by this most futile reasoning, Have any of the rulers believed on
him? Obstinate in their attachment to a temporal Messiah, and
continuing to view all our Saviour's conduct with an evil eye,
when he conversed with bad men, in order to reclaim them, they
treated him as a companion of publicans and sinners. Because he
disallowed their groundless traditions, they held him to be a
breaker of the Sabbath, and a contemner of religion. Because he
prophecied the destruction of their temple, they accused him of
being an enemy to his own nation. Till, at last, through their
perpetual misconstruction of his actions, their passions became so
inflamed as to make them cry out with one voice, Away with this
man to the death, and give us Barabbas the robber.  Viewing in
this dreadful event the consequences of want of candour, let every
mm tremble to think evil rashly of his brother. No one can tell
how far uncharitable prejudices may carry him in guilt, if he allow
them to harbour and gather strength within his breast. The cloud
which rose from the sea, no bigger than a man's hand, may soon swell
and spread, till it cover the whole horizon, and discharge with most
destructive violence the gathered storm.
In the fifth place — As a suspicious spirit it the source of so many
crimes and calamities in the world, so it is the spring of certain
misery to the person who indulges it. His friends will be few ;
and small will be his comfort in those whom he possesses. Be-
living others to be his enemies, he will of course make them such.
Let his caution be ever sox great, the asperity of his thoughts will
often break out in his behaviour ; and, in return for suspecting and
hating, he will incur suspicion and hatred. Besides the external
evils which he draws upon himself, arising from alienated friend
ship, broken confidence, and open enmity ; the suspicious temper
itself is one of the worst evils which any man can suffer. If, in all
fear, there be torment, how miserable must be his state who, by
living in perpetual jealousy, lives in perpetual dread ! Looking
upon himself to be surrounded with spies, enemies, and designing
men, he is a stranger to reliance and trust. He knows not to
whom to open himself. He dresses his countenance in forced
smiles, while his heart throbs within from apprehensions of secret
treachery. Hence fretfulness and ill-humour, disgust at the world,
and all the painful sensations of an irritated and embittered mind.
So numerous and great are the evils arising from a suspicious
disposition, that, of the two extremes, it is more eligible to expose
ourselves to occasional disadvantage from thinking too well of
others, than to suffer continual misery by thinking always ill of
them. It is better to be sometimes imposed upon, than never to
trust. Safety is purchased at too dear a rate, when, in order to

268 ON CANDOUR. [Sera. XXV.
secure it, we are obliged to be always clad in armour, and to live
in perpetual hostility with our fellows. This is, for the sake of
living, to deprive ourselves of the comfort of life. The man of
eandour enjoys his situation, whatever it is, with cheerfulness and
peace. Prudence directs his intercourse with the world ; but no
black suspicions haunt his hours of rest. Accustomed to view the
characters of his neighbours in the most favourable light, he is like
one who dwells amidst those beautiful scenes of nature, on which
the eye rests with pleasure. Whereas the suspicious man, having
his imagination filled with all the shocking forms of human false
hood, deceit, and treachery, resembles the traveller in the wilder
ness, who discerns no objects around him but what are either
dreary or terrible ; caverns that open, serpents that hiss, and
beasts of prey that howl. Hence, in him, are verified those de
scriptions which the Spirit of God has given us of the misery of
the wicked. They shall have no peace. They shall be like the
troubled sea, when it cannot rest. The Lord shall give them a
trembling heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow of mind : and
they shall fear day and night, and have none assurance of heart.— 
I add, In the sixth and last place, That there is nothing which exposes
men in a more marked and direct manner to the displeasure of the
Almighty, than a malignant and censorious spirit. I insist not
now on the general denunciations of divine wrath against malice
and hatred. Let us only consider under what particular descrip
tion the Spirit of God brings thia crime of uncharitable judgement.
It is declared to be an impious invasion of the prerogative of God,
to whom alone it belongs to search all hearts, and to determine
concerning all characters. This privilege He often appropriates
expressly to himself, on purpose to restrain the rashness of censure
among men ; requiring us to leave the judging of others to Him,
and to attend to our own business and duty. Who art thou that
judgest another man's servant ? To his own master, he standeth or
faileth. Judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, who
shall make manifest the counsels of the heart. [Rom. xiv. 4. —
1 Corinth, iv. 5.]
It. deserves our most serious attention, that in several passages
of Scripture, the great Judge of the world is represented, at the
day of final retribution, as proceeding upon this. principle, of ren
dering to men according to the manner in which they have acted
towards their brethren. With the merciful thou wilt show thyself
merciful ; and with the froward, thou wilt show thyself froward.
With what judgement ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what
measure'ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. [Psalm xviii.
25, 26. — Matth. vii. 2.] It is impossible to form an argument of

Sera. XXV.] ON CANDOUR. 269
more force than this, to restrain all severity of judgement among
such as look forward to the tribunal of God. The argument ex
tends not indeed so far, as to represent our acceptance with the
Deity as entirely suspended upon the candour which we show in
forming our sentiments of others. We know that other graces
cesides this are requisite, in order to fit us for heaven : and that
without piety towards God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, all
our charity to men will be found defective and vain. But this we
Know, also, that in the heart, which is destitute of fairness and can
dour, the Spirit of God certainly dwells not; and that whatever
appearances of religion the uncharitable man may assume, on him
the Sovereign of the universe looks with no favour.  Thou, who
art a man full of frailties, who standest great in need, not merely of
impartiality in thy Divine Judge, but of indulgence and mercy ;
thou, who implorest daily this mercy from Him, and prayest that
He would remember tkou art dust, and not be strict to mark iniquity
against thee ; darest thou, with those very prayers in thy mouth,
proceed to judge without candour of thy brethren, and upon the
slightest grounds to reprobate and condemn them ? O thou hy
pocrite ! (for by what other name can we call thee ?) vain are all
thy pretensions to piety. Ineffectual is every plea which thou
canst form for mercy from Heaven. The precedent which thou
hast established against thyself is decisive. Thou hast dictated
the sentence of thine own condemnation.
On the whole, it clearly appears, that no part of the government
of temper deserves attention more, than to keep our minds pure
from uncharitable prejudices, and open to candour and humanity,
in judging of others. The worst consequences, both to ourselves
and to society, follow from the opposite spirit. Let us beware of
encouraging a habit of suspicions, by forming too severe and
harsh opinions concerning human nature in general. A great
proportion of infirmity and corruption, doubtless, adheres to it ;
yet tempered also it is with various mixtures of virtue and good
affection. Darkened as the Divine Image now is among mankind,
it is not wholly effaced. Much piety and goodness may lie hidden
in hearts that are unknown to us. Vice is glaring and loud. The
crimes of the wicked make a noise in the world, and alarm society.
True worth is retired and modest, and requires particular situations
to bring it forth to public notice. The prophet Elijah, in a time
of prevailing corruption, imagined that all true religion had for
saken the land, I, even I, only, saith he to the Lord, am left to
serve thee. But the Almighty, who discerned what was concealed
from his imperfect view, replied, Yet have I left me seven thousand
men in Israel who have not bowed the knee to Baal. [1 Kings
six. 18.]

270 THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. [Sera. XXVI.
The aged and the unfortunate, who have toiled through an un
successful life with long experience of the falsehood and fraud of
evil men, are apt to be most severe in the opinions which they
entertain of others For such, their circumstances may be allowed
to form some degree of apology. But if, in youth and prosperity,
the same hard suspicious spirit prevail ; if they who are*beginning
the career of life, set out with all the scruples of distrust ; if, be
fore they have reason to complain of the world, they betray the
diffidence of a jealous, and the malignity of a censorious, mind ;
sad is the presage which may thence be drawn of their future dis
honour. From such you have nothing to look for that shall be
either engaging in private life, or respectable in public character.
To youth it particularly belongs to be generous in sentiment, can
did in opinion, undesigning in behaviour, open to the most favour
able construction of actions and conduct. Throughout all the
stages of life, candour is one of the most honourable distinctions
of the human character ; it is connected with magnanimity ; it is
justified by wisdom ; it is suitable to the relation in which we
stand to one another. But if reason and humanity be insufficient
to restrain us from rash and uncharitable judgements, let that
awful denunciation frequently resound in our ears, — He shall have
judgement without mercy, who hath shewed no mercy.

SERMON XXVI.
ON THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH.
Genesis xiv. 5. 8. — Now, therefore, be not grieved nor angry with
yourselves, that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you
to preserve life.  So now it was not you that sent me hither,
but God.
In this generous manner Joseph frames an apology for the un
natural behaviour of his brethren. He extenuates the atrocity of
their crime, by representing the happy effects which it had pro
duced. He looks beyond all second causes ; and recognizes, in
the wonderful events of his life, the hand of the Almighty. — No
human character, exhibited in the records of Scripture, is more
remarkable and instructive than that of this patriarch. He is one
whom we behold tried in all the vicissitudes of fortune ; from the
condition of a slave, rising to be ruler of the land of Egypt ; and
in every station acquiring, by his virtue and wisdom, favour with
God and man. When overseer of Potiphar's house, his fidelity
was proved by strong temptations, which he honourably resisted.
When thrown into prison by the artifice of a false woman, his in-
vegrity and prudence soon rendered him conspicuous, even in that

Ser. XXVI.] THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. 271
mansion. When called into the presence of Pharaoh, the wise and
extensive plan which he formed for saving the kingdom from the
miseries of impending famine, justly raised him to a high station,
wherein his abilities were eminently displayed in the. public service.
But in his whole history there is no circumstance so striking and
interesting, as his behaviour to his brethren, who had sold him into
slavery. The moment in which he made, himself known to them,
that moment in which we are now to contemplate him, was the
most critical one of his life, and the most decisive of his character
It is such as rarely occurs in the course of human events ; and is
calculated to draw the highest attention of all who are endowed
with any degree of sensibility of heart. Let us consider the senti
ment which Joseph utters in the text under two views, each of
which is very instructive to all Christians. I. As a discovery of his
cordial forgiveness of his brethren ; and, II. As an instance of his
dutiful attention to the Providence of God.
I. — The most cordial forgiveness is here displayed. I shall not
recapitulate all the preceding history respecting Joseph, and his
brethren ; as it is well known by every one who has the least ac
quaintance with the sacred writings. From the whole tenor of the
narration it appears, that though Joseph, upon the arrival of his
brethren in Egypt, made himself strange to them, yet from the
beginning he intended to discover himself ; and studied so to con
duct the discoveiy as might render the surprise of joy complete-
For this end, by affected severity, he took measures for bringing
down into Egypt all his father's children. They were now ar
rived there ; and Benjamen among the rest, who was his younger
brother by the same- mother, and was particularly beloved by
Joseph. Him he threatened to detain; and seemed willing to
allow the rest to depart. This incident renewed their distress.
They all knew their father's extreme anxiety about the safety of
Benjamin, and with what difficulty he had yielded to his under
taking this journey. Should he be prevented from returning,
they dreaded that grief would overpower the old man's spirits,
and prove fatal to his life. Judah, therefore, who had particu
larly urged the necessity of Benjamin's accompanying his brothers,
and had solemnly pledged himself to their father for his safe
return, craved, upon this occasion, an audience of the governor ;
and gave him a full account of the circumstances of Jacob's
family. Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than this discourse
of Judah, as it is recorded in the preceding chapter. Little
knowing to .whom he spoke, he paints, in all the colours of sim
ple and natural eloquence, the distressed situation of the aged
patriarch, hastening to the close of life ; long afflicted for the less

272 THE CHARAwiyri ur juojarn. per. AAVl.
cf a favourite son, whom he supposed to have been torn in pieces
by a beast of prey ; labouring now under anxious concern about
his youngest son, the child of his old age, who alone was left
alive of his mother, and whom nothing but the calamities of
severe famine could have moved a tender father to send from home,
and expose to the dangers of a foreign land. If we bring him not
back with us, we shall bring doivn the grey hairs of thy servant, our
father, with sorrow, to the grave. I pray thee, therefore, let thy
servant abide instead of the young man, a bondman to our lord. For
how shall I go up to my father, and Benjamin not with me ? lest I see
the evil that shall come on my father.
Upon this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain himself.
The tender ideas of his father and his father's house, of his
ancient home, his countiy and his kindred, of the distress of his
family, and his own exaltation, all rushed too strongly upon his
mind to bear any farther concealment. He cried, Cause every man
to go out from me ; and he wept aloud. The tears which he shed,
were not the tears of grief. They were the bursts of affection.
They were the effusions of a heart overflowing with all the tender
sensibilities of nature. Formerly he had been moved in the same
manner, when he first saw his brethren before him. His bowels
yearned upon them ; he sought for a place where to weep. He went
into his chamber ; and then washed his face and returned to them. At
that period, his generous plans were not completed. But now,
when there was no farther occasion for restraining" himself, he
gave free vent to the strong emotions of his heart ^The first minister
to the king of Egypt was not ashamed to show that he felt as a
man, and a brother. He wept aloud and the Egyptians and the
house of Pharaoh heard him.
The first words which his swelling heart allowed him to pro
nounce, are the most suitable to ouch an affecting situation which
were ever uttered ; — I am Joseph ; doth my father yet- live ? — What
could he, what ought he, in that impassioned moment to have
said more ? this is the voice of nature herself, speaking her own
language; and it penetrates the heart; no pomp of expression;
no parade of kindness ; but strong affection hastening to utter
what it strongly felt. His brethren could not answer him ; for they
were troubled at his presence. Their silence is as expressive of those
emotions of repentence and shame, which, on this amazing dis
covery, filled their breasts, and stopped their utterance, as the few
words which Joseph speaks are expressive of the generous agita
tions which struggle for vent within him. No painter could seize
a more striking moment for displaying the characteristical features
of the human heart, than what is here presented. Never was there
a situation of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand*

XXVI.] THE CHARACIEK OF JOSEPH. 273
nor, on the other, of more overwhelming confusion, and conscious
guilt. In the simple narration of the sacred historian, it is set
before us with greater energy and higher effect, that if it had been
wrought up with all the colouring of the most admired moderr
eloquence. When Joseph had a little. recovered himself from the first trans
ports of emotion, he proceeds to explain his situation to his bre
thren, and to shew them the beneficent purposes for which he con
ceived himself to be raised by Providence into power. The apology
which he makes in the text for their former cruelty is uncommon
and remarkable. Now therefore be not grieved nor angry with
yourselves that ye sold me hither ; for God did send me before you to
preserve you a posterity in the earth, and to save your lives by a great
deliverance. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God ;
and he hath made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house,
and a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt. This apology was, in
truth, no satisfactory excuse for their crime ; for though the over
ruling Providence of Heaven had so directed the course of events,
as to render their bad intentions subservient to a happy issue, yet
the badness of the intention originated entirely from themselves.
The envy and jealousy which they entertained against their brother,
led them to the commission of an atrocious deed. The deed was
voluntary ; the crime was all their own ; and the interposition of
Providence in making unforeseen consequences follow from that
crime, did not, could not, exculpate them from guilt. It were an
impious conclusion, that because God extracts good from "our evil,
we are not answerable for the evil which we perpetrate. God
cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man. [James i.
13.] But the sentiment in the text is to be considered as a
colour which the generous humanity cf Joseph prompted him to
throw on the conduct of his brethren. He saw the confusion with
which they were overwhelmed in his presence. He diverts their
attention from the remembrance of a crime which was now wring
ing their hearts with anguish, by representing t. ioem the happy
effects which that crime had produced. He sets them free from all
uneasiness on his account. He calls upon them to rejoice in his
prosperity, and, instead of dwelling on a painful recollection of
their own conduct, to join with him in acknowledging and adoring
the hand of the Almighty.
How different is this amiable spirit which Joseph discovers,
from that harsh and ostentatious superiority which too often ac
companies the pretended forgiveness of injuries among those who
call themselves Christians ! They are ready to say, that, for
their part, they pardon the wrongs which have been done them ;
they wish that. the persons who have committed them may be able

274 THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. [Ser. XXVI.
to forgive themselves ; they leave them to 'God and to their own
conscience. By the severe suggestions which they throw out,
they discover the inward bitterness of their spirit; and artfully
gratify resentment, at the time when they profess to exercise for
giveness. Whereas the great and good man, whose character we
now consider, effaces all memory of the crimes which he pardons.
He seeks to alleviate the remorse of his brethren by an extenuation
of their guilt ; and, while he is preparing to make their circum
stances comfortable, studies at the same time to render their minds
easy and tranquil.
This was not merely a transient emotion with Joseph, owing to
the first burst of affection on discovering himself to his brethren.
We have a clear proof, from a remarkable transaction which passed
many years after this period, of his disposition continuing the
same to the end of life. It is recorded in the last chapter of this
book, that when Jacob died, his sons began to be seized with
fear concerning the treatment which they might receive from their
brother. The guilty are always suspicious. Conscious of their
own baseness, they are incapable of conceiving the magnanimity
of others. They saw the bond which held the family together,
now broken by their father's death. They dreaded that the resent
ment of Joseph against them had hitherto been only suppressed or
concealed. They said among themselves, Peradventure he will now
hate us, and requite all the evil which we did unto him. Under
this apprehension, they first sent a humble message to deprecate
his displeasure by the memory of their common father ; and then
appearing in his presence, they fell down before his face, profess
ing themselves to be his servants, and praying him to forgive the
trespasses which they had committed against him. But no such
hidden resentment as they dreaded had ever lurked in the soul of
Joseph. On the contrary, when he beheld his brethren in this
affecting situation, bereaved of their ancient protector, and re
duced, as they imagined, to the necessity of holding up their
hands to him for mercy, he was overpowered by a tide of tender
emotions. Joseph wept while his brethren spake unto him. These
affectionate tears alone were sufficient to have assured them of his
forgiveness. But hastening also by words to dispel their alarms,
he presently added, Fear not ; for though ye thought evil against
me, God meant it unto good. Now therefore fear ye not ; I will
nourish you, and your little ones. And he comforted them, and spake
kindly unto them. [Genesis 1. 21.]
Such was the last incident that is recorded in the life, of this
eminent personage, than whom you will find few more distin
guished by an assemblage of illustrious virtues ; in the lowest ad
versity, patient and faithful; in the highest prosperity, beneficent

Ser.XXVL] THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. 275
and generous ; dutiful and affectionate as a son ; kind and forgiving
as a brother ; accomplished as a statesman ; wise and provident
as a ruler of the land. In such a character, you behold human
nature possessing its highest honours. The sentiments which it
inspires tend to ennoble our minds ; and to prevent their imbibing
the spirit of those hard, interested, and self-seeking men, with
whom the world abounds.
The striking example of forgiveness which the text displays,
ought frequently to occur to our thoughts, amidst the vanous
occasions of provocation and offence which arise in our intercourse
with the world. If one so worthy and amiable, in the days too of
his youth and innocence, suffered such cruel treatment from his
brothers, ought we to be surprised if, even from our nearest re
lations, we meet with injustice or ingratitude? Wrongs and injuries
are, more or less, the portion of all. Like Death, they are an evil
unavoidable. No station is so high, no power so great, no character
so unblemished, as to exempt us from them. In the world,
ungrateful men, false friends, and violent enemies, abound. Every
wise maii ought to prepare himself for what he is to encounter in
passing through this thorny region. He is not to expect that he
can gather grapes from thistles ; nor to lose the government of his
mind, because, in the midst of evil men, he is not allowed to remain,
like a secret and inviolable person, untouched and uninjured.
As this view of our situation ought to blunt the edge of passion
and impatience, so the alleviating circumstances which reason will
suggest, ought to mollify resentment. Think of the various con
structions which the actions of men will bear. Consider how
different the motives of him who hath given us offence, may have
been from those, which, in the heat of passion, we ascribe to him '
how apt all men are to be seduced by mistaken views of interest,
and how little ground we have to complain, if, upon a supposed
Interfering of interests, we suffer by others prefering their own to
ours ! Remember, that no opinions which you form under the power
• of resentment can be depended upon as just ; and that every one
loads the intentions of his enemy with imaginary degrees of malice.
But, admitting the injury you have received to be ever so atro
cious in its nature, and aggravated in its circumstances ; supposing
it to be even parallel to that which Joseph suffered ; look up, like
him, to that divine government under which we are all placed. If
forgiveness be a duty which we know God to have required under
the most awful sanctions, dare we draw upon ourselves the merited
vengeance of that Superior to whose clemency we are obliged daily
to fly ? When, with hard and unrelenting dispositions towards
our brethren, we "send np prayers to Heaven for mercy to ourselves,
those prayers return like imprecations upon our heads; and our
very devotions seal our condemnation.

276 THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. [Ser. XXVL
The most plain and natural sentiments of equity concur with-
divine authority to enforce the duty which I now recommend.
Let him who has never in his life done wrong, be allowed the
privilege of remaining inexorable. But let such as are conscious of
frailties and crimes, consider forgiveness as a debt which they owe
to others. Common failings are the strongest lessons of mutual
forbearance. Were this virtue unknown among men, order and
comfort, peace and repose, would be strangers to human life. In
juries retaliated according to the exorbitant measure which passion
prescribes, would justify resentment in return. The injured person
would become the injurer ; and thus wrongs, retaliations, and
fresh injuries, would circulate in [ endless succession, till the world
was rendered a field of blood. Of all the passions which invade
the human breast, revenge is the most direful. When allowed to
reign with full dominion, it is more than sufficient to poison the
few pleasures which remain to man in his present state. How
much soever a person may suffer from injustice, he is always in
hazard of suffering more from the prosecution of revenge. The
violence of an enemy cannot inflict what is equal to the torment
he creates to himself, by means of the fierce and desperate passions
which he allows to rage in his soul.
Those evil spirits who inhabit the regions of miseiy, are repre
sented as delighting in revenge and cruelty. But all that is great
and good in the universe, is on the side of clemency and mercy.
The Almighty ruler of the world, though for ages offended by the
unrighteousness, and insulted by the impiety of men, is long-suffer
ing, and slow to anger. His Son, when he appeared in our nature,
exhibited, both in his life and his death, the most illustrious example
of forgiveness which the world ever beheld. If you look into
the history of mankind, you will find that, in every age, those who
have been respected as worthy, or admired as great, have been
distinguished for this virtue. Revenge dwells in little minds.
A noble and magnanimous spirit is always superior to it. It suffers
not from the injuries of men those severe shocks which others feel.
Collected within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent as
saults ; and with generous pity, rather than with anger, looks down
on their unworthy conduct. It has been truly said, that the
greatest man on earth can no sooner commit an injury, than a
good man can make himself greater, by forgiving it. Joseph, at
the moment when we now contemplate him, had entirely under his
power all those unnatural brethren who had been guilty towards
him of the most, cruel outrage which men could perpetrate. He
Could have retained them for ever in that Egyptian bondage to
which they had once consigned' him ; and have gratified revenge
by every accumulation of disgrace which despotic power enabled

Ser.XXVL] THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. • 277
him to inflict. Had he acted this part, he might for a while have
been soothed by the pleasures of his high station ; but remorse,
in the end, would have stung his soul. Cruelty would have ren
dered him unhappy within himself, as well as odious to others ;
and his name would have perished among the crowd of those
contemptible statesmen whose actions stain the annals of history.
Whereas, now, his character stands among the foremost in the
ranks of spotless fame. His memory is blessed to all generations.
His example continues to edify the world ; and he himself shines
in the celestial regions, as the brightness of the firmament, and as
the stars for ever and ever. Let us now,
II. — Consider the sentiment contained in the text, not only as
a discoveiy of cordial forgiveness, but as an expression of devout
attention to the conduct of Providence. So now it was not you
that sent me hither, but God. Remark how beautifully piety and
humanity are, in this instance, connected together. As we are
told of Cornelius, the good Centurion, that his prayers and his alms,
his devotion and his good works, came up together in memorial
before God; so here we perceive fraternal affection and religious
reverence, mingling in one emotion ¦ within the patriarch's heart.
In a person of low and vulgar mind, the sensations on such an
occasion would have been extremely different. Looking back on the
past events of his life, he would have ascribed all the adversity
which he had suffered to the perverse treatment of his brothers ;
and all the prosperity which he afterwards attained, to his own
good conduct and wisdom ; and by consequence would have
remained embittered against the instruments of the one, and filled
-with pride and self-sufficiency on account of the other. But the
elevated and noble mind of Joseph rejected such unworthy sen
timents. Contemplating the hand of God in all that had befallen
him, he effaced the remembrance of those evil deeds which had
produced his adversity ; and for his prosperity he affected no praise
to himself, but ascribed it entirely to the will of Heaven. Let us
take notice, that this is not the reflection of a private retired man,
whose situation might be supposed to favour such devout medita
tions : it is the reflection of one who was leading a busy and
seducing life, in the midst of a court ; the favourite of the greatest
monarch who was then known in the world. Yet him you behold,
amidst the submission and adulation which was paid to him, prer
serving the moderation and simplicity of a virtuous mind ; and
amidst the idolatry and false philosophy of the Egyptians, main
taining the principles of true religion, and giving glory to the God
of Israel.
From this unity of piety with humanity, which is so conspi
cuous in the sentiments of Joseph, there arises one very important

278 THE CHARACTER OF JOSEPH. [Ser.XXVI
instruction ; that a devout regard to the hand of God in the various
events of life, tends to promote good dispositions and affections
towards men. It will be found by those who attend to the
workings of human nature, that a great proportion of those ma
lignant passions which break out in the intercourse of men, arises
from confining their attention wholly to second causes, and over
looking the first cause of all. Hence they are insolent in pros
perity, because they discern nothing higher than their own abilities-
and in adversity they are peevish and unforgiving, because they
have no object on which to fix their view, but the conduct of
men who have acted as their enemies. They behold no plan of
wisdom or goodness carried on throughout nature, which can allay
the discomposure of their mind. As soon as their temper is
ruffled, the world appears to them to be a continued scene of dis
asters and injuries, of confused events, and of unreasonable men.
Whereas, to the pious man, the contemplation of the universe
exhibits a very different spectacle. In the midst of seeming con
fusion, he traces a principle of order ; and by attention to that order,
his mind is harmonized and calmed. He beholds a wise and
righteous Governor presiding over all the commotions which are
raised by the tumult of conflicting passions and interests ;
guiding with imperceptible influence, the hand of the violent to
beneficent purposes ; accomplishing unexpected ends by the most
improbable means ; cfoliging the wrath of man to praise him ; some
times humbling the mighty, sometimes exalting the low ; often
snaring the wicked in the devices which their hands have wrought.
Respectful acknowledgment of this divine government, controls
the disorders of inferior passions. Reverence for the decrees of
Heaven inspires patience and moderation. Trust in that perfect
wisdom and goodness which directs, all for the best, diminishes
the shock which worldly disasters occasion. The irritation of
passion and resentment will always bear proportion to the agitation
which we suffer from the changes of fortune. One who connects
himself with nothing but second causes, partakes of the violence
and irregularity of all the inferior movements belonging to this
great machine. He who refers all to God, dwells, if we may speak
so, in that higher sphere where motion begins ; he is subject to
fewer shocks and concussions, and is only carried along by the
motion of the universe.
How can mildness or forgivness gain place in the temper of
that man, who, on account of every calamity which he suffers from
the ill-usage of others, has no sanctuary within his own breast to
which he can make retreat from their vexations ; who is possessed
of no principle which is of sufficient power to bear down the rising
tide of peevish and angry passions ? The violence of an enemy,

Ser. XXVII.] CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. 279
or the ingratitude of a friend, the injustice of one man, and the
treachery of another, perpetually dwell and rankle in his thoughts.
The part which they have acted in bringing on his distress, is fre
quently more grating to him than the distress itself. Whereas, ne
who, i»i eveiy event, looks up to God, has always in his view
great and elevating object which inspires him with magnanimity
His mind lies open to every relieving thought, and is inclined to
every suggestion of generosity. He is disposed to say, with Joseph,
it was not you that sent me hither, but God; with David, it is
the Lord ; let him do what seemeth good in his eyes ; and with a
greater personage than either of these, the cup which my Father-
hath given me to drink, shall I not drink it ? Hence arises his supe
riority to many of the ordinary provocations of the world. For
he looks upon the whole of his present life as part of a great plan
which is carried on under the direction of Heaven. In this plan
he views men as acting their several parts, and contributing to his
good or evil. But their parts he considers as subordinate ones ;
which, though they may justly merit his affection, and may occa
sionally call forth his resentment, yet afford no proper foundation
to violent or malignant passion. He looks upon bad men as only
the rod with which the Almighty chastens ; like the pestilence, the
earthquake, or the storm. In the midst of their injustice and
violence, he can pity their blindness ; and imitate our blessed Lord
!D praying, Father, forgive them ; for they know not what they do

SERMON XXVII.
ON THE CHARACTER OF HAZAEL.
2 Kings viii. 12, 13. — And Hazael said, Why weepeth my Lord?
And he answered, Because I know the evil that thou wilt do unto
the children of Israel. Their strong holds wilt thou set onjire, and
their young men wilt thou slay with the sword, and wilt dash tlieir
children, and rip up their women with child. And Hazael said,
But, what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing ?
And Elisha answered, The Lord hath shewed me that thou shalt
be king over Syria.
In the days of Joram, king of Israel, flourished the prophet Elisha.
His character was so eminent, and his fame so widely spread, that
Benhadad, the king of Syria, though an idolater, sent to consult
him concerning the issue of a distemper which threatened his life.
The messenger employed on this occasion was Hazael, who
appears to have been one of the princes, or chief men, of the Syrian

280 CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. [Ser. XXVII.
court. Charged with rich gifts from the king, he presented him
self before the Prophet, and accosts him in terms of the highest
respect. During the conference which they had together, Elisha
fixed his eye steadfastly on the countenance of Hazael ; and dis
cerning, by a prophetic spirit, his future tyranny and cruelty, he
could not contain himself from bursting into a flood of tears
When Hazael, in surprise, inquired into the cause of this sudden
emotion, the Prophet plainly informs him of the crimes and bar
barities which he foresaw that hereafter he should commit. The
soul of Hazael abhorred, at this time, the thoughts of cruelty.
Uncorrupted, as yet, by ambition or greatness, his indignation
arose at being thought capable of such savage actions as the
Prophet had mentioned ; and, with much warmth, he replies, But,
what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing ? Elisha
makes no return, but to point out a remarkable change which was
to take place in his Condition : The Lord hath shewed me that thou
shalt be king over Syria. In course of time, all that had been pre
dicted came to pass. Hazael ascended the throne ; and ambition
took possession of his heart. He smote the children of Israel in all
their coasts. He oppressed them during all the days of king Jehoahaz,
[2 Kings xiii. 32.] ; and from what is left on record of his actions,
plainly appears to have proved what the Prophet foresaw him to
be, a man of violence, cruelty, and blood.
In this passage of history, an object is presented which deserves
our serious attention. We behold a man, who in one state of life,
could not look upon certain crimes without surprise and horror;
who knew so little of himself, as to believe it impossible for him
ever to be concerned in committing them ; that same man, by a
change of condition, transformed' in all his sentiments, and, as he
rose in greatness, rising also in guilt ; till at last he completed
that whole character of iniquity which he once detested. Hence
the following observations naturally arise. I. That to a mind not
entirely corrupted, sentiments of abhorrence at guilt are natural.
II. That, notwithstanding those sentiments, the mind may be
brought under the dominion of the vices which it had most
abhorred. III. That this unhappy revolution is frequently owing
to a change of men's external circumstances and condition .in the
world. These observations are to make the subject of the present
Discourse ; and will lead us to such a view of human nature, as it
is hoped, may be of general use.
I. — Sentiments of abhorrence at guilt are natural to the human
mind. Hazael's reply to the Prophet, shows how strongly he felt
them. Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing ? Is
he. or can he ever be, so base and wretched, as to perpetrate
crimes which would render him unworthy of bearing the name of

Ser. XXVII.] CHARACTER OF HAZAEL 281
a man ? This is the voice of human nature, while it is not as yet
hardened in iniquity. Somes vices are indeed more odious to the
mind than others. Providence has wisely pointed the sharpest
edge of this natural aversion against the crimes which are of most
pernicious and destructive nature ; such as treachery, oppression,
and cruelty. But, in general, the distinction between moral good
and evil is so strongly marked, as to stamp almost every vice with
the character of turpitude. Present to any man, even the most
ignorant and untutored, an obvious instance of injustice, false
hood, or impiety; let him view it in a cool moment, when no
passion blinds, and no interest warps him ; and you will find that
his mind immediately revolts against it, as shameful and base,
nay, as deserving punishment. Hence, in reasoning on the cha
racters of others, however men may mistake as to facts, yet they
generally praise and blame according to the principles of sound
morality. With respect to their own character, a notorious partiality too
generally misleads their judgement. But it is remarkable, that
no sinner ever avows directly to himself, that he has been guilty
of gross and downright iniquity. Even when engaged by his pas
sions in the commission of the greatest crimes, he always palliates
them to his own mind by some extenuation or apology, some pre
tended necessity, or some borrowed colour of innocence. Such
power, the undeniable dignity of virtue, and the acknowledged
turpitude of vice, possesses over every human heart. These sen
timents are the remaining impressions of that law, which was
originally written on the mind of man. They are gleams of that
light which once shone clear and strong within us ; and which,
though it be now greatly obscured, yet continues to shoot a feeble
ray athwart the darkness of human nature.  But whatever
sentiments of abhorrence at vice we may at any time entertain,
we have no reason to build upon these a presumptuous confidence
of our continuance in virtue. For the next instruction which the
text suggests, is,
II. — That such is man's ignorance of his own character, such
the frailty of his nature, that he may one day become infamous
for those very crimes which at present he holds in detestation.
This observation is too well verified by the history of Hazael ; and
a thousand other instances might be' brought to confirm it.
Though there is nothing which every person ought to know so
thoroughly as his own heart, yet from the conduct of men it
appears, that there is nothing with which they are less acquainted.
Always more prone to flatter themselves than desirous to discover
the truth, they trust to their being possessed of every virtue which
has not been put to the trial ; and reckon themselves secure

282 CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. [Ser. XXVII.
against every vice to which they have not hitherto been tempted.
As long as their duty hangs in speculation, it appears so plain,
and so eligible, that they cannot doubt of performing it. The
suspicion never enters their mind, that in the hour of speculation,
and in the hour of practice, their sentiments may differ widely.
Their present disposition, they easily persuade themselves, will ever
continue the same ; and yet that disposition is changing with cir
cumstances every moment.
The man who glows with the warm feelings of devotion, imagines
it impossible for him to lose that sense of the divine goodness
which at present melts his heart. He whom his friend hath lately
saved from ruin, is confident that, if some trying emergency shall
put his gratitude to proof, he will rather die than abandon his
benefactor. He who lives happy and contented in frugal industry,
wonders how any man can give himself up to dissolute pleasure.
Were any of those persons informed, by a superior spirit, that the
time was shortly to come when the one should prove an example
of scandalous impiety, the other of treachery to his friend, and
the third, of all that extravagant luxury which disgraces a growing
fortune ; each of them would testify as much surprise and abhor
rence as Hazael did, upon hearing the predictions of the Prophet.
Sincere they might very possibly be in their expressions of indig
nation : for hypocrisy is not always to be charged on men whose
conduct is inconsistent. Hazael was in earnest, when he resented
with such ardour the imputation of cruelty. The Apostle Peter
was sincere, when he made the zealous profession, that though
he should go to prison and to death with his Master, he would
never deny him. They were sincere; that is, they spoke from
the fulness of their hearts, and from the warmth of the present
moment; but they did not know themselves, as the events which
followed, plainly shewed. So false to its principles, too frequently
is the heart of man ; so weak is the foundation of human virtue ;
so much reason there is for what the Gospel perpetually incul
cates concerning the necessity of distrusting ourselves, and depend
ing on divine aid. Mortifying, I confess, is this view of human
nature ; yet, proper to be attended to by all, in order to escape the
most fatal dangers. For, merely through unguarded conduct, and
from the want of this prudent suspicion of their own weakness,
how many, after the most promising beginnings, have gradually
apostatized frorh every principle of virtue ; until, at last, it has
become as difficult for one to believe, that they ever had any love of
goodness, as it would have been once to have persuaded themselves
that they were to advance to such a height in wickedness !
In such cases as I have described, what has become, it may be
inquired, of those sentiments of abhorrence at guilt which were

Ser. XXVII.] CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. 283
once felt so strongly?- Are they totally erased ? or, if in any de
gree they remain, how do such persons contrive to satisfy them
selves in acting a part which their minds condemn ? — Here, there
is a mystery of iniquity which requires to be unfolded. Latent
and secret is the progress of corruption within the soul ; and the
more latent, the more dangerous is its growth. No man becomes
of a sudden completely wicked. Guilt never shows its whole de
formity at once ; but by gradual acquaintance reconciles us to its
appearance, and imperceptibly diffuses its poisons through all the
powers of the mind. Every man has some darling passion,
which generally affords the first introduction to vice. The irre
gular gratifications into which it occasionally seduces him, appear
under the form of venial weaknesses; and are indulged, in the
beginning, with scrupulousness and reserve. But by longer prac
tice, these restraints weaken, and the power of habit grows. One
vice brings in another to its aid. By a sort of natural affinity they
connect and entwine themselves together ; till their roots come to
be spread wide and deep over all the soul. When guilt rises to
be glaring, conscience endeavours to remonstrate. But conscience
is a calm principle. Passion is loud and impetuous ; and creates
a tumult which drowns the voice of reason. It joins besides,
artifice to violence ; and seduces at the same time that it impels.
For it employs the understanding to impose upon the conscience.
It devises reasons and arguments to justify the corruptions of the
heart. The common practice of the world is appealed to. Nice
distinctions are made. Men are found to be circumstanced in so
peculiar a manner, as to render certain actions excusable, if not
blameless, which, in another situation, it is confessed, would
have been criminal. By such a process as this, there is reason
to believe, that a great part of mankind advance from step to step
in sin, partly hurried by passion, and partly blinded by self-deceit,
without any just sense of the degree of guilt which they contract.
By inveterate habits, their judgement is at length perverted, and
their moral feelings are deadened. They see now with other eyes ;
and can look without pain on evil actions which they foimerly ab
horred. It is proper, however, to observe, that though our native senti
ments of abhorrence at guilt may be so borne down, or so eluded,
as to lose their influence on conduct, yet those sentiments be
longing originally to our frame, and being never totally eradicated
from the soul, will still retain so much authority, as, if not to re
form, at least, on some occasions, to chasten the sinner. It is
only during a course of prosperity, that vice is able to carry on
its delusions without disturbance. But, amidst the dark and
thoughtful situations of life, conscience regains its rights ; and

284 CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. [Ser. XXVII.
pours the whole bitterness of remorse on his heart, who has aposta
tized from his original principles. We may well believe that before
the end of his days, Hazael's first impressions would be made to re
turn. In the hour of adversity, the remembrance of his conference
with the venerable Prophet would sting his heart. Comparing the
sentiments which, in those his better days, he felt, with the atrocious
cruelties which he had afterwards committed, all the honours of
royalty would be unable to save him from the inward sense of base
ness and infamy.
From this view which has been exhibited of the progress of cor
ruption, and of the danger to which we are exposed, of falling from
principles which once appeared firmly established, let us receive
useful admonition for our own conduct. Let not him that girdeth
on his harness, boast like him that putteth it off. Let no man place
a rash and dangerous confidence in his virtue. But let him that
thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall. Never adventure on
too near an approach to what is evil. Familiarize not yourselves
with it, in the slightest instances, without fear. Listen with
reverence to every reprehension of conscience ; and preserve the
most quick and accurate sensibility to right and wrong. If ever
your moral impressions begin to decay, and your natural abhorrence
of guilt to lessen, you have ground to dread that the ruin of virtue
is fast approaching. While you employ all the circumspection
and vigilance which reason can suggest, let your prayers, at "the
same time, continually ascend to God for support and aid. Remem
ber that from him descendeth every good and, perfect gift ; and that
to him only it belongs to keep you from falling, and to present you
faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy. I pro
ceed now to the
Illrd observation from the Text, That the power which corrup
tion acquires to pervert the original principles of man, is frequently
owing to the change of their circumstances and condition in
the world. How different was Hazael, the messenger of Benha
dad, from Hazael the king ; he who started at the mention of
cruelty, from him who waded in blood ! Of this sad and surprising
revolution, the Prophet emphatically assigns the cause in these few
words : The Lord hath shewed me that thou shalt be king over Syria.
That crown, that fatal crown, which is to be set upon thy head,
shall shed a malignant influence over thy nature ; and shall pro
duce that change in thy character, which now thou canst not be
lieve.  Whose experience of the world is so narrow, as not to
furnish him with instances similar to this, in much humbler condi
tions of life ? So great is the influence of a new situation of exter
nal fortune ; such a different turn it gives to our temper and affec
tions, to our views and desires, that no man can foretel what his

Ser. XXVII.] CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. 285
character would prove, should Providence either raise or depress his
circumstances in a remarkable degree, or throw him into some
sphere of action widely different from that to which he has been
accustomed in former life.
The seeds of various qualities, good and bad, lie in all our hearts.
But until proper occasions ripen and bring them forward, they lie
there inactive and dead. They are covered up and concealed
within the recesses of our nature ; or, if they spring up at all, it is
under such an appearance as is frequently mistaken even by our
selves. Pride, for instance, in certain situations, has no opportu
nity of displaying itself, but as magnanimity, or sense of honour.
Avarice appears as necessary and laudible economy. What in
one station of life would discover itself to be cowardice and base
ness of mind, passes in another for prudent circumspection. What
in the fulness of power would prove to be cruelty and oppression,
is reputed, in a subordinate rank, no more than the exercise of pro
per discipline. For awhile, the man is known neither by the
world, nor by himself, to be what he truly is. But bring him into
a new situation of life, which accords with his predominant dispo
sition ; which strikes on certain latent qualities of his soul,
and awakens them into action ; and as the leaves of a flower gra
dually unfold to the sun, so shall all his true character open to full
view. This may, in one light, be accounted not so much an alteration
of character produced by a change of circumstances, as a disco
veiy brought forth of the real character, which formerly lay con
cealed. Yet, at the same time, it is true, that the man himself
undergoes a change. For, opportunity being given for certain dis
positions, which had been dormant, to exert themselves without re
straint ; they of course gather strength. By means of the ascen
dancy which they gain, other parts of the temper are borne down ;
and thus an alteration is made in the whole structure and system
of the soul. He is a truly wise and good man, who, through di
vine assistance, remains superior to this influence of fortune on
his character, who, having once imbibed worthy sentiments, and
established proper principles of action, continues constant to these,
whatever his circumstances be; maintains, throughout all the
changes of his life, one uniform and supported tenor of conduct ;
and what he abhored as evil and wicked in the beginning of his
days, continues to abhor to the end. But how rare is it to meet
with this honourable consistency among men, while they are pass
ing through the different stations and periods of life ! When they
are setting out in the world, before their minds have been greatly
misled or debased, they glow with generous emotions, and look
with contempt on what is sordid and gujlty. But advancing

286 CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. [Ser. XXVII.
farther in life, and inured by degrees to the crooked ways of men ;
pressing through the crowd, and the bustle of the world ; obliged
to contend with this man's craft, and that man's scorn ; accustomed
sometimes, to conceal their sentiments, and often to stifle their
feelings, they become at last hardened in heart, and familiar with
corruption. Who would not drop a tear over this sad, but frequent,
fall of human probity and honour ? Who is not humbled when he
beholds the refined sentiments and high principles on which we are
so ready to value ourselves, brought to such a shameful issue ; and
man, with all his boasted attainments of reason, discovered so often
to be the creature of his external fortune, moulded and formed by
the incidents of his life ?
The instance of Hazael's degeneracy leads us to reflect, in parti
cular, on the dangers which arise from stations of power and great
ness ; especially when the elevation of men to these has been rapid
and sudden. Few have the strength of mind which is requisite for
bearing such a change with temperance and self-command. The
respect which is paid to the great, and the scope which their condi
tion affords for the indulgence of pleasure, are perilous circum
stances to virtue. When men live among their equals, and are
accustomed to encounter the hardships of life, they are of course
reminded of their mutual dependence on each other, and of the
dependence of all upon God. But when they are highly exalted
above their fellows, they meet with few objects to awaken serious
reflection, but with many to feed and inflame their passions. They
are apt to separate their interests from that of all around them ; to
wrap themselves up in their vain grandeur ; and, in the lap of in
dolence and selfish-pleasure, to acquire a cold indifference to the con
cerns even of those whom they call their friends. The fancied in
dependence into which they are lifted up, is adverse to sentiments
of piety, as well as of humanity, in their heart. Taking the timbrel
and the harp, and rejoicing at the sound of the organ, they say unto
God, Depart from us, for we desire not the knowledge of thy ways.
What is the Almighty, that we should serve him ? or what profit shall
we have, if we pray unto him ?
But we are not to imagine that elevated stations in the world fur
nish the only formidable trials to which our virtue is exposed. It
will be found, that we are liable to no fewer nor less dangerous
temptations, from the opposite extreme of poverty and depression.
When men who have known better days are thrown down into ab
ject situations and fortune, their spirits are broken and their temper
soured. Envy rankles in their breast at such as are more success
ful. The providence of heaven is accused in secret murmurs;
and the sense of misery is ready to push them into atrocious
crimes, in older to better their stnte. Among the inferior

Ser. XXVII.] CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. 287
classes of mankind, craft and dishonesty are too often found to
prevail. Low and penurious circumstances depress the human
powers. They deprive men of the proper means of knowledge and
improvement ; and where ignorance is gross, it is always in hazard
of engendering profligacy.
Hence it has been, generally, the opinion of wise men in all ages,
that there is a certain middle condition of life, equally remote from
either of those extremes of fortune, which, though it want not also
its own dangers, yet is, on the whole, the state most favourable
both to virtue and happiness. For there luxury arid pride, on the
one hand, have not opportunity to enervate or intoxicate the mind,
nor want and dependence, on the other, to sink and debase it ;
there all the native affections of the soul have the freest and
fairest exercise, the equality of men is felt, friendships are formed,
and improvements of every sort are pursued with most success ;
there, men are prompted to industry without being overcome by
toil, and their . powers called forth into exertion, without being
either superseded by too much abundance, or baffled by in
superable difficulties ; there, a mixture of comforts and of wants,
at once awakens their gratitude to God, and reminds them of their
dependence on his aid ; and, therefore, in this state, men seem to
enjoy life to most advantage, and to be least exposed to the snares
of vice. Such a condition is recorded in the book of Proverbs, to
have been the wish and choice of one who was eminent for
wisdom. Remove far from me vanity and lies. Give me neither
poverty nor riches. Feed me with food convenient for me. Lest I
be full, and deny Thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be
poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain. [Prov.
xxx. 8, 9.]
From the whole view which we have now taken of the subject,
we may, in the first place, learn the reasons for which a variety of
conditions and ranks was established by Providence among man
kind. This life is obviously intended to be a state of probation
ar»d trial. No trial of characters is requisite with respect to God,
who sees what is in every heart, and perfectly knows what part
each man would act, in all the possible situations of fortune. But
on account of men themselves, and of the world arcand them, it
was necessary that trial should take place, and a discrimination of
characters be made ; in order that true virtue might be separated
from false appearances of it, and the justice of Heaven be display
ed in its final retributions ; in order that the failings of men might
be so discovered to themselves, as to afford them proper instruction,
and promote their amendment ; and in order that their characters
might be shown to the world in every point of view, which could
furnish either examples for imitation, or admonitions of danger.

288 CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. [Ser. XXVII.
The accomplishment of these important purposes required, that
human life should not always proceed in one tenour ; but that it
should both be chequered with many revolutions, and diversified by
a variety of employments and ranks ; in passing through which the
touchstone might be applied to the characters of , men, and their
hidden virtues and vices explored. Hazael might have appeared in
history with a degree of reputation to which he was not entitled,
had he continued to act in a subordinate station. At bottom, he
was false and unsound. When raised higher in life, the corruption
of his heart discovered itself ; and he is now held forth with de
served infamy, as a warning to succeeding ages.
In the second place, We learn from what has been said, the
importance of attending with the utmost care to the choice which
we make of our employment and condition ¦ in life. It has been
shown, that our external situation frequently operates powerfully
on our moral character; and by consequence that it is strictly
connected, not only with our temporal welfare, but with our ever
lasting happiness or misery. He who might have passed unblamed
and upright, through certain walks of life, by unhappily choosing
a road where he meets with temptations too strong for his virtue,
precipitates himself into shame here, and into endless ruin here
after. Yet how often is the determination of this most important
article left to the chance of accidental connexions, or submitted
to the option of youthful fancy and humour ! When it is made
the subject of serious deliberation, how seldom have they on whom
the decision of it depends, any further view than so to dispose of
one who is coming out into life, as that he may the soonest be
come rich, or, as it is expressed, make his way to most advantage
in the world ! Are there no other objects than this to be attended
to, in fixing the plan of life ? Are there no more sacred and im
portant interests which deserve to be consulted ? You would not
willingly place one whose welfare you studied, in a situation for
which you were convinced that his abilities were unequal. These,
therefore, you examine with care ; and on them you rest the ground
of your decision. Be persuaded that not abilities merely, but the
turn of the temper and the heart, require to be examined with
equal attention, in forming the plan of future establishment.
. Every one has some peculiar weakness, some predominant passion,
which exposes him to temptations of one kind more than of an
other. Early this may be discerned to shoot ; and from its first
rising its future growth may be inferred. Anticipate its progress.
Consider how it is likely to be affected by succeeding occurrences
in life. If you bring ope whom you are rearing up into a situation
where all the surrounding circumstances shall cherish and mature
this fatal principle in his nature, you become, in a great measure,

Serm. XXV.] CHARACTER OF HAZAEL. 289
answerable for the consequences that follow. In vain you trust to
his abilities and powers. Vice and corruption, when they have
tainted the heart, are sufficient to overset the greatest abilities.
Nay, too frequently they turn them against the possessor ; and
render them the instruments of his more speedy ruin.
In the third place — We learn, from the history which has been
illustrated, never to judge of true happiness, merely from the de
gree of men's advancement in the world. Always betrayed by ap
pearances, 'the multitude are caught by nothing so much as by the
show and pomp of life. They think every one blest, who is raised
far above others in rank. From their earliest years, they are taught
to fix their views upon worldly elevation, as the ultimate object of
their aims ; and of all the sources of error in conduct, this is the
most general. — Hazael, on the throne of Syria, would, doubtless,
be more envied, and esteemed by the multitude a far happier man,
than when, yet a subject, he was employed by Benhadad to carry
his message to Elisha. Yet, O Hazael ! how much better had it
been for thee never to have known the name or honour of a king,
than to have purchased it at the expense of so much guilt ; forfeit
ing thy first and best character ; rushing into crimes which were
once thy abhorrence, and becoming a traitor to the native senti
ments and dictates of thy heart ! How fatal to thy repose proved
that coveted purple, which was drenched by thee in so much inno
cent blood ! How much more cheerful were thy days, and how
much calmer thy nights, in the former periods of thy life, than
when, placed on a throne, thy ears were invaded by day with the
cries of the miserable whom thou hadst ruined ; and thy slum
bers broken by night with the shocking remembrance of thy cruel
ties and crimes ?  Never let us judge by the outside of things ;
nor conclude a man to be happy, solely because he is encompassed
with wealth or grandeur. Much misery often lurks where it is
little suspected by the world. The material inquiries respecting
felicity, are, not what a man's external condition is, but with what
disposition of mind he bears it ; whether he be corrupted or im
proved by it ; whether he conducts himself so as to be acceptable
to God, and approved of by good men. For these are the cir
cumstances which make the real and important distinctions
among the conditions of men. The effects of these are to last foi
ever, when all worldly distinctions shall be forgotten.
In the fourth place — From all that has been said, we should learn,
never to be immoderately anxious about our external situation,
but to submit our lot with cheerfulness, to the disposal of Heaven.
To make the best and most prudent arrangements which we can,
respecting our condition in life, is matter of high duty. But let
us remember, that all the plans which we form, are precarious and

280 BENEFITS DERIVED FROM [Ser. XXVIII.
uncertain. After the utmost precautions taken by human wisdom,
no man can foresee the hidden dangers which may await him in
that path of life on which he has pitched. Providence chooses
for us much more wisely than we can choose for ourselves ; and,
from circumstances that appeared at first most unpromising and
adverse, often brings forth, in the issue, both temprtal and spi
ritual felicity. Who knoweth what is good for a man in this life, all
the days of his vain life, which he spendeth as a shadow ? When we
consider the darkness of our present state, the imbecility of human
nature, and the doubtful and ambiguous value of all that we call pros
perity, the exhortation of the Psalmist comes home with great force
on every reflecting mind, Commit thy way unto the Lord. [Psalm
xxxvii. 5.J Form thy measures with prudence, but divest thyself
of anxiety about the issue. Instead of seeking to order thine own
lot, acquiesce in the appointment of Heaven, and follow without
hesitation the call of Providence, and of duty. In whatever situ
ation of life God shall place thee, look devoutly to Him for grace
and assistance, and study to act the part assigned thee with a
faithful and upright heart. Thus shalt thou have peace within
thyself, while thy course is going on ; and when it draws towards
a close, with satisfaction thou shalt review thy conduct. For, after
all the toils and labours of life, and all the vain struggles which we
maintain for pre-eminence and distinction, we shall find, at the
conclusion of the whole scene, that to fear God, and keep his com
mandments, is the whole duty of man.

SERMON XXVIII.
ON THE BENEFITS TO BE DERIVED FROM THE HOUSE OF
MOURNING.
Ecclesiastes vii. 2, 3, 4. — It is better to go to the house of mourn
ing, than to go to the house of feasting ; for that is the end of all men,
and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laugh
ter ; for by the sadness of the countenance, the heart is made better.
The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning ; but the heart of
fools is in the house of mirth.
Many of the maxims contained in this book of Ecclesiastes
will appear strange sayings to the men of the world. But when
tliey reflect on the character of him who delivers them, they cannot
but admit, that his tenets deserve a serious and attentive examina-

Ser. XXVIIL] . THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 291
tion. For, they are not the doctrines of a pedant, who, from
an obscure retirement, declaims against pleasures which he
never knew. They are not the invectives of a disappointed man,
who takes revenge upon the world, by satirising those enjoyments
which he sought in vain to obtain. They are the conclusions
of a great and prosperous prince, who had once given full scope
to his desires ; who was thoroughly acquainted with life in
its most flattering scenes ; and who now, reviewing all that he
had enjoyed, delivers to us the result of long experience and
tried wisdom. None of his principles seem, at first view, more
dubious and exceptionable than those which the text presents. To
»ssert, that sorrow is preferable to mirth, and the house of mourning
to the house of feasting ; to advise men to choose mortification and
sadness, when it is in their power to indulge in joy, may appear
harsh and unreasonable doctrines. They may, perhaps, be ac
counted enemies to the innocent enjoyment of life, who give coun
tenance to so severe a system, and thereby increase the gloom which
already sits sufficiently heavy on the condition of man. But let
this censure be suspended, until we examine with care into the
spirit and meaning of the sentiments here delivered.
It is evident, that the wise man does not prefer sorrow,
upon its own account, to mirth ; or represent sadness as a
state more eligible than joy. He considers it in the light of dis
cipline only. He views it with reference to an end. He
compares it with certain improvements which he supposes it to
produce : when the heart is made better by the sadness of the counte
nance, and the living to lay to heart what is the end of all men. Now,
if great and lasting benefits are found to result from occasional
sadness, these, sure, may be capable of giving it the preference
to some fleeting sensations of joy. The means which he recom
mends, in order to our obtaining those benefits, are to be explained
according to the principles of sound reason ; and to be understood
with those limitations, which the eastern style, in delivering moral
precepts, frequently requires. He bids us go to the house of mourn
ing ; but he does not command us to dwell there. When he pre
fers sorrow to laughter, he is not to be understood as prohibiting
all mirth ; as requiring us to wear a perpetual cloud on our brow,
and to sequestrate ourselves from every cheerful entertainment of
social life. Such an interpretation would be inconsistent with many
other exhortations in his own writings, which recommend tem
perate and innocent joy. It would not suit with the proper dis
charge of the duties which belong to us as members of society,
and would be most opposite to the goodness and benignity of our
Creator. The true scope of his doctrine in this passage is, that
there is a certain temper and state of heart, which is of far greater
u2

292 BENEFITS DERIVED FROM [Ser. XXVI1L
consequence to real happiness, than the habitual indulgence of
giddy and thoughtless mirth ; that, for the attainment and cultiva
tion of this temper, frequent returns of grave reflection are necessary ;
that, upon this account, it is profitable to give admission to those
views of human distress which tend to awaken such reflection in
the mind ; and that thus, from the vicissitudes of sorrow, which
we either experience in our own lot, or sympathise with in the lot
of others, much wisdom and improvement may be derived. These
are the sentiments which I propose at present to justify and recom
mend, as most suitable to the character of men and of Christians,
and not in the least inconsistent with pleasure rightly understood.
Among the variety of dispositions which are to be found in the
world, some indeed require less of this discipline than others.
There are persons whose tender and delicate sensibility, either
derived from nature, or brought on by repeated afflictions, renders
them too deeply susceptible of every mournful impression ; whose
spirits stand more in need of being supported and cheered, than
of being saddened by the dark views of human life. In such cases,
we are commanded to lift up the hands which hang down, and to
confirm the feeble knees. [Isaiah xxxv. 3. Heb. xii. 12.] But this
is far from being the common disposition of men. Their minds
are in general inclined to levity, much more than to thoughtful me
lancholy ; and their hearts more apt to be contracted and hardened,
than to relent with too much facility. I shall therefore endeavour
to show them, what bad inclinations their compliance with Solo
mon's advice would correct ; what good dispositions with respect
to God, their neighbours, and themselves, it would improve ; and
how, upon the whole, his doctrine is verified, that by the sadness
of the countenance the heart is made better.
I begin by observing, that the temper recommended in the text,
suits the present constitution of things in this world. Had man
been destined for a course of undisturbed enjoyment, perpetual
gaiety would then have corresponded to his state, and pensive
thought have been an unnatural intrusion. But in a state where
all is chequered and mixed, where there is no prosperity without
its attending griefs, where from the house of feasting all must, at
one time or other, pass into the house of mourning, it. would be
equally unnatural, if no admission were given to grave reflection.
The mind of man must be attempered to his condition. Provi
dence, whose wisdom is conspicuous in all its works, has adjusted
with exact proportion the inward powers to the outward state of
every rational being. It has for this purpose implanted the serious
and sympathetic feelings in our nature, that they might correspond
with the vicissitudes of sorrow in our lot. He who endea
vours to repel their influence, or to stifle them in unseasonable

Ser. XXVIIL] THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 293
mirth, acts a violent and unnatural part. He strives with vain ef
fort against the current of things, contradicts the intentions of his
Maker, and counteracts the original impulses of his own heart.
It is proper also to observe, that as the sadness of the countenance
has, in our present situation, a proper and natural place ; so it is
requisite to the true enjoyment of pleasure. Worldly and sensual
men often remark, not till it be too late, that by the studied efforts
.if constant repetition, all their pleasures' fail. They draw them off
so close to the dregs, that they become insipid and nauseous. Hence
even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of their mirth is
heaviness. [Prov. xiv. 13.] It is only the interposal of serious and
thoughtful hours, that can give any lively sensations to the returns
of joy. I speak not of those thoughtful hours too well known to
sinners, which proceed from guilty remorse ; and which, instead of
preparing for future pleasure, damp and sicken the moment of en
joyment; but of those which take rise from the mind retreating
into itself, and opening to the sentiments of religion and humanity.
Such hours of virtuous sadness brighten the gleams of succeeding
joy. They give to the temperate enjoyments of the pious and hu
mane, a refined and delicate relish, to which, the hardened and
insensible are entire strangers. For it will be found, that in pro
portion as the tender affections of the soul are kept awake, how
much soever they may sometimes distress the heart, they preserve
it open likewise to the most agreeable sensations. He who never
knew the sorrows of friendship, never also knew its joys. He
whose heart cannot relent in the house of mourning, will, in the
most social hour in the house of feasting, partake of no more than
the lowest part of animal pleasure. — Having premised these
observations, I proceed to point out the direct effects of a proper
attention to the distresses of life upon our moral and religious
character. In the first place, The house of mourning is calculated to give a
proper check to our natural thoughtlessness and levity. The in
dolence of mankind, and their love of pleasure, spread through all
characters and ranks some degree of aversion to what is grave and
serious. They grasp at any object either of business or amusement,
which makes the present moment pass smoothly away; which
carries their thoughts abroad, and saves them from the trouble of
reflecting on themselves. With too many, this passes into a habit
of constant dissipation. If their fortune and rank allow them to
indulge their inclinations, they devote themselves to the pursuit
of amusement through all its different forms. The skilful arrange
ment of its successive scenes, and the preparatory study for shining
in each, are the only exertions on which their understanding is em
ployed. Such a mode of life may keep alive, for a while, a frivolous

294 BENEFITS DERIVED FROM [Ser. XXVIIL
vivacity. It may improve men in some of those exterior accom
plishments, which sparkle in the eyes of the giddy and the vain ;
but it must sink them in the esteem of all the wise. It renders
them strangers to themselves; and useless, if not pernicious, to
the world. They lose every manly principle. Their minds become
relaxed and effeminate. All that is great or respectable in the hu
man character is buried under a mass of trifles and follies.
If some measures ought to be taken for rescuing the mind from
this disgraceful levity ; if some principles must be acquired, which,
may give more dignity and steadiness to conduct ; where, I pray
you, are these to be looked for ? Not surely in the house of feast
ing, where every object flatters the senses, and strengthens the
seductions to which we are already prone; where the spirit of
dissipation circulates from heart to heart ; and the children of folly
mutually admire and are admired. It is in the sober and serious
house of mourning that the tide of vanity is made to turn, and a
new direction given to the current of thought. When some affect
ing incident presents a strong discovery of the deceitfulness of all
worldly joy, and rouses our sensiblity to human woe ; when we
behold those with whom we had lately mingled in the house of
feasting, sunk by some of the sudden vicissitudes of life into the
vale of misery ; or when, in sad silence, we stand by the friend
whom we had loved as our own soul, stretched on the bed of
death ; then is the season when the world begins to appear in a
new light ; when the heart opens to virtuous sentiments, and is led
into that train of reflection which ought to direct life. He who
before knew not what it was to commune with his heait on any
serious subject, now puts the question to himself, for what pur
pose he was sent forth into this mortal, transitory state ; what his
fate is likely to be when it concludes; and what judgement he
ought to form of those pleasures which amuse for a little, but
which, he now sees, cannot save the heart from anguish in the evil
day ? Touched by the hand of thoughtful melancholy, that airy
edifice of bliss, which fancy had raised up for him, vanishes away.
He beholds in the place of it, the lonely and barren desert, in
which, surrounded with many a disagreeable object, he is left
musing upon himself. The time which he has mispent, and the
faculties which he has misemployed, his foolish levity, and his
criminal pursuits, all rise in painful prospect before him That
unknown state of existence into which, race after race, the children
of men pass, strikes his mind with solemn awe.  Is there no
course by which he can retrieve his past errors ? Is there no
superior power to which he can look up for aid ? Is there no plan
of conduct, which, if it exempt him not from sorrow, can at least
procure him consolation amidst the distressing exigencies of life ;

Ser. XXVIIL] THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 295
Such meditations as these, suggested by the house of mourning,
frequently produce a change on the whole character. They revive
those sparks of goodness which were nigh being quite extinguished
in Lie dissipated mind ; and give rise to principles and conduct more
rational in themselves, and more suitable to the human state.
In the second place, Impressions of this nature not only produce
moral seriousness, but awaken sentiments of piety, and bring men
into the sanctuaiy of religion. One might, indeed, imagine that
the blessings of a prosperous condition would prove the most
natural incitements to devotion ; and that, when men were happy
in themselves, and saw nothing but happiness around them, they
could not fail gratefully to acknowledge that God, who giveth them
all things richly to enjoy. Yet such is their corruption, that they
are never more ready to forget their benefactor, than when loaded
with his benefits. The giver is concealed from their careless and
inattentive view, by the cloud of his own gifts. When their life
continues to flow in one smooth current, unruffled by any griefs ;
when they neither receive in their own circumstances, nor allow
themselves to receive from the circumstances of others, any ad
monitions of human instability ; they not only become regardless
of Providence, but are in hazard of contemning it. Glorying in
their strength, and lifted up by the pride of life into supposed in
dependence, that impious sentiment, if not uttered by the mouth,
yet too often lurks in the hearts of many, during their flourishing
periods : What is the Almighty that we should serve him ; and what
profit should we have, if we pray unto Mm ?
If such be the tendency of the house of feasting, how necessary
is it, that, by some change in their situation, men should be obliged
to enter into the house of mourning, in order to recover a proper
sense of their dependent state ! It is there, when forsaken by the
gaities of the world, and left alone with God, that we are made
to perceive how awful his government is ; how easily human
greatness bends before him ; and how quickly all our designs and
measures, at his interposal, vanish into nothing. There, when the
countenance is sad, and the affections are softened by grief; when
we sit apart, involved in serious thought, looking down as from
some eminence on those dark clouds that hang over the life of
man, the arrogance of prosperity is humbled, and the heart melts
under the impressions of religion. Formerly we were taught, but
now we see, we feel, how much we stand in need of an Almighty
Protector, amidst the changes of this vain world. Our soul cleaves
to Him who despises not, nor abhors the affliction of the afflicted.
Prayer flows forth of its own accord from the relenting heart, that
he may be our God, and the God of our friends in distress ; that
he may never forsake us while we are sojourning in this land of

296 BENEFITS DERIVED FROM [Ser. XXVIII
pilgrimage ; may strengthen us under its calamities ; and bring us
hereafter to those habitations of rest, where we, and they whom
we love, may be delivered from the trials which all are now doomed
to endure. The discoveries of his mercy, which he has made in
the Gospel of Christ, are viewed with joy, as so many rays of
light sent down from above, to dispel, in some degree, the sur
rounding gloom. A Mediator and Intercessor with the Sovereign
of the universe, appear comfortable names ; and the resurrectibn
of the just, becomes the powerful cordial of grief. In such
moments as these, which we may justly call happy moments, the
soul participates of all the pleasures of devotion. It feels the
power of religion to support and relieve. It is softened, without
being broken. It is full, and it pours itself forth ; pours itself
forth, if we may be allowed to use the expression, into the bosom
of its merciful Creator.
In the third place, Such serious sentiments produce the hap
piest effect upon our disposition towards our fellow-creatures, as
well as towards God. It is a common and just observation, that
they who have lived always in affluence and ease, strangers to the
miseries of life, are liable to contract hardness of heart with
respect to all the concerns of others. Wrapped up in themselves,
and their own pleasures, they behold with indifference the most
affecting scenes of distress. Habituated to indulge all their desires
without controul, they become impatient of the least provocation
or offence ; and are ready to trample on their inferiors, as if they
were creatures of a different species from themselves. Is this an
amiable temper, or such as becomes a man ? When appearing in
others, do we not view it with much displeasure ? When imputed
to ourselves, can we avoid accounting it a severe reproach ?
By the experience of distress, this arrogant insensibility of
temper is most effectually corrected ; as the remembrance of our own
sufferings naturally prompts us to feel for others when they suffer,
But if Providence has been so kind as not to subject us to much
of this discipline in our own lot, let us draw improvement from
the harder lot of others. Let us sometimes step aside from the
smooth and flowery paths in which we are permitted to walk, in
order to view the toilsome march of our fellows through the thorny
desert. By voluntarily going into the house of mourning ; by
yielding to the sentiments which it excites, and mingling our tears
with those of the afflicted, we shall acquire that humane sensibility
which is one of the highest ornaments of the natme of man. Per
ceiving how much the common distresses of life place us all on a
level, and render the high and the low, the rich and the poor, com
panions in misfortune and mortality, we shall learn to set no man
at nought, and least of any our afflicted brother Prejudices will

Ser. XXVIIL] THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 297
be extinguished, and benevolence opened and enlarged, when, look
ing around on the multitude of men, we consider them as a band of
fellow-travellers in the valley of woe, where it ought to be the office
of every one to alleviate, as much as possible, the common burden. — ¦
While the vain and the licentious are revelling in the midst of extra
vagance and riot, how little do they think of those scenes of sore
distress which are going on at that moment throughout the world ;
multitudes struggling for a poor subsistence to support the wife and
the children whom they love, and who look up to them with eager
eyes for that bread which they can hardly procure; multitudes
groaning under sickness in desolate cottages, untended and unmourn-
ed ; many, apparently in a better situation of life, pining away in
secret with concealed griefs ; families weeping over the beloved
friends whom they have lost, or, in all the bitterness of anguish,
bidding those who are just expiring the last adieu.
May we not appeal to the heart of every good man, nay almost
to the heart of every^ man who has not divested himself of his na
tural feelings, whether the admission of such views of human life
might not, sometimes at least, furnish a more worthy employment
to the mind, than that mirth of fools which Solomon compares to
the crackling of thorns under a pot, [Eccles. vii. 6.] the transient
burst of unmeaning joy ; the empty explosion of giddiness and le
vity ? Those sallies of jollity in the house of feasting are often
forced from a troubled mind ; like flashes from the black cloud which
after a momentary effulgence, are succeeded by thicker darkness-
Whereas, compassionate affections, even at the time when they draw
tears from our eyes for human misery, convey satisfaction to the
heart. The gracious appointment of Heaven has ordained, that
sympathetic pains should always be accompanied with a certain de
gree of pleasure, on purpose that we might be more interested in the
case of the distressed, and that, by this mysterious bond, man might
be linked closer to man. The inward satisfaction which belongs to
the compassionate affections is, at the same time, heightened by
the approbation which they receive from our reason ; and by the
consciousness which they afford us of feeling what men and Chris
tians ought to feel.
In the fourth place, The disposition recommended in the text,
not only improves us in piety and humanity, but likewise assists us
in self-government, and the due moderation of our desires. The
house of mourning is the school of temperance and sobriety. Every
v, ise man will find it for his interest to enter into it sometimes
, uf his own accord, lest otherwise he be compelled to take up his
dwelling there. Seasonable interruptions of our pleasures are ne
cessary to their prolongation. For, continued scenes of luxury
and indulgence hasten to a melancholy issue. The house of feast-

298 BENEFITS DERIVED FROM [Ser. XXVIIL
ing too often becomes an avenue to the house of mourning. Short,
to the licentious, is the interval between them ; and speedy the
transition from the one to the other.
But supposing that, by prudent management, the men of plea
sure could avoid the pernicious effects which intemperance and
dissoluteness are likely to produce on their health or their fortune,
can they also prevent those disorders which such habits will intro
duce into their minds ? Can they escape that wrath of the Al
mighty, which will infallibly pursue them for their sins both here
and hereafter ? For whence, so much as from the unchecked pur
suit of pleasure, do all those crimes arise which stain the character
of men with the deepest guilt, and expose them to the severest
judgements of Heaven ? Whence, then, is the corrective of those
mischiefs to be sought, but from such discipline as shall mode
rate that intemperate admiration of the world which gave rise to the
evil ? By repairing sometimes to the house of mourning, you would
chasten the looseness of fancy, abate the eagerness of passion, and
afford scope to reason for exerting her restraining powers. You
would behold this world stripped of its false colours, and reduced
to its proper level. Many an important instruction you would re
ceive from the humiliation of the proud, the mortification of the
vain, and the sufferings of the voluptuous, which you would see ex
emplified before you in the chambers of sorrow, of sickness, and of
death. You would then be taught to rejoice as though you rejoiced
not, and to weep as though you wept not ; that is, neither in joy
and in grief, to run to excess ; but to use this world so as not to abuse
it ; contemplating the fashion thereof as passing away.
Moreover, you would there learn the important lesson of suiting
your mind, before-hand, to what you had reason to expect from the
world ; a lesson too seldom studied by mankind, and to the neg
lect of which, much of their misery, and much of their guilt is
to be charged. By turning away their eyes from the dark side of
life, by looking at the world only in one light, and that a flattering
one, they form their measures on a false plan, and are necessarily-
deceived and betrayed. Hence, the vexation of succeeding disap
pointment and blasted hope. Hence, their criminal impatience of
life, and their bitter accusations of God and man ; when, in truth,
they have reason to accuse only their own folly.  Thou who
wouldst act like a wise man, and build thy house on the rock, and
not on the sand, contemplate human life not only in the sunshine,
but in the shade. Frequent the house of mourning, as well as the
house of mirth. Study the nature of that state in which thou art
placed ; and balance its joys with its sorrows. Thou seest that
the cup which is held forth to the whole human race is mixed.
Of its bitter ingredients, expect that thou art to drink thy portion.

Ser.XXVflL] THE HOUSE OF MOURNING 299
Thou seest the storm hovering every where in the clouds around
thee. Be not surprised if on thy head it shall break. Lower
therefore, thy sails. Dismiss thy florid hopes ; and come forth
prepared either to act or to suffer, according as Heaven shall decree.
Thus shalt thou be excited to take the properest measures for de
fence, by endeavouring to secure an interest in his favour, who, in
the time of trouble, can hide thee in his pavilion. Thy mind shall
adjust itself to follow the order of his Providence. Thou shalt be
enabled, with equanimity and steadiness, to hold thy course through
life. In the fifth place, By accustoming ourselves to such serious
views of life, our excessive fondness for life itself will be moderated,
and our minds gradually formed to wish and to long for a better
world . If we know that our continuance here is to be short, and that
we are intended by our Maker for a more lasting state, and for
employments of a nature altogether different from those which now
occupy the busy, or amuse the vain, we must surely be convinced
that it is of the highest consequence to prepare ourselves for so
important a change. This view of our duty is frequently held up
to us in the sacred writings ; and hence religion becomes, though
not a morose, yet a grave and solemn principle, calling off the
attention of men from light pursuits to those which are of eternal
moment. What is a man profited if he shall gain the whole
world, and lose his own soul ? if he shall lead a life of thoughtless
mirth on earth, and exclude himself from eternal felicity in heaven?
Worldly affections and sensual pleasures depress all our higher
powers. They form an unnatural union between the human soul
and this earth, which was only designed for its temporary abode.
They attach it too strongly to objects from which it must shortly
part. They alienate its desires from God and heaven, and deject it
with slavish and unmanly fears of death. Whereas, by the disci
pline of religious seriousness, it is gradually loosened from the
fetters of sense. Assisted to discover the vanity of this world, it
rises above it ; and, in the hours of sober thought, cultivates con
nexion with divine and immortal objects among which it is de
signed to dwell.
Enough has now be said to convince any thinking person of the
justice and reasonableness of the maxims in the text ; and to
show that on various occasions sorrow may be better than laughter.
Wouldst thou acquire the habit of recollection, and fix the princi
ples of thy conduct ; wouldct thou be led up to thy Creator and
Redeemer, and be formed to sentiments of piety and devotion ;
wouldst thou be acquainted with those mild and tender affections
which delight the compassionate and humane ; wouldst thou have
the power of sensual appetites tamed and corrected, and thy soul

300 ON THE BENEFITS, &c. [Ser. XXVIIL
raised above the ignoble love of life, and fear of death? Go, my
brother, go— not to scenes of pleasure and riot, not to the house of
feasting and mirth— but to the silent house of mourning ; and ad
venture to dwell for awhile among objects that will soften thy
heart. Contemplate the lifelesr remains of what once was fair and
flourishing. Bring home to thyself the vicissitudes of life. Recall
the remembrance of the friend, the parent, or the child, whom thou
tenderly lovedst. Look back on the days of former years ; and
think on the companions of thy youth, who now sleep in the dust.
Let the vanity, the mutability, and the sorrows of the human
estate, rise in full prospect before thee ; and though thy countenance
may be made sad, thy heart shall be made better. This sadness,
though for the present it dejects, yet shall in the end fortify thy
spirit ; inspiring thee with such sentiments and prompting such
resolutions, as shall enable thee to enjoy, with more real advantage,
the rest of life. Dispositions of this nature form one part of the
character of those mourners whom our Saviour hath pronounced
blessed; and of those to whom it is promised that sowing in tears,
they shall reap in joy. [Matth. v. 4. Psalm cxxvi. 5.] A great
difference there is between being serious and melancholy ; and a
melancholy too there is of that kind which deserves to be sometimes
indulged. Religion hath, on the whole, provided for every good man abun
dant materials of consolation and relief. How dark soever the pre
sent face of nature may appear, it dispels the darkness, when it
brings into view the entire system of things, and extends our survey
to the whole kingdom of God. It represents what we now behold
as only a part, and a small part, of the general order. It assures us,
that though here, for wise ends, misery and sorrow are permitted
to have place,, these tenrporary evils shall, in the end, advance the
happiness of all who love God, and are faithful to their duty. It
shows them this mixed and confused scene vanishing by degrees
away, and preparing the introduction of that state, where the
house of mourning shall be shut up for ever ; where no tears are
seen, and no groans heard ; where no hopes are frustrated, and no
virtuous connexions dissolved ; but where, under the light of the
Divine countenance, goodness shall flourish in perpetual felicity.
Thus, though religion may occasionally chasten our mirth with sad
ness of countenance, yet under that sadness it allows not the heart
of good men to sink ; it calls upon them to rejoice, because the Lord
reigneth who is their Rock, and the most high God who is their
Redeemer. Reason likewise joins her voice with that of religion ;
forbidding us to make peevish and unreasonable complaints of hu
man life, or injuriously to ascribe to it more evil than it contains.
Mixed as the present state is, she pronounces that generally, if not

Ser. XXIX.] THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT, &c. 301
always, there is more happiness than misery, more pleasure than
pain, in the condition of man.

SERMON XXIX.
ON THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT OF THE PASSIONS OF MEN.
Psalm lxxvi. 10. — Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee ; the
remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.
This Psalm appears to have been composed on occasion of some
remarkable deliverance obtained by the Jewish nation. It is gene
rally understood to have been written in the reign of Hezekiah,
and to refer to the formidable invasion of Judea by Sennacherib ;
when the angel of the Lord, in one night, discomfitted the whole
Assyrian host, and smote them with sudden destruction. To this
interposition of the Divine arm, those expressions in the context
may naturally be applied : There brake he the arrows of the bow,
the shield, the sword, and the battle. The stout-hearted are spoiled;
they have slept their sleep : and none of the men of might have found
their hands. At thy rebuke, O God of Jacob ! both the chariot and
the horse are cast into a dead sleep. In the text we have the wise
and religious reflection of the Psalmist upon the violent designs
which have been carried on by the enemies of his country, and
upon the issue to which Providence brought them. Surely the
wrath of man shall praise thee. By the wrath of man, we are to
understand all that the impetuosity of human passion can devise
or execute; the projects of ambition and resentment, the rage
of persecution ; the fury of war ; the disorders which violence pro
duces in private life, and the public commotions which it excites in
the world. All these shall praise God, not with their intention and
design, nor by their native tendency ; but by those wise and good
purposes, which his providence makes them accomplish ; from their
poison extracting health, and converting things, which in themselves
are pernicious, into instruments of his glory, and of public benefit :
so that, though the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of
God, it is nevertheless forced and compelled to minister to his
praise. The Psalmist adds, the remainder of wrath shalt thou re
strain ; that is, God will allow scope to the wrath of man as far as
it answers his good purposes, and is subservient to his praise ; the
rest of it shall be curbed and bound up. When it would attempt
to go beyond its prescribed limit, he says to it, as to the waters of
the ocean, Hitherto shalt thou come, but ¦& farther ; and here shall
thy proud ivaves be stayed.

302 DIVINE GOVERNMENT OF [Ser. XXIX.
All this shall be fully verified and declared by the last issue of
things; when we shall be able more clearly to trace the Divine
administration through its several steps, by seeing the consumma
tion of the whole. In some cases, it may be reserved for this period
to unfold the mysterious wisdom of heaven. But in general, as
much of the Divine conduct is at present manifest as gives us just
ground for the assertion in the text. In the sequel of this discourse,
I shall endeavour to illustrate and confirm it. I shall show in what
manner the wrath of man is made to praise the power, the wisdom,
the justice, and the goodness, of God.
I begin with this observation, That in order to accomplish the
great purposes carried on by the Government of the Universe, it is
necessary that the Divine perfections be displayed before mankind
in a sensible and striking manner. We are not to conceive the
Supreme Being as hereby seeking praise to himself, from a principle
of ostentation or vain glory. Independent and self-sufficient, he
rests in the enjoyment of his own beatitude. His praise consists
in the general order and welfare of his creation. This end cannot
be attained, unless mankind be made to feel the subjection under
which they are placed. They must be taught to admire and adore
their Sovereign. They must be overawed by the view of a high
hand, which can at pleasure control their actions, and render them
subservient to purposes which they never foresaw nor intended.
Hence the propriety of God's making the wrath of man to praise him.
We easily conceive in what manner the heavens and the earth are
said to praise God, as they are standing monuments of that supreme
perfection which is displayed in their creation. The virtues of good
men obviously praise him, by exhibiting his image, and reflecting
back his glory. But when even the vices and inordinate passions
of bad men are made to praise him, in consequence of the useful
purposes which they are compelled to accomplish, this, in a parti
cular manner, distinguishes and signalizes a Divine hand ; this
opens a more wonderful prospect of the administration of Heaven,
than if all its subjects had been loyal and willingly obedient, and
the course of human affairs had proceeded in a quiet and regular
tenour. I. — The wrath of man redounds to the praise of Divine power.
It brings it forth with full and awful lustre, to the view of mankind.
To reign with sovereign command amidst the most tuibulent and
disordered state of things, both in the natural and moral world,
is the peculiar glory of Omnipotence. Hence, God is described
in Scripture as sitting on the flood, riding on the wings of the wind,
dwelling in the darkness and the tempest ; that is, making the most
violent powers in the universe minister to his will ; giving them

Serm. XXIX.] THE PASSIONS OF MEN. 303
scope or restraining them, according as suits the purposes of his do
minion. As he stills, at his pleasure, the raging of the seas, and the
noise of their waves, in like manner he stills the tumults of the people.
When the passions of men are most inflamed, and their designs just
ripe for bursting into execution ; often, by some unexpected inter
position, he calls upon the world to observe, that there is One
higher than the highest on earth, who can frustrate their devices
in a moment, and command the earth to be still before him. Proud
fleets, destined to carry destruction to neighbouring kingdoms, may
cover the ocean. He blows with his wind, and they are scattered.
Mighty armies may go forth to the field in all the glory of human
strength ; but the issues of battle are with Him. He suspends on
high the invisible balance which weighs the fate of nations. Ac
cording as the scale inclines, he gives to some slight event the
power of deciding the contest. He clouds the sky with darkness,
or opens the windows of heaven to let forth their flood. He dejects
the hearts of the brave with sudden terror, and renders the hands
of the strong weak and unperforming at the critical moment, A
thousand unseen ministers stand ready to be the instruments of his
power, in humbling the pride, and checking the efforts of the wrath
of man. Thus, in the instance of haughty Sennacherib, and that
boasted tempest of wrath which he threatened to pour upon all
the Jewish nation: I will put my hook, says the Almighty, in thy
nose, and my bridle in thy lips, and I will turn thee back by the way
by which thou earnest. [2 Kings xix. 28.] In that night, the de
stroying angel smote the host, and he departed with shame of face to
his own land. When the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain
thing ; when the kings of the earth set themselves, and its rulers take
counsel together. He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh ; the Lord
shall hold them in derision. [Psalm ii. 1, 2, 4.]
II. — The wrath of man is made to praise the wisdom as well as
the power of God. Nothing displays more remarkably the admi
rable counsel of Heaven, than its arranging the train of events, in
such a manner, that the unruly passions of the wicked shall con
tribute to overthrow their own designs. History abounds with
examples of their being rendered the unconscious ministers of
Providence, to accomplish purposes directly opposite to those
which they had in view. Thus, the cruelty of the sons of Jacob,
in pursuing the destruction of their brother Joseph, became the
means of effecting his high advancement. Thus the wrath of Pha
raoh, against the Israelites, and his unjust attempts to detain them
in bondage, proved the occasion of bringing them forth from the
land of slavery, with signal marks df the favour of Heaven. Thus,
the inhuman plan which Haman had formed for ruining Mordecai,
and extirpating the whole Jewish nation, pavei the way for Mor-

304 DIVINE GOVERNMENT OF [Serm. XXIX.
decai's high promotion, and for the triumph of the Jews over all
their enemies.
After this manner, the Almighty snareth the wicked in the work
of their hands, and erects his own counsel upon the ruin of theirs.
Those events, which, viewed apart, appear as spots in the Divine
administration, when considered in connexion with all their con
sequences, are often found to give it additional lustre. The beauty
and magnificence of the universe are much heightened by its
Deing an extensive and complicated system, in which a variety of
springs are made to play, and a multitude of different movements
are, with most admirable art, regulated and kept in order. Inter
fering interests and jarring passions, are, in such manner, balanced
against one another ; such proper checks are placed on the violence
of human pursuits, and the wrath of man is made so to hold his
course, that how opposite soever the several motions seem to be,
yet they concur and meet, at last, in one direction. While, among
the multitudes that dwell on the face of the earth, some are submis
sive to the Divine authority ; some rise up in rebellion against it ;
others, absorbed in their pleasures and pursuits, are totally inatten
tive to it ; they are all so moved by an imperceptible influence from
above, that the zeal of the dutiful, the wrath of the rebellious, and
the indifference of the careless, contribute finally to the glory of
God. All are governed in such a way as suits their powers, and
is consistent with rational freedom, yet all are subjected to the
necessity of fulfilling the eternal purposes of Heaven. This depth
of 'Divine wisdom, in the administration of the universe, exceeds all
human comprehension, and affords everlasting subject of adoration
and praise.
III. — The wrath of man praises the justice of God, by being em
ployed as the instrument of inflicting punishment on sinners. Did
bad men trace the course of events in their life with attentive eye,
they might easily discover the greatest part of the disasters which
they suffer, to be brought upon them by their own ungoverned pas
sions. The succession of causes and effects is so contrived by
Providence, that the wrath which they meant to pour forth on others,
frequently recoils, by its effects, upon themselves. But supposing
them to escape those external mischiefs which violent passions na
turally occasion, they cannot evade the internal misery which they
produce. The constitution of things is framed with such profound
wisdom, that the Divine laws, in every event, execute themselves
against the sinner, and carry their sanction in their own bosom.
The Supreme Being as no occasion to unlock the prisons of the
deep, or to call down the thunder from Heaven, in order to punish
the wrath of man. He carries on the administration of justice with
more simplicity and dignity. It is sufficient, that he allow those

Serm. XXIX.] THE PASSIONS OF MEN 305
fierce passions, which render bad men the disturbers of others, to
operate on their own hearts. He delivers them up to themselves,
and they become their own tormentors. Before the world, they
may disguise their sufferings ; but it is well known, that to be in
wardly torn with despite, revenge, and wrathful passions, is the
most intense of all misery. In thus connecting the punishment
with the crime, making their own wickedness to reprove them, and
their backslidings to correct them, the avenging hand of a righteous
Governor is conspicuous ; and thus the observation of the Psalmist
is fully verified : the wicked have drawn out the sword, and bent
their bow, to cast down the poor and needy ; but their sioord shall
enter into their own heart. [Psalm xxxvii. 14, 15.]
The wrath of man also praises the justice of God in the punish
ment of other criminals, as well as of the wrathful themselves. Am
bitious and lawless men are let loose upon each other, that, without
any supernatural interposition, they may fulfil the just vengeance
of Heaven in their mutual destruction. They may occasionally
be cemented together by conspiracy against the just; but as no
firm, nor lasting bond, can unite them, they become, at last, the
prey of mutual jealousy, strife, and fraud. For a time, they
may go on, and seem to prosper. The justice of Heaven may
appear to slumber ; but it is awake, and only waits till the measure
of their iniquity be full. God represents himself, in Scripture, as
sometimes permitting wickedness to rise to an overgrown height,
on purpose that its ruin may be the greater, and more exemplary.
He says to the tyrant of Egypt, that for this cause he had raised
him up ; that is, had allowed him to prosper and be exalted, that he
might show in him his power ; and that his name might be declared
throughout all the earth. [Exod. ix. 16.] The divine administration
is glorified in the punishment contrived for the workers of iniquity,
as well as in the reward prepared for the righteous. This is the
purpose which the Lord hath purposed upon all the earth, and this is
the hand that is stretched forth over all the nations. [Isaiah xiv. 26.]
IV. — The wrath of man is made to praise the goodness of God-
This is the most unexpected of its effects, and therefore requires
to be the most fully illustrated. All the operations of the govern
ment of the Deity may be ultimately resolved into goodness. His
power, and wisdom, and justice, all conduce to general happiness
and order. Among the means which he uses for accomplishing
this end, it will be found, that the wrath of man, through his over
ruling direction, possesses a considerable place.
First, it is employed by God as an useful instrument of disci
pline and correction to the virtuous. The storms which ambition
and pride raise among mankind, he permits, with the same intention,
that he sends forth tempests among the elements, to clear the atmos^

306 DIVINE GOVERNMENT OF [Serm. XXIX.
sphere of noxious vapours, and to purify it from that corruption
which all things contract by too much rest. When wicked men
prevail in their designs, and exercise the power which they have
gained with a heavy and oppressive hand, the virtuous are apt to ex
claim, in bitterness of soul, " Where is the Lord ? and where the
sceptre of righteousness and truth ? Hath God forgotten to be
gracious ? or doth he indeed see, and is there knowledge in the Most
High ?  Their oppressors are, in truth, no more than the minis
ters of God to them for good. He sees that they stand in need of
correction, and therefore raises up enemies against them, in order
to cure the intemperance of prosperity, and to produce, in the
serious hours of affliction, proper reflections upon their duty and
their past errors.
In this light, the disturbers of the earth are often represented in
Scripture, as scourges in the hand of God, employed to inflict
chastisement upon a degenerating people. They are commissioned
for the execution of righteous and wise purposes, concealed from
themselves ; and when their commission is fulfilled, they are re
called and destroyed. Of this we have a remarkable example in
the use which God made of the King of Assyria, with respect to
the people of Israel : 1 will send him against an hypocritical nation,
and against the people of my wrath will I give him a charge, to take
the spoil, and to take the prey. Howbeit, he meaneth not so ; neither
doth his heart think so ; but it is in his heart to destroy, and cut off
nations not a few. Wherefore it shall come to pass, that when the
Lord hath performed his whole work upon Mount Zion, and on Jem-
salem? I will punish the fruit of the stout heart of the king of Assyria
and the glory of his high looks. [Isaiah x. 6, 7, 12.] In vain, then,
doth the wrath of man lift itself up against God. He saith, by the
strength of my hand I have done it, and by my wisdom, for I am pru
dent. Shall the axe boast itself against him that heweth therewith ?
or shall the saw magnify itself against him that shaketh it ? All
things, whether they will it or not„must work together for good to
them that love God. The wrath of man, among the rest, fills up
the place assigned to it by the ordination of Heaven. The violent
enemy, the proud conqueror, and the oppressive tyrant, possess
only the same station with the famine, the pestilence, and the
flood. Their triumphs are no more than the accomplishment of
God's correction, and the remainder of their wrath shall he restrcin.
Secondly, God makes the wrath of man contribute to the be
nefit of the virtuous, by rendering it the means of improving and
signalizing their graces, and of raising them, thereby, to higher
honour and glory. Had human affairs proceeded in an orderly
train, and no opposition been made to religion and virtue, by the
violence of the wicked, what room would have been left for some

Ser.XXIX.] THE PASSIONS OF MEN. 307
of the highest and most generous exertions of the soul of man?
How many shining examples of fortitude, constancy, and patience,
would have been lost to the world ! What a field of virtues pecu
liar to a state of discipline had lain uncultivated ! Spirits of a
higher order possess a state of established virtue, that stands in
need of no such trials and improvements. But to us, who are
only under education for such a state, it belongs to pass through
the furnace, that our souls may be tried, refined, and brightened.
We must stand the conflict, that we may be graced and crowned
as conquerors. The wrath of man opens the field to glory ; calls
us forth to the most distinguished exercise of active virtue, and
forms us to all those suffering graces which are among the highest
ornaments of the human soul. It is thus, that the illustrious band
of true patriots and heroes, of confessors and martyrs, have been
set forth to the admiration of all ages, as lights of the world; while
the rage and fury of enemies, instead of bearing them down, have
only served to exalt and dignify them more.
Thirdly, The wrath of man is often made to advance the temporal
prosperity of the righteous. The occasional distresses which it
brings upon them, frequently iay the foundation of their future
success. The violence with which wicked men pursue their resent
ment, defeats its own purpose ; and engages the world on the side
of the virtuous whom they persecute. The attempts of malice to
blacken and defame them, bring forth their characters with more
advantage to the view of impartial beholders. The extremities to
which they are reduced by injustice and oppression, rouse their
courage and activity ; and often give occasion to such vigorous
efforts in their just defence, as overcome all opposition, and termi
nate in prosperity and success. Even in cases where the wrath of
man appears to prevail over the peaceable and the just, it is fre
quently, in its issue converted into a blessing. How many have
had reason to be thankful, for being disappointed by their enemies,
in designs which they earnestly pursued, but which, if successfully
accomplished, they have afterwards seen would have occasioned
their ruin ! Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even he shall
understand the loving kindness of the Lord. [Psalm cvii. 43.]
While the wrath of man thus praises God by the advantages
which it is made to bring to good men as individuals, the divine
hand is equally apparent in the similar effects which it is appointed
to produce to nations and societies. When wars and commotions
shake the earth, when factions rage, and intestine divisions
embroil kingdoms that before were flourishing, Providence seems,
at first view, to have abandoned public affairs to the misrule of hu
man passions. Yet, from the midst of this confusion, order is often
made to spring; and from these mischiefs lasting advantages to
x2

308 DIVINE GOVERNMENT OF [Ser. XXVII.
arise. By such convulsions, nations are roused from that dangerous
lethargy into which flowing wealth, long peace, and growing
effeminacy of manners, had sunk them. They are awakened to
discern their true interests ; and taught to take proper measures
for security and defence against all theii foes. Inveterate preju
dices are corrected ; and latent sources of danger are discovered.
Public spirit is called forth ; and larger views of national happiness
are formed. The corruptions to which every government is liable,
are often rectified by a ferment in the political body, as noxious
humours in the animal frame are carried off by the shock of a
disease. Attempts made against a wise and well-established civil
constitution tend in the Issue to strengthen it ; and the disorders
of licentiousness and faction teach men more highly to prize the
blessings of tranquillity and legal protection.
Fourthly, The wrath of man, when it breaks forth in the per
secution of religion, praises the divine goodness, by being rendered
conducive to the advancement of truth, and propagation of religion
in the world. The church of God, since the days of its infancy,
hath never been entirely exempted, from the wrath of the world ;
and in those ages during which it was most exposed to that wrath,
it hath always flourished the most. In vain the policy and the
rage of men united their efforts to extinguish 'this divine light.
Though all the four winds blew against it, it only shone brighter,
and flamed higher. Many waters could not quench it, nor all the
floods drown it. The constancy and fortitude of those who suffered
for the truth, had a much greater effect in increasing the number
of converts, than all the terror and. cruelty of persecutors in
diminishing it. By this means the wrath of man was made to turn
against itself, to the destruction of its own purpose ; like waves,
which, assaulting a rock with impotent fury, discover its immoveable
stability, while they dash themselves in pieces at his feet.
I shall only add one other instance of the wrath of man praising
God, by accomplishing ends of most extensive benefit to mankind.
Never did the rage and malice of the wicked imagine that they had
obtained a more complete triumph, than in the death of Jesus
Christ. When they had executed their purpose of making him
suffer as a malefactor, they were confident that they had extin
guished his name, and discomfited his followers for ever. Behold,
how feeble are the efforts of the wrath of man against the decree
of Heaven ! All that they intended to overthrow, they most
effectually established. The death of Christ was, in the councils
of Heaven, the spring of everlasting life to the faithful. The cross
on which he suffered with apparent ignominy, became the standard
of eternal honour to him ; the ensign under which his followers
assembled and triumphed. He who, at his pleasure, restrains the

Ser.XXIX.] THE PASSIONS OF MEN. 309
remainder of wrath, suffered the rage of our Saviour's enemies to
suggest no other things to them than what long before he had
determined, and his Prophets had foretold. They all conspired to
render the whole scene of Christ's sufferings exactly conformable-
to the original predicted plan of Divine mercy and goodness ; and
each of them contributed his share to accomplish that great
undertaking, which none of them in the least understood, or meant
to promote.  So remarkable an instance as this, fully ascertained
in Scripture, of the wrath of man ministering to the designs of
Heaven, ought to be frequently in our eye ; as an exemplification
of the conduct of Providence in many other cases, where we have
not so much light afforded us for tracing its ways.
By this induction of particulars, the doctrine contained in the
text is plainly and fully verified. We have seen that the disorders
which the pride and passions of men occasion in the world, though
they take rise from the corruption of human nature in this fallen
state, yet are so over-ruled by Providence as to redound to his
honour and glory who governs all. They illustrate before the world
the divine perfections in the administration of the universe. They
serve the purposes of moral and religious improvement to the souls
of men. By a secret tendency they advance the welfare of those
whom they appear to threaten with evil. Surely, O God ! the wrath
of man shall praise thee ; the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.
In thy hand it is ; and Thou never lettest it forth but in weight and
in measure. It is wild and intractable in its nature; but Thou
tamest it. It is blind and headlong in its impulse ; but Thou
directest it. It struggles continually to break its chain ; but Thou
confinest it. Thou retrenchest all the superfluity of its fury.— Let
us now consider, what improvement is to be made of this medita
tion on the ways of Providence.
In the first place, Let it lead us to a religious contemplation of
the hand of God in all the transactions of the world. In the or
dinary course of human affairs, we behold a very mixed and- busy
scene ; the passions of men variously agitated, and new changes
daily taking place upon this stage of time. We behold peace and
war alternately returning ; the fortunes of private men rising and
falling ; and states and nations partaking of the same vicissitude.
In all this, if we attend only to the operation of external causes,
and to the mere , rotation of events, we view no more than the
inanimate part of nature ; we stop at the surface of things ; we
contemplate the great spectacle which is presented to us, not with
the eyes of rational and intelligent beings. The life and beauty
of the universe arises from the view of that wisdom and goodness
which animates and conducts the whole, and unites all the parts
in one great design. There is an eternal Mind who puts all those

310 DIVINE GOVERNMENT, &c. [Ser. XXIX.
wheels in motion ; Himself remaining for ever at rest. Nothing is
void of God. Even in the passions and ragings of men, He is to
oe found ; and where they imagine they guide themselves, they are
guided and controlled by his hand. What solemn thoughts and
devout affections ought this meditation to inspire ; when, in viewing
the affairs of the world, we attend not merely to the actings of men,
but to the ways of God ; and consider ourselves, and all our
concerns, as included in his high administration.
In the second place, The doctrine which has been illustrated
should prevent us from censuring Providence, on account of any
seeming disorders and evils which at present take place in the
world. The various instances which have been pointed out in this
discourse, of human passion and wickedness rendered subservient
to wise and useful ends, give us the highest reason to conclude,
that in all other cases of seeming evil, the like ends are carried on.
This ought to satisfy our mind, even when the prospect is most
dark and discouraging. The plans of divine wisdom are too large
and comprehensive to be discerned by us in all their extent ; and
where we see only by parts, we must frequently be at a loss in judg
ing of the whole. The way of God is in the sea, and his paths in the
great waters; his footsteps are not known. [Psalm lxxvii. 19.] But
although thou sayest thou canst not see him, yet judgement is before
him, therefore trust thou in him. [Job xxxv. 14.] As in the natural
world no real deformity is found, nothing but what has either some
ornament or some use ; so, in the moral world, the most irregular
and deformed appearances contribute, in one way or other, to the
order of the whole. The Supreme Being, from the most opposite
and disagreeing principles, forms universal concord ; and adapts
even the most harsh and dissonant notes to the harmony of his
praise. As he hath reared the goodly frame of nature from various
and jarring elements, and hath settled it in peace ; so he hath
formed such an union by his providence of the more various
interests, and more jarring passions of men, that they all conspire to
his glory, and co-operate for general good. — How amazing is that
wisdom, which comprehends such infinite diversities and contrarie
ties within its scheme ! How powerful that hand which bends to
its own purpose the good and the bad, the busy and the idle, the
friends and the foes of truth ; which obliges them all to hold on
their course to his glory, though divided from one another by a
multiplicity of pursuits, and differing often from themselves ; and
while they all move at their own freedom, yet, by a secret influence,
winds and turns them at his will ! O the depth of the riches, both
of the wisdom and knowledge of God ! how unsearchable are his judge
ments, and his ways past finding out! [Rom. xi. 33.]
In the third place, We see from what has been said, how much

Ser. XXX.] IMPORTANCE OF, &c. 3-11
reason there is for submission to the decrees of Heaven. Whatever
distresses we suffer from the wrath of man, we have ground to be
lieve that they befal not in vain. In the midst of human violence
or oppression, we are not left to be the sport of fortune. Higher
counsels are concerned. Wise and good designs are going on.
God is always carrying forward his own purposes ; and if these ter
minate in his glory, which is ever the same with the felicity of the
righteous, is not this a sufficient reason for our calm and cheerful
acquiescence ?
Hence also, to conclude, arises the most powerful argument for
studying with zealous assiduity to gain the favour and protection of
the Almighty. If his displeasure hang over our heads, all things
around us may be just objects of terror. For against him there is
no defence. The most violent powers in nature are ministers
to him. Formidable, indeed, may prove the wrath of man, if he
be pleased to let it forth against us. To him, but not to us, it be
longs to restrain it at pleasure. Whereas, when we are placed under
his protection, all human wrath is divested of its terrors. If He be
for us, who, or what can be against us ? Let us pursue the measures
which he hath appointed for obtaining his grace, by faith, repent
ance, and a holy life, and we shall have no reason to be afraid of
evil tidings ; our hearts will be fixed, trusting in the Lord. When
the religious fear of God possesses the heart, it expels the ignoble
fear of man, and becomes the principle of courage and magnanimity.
The Lord is a buckler and a shield to them that serve him. When
he ariseth, his enemies shall be scattered as smoke is driven away,
and as chaff before the wind. lie giveth strength and victory to his
people ; he clotheth them with salvation. The wrath of man shall
praise him, and the remainder of wrath shall he restrain.

SERMON XXX.
ON THE IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE TO MANKIND.
[Preached before the Society in Scotland for propagating Christian
Knowledge.]
Isaiah xi. 9.— They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy moun
tain ; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as
the waters cover the sea.
This passage of Scripture is understood, by all Christian inter
preters, to refer to the days of the Gospel. The Prophet describes
in the context the auspicious influence of the Messiah's reign, as
extending over all nature, and producing universal felicity. The
full accomplishment of this prediction is yet future, and respects

312 IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS [Ser XXX
some more advanced period of the kingdom of God, when true re
ligion shall universally prevail, and the native tendency of th
Gospel attain its entire effect. In the prospect of this event the
Prophet seems to rise above himself, and celebrates that happy age
in the most sublime strain of Eastern poetry. He opens a beauti
ful view of the state of the world, as a state of returning innocence.
He represents all nature flourishing in peace ; discord and guile
abolished; the most hostile natures reconciled, and the most
savage reformed and tame. The wolf shall dwell with the lamb ;
and the leopard lie down with the kid ; and the calf, and the young
lion, and the fatting together, and a little child shall lead them. The
lion shall eat straw like an ox; and the suckling child shall play on
the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the
cockatrice den. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy moun
tain ; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the
waters cover the sea.
Upon reading these words, we must immediately perceive the
great encouragement which they give to all good designs for pro
moting religion in the world. When we engage in these, we have
the comfort of being engaged, not only in a good cause, but also
in one that shall undoubtedly be successful. For we are here as
sured by the divine promise, that truth and righteousness shall
at length prevail, and that the increasing influence of religion shall
introduce general happiness. It is a pleasing and animating re
flection, that, in carrying on such designs, we act upon the Divine
plan ; and co-operate with God for advancing the kingdom of the
Messiah. We have no reason to be discouraged by any unfavour
able circumstances which at present oppose our pious endeavours.
Though the ignorance, superstition, and corruption, which now
fill so great a part of the world, have a dark and mysterious as
pect, it is not beyond the power of that Supreme Being, who
brings light out of darkness, to clear up those perplexing appear
ances, and gradually to extricate mankind from the labyrinth of
ignorance and error. Let us consider* how improbable it seemed,
when the Gospel was first published, that it should extend so far,
and overthrow so much established superstition, as it has already
done. There is nothing in the present state of the world to render
it more unlikely that it shall one day be universally received, and
prevail in its full influence. At the rise of Christianity, the dis
proportion was, at least, as great, between the apparent human
causes, and the effect which has actually been produced, as there
is in our age, between the circumstances of religion in the world,
and the effect which we farther expect. The Sun of righteousness
having already exerted its influence in breaking through the thick
est darkness, we may justly hope, that it is powerful enough to

Ser. XXX,] KNOWLEDGE TO MANKIND. 313
dispel all remaining obscuiity, and that it will ascend by degrees to
that perfect day, when healing shall be under its wings to all the na
tions. A little one shall become a thousand, and a small one a strong
nation. I the Lord will hasten it in its time. [Isaiah lx. 22.]
Besides the prediction which the text contains of the future suc
cess of religion, it points out also a precise connection between the
increase of religious knowledge, and the' happiness of mankind.
The knowledge of the Lord filling the earth is assigned as the cause
why they shall not hurt nor destroy in all the holy mountain of God.
To this I am now to lead your thoughts ; as a subject both suited
to the occasion of the present meeting, and proper to be illustrated
in times, wherein total indifference to religious principles appears
to gain ground. Whether Christianity shall be propagated farther
or not, is treated as a matter of no great concern to mankind.
The opinion prevails among many, that moral virtue may subsist
with equal advantage, independent of r eligion. For moral princi
ples great regard is professed ; but articles of religious belief are
held to be abstract tenets remote from life ; points of mere specu
la tion and debate, the influence of which is very inconsiderable on
the actions of men. The general conduct, it is contended, will always
proceed upon views and principles which have more relation to the
present state of things ; and religious knowledge can therefore
stand in no necessary connexion with their happiness and prosperity,
How adverse such opinions are, both to the profession and practice
of religion is abundantly evident. How adverse they are to the
general welfare and real interests of mankind, I hope to make ap
pear to candid minds.
By the knowledge of the Lord, in the text, is not to be understood
the natural knowledge of God only. It is plain that the Prophet
speaks of the age of the Messiah, when more enlarged discoveries
should be made to mankind of the Divine perfections and govern
ment, than unassisted reason could attain. The knowledge of the
Lord, therefore, comprehends the principles of Christianity, as well
as of natural religion. In order to discern the importance of such
knowledge to general happiness, we shall consider man, I. as an in
dividual ; II. as a member of society.
I. — Considering man as an individual, let us inquire how far the
knowledge of true religion is important, first, to his improvement,
next, to his consolation.
First, With respect to the improvement of man ; the advance
ment of his nature in what is valuable and useful, the acquisition of
such dispositions and habits as fit him for acting his part with pro
priety on this stage, and prepare him for a higher state of action
hereafter; what benefit does he receive, in these respects, from
religious knowledge and belief? It is obvious that all increase of

314 IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS [Ser. XXX.
knowledge is improvement to the understanding. The more that
its sphere is enlarged, the greater number of objects that are sub
mitted to its view, especially when these objects are of intrinsic
excellence, the more must those rational powers, which are the glory
of man, be in the course of attaining their proper strength and
maturity. But were the knowledge of religion merely specula
tive, though the speculation must be admitted to be noble, yet less
could be said of its importance. We recommend it to mankind, as
forming the heart, and directing the life. Those pure and exalted
conceptions which the Christian religion has taught us to entertain
of the Deity, as the universal Father and righteous Governor of the
universe, the standard of unspotted perfection, and the Author of
every good and perfect gift ; conducting his whole administration
with an eternal regard to order, virtue, and truth; ever favour
ing the cause, and supporting the interests, of righteous men ; and
applying in this direction the whole might of omnipotence, and
the whole council of unerring wisdom, from the beginning to the
end of things; such conceptions both kindle devotion, and
strengthen virtue. They give fortitude to the mind in the practice
of righteousness, and establish the persuasion of its being our
highest interest.
All the doctrines peculiar to the Gospel are great improvements
on what the light of nature had imperfectly suggested. A high
dispensation of Providence is made known, particularly suited to
the exigencies of man; calculated for recovering him from that
corrupted state into which experience bears witness that he is
fallen, and for restoring him to integrity, and favour with his
Creator. The method of carrying on this great plan is such as
gives us the most striking views of the importance of righteousness
or virtue, and of the high account in which it stands with God.
The Son of God appeared on the earth, and suffered as a propitia
tion for the sins of the world, with this express intention, that he
might bring in everlasting righteousness : that he might purge our
consciences from dead works to serve the living God ; that he might
redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people
zealous of good works. Such a merciful interposition of the Creator
of the world, while it illustriously displays his goodness, and
signalizes his concern for the moral interests of mankind, affords us
at the same time the most satisfying ground of confidence and trust
It offers an object to the mind on which it can lay hold for the
security of its future hopes ; when, with a certainty far beyond
what any abstract argument could yield, it appeals to a distinguished
fact ; and is enabled, to say, He that spared not his own Son, but
delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give '
us all things ? [Rom. viii. 32.]

Ser. XXX.] KNOWLEDGE TO MANKIND. 315
While the Divine government is thus placed in a light the most
amiable, and most encouraging to every virtuous mind, there is,
at the same time, something extremely7 awful and solemn in the
whole doctrine of redemption. It is calculated to strike the mind
with reverence for the Divine administration. It points at some
deep malignity in sin, at some dreadful consequences flowing from
guilt, unknown in their causes and in their whole effects to us,
which moved the Sovereign of the world to depart from the ordi
nary course of Providence, and to bring about the restoration of
his fallen creatures by a method so astonishing. Mankind are
hereby awakened to the most serious reflections. Such views are
opened of the sanctity of the Divine laws, of the strictness of the
Divine justice, of the importance of the part which is assigned
them to act, as serve to prevent their trifling with human life, and
add dignity and solemnity to virtue. These great purposes are
farther carried on, by the discovery which is made of the fixed
connexion in which this life stands with a future eternal state.
We are represented as sowing now, what we are to reap hereafter ;
undergoing a course of probation and trial, which, according as it
terminates in our improvement, or leaves us unreformed and cor
rupted, will dismiss us to lasting abodes, either of punishment or
reward. Such a discovery rises far above the dubious conjec
tures and uncertain reasonings, which mere natural light suggests
concerning the future condition of mankind. Here we find, what
alone can produce any considerable influence on practice, explicit
promise and threatening; an authoritative sanction given to a
law ; the Governor and Judge revealed ; and all the motives which
can operate on hope and fear, brought home to the heart, with,
Thus saith the Lord of Hosts. In a word, a great and magnificent
plan of Divine administration is opened to us in the Gospel of
Christ ; and nothing is omitted that can impress mankind with the
persuasion of their being all, in the strictest sense, subjects of the
moral government of God.
Though the bounds of this discourse allow us to take only an
imperfect view of the principles of Christian doctrine, yet the
hints which have been given lay a sufficient foundation for ap
pealing to every impartial mind, whether the knowledge and be
lief of such principles be not intimately connected with the im
provement, and, by consequence, with the happiness of man ? I
reason now with such as admit, that virtue is the great source
both of improvement and happiness. Let them lay what stress
they please upon the authority of conscience, and upon the force
and evidence of its dictates ; can they refuse to allow, that the
natural tendency of the principles which I have mentioned, is to
support those dictates, and to confirm that authority; to excite,

316 IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS [Ser. XXX.
on various occasions, the most useful sentiments ; to provide
additional restraints from vice, and additional motives to every
virtue? Who dares pronounce, that there is no case in which
conscience stands in need of such assistance to direct, where there
is so much uncertainty and darkness ; and to prompt, where there
is so much feebleness and irresolution, and such a fatal proneness
to vice and folly ?
But how good soever the tendency of religious principles may
be, some will still call in question their actual significancy and
influence on life. This tendency is by various causes defeated.
Between the belief of religious principles and a correspondent
practice, it will be alleged, that frequent experience shews there is
no necessary connexion ; and that, therefore, the propagation of
the one, cannot give us any assurance of proportionable improve
ments following in the other. — This, in part, is granted to be
true, as we admit that religious knowledge and belief are suscep
tible of various degrees, before they arrive at that real Christian
faith, which the Scripture represents, as purifying the heart. But
though the connexion between principle and practice be not ne
cessary and invariable, it will not, I suppose, be denied, that there
is some connexion. Here, then, one avenue to the heart is opened.
If the tendency of Religious Knowledge be good, wisdom must
direct, and duty oblige, us to cultivate it. For tendency will, at
least in some cases, rise into effect, and probably, in more cases
than are known and observed by the world. Besides the distin
guished examples of true religion and virtue, which have more or
less adorned every age of the Christian sera, what numbers may
there be, in the more silent and private scenes of life, overlooked
by superficial observers of mankind, on whose hearts and lives
religious principles have the most happy influence ? Even on loose
and giddy minds, where they are far from accomplishing their
full effect, their influence is, frequently, not altogether lost. Im
pressions of religion often check vice in its career. They prevent
it from proceeding its utmost length ; and though they do not
entirely reform the offender, they serve to maintain order in society.
Persons who are now bad, might probably have been worse
without them, and the world have suffered more from unrestrained
licentiousness. They often sow latent seeds of goodness in the
heart, which proper circumstances and occasions afterwards ripen ;
though the reformation of the offender may not be so conspicuous
as his former enormities have been. From the native tendency of
religious belief, there is reason to conclude, that those good effects
of it are not so rare as some would represent them. By its nature
and tendency, we can better judge of its -effects, than by obser
vations drawn from a supposed experience, which often is narrow
in its compass, and fallacious in its conclusions.

Ser. XXX.] KNOWLEDGE TO MANKIND. 317
The actual influence of principle and belief on mankind admits
of clear illustration from uncontested matter of fact. They who
hold the good effects of Christian principles to be so inconsiderable,
as to render the propagation of them of small importance, will
be at no loss to give us instances of corrupt principles of belief
having had the most powerful influence on the world. Loud
complaints we hear from this quarter of the direful effects which
superstition and enthusiasm have produced ; of their having poi
soned the tempers and transformed the manners of men ; of their
having overcome the strongest restraints of law, of reason, and
humanity. Is this, then, the case, that all principles, except good
ones, are of such mighty energy? Strange! that false religion
should be able to do so much, and true religion so little ; that be
lief so powerful in the one case, should be so impotent in the
other.— No impartial inquirer, surely, can entertain this opinion.
The whole history of mankind shows, that their religious tenets
and principles, of whatever nature they be, are of great influence
in forming their character, and directing their conduct. The mis
chief which false principles have done, affords a good argument
to guard carefully against error ; but as it is a proof of what belief
can do, it gives ground to hope the more from it, when rightly
directed. The same torrent which, when it is put out of its natural
course, overflows and lays waste a country, adorns and enriches
it, when running in its proper channel. If it be alleged that super
stition is likely to be more powerful in its effects than truth, be
cause it agrees better with the follies and corruptions of the world,
we may oppose to this, on the other hand, that truth has the Di
vine blessing and the countenance of Heaven on its side. Let us
always hope well of a cause that is good in itself, and beneficial to
mankind. Truth is mighty, and will prevail. Let us spread the
incorruptible seed as widely as we can, and trust in God that he will
give the increase. — Having thus shown the importance of Religious
Knowledge to mankind, in the way of improvement, let us,
In the second place, Consider it in the light of consolation ; as
bringing aid and relief to us amidst the distresses of life. Here
religion incontestibly triumphs, and its happy effects in this re
spect, furnish a strong argument to every benevolent mind, for
wishing them to be farther diffused throughout the world. For,
without the belief afforded by Divine Revelation, the circumstances
of man are extremely forlorn. He finds himself placed here, as a
stranger in a vast universe, where the powers and^ operations of
nature are very imperfectly known ; where both the beginnings
and the issues of things are involved in mysterious darkness;
where he is unable to discover, with any certainty, whence he
sprung, or for what purpose he was brought into this state of

318 IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS [Ser. XXX.
existence ; whether he be subjected to the government of a mild, or
of a wrathful ruler ; what construction he is to put on many of the
dispensations of his Providence ; and what his fate is to be when
he departs hence. What a disconsolate, situation to a serious in
quiring mind ! The greater degree of virtue it possesses, its sen
sibility is likely to be the more oppressed by this burden of
labouring thought. Even though it were in one's power to banish
all uneasy thought, and to fill up the hours of life with perpetual
amusement, life so filled up, would, upon reflection, appear poor
and trivial. But these are far from being the terms upon which
man is brought into this world. He is conscious that his being is
frail and feeble ; he sees himself beset with various dangers, and
is exposed to many a melancholy apprehension, from the evils
which he may have to encounter, before he arrives at the close of
life. In this distressed condition, to reveal to him such discoveries
of the Supreme Being, as the Christian religion affords, is to
reveal to him a Father and a Friend ; is to let in a ray of the most
cheering light upon the darkness of the human estate. He who
was before a destitute orphan, wandering in the inhospitable desert,
has now gained a shelter from the bitter and inclement blast.
He now knows to whom to pray, and in whom to trust ; where to
unbosom his sorrows, and from what hand to look for relief.
It is certain, that when the heart bleeds from some wound of
recent misfortune, nothing is of equal efficacy with religious com
fort. It is of power to enlighten the darkest hour, and to assuage
the severest woe, by the belief of Divine favour, and the prospect
of a blessed immortality. In such hopes, the mind expatiates
with joy ; and when bereaved of its earthly friends, solaces itself
with the thought of one Friend, who will never forsake it. Re
fined reasonings concerning the nature of the human condition,
and the improvement which philosophy teaches us to make of
every event, may entertain the mind when it is at ease, may per
haps contribute to soothe it when slightly touched with sorrow.
But when it is torn with any sore distress, _they are cold and feeble,
compared with a direct promise from the word of God. This is
an anchor to the soul both sure and steadfast. This has given conso
lation and refuge to many a virtuous heart, at a time when the
most cogent reasonings would have proved utterly unavailing.
Upon the approach of death, especially when, if a man thinks
at all, his anxiety about his future interests must naturally in
crease, the power of religious consolation is sensibly felt. Then
appears in the most striking light, the high value of the disco
veries made by the Gospel,; not only life and immortality revealed,
but a Mediator with God discovered ; mercy proclaimed, through
him, to the frailties of the penitent and the humble ; and his pre-

.Ser. XXX] KNOWLEDGE 10 MANKIND. 319
sence promised to be with them when they are passing through
the valley of the shadow of death, in order to bring them safe into
unseen habitations of rest and joy. Here is ground for their leaving
the world with comfort and peace. But in this severe and tiying
teriod, this labouring hour of nature, how shall the unhappy man
support himself, who knows not, or believes not, the discoveries of
religion ? Secretly conscious to himself that he has not acted his
part as he ought to have done, the sins of his past life arise before
him in sad remembrance. He wishes to exist after death, and yet
dreads that existence. The governor of the world is unknown.
He cannot tell whether every endeavour to obtain his mercy may
not be vain. All is awful obscurity around him ; and in the midst.
of endless doubts and perplexities, the trembling, reluctant soul
is forced away from the body. As the misfortunes of life must,
to such a man, have been most oppressive, so its end is bitter.
His sun sets in a dark-cloud ; and the night of death closes over
his head, full of misery. — Having now shown how important the
Knowledge of the Lord is, both to the improvement and the con
solation of man, considered as an individual, I am next to
show, II. — How important this Knowledge is to him as a member of
society. This branch of the subject is in part anticipated by
what has been said. For all the improvement which man "receives
as an individual, redounds to the benefit of the public. Society
reaps the fruit of the virtues of all the members who compose it ;
and in proportion as each, apart, is made better, the whole must
flourish. But, besides this effect, Religious Knowledge has a direct ten
dency to improve the social intercourse of men, . and to assist them
in co-operating for common good. It is the great instrument
of civilizing the multitude, and forming them to union. It tames
the fierceness of their passions, and softens the rudeness of their
manners. There is much reason to doubt whether any regular
society ever subsisted, or could subsist in the world, destitute
of all religious ideas and principles. They who, in early
times, attempted to bring the wandering and scattered tribes of
men from the woods, and to unite them in cities and commnni-
ties, always found it necessary to begin with some institution of
religion. The wisest legislators of old, through the whole progress
of their systems of government, considered religion as essential to
civil polity. If even those imperfect forms of it, loaded with so
much superstition and error, were important to the welfare of so
ciety, how much, more that reasonable worship -of the true God,
which is taught by the Gospel ! True religion introduces the idea
of, regular subjection, by accustoming mankind to the awe of a su-

320 IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS [Ser. XXX.
perioi power in the Deity, joined with the veneration of superior
wisdom and goodness. It is by its nature an associating principle ;
and creates new and sacred bonds of union among men. Common
assemblies for religious worship, and joint homage offered up to
one God ; the sense of being all dependent on the same protection, ,
and bound to duty by the same ties, sharers in the same benefits of
heaven, and expectants of the same reward ; tend to awaken the
sentiments of friendly relation, and to confirm and strengthen our
mutual connexion. The doctrine of Christianity is most adverse to
all tyranny and oppression, but highly favourable to the interest of
good government among men. It represses the spirit of licentious
ness and sedition. It inculcates the duty of subordination to law
ful superiors. It requires us to fear God, to honour the king, and not
to meddle with them that are given to change.
Religious Knowledge forwards all useful and ornamental improve
ments in society. Experience shows, that in proportion as it diffuses
its light, learning flourishes, and liberal arts are cultivated and ad
vanced. Just conceptions of religion promote a free and manly
spirit. They lead men to think for themselves , to form their prin
ciples upon fair inquiry, and not to resign their conscience to the
dictates of men. Hence they naturally inspire aversion to slavery
of every kind ; and promote a taste for liberty and laws. Despotic
governments have generally taken the firmest root among nations
that were blinded by Mahometan or Pagan darkness ; where the
throne of violence has been supported by ignorance and false religion.
In the Christian world, during those centuries in which gross
superstition held its reign undisturbed, oppression and slavery
were in its train. The cloud of ignorance sat thick and deep
over the nations ; and the world was threatened with a relapse
into ancient barbarity. As soon as the true Knowledge of the
Lord, revived, at the auspicious asra of the Reformation, learning
liberty, and arts, began to shine forth with it, and to resume their
lustre. But the happy influence which religion exerts on society, ex
tends much farther than to effects of this kind. It is not only
subsidiary to the improvement, but necessary to the preservation,
of society. It is the very basis on which it rests. Religious
principle is what gives men the surest hold of one another. That
last and greatest pledge of veracity, an oath, without which no
society could subsist, derives its whole authority from an esta
blished reverence of God, to whom it is a solemn appeal. Banish
religious principle, and you loosen all the bonds which connect
mankind together ; you shake the fundamental pillar of mutual
confidence and trust ; you render the security arising from laws,
in a great measure, void and ineffectual. For human laws and

Ser. XXX.] KNOWLEDGE TO MANKIND. 321
human sanctions cannot extend to numberless cases, in which
the safety of mankind is deeply concerned. They would prove
very feeble instruments of order and peace, if there were no checks
upon the conduct of men from the sense of Divine legislation ; if
no belief of future rewards and punishments were to overawe
conscience, and to supply the defects of human government.
Indeed, the belief of religion is of such importance to public
welfare, that the most expressive description we could give of a
society of men in the utmost disorder, would be to say that there
was no fear of God left among them. Imagination would im
mediately conceive them as abandoned to rapine and violence, to
perfidy and treachery ; as deceiving and deceived ; oppressing and
oppressed ; consumed by intestine broils, and ripe for becoming a
prey to the first invader. On the other hand, in order to form the
idea of a society flourishing in its highest glory, we need only con
ceive the belief of Christian principle exerting its full influence on
the hearts and lives of all the members. Instantly, the most
amiable scene would open to our view. We should see the cause of
public disunion removed, when men were animated with that noble
spirit of love and charity which our religion breathes, and formed
to the pursuits of those higher interests, which give no occasion
to competition and jealousy. We should see families, neighbour
hoods, and communities, living in unbroken amity, and pursuing,
with one heart and mind, the common interests ; sobriety of man
ners, and simplicity of life, restored ; virtuous industry carrying
on its useful labours, and cheerful contentment every where reigning.
Politicians may lay down what plans they please for advancing
public prosperity ; but, in truth, it is the prevalency of such
principles of religion and virtue which forms the strength and
glory of a nation. Where these are totally wanting, no measures
contrived by human wisdom can supply the defect. In proportion
as they prevail, they raise the state of society from that sad dege
neracy into which it is at present sunk, and carry it forward, under
the blessing of heaven, towards that happy period, when nations shall
not lift up their sword against nations, nor learn war any more.
In order to prove the importance of Religious Knowledge to
the interests of society, one consideration more, deserving particular
attention, remains to be mentioned^ It is, that if good sense he
not sown in the field, tares will infallibly spring up. The propension
towards religion is strong in the human heart. There is a natural
preparation in our minds for receiving some impressions of super
natural belief. Upon these, among ignorant and uncultivated men,
superstition or enthusiasm never fail to graft themselves. Into
what monstrous forms these have shot forth, and what various
mischiefs they have produced to society, is too well known. Nor is

322 ON THE IMPORTANCE, 8tc. [S^.XXX.
this the whole of the danger Designing men are always ready to
take advantage of this popular weakness, and to direct the super
stitious bias of the multitude to their own ambitious and interested
ends. Superstition, in itself a formidable evil, threatens conse
quences still more formidable when it is rendered the tool of design
and craft. Hence arises one of the most powerful arguments for
propagating with zeal, as far as our influence can extend, the pure
and undefiled doctrines of the Gospel of Christ ; in order that just
and rational principles of religion may fill up that room in the minds
of men, which dangerous fanaticism will otherwise usurp.
This consideration alone is sufficient to shew the high utility of
the design undertaken by the Society for propagating Christian
Knowledge. With great propriety, they have bestowed their chief
attention on a remote quarter of our country, where, from a variety
of causes, ignorance and superstition had gained more ground, than
in any other corner of the land ; where the inhabitants by their
local situation were more imperfectly supplied with the means of
proper education and instruction; and at the same time exposed
to the seductions of such as sought to pervert them from the truth.
The laudable endeavours of this Society, in diffusing religious and
useful knowledge through this part of the country, have already
been crowned with much success ; and more is still to be expected
from the continuance of their pious and well-directed attention.
With such good designs, it becomes all to co-operate who are
lovers of mankind. Thus shall they show their just sense of the
value of that blessing which they enjoy in the knowledge of the
Gospel of Christ ; and their gratitude to Heaven for conferring it
upon them. Thus shall they make the blessings of those who are
now ready to perish through lack of knowledge, descend upon their
heads. Thus shall they contribute their endeavours for bringing
forward that happy period, foretold by ancient prophecy; when
there shall be one Lord over all the earth, and his name one ; when
that name shall be great from the rising • to the setting sun ; when
there shall be nothing to hurt or destroy in all the holy mountain of
God ; but judgement shall dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness
remain in the fruitful field ; the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the
vose; and the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the
waters cover the sea. [Zech. xiv. 9. Malachi i. 11. Isaiah xxxii.
16. — xxxv. 1.]

Ser. XXXI.] THE TRUE HONOUR Ot MAN. 323
SERMON XXXI.
ON THE TRUE HONOUR OF MAN.
Proverbs iv. 8. — Exalt her, and she shall promote thee ; she shall
bring thee to honour.
The love of honour is one of the strongest passions in the human
heart. It shows itself in our earliest years ; and is coeval with the
first exertions of reason. It accompanies us through all the stages
of subsequent life ; and in private stations discovers itself no less
than in the higher ranks of society. In their ideas of what con
stitutes honour, men greatly vary, and often grossly err. But of
somewhat which they conceive to form pre-eminence and distinction,
all are desirous. All wish, by some means or other, to acquire re
spect from those among whom they live ; and to contempt and
disgrace, none are insensible.
Among the advantages which attend religion and virtue, the
honour which they confer on man is frequently mentioned in
Scripture as one of the most considerable. Wisdom is the principal
thing, says Solomon, in the passage where the text lies, therefore
get wisdom ; and with all thy getting, get understanding. Exalt her,
ana she shall promote thee ; she shall bring thee to honour, when thou
dost embrace her. She shall give to thine head an ornament of grace ;
a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee. It is evident that through
out all the sacred writings, and particularly in the book of Proverbs,
by wisdom is to be. understood a principle of religion producing
virtuous conduct. The fear of the Lord is said to be the beginning
of wisdom : and by this fear of the Lord, men are said to depart
from evil ; to walk in the way of good men, and to keep the path of
the righteous. [Prov. ii. 20.] Man is then regulated by the wisdom
which is from above, when he is formed by piety to the duties of
virtue and morality ; and of the wisdom which produces this effect,
it is asserted in the text, that it b, ingeth us to honour.
On this recommendation of religion it is the more necessary to
fix our attention, because it is often refused to it by men of the
world. Their notions of honour are apt to run in a very different
channel. Wherever religion is mentioned, they connect it with
ideas of melancholy and dejection, or of mean and feeble spirits.
They perhaps admit that it may be useful to the multitude, as a
principle of restraint from disorders and crimes ; and that to per
sons of a peculiar turn of mind it may afford consolation under the
distrc sses of life ; but from the active scenes of the world, and
from those vigorous exertions which display to advantage the
v 9

324 THE TRUE HONOUR QF MEN. [Ser. XXXI.
human abilities, they incline totally to exclude it. It may soothe
the timid or the sad : but they consider it as having no connexion
with what is proper to raise men to honour and distinction I
shall now endeavour to remove this reproach from religion ; and
to show that, in every situation in human life, even in the highest
stations, it forms the honour, as well as the happiness, of man.
But first, let us be careful to ascertain what true religion is.
T admit that there is a certain species of religion, (if we can give it
that name,) which has no claim to such high distinction ; when it,
is placed wholly in speculation and belief, in- the regularity of ex
ternal homage, or in fiery zeal about contested opinions. From
a superstition inherent in the human mind, the religion of the
multitude has always been tinctured with too much of this spirit.
They serve God as they would serve a proud master, who may be
flattered by their prostrations, appeased by their gifts, and gained
by loud protestations of attachment to his interest, and of enmity
to all whom they suppose to be his foes. But this is not that
wisdom to which Solomon ascribes, in the Text, such high pre
rogatives. It is not the religion which we preach, nor the religion
of Christ. That religion consists in the love of God and the love
of man, grounded on faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, the great
Redeemer of the world, the Intercessor for the penitent, and the
patron of the virtuous ; through whom we enjoy comfortable access
to the Sovereign of the universe in the acts of worship and devo
tion. It consists in justice, humanity; and mercy ; in a fair and
candid mind, a generous and affectionate heart ; accompanied with
temperance, self-government, and a perpetual regard, in all our
actions, to conscience and to the law of God. A religious and a
thoroughly virtuous character, therefore, I consider as the same.
By the true honour of man is to be understood, not what merely
commands external respect, but what commands the respect
of the heart ; what raises one to acknowledged eminence above
others of the same species ; what always creates esteem, and in its
highest degree produces veneration. The question now before us
is, From what cause this eminence arises ? By what means is it to
be attained ?
I say, first, From riches it does not arise. These we all know,
may belong to the vilest of mankind. Providence has scattered
them among the crowd with an undistinguishing hand, as of pur
pose to show of what small account they are in the sight of God.
Experience every day proves that the possession of them is con
sistent with the most general contempt.- On this point, therefore,
I conceive it not necessaiy to insist any longer.
Neither does the honour of man arise from mere dignity of rank
or office. Were such distinctions alwavs, or even generally, obtained,

Ser. XXXI.] THE TRUE HONOUR OF MAN. 325
in consequence of uncommon merit,. they would confer honour
on the character. But in- the present state of society, it is too well
known that this is not the case. They are often the consequence
of birth alone. They are sometimes the fruit of mere dependence
and assiduity. They may be the recompense of flattery, versatility,
and intrigue ; and so be conjoined with meanness and baseness of
character. To persons graced with noble birth, or placed in high
stations, much external honour is due. This is what the subordi
nation of society necessarily requires ; and what every good mem
ber of it will cheerfully yield. But how often has it happened that
such persons, when externally respected, are, nevertheless, despised
by men in their hearts ; nay, sometimes execrated by the public !
Their elevation, if they have been unworthy of it, is so far from pro
curing them true honour, that it only renders their insignificance,
perhaps their infamy, more conspicuous. By drawing attention to
their conduct, it discovers in the most glaring light how little they
deserve the station which they possess.
I must next observe, that the proper honour of man arises not
from some of those splendid actions and abilities which excite
high admiration. Courage and prowess, military renown, signal
victories and conquests, may render the name of a man famous,
without rendering his character truly honourable. To many brave
men, to many hereos renowned in story, we look up with wonder.
Their exploits are recorded. Their praises are sung. They stand
as on an eminence, above the rest of mankind. Their eminence,
nevertheless, may not be of that sort before which we bow with in
ward esteem and respect. Something more is wanted for that pur
pose, than the conquering arm and the intripid mind. The laurels
of the warrior must at all times be dyed in blood, and bedewed
with the tears of the widow and the orphan. But if they have
been stained by rapine and inhumanity; if sordid avarice has marked
his character, or low and gross sensuality has degraded his life ;
the great hero sinks into a little man. What at a distance, or on a
superficial view, we admire, becomes mean, perhaps odious, when we
examine it more closely. It is like the colossal statue, whose im
mense size struck the spectator afar off with astonishment ; but
when nearly viewed it appears disproportioned, unshapely, and
rude. Observations of the same kind may be applied to all the reputa
tion derived from civil accomplishments ; from the refined po
litics of the statesman ; or the literary efforts of genius and eru
dition. These bestow, and, within certain bounds, ought to
bestow, eminence and distinction on men. They discover talents
which in themselves are shining, and which become highly
valuable, when employed in advancing the good of mankind,

326 THE TRUE HONOUR OF MAN. [Ser. XXXI.
Hence, they frequently give' rise to fame. But a distinction is to
be made between fame and true honour. The former is a loud and
noisy applause; the latter, a more silent and internal homage.
Fame floats on the breath of the multitude ; honour rests on the
judgement of the thinking. Fame may give praise while it with
holds esteem; true honour implies esteem mingled with respect.
The one regards particular distinguished talents ; the other looks up
to the whole character. Hence the statesman, the orator, or the
poet, may be famous ; while yet the man himself is far from being
honoured. We envy his abilities. We wish to rival them. But
we would not choose to be classed with him who possessed them.
Instances of this sort are too often found in eveiy record of ancient
or modern history.
From all this, it follows, that, in order to discern where man's
true honour lies, we must look, not to any adventitious circum
stance of fortune ; not to any single sparkling quality ; but to the
whole of what forms a man ; what entitles him, as such, to rank
high among that class of beings to which he belongs ; in a word,
we must look to the mind and the soul. A mind superior to fear,
to selfish interest and corruption ; a mind governed by the principles
of uniform rectitude and integrity ; the same in prosperity and ad
versity ; which no bribe can seduce, or terror overawe ; neither by
pleasure melted into effiminacy, nor by distress sunk into dejection ;
such is the mind which forms the distinction and eminence of men.
One, who in no situation of life is either ashamed or afraid of
discharging his duty, and acting his proper part with firmness
and constancy ; true to the God whom he worships, and true to
the faith in which he professes to believe ; full of affection to his
brethren of mankind ; faithful to his friends, generous to his
enemies, warm with compassion to the unfortunate ; self-denying to
little private interests and pleasures, but zealous for public in
terests and happiness ; magnanimous, without being proud ; hum
ble, without being mean ; just, without being harsh ; simple in
his manners, but manly in his feelings ; on whose word you can
entirely rely ; whose countenance never deceives you ; whose pro
fessions of kindness are the effusions of his heart ; one, in fine,
whom, independent of any views of advantage, you would choose
for a superior, could trust in as a friend, and could love as a brother :
This is the man, whom in your heart, above all others, you do, you
must, honour.
Such a character, imperfectly as it has now been drawn, all
must acknowledge to be formed solely by the influence of steady
religion and virtue. It is the effect of principles which, operating
on conscience, determine it uniformly to pursue whatsoever things
are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just,

Ser. XXXI.] THE TRUE HONOUR OF MAN. 327
whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever
things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any
praise. [Philip, iv. 8.] By those means wisdom, as the text as
serts, bringeth us to honour.
In confirmation of this doctrine, it is to be observed, that the
honour which man acquires by religion and virtue is more inde
pendent and more complete, than what can be acquired by any
other means. It is independent of any thing foreign or external.
It is not partial, but entire, respect which it procures. Wherever
fortune is concerned, it is the station or rank which commands our
deference. Where some shining quality attracts admiration, it is
only to a part of the character that we pay homage. But when a
person is distinguished for eminent worth and goodness, it is the
man, the whole, man whom we respect. The honour which he
possesses is intrinsic. Place him in any situation of life, even an
obscure one ; let room only be given for his virtues to come forth
and show themselves ; and you will revere him as a private citizen,
or as ihe father of a family. If in higher life he appear more
illustrious, this is not owing merely to the respect created by rank.
It is, because there a nobler sphere of action is opened to him ;
because his virtues are brought forth into more extended exertion ;
and placed in such conspicuous view, that he appears to grace and
adorn the station which he fills. Even in the silence of re
tirement, or in the retreat of old age, such a man sinks not into
forgotten obscurity; his remembered virtues continue to be ho
noured, when their active exertions are over; and to the last
stage of life he is followed by public esteem and respect.
Whereas, if genuine worth be wanting, the applause which
may have attended a man for a while, by degrees dies away. — ¦
Though for a part of his life, he had dazzled the world, this
was owing to his deficiency in the essential qualities having net
been suspected. As soon as the imposture is discovered, the falling
star sinks in darkness. There is, therefore, a standard of inde
pendent, intrinsic worth, to which we must bring in the end what
ever claims to be honorable among men. By this we must measure
it ; and it will always be found, that nothing but what is essential to
man has power to command the respect of man's heart.
It is to be farther observed, that the universal consent of man
kind in honouring real virtue, is sufficient to show what the
genuine sense of human nature is on the subject. All other
claims of honour are ambulatory and changeable. The degrees
of respect paid to external stations vary with forms of govern
ment, and fashions of the times. Qualities which in one country
are highly honoured, in another are lightly esteemed. Nay, what
m some regions of the earth distinguishes a man above others,

328 THE TRUE HONdUR OF MAN. [Ser. XXXI.
might elsewhere expose him to contempt and ridicule. But where
was ever the nation on the face of the globe which did not honour
unblemished worth, unaffected piety, stedfast, humane, and regular
virtue ? To whom were altars erected in the heathen world, but
to those whom their merits and heroic labours, by their invention
of useful arts, or by some signal acts of beneficence to their coun
try, or to mankind, were found worthy, in their opinion, to be
transferred from among men, and added to the number of the
gods ! Even the counterfeited appearances of virtue, which are
so often found in the world, are testimonies to its praise. The
hypocrite knows that, without assuming the garb of virtue, every
other advantage he can possess is insufficient to procure him
esteem. Interference of interest, or perversity of disposition,
may occasionally lead individuals to oppose, even to hate, the
upright and the good. But however the characters of such per
sons may be mistaken or misrepresented, yet, as far as they are
acknowledged to be virtuous, the profligate dare not traduce
them. Genuine virtue has a language that speaks to every heart
throughout the world. It is a language which is understood by
all. In every region, every clime, the homage paid to it is the
same. In no one sentiment were ever mankind more generally
agreed. Finally, the honour acquired by religion and virtue is honour
divine and immortal. It is honour, not in the estimation of men
only, but in the sight of God ; whose judgement is the standard of
truth and right ; whose approbation confers a crown of glory
thatfadeth not away. All the honour we can gain among men is
limited and confined. Its circle is narrow. Its duration is short
and transitory. But the honour which is founded on true good
ness, accompanies us through the whole progress of our existence.
It enters with man into a future state; and continues to brighten
throughout eternal ages. What procured him respect on earth,
shall "render him estimable among the great assembly of angels
and spirits of just men made perfect ; where, we are assured, they
who have been eminent in righteousness shall shine as the bright
ness of the firmament, and as the stars for ever and ever. [Daniel
xii. 3.] Earthly honours are both short-lived in their continuance,
and, while they last, tarnished with spots and stains. On some
quarter or other, their brightness is obscured ; their exaltation is
humbled. But the honour which proceeds from God and virtue,
is unmixed and pure. It is a lustre which is derived from heaven ;
and is likened in Scripture to the light of the morning, when the
sun risetji, even a morning without clouds ; to the light which shineth
more and more un o the perfect day. [2 Sam. xxiii. 4; Prov. iv. 18.]
Whereas the honours which the world confers, resemble the feeble

Ser. XXXI.] THE TRUE HONOUR OF MAN. 329
and twinkling flame of a taper ; which is often clouded by the
smoke it sends forth; is always wasting; and soon dies totally
away. Let him, therefore, who retains any sense of human dignity ; who
feels within him that desire of honour which is congenial to man,
aspire to the gratification of this passion by methods which are
worthy of his nature. Let him not rest on any of those external
distinctions which vanity has contrived to introduce. These can
procure him no more than the semblance of respect. Let him not
be flattered by the applause which some occasional display of
abilities may have gained him. That applause may be mingled with
contempt. Let him look to what will dignify his character as a
man. Let him cultivate those moral qualities which all men in their
hearts respect. Wisdom shall then give to his head an ornament of
grace, a crown of glory shall she deliver to him. This is an honour
to which all may aspire. It is a prize for which every one, whether
of high or low rank, may contend. It is always in his power so to
distinguish himself by worthy and virtuous conduct, as to command
the respect of those around him ; and what is highest of all, to ob
tain praise and honour from God.
Let no one imagine, that in the religious part of this character
there is any thing which casts over it a gloomy shade, or derogates
from that esteem which men are generally disposed to yield to ex
emplary virtues. False ideas may be entertained of religion; as
false and imperfect conceptions of virtue have often prevailed in the
world. But to true religion there belongs no sullen gloom ; no me
lancholy austerity, tending to withdraw men from human society, or
to diminish the exertions of active virtue. On the contrary, the
religious principle, rightly understood, not only unites with all such
virtues, but supports, fortifies, and confirms them. It is so far from
obscuring the lustre of a character, that it heightens- and ennobles
it. It adds to all the moral virtues a venerable and authoritative
dignity. It renders the virtuous character more august. To
the decorations of a palace, it joins the majesty of a tem
ple. He who divides religion from virtue, understands neither the
one nor the other. It is the union of the two which consummates
the human character and state. It is their union which has dis
tinguished those great and illustrious men, who have shone with
so much honour in former ages ; and whose memory lives in the
remembrance of succeeding generations. It is their union which
forms that wisdom which is from above; that wisdom to which
the text ascribes such high effects ; and to which belongs the
sublime encomium given of it by an author of one of the apo
cryphal books of Scripture ; with whose beautiful and emphatical

330 ON SENSIBILITY. Ser. XXX .
expressions I conclude this discourse : — The memorial of virtue is
immortal. It is known with God, and with men. When it is pre
sent, men take example at it; and when it is gone they desire it: It
weareth a crown, and triumpheth for ever ; having gotten the victory,
striving for undefiled rewards. Wisdom is the breath of the power
of God, and a pure influence flowing from the Glory of the Al
mighty. Therefore can no defiled thing fall into her. She is the
brightness of the everlasting light ; the unspotted mirror of the power
of God; and the image of his goodness. Remaining in herself, she
maketh all things new ; and in all ages entering into holy souls, she
maketh them friends of God and Prophets ; For God loveth none but
him that dwelleth with wisdom. She is more beautiful than the sun ;
and above all the order of the stars. Being compared with light, she
is found before it. [Wisdom of Solomon, iv. 2, 3. — viii*. 25, 26, 27,
28, 29.]

SERMON XXXI.

ON SENSIBILITY.

Romans xii. 15. — Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with
them that weep.
The amiable spirit of our holy religion appears in nothing more
than in the care it hath taken to enforce on men the social duties
of life. This is one of the clearest characteristics of its being a
religion whose origin is divine : for every doctrine which proceeds
from the Father of mercies will undoubtedly breathe benevolence
and humanity. This is the scope of the two exhortations in the
Text, to rejoice with them that rejoice, and to weep with them that
weep ; the one calculated to promote the happiness, the other to
alleviate the sorrows, of our fellow-creatures : both concurring to
form that temper which interests us in the concerns of our brethren ;
which disposes us to feel along with them, to take part in their joys,
and in their sorrows. This temper is known by the name of Sen
sibility ; a word which,- in modern times, we hear in the mouth of
every one ; a quality which every one affects to possess, in itself a
most amiable and worthy disposition of mind, but often mistaken
and abused ; employed as a cover, sometimes to a capricious humour
sometimes to selfish passions. I snail endeavour to explain the
nature of true sensiblity. I shall consider its effects; and, after
showing its advantages, shall point out the abuses and mistaken
forms of this virtue.
The original constitution of our nature, with respect to the
mixture of selfish and social affections, discovers in this, as in

Ser. XXXII.] ON SENSIBILITY. 331
every other part of our frame, profound and admirable wisdom.
Each individual is, by his Creator, committed particularly to
himself, and his own care. He has it more in his power to pro
mote his own welfare than any other person can possibly have to
promote it. It was therefore fit, it was necessary, that in each
individual, self-love should be the strongest and most active in
stinct. This self-love, if he had been a being who stood solitary
and alone, might have proyed sufficient for the purpose, both of his
preservation and his welfare. But such is not the situation of
man. He is mixed among multitudes of the same nature. In
these multitudes, the self-love of one man, or attention to his par
ticular interest, encountering the self-love and the interests of ano
ther, could not but produce frequent opposition and innumerable
mischiefs. It was necessary, therefore, to provide a counter
balance to this part of his nature; which is accordingly done by
implanting in him those social and benevolent instincts, which lead
him in some measure out of himself, to follow the interest of
others. The strength of these social instincts is, in general, pro
portioned to their importance in human life. Hence that degree of
sensibility which prompts us to weep with them that weep, is stronger
than that which prompts us to rejoice with them that rejoice ; for
this reason, that the unhappy stand more in need of our fellow-
feeling and assistance than the prosperous. Still, however, it was
requisite, that in each individual the quantity of self-love should
remain in a large proportion, on account of its importance to the
preservation of his life and well-being. But as the quantity re
quisite for this purpose is not both to ingross his attention, and
to carry him into criminal excesses, the perfection of his nature is
measured by the due counterpoise of those social principles which,
tempering the force of the selfish affections, render man equally
useful to himself, and to those with whom he is joined in society.
Hence the use and the value of that sensibility of which we
now treat.
That it constitutes an essential part of a religious character,'
there can be no doubt. Not only are the words of the Text express
to this purpose, but the whole New Testament abounds with
passages which enjoin the cultivation of this disposition. Being
all one body and members one of another, we are commanded to love
our neighbour as our self ; to look, every man, not on his own things
only, but on those of others also ; to be pitiful, to be courteous, to be
tender-hearted ; to bear one another's burdens, and so to fulfil the law
of Christ. [Luke x. 27. Philip, ii. 4. 1 Pet. iii. 8. Ephes. iv. 23.
Galat. vi. 2.] The dispositions opposite to sensibility are cruelty,
hardness of heart, contracted attachment to worldly interests,
which every one will admit to be directly opposite to the Christian

332 ON SENSIBILITY. [Ser. XXXII.
character. According to the different degrees of constitutional
ivarmth in men's affections, sensibility may, even among the
rirtuous, prevail in different proportions ; for all derive not from
nature the same happy delicacy and tenderness of feeling. With
some, the heart melts, and relents, in kind emotion, much more
easily than with others. But with every one who aspires at the
character of a good man, it is necessary that the humane and com
passionate dispositions should be found. There must be that
within him which shall form him to feel in some degree with the
heart of a brother ; and when he beholds others enjoying happiness,
or sees them sunk in sorrow, shall bring his affections to accord,
and, if we may speak so, to sound a note in unison to theirs. This
is to rejoice with them that rejoice, and to weep with them that weep.
How much this temper belongs to the perfection of our nature,
we learn from one who exhibited that perfection in its highest
degree. When our Lord Jesus, on a certain occasion, came
to the grave of a beloved friend, and saw his relations mourn
ing around it, he presently caught the impression of their sorrow ;
he groaned in spirit, and was troubled. He knew that he was
about to remove the cause of their distress, by recalling Lazarus
to life ; yet, in the moment of grief, his heart sympathized with
theirs, and, together with the weeping friends, Jesus wept. —
[John ii. 35.]
Let us next proceed to consider the effect of this virtuous sensi
bility on our character and our state. I shall consider it in two
views ; its influence on our moral conduct, and its influence on
our happiness.
First — It powerfully influences the proper discharge of all the
relative and social duties of life. Without some discharge of those
duties, there could be no comfort or security in human society.
Men would become hordes of savages, perpetually harassing one
another. In one way or other, therefore, the great duties of social
life must be performed. There must be among mankind some
reciprocal co-operation and aid. In this, all consent. But let us
observe, that these duties may be performed from different prin
ciples, and in different ways. Sometimes they are performed merely
from decency and regard to character ; sometimes from fear, and
even from selfishness, which obliges men to show kindness, in
order that they may receive returns of it; In such cases, the
exterior of fair behaviour may be preserved. But all will admit,
that when from constraint only, the offices of seeming kindness are
performed, little dependence can be placed on them, and little value
allowed to them.
By others, these offices are discharged solely from a principle of
duty. They are men of cold affections, and perhaps of an

Ser. XXXII.] ON SENSIBILITY. 333
interested character. But, overawed by a sense of religion, and
convinced that they are bound to be beneficent, they fulfil the
course of relative duties with regular tenour. Such men act from
conscience and principle. So far they do well, and are worthy of
praise. They assist their friends ; they give to the poor ; they do
justice to all. But what a different complexion is given to the
same actions, how much higher flavour do they acquire, when
they flow from the sensibility of a feeling heart ! If one be not
moved by affection, even supposing him influenced by principle,
he will go no farther than strict principle appears to require. He
will advance slowly and reluctantly. As it is justice, not gene
rosity, which impels him, he will often feel as a task what he is
required by conscience to perform. Whereas, to him who is
prompted by virtuous sensibility, every office of beneficence and
humanity is a pleasure. He gives, assists, and relieves, not
merely because he is bound to do so, but because it would be
painful for him to refrain. Hence the smallest benefit he confers
rises in its value, on account of its carrying the affection of the
giver impressed upon the gift. It speaks his heart, and the
discovery of the heart is very frequently of greater consequence
than all that liberality can bestow. How often will the affectionate
smile of approbation gladden the humble, aud raise the dejected !
How often will the look of tender sympathy, or the tear that
involuntarily falls, impart consolation to the unhappy ! By means
of this correspondence of hearts, all the great duties which we
owe to one another, are both performed to more advantage, and
endeared in the performance. From true sensibility flow a thou
sand good offices, apparently small in themselves, but of high
importance to the felicity of others ; offices which altogether escape
the observation of the cold and unfeeling, who, by the hardness
of their manner, render themselves unamiable, even when they
mean to do good. How happy, then, would it be for mankind, if
this affectionate disposition prevailed more generally in the world !
How much would the sum of public virtue and public felicity be
increased, if men were always inclined to rejoice with them that
rejoice, and to weep with them that weep.
But, besides the effect of such a temper on general virtue
and happiness, let us consider its effect on the happiness of
him who possesses it, and the various pleasures to which it
gives him access. If he be master of riches or influence, it
affords him the means of increasing his own enjoyment, by
relieving the wants, or increasing the comforts of others. If he
command not these advantages, yet all the comforts which he sees
in the possession of the deserving, become in some sort his, by
his rejoicing in the good which they enjoy. Even the face of

334 ON SENSIBILITY. [Ser. XXX1L
- nature yields a satisfaction to him which the insensible can neve
know. The profusion of goodness which he beholds poured forU>
on the universe, dilates his heart with the thought, that innumerable
multitudes around him are blest and happy. When he sees the
labour of men appearing to prosper, and views a country flourishing
in wealth and industry ; when he beholds the spring coming forth
in its beauty, and reviving the decayed face of nature ; or in autumn,
beholds the fields loaded with plenty, and the year crowned with
all its fruits, he lifts his affections with gratitude to the great
Father of all, and rejoices in the general felicity and joy. '
It may, indeed, be objected, that the same sensibility lays open
the heart to be pierced with many wounds from the distresses which
abound in the world ; exposes us to frequent suffering from the
participation which it communicates, of the sorrows, as well as of
the joys of friendship. But let it be considered, that the tender
melancholy of sympathy is accompanied with a sensation, which
they who feel it would not exchange for the gratification of the
selfish. When the heart is strongly moved by any of the kind
affections, even when it pours itself forth in virtuous sorrow, a
secret attractive charm mingles with the painful emotion ; there is
a joy in the midst of grief. Let it be farther considered, that the
griefs which sensibility introduces, are counterbalanced by pleasures
which flow from the samj source. Sensibility heightens in general
the human powers, and is connected with acuteness in all our
feelings. If it makes us more alive to some painful sensations, in
return it renders the pleasing ones more vivid and animated. — The
selfish man languishes in his narrow circle of pleasures. They
are confined to what affects his whole interest. He is obliged to
repeat the same gratifications till they become insipid. But the
man of virtuous sensibility moves in a wider sphere of felicitv.
His powers are much more frequently called forth into occupations
of pleasing activity. Numberless occasions open to him of indulging
his favourite taste, by conveying satisfaction to others. Often
it is in his power, in one way or other, to soothe the afflicted
heart, to carry some consolation into the house of woe. In the
scenes of ordinary life, in the domestic and social intercourses of
men, the cordiality of his affections cheers and gladdens him.
Every appearance, every description of innocent happiness, is en
joyed by him. Every native expression of kindness and affection,
among others, is felt by him, even though he be not the object of
it. Among a circle* of friends, enjoying one another, he is as
happy as the happiest. In a word, he lives in a different sort of
world from what the selfish man inhabits. He possesses a new
sense, which enables him to behold objects which the selfish cannot
see. At the same time, his enjoyments are not of that kind

Ser. XXXII ] ON SENSIBILITY. 335
which remain merely on the surface of the mind. They penetrate
the heart. They enlarge and elevate, they refine and ennoble it.
To all the pleasing emotions of affection, they add the dignified
consciousness of virtue.  Children of Men! Men formed by
nature to live and to feel as brethren ! How long will ye continue
to estrange yourselves from one another by competitions and jea
lousies, when in cordial union ye might be so much more blest ?
How long will ye seek your happiness in selfish gratifications
alone, neglecting those purer and better sources of joy, which flow
from the affections and the heart.
Having now explained the nature, and shown the value and high
advantages of true sensibility, I proceed to point out some of the
mistaken forms and abuses of this virtue.  In modern times,
the chief improvement of which we have to boast is a sense of
humanity. This, notwithstanding the selfishness that still prevails,
is the favourite and distinguishing virtue of the age. On general
manners, and on several departments of society, it has had conside
rable influence. It has abated the spirit of persecution ; it has
even tempered the horrors of war; and man is now more ashamed*
than he was in some former ages, of acting as a savage to
man. Hence sensibility is become so reputable a quality, that
the appearance of it is frequently assumed when the reality is
wanting Softness of manners must not be mistaken for true
sensibility. Sensibility indeed tends to produce gentleness of be
haviour ; and when such behaviour flows from native affection, it is
valuable and amiable. But the exterior manner alone may be
learned in the school of the world ; and often, too often, is found
to cover much unfeeling hardness of heart. Professions of sensi
bility on every trifling occasion, joined with the appearance of ex
cessive softness, and a profusion of sentimental language, afford
always much ground for distrust. They create the suspicion of a
studied character. Frequently, under a negligent and seemingly
rough manner, there lies a tender and feeling heart. Manliness
and sensibility are so far from being incompatible, that the truly-
brave are for the most part generous and humane ; while the soft
and effeminate are hardly capable of any vigorous exertion of
affection. As sensibility supposes delicacy of feeling with respect to others,
they who affect the highest sensibility are apt to carry this
delicacy to excess. They are, perhaps, not incapable of the
warmth of disinterested friendship ; but they are become so refined
in all their sensations ; they entertain such high notions of what
ought to correspond in the feelings of others to their own ; they
are so mightily hurt by every thing which comes not up to
their ideal standard of reciprocal affection, as to produce disquiet

336 ON SENSIBILITY. [Ser. XXXII.
and uneasiness to all with whom they are connected. Hence,
unjust suspicions of their friends ; hence, groundless upbraidings
and complaints of unkindness ; hence, a proneness to take violent
offence at trifles. In consequence of examining their friends with a
microscopic eye, what to an ordinary observer would not be un-
pleasing, to them is grating and disgusting. At the bottom ot
the character of such persons there always lie much pride and at
tention to themselves. This is indeed a false species of sensibility.
It is the substitution of a capricious and irritable delicacy, in the
room of that plain and native tenderness of heart, which prompts
men to view others with an indulgent eye, and to make great al
lowances for the imperfections which are sometimes adherent to the
most amiable qualities.
There are others who affect not sensibility to this extreme, but
who found high claims to themselves upon the degree of interest
which they take in the concerns of others. Although their sensibi
lity can produce no benefit to the person who is its object, they
always conceive that it entitles themselves to some profitable
returns. These, often, are persons of refined and artful character ;
who partly deceive themselves, and partly employ their sensibility
as a cover to interest. He who acts from genuine affection, when
he is feeling along with others in their joys and sorrows, thinks not
of any recompense to which this gives him a title. He follows
the impulse of his heart. He obeys the dictates of his nature ;
just as the vine by its nature produces fruit, and the fountain
pours forth its streams. Wherever views of interest and prospects
of return mingle with the feelings of affection, sensibility acts an
imperfect part, and entitles us to small share of praise.
But supposing it to be both complete and pure, I must caution
you against resting the whole merit of your character on sensi
bility alone. It is indeed a happy constitution of mind. It fits
men for the proper discharge of many duties, and gives them access
to many virtuous pleasures. It is requisite for our acceptance either
with God or man. At the same time, if it remain, an instinctive
feeling alone, it will form no more than an imperfect character.
Complete virtue is of a more exalted and dignified nature. It sup
poses sensibility, good temper, and benevolent affections ; it in
cludes them as essential parts ; but it reaches farther ; it supposes
them to be strengthened and confirmed by principle ; it requires
them to be supported by justice, temperance, fortitude, and all
those other virtues which enable us to act with propriety in the
trying situations of life.
It is very possible for a man to possess the kind affections in a
high degree, while at the same time he is carried away by passion
and pleasure into many criminal deeds. Almost every man values

Ser. XXXIL] ON SENSIBILITY. 3?1-"
himself on possessing virtue in one or other of its forms. He
wishes to lay claim to some quality which will render him estimable
in his own eye, as well as in that of the public. Hence it is
common for many, especially for those in the higher classes of
life, to take much praise to themselves on account of their sensi
bility, though it be, in truth, a sensibility of a very defective kind.
They relent at the view of misery, when it is strongly set before
them. Often, too, affected chiefly by the powers of description,
it is at feigned and pictured distress, more than at real misery,
that they relent. The tears which they shed upon these occasions,
they consider as undoubted proofs of virtue. They applaud
themselves for the goodness of their hearts, and conclude, that
with such feelings, they cannot fail to be agreeable to Heaven.
At the same time, these transient relentings make slight impression
on conduct. They give rise to few, if any, good deeds; and
soon after such persons have wept at some tragical tale, they are
ready to stretch forth the hand of oppression, to grasp at the gain
of injustice, or to plunge into the torrent of criminal pleasures.
This sort of sensibility affords no more than a fallacious claim to
virtue, and gives men no ground to think highly of themselves.
We must inquire not merely how they feel, but how theii feelings
prompt them to act, in order to ascertain their real character.
I shall conclude with observing, that sensibility, when genuine
and pure, has a strong connexion with piety. That warmth of
affection and tenderness of heart, which lead men to feel for their
brethren, and to enter into their joys and sorrows, should naturally
dispose them to melt at the remembrance of the divine goodness ;
to glow with admiration of the Divine Majesty ; to send up the
voice of praise and adoration to that Supreme Being, who makes
his creatures happy. He who pretends to great sensibility towards
men, and yet has no feeling for the high objects of religion,
no heart to admire and adore the great Father of the universe,
has reason to distrust the truth and delicacy of his sensibility. He
has reason to suspect, that in some corner of his heart there
lodges a secret depravity, an unnatural hardness and callousness,
which vitiates his character.  Let us study to join all the parts
of virtue in proper union ; to be consistently and uniformly good ;
just and upright, as well as pitiful and courteous ; pious, as well
as sympathizing. Let us pray to him who made the heart, that
he would fill it with all proper dispositions, rectify all its errors,
and render it the happy abode of personal integrity and social
tenderness, of purity, benevolence, and devotion.

338 IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. [Ser. XXXIII
SERMON XXXIII.
ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TIME.
Genesis xlvii. 8. — And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, How old art
thou ?
Time is of so great importance to mankind, that it cannot too
often employ religious meditation. There is nothing, in the
management of which, wisdom is more requisite, or where mankind
display their inconsistency more. In its particular parcels, they
appear entirely careless of it, and throw it away with thoughtless
profusion. But, when collected into some of its great portions,
and viewed as the measure of their continuance in life, they become
sensible of its value, and begin to regard it with a serious eye.
While day after day is wasted in a course of idleness or vicious
pleasures, if some incident shall occur which leads the most
inconsiderate nian to think of his age, or time of life ; how much
of it is gone ; at what period of it he is now arrived ; and to
what proportion of it he can with any probability look forward, as
yet to come ; he can hardly avoid feeling some secret compunction,
and reflecting seriously upon his state. Happy if that virtuous
impression were not of momentary continuance, but retained its
influence amidst the succeeding cares and pleasures of the world !
To the good old Patriarch mentioned in the text, we have reason
to believe, that such impressions were habitual. The question
put to him by the Egyptian monarch, produced, in his answer,
such reflections as were naturally suited to his time of life.
And Jacob said unto Pharaoh, the days of the years of my
pilgrimage are an hundred and thirty years ; few and evil have the
days of the years of my life been, and have not attained unto the days
of the years of the life of my fathers, in the days of their pilgrimage.
But the peculiar circumstances of the patriarch, or the number of
his years, are not to be the subject of our present consideration.
My purpose is to show how we should be affected in every period
of human life, by reflection upon our age, whether we be young
or advanced in years, in order that the question, How old art thou ?
may never be put to any of us without some good effect. There
are three different portions of our life which such a question
naturally calls to view ; that part of it which is past ; that which
is now present; and that to which we fondly look forward, as
future. Let us consider in what manner we ought to be affected bv
attending to each of these.
I. — Let us review that part of our time which is past. According

Ser. XXXIIL] IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. 339
to the progress which we have made in the journey of life, the
field which past years present to our review, will be more or less
extensive. But to every one they will be found to afford sufficient
matter of humiliation and regret. For where is the person, who,
having acted for any time in the world, remembers not many
errors and many follies in his past behaviour ? Who dares to say,
that he has 'improved, as he might have done, the various
advantages which were afforded him ; and that he recalls nothing
for which he has reason either to grieve or to blush ? When we
recollect the several stages of life through which we have passed,
the successive occupations in which we have been engaged, the
designs we have formed, and the hopes and fears which alternately
have filled our breast, how barren for most part is the remem
brance, and how few traces of any thing valuable or important
remain ! Like characters drawn on the sand, which the next
wave washes totally away ; so one trivial succession of events has
effaced the memory of the preceding; and though we have seemed
all along to be busy, yet, for much of what we have acted, we are
neither wiser nor better than if such actions had never been.
Hence let the retrospect of what is past, produce, as its first effect,
humiliation in our own eyes, and abasement before God. Much
do human pride and self-complacency require some correction ; and
that correction is never more effectually administered, than by an
impartial and serious review of former life.
But though past time be gone, we are not to consider it as
irredeemably- lost. To a very profitable purpose it may yet be
applied, if we lay hold of it while it remains in remembrance, and
oblige it to contribute to future improvement. If you have gained
nothing more by the years that are past, you have at least gained
experience ; and experience is the mother of wisdom. You have
seen the weak parts of your character, and may have discovered
the chief sources of your misconduct. To these let your attention
be directed ; on these, let the proper guards be set. If you have
trifled long, resolve to trifle no more. If your passions have often
betrayed and degraded you, study how they may be kept, in future,
under better discipline. Learn, at the same time, never to trust
presumptuously in your own wisdom. Humbly apply to the
Author of your being, and beseech his grace to guide you safely
throuoh those slippery and dangerous paths, in which experience
has shown that you are so ready to err and to fall.
In reviewing past life, it cannot but occur, that many things
now appear of inconsiderable importance, which once occupied
and attached us, in the highest degree. Where are those keen
competitions, those mortifying disappointments, those violent
enmities, those eager pursuits, which we once thought were to last

340 IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. [Ser. XXXIII.
for ever, and on which we considered our whole happiness or
misery was suspended ? We look back upon them now, as upon a
dream which has passed away. None of those mighty consequences
have followed which we had predicted. The airy fabric has
vanished, and left no trace behind it. We smile at our former
violence, and wonder how such things could have ever appeared
so significant and great. We may rest assured, that what hath
been shall as;ain be. When time shall once have laid his lenient
hand on the passions and pursuits of the present moment, they
too shall lose that imaginary value which heated fancy now
bestows upon them. Hence, let them already begin to subside to
their proper level. Let wisdom infuse a tincture of moderation
nto the eagerness of contest, by anticipating that period oi
coolness, which the lapse of time will, of itself, certainly bring. —
When we look back on years that are past, how swiftly do they
appear to have fleeted away ! How insensibly has one period ot
life stolen upon us after another, like the successive incidents in
a tale that is told ! Before we were aware, childhood had grown
up into youth ; youth had passed into manhood ; and manhood
now, perhaps, begins to assume the grey hair, and to decline into
old age. When we are carrying our views forwards, months and
years to come seem to stretch through a long and extensive space.
But when the time shall arrive of our looking back, they shall
appear contracted within narrow bounds. Time, when yet before
us, seems to advance with slow and tardy steps ; no sooner is it
past, than we discern its wings.
It is a remarkable peculiarity in the retrospect of former life,
that it is commonly attended with some measure of heaviness of
heart. Even to the most prosperous, the memory of joys that are
past, is accompanied with secret sorrow. In the days of former
years, many objects arise to view, which make the most unthinking
grave, and render the serious sad. The pleasurable scenes of
youth, the objects on which our affections had been early placed,
the companions and friends with whom we had spent many happy
days, even the places and the occupations to which we have
been long accustomed, but to which we have now bidden farewell,
can hardly ever be recalled, without softening, nor sometimes
without piercing, the heart. Such sensations, to which few, if
any, of my hearers are wholly strangers, I now mention, as
affording a strong proof of that vanity of the human state, which
is so often represented in the sacred writings : and vain indeed
must that state be, where shades of grief tinge the recollection of
its brightest scenes. But, at the same time, though it be very proper
that such meditations should sometimes enter the mind, yet on
them I advise not the gentle and tender heart to dwell too long.

Ser. XXXIIL] IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. 341
They are apt to produce a fruitless melancholy; to deject, without
bringing much improvement ; to thicken the gloom which alreadv
hangs over human life, without furnishing proportionable assistance
to virtue.
Let me advise you rather to recall to view such parts of former
conduct, if any such there be, as afford in the remembrance
rational satisfaction. And what parts of conduct are these ? Are
they the pursuits of sensual pleasure, the riots of jollity, or the
displays of show and vanity ? No : I appeal to your hearts, my
friends, if what you recollect with most pleasure be not the inno
cent, the virtuous, the honourable parts of your past life ; when
you were employed in cultivating your minds, and improving
them with useful knowledge ; when, by regular application and
persevering labour, you were laying the foundation of future repu ¦
tation and advancement ; when you were occupied in discharging
with fidelity the duties of your station, and acquiring the esteem
Of the worthy and the good ; when, in some trying situation, you
were enabled to act your part with firmness and honour ; or had
seized the happy opportunity of assisting the deserving, or reliev
ing the distressed, and bringing down upon your heads the blessings
of those that were ready to perish. These, these are the parts
of former life which are recalled with most satisfaction ! On
them alone, no heaviness of heart attends. You enjoy them as a"
treasure which is now stored up, and put beyond all danger of
being lost. These cheer the hours of sadness, lighten the burden
of old age, and, through the mortifying remembrance of much of
the past, dart a ray of light and joy. — From the review of these,
and the comparison of them with the deceitful pleasures of sin,
let us learn how to form our estimate of happiness. Let us learn
what is true, what is false, in human pleasures ; and from expe
rience of the past, judge of the quarter to which we must in future
turn, if we would lay a foundation for permanent satisfaction.
After having thus reviewed the former years of our life, let us
consider, II. — What attention is due to that period of age in which we are
at present placed. ' Here lies the immediate and principal object
of our concern ; for, the recollection of the past is only so far of
moment as it acts upon the present. The past, to us, now, is lit
tle; the future, as yet, is nothing. Between these two great
gulphs of time subsists the present, as an isthmus or bridge, along
'. which we are all passing. With hasty and inconsiderate steps let
us not pass along it ; but remember well, how much depends upon
our holding a steady and properly conducted course. Whatsoever
thine hand findeth to do, do it now with all thy might ; for now is
the accepted time ; now is the day of salvation. Many directions

342 IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. [Ser. XXXIII.
might be given for the wise and religious improvement of the pre
sent ; a few of which only I shall hint.
Let us begin with excluding those superfluous avocations which
unprofitably consume it. Life is short ; much that is of real im
portance remains to be done. If we suffer the present time to be
wasted either in absolute idleness, or in frivolous employments, it
will hereafter call for vengeance against us. Removing, therefore,
what is merely superfluous, let us bethink ourselves of what is most
material to be attended to at present : as, first and chief, the great
work of our salvation ; the discharge of the religious duties which
we owe to God our Creator, and to Christ our Redeemer. God
waiteth as yet to be gracious : whether he will wait longer, none of
us .can ted. Now, therefore, seek the Lord while he may be found;
call upon him while he is near. Our spiritual interests will be best
promoted by regular performance of all the duties of ordinary life.
Let these, therefore, occupy a great share of the present hour.
Whatever our age, our character, our profession, or station in the
world, requires us to do, in that let each revolving day find us
busy. Never delay till to-morrow, what reason and conscience tell
you ought to be performed to-day. To-morrow is not yours ;
and though you should live to enjoy it, you must not overload it
with a burden not its own. Sufficient for the day will prove the
duty thereof.
The observance of order and method is of high consequence for
the improvement of present time. He who performs every em
ployment in its due place and season, suffers no part of time to
escape without profit. He multiplies his days ; for he lives much
in little space. Whereas, he who neglects order in the arrange
ment of his occupations, is always losing the present in returning
upon the past, and trying, in vain, to recover it when gone. Let
me advise you frequently to make the present employment of time
an object of thought. Ask yourselves, about what are you now
busied ? What is the ultimate scope of your present pursuits and
cares? Can you justify them to yourselves? Are they likely to
produce any thing that will survive the moment, and bring forth
some fruit for futurity? He, who can give no satisfactory answer
to such questions as these, has reason to suspect that his employ
ment of the present is not tending either to his advantage or his
honour. — Finally, let me admonish you, that while you study to
improve, you should endeavour also to enjoy the present hour.
Let it not be disturbed with groundless discontents, or poisoned
with foolish anxieties about what is to come ; but look up to
heaven, and acknowledge, with a grateful heart, the actual bless
ings you enjoy. If you must admit, that you are now in health,
peace, and safety, without any particular or uncommon evils to

XXXIIL] IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. 343
afflict your condition ; what more can you reasonably look for in
this vain and uncertain world ? How little can the greatest pros
perity add to such a state ! Will any future situation ever make
you happy, if now, with so few causes of grief, you imagine your
selves miserable ? The evil lies in the state of your mind, not in
your condition or fortune ; and by no alteration of circumstances is
it likely to be remedied. Let us now,
III. — Consider with what disposition we ought to look forward
to those years of our life that may yet be to come. Merely to
look forward to them is what requires no admonition. Futurity
is the great object on which the imaginations of men are employ
ed ; for the sake of which the past is forgotten, and the present
too often neglected. All time is in a manner swallowed up by it.
On futurity men build their designs ; on futurity they rest their
hopes ; and though not happy at the present, they always reckon
on becoming so at some subsequent period of their lives. This
propensity to look forward was, for wise purposes, implanted in
the human breast. It serves to give proper occupation to the
active powers of the mind, and to quicken all its exertions. But
it is too often immoderately indulged and grossly abused. The
curiosity which sometimes prompts persons to inquire by unlawful
methods into what is to come, is equally foolish and sinful. Let
us restrain all desire of penetrating farther than is allowed us into
that dark and unknown region. Futurity belongs to God ; and
happy for us is that mysterious veil, with which his wisdom has
covered it. Were it in our power to lift up the veil, and to behold
what it conceals, many and many a thorn we should plant in our
breasts. The proper and rational conduct of men with regard to
futurity is regulated by two considerations : First, that much of
what it contains, must remain to us absolutely unknown ; next,
that there are also some events in which it may he certainly known
and foreseen.
First, much of futurity is, and must be, entirely unknown to us.
When we speculate about the continuance of our life, and the
events which are to fill it, we behold a river which is always flow
ing ; but which soon escapes out of our sight, and is covered with
mists and darkness. Some of its windings we may endeavour to
trace ; but it is only for a very short way that we are able to pur
sue them., In endless conjectures we quickly find ourselves be
wildered ; and, often the next event that happens, baffles all the
reasonings we had formed concerning the succession of events.
The consequence which follows from this is, that all' the anxiety
about futiirity, which passes the bounds of reasonable precaution,
is unprofitable and vain. Certain measures are indeed necessary
to~be taken for our safety We are not to rush forward inconsi-

344 IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. [Ser. XXXIII.
derately and headlong. We must make, as far as we are able, pro
vision for future welfare; and "guard against dangers which ap
parently threaten. But having done this, we must stop; and
leave the rest to him who disposeth of futurity at his will. He
who sitteth in the heavens laughs at the wisdom and the plans of
worldly men. Wherefore, boast not thyself of to-morrow ; for thou
knowest not what a day may bring forth. For the same reason,
despair not of to-morrow ; for it may bring forth good as well as
evil. Vex not yourselves with imaginary fears. The impending
black cloud, to which you look up with so much dread, may pass by
harmless ; or, though it should discharge the storm, yet before it
breaks, you may be lodged in that lowly mansion which no storms
ever touch.
In the next place, there are in futurity some events which may be
certainly foreseen by us, through all its darkness. First, it may be
confidently predicted, that no situation into which it will bring us,
shall ever answer fully to our hopes, or confer perfect happiness.
This is as certain as if we already saw it, that life, in its future
periods, will continue to be what it has heretofore been ; that it
will be a mixed and varied state ; a chequered scene of pleasures
and pains, of fugitive joys and transient griefs, succeeding in a
round to one another. Whether we look forward to the years of
youth, or to those of manhood and advanced life, it is all the same.
The world will be to us what it has been to generations past. Set
out, therefore, on what remains of your journey under this persuasion.
According to this measure estimate your future pleasures ; and cal
culate your future gains. Cany along with you a modest and a tem
perate mind. Let not your expectations from the years that are to
come rise too high ; and your disappointments will be fewer, and
more easily supported.
Farther ; this may be reckoned upon as certain, that, in every
future situation of life, a good conscience, a well-ordered mind,
and an humble trust in the favour of Heaven, will prove the essen
tial ingredients of your happiness. In reflecting upon the past,
you have found this to hold. Assure yourselves that in future
the case will be the same. The principal correctives of human
vanity and distress must be sought for in religion and virtue.
Entering on paths which to you are new and unknown, place
yourselves under the conduct of a divine guide. Follow the great
Shepherd of Israel, who, amidst the turmoil of this world, leads
his flock into green pastures, and by the still waters. As you
advance in life, study to improve both in good principles and in
good practice. You will be enabled to look to futurity without
fear, if, whatever it brings, it shall find you regularly employed in

Ser. XXXIV.] ON THE DUTIES, &c. 345
doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with the Lord your
God. Lastly, Whatever other things may be dubious in futurity, two
great events are undoubtedly certain, death and judgement. These,
we all know, are to terminate the whole course of time ; and we
know them to be not only certain, but to be approaching nearer
to us, in consequence of every day that passes over our heads. To
these, therefore, let us look forward, not with the dread of children,
but with that manly seriousness which belongs to men and Chris
tians. Let us not avert our view from them, as if we could place
them at some greater distance by excluding them from our thoughts.
This, indeed, is the refuge of too many ; but it is the refuge of fools,
who aggravate thereby the terrors they must encounter. For he
that cometh, shall come, and will not tarry. To this coming, let us
look with a steady eye ; and as life advances through its progressive
stages, prepare for its close, and for appearing before Him who
made us.
Thus I have endeavoured to point out the reflections proper to be
made, when the question is put to any of us, How old art thou ? I
have shown with what eye we should review the past years of our
life : in what light we should consider the present ; and with what
dispositions look forward to the future ; in order that such a ques
tion may always leave some serious impression behind it ; and may
dispose us so to number the years of our life, that we may apply oui
hearts unto wisdom,

SERMON XXXIV.
ON THE DUTIES BELONGING TO MIDDLE AGE.
1 Corinthians xiii. 11 — When 1 became a man, I put away childish
things.
To every thing, says the wise man, there is a season ; and a time to
every purpose under heaven, [Eccles. iii. 1.] As there are duties
which belong to particular situations of fortune, so there are duties
also which result from particular periods of human life. In every
period of it, indeed, that comprehensive rule takes place, .Fear God
and keep his commandments ; for this is the whole duty of man
[Eccles. xii. 13.] Piety to God, and charity to men, are incum
bent upon persons of every age, as soon as they can think and act.
Yet these virtues, in different stages of life, assume different forms
and when they appear in that form which is most suited to our
age, they appear with peculiar gracefulness; they give propriety
to conduct, and add dignity to character. In former discourses

546 THE DUTIES BELONGING [Ser. XXXIV.
1 have treated of the virtues which adorn youth, and of the duties
which especially belong to old age. [See Sermons 11 and 12.] —
The circle of those duties which respect middle age is indeed much
larger. As that is the busy period in the life of man, it includes
in effect the whole compass of religion, and therefore cannot have
its peculiar character so definitely marked and ascertained. At the
same time, during those years wherein one is sensible that he has
advanced beyond the confines of youth, but has not yet passed into
the region of old age, there are several things which reflection
on that portion of human life suggests, or at least ought to suggest,
to the mind. Inconsiderate must he be, who in his gradual
progress throughout middle age, pauses not, at times, to think how
far he is now receding from youth ; how near he draws to the
borders of declining age ; what part it is now incumbent on him
to act ; what duties both God and the world have a title to expect
from him. To these I am at present to call your attention ; as
what may materially concern the greatest part of those who are now
my hearers.
I. — I begin with observing, that the first duty of those who are
become men is, as the text expresses it, to put away childish things.
The season of youthful levities, follies, and passions, is now over.
Thgse have had their reign ; a reign perhaps too long ; and to which
a termination is certainly proper at last. Much indulgence is due to
youth. Many things admit of excuse then, which afterwards be
come unpardonable. Some things may even be graceful in youth,
which, if not criminal, are at least ridiculous in persons of maturer
years. It is a great trial of wisdom, to make our retreat from youth
with propriety ; to assume the character of manhood, without ex
posing ourselves to reproach, by an unseasonable remainder of
juvenility on the one hand, or by precise and disgusting formality,
on the other. Nature has placed certain boundaries, by which she
discriminates the pleasures, actions, and employments that are
suited to the different stages of human life. It becomes us neither
to overleap those boundaries by a transition too hasty and violent ;
nor to hover too long on one side of the li mit, when nature calls us
to pass over to the other.
There are, particularly too things in which middle age should
preserve its distinction and separation from youth ; these are, levi
ties of behaviour and intemperate indulgence of pleasure. The
gay spirits of the young often prompt an inconsiderate degree of
levity, sometimes amusing, sometimes offensive;, but for which.
though betraying them occasionally into serious dangers, their
want of experience may plead excuse. A more composed and
manly behaviour is expected in riper years. The affectation of
youthful vanities degrades the dignity of manhood ; even renders

Ser. XXXIV.] TO MIDDLE AGE. 347
its manners less agreeable ; and by awkward attempts to please,
produces contempt. Cheerfulness is becoming in every age. But
the proper cheerfulness of a man is as different from the levity
of the boy, as the flight of the eagle is from the fluttering of a
sparrow in the air.
As all unseasonable returns to the levity of youth ought to be
laid aside — an admonition which equally belongs to both the sexes
— still more are we to guard against those intemperate indulgences
of pleasure, to which the yCung are unhappily prone. From those
we cannot too soon retreat. They open the path to ruin, in every
period of our days. As long, however, as these excesses are con
fined to the first stage of life, hope is left, that when this fever of
the spirits shall abate, sobriety may gain the ascendant, and wiser
counsels have power to influence conduct. But after the season
of youth is past, if its intemperate spirit remain ; if, instead of
listening to the calls of honour, and bending attention to the cares
and the business of men, the same course of idleness and sen
suality continue to be pursued ; the case becomes more desperate.
A sad presumption arises, that long immaturity is to prevail ; and
that the pleasures and passions of the youth are to sink and over
whelm the man. Difficult, I confess, it may prove to overcome
the attachments which youthful habits had for a long while been
forming. Hard, at the beginning, is the task, to impose on our
conduct restraints, which are altogether unaccustomed and new.
But this is a trial which every one must undergo, in entering on
new scenes of action, and new periods of life. Let those who are
in this situation bethink themselves that all is now at stake. Their
character and honour, their future fortune and success in the world,
depend in a great measure, on the steps they take, when first
they appear on the stage of active life. The world then looks
to them with an observing eye. It studies their behaviour ; and
interprets all their motions, as presages of the line of future con
duct which they mean to hold. Now, therefore, put away childish
things; dismiss your former trifling amusements, and youthful
pleasures ; blast not the hopes which your friends are willing to
conceive of you. Higher occupations, more serious cares, await
you. Turn your mind to the steady and vigorous discharge of the
part you are called to act. This leads me,
II. — To point out the particular duties which open to those who
are in the middle period of life. They are now come foiward to
that field of action where they are to mix in all the stir and bustle
of the world ; where all the human powers are brought forth into
full exercise ; where all that is conceived to be important in
human affairs is incessantly going on around them. The time of
youth was the preparation for future action. In old age, oiu* active

348 THE DUTIES BELONGING [Ser. XXXIV.
part is supposed to be finished, and rest is permitted. Middle
age is the season when we are expected to display the fruits which
education had prepared and ripened. In this world, all of us were
formed to be assistants to one another. The wants of society call
for every man's labour, and require various departments to be filled
up. They require that some be appointed to rule, and others to
obey ; some to defend the society from danger, others to maintain
its internal order and peace ; some to provide the conveniences of
life, others to promote the improvement of the mind ; many to
work ; others to contrive and direct. In short, within the sphere
of society there is employment for every one ; and in the course
of these employments, many a moral duty is to be performed ;
many a religious grace to be exercised. No one is permitted to be
a mere blank in the world. No rank, nor station, no dignity of
birth, nor extent of possessions, exempt any man from contributing
his share to public utility and good. This is the precept of God.
This is the voice of nature. This is the just demand of the human
race upon one another.
One of the first questions, therefore, which every man who is
in the vigour of his age should put to himself, is, " What am I
doing in this world ? What have I yet done, whereby I may
glorify God, and be useful to my fellows ? Do I properly fill up the
place which belongs to my rank and station ? Will any memorial
remain of my having existed on the earth ? or are my days passing
fruitless away, now when I might be of some importance in the
system of human affairs ?"  Let nof any man imagine that he is
of no importance, and has, upon that account, a privilege to trifle
with his days at pleasure, lalents have been given to all ; to some
ten; to others five; to others two. Occupytvith these till I come,
[Luke xix. 13.] is the command of the great Master to all. —
Where superior abilities are possessed, or distinguished advan
tages of fortune are enjoyed, a wider range is afforded for useful
exertion, and the world is entitled to expect it. But among those
who fill up the inferior departments of society, though the sphere
of usefulness be more contracted, no one is left entirely insignifi
cant. Let us remember, that in all stations and conditions, the
important relations take place of masters and servants, husbands
and wives, parents and children, brothers and friends, citizens and
subjects. The discharge of the duties arising from those various
relations, forms a great portion of the work assigned to the middle
age of man. Though the part we have to act may be confined
within an humble line, yet, if it be honourably acted, it will be
always found to carry its own reward.
In fine, industry, in all its virtuous forms, ought to inspirit and
invigorate manhood. This will add to it both satisfaction and

Ser. XXXVL] TO MIDDLE AGE. 349
dignity ; will make the current of our years, as they roll, flow
along in a clear and equable stream, without the putrid stagnation
of sloth and idleness. Idleness is the great corrupter of youth ;
and the bane and dishonour of middle age. He who, in the prime
of life, finds time to hang heavy on his hands, may with much
reason suspect, that he has not consulted the duties which the
consideration of his age imposed upon him ; assuredly he has not
consulted his own happiness. But, amidst all the bustle of the
world, let us not forget,
III. — To guard with vigilance against the peculiar dangers which
attend the period of middle life. It is much to be regretted, that
in the present state of things there is no period of man's age in
which his virtue is not exposed to perils. Pleasure lays its snares
for youth ; and after the season of youthful follies is past, other
temptations, no less formidable to virtue, presently arise. The
love of pleasure is succeeded by the passion for interest. In this
passion the whole mind is too often absorbed ; and the change
thereby induced on the character is of no amiable kind. Amidst
the excesses of youth, virtuous affections often remain. The
attachments of friendship, the love of honour, and the warmth of
sensibility, give a degree of lustre to the character, and cover many
a failing. But interest, when it is become the ruling principle,
both debases the mind and hardens the heart. It deadens the
feeling of every thing that is sublime or refined. It contracts the
affections within a narrow circle ; and extinguishes all those sparks
of generosity and tenderness which once glowed in the breast.
In proportion as worldly pursuits multiply, and competitions
rise, ambition, jealously, and envy, combine with interest to excite
bad passions, and to increase the corruption of the heart. At first,
perhaps, it was a man's intention to advance himself in the world
by none but fair and laudable methods. He retained for some
time an aversion to whatever appeared dishonourable. But here,
he is encountered by the violence of an enemy. There, he is
supplanted by the address of a rival. The pride of a superior
insults him. The ingratitude of a friend provokes him. Animosi
ties ruffle his temper. Suspicions poison his mind. He finds, or
imagines that he finds, the artful and designing surrounding him
on every hand. He views corruption and iniquity prevailing ; the
modest neglected ; the forward and the crafty rising to distinction.
Too easily, from the example of others, he learns that mystery of
vice, called the way of the world. What he has learned he fancies
necessary to practise for his own defence ; and of course assumes
that supple and versatile character, which he observes to be frequent,
and which often has appeared to him successful.
To these, and many more dangers of the same kina, is tne mai<

350 THE DUTIES BELONGING [Ser.XXXIV.
exposed who is deeply engaged in active life. No small degree
of firmness in religious principle, and of constancy in virtue, is
requisite, in order to prevent his being assimilated to the spirit of
the world, and carried away by the multitude of evil doers. Let
him therefore call to mind those principles which ought to fortify
him against such temptations to vice. . Let him often recollect
that, whatever his station in life may be, he is a man ; he is a
Christian. These are the chief characters which he has to support;
characters superior far, if they be supported with dignity, to
any of the titles with which courts can decorate him ; superior to
all that can be acquired in the strife of a busy world. Let him
think, that though it may be desirable to increase his opulence, or
to advance his rank, yet what he ought to hold much more sacred
is, to maintain his integrity and honour. If these be forfeited,
wealth or station will have few charms left. They will not be able
to protect him long from sinking into contempt in the eye of an
observing world. Even to his own eye he will at last appear base
and wretched. — Let not the affairs of the world entirely engross
his time and thoughts. From that contagious air which he breathes
in the midst of it, let him sometimes retreat into the salutary
shade, consecrated to devotion and to wisdom. There, conversing
seriously with his own soul, and looking up to the Father of
Spirits, let him study to calm those unquiet passions, and to
rectify those internal disorders, which intercourse with the world
had excited and increased. In order to render this medicine of the
mind more effectual, it will be highly proper.
IV. — That as we advance in the course of years, we often attend
to the lapse of time and life, and to the revolutions which these
are ever effecting. In this meditation, one of the first reflections
which should occur is, how much we owe to that God who hath
hitherto helped us ; who hath brought us on so far in life ; hath
guided us through the slippery paths of youth, and now enables
us to flourish in the strength of manhood. Look back, my friends,
to those who started along with yourselves in the race of life.
Think how many of them have fallen around you. Observe how
many blank spaces you can number in the catalogue of those who
were once your companions. If, in the midst of so much devasta
tion, you have been preserved and blessed, consider seriously what
returns you owe to the goodness of Heaven. Inquire whether
your conduct has corresponded to these obligations ; whether in
public and in private, you have honoured, as became you, the God
of your fathers ; and whether, amidst the unknown occurrences
that are yet before you, you have ground to hope for the continued
protection of the Almighty.
Bring to mind the various revolutions which vou have beheld in

Ser. XXXIV.] TO MIDDLE AGE. 351
human affairs, since you become actors on this busy theatre
Reflect on the changes which have taken place in men and manners,
in opinions and customs, in private fortunes, and in public conduct.
By the observations you have made on these, and the experipnoe
you have gained, have you improved proportionally in wisdom '!
Have the changes of the world which you have witnessed, loosened
all unreasonable attachment to it ? Have they taught you this
great lesson, that, while the fashion of the world is ever passing
away, only in God and in virtue stability is to be found? Of
great use, amidst the whirl of the world, are such pauses as these
in life ; such resting-places of thought and reflection ; whence we
can calmly and deliberately look back on the past, and anticipate
the future.
To the future, we are often casting an eager eye, and fondly
storing it, in our imagination, with many a pleasing scene. But
if we would look to it, like wise men, let it be under the persuasion
that it is nearly to resemble the past, in bringing forward a
mixture of alternate hopes and fears, of griefs and joy. In order
to be prepared for whatever it may bring, let us cultivate that
manly fortitude of mind, which, supported by a pious trust in
God, will enable us to encounter properly the vicissitudes of our
state. No quality is more necessary than this, to them who are
passing through that stormy season of life of which we now treat.
Softness and effeminacy let them leave to the young and unex
perienced, who are amusing themselves with florid prospects of
bliss. But to those who are now engaged in the middle of their
course, who are supposed to be well acquainted with the world,
and to know that they have to struggle in it with various hardships ;
firmness, vigour, and resolution, are dispositions more suitable.
They must buckle on well this armour of the mind, if they would
issue forth into the contest with any prospect of success. — While
we thus study to correct the errors, and to provide against the
dangers, which are peculiar to this stage of life, let us, also,
V. — Lay foundation for comfort in old age. That is a period
which all expect and hope to see ; and to which, amidst the toils
of the world, men sometimes look forward, not without satisfaction,
as to the period of retreat and rest. But let them not deceive
themselves. A joyless and dreary season it will prove, if they
arrive at it with an unimproved or corrupted mind. For old age,
as for every other thing, a certain preparation is requisite ; and
that preparation consists chiefly in three particulars ; in the acqui
sition of knowledge, of friends, of virtue. There is an acquisition
of another kind, of which it is altogether needless for me to give
any recommendation, that of riches. But though this, by many,
will be esteemed a more material acquisition than all the three, I

352 DUTIES BELONGING, &c. [Ser. XXXIV.
have named, it may be confidently pronounced, that without these
other requisites, all the wealth we can lay up in store, will prove
insufficient for making our latter days pass smoothly away.
First, he who wishes to render his old age comfortable, should
study betimes to enlarge and improve his mind ; and, by thought
and inquiry, by reading and reflecting, to acquire a taste for
useful knowledge. This will provide for him a great and noble
entertainment, when other entertainments leave him. If he bring
into the solitary retreat of age, a vacant, uninformed mind, where
no knowledge dawns, where no ideas rise, which has nothing to
feed upon within itself, many a heavy and comfortless day he must
necessarily pass. Next, When a man declines into the vale of
years, he depends more on the aid of his friends, than in any
other period of his life. Then is the time, when he would
especially wish to find himself surrounded by some who love and
respect him ; who will bear with his infirmities, relieve him of his
labours, and cheer him with their society. Let him, therefore,
now in the summer of his days, while yet active and flourishing,
by acts of seasonable kindness and beneficence, ensure that love,
¦ and, by upright and honourable conduct, lay foundation for that
respect, which, in old age, he would wish to enjoy. — In the last
place, Let him consider a good conscience, peace with God, and
the hope of heaven, as the most effectual consolations he can
possess, when the evil days shall come, wherein, -otherwise, he is
likely to find little pleasure. It is not merely by transient acts of
devotion, that such consolations are to be provided. The regular
tenour of a virtuous and pious life, spent in the faithful discharge
of all the duties of our station, will prove the best preparation for
old age, for death, and for immortality.
Among the measures thus taken for the latter scenes of life, let
me admonish every one not to forget to put his worldly affairs in
order in due time. This is a duty which he owes to his character,
to his family, or to those, whoever they be, that are to succeed
him; but a duty too often unwisely delayed, from a childish
aversion, to entertain any thoughts of quitting the world. Let
him not trust much to what he will do in his old age. Sufficient
for that day, if he shall live to see it, will be the burden thereof.
It has been remarked, that as men advance in years, they care
less to think of death. Perhaps it occurs oftener to the thoughts
of the young than of the old. . Feebleness of spirit renders melan
choly ideas more oppressive ; and after having been so long accus
tomed and inured to the world, men bear worse with any thing
which reminds them, that they soon must part with it. — However,
as to part with it is the doom of all, let us take measures betimes
for going off the stage, when it shall be our turn to withdraw,

Ser. XXXV.] ON DEATH. 353
with decency and propriety, leaving nothing unfulfilled, which it
is expedient to have done before we die. To live long, ought not
to be our favourite wish, so much as to live well. By continuing
foo long on earth, we might only live to witness a greater number
of melancholy scenes, and to expose ourselves to a wider compass
of human woe. He who has served his generation faithfully in
the world, has duly honoured God, and been beneficent and useful
to mankind ; he who, in his life, has been respected and beloved ;
whose death is accompanied with the sincere regret of all who
knew him, and whose memory is honoured; that man has
sufficiently fulfilled his course, whether it was appointed by
Providence to be long or short. For honourable age is not that
which standeth in length of time, nor that which is measured by
number of years ; but wisdom is the grey hair unto man ; and an
unspotted life is old age. [Wisdom iv. 8, 9.]

SERMON XXXV.
ON DEATH.

Ecclesiastes xii. 5. — Man goeth to his long home, and the mourners
go about the streets.
This is a sight which incessantly presents itself. Our eyes are
so much accustomed to it, that it hardly makes any impression..
Throughout every season of the year, and during the course of
almost every day, the funerals which pass along the streets, show
us man going to his long home. Were death a rare and uncommon
object ; were it only once in the course of a man's life, that he
beheld one of his fellow creatures carried to the grave, a solemn
awe would fill him; he would stop short in the midst of his
pleasures ; he would even be chilled with secret horror. Such
impressions, however, would prove unsuitable to the nature of our
present state. When they became so strong as to render men
unfit for the ordinary business of life, they would in a great
measure defeat the intention of our being placed in this world. It
is better ordered by the wisdom of Providence, that they should
be weakened by the frequency of their recurrence ; and so tempered
by the mixture of other passions, as to allow us to go on freely
in acting our parts on earth.
Yet, familiar as death is now become, it is undoubtedly fit,
that, by an event of so important a nature, some impression should
be made upon our minds. It ought not to pass over, as one of
those common incidents which are beheld without concern, and
2 A

354 ON DEATH. [Ser. XXXV.
awaken no reflection. There are many things which the funerals
of our fellow-creatures are calculated to teach ; and happy it were
for the gay and dissipated, if they would listen more frequently
to the instructions of so awful a monitor. In the context, the
wise man had described, under a variety of images, suited to the
eastern style, the growing infirmities of old age, until they arrive
at that period which concludes them all ; when, _ as he beautifully
expresses it, the silver cord being loosened, and the golden bowl
broken, the pitcher being broken at the fountain, and the wheel at the
cistern, man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the
streets. In discoursing from these words, it is not my purpose to
treat, at present, of the instructions to be drawn from the prospect
of our own death. I am to confine myself to the death of others ;
to consider death as one of the most frequent and considerable
events that happen in the course of human affairs; and to show
in what manner we ought to be affected ; first, by the death of
strangers, or indifferent persons ; secondly, by the death of friends ;
and, thirdly, by the death of enemies.
I. — By the death of indifferent persons, if any can be called
indifferent to whom we are so nearly allied as brethren by nature,
and brethren in mortality. When we observe the funerals that
pass along the streets, or when we walk along the monuments of
death, the first thing that naturally strikes us, is the undis-
tinguishing blow with which that common enemy levels all. We
behold a great promiscuous multitude all carried to the same
abode ; all lodged in the same dark and silent mansions. There,
mingle persons of every age and character, of every rank and
condition in life ; the young and the old, the poor and the rich,
the gay and the grave, the renowned and the ignoble. A few
weeks ago, most of those whom we have seen carried to the grave,
walked about as we do now on the earth ; enjoyed their friends,
beheld the light of the sun, and were forming designs for future
days. Perhaps it is not long since they were engaged in scenes
of high festivity. For them, perhaps, the cheerful company
assembled, and, in the midst of the circle, they shone with gay
and pleasing vivacity. But now to them all is finally closed. To
them no more shall the seasons return, or the sun rise. No more
shall they hear the voice of mirth, or behold the face of man.
They are swept from the universe, as though they had never been.
They are carried away, as with the flood : the wind has passed over
them, and they are gone.
When we contemplate this desolation of the human race ; this
final termination of so many hopes ; this silence that now reigns
among those who, a little while ago, were so busy or so gay ;
who can avoid being touched with sensations at once awful and

Ser. XXXV.] ON DEATH 355
tender ? What heart but then warms with the glow of humanity ?
In whose eye does not the tear gather on revolving the fate of
passing and short-lived man ? Such sensations are so congenial
to human nature, that they are attended with a certain kind of
sorrowful pleasure. Even voluptuaries themselves sometimes in
dulge a taste for funeral melancholy. After the festive assembly
is dismissed, they choose to walk retired in the shady grove,
and to contemplate the venerable sepulchres of their ancestors.
This melancholy pleasure arises from two different sentiments
meeting at the same time in the breast; a sympathetic sense of
the shortness and vanity of life, and a persuasion that something
exists after death ; sentiments which unite at the view of the house
appointed for all living. A tomb, it has been justly said, is a
monument situated on the confines of both worlds. It, at once,
presents to us the termination of the inquietudes of life, and sets
before us the image of eternal rest. There, in the elegant ex
pressions of Job, the wicked cease from troubling ; and there the
weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest together ; they hear not
the voice of the oppressor. The small and the great are there ; and the
servant is free from his master. It is very remarkable, that in all
languageis, and among all nations, death has been described in a
style of this kind ; expressed by figures of speech, which convey
every where the same idea of rest, or sleep, or retreat from the
evils of life. Such a style perfectly agrees with the general be
lief of the soul's immortality ; but assuredly conveys no high idea
of the boasted pleasures of the world. It shows how much all
mankind have felt this life to be a scene of trouble and care ; and
have agreed in opinion, that perfect rest is expected only in the
grave. There, says Job, are the small and the great. There the poor
man lays down at last the burthen of his wearisome life. No more
shall he groan under the load of poverty and toil. No more
shall he hear the insolent calls of the master, from whom he
received his scanty wages. No more shall he be raised from
needful slumber on his bed of straw, nor be hurried away from his
homely meal, to undergo the repeated labours of the day. While
his humble grave is preparing, and a few poor and decayed neigh
bours are carrying him thither, it is good for us to think that this
man too was our brother ; that for him the aged and destitute
wife, and the needy children, now weep ; that neglected as he was
by the world, he possessed, perhaps, both a sound understanding
and a worthy heart; and is now carried by angels to rest in
Abraham's bosom. — At no great distance from him, the grave is
open to receive the rich and proud man. For, as it is said with
emphasis in the parable, the rich man also died, and teas buried.
2 a 2

356 ON DEATH. [Ser. XXXV.
'Luke xvi. 22.] He also died. His riches prevented not his
sharing the same fate with the poor man ; perhaps through luxury,
.hey accelerated his doom. Then, indeed, the mourners go about
the streets ; and while, in all the pomp and magnificence of woe,
his funeral is prepared, his heirs, in the mean time, impatient to
examine his* will, are looking on one another with jealous eyes,
and already beginning to quarrel about the division of his substance.
 One day, we see carried along the coffin of the smiling
infant ; the flower just nipped as it began to blossom in the
parents' view ; and the next day, we behold a young man or young
woman, of blooming form and promising hopes, laid in an un
timely grave. While the funeral is attended by a numerous un
concerned company, who are discoursing to one another about the
news of the day, or the ordinary affairs of life, let our thoughts
rather follow to the house of mourning, and represent to themselves
what is going on there. There we should see a disconsolate family,
sitting in silent grief, thinking of the sad breach that is made in
their little society; and with tears in their eyes, looking to the
chamber that is now left vacant, and to every memorial that presents
itself of their departed friend. By such attention to the woes of
others, the selfish hardness of our hearts will be gradually softened,
and melted down into humanity.
Another day, we follow to the grave one who, in old age, and
after a long career of life, has in full maturity, sunk at last into
rest. As we are going along to the mansion of the dead, it is
natural for us to think, and to discourse of all the changes which
such a person has seen during the course of his life. He has
passed, it is likely, through varieties of fortune. He has ex
perienced prosperity and adversity. He has seen families and
kindreds rise and fall. He has seen peace and war succeeding in
their turns ; the face of his country undergoing many alterations ;
and the very city in which he dwelt, rising, in a manner, new
around him. After all he has beheld, his eyes are now closed for
ever. He was becoming a stranger in the midst of a new succes
sion of men. A race who knew him not, had arisen to fill the
earth. Thus passes the world away. Throughout all ranks and
conditions, one generation passeth, and another generation cometh;
and this great inn is by turns evacuated, and replenished by
troops of succeeding pilgrims.  O vain and inconstant world !
O fleeting and transient life ! When will the sons of men learn
to think of thee as they ought ? When will they learn humanity
from the afflictions of their brethren ; or moderation and wisdom,
from the sense of their own fugitive state ? But now, to come
nearer to ourselves, let us,
II. — Consider the death of our friends. Want of reflection, or

Ser. XXXV.] ON DEATH. 357
the long habits either of a very busy, or a very dissipated life,
may have rendered men insensible to all such objects as I have
now described. The - stranger, and the unknown, fall utterly
unnoticed at their side. Life proceeds with them in its usual train,
without being affected by events in which they take no personal
concern. But the dissolution of those ties which had long bound
men together in intimate and familiar union, gives a painful shock
to every heart. When a family, who, for years, had been living
in comfort and peace, are suddenly shattered by some of their most
beloved or respected members being torn from them; when the
husband or the spouse are separated for ever from the companion,
who, amidst every vicissitude of fortune, solaced their life ; who
had shared all their joys, and participated in all their sorrows ;
when the weeping parent is folding in his arms the dying child
whom he tenderly loved ; when he is giving his last blessing,
receiving the last fond adieu, looking for the last time on that
countenance, now wasted and faded, which he had once beheld
with much delight ; then is the time, when the heart is made to
drink all the bitterness of human woe. — But I seek not to wound
your feelings by dwelling on these sad descriptions. Let us rather
turn our thoughts to the manner in which such events ought to be
received and improved, since happen they must in the life of man.
Then, indeed, is the time to weep. Let not a false idea of
fortitude, or mistaken [conceptions of religious duty, be employed
to restrain the bursting emotion. Let the heart seek its relief, in
the free effusion of just and natural sorrow. It is becoming in
every one to show, on such occasions, that he feels as a man
ought to feel. At the same time, let moderation temper the grief of
a good man and a Christian. He must not sorrow like those who have
no hope. As high elation of spirits befits not the joys, so continued
and overwhelming dejection suits not the grief, of this transitory
world. Grief, when it goes beyond eertain bounds, becomes
unmanly ; when it lasts beyond a certain time, becomes unseason
able. Let him not reject the alleviation which time brings to all
the wounds of the heart, but suffer excessive grief to subside, by
degrees, into a tender and affectionate remembrance. Let him
consider, that it is in the power of Providence to raise him up
other comforts in the place of those he has lost. Or, if his mind,
at present, reject the thoughts of such consolation, let it turn for
relief to the prospect of a future meeting in a happier world.
This is indeed the chief soother of affliction ; the most powerful
balm of the bleeding heart. It assists us to view death as no
more than a temporary separation from friends. They whom we
have loved still live, though not present to us. They are only
removed into a different mansion in the house of the common

358 ON DEATH. [Ser. XXXV.
Father. The toils of their pilgrimage are-finished; and they are
gone to the land of rest and peace. They are gone from this
dark and troubled world, to join the great assembly of the just;
and to dwell in the midst of everlasting light. In due time we
hope to be associated with them in those blissful habitations.
Un';il this season of re-union arrive, no principle of religion dis
courages our holding correspondence of affection with them by
means of faith and hope.
Meanwhile, let us respect the virtues, and cherish the memorys
of the deceased. Let their little failings be now forgotten. Let us
dwell on what was amiable in their character, imitate their worth,
and trace their steps. By this means, the remembrance of those
whom we loved shall become useful and improving to us, as well as
sacred and dear ; if we accustom ourselves to consider them as still
speaking and exhorting us to all that is good ; if, in situations
where our virtue is tried, we call up their respected idea to view,
and, as placed in their presence, think of the part which we could
act before them without a blush.
Moreover, let the remembrance of the friends whom we have
lost, strengthen our affections to those that remain. The narrower
the circle becomes of those we love, let us draw the closer
together. Let the heart that has been softened by sorrow, mellow
into gentleness and kindness; make liberal allowance for the
weaknesses of others ; and divest itself of the little prejudices that
may have formerly prepossessed it against them. The greater
havock that death has made among our friends on earth, let us
cultivate connexion more with God, and heaven, and virtue. Let
those noble views which man's immortal character affords, fill
and exalt our minds. Passengers only through this sublunary
region, let our thoughts often ascend to that divine country, which
we are taught to consider as the native seat of the soul. There
we form connexions that are never broken. There we meet with
friends who never die. Among celestial things there is firm and
lasting constancy, while all that is on earth changes and passes
away. — Such are some of the fruits we should reap from the tender
feelings excited by the death of friends. But they are not only our
friends who die. Our enemies also must go to their long home;
Let us, therefore,
III. Consider how we ought to be affected, when they from
whom suspicions have alienated, or rivalry has divided us ; they
with whom we have long contended, or by whom we imagine our
selves to have suffered wrong ; are laid, or about to be laid, in the
grave. How inconsiderable then appear those broils in which we
had been long involved, those contests and feuds which we
thought were to last for ever ! The awful moment that now ter

Ser. XXXV.] ON DEATH. 359
minates them, makes us feel their vanity. If there be a spark of
humanity left in the breast, the remembrance of our common fate
then awakens it. Is there a man who, if he were admitted to
stand by the death-bed of his bitterest enemy, and behold him en
during that conflict which human nature must suffer at the last,
would not be inclined to stretch forth the hand of friendship, to
utter the voice of forgiveness, and to wish for perfect reconciliation
with him before he left the world ? Who is there that, when he
beholds the remains of his adversary deposited in the dust, feels
not, in that moment, some relentings at the remembrance of those
past animosities which mutually embittered their life? — " There lies
the man with whom I contended so long, silent and mute for ever.
He is fallen, and I am. about to follow him. How poor is the ad
vantage which I now enjoy ! Where are the fruits of all our con
tests ? In a short time we shall be laid together ; and no remem
brance remain of either of us under the sun. How many mistakes
may there have been between us ! Had not he his virtues and
good qualities as well as I ? When we both shall appear before the
judgement-seat of God, shall I be found innocent and free of
blame, for all the enmity I have borne to him ? My friends, let the
anticipation of such sentiments serve now to correct the invete
racy of prejudice, to cool the heat of anger, to allay the fierceness
of resentment. How unnatural is it for animosities so lasting to
possess the hearts of mortal men, that nothing can extinguish
them but the cold hand of death ! Is there not a sufficient proportion
of evils in the short span of human life, that we seek to increase
their number, by rushing into unnecessary contests with one ano-
other ? When a few more suns have rolled over our heads, friends
and foes shall have retreated together; and their love and their
hatred be equally buried. Let our few days, then, be spent in
peace. While we are all journeying onwards to death, let us rather
bear one another's burdens, than harass one another by the way.
Let us smooth and cheer the road as much as we can, rather than
fill the valley of our pilgrimage with the hateful monuments of our
contention and strife.
Thus I have set before you some of those meditations which are
naturally suggested by the prevalence of death around us ; by the
death of strangers, of friends, and of enemies. Because topics o_
this nature are obvious, let it not be thought that they are without
use. They require to be recalled, repeated, and enforced. Moral
and religious instruction derives its efficacy not so much from what
men are taught to know, as from what, they are brought to feel.
It is not the dormant knowledge of any truths, but the vivid im
pression of them, which has influence on practice. Neither let it
be thought that such meditations are unseasonable intrusions upon

360 THE PROGRESS OF VICE. [Ser. XXXVI.
those who are living in health, in affluence, and ease. There is no
hazard of their making too deep or painful aaimpression. The gloom
which they occasion is transient ; and will soon, too soon, it is pro
bable, be dispelled by the succeeding affairs and pleasures of the
world. To wisdom it certainly belongs, that men should be im
pressed with just views of their nature and their state ; and the
pleasures of life will always be enjoyed to most advantage when
they are tempered with serious thought. There is a time to mourn,
as well as ia time to rejoice. There is a virtuous sorrow, which is
better than laughfe™. There is a sadness of the countenance by which
the heart is made bette".

SERMON XXXVI.
ON THE PROGRESS OF VICE.

1 Corinthians xv. 33. — Be not deceived: Evil communications
corrupt good manners.
Though human nature be now fallen from its original honour,
several good principles still remain in the hearts of men. There
are few, if any, on whose minds the reverence for a Supreme Being
continues not, in some degree, impressed. In every breast, some
benevolent affections are found, and conscience still retains a sense
of the distinction between moral good and evil. These principles
of virtue are always susceptible of improvement ; and in favourable
situations might have a happy influence on practice. But such is
the frailty of our nature, and so numerous are the temptations to evil,
that they are in perpetual hazard of being either totally effaced, or
so far weakened as to produce no effect on conduct. They are good
seeds originally sown in the heart ; but which require culture, in
order to make them rise to any maturity. If left without assistance,
they are likely to be stifled by that profusion of noxious weeds
which the soil sends forth around them.
Among the numerous causes which introduce corruption into
the heart, and accelerate its growth, none is more unhappily
powerful than that which is pointed out in the text, under the
description of evil communications ; that is, the contagion which is
diffused by bad examples, and heightened by particular con
nexions with persons of loose principles, or dissolute morals. Thi%
in a licentious state of society, is the most common source of
those vices and disorders which so much abound in great cities

Ser. XXXVI.] THE PROGRESS OF VICE. 361
and often proves, in a particular manner, fatal to the young ; even
to them whose beginnings were once auspicious and promising.
It may, therefore, be a useful employment of attention, to trace
the progress of this principle of corruption, to examine the means
by which evil communications gradually undermine, and, at last,
destroy good manners, or (which is here the proper signification of
the original word) good morals. It is indeed disagreeable to con
template human nature, in this downward course of its progress.
But it is always profitable to know our own infi-mities and dangers.
The consideration of them will lead me to suggest some of the
means proper to be used, for preventing the mischiefs arising from
evil communications.
Agreeably to what I observed of certain virtuous principles
being inherent in human nature, there are few but who set out at
first in the world with good dispositions. The warmth which
belongs to youth naturally exerts itself in generous feelings, and
sentiments of honour ; in strong attachments to friends, and the
other emotions of a kind and tender heart. Almost all the plans
with which persons who have been liberally educated begin the
world, are connected with honourable views. At that period
they repudiate whatever is mean or base. It is pleasing to them
to think of commanding the esteem of those among whom they
live, and of acquiring a name among men. But, alas ! how soon
does this flattering prospect begin to be overcast ! Desires of
pleasure usher in temptation, and forward the growth of disorderly
passions. Ministers of vice are seldom wanting, to encourage-
and flatter the passions of the young. Inferiors study to creep
into favour, by servile obsequiousness to all their desires and hu
mours. Glad to find any apology for the indulgences of which
they are fond, the young too readily listen to the voice of those
who suggest to them that strict notions of religion, order, and
virtue, are old-fashioned and illiberal; that the restraints which
they impose are only fit to be prescribed to those who are in the first
stage of pupilage ; or to be preached to the vulgar, who ought to
be kept within the closest bounds of regularity and subjection. But
the goodness of their hearts, it is insinuated to them, and the li
berality of their views, will fully justify their emancipating them
selves, in some degree, from the rigid discipline of parents and
teachers. Soothing as such insinuations are to the youthful and inconsi
derate, the first steps, however, in vice, are cautious and timid,
and occasionally checked by remorse. As they begin to mingle
more in the world, and emerge into the circles of gaity and plea
sure, finding these loose ideas countenanced by too general prac
tice, they gradually become bolder in the liberties they take. If

362 THE PROGRESS OF VICE. [Ser. XXXVI.
they had been bred to business, they begin to tire of industry, and
look with contempt on the plodding race of citizens. If they be of
superior rank, they think it becomes them to resemble their equals ;
to assume that freedom of behaviour, that air of forwardness,
that tone of dissipation, that easy negligence of those with whom
they converse, which appear fashionable in high life. If affluence
of fortune unhappily concur to favour their inclinations, amuse
ments and diversions succeed in a perpetual round ; night and day
are confounded ; gaming fills up their vacant intervals ; they live
wholly in public places ; they run into many degrees of excess,
disagreeable even to themselves, merely from weak complaisance,
and the fear of being ridiculed by their loose associates. Among
these associates, the most hardened and determined always take
the lead. The rest follow them with implicit submission ; and
make proficiency in the school of iniquity in exact proportion to
the weakness of their understandings, and the strength of their
passions. How many pass away, after this manner, some of the most valuable
years of their life, tossed in a whirlpool of what cannot be called
pleasure, so much as mere giddiness and folly ! In the habits of
perpetual connexion with idle or licentious company, all reflection is
lost ; while, circulated from one empty head and one thoughtless
heart to another, folly shoots up into all its most ridiculous forms ;
prompts the extravagant unmeaning frolic in private, or sallies forth
in public into mad riot ; impelled sometimes by intoxication, some
times by mere levity of spirits.
All the while, amidst this whole course of juvenile infatuation, I
readily admit, that much good nature may still remain. Generosity
and attachments may be found ; nay, some awe of religion may
still subsist, and some remains of those good impressions which
were made upon the mind in early days. It might yet be very
possible to reclaim such persons, and to form them for useful and
respectable stations in the world, if virtuous and improving society
should happily succeed to the place of that idle crew with whom
they now associate ; if important business should occur, to bring
them into a different sphere of action ; or if some seasonable
stroke of affliction should in mercy be sent, to recall them to them
selves, and to awaken serious and manly thought. But if youth,
and vigour, and flowing fortune, continue ; if a similar succession
of companions go on to amuse them, to ingross their time, and to
stir up their passions ; the day of ruin, — let them take heed and
beware ! — the day of irrecoverable ruin begins to draw nigh. For
tune is squandered ; health is broken ; friends are offended, af
fronted, estranged ; aged parents, perhaps, sent, afflicted &nd
mourning, to the dust.

Ser. XXXVI.] THE PROGRESS OF VICE. 363
There are certain degrees of vice which are chiefly stamped
with the character of the ridiculous and the contemptible; and
there are also certain limits, beyond which, if it pass, it becomes
odious and execrable. If, to other corruptions which the heart
has already received, be added the infusion of sceptical principles,
that worst of all the evil communications of sinners, the whole of
morals is then on the point of being overthrown. For every crime
can then be palliated to conscience ; every check and restraint
which had hitherto remained, is taken away. He who, in the
beginning cf his course, soothed himself with the thought, that
while he indulged his desires, he did hurt to no man ; now pressed
by the necessity of supplying those wants into which his expensive
pleasures have brought him, goes on without remorse lo defraud
and to oppress. The lover of pleasure now becomes hardened and
cruel ; violates his trust, or betrays his friend ; becomes a man of
treachery, or a man of blood ; satisfying, or at least endeavouring
all the while to satisfy himself, that circumstances form his excuse;
that by necessity he is impelled ; and that, in gratifying the
passions which nature had implanted within him, he does no more
than follow nature.
Miserable and deluded man ! to what art thou come at the last ?
Dost thou pretend to follow nature, when thou art contemning
the laws of the God of nature ? when thou art stifling his voice.
within thee, which remonstrates against thy crimes? when thou
art violating the best part of thy nature, by counteracting the
dictates of justice and humanity ? Dost thou follow nature, when
thou renderest thyself an useless animal on the earth ; and not
useless only, but noxious to the society to which thou belongest,
and to which thou art a disgrace ; noxious, by the bad example
thou hast set ; noxious, by the crimes thou hast committed ;
sacrificing innocence to thy guilty pleasures, and introducing
shame and ruin into the habitations of peace ; defrauding of their
due the unsuspicious who have trusted thee ; involving in the
ruins of thy fortune many a worthy family; reducing the
industrious and the aged to misery and want ; by all which, if
thou hast escaped the deserved sword of justice, thou hast at least
brought on thyself the resentment and the reproach of all the
respectable and the worthy? — Tremble then at the view of the
gulph which is opening before thee. Look with horror at the
precipice on the brink of which thou standest ; and if yet a moment
be left for retreat, think how thou mayest escape, and be saved.
This brings me to what I proposed as the next head of discourse ;
to suggest some means that may be used for stopping in time the
progress of such mischiefs ; to point out some remedies against the
fatal infection of evil communications.

364 THE PROGRESS OF VICE. [Ser. XXXVI.
The first and most obvious 4s, to withdiaw from all associations
with bad men, with persons either of licentious principles or of
disorderly conduct. I have shown to what issue such dangerous
connexions are apt to bring men at last. Nothing, therefore, is
of more importance for the young, to whom I now chiefly address
myself, than to be careful in the choice of their friends and
companions. This choice is too frequently made without much
thought, or is determined by some casual connexion; and yet
very often the whole fate of their future life depends upon it.—
The circumstances which chiefly attract the liking and the
friendship of youth, are vivacity, good humour, engaging manners,
and a cheerful or easy temper ; qualities, I confess, amiable in
themselves, and useful and valuable in their place. But I intreat
you to remember, that these are not all the qualities requisite to
form an intimate companion or friend. Something more is still to
be looked for; a sound understanding, a steady mind, a firm
attachment to principle, to virtue, and honour. As only solid
bodies polish well, it is only on the substantial ground of these
manly endowments, that the other amiable qualities can receive
their proper lustre. Destitute of these essential requisites, they
shine with no more than a tinsel brilliancy. It may sparkle for a
little, amid a few circles of the frivolous and superficial; but it
imposes not on the discernment of the public. The world in general
seldom, after a short trial, judges amiss of the characters of men.
You may be assured, that its character of you will be formed by
the company you frequent ; and how agreeable soever they may
seem to be, if nothing is to be found among them but hollow
qualities, and external accomplishments, they soon fall down into
the class, at best, of the insignificant, perhaps of the worthless ;
and you sink, of course, in the opinion of the public, into the same
despicable rank.
Allow me to warn you, that the most gay and pleasing are
sometimes the most insidious and dangerous companions ; an
admonition which respects both the sexes. Often they attach
themselves to you from interested motives ; and if any taint or
suspicion lie on their character, under the cover of your rank,
your fortune, or your good reputation, they seek protection for
themselves. Look round you, then, with attentive eye, and weigh
characters well, before you connect yourselves too closely with
any who court your society. He that walketh with wise men
shall be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.
Wherefore, enter not thou into the counsel of the scorner Walk not
in the way with evil men ; avoid it ; pass not by it, turn from it, and
pass away. [Prov. iv. 14. xiii. 20.]
In order to prevent the influence of evil communications, it is

Ser. XXXVI.] THE PROGRESS OF VICE. 305
farther needful that you fix to yourselves certain principles of
conduct, and be resolved and determined on no occasion to swerve
from them. Setting the consideration of religion and virtue aside,
and attending merely to interest and reputation, it will be found
that he who enters on active life without having ascertained some
regular plan, according to which he is to guide himself, will be
unprosperous in the whole of his subsequent progress. But when
conduct is viewed in a moral and religious light, the effect of
having fixed no principles of action, of having formed no laudable
standard of character, becomes more obviously fatal. For hence
it is, that the young and thoughtless imbibe so readily the poison
of evil communications, and fall a prey to every seducer. They
have no internal guide whom they are accustomed to follow and
obey ; nothing within themselves that can give firmness to their
conduct. They are of course the victims of momentary inclination
or caprice ; religious and good by starts, when, during the absence
of temptations and tempters, the virtuous principle stirs within
them; but never long the same ; changing and fluctuating according
to the passion that chances to rise, or the instigation of those
with whom they have connected themselves. They are sailing on
a dangerous sea, which abounds with rocks ; . without compass, by
which to direct their course; or helm, by which to guide the
vessel. Whereas, if they acted on a system, if their behaviour
made it appear that they were determined to conduct themselves
by certain rules and principles, not only would they escape innu
merable dangers, but they would command respect from the licen
tious themselves. Evil doers would cease to lay their snares
for one whom they saw moving above them, in a higher sphere,
and with a more steady course.
As a farther corrective of evil communications, and as a foundation
to those principles which you lay down for conduct, let me advise
you sometimes to think seriously of what constitutes real enjoyment
and happiness. Your days cannot be entirely spent in company
and pleasure. How closely soever you are surrounded and besieged
by evil companions, there must be some intervals, in which you arc
left by yourselves ; when, after all the turbulence of amusement is
over, your mind will naturally assume a graver and more pensive
cast. These are precious intervals to vou if you knew their value.
Seize that sober hour of retirement and silence. Indulge the
meditations which then begin to rise. Cast your eye backwards
on what is past of your life ; look forward to what is, probably, to
come. Think of the part you are now acting ; and of what remains,
to be acted, perhaps to be suffered, before you die. Then is the
time to form your plans of happiness, not merely for the next day,
but for the general course of your life. Remember, that what

366 THE PROGRESS OF VICE.
is pleasing to you at twenty, will not be equally so at forty or
fifty years of age; and that what continues longest pleasing, is
always most valuable. Recollect your own feelings in different
scenes of life. Inquire on what occasions you have felt the truest
satisfaction ; whether days of sobriety, and a rational employment,
have not left behind them a more agreeable remembrance, than
nights of licentiousness and riot. Look round you on the world ;
reflect on the different societies which have fallen under your
observation; and think who among them appear to enjoy life
to most advantage ; whether they who, encircled by gay companions,
are constantly fatiguing themselves in quest of pleasure, or they
to whom pleasure comes unsought in the course of an active,
virtuous, and manly life. Compare together these two classes
of mankind, and ask your own hearts, to which of them you
would choose to belong. If, in a happy moment, the light of
truth begin to break in upon you, refuse not admittance to the
ray. If your hearts secretly reproach you for the wrong choice
you have made, bethink yourselves that the evil is not irreparable.
Still there is time for repentance and retreat; and a return lo
wisdom is always honourable.
Were such meditations often indulged, the evil communications
of sinners would die away before them ; the force of their poison
would evaporate ; the world would begin to assume in your eyes
a new form and shape. Disdain not, in these solitary hours, to
recollect what the wisest have said and have written concerning
human happiness and human vanity. Treat not their opinions as
effusions merely of peevishness or disappointment; but believe
them to be what they truly are, the result of long experience, and
thorough acquaintance with the world. Consider that the season
of youth is passing fast away. It is time for you to be taking
measures for an establishment in life ; nay, it were wise to be
looking forward to a placid enjoyment of old age. That is a period
you wish to see ; but how miserable when it arrives, if it yield you
nothing but the dregs of life ; and present no retrospect, except
that of a thoughtless and dishonoured youth.
Let me once more advise you to look forward sometimes beyond
old age; to look to a future world. Amidst evil communications
let your belief and your character, as Christians, arise to your
view. Think of the sacred name in which you were baptized.
Think of the God whom your fathers honoured and worshipped ;
of the religion in which they trained you up ; of the venerable
rites in which they brought you to partake. Their paternal cares
have now ceased. They have finished their earthly course ; and
the time is coming when you must follow them. You know that
vou are not to live always here ; and you surely do not believe

Ser. XXXVII.] ON FORTITUDE. 3«7
that your existence is to end with this life. Into what world.-then,
are you next to go? Whom will you meet with there? Before
whose tribunal are you to appear ? What account will you be able
to give of your present trifling and irregular conduct to Him who
made you ?— Such thoughts may be treated as unseasonable
intrusions. But intrude they sometimes will, whether you make
them welcome or not. , Better, then, to allow them free reception
when they come," and to consider fairly to what they lead. You
have seen persons die ; at least, you have heard of your friends
dying near you. Did it never enter into your minds, to think
what their last reflections probably were in their concluding mo
ments ; or what your own, in such a situation, would be ? What
would be then your hopes and fears ; what part you would then
wish to have acted ; in what light your closing eyes would then
view this life, and this world.
These are thoughts, my friends, too important to be always ex
cluded. These are things too solemn and awful to be trifled with.
They are superior to all the ridicule of fools. They come home to
every man's bosom ; and are entitled to every man's highest attention.
Let us regard them as becomes reasonable and mortal creatures ;
and they will prove effectual antidotes to the evil communications
of petulant scoffers. When vice or folly arise to tempt us under
flattering forms, let the serious character which we bear as men
come also forward to view ; and let the solemn admonitions with
which I conclude, sound full in our ears : My son, if sinners entice
thee, consent thou not. Come out from amongst them, and be separate.
Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. Fear the Lord, and
depart from evil. The way of life is above to the wise ; and he that
keepeth the commandment, keepeth his own soul. [Prov. i. 10.
2 Corinth, vi. 17. Eccles. xii. 1. Prov. xv. 24.]

SERMON XXXVII.
ON FORTITUDE.
Psalm xxvii. 3. — Though an host should encamp against me, my heart
shall not fear.
This world is a region of danger, in which perfect safety is pos
sessed by no man. Though we live in times of established tran
quillity, when there is no ground to apprehend that an host shall,
in the literal sense, encamp against us ; yet every man, from one
quarter or other, has somewhat to dread. Riches often make t)
themselves wings and flee away. The firmest health may in a

568 ON FORTITUDE. [Ser. XXXVII.
moment be shaken. The most flourishing family may unexpectedly
be scattered. The appearances of our security are frequently
deceitful. When our sky seems more settled and serene, in some
unobserved quarter gathers the little black cloud, in which the
tempest ferments, and prepares to discharge itself on our head.
Such is the real situation of man in this world ; and he who flatters
himself with an opposite view of his state, only lives in the paradise
of fools.
In this situation no quality is more requisite than constancy,
or fortitude of mind ; a quality which the Psalmist appears, from
the sentiment in the text, to have possessed in an eminent degree.
Fortitude was justly classed, by the ancient philosophers, among
the cardinal virtues. It is indeed essential to the support of
them all; and it is most necessary to be acquired by every one
who wishes to discharge with fidelity the duties of his station. It
is the armour of the mind, which will fit him for encountering the
trials and surmounting the dangers, that are likely to occur in the
course of his life. It may be thought, perhaps, to be a quality,
in some measure, constitutional ; dependent on firmness of nerves,
and strength of spirits. Though, partly, it is so, yet experience
shows that it may also be acquired by principle, and be fortified
by reason ; and it is only when thus acquired, and thus fortified,
that it can be accounted to carry the character of virtue. Forti
tude is opposed, as all know, to timidity, irresolution, a feeble
and a wavering spirit. It is placed, like other virtues, in the
middle between two extremes ; standing at an equal distance from
rashness on the one hand, and from pusillanimity on the other.
In discoursing on this subject, I propose, first, to show the im
portance of fortitude or constancy ; next, to ascertain the grounds
on which it must rest ; and lastly, to, suggest some considerations
for assisting the exercise of it.
I. — The high importance of fortitude will easily appear, if we
consider it as respecting either the happiness of human life, or the
proper discharge of its duties.
Without some degree of fortitude there can be no happiness ;
because amidst the thousand uncertainties of life, there can be
no enjoyment of tranquillity. The man of feeble and timorous
spirit lives under perpetual alarms. He foresees every distant
danger and trembles. He explores the regions of possibility, to
discover the dangers that may arise. Often he creates imaginary
ones ; always magnifies those that are real. Hence, like a person
haunted by spectres, he loses the free enjoyment even of a safe
and prosperous state. On the first shock of adversity, he de
sponds. Instead of exerting himself to lay hold on the resources
that remain, he gives up all for lost; and resigns himself to abject

Ser. XXXVII.] ON FORTITUDE. 369
and broken spirits. — On the other hand, firmness of mind is the
parent of tranquillity. It enables one to enjoy the present without
disturbance ; and to look calmly on dangers that approach, or evils
that threaten in future. It suggests good hopes. It supplies re
sources. It allows a man to retain full possession of himself, in
every situation of fortune. Look into the heart of this man, and
you will find composure, cheerfulness, and magnanimity. Look
into the heart of the other, and you will see nothing but con
fusion, anxiety, and trepidation. The one is a castle built on a
rock, which defies the attacks of surrounding waters. The other
is a hut placed on the shore, which every wind shakes, and every
wave overflows.
If fortitude be thus essential to the enjoyment of life, it is equally
so to the proper discharge of all its most important duties. He
who is of a cowardly mind is, and must be, a slave to the world.
He fashions his whole conduct according to his hopes and fears.
He smiles, and fawns, and betrays, from abject considerations
of personal safety. He is incapable of either conceiving or
executing any great design. He can neither stand the clamour ot
the multitude nor the frowns of the mighty- The wind of popular
favour, or the threats of power, are sufficient to shake his most
determined . purpose. The world always knows where to find him.
He may pretend to have principles ; but on every trying occasion,
it will be seen, that his pretended principles bend to convenience
and safety. — The man of virtuous fortitude, again, follows the
dictates of his heart, unembarrassed by those restraints which lie.
upon the timorous. Having once determined what is fit for him
to do, no threatenings can shake, nor dangers appal him. He
rests upon himself, supported by a consciousness of inward dig
nity. I do not say that this disposition alone will secure him
against every vice. He may be lifted up with pride. He may be
seduced by pleasure. He may be hurried away by passion. But
at least on one quarter he will be safe ; by no abject fears 'misled
into evil.
Without this temper of mind, no man can be a thorough
Christian. For his profession, as such, requires him to be superior
to that fear of man which bringeth a snare; enjoins him, for the
sake of a good conscience, to encounter every danger ; and to
be prepared, if called, even to lay. down his life in the cause of
religion and truth. All who have been distinguished as servants
of God, or benefactors of men ; all who in perilous situations,
have acted their part with such honour as to render their names
illustrious through succeeding ages ; have been eminent for forti
tude of mind'.' Of this we have one conspicuous example in the
apostle Paul whom it will be instructive for us to view in a re-
2 B

370 ON FORTITUDE. [Ser. XXXVII
markable occurrence of his life. After having long acted as the
Apostle of the Gentiles, his mission called him to go to Jerusalem,
where he knew that he was to encounter the utmost violence of his
enemies. Just before he set sail, he called together the elders of
his favourite church at Ephesus, and in a pathetic speech, which
does great honour to his character, gave them his last farewell.
Deeply affected by their knowledge of the certain dangers to which
he was exposing himself, all the assembly were filled with distress,
and melted into tears. The circumstances were such as might
have conveyed dejection even to a resolute mind ; and would have
totally overwhelmed the feeble. They all wept sore, and fell on
Paul's neck, and kissed him; sorrowing most of alt for the words which
he spake, that they should see his face no more. What were then the
sentiments, what was the language of this great and good man?
Hear the words which spoke his firm and undaunted mind : Behold,
I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that
shall befall me there ! save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth, in every
city, saying, that bonds and afflictions abide me. But none of these
things move me ; neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that
I might finish my course with joy,, and the ministry which I have
received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God.
[Acts xx. 22, 23, 24, 37, 38.] There was uttered the voice, there
breathed the spirit, of a brave and a virtuous man. Such a man
knows not what it is to shrink from danger when conscience points
out his path. In that path he is determined to walk ; let the con
sequences be what they will. Till I die, I will not remove my in
tegrity from me. My righteousness I holdfast, and will not let it go.
My heart shall not reproach me as long as I live. " For me there is
a part appointed to act. I go to perform it. My duty I shall do
to-day. Let to-morrow take thought for the things of itself." 
Having thus shown the importance, I proceed,
II. — To show the proper foundations of constancy and for
titude of mind. They are principally two ; a good conscience,
and trust in God.
A corrupted and guilty man can possess no true firmness of
heart. He who, by crooked paths, pursues dishonourable ends,
has many . things to dismay him. He not only dreads the disap
pointment of his designs, by some of those accidents to which
all are exposed ; but he has also to dread the treachery of his
confederates, the discoveiy and reproach of the world, and the just
displeasure of Heaven. His fears he is obliged to conceal ; but
while he assumes the appearance of intrepidity before the world,
he trembles within himself; and the bold and steady eye of in
tegrity frequently darts terror into his heart. There is, it is true,
a sort of constitutional courage, which sometimes has rendered

Ser. XXXVII.] ON FORTITUDE. 371
men daring in the most flagitious attempts. But this fool-hardiness
of the rash, this boldness of the ruffian, is altogether different from
real fortitude. It arises merely from warmth of blood, from want
of thought, and blindness to danger. As it forms no character of
value, so it appears only in occasional sallies ; and never can be
uniformly maintained. It requires adventitious props to support it ;
and, in some hour of trial always fails. There can be no true cou
rage, no regular persevering constancy!, but what is connected with
principle, and founded on a consciousness of rectitude of intention.
This, and this only, erects that brazen wall, which we can oppose
to every hostile attack. It clothes us with an armour, on which
fortune will spend its shafts in vain. All is sound within. There
is no weak place, where we particularly dread a blow. There
is no occasion for false colours to be hung out. No disguise
is needed to cover us. We would be satisfied if all mankind
could look into our hearts. What has he to fear, who not
only acts on a plan which his conscience approves, but who
knows that every good man, nay, the whole unbiassed world,
if they could trace his intentions, would justify and approve his
conduit. He knows, at the same time, that he is acting under the
immediate eye and protection of the Amighty. Behold my
witness is in heaven ; and my record is on high. [Job xvi. 19.]
Here opens a new source ofa fortitude to every virtuous man.
The consciousness of such an illustrious spectator invigorates
and animates him. He trusts, that the eternal lover of righ
teousness not only beholds and approves, but will strengthen
and assist; will not suffer him to be unjustly oppressed, and
will reward his constancy in the end, with glory, honour, and
immortality. A good conscience, thus supported, bestows on
the heart a much greater degree of intrepidity than it could
otherwise inspire. One who rests on an almighty though in
visible Protector, exerts his powers with double force; acts with
vigour not his own. Accordingly, it was from this principle of
trust in God, that the Psalmist derived that courage and bold
ness which he expresses in the text. He had said immediately
before The Lord is my light and my salvation ; the Lord is
the strength of my life. The consequence which directly follows
is Of whom shall I be afraid? Though an host should en
camp against me, my heart shall not fear. It remains,
jjj_  That I suggest a few considerations which may prove
auxiliary to the exercise of virtuous fortitude in the midst of
dangers. , , . .
From what was just now said, it appears, first, that it is ot
high importance to every one, who wishes to act his part with
becoming resolution, to cultivate a religious principle, and to be
2 b 2

372 ON FORTITUDE. [Ser. XXXVII
inspired with trust in God. The imperfections of the best are
indeed so numerous, as to give them no title to claim, on their
own account, the protection of Heaven. But we are taught to
believe, that the merciful God, who made us, and who knows our
frame, favours the sincere and upright; that the supreme admi
nistration of the universe is always on the side of truth and virtue ;
and that, therefore, every worthy character, and every just and
good cause, though for a while it should be depressed, is likely
to receive countenance and protection in the end. The more
firmly this belief is rooted in the heart, its influence will be more
powerful in surmounting the fears which arise from a sense of its
own weakness or danger. The records of all natipns afford a
thousand remarkable instances of the effect of this principle,
both on individuals, and on bodies of men. Animated by the
strong belief of a just cause and a protecting God, the feeble have
waxed strong, and have despised dangers, sufferings, and death.
Handfuls of men have defied hosts that were encamped against them ;
and have gone forth, conquering and to conquer. The sword of
the Lord and of Gideon, have called forth a valour which astonish
ed the world ; and which could have been exerted by none but those
who fought under a divine banner.
In the next place, let him who would preserve fortitude in dif
ficult situations, fill his mind with a sense of what constitutes the
true honour of man. It consists not in the multitude of riches,
or the elevation of rank ; for experience shows that these may be
possessed by the worthless, as well as by the deserving. It con
sists in being deterred by no danger when duty calls us forth; in
fulfilling our allotted part, whatever it may be, with faithfulness,
bravery, and constancy of mind. These qualities never fail to
stamp distinction on the character. They confer on him who dis
covers them, an honourable superiority, which all, even enemies,
feel and revere. Let every man, therefore, when the hour of
danger comes, bethink himself, that now is arrived the hour of
trial, the hour which must determine, whether he is/;o rise, or to
sink for ever, in the esteem of all around him. If, when put to
the test, he discovers no firmness to maintain his ground, no for
titude to stand a shock, he has forfeited every, pretension to a
manly mind. He must reckon on being exposed to general con
tempt ; and, what is worse, he will feel that he deserves it. In
his own eyes he will be contemptible, than which, surely, no
misery can be more severe.
But in order to acquire habits of fortitude, what is of the highest
consequence is to have formed a just estimate of the goods and
evils of life, and of the value of life itself. For here lies the chief
source of our weakness and pusillanimity. We over-value the ad

Ser.XAA.ViI.] ON FORTITUDE. 373
vantages of fortune, rank and riches^ ease and safety. Deluded
by vain opinions, we look to these as our ultimate goods. We
hang upon them with fond attachment; and to forfeit any hope of
advancement, to incur the least discredit with the world, or to be
brought down but one step from the station we possess, is regarded
with Consternation and dismay. Hence a thousand weights hang
upon the mind, which depress its courage, and bend it to mean
and dishonourable compliances. What fortitude can he possess,
what worthy or generous purpose can he form, who conceives
diminution of rank, or loss of fortune, to be the chief evils which
man can suffer ? Put these into the balance with true honour,
with conscious integrity, with the esteem of the virtuous and the
wise, with the favour of Almighty God, with peace of mind and
hope of heaven ; and then think, whether those dreaded evils are
sufficient to intimidate you from doing your duty. Look beyond
external appearances to the inside of things. Suffer not yourselves
to be imposed on by that glittering varnish, with which the sur
face of the world dazzles the vulgar. Consider how many are
contented and happy without those advantages of fortune, on which
you put so extravagant a value. Consider whether it is possible
for you to be happy with them, if, for their sake, you forfeit all
that is estimable in man. The favour of the great, perhaps, you
think, is at stake ; or that popularity with the multitude, on which
you build plans of advancement. Alas ! how precarious, are the
means which you employ in order to attain the end you have in
view ; and the end itself, how little is it worthy of your ambition !
That favour which you pursue, of dubious advantage when gained,
is frequently lost by servile compliance. The timid and abject are
detected and despised, even by those whom they court ; while the
firm and resolute rise in the end to those honours, which the other
pursued in vain.
Put the case at the worst. Suppose not your fortune only, but
your safety, to be in hazard ; your life itself to be endangered, by
adhering to conscience and virtue. Think, what a creeping and
ignominious state you would render life, if, when your duty calls,
you would expose it to no danger ? if by a dastardly behaviour,
you would, at any expense, preserve it ? That life which you are
so anxious to preserve, can at any rate be prolonged only for a few
years more ; and those years may be full of woe. He, who will
not risk death when conscience requires him to face it, ought to be
ashamed to live.  Consider, as a man and a Christian, for
what purpose life was given thee by Heaven. Was it, that thou
mightest pass a few years in low pleasures and ignoble sloth ;
flying into every corner to hide thyself, when the least danger
rises to view ? No : life was given that thou mightest come forth

374 ON FORTITUDE. [Ser. XXXVII.
to act some useful and honourable part, on that theatre where
thou hast been placed by Providence; mightest glorify him that
made thee ; and, by steady perseverance in virtue, rise in the end
to an immortal state.
Son of man, remember thy original honours ! Assert the dignity
of thy nature ! Shake off this pusillanimous dread of death ; and
seek to fulfil the ends for which thou wert sent forth by thy
Creator !  The sentiment of a noble mind is, I count not my
life dear unto myself, so that I may finish my course with joy. To
the finishing of his course, let every one direct his eye ; and let him
now appreciate life according to the value it will be found to have
when summed up at the elose. This is the period which brings
every thing to the test. Illusions may formerly have imposed on
the world ; may have imposed on the man himself. But all illusion
then vanishes. The real character comes forth. The estimate of
happiness is fairly formed. Hence, it has been justly said, that no
man can be pronounced either great or happy, until his last hour
come. To that last hour, what will bring such satisfaction or add
so much dignity, as the reflection of having surmounted with firm
ness all the discouragements of the world, and having persevered to
the end in one uniform course of fidelity and honour? We remarked
before, the magnanimous behaviour of the Apostle Paul, when he
had persecution and distress full in view- Hear now the sentiments
of the same great man, when the time of his last suffering ap
proached ; and remark the majesty and ease with which he looked
on death. I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my de
parture is at hand. I have fought the good fight. I have finished
my course. I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for
me a crown of righteousness. [2 Timothy iv. 6, 7.] How many
years of life does such a dying moment overbalance ! Who would
not choose in this manner to go off the stage, with such a song of
triumph in his mouth, rather than prolong his existence through a
wretched old age, stained with sin and shame ?
Animated by these considerations, let us nourish that fortitude
of mind, which is so essential to a man and a Christian. Let no
discouragement nor danger deter us from doing what is right.
Through honour and dishonour, through good report and bad report,
let us preserve fidelity to our God and our Saviour. Though an host
should encamp. against us, let us not fear to discharge our duty. Goci
assists us in the virtuous conflict; and will crown the conqueror
with eternal rewards. Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give
thee a crown of life. To him that overcometh, saith our blessed Lord,
I will grant to sit with me on my throne ; even as I also overcame, and
am set down with my Father on his throne. [Rev. ii. 10.-^iii. 21.]

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