Full text of "Sermons"
GANSEVOORT- LANSING
GOLLECTION
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BY
1
HUGH BLAIR, D. D. F. R. S. Ed.
ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF THE HIGH CHTJHCH, AND PROFESSOR OF BHF.TORIC AND
BELLES LETTRES IN THE UNITERSITT OF EDINBVBOH.
SECOND COMPLETE AMERICAN EDITIO>'.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I,
PHIL.aDELPHM :
HICKMAN & HA2ZARD, NO. 121, CHESNUT-STREET.
. -^-^ '••-.•,'• ,•
9722A
Tli-DEN >■
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
A SHORT Account of the Life and Character of Dr. Hugh Blair,
PAGE 9
SERMON I.
On the Union of Piety and Morality.
Acts, x. 4. Thy prayers and thine alms are come up for a me-
morial before God, - - - - 21
SERMON n.
On the Influence of Religion upon »^dversity.
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, _ . - - 30
SERMON m.
On the Influence of Religion upon Prosperity.
Psalm i. 3. He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of wa-
ter, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season ; his leaf also
shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper, 42
SERMON IV.
On our Imperfect Knowledge of a Future State.
1 Corinth, xiii. 12. For now we see through a glass, darkly, 52
SERMON V.
On the Death of Christ.
[Preached at the celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.]
.ToHN, xvii. 1. Jesus lift up his eyes to Heaven, and said, Fa-
ther ! the hour is come, - - - - 63
SERMON VI.
On Gentleness.
James, iii. 17. The wisdom that is from above, is g;ei:\tle— - 74
i^ CONTENTS.
SERMON VII.
On the Disorders of the Passions.
Esther, r. 13. Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I
see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the King's gate, page ' 84
SERMON VIII.
On our Ignorance of Good and Evil in this Life.
EccLEsiASTES, vi. 12. Who knovvoth what is good for man in
this life, all the days of his vain life, which he spendeth as a
shadow? ..---- 95
SERMON IX.
On Religious Retirement.
Psalm iv. 4. Commune with your own heart, upon your bed,
and be still, _ _ _ _ . 106
SERMON X.
On Devotion.
Acts, x. 2. Cornelius — A devout man — - - 117
SERMON XL
On the Duties of the Young.
Titus, ii. 6. Young men likewise exhort to be sober-minded, 135
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, - - 145
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 an-
guish 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, be-
hold also his blood is required, - - - 157
SERMON XIV.
On the Mixture of Joy and Fear in Religion.
"i^iS^LLM ii. II. - Rejiuc3 with tremblings - - 170
CON^lTENTS. Y
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, - page ISO
SERMON XVI.
On the Importance of Order in Conduct.
1 Corinth, xiv. 40. Let all things be done — in order, 193
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, - - _ _ 202
SERMON XVIIL
The saine Subject continued.
Proverbs, iv. 23. Keep thy heart with all diligence : for out
of it are the issues of life, - - - - 211
SERMON XIX.
071 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, - - 222
SERMON XX.
On the Compassion of Christ.
[Preached at the celeb ation of tlie 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, - - 234
SERMON XXI.
On the Love of Praise.
John, xii. 43. For they loved the praise of men more than the
praise of God, . . _ „ . 245
SERMON XXII.
On the projter Estimate of Human Life.
EccLEsiASTEs, xii. 8. Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher,
all is vanity, - - - - - 256
U CONTENTS.
SERMON XXIII.
On Death.
Psalm xxiii. 4. Yea, thou2;h I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art with mo ; thy
rod and thy staff, they comfort me, - page 260
SERMON XXIV.
On the Happiness of a Future State.
[Preached at the cel^brulion of the Sacrament of thf L icI'm Supper.]
Rev. 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 m their hands, 282
SERMON XXV.
On Candour.
1 Corinth, xiii. 5. Charity — thinketh no evil, - 294
SERMON XXVI.
On the Character of Joseph.
Genesis, xlv. 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, . _ . _ 306
SERMON XXVII.
On the Character of Hazael.
2 Kings, viii. 12, 13. And Hazael said, why weepeth my Lord B
And he answered. Because I know the evil that thou wilt do
unto the children of Israel. Their strong holds wilt thou set
on fire, and their young men wilt thou slay with the sword, and
wilt dash their 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. - 316
SERMON XXVIII.
On the Benefits to be derived from the House of Mourning.
Egclesiastes, vii. 2, *, 4. It is better to go to the house of
mourning, than to the house of feasting ; for that is the end of
all men, and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is bet-
ter than laughter; for by the sadness of the countenance the
CONTENTS. VU
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, . - - - . page 328
SERMON XXIX.
On the Divine, government of the Passions of Men.
Psalm Ixxvi. 10, Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee;
the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain, - 339
SERMON XXX.
On the Importance of Religious Knowledge to Mankind.
fPrcu?he<i before ih. ^ocietj in 8r.' t: .n'l for propag'Siting Christi.ni knowKdP'e.]
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, - - 351
SERMON XXXI.
On the True Honour of Man.
Proverbs, iv. S. Exalt her and she shall promote thee; she
shall bring thee to honour, . _ _ 363
SERMON XXXII.
On Sensibility.
Romans, xii. 15. Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep
with them that weep, - - - - 371
SERMON XXXIII.
0)1 the Improvement of Time.
Genesis, xlvii. 8. And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, How old art
thou ? ' - - - - - - 379
SERMON XXXIV.
On the Duties belonging to Middle Jige.
1 Corinth, xiii. 11. When I became a man I put away
childish things, - - - - - 387
SERMON XXXV.
On Death.
Ecclesiastes, xii. 5. Man goeth to his long home, and
the mourners go about the streets, - - 396
VlU CONTENTS^.
SERMON XXXVI.
On the Progress of Vice.
1 Corinth, xv. 33. Be not deceived ; Evil communications
corrupt good manners, - - - page 404
SERMON XXXVII.
On Fortitude.
Psalm xxvii. 3. Though an host should encamp against me, my
heart shall not fear. . . , . 413
SERMON XXXVIIL
On Envy.
\ Corinth, xiii. 4. Charity envieth not, - 420
SERMON XXXIX.
On Idleness.
Matthew, xx. 6. — Why stand ye here all the day idle? 429
SERMON XL.
On the Sense of the Divine Presence.
Psalm Ixxiii. 23. 1 am continually with thee 438
SERMON XLI.
On Patience.
Luke, xxi. 1 9. In your patience possess ye your souls, 447
»
SHORT ACCOUNT
OF THE
LIFE AND CHARACTER
. OF
I PJ
Dr. HUGH BLAIR was bom in Edinburgh, on the 7th
day of April, 1718. His father, John Blair, a respectable mer-
chant 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 government,
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 ec-
clesiastical leaders of the covenanting party, he was selected by
the king himself to fill an office wliich, from the circumstances
of the time, gave frequent access to the Royal Person ; " be-
cause," said his Majesty, " that man is pious, prudent, learn-
ed, and of a meek and moderate calm temper." — His talents
seem to have descended as an inheritance to his posterity. For,
of the two sons who survived him, David, the eldest, was a cler-
gyman of eminence 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 estmiation, placed him in-
disputably 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 a high station in the magistracy of Edinburgh,
sprung the learned clergyman, who is the subject of this narra-
tive.
VOL. T. 3
10 THE LITE or
' The views of Dr. Blair, from his earhest youth, were turned
towards the Church, and his education received a suitable direc-
tion. After the usual gi-ammatical course at school, he entered
the Humanity Class in the University of Edinburgh, in Octo-
ber 1730, and spent eleven years at that celebrated seminaryy
assiduously employed in the literary and scientific studies pre-
scribed by the Church of Scotland, to all who are to become can-
didates for her licence to preach the Gospel. During this im-
portant period, he was distinguished among his companions botlit
for diligence and proficiency; and obtained from the Professors
under whom he studied, repeated testimonies of apm-obation.
One of tliem deserves to be mentioned particularly, because, in
his own opinion, it determined the bent of his genius towards
polite literature. An essay, Uf^t th ^c/.k, or, Oii the Beautiful,
written by him when a student of logic in the usual course of ac-
ademical exercises, had the good fortune to attract the notice of
Professor Stevenson, and, with circumstances honourable to the
author, ^vas 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 essa)^ which merited it, he ever after re-
collected with partial 'affection, and preserved to the day of hi.s
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 continued to practise occasionally, even afler his
reputation was fully established. It consisted in making ab-
stracts of the most important works which he read, and in digest-
ing them according to the train of his own thoughts. History,
in particular, he resolved to study in this manner; and, in con-
cert witn some of his youthful associates, he constructed a very
comprehensive 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, Prependary of Westminster,
in his valuable work, " The Chronology and History of the
" World."
In the year 1739, Dr. Blair took his degree of A. M. On
that occasion he printed and defended a thesis. De Fimdmnentis
et Obligatione Legis Natu7'se^ which contains a short, but master-
ly discussion of this important subject, and exhibits in elegant
Latin, an outline of the moral principles, which have been since
more fully unfolded and illustrated in his sermons.
The University of Edinburgh, about this period, numbered
among her pupils many youu.?; men who were soon to make a dis-
tinguished figure in the civil, the ecclesiastical, and the literary
history of their country. With most of them Dr. Blair entered
DR. HUGH BLAIK. li
into habits of intimate connection, which no future competition
or jealousy occurred to interrupt, which held them united through
life in their views of public good, and which had the most bene-
ficial influence on their own improvement, on the progress of
elegance and taste among their contemporaries, and on the ge-
neral interests of the community to which they belonged.
On the completion of this academical course, he Uiiderwent
the customary trials before the Presbytery of Edinburgh, and
received from that venerable body a licence to preach the Gos-
pel, on the 21st of October 1741. His public life now com-
menced 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 fanae
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 23d 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 oi recalling him to a station more
suited to "his talents. And though one of the most popidar and
eloquent clergymen in the Church was placed in corn petition
with him, a great majority of the electors decided in favour of
this young orator, and restored 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 tlie various duties of the pastoral
office. His discourses fi'om the pulpit in particular attracted
universal admiration. They were composed with uncommon
care; and occupying a middle place between the dry metaphysi-
cal 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 hitherto been
rarely heard in Scotland, the polished, well compacted, and re-
gular 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 Oc-
tober 1754: and on the 15th day of June 175S, he was promot-
ed to the High Church of Edinburgh, the most important eccle-
siastical 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 difiicult station,
sufficiently evince the wisdom of their choice.
I'J THE LIFE OF
Hitherto liis attention seems to have hecn devoted almost ex-
clusively to the attainment of professional excellence; and to the
regular discharge of his parochial duties. No production of his
pen had yet been given to the world by hijnself, except two ser-
mons preached on particular occasions, some translations, in
verse, of passages of Scripture for tlic Psalmody of the Church,
and a few articles in the Edinburgh Review; a publication be-
JTun 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 on a plan for teaching to others that
art, which had contributed so much to the establishment of his
own fame. With this view, he communicated to his friends a
scheme of Lectures on Composition ; and, having obtained the
approbation of the University, he began to read them in the Col-
lege on the 11th of December 1759. To this undertaking he
brought all the qualifications 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 deliver. 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 degree of D. 1). 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 pa-
trons of the University, convinced that they would form a va-
luable addition to the system of education, agreed in the follow-
ing summer to institute a rhetorical class, under his direction,
as a permanent part of tlieir academical establishment : and on
the 7th of April 1762, His Majesty was graciously pleased "To
" erect and endow a Professorship of Rhetoric and Belles Let-
" tres in the University of Edinburgh, and to appoint Dr. Blaii',
" in consideration of his approved qualifications, Regius Pro-
" fessor thereof with a salary of 70/." These Lectures he pub-
lished 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 foun-
dations of this useful institution, he had an opportunity of con-
Terring another important obligation on the literary world, by
the part which he acted in rescuing from oblivion the poems of
Ossian. It was by the solicitation of Dr. Blair and Mr. John
Home that Mr. ^lacpherson was induced to publish his Frag-
ments of Ancient Poetry : and their patronage was of essential
;oervice in procuring the subsciiption which enabled him to un-^
DR. HUGH BLAlh. IS
dertake his lour through the Highlands for collecting the mate-
vials of Fingal, and of those other delightful productions which
bear the name of Ossian. To these productions Dr. Blair appli-
ed the test of genuine criticism, and soon after their publication
gave an estimate of their merits in a Dissertation 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 im-
portant and peculiar enployments 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 instruc-
tion and delight to his own congregation. But this volume be-
ing well received, the public approbation encouraged him to
proceed : three other volumes followed at difi'erent intervals ;
and all of them experienced a degree of success of which few
publications can boast. They circulated rapidly and widely
wherever the English tongue extends ; they were soon translat-
ed 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 a public reward. By a royal mandate
\o 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 suf-
ficiently explained by himself in his Address to the Reader.
The Sermons which it contains were composed at very diffbrent
periods of his life ; but they were all wxitten out anew in his
own hand, and in many parts re-composed, 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
publication, was the Sermon on A Life of Dissipation and Plea-
sure— 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 commu-
nity, aud whose reformation and virtue he had long laboured
most zealously to promote.
* These sermons were published by the Author at cliffcrent times-;-tlie vo-
lume referred to above, which is the 5"Ji of the London Copy, commences in
t+iis Edition with the Sermon on Hopes and Disappaintments.
14 THE LIFE OF
The Sermons which lie has given to the world are universalr-
ly admitted to he models in their kind ; and they will long re-
main durable monuments of the piety, the genius, and sound
judgment of their 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 iufluenced by
an excusable solicitude for his reputation, he left behind him an
explicit injunction that his numerous manuscripts should be des-
troyed. 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 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 ma-
gic charm of voice and action which captivates the senses and
imagination, and whicli, in the estimation of superficial heai'ers,
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
judgment, which formed the predominant feature of his intellec-
tual 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 gi'eat
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 ci-
vil power ; and, on tlie other, from a greater infusion of democra-
tical influence than is compatible witli good order, and the esta-
blished constitution of the country.
The reputation which he acquired in the discharge of his pub-
lic duties, was well sustained by the great respectability of his
private character. 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 ap-
peared in his writings, he was eminently distinguished through
life by the prudence, purity, and dignified propriety of his con-
DR. HUGH BLAIR. 15
duct. 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 suc-
cess with a satisfaction which he did not aifect to conceal : inac-
cessible alike to gloomy and to peevish impressions, it was al-
ways master of its own movements, and ready, in an uncommon
degi-ee, to take an active and ple^ising interest in every thing,
whether important or trifling, that happened to become for the
moment the object of his attention. This habit of mind, tem-
pered with the most unsuspecting simplicity, and united to emi-
nent talents and inflexible integrity, w'hile it secured to the last
his own relish of life, was w^onderfully 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 ten-
derly beloved by those who enjoyed the blessings of his private
and domestic connection.
In April 1748, he married his cousin Catharine 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 yeai-, 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 afllict the human frame,
he enjoyed a state of general good health ; and, through habitual
cheerfulness, temperance, and care, survived the usual term of hu-
man life. — For some years he had felt himself unequal to the fatigue
of instructing his very large congregation 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 oflicial duties, and parti-
cularly in giving advice to the afflicted, who, from different
quarters of the kingdom, solicited his correspondence. His
lli THE LIFE OF
last summer was devoted to the preparation ol this volume of
Sermons ; and, in the course of it, he exhibited a vigour of un-
derstanding 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 emo-
lument and fame which he expected it would bring. But the
seeds of a mortal disease were lurking unperceived witliin 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 tlie
full possession of his mental faculties, he expired on the morn-
uig of the 27th, with the composure and hope which becbme a
Christian pastor. ♦
The lamentation for his death was universal and deep through
Ihe city which he had so long instructed and adorned. Its Ma-
gistrates, participating 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 experienced the inestimable va-
lue of his counsel and friendship, delivered on the Sabbath after
his funeral, a discourse to his congregation, with an extract from
which this account shall be closed. It is inserted here at the
particular request of that 'S'ery respectal^le body of men who
composed his Kirk Session, and who, by their public approba-
tion 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 conduct had inspired them. — After ex-
horting to contemplate and follow the patriarchs and saints of
former ages, ivJio, throiigh faith and jjutience, inherit the pro-
'iyiises, the preacher thus proceeded :
" In this competition for virtuous attainment, it may be often
•' useful to bring down your eye, from contemplating the depart-
'• ed worthies of distant times and countries, towards patterns of
•• imitation that are endeared to you by more tender ties. If, in
'■'■ the relations of life, you have had a connection — if, in the cir-
'■ cle 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 cheer-
'' ing you in your labours of love. His image will be as a guar-
'*' dian angel, to admonish you when dangers approach, to rouse
DR. HUGH BLAIR. 17
*' 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 connection, of a venerable pastor, who
*' watched long for our souls, and, with the most unwearied fi-
*' delity, 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 des-
*' cended from a family, which, in former times, had given seve-
" ral bright ornaments to the Church of Scotland, he felt the
*' warmest tendencies 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
" polish and an useful direction ; and when it Avas emulously
" cultivated by a bright constellation of young men who are
" destined to carry it to high perfection. In concert with them
" he applied himself with diligence and assiduity 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 di-
"rected; and in which he soon felt that his efforts were to be
" successful. For from the very commencement of his theolo-
" gical 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 inha-
" bitants of the Christian world.
" To you, my brethern, who have long enjoyed the inesjtima-
" ble blessing of his immediate instruction, it will not be neces»
" sary to describe the qualities of that luminous, fascinating
"' eloquence, with which he was accustomed to warm, and rav-
" ish, 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 propriety,
"'and employed with more uniform success to convey useful
VOL. I. 3
IS THE LIFE OF
" and practical instiuction. Standing on tlie foundation of the
'' Apostles and Prophets, he exhibited the doctrines of Christ
" in their genuine purity, separated from the dross of supersti-
"tion, and traced with inimitable elegance, 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 reUgious, the moral, and the
" literary taste of the times in which he lived,
" The universal admiration which attended his ministerial la-'
" hours, was some recompense to him for the exertions they had
" cost. But his chief recompense arose from the consciousness
" of having contributed so eminentl}^ to edify the Church of
" of Christ, and from the improving influence which his labours
" had shed on his own heart. For he was, at home and in him-
" selfj the perfect image of that meekness, simplicity, gentle-
" ness, and contentment, which his writings recommend. He
" was long happy in his domestic relations ; and though doom-
" ed at last to feel, through their loss in succession, the heavi-
'' est 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; preparing for the world the blessings of elegant in-
'^ struction; tendering to the mourner the lessons of divine con-
" solation ; guiding the young by his counsels ; aiding the merr-
" torious 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 w^as a man who experienced more completely that
" the loays of ivisdom are ways of pleasantness, and that aU 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
" appiol)ation : foreign lands learned fi"om him the way of sal-
" vation : 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 pecu-
" liarly 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 vvliich it gave, possessing a mind stili
DR. HUGH BLAIR. 19
•' 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 am-
^' bition, preparing the materials of a new claim to the grati-
" tude and admiration of posterity. In this active state of pre-
" paration, with the lamp of life still cleai- 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 I3th, 1801.
SERMON 1.
On the union of piety and morality.
Thy prayers and thine alms are come up for a memorial
before God. — Acts, x. 4.
THE High and Lofty One who inhabiteth eternity, dwel-
leth 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 imper-
fection of knowledge, sinks those below his regard who worship
and obey him. Every prayer which they send up from their
secret retirements is listened to by him ; and every work of cha-
rity which they perform, how unknown soever to the world, at-
tracts his notice. The text presents a signal instance of this
comfortable truth. In the city of Caesarea, there dwelt a Ro-
man centurion, a military 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 benevolent man ; who,
according to his measure of religious knowledge, studied to per-
form his duty, prayed to God always, and gave much alms to
the people. Such a character passed not unobserved 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 and 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 bles-
sedness of a true Christian ; piety, joined with charity, faith with
good works, devotion with morality. These are things which
God hath connected, and which it is impious in man to separate.
It is only 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, mo-
rality without devotion, or devotion without morality, are ex-
tremely defective ; and then shall point out the happy effects of
their mutual union.
.^2 0)i the Union of [sermon i.
Let us begin with considering the case of alms without pray-
ers ; that is, of good works without piety, or a proper sense of
God and rehgion. 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 tliey claim to be
men of honour. They rest upon their humanity, their public
spirit, theu- probity, and their truth. They arrogate to them-
selves all the manly and the active virtues. But devout affec-
tions, 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 per-
sons, I contend, that this neglect of piety argues depravity of
heart; find that it infei-s 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 in-
numerable marks of his dependent state. He tinds himself placed,
by some superior power, in a vast world, where the Avisdom and
goodness of the Creator are conspicuous on every side. The
magnificence, the beauty and order of nature, excite him to ad-
mire 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 reli-
gious worship, are no other than native effusions of the human
heart. Ignorance may mislead, and superstition may corrupt
them ; but their origin is derived from sentiments that are essen-
tial to man.
Cast your eyes over the whole earth. Explore the most re-
mote 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 re-
ligion. In every region you behold the prostrate worshipper,
the temple, the altar, and the offering. Wherever men have ex-
isted, they have been sensible that some acknowledgment was
due, on their pai't, to the Sovereign of the world. If in their ru-
dest and most ignorant state, this obligation has been left, what
additional force must it acquire by the improvements of human
knowledge, but especially by the great discoveries of the Chris-
tian revelation ? Whatever either, from I'everence or from grati-
tude, can excite men to the worship of God, is by this revelation
plaeed in such a light, as one should think were sufficient to
SERMON I.] Fieiy and Morality. 23
overawe the most thoughtless, 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 through-
out 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 awa-
ken ? Calling thyself a son, a citizen, a friend ; claiming to be
faithfid 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 true virtue or
honour, to value thyself upon thy regard to inferior obligations,
and yet to violate that which is the most sacred and the most
ancient of all ? When simple instinct teaches the Tartar and the
Indian, together with his alms and good works, to join his pray-
ers 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 extinguish-
ed the sense of gratitude to Heaven, and to sligl:it all acknow-
ledgment of the great and the true God ? What does such con-
duct imply, but either an entire want, or a wilful suppression, of
some of the best and most generous affections belonging to hu-
man nature? — Surely, there must be an essential defect in that
heart which remains cold and insensible, where it ought to be af-
fected most warmly. Surely, such a degree of depravity must be
lodged there, as is sufficient to taint all the other springs of pre-
tended 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 sup-
port it, will be always loose and tottering. For such is the pro-
pensity 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 princi-
ples may, perhaps, 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 ei-
ther wounded by soi'e distress, or agitated by violent emotions ;
and you shall presently see, that virtue without religion is in-ade-
quate to the government of life. It is destitute of its proper guard,
of its firmest support, of its chief encouragement. It will sink
24 On the Union of [sermon i.
under the weight of misfortune ; or will yield to the solicitation
of guilt.
The great motives that produce constancy and firmness of ac-
tion, must be of a palpable and striking kind. A divine Legis-
lator, uttering his voice from heaven ; an omniscient Witness,
beholding us in all our retreats ; an Almighty Governor, stretch-
ing forth his arm to punish or reward, disclosing the secrets of
the invisible world, informing us of perpetual rest prepared here-
after, for the righteous, and of indignation and lurath awaiting
the wicked : These are the considerations which overawe the
world, which support integrity, and check guilt. They add to
virtue that solemnity which should ever characterize it. To the
admonitions of conscience 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 j^ou can have
no certain dependence, who thinks not of God, nor has joined
prayer to his charitable deeds. 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 ^^i morality. In every heart you weaken the
influence of virtue : And among the multitude, the bulk of man-
kind, 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 liave 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 alto-
gether 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, unless we do the things which he saith ; and that love^
peace J gentleness, goodness, meekness, and temperance, are not
only the injunctions of his law, but the nd^Xxve fndts of his spirit*
If therefore, while piety seems ardent, morality shall decline, you
have full reason to believe, that into that piety, some corrupting
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
• Luke, V. 46. Gal v. 22-
SERMON I.] Piety and Morality. 25
or unjust to men ; if you are hard or contracted in heart, se-
vere 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 scrip-
ture simihtude, will bitter waters flow from a sweet fountain, as
^ch 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 god-
liness, 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 mornitig cloud and the early dew ; or, which I
am afraid is too often the case, it is the deliberate refuge of a delud-
ed 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 pow-
er to withdraw totally beyond the reach of that warning voice,
which tells them that something is necessary to be done, in or-
der to make their peace with the Ruler of the world. But, back-
ward 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 composition with Heaven ; a compo-
sition, 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 abun-
dant 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
worship, disjoined from justice and virtue, can upon no account
whatever 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 abomina-
tion unto me. The new moons and sabbaths, the calling of as-
sejnblies, I cannot away ivith ; it is iniquity even the solemn
■meetings* — 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 protestations, and thy humble words ; or to be o-ra-
tified 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 blood of offered goats ? Was worship required of
thee, dost thou tliink, upon his account that thou mightest bring
m increase to his glory and felicity by thy weak and insignificant
• Isaiah i. 11. 14.
VOL. I. 4
26 On the Union of [sermon i.
praises? Sooner mightest thou increase the splendor of the sun by
a Hghted 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 tliose pious and virtuous
Uisjiositions in which his highest improvement consists.
(3f 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 ivorks ? and
darest thou, who hast been sacrificing unsuspicious innocence to
thy loose pleasures ; thou, who hast been disturbing the repose
of society by thine ambition 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 lovcth God, must love his
brother also. Cease to do evil, learn to do well. Seek judg-
inent, relieve the ojypressed, judge the fatherless, plead fm^ the
ividow ; And then, Draw nigh to God, and he ivill draw nigh
to thee ; call upon him in the day of trouble and he ivill answer
thee. Thy prayers and thine alms shall then ascend in joint
memorial before the Most High.
I HAVE now shown the evil of maiming and splitting religion ;
of dividing asunder two things, which though in theory they may
1)0 separated, yet in practice must always co-exist, if either of
them be real ; Devotion to God, and Charity to men. Let us
consider next the happy eftects of their union.
Their union forms the consistent, the graceful, the resjiectable
character of the real Christian, the man of true worth. If you
leave either of them out of your system, even though you excel
in the other, you can stand trial only in one point of view. It is
only on one side }'our character is fair ; on the other, it will al-
ways be open to much reproach. And as you dishonour your-
selves, so you do great injustice to religion. For, by dividing its
parls from one another, you never fail to expose it to the censure
SERMON i»] Piety and Morality. 27
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 de-
cry 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 just and benificent to men, exhibits
religion to the world with full propriety. It shines in his con-
duct 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 attack 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 flat-
ter 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 distribu-
tion 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 iveigJied in the balance, and art found vjant-
ing* Whereas, he who holds both faith and a good coiiscience,
who attends equally to the discharge of his duty towards God
and towards 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
refined pleasures of devotion. In works of beneficence and mer-
cy, 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 devotion, if that devotion open not his heart to hu-
manity, not only remains a stranger to the pleasures of benefi-
cence, but must often undergo the pain arising from bad pas-
sions. But when benificence and devotion are united, they pour
upon the man in whom they meet, the full pleasures of a good
and pure heart. His alms connected him with men, his prayers
with God. He looks without dismay on both worlds. All na-
ture has to him a benign aspect. If engaged in active life, he
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
* Dan. V. 27.
3g (Ja the Union of [sermon i.
nature as with God. Every object is enlivened to him by the
sense of the Divine presence. Every where he traces the bene-
ficent 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 giace 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 having withheld his due ; him no unfortu-
nate 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, naturally
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 tmth, 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 signature of that Holy Spirit, by which good men are said
to be sealed unto tJie day of redemption. The text afibrds 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 par-
ticular 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 superna-
tural message from heaven. While the princes of the earth were
left to act by the councils of their own wisdom ; while without in-
terposition from above, generals conquered or fell, according to
the vicissitude of human things ; 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 cha-
racter, than that it is what God delights to honour? Men single
cut, as the objects of distinction, the great, the brave, or the re-
nowned. But he who seeth not as man seeth, passing by those
qualities which often shine with false splendour to human ob-
servation, 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 birtli to whatever is laudable
SERMON I.] Titty and Morality. 29
or excellent in conduct. Is there one, thoua;h in humble station,
or obscure life, who feareth God and worketh rigJiteoiisness :
whose prayers and alms, proceedino, in regular unai'ected tenour,
bespeak the upright, the tender, the devout heart ? 1 hose alms
and prayers come up in memorial before that God who is no re-
specter 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
sacred words with which I conclude, sound in our ears, and be
the great directory of our conduct:* He hath showed thee, 0
Tnan, ivhat is good ; aiid what doth the Lord thy God require
of thee, but — to do justly and love mercy — and to walk hum-
bly with thy God ?
* Micab, vi. 8.
SERMON 11.
On the influence of religion upon adversity.
In the time of trouble he shall hide me i?i his pavilion ; in the
secret of his tabernacle shall he hide m,e ; he shall set me iijjon
a rock. — Psalm xxvii. 5.
THE life of man has always been a very mixed state, full
of uncertainty and vicissitude, of anxieties and fears. In every
religious audience, there are many who fall under the denomina-
tion 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 m,any years, and rejoice in them all ; yet let him re-
member the days of darkness , for they shall be many*
Hence, to a thoughtful mind, no study can appear more im-
portant, 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-
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 ren-
dering themselves less vulnerable by its attacks. Power has en-
deavoured 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, oi di 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 elsewhere he tells us, of a shield and a buckler which he
Spreads before them, to cover them from the terror by night, and
* Eccles. xi. 8.
SERMON II,] On the Influence, S,'c. 31
the arrow thatflieth by day. Now of what nature are those in-
struments of defence which God is represented as providing with
such soHcitous care for those who fear him? Has he reared up
any buhvarks, impregnable by misfortune, in order to separate
the pious and virtuous from the rest of mankind, and to screen
them from the common disasters of Hfe ? 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 Ahnighty, by affording them that
security and peace which arise from the belief of Divine protec-
tion. It brings them into tlie •secret of his tabernacle, by open-
ing to them sources of consolation which are hidden from others.
By that strength of mind with which it endows them, it sets
them up upon a i-ock, 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 of life ; and then make
such improvement as the subject will naturally suggest.
I. Religion prepares the mind for encountering, with forti-
tude, the most severe shocks of adversity ; whereas vice, by its
natural influence on the temper, tends to produce dejection un-
der the slightest trials. While worldly men enlarge their pos-
sessions, and extend their connexions, they imagine that they
are strengthening themselves against all the possible vicissitudes
of life. They say in their hearts. My rtiountain stands strong,
and I shall never be mgved. But so fatal is their delusion, that,
instead of strengthening, they are weakening, that which can
only support them when those vicissitudes come. It is their
mind which must then support them ; and their mind, by their
sensual attachments, is corrupted and enfeebled. 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 sen-
sibility 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 principle they can derive no support^ so in a temper cot-
32 On the Influence of [sermon ii.
rupted by prosperity 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 false hopes, they are
exasperated and stung by every disappointment. Luxurious
an-', effeminate, they can bear no uneasiness. Proud and pre-
sumiAuous, they can brook no opposition. By nourishing dis-
positions, which so little suit this uncertain state, they have in-
fused 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
deo-T'ee disconsolate. 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 m.ore?* — Such are the causes
to w^hich we must ascribe the broken spirits, the peevish temper,
and impatient passions, 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 instruct-
ed 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. AiJiic-
tions do not attack him by surprise, and therefore do not over-
whelm him. He was equipped for the storm, as well as the
calm, in this dubious navigation of life, Under those condi-
tions, he knew himself to be brought hither, that he was not t«
retain always the enjoyment of what he loved : And therefore
he is not overcome by disappointment, when that which is mor-
tal, 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 teaclies, and all the habits
which it forms, are favourable to strength of mind. It will b«
found, that whatever purifies, foi'tifies also the heart. In the
course of living righteously, soberly, and godly, a good man ac-
quires a steady and well governed spirit. Trained by Divine
grace, to enjoy with moderation the advantages of the world,
neither lifted up by success, nor enervated with sensuality, he
meets the changes in his lot without unmanly dejection. He is
inured to temperance and restraint. He has learned firmness
and self-command. He is accustomed to look up to that Su-
* Judges, xviil 24.
SERMON II.] Religion upon Adversity. 33
preme Providence, which disposes of human affairs, not with re-
verence only, but with trust and hope.
The time of prosperity was to him not merely a season of bar-
ren joy, but productive of much useful improvement. He had
cultivated his mind. He had stored it with useful knowledge,
with good principles, and virtuous dispositions. These resour-
ces 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 sur-
rounded with friends and gay society. From the glare of pros-
perity he can, without dejection, withdraw into the shade. Ex-
cluded 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 pleasures 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 king-
dom to him ; and he can still enjoy it. The world did not be-
stow upon him all his enjoyments ; and therefore it is not in the
power of the world, by its most cruel attacks, to cai'ry them all
away.
II. The distresses of life are alleviated to good men, by re-
flections 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 con-
science. 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 ovN^n view : And when that period comes,
woe to him who is galled by the sight ! In the dark and solita-
ry hour 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 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 once had been easily palliated, rise before him in
their native deformity. The sense of gudt mixes itself with all
that has befallen him. He beholds, or thinks that he beholds,
the hand of the 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, disappointment, or old
age! How miserable his state, who is condemned to endure
VOL. 1. 5
34 On the Influence of [sermon ii.
at once the pangs of guilt, and the vexations of calamity ! The
spirit of a man 7nay 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 el-
evation 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 to-
tally disclaims. The better he is, he will be the more humble, •
and sensible 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 m,emorial 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, andfloivn aivay.—r-
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 exam-
ple 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 af-
foi'ds him the high satisfaction of having extracted lasting plea-
sure 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 lone ■
ly house of virtuous poverty, and attend the conscientious suflerer
into prison or exile ; which soothe the complaints of grief, lighten
the pressure of old age, and furnish to the bed of sickness, a cor-
dial of more gi'ateful relish, and more sovereign virtue, than any
which the world can aflord.
Look abroad into Hfe, 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 befals him w'ithout. Let a man be brought
into some such severe and trying situation, as fixes the attention
of Ihe public on his behaviour. The first question which we put
concerning him, is not. What does he suffer? but. How does he
beai- it? Has he a quiet mind? or, Does he appear to be unhap-
SERMON II.] Religion upon Adversity. 35
py within ? If we judge him to be composed and firm, resigned
to Providence, and supported by conscious integrity, his charac-
ter 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 cheerfulness
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 mad-
ly 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 reflection, which
was become too great for them to bear ?
Never then allow yourselves to imagine that misfortunes alotie
form the chief misery of man. None but the guilty are complete-
ly miserable. The misgiving and distrust, the accusations and
reproaches of their minds, the sense of having drawn down upon
their heads the evils which they suffer, and the terrifying ex-
pectation of more and worse evils to come ; these are the essen-
tial 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 re-
sists their farther impression. The constitution of his mind is
sound. The world can inflict upon no wounds, but what admit
of cure.
III. Ill men, in the time of trouble^ can look up to no pro-
lector ; 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. De-
jected with evils which overpower its strength, it relies no long-
er on itself. It casts every where around, a wishing, exploring
eye, for some 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 tmly 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 sanctuary is shut against
them ; nay, it is environed with terrors. The)'^ 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 cal-
led 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 ivays^ and to be
36 On the InfliLtnct of [sermon ii.
filled with their own devices ; that he toill laugh at theii' calimi'
ty, and mock when their fear cometh ?
But of all the thoug;hts 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 atibrded to virtuous men some degree of this consolation. —
But it was reserved 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 atonement ; under the latter it promises
him the Spirit of grace and consolation. It is a system of com-
plete relief, extended from our spiritual to our temporal distres-
ses. 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. —
Compassion is that attribute of his nature which he has chosen to
place in the greatest variety of lights, on purpose that he might
accomodate his majesty to our weakness, and provide a cordial
for human griefs. He is the hearer of all prayers ; but with par-
ticular attention he i& represented as listening to the cry of the
poor, and regarding the prayer of the destitute. All his crea-
tures he governs with justice and wisdom ; but he takes to him-
self, in a special manner, the charge of executing judgment for
the oppressed, oi protecting the strar^ger, of delivering him who
hath no helper, from the hand of the spoiler. Foi^ the oppres-
sion of the poor, and for the sighing of the needy, will 1 arise,
saith the Lord, to set him in safety from him that puffeth at
him. He is the Father of the fatherless, and the Judge of the
widows, in his holy habitation. He raiseth them up that are
bowed down. He dwelleth ivith the contrite. He hea let h the bro-
ken in heart. For he knoweth our frame ; he remembereth that
we are dust.* — If the wisdom of his providence saw it necessary to
place so many of his creatures in an afflicted state, that state, how-
ever, 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 ex-
poses them not to any contempt in his sight. No obscurit}'-
conceals them from his notice; and though they should be foi'-
* Psalm ix, 8.— cii. 17.— cslvi. 7.— Lvviii. 5.— exlvii. o.— ciii. 14, &c.
SERMON II.] Religion upon *Qdversity. 37
gotten by every friend on earth, they are remembered by the
God of Heaven. That si2;h, heaved from the afflicted bosom,
which is heard by no human ear, is hstened 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
consolation to every pious heart. They present his admini-
stration under an aspect so mild and benign, as in a great mea-
sure to. disperse 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 countenanced by the Al-
mighty. 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 retreat, where the tumults of
the world are hushed, and its cares are lost in happy oblivion ;
where the ivicked cease from troubling, and the loeary are at
rest. There his mind regains its serenity ; the agitation of pas-
sion is calmed ; and a softing 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 for-
saken. He believes God to be present with him, and the Holy
Ghost to be the inspirer of his consolations. From that seci^et
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 ivith
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
a hand which sinners cannot see. 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 afflic-
tions which appear to others the messengers of the wrath of Hea-
ven, appear to him the ministers of sanctification and wisdom.
Where they discern nothing but the horrors of the tempest which
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 Mmighty.
IV. Good men are comforted under their troubles by the hope
of Heaven ; while bad men are not only deprived of this hope,
but distressed with fears arising from a future state. The soul
of man can never divest itself wholly of anxiety about its fate
hereafter. There are hours when even to the prosperous, in the
midst of their pleasures, eternity is an awful thought. But much
38 fJn the Influence of [sermox ii.
more when those pleasures, one after another, begin to withdraw :
when life alters its forms, and becomes dai-k and cheerless ; when
its changes warn the most inconsiderate, that what is so muta-
ble will soon joass entirely away ; then with pungent earnestness
comes home that question to the heart, Into what world are we
next to go ? — How miserable the man, who, under the distrac-
tions of calamity, hangs doubtful about an event which so near-
ly concerns him ; who, in the midst of doubts and anxieties, ap-
proacliing to that awful boundary which separates this world
from the next, shudders at the dark prospect before him ; wish-
ing to exist after death, and yet afraid of that existence ; catch-
ing 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 to light, but secured
them to good men; and, by the death aad resurrection of Jesus
Christ, hath begotten them tinto the lively hope of an inherit-
ance incorruptihle and undefi/ed, and that fadeth not away.
Justly is this hope styled in Sci'ipture, the anchor of the soiil^
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 security ; 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 is 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 oliject is
neither very considerable, nor very certain ; what effects may it
not be expected to produce, when it rests upon an object r.o splen-
did as a life of immortal felicity? Were this hope entertained witli
that full persuasion which Christian faitli demands, it would, in
truth, not merely alleviate, but totally annihilate all human mise-
ries. It would banish discontent, extinguish grief, and suspend
the very feeling of pain.
But allowing for the mixture of Iiuman frailty ; admitting those
abatements which our imperfection makes upon the effect of ev-
ery 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 comparison of those who enjoy no such relief. What indeed,
in the course of human affairs, is sufficient to distress, far less
SERMON II.] Bcligio7i upon Jidversity. 39
to overwhelm, the mind of that man who can look down on
all human things from an elevation so much above them? He
is only a passenger through this world. He is travelhng to a
happier country. How disagreeable soever the occurrences of
his Journey may be, yet at every stage of that journey he re-
ceives 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 abos^e ; thy rest remaineth
among the people of God. The disorders which vice has in-
troduced into the works of God, are 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 liereaved 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 com-
forts shall be again restored ; and all the virtuous shall be assem-
bled, in the presence of him who made them. Such hopes ba-
nish that despair which overwhelms, and leave only that tender
melancholy whicli 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. Distin-
guishing 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 ivilderness, but he transforms in
some measure the state of nature around them. To use the beau-
tiful language of ancient prophecy ; In the desert, the thirsty land
where no luater is, he openeth springs. Instead of the thorn, he
maJceth the fir-tree to come up ; instead of the briar, the myrtle
to spring. In tJie midst of the habitation of dragons, he niak-
eth 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 reli-
gion. 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, tlie high and
40 On the Influence of [sermon ii.
the low, the giddy and the serious, have sou2;ht to 2;ain as soon
as they found that rest could be no where else procured for the
weary head or the achinsj heart. But amidst those multitudes
that crowd to relis;ion for relief, how few are entitled to ap-
proach that sacred source of comfort ? On what feeble props do
their hopes and pretensions rest ? How much superstition min-
gles 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 sub-
mit to its ligislative authority, and experience its renewing in-
fluence, 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, ivhen the floods shall come, and
the rains descend, and the loinds bloiv, 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 the plan of worldly wis-
dom ; the other, that of determined adherence to conscience. He
who acts upon the former lays principle aside, and trusts his
d(ifence to his art and ability. He avails himself of every ad-
vantage which his knowledge of the world suggests. He at-
tends to nothing but what he considers as his interest; and un-
confined by conscience, pursues it by every course which pro-
mises 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 these 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 art-
less. In the mean time, persons of this character condemn them-
selves to live a most unquiet life. They pass their da3's in per-
petual anxiety, listening to every motion, startled by every alai-m:
changing their measures on every new occurrence ; and when dis-
tress breaks in overall their defences, they are left under it hope-
less 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 consequen-
ces to God. Let him who would act upon this plan, adopt for
the rule of his conduct that maxim of the Psalmist's, Trust in
the Lord and do good* To firm integrity, let him join a hum-
ble reliance on God. Let his adherence to duty encourage his
* Psalm xxxviii. -5.
SERMON II.] Religion upon %fidversity. 41
religious trust. Let his religious trust inspire him with fortitude
in the performance of his duty. Let him know no path hut the
straight and direct one. In the most critical moments 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 ivay 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 conscience will support him.
Such principles as these, are the best preparation for the vicissi-
tudes 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
be shall not know the wounds of the heart.
vox*. I.
SERMON III.
On the influence of religion upon prosperity.
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 wi-
ther, and luhatsoever he doth shall prosper. — Psalm i. 3.
THE happy influence of religion upon human life, in tlie
time of adversity, has been considered in the preceding discourse.
Concerning this the sentiment of men are more generally agreed,
than with respect to some other prerogatives which religion
claims. They very readily assign to it the office of a Comfort-
er. But as long as their state is prosperous, they are apt to
account it an unnecessary guest, perhaps an unwelcome intrud-
er. Let us not be thus unjust to religion, nor confine its import-
ance to one period only in the life of man. It was never intend-
ed to be merely the nurse of sickness, and the staff of old age.
I purpose now to show you, that it is no less essential to the en-
joyment 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 other 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 \vho 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 stundeth 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 pkoited by the rivers of
water; whilst the ungodly, as he adds, arc tiot so; but, how-
prosperous soever they may appear to the world, are in truth but
like the chaff which the wind driveth away. In conformation
of this doctrine, I shall lay before you some of those circumstan-
ces 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 betrayed by his
favourable situation in the world.
SERMON III.] On the Influence, fyc. 43
1. 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, glad-
dens the heart, warms it with reciprocal affection, and gives to
any possession, which is agreeable in itself, a double relish, from
its being the gift of a friend. Favours conferred by men, I ac-
knowledge 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 obli-
gations of friendship into grounds of jealousy. But nothing of
this kind can afiect the intercourse of gratitude with Heaven.
Its favours are wholly disinterested : and with a gratitude the
most cordial and unsuspicious, a good man looks up to that Al-
mighty 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 pros-
perity to no higher source than a concurrence of worldly causes,
and, often, of mean or trifling incidents which occasionally fa-
voured their designs ; with what superior satisfaction does the
servant of God remark the hand of that gracious Power which
hath raised him up ; which hath happily conducted him through
the various steps of life, and crowned him with the most favour-
able 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 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 toith a merry heart ;
for God now accepteth thy works.* 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 propriety 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 blessing of God rests upon all that they possess ! his
protection surrounds them ; and hence, in the habitations of the
righteous is found the voice of rejoicing and salvation. A lustre
unknown to others invests, in their sight, the whole face of na-
ture. 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 plea-
sures of life, but, moreover, in these they hold communion with
God. In all that is good or fair, they trace his hand. From
• Eccles. ix. 7.
44 On the Influence of [sermon m.
the beauties of nature, from the improvements of art, from the
enjoyments of social Ufe, they raise their affection to the source
of all tlie happiness which surrounds them; and thus widen the
s])here of their pleasures, by adding intellectual, and spiritual,
to earthly joys.
For illustration of wliat I have said on this head, remark that
cheerful enjoyment of a prosperous stale which King David had,
when he wrote the twenty -third Psalm ; and compare the high-
est pleasures of the riotous sinner, with the happy and satisfied
spirit which breathes throughout that Psalm. — In the midst of
the splendor of royalty, with what amiable simplicity of grati-
tude docs 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 he hath
made to overfloiv ; and of the table ivhich he Imth prepared for him
in 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; unappalled by that Spectre, whose most
distant appearance blasts the prosperity of sinners ! He fears
no evil, as long as the rod and the staff of his Divine Shepherd
are with him ; and through all the unknown periods of this and
of future existence, commits himself to his guidance with secure
and triumphant hope. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life ; and /will dwell in the house of the Lord
for ever. — What a purified, sentimental enjoyment of prosperity
is here exhibited ! How different from that gross relish of worldly-
pleasures, which belongs to those who behold only the terrestrial
side of things ; who raise their views to no higher objects than
the succession of human contingencies, and the weak efforts of
human ability ; who have no piotector or patron in the heavens,
to enliven their prosperity, or to warm their hearts \^-ith grati-
tude and trust,
n. Religion affords to good men peculiar securit}- in the en-
joyment of their prosperity. One of the first reflections which
must strike every thinking man, after his situation in the world
has become agreeable, is. That the continuation of such a situa-
tion 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 increases, in proportion to their improvident se-
curity.
SERMQN III.] Beligion iipon Prosperity. 45
By worldly assistance it is in vain to think of providina; any
effectual defence, seeing the world's mutability is the verycause
of our terror. It is from a higher principle, from a power supe-
rior to the world, that relief must be sought amidst such disquie-
tudes 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 overcome by pleasure, but has studied to employ its gifts to
the honour of the Giver ; this man, if there be any truth in reli-
gion, if there be any benignity or goodness in the administra-
tion 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 alteration 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 providence 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 his 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 unallay-
ed, because he enjoys them, as long as they last, without anx-
ious terrors. 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 prosperi-
ty strikes a deeper and firmer root than that of the ungodly.
And for this reason he is compared, in the text, to a tree planted
by the rivers 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 place, and in due season flourishes anew.
Whereas the sinner in his prosperity, according to the allusion in
the book of Job, resembles the rush that groiveth np in the
'mire ;* 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 fan-
ned 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
• Job, vii't. n.
46 On the Influence of [sermon lit.
conslitule enjoyment. Give a man all tliat is in the power of the
world to bestow; siuTOund 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 hefore him,
but he wants the power of tasting it. Hence prosperity is so of-
ten an equivocal word, denoting merely affluence of possession,
but unjustly 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
enjoyment 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, frus-
trate the efi'ect of every advantage which the world confers on
them. The world may call them men of pleasure ; but of all
men they are the gi'eatest foes to pleasure. From their eager-
ness to grasp, they strangle and destroy it. None but the tem-
perate, the regular, and the virtuous, know how to enjoy pros-
perity. They bring to its comforts the manly relish of a sound
uncorrupted mind. They stop at the proper point, before enjoy-
ment degenerates into disgust, and pleasure is converted into
pain. They are strangers to those complaints which flow from
spleen, caprice, and all the fantastical distresses of a vitiated
mind. While riotous indulgence enervates both the body and
the mind, pui'ity and virtue heighten all the powers of humart
fruition. Moderate and simple pleasures relish high with the
temperate ; in the midst of his studied refinements, the voluptua-
ry languishes.
Wherever guilt mingles with prosperity, a certain gloom and
heaviness enter along with it. Vicious intrigues never fail to en-
tangle and embarrass those who engagd 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, ai'e both narrow in tlieir circle.
SERMON III.] Religion upon Prosperity. 47
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 aflection, in the attachment of friends, the gratitude
of dependents, the esteem and good-will of all who know him,
he sees blessings multiplied round him, on (;very side. JVhen
the ear heard nie, then it blessed me ; and when the eye saiv me,
it gave witness to me : Because I delivered the poor that cried,
the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The bles-
sing oj' him that ivas ready to perish came upon 'ine, and I caus-
ed the widow'' s heart to sing with joy. I ivas eyes to the blind,
and feet was I to the lame : I was a father to the poor ; and tlit
cause which I knew not, I searched out. '^ — Thus, while the righ-
teous ^fw^'eVtec? 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 traveller 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 afibrds them of greater happiness to come in
another world. I showed, 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
falling, it cannot but improve the flourishing state of man ; if it
can dispel Ihe thickest gloom of adversity, it must needs enliven
prosperity, by the additional lustre which it throws upon it.
What 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 acces-
sion then must the prosperity of the righteous man receive,
when, borne with a smooth and gentle gale along the current of
life, and looking round on all the blessings of his state, he can
consider these as no more than an introduction to higher scenes
which are hereafter 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 present joys, as but a feeble stream, dispensed for
his occasional refreshment, 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 posses.-
* Job, xxix. 11— ir.
On the Influence of [sermon hi.
48
It is *e fate of all ™ "^" P'^^'f 'f„''jhe most prosperous state,
of most of them, o. J^^y;^,,"„7 :;."orand evL if aejection.
there are frequent '"*<="»"' o'>"»- |^;^ jj ;, „ot i„ the
There are vacuU.es m the happ.es hie ^^ ^^^^ ^^_
power of the world to fill 'P' /;jf^, ,^„ ^opes which arise from
r::;:5s;f2:h^er£ij^i^^^^
Sateire I^Sfof™ d^ ?t^^to supply' the i„s*lenoy
of worldly pleasures ! -.u .ipoiinina- life. In youth its
Worldly prosperity dechnes -f ^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^ al life ad-
relish was hrisk and poip^nant. ^^ j^^^^I^f T; ^^^ly overflowed
;ances; and flattens as If ^lescen s He who lately ^^^^ ^^.^^
with cheerful spirits ^^^'^^'^^^T'^J^^Yie thinks of his old
heaviness on the days of formei >eais n
companions who ai^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^ activity ofW
able than aiiy vv^iich are 1 kdy to re^^u n^^^^^ .^ ^^^^_ ^^^ g^^,^.
suit IS weakened. The ^/^^^^^ ^; % j^ accustomed pleasures, one
fications of sense languish ^he^i is ace j ^^^^ ^^^
after another, thus ^teal treache ously away, ^ ^^^_
is an utter stranger to legion, and ^J^ ^^^^^ the
stitute in their P^ace?— tSut even ^ ^^^ ^^^
promises and hopes ^l^f^^^^ fZ text, .Aa// no. wi-
till the latest hour. ^'^ ^f f ' ^^^^ ^'^\;„,e to blast his prosperity :
ther. It shall not be in the power ot tin .^ ^.^^
But old ase shall receive him into a q«iet letre
sensations fail, gentle pleasures ranam^^^^^^ enjoymenrs,
of immortality, which ^^-^^^^^y^Xlr absence. Its importance
now in a great measure ^^JPF^ ^^^.^;! '^ ,,^^^^^^^^ is not forsaken
rises, in proportion as its fj^ct /lia ^^ ea^ ^^^^. ^^-^^ ,
by the world, but ftu-s from it with d.ni^^^^^^ ^^ .^^^
calm mind the part which 1^^ ^^s actecl ai ^^-^^^^,,^5 and
n.ise of God for an f P\'°^^^ "^^ ^tv over the old age of the
expectations ^^-^.f.f;'^;^^^^^^^^^^^ days go down un-
SluH- S'alW i^r^cTlife, though fallen low, to run
ingredients religion -^ a good c^nce . e m the ^ ^^ Y ^^^
life. Separated from then. P^^^P^J^ ^ ^^^ ^^^xious to the posses-
seem to the world, is '^^sipid,_nay irequeniiy bestowed by
sor : United with them, it rises ^^^^^^^, ,, /„, si^M,
God upon man. Godgivethto a ''![' l^'^' -^^^^
tcisdom, and knowledge, and joy ; but to the sinner ^
SERMON 111.3 Religion upon Prosperity. 4i
travail, to gather, and to heap up, that he may give to him that
is good before God.^
Allow me now to conclude the subject, with representing to
the prosperous men of the world, those crirries and miseries into
which the abuse of their condition is likely to betray them, and
calling upon them to beware of the danger with which they are
threatened.
It is unfortunate for mankind that those situations which fa-
vour pleasure, are too generally adverse to virtue. Virtue re-
quires internal government and discipline ; prosperity relaxes
the mind, and inflames the passion. 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 hu-
mility ; the most common attendants of prosperity, are pride
and presumption. One should think, that prosperity would
prove the strongest incitement to remember and to honour that
God who bestows it. Yet such is the perverseness of human na-
ture, that it proves much oftener the motive to impiety. The
changes of the world call the attention of men to an invisible
Power. But a train of events proceeding according to their
wish, leads them to nothing beyond what they see. The Su"
preme Giver is concealed from view by his own gifts. This in-
stance of success they ascribe to a fortunate concurrence of
worldly causes ; that acquisition, to their own skill and indus-
try ; 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 pj'ide oj" coun-
tenance, through which the wicked in their prosperity, as David
observes, refuse to seek after God. They ar6 described as speak-
ing 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 iiSj for lue desire not the
knowledge of thy ways. IVhat is the Alnnighty that we should
serve him ? Or, what profit should lue have, ifioepray untohim ?
They say unto God, depart fro^n 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, Yon shall never be moved ; you
fancy yourselves placed on a mountain which standeth strong.
Awake from those flattering dreams, and behold how every
^- Eccles. ii. 26,
Vox. r. 7
50 On the Influence of [sermon iir.
thing tolters around you ! You stand on the edge of a precipice ;
and the ground is shding away below your feet. In your health,
life, possessions, connections, pleasures, principles of destruc-
tion work. The mine advances in secret, which saps the foun-
dations, while you revel on the surfarre. No mighty effort, no
long preparation of events, is needed to overturn your prospe-
rity. 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. Exercise, 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 tlie rest of your life is disease
and misery. Ten thousand contingencies ever float on the cur-
rent of life, the smallest of which, if it meet your ii-ail 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 unlawful
pleasure, and, by your disregard of moral and religious duties,
to brave the government of the Almighty ? He hath stamped
every possession of man with this inscription. Rejoice ivith frem-
blmg. Throughout every age, he hath pointed his peculiar dis-
pleasure against the confidence of presumption, and the arro-
gance of prosperity. He hath pronounced, that ivhosoever ex-
alteth himself shall he abased. And shall neither the admonitions
which you receive from the visible inconstancy of the world, nor
the declarations of the divine displeasure, be sufficient to check
your thoughtless career? Know that, by your impiety, you mul-
tiply the dangers which already threaten j^ou 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, and boast of your strength ;
and, at thst instant, it crumbles to nothing.
As men, then, bethink yourselves of human instability. As
Christians, reverence the awful government of God. Insure
your prosperit}', by consecrating it to I'eligion and virtue. Be
humble in your elevation ; be moderate in your views ; be sub-
missive to Him who hath raised and distinguished you. Forget
not, that on his providence you are as dependent, and to the obe-
dience of his laws as much bound, as the meanest of your fellow
creatures. Disgrace not your station, by that grossness of sen-
suality, that levity of dissipation, or that insolence of rank,
which bespeak a little mind. Let the affability of your beha-
viour show tliat you remember the natural equality of men. Let
your moderation in 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 charac-
SERMON III.] Religion upon Prosperity. 51
ter 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 useful-
ness and beneficence, not ostentation 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
tlie blessing of Heaven, be as the shining light, which shineth
more and more unto the perfect day. So shall it resemble those
celestial fires which glow above, with benificent, with regular, and
permanent lustre ; and not prove that m,irth of fools, which by
Solomon is compared to the crackling of thorns under a j)Ot, a
glittering and fervernt blaze, but speedily extinct.
On the whole, let this be our conclusion, that, both in prosperi-
ty and in adversity, religion is the safest guide of human life. Con-
ducted by its light, we reap the pleasures, and at the same time
escape the dangers of a prosperous state. Sheltered under its pro-
tection, 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 prosperity, he shall flourish like a tree jjlajited
by the rivers of water. The ungodly are not so ; but are like
the chaff, light and vile, lohich the wind driveth away.
SERMON rv.
On our IMPERILCT KNOWLEDGE OF A FUTURE STATE.
For now we see through a glass, darkly. — 1 Cor. xiii. 12.
THE Apostle here describes the imperfection of our know-
ledge with relation to spiritual and eternal objects. He employs
two metaphors to represent more strongly the disadvantages un-
der which we lie : One, that we see tliose 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 discovered, in part concealed, and placed beyond our
comprehension.
This description, however just and true, cannot fail to occa-
sion some perplexity to an enquinng mind. For it may seem
strange, that so much darkness should be left upon those celestial
objects, towards which Ave 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 transacting 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 depart, under a total ignorance of the nature
and laws of the spiritual v/orld. 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 disappoint-
ment in all our pursuits of happiness. Why, it may be said, has
our gracious Creator denied us tiae consolation of a full discovery
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 have brought life and immortality to
light, allows us to see only through a glass darkly. It doth not
yet appear ivhat we shall be. Our knowledge of a future world
is very imperfept.; our ideas of it are faint £^ld confused. It is
SERMON IV.] On our Imperfect Knowledge, 4'C. 53
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 insufficient to counterba-
lance the temptations of the present world. Happy moments in-
deed there sometiijies are in the lives of pious men, when, se-
questered from worldly cares, and borne up on the wings of di-
vine 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 ordina-
ry business and cares of life, seem to rejoin the multitude, and to
reassume the same hopes, and fears, and interests which influence
the I'est of the world.
From such reflections, a considerable difficulty respecting this
important subject, either arises, or seems to arise. Was such an
obscure and imperfect discovery of another life worthy to pro-
ceed from God ? Does it not afford some ground, either to tax
his goodness, or to suspect the evidence of its coming from him ?
— This is the point which we are now to consider ; and let us con-
sider it with that close attention which the subject merits. Let
us enquire, 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 to see somewhat of the eternal world, we are never-
theless 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 dis-
pensations, to mix light with darkness, evidence with uncer-
tainty. Whatever the reasons of this procedure be, the fact is
undeniable. He is described in the Old Testament as a God that
hideth himself* Clouds and darkness are said to surround
hitn. His way is in the sea, and his path is in the great wa-
ters ; his footsteps are not known. Both the works and the ways
of God are full of mystery. In the ordinary course of his govern-
ment, innumerable events occur which perplex us to the utmost.
There is a certain limit to all our enquiries of religion, beyond
which, if we attempt to proceed, we are lost in a maze of inextri-
cable difficulties. Even that revelation which affords such mate-
rial instruction to man, concerning his duty and his happiness,
leaves many doubts unresolved. 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 difficulties not inconsiderable, in jfhe midst
* Isaiah, slv. 15.
54 On our Imperfect Knowledge [sermon iv.
of that incontestibie 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 ^how, that all reli-
gion abounds with difficulties of a light 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 enquiries, 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 aftbrd him entire satisfaction.
This, he will tell us, requires not any long or deep delibera-
tion. He desires only to have his view enlarged beyond the li-
mits of the corporeal state. Instead of resting upon evidence
v/hich requires 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 dis-
played, if in truth such mansions there be, as to place faith on a
level with the evidence of sense. What noble and happy effects,
he exclaims, would instantly follow, if man thus beheld his present
and his future existence at once before him ! He would then become
worthy of his rank in the creation. Instead of being the sport, as
now, of degrading passions and childish attachments, he would
act solely on the principles of immortality. His pursuit of vir-
tue 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 creation, 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 conse-
quences that would follow from this supposed reformation of the
universe. t ^ i i
Consider the nature and circumstances oi 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 ior him-
self, 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
crood. The services of the poor, and the protection of the ricxi,
become reciprocally necessary. The governors, and the govern-
SERMON IV.] Of a Future State. 55
ed,' must co-operate for general safety. Various arts must be
studied ; some respecting the cultivation of the mind, others the
care of the body ; some to ward off the evils, and some to pro-
vide 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 enter-
prises and cares of ordinary life. It addresses itself to the va-
rious ranks in society ; to the rich and the poor,- to the magis-
trate and the subject. It rebukes the slothful ; directs the dili-
gent how to labour ; and requires every man to do his own busi-
ness.
Suppose, now, that veil to be withdrawn which conceals ano-
ther woi'ld from our view. Let all obscurit)^ vanish ; let us no
longer see darkly, as through a glass; but let every man enjoy
that intuitive 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 produce a total stagnation in the affairs of the world.
Were the celestial glory exposed to our admiring view ; did the
angelic harmony sound in our enraptured ears ; what earthly
concerns would have the power of engaging our attention for a
single moment? All the studies and pursuits, the arts and la-
bours, which now employ 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 inte-
rests, by which we are at present stimulated, would cease to ope-
rate. Human life would present 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 distastefid. 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, lan-
guishing for the happy day of his translation to those glorious re-
gions which were displayed to his sight, he would sojourn on
earth as a melancholy exile. Whatever 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 inhabitant of this world, nor
be qualified for those exertions which are allotted to him in his
present sphere of being. But, all his faculties being sublimated
above the measure of humanity, he would be in the condition of a
being of a superior order, who, obliged to reside among men,
would regard their pursuits with scorn, as dreams, trifles, and
puerile amusements of a day.
5b Oil our Imperfect Knowledge [sermon iv.
But to this reasoning it may perhaps be replied, That such con-
sequences as I have now stated, supposing them to follow, de-,
sers^c not much regard. — For what though the present arrange-
ment of human 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 objects the great source both of his misery and his
guilt ? Employed in peqDetual contemplation of heavenly objects,
mid in preparation for the enjoyment of them, would he not be-
come more virtuous, and of course more happy, than the nature
of his present employments and attachments permits him to be ?—
Allowing for a moment, 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.
If there be any principle fully ascertained by religion, it is.
That this life was intended for a state of trial and impi-ovement to
man. His preparation for a better world required a gradual pu-
rification carried on by steps of progressive discipline. The si-
tuation, therefore, here assigned him, was such as to answer this
design, by calling forth all his active powers, by giving full scope
to his moral dispositions, and bringing to light his whole chai-ac-
ter. Hence it became proper, that difficulty and temptation
should arise in the course of his duty. Ample rewards were pro-
mised 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 be-
tween faith and sense, between conscience and desire, between
present pleasure and future good. In this conflict, the souls of
good men are tried, improved, and slrengthened. 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, submission to the will of God, and charity
and forgiveness to men, amidst the various competitions of world-
ly 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. Everv temptation being withdrawn, every
worldly attachment being subdued by the overpowering discove-
ries of eternitv, no trial of sincerity, no discrimination of charac-
ters would remain ; no opportunity would be afforded for those
active exertions, which are the means of purifying and perfect-
ing the good. On the competition between time and eternity de-
SERMON IV.] of a Future State. 57
pends the chief exercise of human virtue. The obscurity which
at present hangs over eternal objects, presei'ves 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 moral agent. It would
disqualify him for taking part in the affairs of the world ; for re-
lishing the pleasures, or for discharging the duties of life : In a
word, it would entirely defeat the purpose of his being placed 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 supe-
rior wisdom 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 g/ass,
darkly, and being left to walk by faith, and not by sight. It
cannot 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
ihe 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
supposition of immortality, this life is no other than the child-
hood of existence ; and the measures of our knowledge must be
proportioned to such a state. To the successive stages of human
life, from infancy to old age, belong certain peculiar attach-
ments, certain cares, desires, and interests ; which open not ab-
ruptly, 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 exer-
cises and amusements of childhood. On the contrary, empjoy-
VOL. I. 8
58 On our Imperfect Knowledge [sermon iv.
ments suited to his age are allowed to occupy him. By these
his powers are gradually unfolded ; and advantage is taken of
his youthful pursuits, to improve and strengthen his mind ; till,
step hy step, he is led on to higher prospects, and prepai'ed for a
larger and more important scene of action.
This analogy, which so happily illusti'ates the present conduct
of the Deity towards man, deserves attention the more, as it is
the very illustration used hy the Apostle, when treating of this
subject in the context. Now, says he, ive knoio in part — but
when that which is perfect is come, that ivhich is in part shall be
done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood
as a child, I thought as a child: but when Ibecame a man, I put
away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly ;
but then face to face: Now I know in part ; but then, I shall
know even as I a^n known. Under the care of the Almighty, our
education is now going on, from a mortal to an immoilal 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 thinge shall be
put away. But still, betwixt those future prospects, and the im-
pression of present objects, such an accurate proportion is esta-
blished, as on the one hand shall not produce a total contempt of
earthly things, while we aspire to those that are heavenly ; and
on the other, shall not encourage such a degi'ee of attachment to
our present state, as would render us unworthy of future advance-
ment. 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
produce the highest admiration of the wisdom of our Creator.
The structure of the natural world affords innumerable instances
of profound design, which no attentive spectator can survey with-
out wonder. In the moral world, where the workmanship is of
much finer and more delicate contexture, subjects of still greater
admiration open to view. But admiration must rise to its high-
est point, when those parts of the moral constitution, which at
first were reputed blemishes, which carried the appearance of
objections, either to the wisdom or the goodness of Povidence,
are discovered, on more accurate inspection, to be adjusted with
the most exquisite propriety. We have now seen that the dark-
ness of man's condition is no less essential to his well-being, than
Ihe light which he enjoys. His internal powers, and his exter-
SERMON IV.] of a Future. State. 59
nal 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 unreasonable, as the childish complamts 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
would subvert the nature, and counteract the laws, of our present
state.
In order to do justice to Uie 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
other branches of intellectual knowledge. Thus, why we are
permitted 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 ignorance with respect to the extent of his
works, to the nature and agency of spiritual beings, and even
with respect to the union between our own soul and body : To
all these, and several other enquiries of the same kind, which
often employ the solicitous researches of speculative men, the an-
swer is the same that was given to the interesting question which
makes the subject of our discourse. The degree of knowledge
desired, would prove incompatible with the design, and with the
proper business of this life. It would raise us to a sphere too ex-
alted ; 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 thinldng 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 overpower 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 Providence, we are apt to exclaim, in denying to man
the power of foresight, and in limiting him to the knowledge of
the present moment ! Were he permitted to look forward into
the course of destiny, how much more suitably would he be pre-
pared for the various turns and changes in his life ? With what
moderation would he enjoy his prosperity under the fore-know-
60 On our Imperfect Knowledge [sermon iv.
ledge of an approaching rcv-erse ? 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 appear to the
eye of Reason, to be the most fatal gift which the Almighty could
bestow. If, in the present mix -d state, all the successive scenes
of distress through which we are to pass, were laid before us in
one view, perpetual savhiess would overcast our life. Hardly
would any transient gleams of intervening joy be able to force
their way through tlie cloud. Faint would be the relish of plea-
sures of which we foresaw the close : Insupportable the burden
of afflictions, under which we were oppressed by a load not only
of present, but of 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 loose. In sliort, 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 foresight of the hour of death would con-
tinually interrupt the course of human affairs, and the over-
whelming prospect of the fiiture, instead of exciting men to pro-
per activity, woidd render them immovealile with consternation
and dismay. How much more friendly to man is that mixture
of knowledge and ignorance which is allotted to him in this state !
Ignorant of the events wliich are to befal, us and of the precise
term which is to conclude our life, by this ignorance our enjoy-
ment of present objects is favoured; and knowing that death is
certain, and that human affairs are full of change, by this know-
ledge 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 presei'ved betwixt our love of this life, and our desire of a
better.
The longer that our thoughts dwell on thir. subject, the more
we must be convinced, that in nothing the Divme 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 iconderful in counsel, as he
is excellent in ivorking. He is ivise in heart, and his thoughts
are deep. How unsearchable are the riches of the loisdom of
of the knowledge of God!
From the who'C view which we have taken of the subject, the
important instruction arises, tliat the great design of all the
SERMON iv.j of a Future State. 61
knowledge, and in particulai' of the religious knowledge which
God hath aflbrded us, is, to fit us for discharging the duties of
life. No useless discoveries are made to us in religion : No dis-
coveries even of useful truths, beyond the precise degree of in-
formation, which is subservient to right conduct. To this great
end all our information points. In this centre all the lines of
knowledge meet. Life and immortality are brought to light
in the gospel ; yet not so displayed 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 imperfect, it would excite no desire of
immortality ; if it were more full and striking, it would render us
careless of life. On the first supposition, 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 unto the most
favourable situation for acting, with propriety, our allotted part
here ; and for rising, in due course, to higher honour and happi-
ness hereafter.
Let us then second the kind intentions of Providence, and act
upon the plan which it hath pointed out. Checking our inquisi-
tive solicitude about what the Almighty hath concealed, let us
diligently 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, 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 the jiresent loorld, 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 rea-
sonings in this discourse give no ground to apprehend any danger
of our being too much influenced by the belief of a future state.
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, I have justified the decree of Providence, which
permits no such discovery. But as our nature is at present con-
stituted, 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 in-
tercourse with the latter as much as possible. On the contrary,
from that intercourse the chief security of our virtue is to be
sought. The bias of our nature leans so much towards sense.
62 On our Imperfect Knowledge, StX. [sermon iv.
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 man-
ners suited to our divine hopes ; and undefiled by the pleasures of
the world, unshaken by its terrors, may preserve to the end one
constant tenor of integrity. Till at last, having, under the conduct
of Christian faith, happily finished the period of discipline, we en-
ter on that state, where a far nobler scene shall open ; where eter-
nal objects shall shine in their native splendor ; where this twilight
of mortal life being past, the Sun of righteousness shall rise ; and,
that which is perfect being come, that which is i?i part shall be
done away.
SERMON V.
On the death of christ.
[Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.]
Jesus lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father, the hour is
come. — John, xvii. 1.
THESE were the words of our blessed Lord on a memora-
ble occasion. The feast of the passover drew nigh, at which he
knew that he was to suffer. The nijght 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 in-
structions. When he had ended his discourse to them, he lifted
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 surrounded himself
to those who came to apprehend him.
Such was the situation of our Lord at the time of his pronounc-
ing these words. He saw his mission on the point of bemg ac-
ccomplished. He had the prospect full before him, of all that he
was about to suffer — Father I 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 mankmd ; the hour of accomplishing prophecies, types,
and symbols, which had been carried through a series of ages;
the hour of concluding the old, and of introducing to the world
the new dispensation of religion ; the hour of his triimiphing over
the world, and death and hell ; the hour of his erecting that spi-
ritual kingdom which is to last forever. Such is 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
64 On the Death of Christ. [sermon v.
proper subjects, at this time, of your devout meditation. To dis-
play them in their genuine majesty, is beyond the ability of man.
I. This was the hour in which Christ was g;lorificd by his suf-
ferings. The whole of his life has discovered much real great-
ness, under a mean appeai'ance. Thiough the cloud of his hu-
miliation, 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 distress, and of blood. He knew it to be such ; and when
he uttered the words of the text, he had before his eyes, the exe-
cutioner 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 be-
fore his enemies, as the faithful witness of the truth ; justifying by
his behaviour the character which he assumed, and sealing with his
blood the doctrine which he taught.
What magnanimity in all his words and actions on this great
occasion ! The court of Herod, the judgment-hall of Pilate, the
hill of Calvary, were so many theatres prepared for his display-
ing all the virtues of a constant and patient mind. When led
forth to suffer, the first voice vvhich 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 commit-
ted his aged mother to the care of his beloved disciple.* With all
the dignity of a sovereign, he conferred pardon on a penitent fel-
low-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 to 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 arosty
and went into the Holy City. Nor were these the only prodi-
gies 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 v/ho presided at the execution, glorified God,
and acknowledged the sufferer to be more than man. *Qfter he
• John, \\%. 26. 2r.
.-.tRMON v.] On the Death of Christ. 65
saiv the things which had passed, he said, Certainly this loas a
righteous person ; truly this was the Son of God. The Jewish
maieflictor who was crucified with him, addressed him as a King,
and implored his favour. Even the crowd of insensible spectators,
who had come forth as to a common spectacle, and who began with
clamors and insults, returned home, smiting their breasts. —
Look back on the heroes, the philosophers, the legislators of old.
View them in their last moments. Recal 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 deatii of Christ? Where so many testimonies
given to the dignity of the dying person, by earth and by hea-
ven
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
<A the nations.
This awful dispensation of the Almighty contains m3'sterifs
which ai'e beyond the discovery of man. It is one of those things
into which the Angels desire to look. What has been revealed
10 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 propitiary 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 ai'e carried on in the New Testament to
the sacrifices under the Law, as pre-signifying 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 language allows, that there was an efficacy in his suf-
ferings, far beyond that of mere example and instruction. The
nature and extent of that efficacy, we are unable, as yet, fully 1o
trace. Part we are capable of beholding; and the wisdom ot
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 pro-
VOL. T. 9
66 "V On the Death of Christ. [sermon v.
duces consequences too extensive for us to explore. God's thoughts
are not as our thoughts. In all things we see only hi 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 gi'eat 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, under an appearance so simple, such great events
were covered.
III. In this hour the long series of prophecies, visions, types,
and figures, was 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 w^e 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 present-
ing the oracle of testimony ; You behold all the priests and sacri-
fices, all the rites and ordinances, all the types and symbols assem-
bled together to receive their consummation. Without the death
of Christ, the worship and ceremonies of the Law would have re-
mained a pompous, but unmeaning institution. In the hour when
he was crucified, the book ivith the seven seals was opened. Eve-
ry 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 peculiar 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, image? were 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 figu-
rative sayings, commanded the reverence of the people. Agree-
ably to this prevailing mode of instruction, the whole dispensa-
tion of the Old Testament was so conducted, as to be the shadow
and the figure of a spiritual system. Every remarkable event,
every distinguished personage, under the Law, is interpreted in
the New Testament, as bearing some reference to the hour of
which we treat. If Isaac was laid upon the altar as an innocent
SERMON v.] On the Death of Christ. 67
victim ; if David was driyeu 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 prophecy
was magnificent, but seemingly contradictory : For it foretold 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
Nations, was to com6 suddenly to his temple ; and to him was
to be Me gathering of the people. Yet, at the same time he was to
be despised 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 sorroivs, and acquainted ivilh 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 rid-
dles were solved ; those seeming contradictions were reconciled.
The obscurity of oracles, and the ambiguity of types, vanished.
The SU71 of righteousness rose ; and, together with the dawn of re-
ligion, 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 tast-
ed the vinegar, knowing that all things were now accomplished,
and tlie scriptures fulfilled, he said. It is finished ;* that is, This
offered draught of vinegar was the last circumstance predicted by
an ancient prophet,t 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-memorial point of time
Avhich 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
institutions, coming forward into view. Significantly was the
veil of the temple rent in this hour ; for the glory then departed
* John, xix. 2S, 29, 30. f Psalm, Ixix. 21.
bS On the Death of Christ. [sermon v.
from between the chembims. The le2;al 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 of-
fered, 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 b/oodoflmlls and goats, but with
his own blood, he now entered into the Holy Place, there to ap-
pear 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 kin-
dred and people. He proclaimed the hour to be come, when the
knowledge of the true God should be no longer confined to one
nation, nor his worship to one temple ; but over all the earth, the
worshippers of the father should serve him in spirit and in truth.
From that hour they who dwelt in the uttermost ends of the earth,
strangers to the covenant of promise, began to be brought nigh.
In that hour the light of the Gospel dawned from afar on the Bri-
tish islands.
During a long course of ages, Providence seemed to be occupied
in prep^iring 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 Judea, to a more ex-
tensive kingdom of God. Signs and miracles awakened their
expectation, and directed their eyes towards this great event.
Whether God decended on the flaming mountain, or spoke by
the Prophet's voice ; whether he scattered his chosen people into
captivity or re-assembled them in their own land ; he was still
carrying on a progressive plan, which was accomplished at the
death of Clu'ist.
Not only in the territories of Israel, but over all the earth, the
great dispensation 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 philo-
sophy enlarged their vievv's ; all was, by the secret decree of Hea-
ven, mads to ripen the world for Xh^X. fulness of time, when Christ
was to publisli the whole counsel of God. The Persian, the Ma-
cedonian, the Roman conqueror, entered upon the stage each at
his predicted period ; and though he vieant not so, neither did
his heart thi)ik so, ministered to this liour. The revolutions of
power, and the succes.«ion of monarchies, '■', ere so arranged by Pro\'i-.-
SERMON v.] On the Death of Christ. 69
dence, as to facilitate the procuress of the Gospel through the habi-
table world, after the day had arrived, luhen the stone which ivas
cut out of the mountain ivithout hands, should become a great
mountain, and fill the earth* This was the day which Abra-
ham saw afar off, and was glad. This was the day which
m,any 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 su-
perstition, 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 darkness had long maintained against
the kingdom of light, was now brought to its crisis. The period
was come, when the seed of the woman should bruise the head
of the serpent. For many ages, the most gross superstition had
filled the earth. The gloi^ of the incorruptible God was every
where, except in the land of Judea, changed into images made
like to corruptible man, and to birds, and beasts, and creeping
things. The world, which the Almighty created for himself,
seemed to have become a temple of idols. Even 1o vices and
passions altars were raised ; and what was entitled Religion, was
m effect a discipline of impurity. In the midst of this universal
darkness, Satan had erected his throne ; and the learned and po-
lished, as well as the savage nations, bowed 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 a\\ay : He was beheld to fall like
lightning from Heaven. In that hour, the foundation of every
Pagan temple shook. The statue of every false God tottered on
its base. The Priest fled from his faUing 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
surmounted them all. Formerly he had despised the pleasures
of the world. He now baffled its terrors. Hence he is justly
said to have crucified the ivorld. '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
affliction, to glory and to victory ; and he imparted to them the
same spirit which enabled him to overcome. My kingdom is not
of this ivorld. In this ivorld ye shall have tribulation : But be
of good cheer ; I have overcome the ivorld.^
* Dan. ii. 34, 35. f John, xvi. 33,
70 On the Death of Christ. [sermon v.
Death also, the last foe of man, was the victim of this hour. —
The formidable appearance of the spectre remaine|l ; but his dart
was taken away. For, in tlie hour when Christ expiated g;uilt,
he disarmed death, by securinj^ the resurrection of the just. When
he said to his penitent fellow-sufferer. To day thou shalt be with
-me in paradise, he announced to all his folloAvers the certainty of
heavenly bliss. He declared the cheruhims to be dismissed, and
the flaming sword to be sheathed, which had been appointed at
the fall, to keep from the man the way of the tree of life* Faint,
before this period, had been the hope, indistinct the prospect,
which even good men enjoyed of the heavenly kingdom. Life
and immortality were now brought to light. 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, Oh death ! luhere
is thy sting ? Oh grave ! lohere is thy victory ?
VI. This was the hour when our Lord erected that spiritual
Icingdom 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 de-
struction. They believed, that they had entirely scattered the
small party of his followers, and had extinguished his name and
his honour forever. 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 men!
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 Hea-
then for his inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth
for his possessio?i J How little did they know, that then- badges
of mock royality 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 rofl? 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 thought was to stigmatize him with infamy, became the en-
sign 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 mevnory of Herod and
* Gen. iii. 24.
SERMON v.] On the Death of Christ. 71
Pilate should be accursed ; when Jerusalem should 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 saio 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 be-
held 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 knowledge of the Lord filling the earth, as the waters
cover the sea. Well pleased, he said, it is finished. As a con-
queror, 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 he blessed in him, 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 grati-
tude 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 sjmred not his own son^
but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also
freely give us all things?* This is the final result of the discove-
ries of the Gospel. On this rests that great system of consola-
tion, which it hath reared up for men, We are not left to dubious
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 ijj vain ? Did he excite in the
hearts of his creatures such encouraging hopes, without any in-
• Rom. viii. 32.
72 On the Death of Christ. [sermon r^
tention to fulfil them? After so lona; a preparation of goodness,
could he mean to deny forj^iveness to the penitent and the hum-
ble ? When, overcome by the sense of quilt, man looks up \vi(h an
astonished eye to the justice of his Creator, let him recollect that
hour which the text speaks, and be comforted. The si<;nais of
Divine mercy, erected in his view, are too conspicuous to be ei-
ther distrusted or 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 unfulfdled. For this was the
hour of the completion of God's ancient covenant.
It was the performance of the mercy protnised to the Fathers.
We behold the consummation of a ijreat plan, which, throu2;hout
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 IjOrd^
shall fail. No length of time alters his purpose. No obstacles
can retard it. Towards the ends accomplished in this hour, the
most repugnant instiuments were made to operate. We discern
God bending to his purpose, the jarring passions, the opposite in-
terests, and even the vices of men ; uniting seeming contrarieties
in his scheme ; making the wrath of man to praise him ; obliging
the ambition of Princes, the prejudices of the Jews, the malice of
Satan, all to concur, either in bringing forward this hour, or in
completing 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 prosjiect
is most discouraging. Although thou sayest, thou canst not see
him ; yet judgment is before him : therefore trust thou in him.
Be attentively 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 consiileration 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 by the mild radiance of condescension and mercy. We
behold hirn 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 Hira
who made them. By such views of the Divine nature. Christian
faith lays the foundation for a worship which shall be at once ra-
tional and affectionate; a worshin, 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. —
SERMON v.] On the Death of Christ. 73
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 Di-
vine institution, the Sacrament of our Lord's Supper. To this
happy purpose, let it conduce,' by concentring, 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 mer-
cies, devote ourselves to his sei-vice for ever.
10
SERMON VI.
On gentleness.
The wisdom that is from above — is gentle James, iii. 17.
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 different, as rarely to coincide. One may often be wise in
his own eyes, who is far from being so in the judgment of the
world ; and to be reputed a prudent man by the world, is no se-
curity 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 ivisdom
which is from, above. The one is the wisdom of the crafty ; the
other, that of the upi'ight. The one terminates in selfishness ; the
other, in charity. The one isfull of strife and bitter envyings ;
the other, of mercy and of good fruits. One of the chief charac-
ters by which the wisdom from above is distinguished, is gentle-
ness, of which I am now to discourse. Of this there is the great-
er 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 accomplishment
of manners, than as a Christian virtue, which they are bound to
cultivate. I shall first explain the nature of this virtue; and
shall then offer some arguments to recommend, and some direc-
tions to facilitate, the practice of it.
I BEGIN with distinguishing true gentleness from passive
tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the man-
ners of others. That passive tameness, which submits, without
struggle, to every encroachment to the violent and assuming,
forms no part of Christian duty ; but, on the contrary, is de-
structive of general happiness and order. That unlimited com-
plaisance, which, on every occasion, falls in with the opinions
and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is it-
self a vice, and the parent of many Adces. It overthrows all
steadiness of principle ; and produces that sinful conformity with
SERMON VI.] On Gentleness. 75
the world which taints the whole character. In the present cor-
rupted state of human manners, 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 care-
fully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawn-
ing 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 spi-
rit, and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real value. Upon
this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can with advan-
tage be superinduced.
It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for virtue
and truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and arrogance,
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. Meek-
ness restrains our angry passions ; candor, our severe judgments.
Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners ; and,
by a constant strain of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the
burden of common misery. — Its office, therefore, is extensive.
It is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on peculiar
emergencies ; but it is continually in action, when we are enga-
ged in intercourse with men. It ought to form oui" address, to
regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole beha-
viour.
I must warn you, however, not to confound this gentle wis-
dom which is from, above, with that artificial courtesy, that stu-
died smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of
the world. Such accomplishments, the most frivolous and emp-
ty may possess. Too often they are employed by the artful, as
a snare ; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling, as a cov-
er to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same
time, avoid observing the homage which even in such instances
the world is constrained 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 courted, when the substance is want-
ing. 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 hearts of others, is to learn
the speech, and to adopt the manners, of candor, gentleness,
and humanity. But that gentleness which is the characteristic
of a good man, has, like every other vii'tue, its seat in tj;ie
heart: And let me add, nothing, except what flows from the
7tJ On Gentleness: [sermon vi.
heart, can render even external manners truly pleasing. For no
assumed l)pha\iour can at all times hide tlie real character. In
that unatrected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is
a charm infinitely more powerful than all the studied manners of
the most fmishecl courtier.
Tiuc 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 demeanor ; 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 authority with moderation ; administers reproof with
tenderness ; confers favours with ease and modest)^ It is unas-
suming in opinion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eager-
ly 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 inquisitive-
ly into the secrets of oth.ers. It delights above all things to alle-
viate distress, and, if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at
least the grieving 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, ei-
ther of talents or of rank, wliich 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 ajiuthcr's burdens ; to ?'eJotce lo'tth thoae icJio rejoice^
and to weep with tltose who weep ; to please every one his neigh-
bour/or his good; to be kind and teriuler-heurfed ; to bepitifnl
and courteous ; to sitpport tJie weak, and to be patient toward-i
all men.
Having ufj\x sufTicientiy 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 consi-
der your own interest.
I. CoNsiDKR the duty which you owe to God. When you sur-
vey 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
m the mildest and least oppressive light. He not only charac-
terises himself as the God of consolation, but, with condescending
gentleness, he particularly accommodates hmisclf to the situation
of the unfortunate. He dwelleth with the hunible and contrite. He
SERMON VI.] On Gentleness. 77
hideth not his face when the afflicted cry. He healeth the broken
in heart, and hindeth up their wounds. — When his son came to
be the Saviour of the world, he was eminent for the same attribute
of mild and j^entle goodness. Long before his birth, it was
prophesied of him that he should not strive, nor cry, nor cause
his voice to he heard in the streets ; that the bruised reed he should
not break, nor quench the smoking flax :^ And after his death,
this distinguishing feature in his chai'acter was so universally
remembered, that the Apostle Paul, on occasion of a request
which he makes to the Corinthians, uses those remarkable ex-
pressions,! I beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of C/uist.
During all his intercourse with men, no harshness, or pride,
or stately distance appeared in his demeanor. In his access,
he was easy ; in his manners, simple ; in his answers, mild ; in
his whole behaviour, humble and obliging. Learn of tne, 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. Y^\?> fruit,
or operations on the human mind are love, meekness, gentlcnesss
and long-suffering.X — 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 un-
necessary to appeal to an)'^ 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, ai'e the
sounds ever recurring on our ear.
So predominant, indeed, is this spirit throughout the Chris-
tian dispensation, that even the vices and corruptions of men
have not been able altogether to defeat its tendency. Though
that dispensation 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 "saolence
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 ig-
nominious yoke, under which, in former ages, the one half of
mankind groaned. It has introduced more equality between
the two sexes, and rendered the conjugal union more rational
and happy. It has abated the ferociousness of war. It has mi-
ti'j^ated the rigor of despotism ; mitigated the cruelty of punish-
ment ; in a word, has reduced mankind from their ancient berbari-
» Mattl). xli. 19, 20. t 2 Cor. s. 1. \ Gcii. v. 22.
7(s 0)1 Gentleness. [sermon vi.
ly, into a moie humane and gentle state. — Do we pretend respect
and zeal for this religion, and at the same time allow ourselves
in thai harshness and severity, v/hich are so contradictory to its ge-
nius ? 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, nei-
ther of happiness, nor of strength. We are formed by nature
to unite ; we are impelled towards each other, by the compas-
sionate instincts in our frame; we are linked by a thousand
connections, founded on common wants. Gentleness, therefore,
or, as it is very 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 sledom do we transfer the cause to ourselves, or exam-
ine how far we are guilty of inflicting on others, whose sensibi-
lity is the same with ours, those very wounds of which we so
loudly complain ?
But, perhaps, it will be pleaded by some, That this gentle-
ness on which we now insist, regards only those smaller offices
of life, which in their eye are not essential to religion and good-
ness. Negligent, they confess, on slight occasions, of the gov-
ernment of their temper, or the regulation of their behaviour,
they are attentive, as they pretend, to the great duties of bene-
ficence ; and ready, whenever the opportunity presents, to per-
form 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 connections, may in a great measure ex-
clude them from such opportunities. Great events give scope
for great virtues ; but the main tenor of human life is composed
of small occurrences. Within the round of tliese, lie the mate-
rials of the happiness of most men ; the subjects of their duty,
and the trials of their virtue. Virtue must be formed and sup-
ported, not by unfrequent acts, but by daily and repeated exer-
tions. In order to its becoming either vigorous or useful, it
must be habitually active ; not breaking forth occasionally, with
a transient lustre, like the blaze of the comet ; but regular in its
SERMON VI.] On Gentleness. 79
returns, like the light of day : Not like the aromantic gale, which
sometimes feasts the sense ; but like the ordinary breeze, which
purifies the air, and renders it healthful.
Years may pass over our heads, without affording any oppor-
tunity for acts of high beneficence or extensive utility. —Where-
as, 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 strength-
ening in ourselves the habit of virtue. Nay, b}'' seasonable dis-
coveries of a humane spirit, we sometimes contribute more ma-
terially to the advancement of happiness, than by actions which
are seemingly more important. There are situations, not a few,
in human life, where the encouraging reception, the condescend-
ing behaviour, and the look of sympathy, bring greater relief
to the heart than the most bountiJful gift. While, on the other
side, when the hand of liberality 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 fa-
vours with ostentation and harshness, we convert them into inju-
ries. Can any disposition then be held to possess a low place in
the scale of virtue, whose influence is so considerable on the hap-
piness of the world ?
Gentleness is, in truth, the great avenue to mutual enjoyment.
Amidst the strife of interfering interests, it tempers the violence
of contention, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony. It softens
animosities ; 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 ? Tlie soli-
tude of the desert were 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 forests
howl ; would be the only proper representations of such assem-
blies of men. — Oh, that I had wings like a dove ! for then I
would fly away, and he at rest. Lo ! then I would wander far
off, and remain in the wilderness ; / 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.* — Strange !
that where men have all one common interest, they should so of-
ten absurdly concur in defeating it ! Has not Nature already pro-
vided a sufficient quantity of unavoidable evils for the state of man ?
As if we did not sufler enough from the storm which beats upon
us without, must we conspire also, in those societies where we
» Psalm, iv. 6, 7, 8.
Jit) On Gentleness. [sermon vi.
*
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 stub-
born. Whereas harshness confirms the opposition it would sub-
due ; and, of an indifferent person, creates an enemy. He who
could overlook an injury committed in the collision of interests,
will long and severely resent 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 lieneficial influence reaches
not to us. Whereas of the influence of gentleness, all in some de-
gree partake, and therefore all love it. The man of this character
rises in the world without struggle, and flourishes without envy.
His misfortunes ai'e universally lamented ; and his failings are ea-
sily 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 at-
mosphere, the serenity and sunshine of the mind. When benigni-
ty 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 dis-
gust and ili-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 proportion,
and in its fairest colours. The violent spirit, like troubled waters,
renders back the images of things distorted and broken ; and com-
municates 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 not arise from human corruption and frail-
ty. Attacked by great injuries, the man of mild and gentle spi-
rit will feel what human nature feels ; and will defend and resent,
as his duty allows him. But to those slight provocations, and
frivolous offences, which are the most frequent causes of disqui-
et, he is happily superior. Hence his days flow in a far more
placid tenor than those of others ; exempted from the numberless
discomposures which agitate vulgar minds. Inspired with high-
SERMON VI.] On Gentleness^. 81
er sentiments ; taught to regard with indulgent 6)^6 the frailties
of men, the omissions of the careless, the folHes 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
behaviour bears to our eternal state. Heaven is the region of
gentleness and friendship : Hell, of fierceness and animosity. If
then, as the scripture instructs us, according to lohat ive 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 indulgence of harsh dispositions is the introduc-
tion 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 v^^orld. They connect them with the sea-
sons 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 humors and
passions. Whereas, in fact, it is their behaviour in the daily
train of social intercourse, which, more than any other cause,
fixes and determines then- spiritual character; gradually instil-
ling 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 th(^ most se-
rious 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 Hea-
ven, 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 re-
ligion 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 ivisdom which isfrotn 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, variance^
emulations, wrath, strife, and envyings, are as expressly enume-
rated, as uncleanness, murders, drunkenness^ and revelling. *>^-
Gal. V. 19, 20, 21,
VOL. 1. n
32 On Gentleness. [sermok vi.
They who continue either in the one, or the other, shall not in-
herit, indeed cannot inherit, tlie kingdom of God.
Having thus shown the importance of gentleness, both as a
moral virtue, and as a Christian grace, I shall conclude the
subject, 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 ful-
ness of self-estimation, we forget what we are. We claim atten-
tions to which we are not entitled. We are rigorous to ofiences,
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 na-
tural 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 forebearance to give to one an-
other, which we all so earnestly entreat from Heaven ? Can we
look for clemency or gentleness 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 appear-
ance 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 alienated a friend, we have embittered an enemy ; we
have sown the seeds of future suspicion, malevolence, or disgust.
— Suspend your violence, I beseech you, for a moment, Avhen
causes of discord occur. Anticipate that period of coolness,
which of itself wUl soon arrive. Allow yourselves to think,
how little you liave any prospect of gaining by fierce conten-
tion ; but how much of the true happiness of life you are cer-
tain of throwing away. Easily, and from the smallest chink,
the bitter waters of strife are let forth ; but their course cannot
be foreseen ; and he seldom fails of suffering most from their poi-
sonous effect, who first allowed them to flow.
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
SERMON vi.J On Gentleness. S3
as a state of passage. Consider yourselves as engaged in the pur-
suits 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 perpetually
hurt, and perpetually hurting others. But the spirit of true reli-
gion removes us to a proper distance from pie. grating objects of
worldly contention. It leaves us sufficiently connected with the
world, for acting our part in it with pix>priety ; but disengages us
from it so far, as to weaken its power of disturbing our tranquilli-
ty. It inspires magnanimity ; and magnanimity always breathes
gentleness. It leads us to view the follies of men with pity, not
with rancor ; 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 wis-
dom 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 r.often 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 gen-
tleness, that flimsy imitation of it called polished manners, which
often, among men of the world, under a smooth appearance, con-
ceals much asperity. 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 supported will command more real respect, than
can be procured by the most shining accomplishments, when se-
parated from virtue.
SERMON Vir.
On the disorders of the passions.
Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the
Jew sitting at the King's gate. — Esther, v. 13.
THESE are the words of one, who, though high in station
and power, confessed himself to be miserable. The)' relate to a
jnemorable occurrence in the Persian history, under the reign of
Ahasuerus, who is supposed to be the Prince known among the
Greek historians by the name of Artaxerxes. Ahasuerus had ad-
vanced to the chief dignity in his kingdom, Haman, an Aniale-
kite, who inherited all the ancient enmity of his race to the
Jewish nation. He appears, from what is recorded of him, to
nave been a very wicked minister. Raised to greatness without
merit, he employed his power solely for the gratification of his
passions. As the honours which he possessed were next to roy-
al, 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 tlie midst of this general
adulation, one person only stooped not to Haman. This was
Mordecai the Jew ; who, knowing this Amalekite to be an ene-
my to the people of God, and, with virtuous indignation, despis-
ing that insolence of prosperity with which he saw him lifted up,
halved not, nor did him reverence. On this appearance of
disrespect from JMordecai, Haman was full of ivrath : but he
thought scorn to lay hands on Mordecai alone. Personal revenge
was not sufRcient to satisf}- him. So violent and black were his
passions, that he resolved to exterminate the whole nation to which
Mordecai belonged. Abusing, for this cruel purpose, the favor
of his credulous Sovereign, he obtained a decree to be sent forth,
that, against a certain da}^, all the Jews throughout tlie Persian
dominions should be put to the sword. Mean-while, confident
of success, and blind to approaching ruin, he continued exulting
in his prosperity. Invited by Ahasuerus to a royal banquet,
which Esther the queen had prepared, he went forth that day
joyful, and with a glad heart. But behold how slight an incident
SERMON VII.] On the Disorders, ^'c. 85
was sufficient to poison his joy ! As he went forth, he saw Mor-
decai in the King's gate; and observed, that stUl he refused to do
him homage. He stood not up nor ivas moved for him ; al-
though 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 desire of retenge, rose into fury. With difficulty he restrain-
ed himself in public ; but as soon as he came to his own house, he
was forced to disclose the agony of his mind. — He gathered to-
gether his friends and family, with Zerish his wife. He told them
of the glory of his riches, and the multitude of his childre7i,
and all the things ivherein the King had promoted him, and
how he had advanced him above the princes and servants of the
King. He said, moreover, yea, Esther the Queen did let no
man come in with the King unto the banquet that she had pre-
pared, but myself ; and to-morrow also am I invited unto her
with the King. After all this preamble, what is the conclu-
sion ? — Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Morde-
cai the Jew sitting at the King's gate.
The sequel of Hainan's history I shall not now pursue. It might
aiford 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
unavailing is prosperity, when, in the height of it, a single disap-
pointment 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 v/oes.
I. How miserable is vice, when one guilty passion is capable
of creating so much torment ! When we discourse to you of the
internal misery of sinners ; when we represent the pangs which
they suffer from violent passions, and a corrupted heart ; we are
sometimes suspected of choosing a theme for declamation, and of
heightening the picture which we draw, by colours borrowed
from fancy. They whose minds are, by nature, happily tran-
quil, or whose situation in life removes them from the disturb-
ance 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 exqui-
site woe. But, for the truth of our assertions, we appeal, to the
history of mankind. We might reason from, the constitution oi
Sii , On the Disorders [sermon vii.
the rational frame ; where the understanding is appointed to be
supreme, and the passions to be subordinate ; and where, if tliis
due arrangement of its parts be overthrown, misery as necessarily
ensues, as pain is consequent in the animal frame upon the dis-
tortion 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 conti'o verted, nor mistaken. This is, indeed, the
great advantage of history, that it is a mirror which holds up man-
kind 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 perpetually returning ; and in the follies and pas-
sions, the vices and criines, of the generations that are past, wc
read those of the present.
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 power, opulence, and pleasure, he was lost to all happiness,
through the fierceness of his resentment ; and was at that mo-
ment stung by disappointment, and torn by rage beyond what
he could bear. Ml this avaikth rne nothing, so long as I see
Mardecai the Jew sitting at the King's gate. — Had this been a
soliloquy of Haman's within himself, it would have been a
sufficient discoveiy of his misery, but when we consider it as a
confession which he makes to others, it is a proof that his mi-
sery was become insupportable. For such agitations of the mind
every man strives to conceal, because he knows they disho-
nour 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 acknowledge. But
when his suffering arises from the bad dispositions of his own
heart; when, in the height of prosperity, he is rendered mise-
rable solely by disappointed pride, every 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 extre-
mity, in particular, must he be reduced, before he can disclose
to his own family the infamous secret of his 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
liis importance at home; and in domestic attachment and re-
spect, 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 un-
derwent within himself, before he called together his wife and all
SERMON VII.] Of the Passions. 87
his friends for this purpose ! 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, disease, 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 sufferer,
and his sufferings, can be distinguished. But those disorders of
passion, by seizing directly on the mind, attack human nature in
its strong hold, and cut off" its last resource. They penetrate to the
very seat of 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 sin-
ner's own wickedness to reprove him, and his backslidings to cor-
rect 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 evidence of sense, and displays itself before our eyes.
We see the Almighty manifestly pursuing the sinner with evil.
We see him connecting 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 fu-
ture period of being. But the sanctions of his laws already
take place ; their effects appear ; and with such infinite wis-
dom 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 place, in order to bring him
to punishment. He needs not call thunder down from the hea-
vens, 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 tormentor. The
infernal fire begins, of itself, to kindle within him. The worm
tliat never dies, seizes on his heart.
Let us remark also, from this example, how imperfectly we
can judge, from external appearances, concerning real happi-
ness 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 Avretched. We are seduced and deceived by
that false glare which prosperity sometimes throws around bad
men. We are tempted to imitate their crimes, in order to par-
take 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
SS On the Disorders [sermon vir.
must follow the great man into the reth-ed apartment, where he
lays aside his dissjuise ; you must not only he able to penetrate into
the interior of families, but you must have a faculty by which you
can look into the inside of hearts. Wei'c you endowed with such
a power, you would most commonly behold good men in propor-
tion to their goodness, satisfied and easy ; you would behold atro-
cious sinners always restless and unhappy.
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 ivicked there is no peace. They are like
the troubled sea ivhen it cannot rest. They travel ivith pain
all their days. Trouble and anguish prevail against them.
Terrors make them afraid on every side. Jl dreadful sound is
in their ears ; and they are in great fear where no fear is.
Hitherto w'e have considered Haman under the character of a very
wicked man, tormented by criminal passions. Let us now con-
sider him merely as a cliild 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 eflbct of
prosperity would be, to diffuse over the mind a prevailing satis-
faction, which the lesser evils of life could not ruffle or disturb.
We might expect, that as one in the udl glow of health, despises
the inclemency of weather ; so one in possession of all tlic advan-
tages of high power and station, should disregard slight injuries;
and, at perfect ease with himself, should view, in the most favor-
able 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. Pros-
perity debilitates, instead of strengthening the mind. Its most
common eflect is, to create an extreme sensibility to the slightest
v.'ound. It foments inij^aticnt desires; and raises expectations
which no success can satisfy. It fosters a false delicacy, v^'hich
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,
tlie disrespect shown by JNIordecai preyed with such violence on
the heart of Haman. Upon no principle of reason can v/e as-
sign a sufficient cause for all the distress which this incident oc-^
SERMON VII.] of the Passions. 89
casioiied to him. The cause lay not in the external incident. It
lay within himself; it arose from a mind distempered by prospe-
rity.
Let this example correct that blind eagerness with which we
rush to the chase 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 ua wretched, than to
make us happy.
Let the memorable fate of Haman suggest to us also, how oft-
en, besides corrupting the mind and engendering internal mise-
ry, they lead us among precipices, and betray us into ruin. At
the moment 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 prepai'ed 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 em-
pire in the East. Who knoweth ivhat is good for man in
this life ? all the days of his vain life, ivhich 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, ap-
proach, in point of real enjoyment, much nearer to each other,
than is commonly imagined. In the lot of man, mutual compen-
sations, 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 plea-
sure are more numerous, and more lively, in the higher depart-
ments 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, therefore, where there is neither
so much to be coveted on the one hand, nor to be dreaded on the
VOL. T 12
90 On the Disorders [sermon vii.
other, as at lirst appears, how submissive ought we to be to the
disposal of Providence ! How temperate in our desires and pur-
suits ! How much more attentive to preserve our virtue, and to
improve our minds, than to gain the doubtful and equivocal ad-
vantages 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.
in. How weak human nature is, which in the absence of real,
is thus prone to create to itself imaginary woes. ./?// this avail-
eth Trie nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at
the King's gate. What was it. Oh 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 palace less splendid, or thy retinue less numer-
ous? Could the disrespect of an obscure stranger dishonour the
favourite of a mighty King ? In the midst of a thousand submis-
sive courtiers, was one sullen countenance an object worthy of
drawing thy notice, or of troubling thy repose ? — Alas! in Ha-
man we behold too just a picture 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 whicli we most wish them to remain;
yet somewhat from within shall soon arise, to disturb our hap-
piness. A Mordecai appears, or seems to appear, sitting at
the gate. Some vexation, which our fancy has either entirely
created, or at least has unreasonably aggravated, corrodes us in
secret ; and until that be removed, all that we enjoy availeth tbs
nothing. Thus, while we are incessantly complaining of the va-
nity 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 con-
verting 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 diseaee 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 citizen, no less than upon the courtier ; and often nou-
rishes passions equally malignant in the cottage and in the pa-
lace. Having once seized the mind, it spreads its own gloom
over every surrounding object; it every where searches out. ma-
terials for itself; and in no direction more frequently employs
its unhappy activity, than in creating divisions amongst man-
kind, and in magnifying slight provocations into mortal inju-
ries. Those self-created miseries, imaginary in the cause, but
SERMON VII.] oj the Passions, &l
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 honour, 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,
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 unhappiness, which is incident to the highest prosperity ; of
that discontent, which is common to every state. Whether we
consider 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
univei'sal 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 digni-
fy 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 contending passions among unhappy men.
The history of mankind has ever been a continued tragedy ; the
world a great theatre exhibiting the same repeated scene, of the
follies of men shooting forth into guilt, and of their passions fer-
menting, by a quick process, into misery.
But can wc 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 re-
plenished with crimes and misfortunes ? In the moral, as well
as in the natural world, we may plainly discern the signs of some
violent convulsion, which has shattered the original workman-
ship of the Almighty. Amidst this wreck of human nature,
traces still remain which indicate its Author. Those high pow-
ers of conscience and reason, that capacity for happiness, that
ardor of enterprise, that glow of affection, which ot'en break
through the gloom of human vanity and guilt, are like the scat-
tered columns, the broken arches, and defaced sculptures of
some fallen temple, whose ancient splendor appears amidst itfj
93 On the Disorders [sermon vii.
ruins. So conspicuous in human nature are those characters.,
botli of a high origin, and of a degraded state, that by many re- ,
ligious sects throughout the earth, they have been seen and con-
fessed. A tradition seems to liave pervaded almost all nations,
that the human race had either through some ofl'ence forfeited,
or through some misfortune lost, that station of primeval honour
which they once possessed. But wliile from this doctrine, ill un-
derstood and involved in many fabulous tales, the nations wan-
dering in Pagan darkness could draw no consequences that were
just ; while totally ignorant of the nature of the disease, they
sought in vain for the remedy ; the same divine revelation, which
has informed us in what manner our apostasy arose from the
abuse of our rational powers, has instructed us also how we may
be restored to virtue and to happiness.
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 reverence, look up to that Divine Personage, who descend-
ed into this world, on purpose to be the light and tJie life of men ;
who came in the fulness of grace and truth, to repair the desola-
tion of many generations, to restore order among the works of
God, and to raise up a neiu 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. Thank-
ful that a Heavenly Conductor vouchsafes his aid, let us earnest-
ly 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 intemperate 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 disappointment ; 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 om* own part. From
the whole of what has been said, this important instruction aris-
es, that the happiness of every man depends more upon the slate
of his own mind, than upon any one external circumstance ; nay
more than upon all external tilings put together. We have seen,
that inordinate passlojis 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
SERMON VII.] of the Passions. 93
prosperity will prove only disguised misery. Fix then this con-
clusion in your minds, ihat the destruction of your virtue is the
destruction of your peace. Keep thy heart with all diligence ;
govern it with the greatest care; /or out of it are the issues of
life In no station, in no period, think yourselves secure from
the dangers which spring from your passions. Every age and
every station they beset ; from youth to gray hairs, and from the
peasant to the prince.
At your first setting out in life, especially when yet unac-
quainted with the world and its snares, when every pleasure en-
chants with its smile, and every object shines with the gloss of
novelty ; beware of the seducing appearances which surround
you, and recollect what others have suffered from the power of
headstrong desire. If you allow any passion, even though it be
esteemed innocent, to acquire an absolute ascendant, j^our inward
peace will be impaired. But if any which has the taint of guilt,
take early possession of your mind, you may date from that mo-
ment the ruin of your tranquilhty. Nor with the season of youth
does the peril end. To the impetuosity of youthful desire, suc-
ceed the more sober, but no less dangerous attachments of ad-
vancing years ; when the passions which are connected with in-
terest 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 passion. Eager passions, and vio-
lent desires, were not made for man. They exceed his sphere.
They find no adequate objects on earth ; and of course can be pro-
ductive of nothing but misery. The certain consequence of in-
dulging them is, that there shall come an evil day, when the an-
guish of disappointment shall drive us to acknov>^Iedge, 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
offenders as he was, of whom the text treats. Think not, as I
am afraid too many do, that because your passions have not hur-
ried 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 revenge. Habit gives the passions strength, while the
absence of glaring guilt seemingly justifies them ; and, unawa-
kened by remorse, the sinner proceeds in his course, till he wax
bold in guilt, and become ripe for ruin. For by gradual and la-
tent steps, the destruction of our virtue advances. Did the evil
unveil itself at the beginning ; did the storm which is to overthrow
94 On the Disorders, Sfc. sermon vii,
our peace, discover, 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 pas-
sion, 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 different 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 completed what prosperity began. What was original-
ly no more than displeasure at Mordecai's disrespect, increased
with every invitation he received to the banquet of the Queen ;
till it impelled him to devise the slaughter of a whole nation, and
ended in a degree of rage which confounded his reason, and hur-
ried 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* is soon found to carry the tempest in its
womb.
* 1 Kings, xviii. 44.
SERMON Vni.
On our ignorance of good and evfl in this life.
Who knoweth what is good for man in this life, all the days
of his vain life, which he spendeth as a shadow? — Eccles.
vi. 12.
THE measure according to which knowledge is dispensed to
man, affords conspicuous proofs of divine wisdom. In many in-
stances 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 dis-
covery 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 con-
jecture, 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 pur-
poses of virtue, and of active life, without disturbing the opera-
tions of his mind, by a light too bright and dazzling. This evi-
dently holds with respect to that degree of obscurity which now
covers the great laws of Nature, the decrees of the Supreme Be-
ing, the state of the invisible world, the future events of our own
life, and the thoughts and designs which pass within the breasts
of others.*
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 happi-
ness 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 i?i this life ? This consequence may be
thought inevitably 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 labours in the pursuit of an object, which it is not in his
power to discover or ascertain ? — Let us then seriously enquire,
• Vide Sermon iv.
96 On our Ignorance of [sermon viir.
what account can be given of our present ignorance, respecting
what is good for us in this life; whether nothing be left, but
only to wander in uncertainty amidst this darkness, and to la-
ment 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 determine this point, first endeavour to illus-
trate the doctrine of the text, that we know not, or at most
know imperfectly, ivhat is good for us in this life : I shall next
explain the causes to which this defect in our knowledge is ow-
mg : And then shall show the purposes which it was intended
to serve, and the effects which it ought to produce on our con-
duct.
The whole history of mankind seems a comment on the doc-
trine of the text. When we review the course of human affairs,
one of the first objects which every where attracts our notice, is,
the mistaken judgment of men concerning their own interest. —
The sore evil which Solomon long ago remarked with respect ta
liches, 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 eveiy day be-
hold men climbing, 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 doc-
trine of the text is limited. 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 them-
selves little concerned. Leaving such themes, tliercfore, to the
poet and the historian, let us come nearer to ourselves, and sur-
vey the ordinary walk of life.
Around us, we every where behold a busy multitude. Rest-
less and uneasy in their present situation, they are incessantly
employed 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 pai'adise, they find a desert. The man of business pines
for leisure. The leisure for which he had longed proves an irk-
some 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 contests of the world, until he finds cause to look
back witli 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 ambition of the young, and the admira-
tion of the old. And yet, in what numberless instances have
SERMON VIII.] Good %• Evil in this Life, ^1
they proved, to those who possessed them, no other than shia-
ing snares ; seductions to vice, instigations to folly, and, in the
end, sources of misery? Comfortably might their days have
passed, had they been less conspicuous. But the distinctions
which brought them forth to notice, conferred splendor, and
withdrew happiness. Long life is, of all others, the most ge-
neral, and seemingly the most innocent object of desire. With
respect to this too, we so freqjently 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 repu-
tation ; 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 icalketh in a vain show. 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 ar-
rived, laid its terrors aside ; nay, has brought in its train unex-
pected blc'iisings. Both good and evil are beheld at a distance,
though 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 foP
men to be deceived in their prospects of happiness, let us next en-
quire 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
foresee our future feelings. We judge by the sensations of the
present moment ; and, in the fervor of desire, pronounce confi-
dently concerning 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 condi-
tion which is yet untried, we conjecture with much uncertainty.
In imagination, we carry our present wants, inclinations, and sen-
timents, 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 ; nevv objects are required to gra-
tify 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 connections which subsist between
VOL. I Iv?
9S On our Ignorance of [sermon viii.
our own condition and that of others. No individual can be
happy, unless the circumstances of those around him be so ad-
justed 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 arrange-
ment. It requii'es adjustments beyond our skill and power. It
is a chaos of events into which our eye cannot pierce ; and is ca-
pable of regulation, only by Ilim who perceives at one glance the
relation of each to all.
Fai'ther, as we are ignorant of the events which will arise
from the combination of our circumstances wih 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 "mportant question is not, what is good for a man one day ?
but, What is good for him all the days of Ins 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 un-
connected 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, contin-
ued to loiter under his father's fond indulgence, he might have
lived an obscure and insignificant life. From the pit and the pri-
son, 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 soiuidly 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, ulti-
mately refers to that inmiortal 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 foi"
this end, as children are of the proper conduct to be held in their
education. AVc foresee the dangers of our spiritual, still less
than Ave do those of our natural state ; because we are less at-
SERMON VIII.] Good <5' Evil in this Life. 99
tentive to trace them We are still more exposed to vice than
to misery : because the 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
ardor of pursuit, how little are these effects foreseen ! And yet,
how often are they accomplished by a change of condition ! La-
tent corruptions are called forth ; seeds of guilt are quickened
into life : a gro\vth 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 tlie crea-
ture 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, said
the Prophet : Thou shalt dash the children, and rip up the wo-
men with child. Is thy servant a dog, replied Hazsel, that he
should do these things?* But no sooner was he clothed with
the coveted purple, than it seemed to taint his nature. He com-
mitted the crimes of which, at a distance, he believed himself in-
capable ; 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 cha-
racter, and his eternal interests ; how can he know ivhat 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 ouglit 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
circumspection, 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 appear-
ances, 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 oiucr both
* 2 Kings, viii. 12, 13.
100 On our Igiwranct of [sermon viii.
to call forth the exertion of those intellipcent powers which he
hath given us, and to enforce our dependence on his gracious aid.
It is not in man that icalketh to direct his steps. Surrounded
with so many bewildering paths, among which the wisest are rea-
dy to stray, how earnestly should we implore, and how thankful-
ly 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 coun-
sel. He Will teach them the way that they should choose. But
what must be the fate of him, who, amidst all the dangers attend-
ing human conduct, neither looks up to Heaven for direction, nor
properly exerts that reason which Go' I hath given him ? If to the
most diligent enquirer, it proves so difficult a task to distinguish
true good, from those fallacious appearances with which it is ever
blended, how should he discover 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, deli-
vers himself up to every suggestion of desu-e?
This admonition I particularly direct to those, who are in a
period of life too often characterised b}^ 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 tliey pursue, they seem as if they understood Solomon
to say, not, JVho knoweth, but, Who is ignorant of ivhat is
good for iman 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. Activi-
ty to seize, not sagacity to discern, is the only requisite which
they value. How long shall it be, ere the fate of your prede-
cessors in the sajne course teach you wisdom? How long shall
the experience of all ages continue to lift its voice to you in
fain? Beholding the ocean on which 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 appearan-
ces 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 al-
ways 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
?. situation, he not high-minded hvt fear. Let sobriety temper
SERMON VIII.] Good 8f Evil in this Life. 101
your unweary ardor. Let modesty check your rash presumption.
Let wisdom be the offspring of reflection now, rather than the
ii'uit of bitter experience hereafter.
II. Let our ignorance of what is good or evil, correct anxie-
ty about worldly success. As rashness is the vice of youth,
the opposite extreme of immoderate care is the vice of advanc-
ing years. The doctrine which I have illustrated, is equally
aoapted for checking both. Since we are so often betrayed into
evil by the mistaken pursuit of good, care and attention /ire re-
quisite, both in forming our choice, and in conducting ^ur pur-
suit ; but since our attention and care are liable to be ko often
frustrated, they should never be allowed to deprive us of tran-
quillity.
The ignorance in which we are left concerning good and
evil, is not such as to supersede prudepce in conduct : For
wisdom is still found to excel folly as far as light excelleth dark-
ness. But it is that degree of uncertainty, which ought to ren-^
der us temperate in pursuit ; which ought to calm the perturba-
tion of hope and fear, and to cure the pain of an^iiety. Anxie-
ty 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 doubt-
ful, where you may succeed in your wish, and be miserable ;
where you may be disappointed, and be blest in the disappoint-
ment; what means this restless stir and commotion of mind?
Can your solicitude alter the course, or unravel the intricacy of
human events ? Can your curiosity pierce through the cloud
which the Supreme Being hath made impenetrable to mortal
eye ? — To provide against every apparent danger, by the em-
ployment 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 incumbenf on you, and to pos-
sess your mind in peace. By going beyond this point ; by giv-
ing 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
Divme appointment. 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 setting 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 mis-
taken care to secure your happiness, you bring upon yourselves
certain misery.
102 On our Ignorance of [sermon viii,
III. Li:r our ignorance of good and evil determine us to fol-
low Providence, and to resign ourselves to God. One of the
most important lessons which can be given to man, is resigna-
tion to his Maker ; and nothing inculcates it more than the ex-
perience of his own inability to guide himself. — You know not
v;hat is good 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 succession of events which are to fill up your exist-
ence. It is in his power to arrange and model them at his plea-
sure, and so to adapt one thing to another, as to fulfd his pro-
mise of making th^m all ivork together for good to those loho
love him. Here then, amidst the agitations of desire, and tho
perplexities of doufet, is one fixed point of rest. By this let us
abide; and dismiss ouj* anxiety about things uncertain and un-
known. Acquaint yourselves with God, and be at peace. Se-
cure the one thing needful. Study to acquire an interest in the
Divine favour; and you may safely surrender yourselves to the
Divine administration.
When tempted to repine at your condition, reflect how un-
certain it is, whether you should have been happier in any other.
Remembering the vanity of many of yoor 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 di-
rection than your own. Be not too particular in your petitions
to Heaven, concerning your temporal interest. Sufl'er God to
govern the world according to his own plan ; and only pray, that
he would bestow what his unerring wisdom sees to be best for you
on the whole. In a word, commit your ivay 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,
prevent our taking any unlawfid step, in order to compass our
most favourite designs. Were the sinner bribed with any certain
and unquestionable advantage ; could the means which he em-
ploys ensure his success, and could that success ensure Ins com-
fort : he might have some apology to offer for deviating from the
path of virtue. But the doctrine which I bave illustrated,
deprives liim of all excuse, and places his folly in the most strik-
ing 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 uncertainty of the event which he wishes to accom-
plish, but the nature also of that event when accomplished. He
is not only liable to that disappointment of success, which so oft-
en frustrates all the designs of men ; but liable to a disappoint-
ment still more cruel, tliat of being successful and miserable at
SERMON VIII.] Good Sf Evil in this Life. I03
once. Riches and pleasures are the chief temptations to criminal
deeds. Yet those riches, when obtained, may very possibly over-
whelm him with unforeseen miseries. Those pleasures may cut
short his health and life. And is it for such cfoubtful and falla-
cious rewards, that the deceiver fdls his mouth with lies, the friend
betrays his benefactor, the apostate renounces his faith, and the
assassin covers himself with blood ?
Whoever commits a crime, incurs a certain evil, for a most
uncertain 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 com-
mandments, he will draw upon his head that displeasure of the
Almighty, 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
bosom. 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 wisli to enjoy, is a
sound mind in a sound body. Health and peace, a moderate
fortune, and a few friends, sum up all the undoubted articles of
temporal felicity. Wise v/as the man who addressed this prayer
to God ; remove farfrotti me vanity and lies. Give 7ne neitlier
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.'* 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 mis.s the happiness which, by a less ambitious aim, we
might have gained. High happiness on earth, is rather a picture
which the imagination forms, than a reality which man is allowed
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 de-
sire. 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
favor of the great Father of all, of the blessed Redeemer of man-
kind, and of the Spirit of sanctification and comfort ; these are
objects, in the pursuit of which there is no room for hesitation
* Prov. XXX. 8, 9.
104 On our Ignorance of [sermon viii,
and distrust, nor any ground for the question in my text, IVho
Jfnoioeth what is good/or man 7 Had Providence spread an equal
obscurity over happiness of every kind, w() might have had some
reason to complain of the vanity of our condition. But we are
not left to so hard a 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 en-
joyments are shown to be hollow and deceitful, with an express
intention to direct their aflections towards those which are spiri-
tual. The same discoveries which diminish the value of the one,
serve to increase that of the other. Finally,
VI. 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
depcndance 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 ignorance 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 ne-
cessary, too plainly indicate a broken and corrupted state of hu-
man nature. They show 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 por-
tion ; who could be satisfied to spend his whole existence in
chasing those treacherous appearances of good, which so often
mock his pursuit. What shadow can be more vain, than the
life of the greatest part of mankind ? Of all that eager and bust-
ling crowd which \ve behold on the earth, how few discover the
path of true happiness ? How few can we find whose activity
has not been misemployed, and whose course terminates not in
confessions of disappointments ? Is this the state, are these the
habitations, to which a ratii-nal spirit, with all its high hope-s
and great capacities, is to be limited for ever ? — Let us bless
that God who hath set nobler prospects before us ; who by the
death and resurrection of his Son Jesus Christ, hath begotten iis
to the lively hope of an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and
that fadeth not away, reserved in tlie heavois. Let us siiow
ourselves worthy of such a hope, by setting our affections upon
SERMON VIII.] Good &c Evil in this Life. 105
the things above, not upon things on the earth. Let us walk
by faith, and not by sight ; and, amidst the obscurity of tliis
faint and dubious twilight, console ourselves with the expectation
of a brighter day which is soon to open. 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 preliminary state being dissipated, the
perfect knowledge of good shall lead to the full enjoyment of it
for ever.
Aroi,. T. J4
SERMON IX.
On religious retirement.
Conmiune with your own heart, upon your bed, and be still.
Psalm, iv. 4.
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 em-
ployments 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 Psalm-
ist 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 recollec-
tion ; that exercise of thought which is connected with the pre-
cept given in the preceding words, to stand in awe, and sin not.
It is to commune with ourselves, under the character of spiritu-
al and immortal beings ; and io ponder those paths of our feet,
^vhich are leading us to eternity. I shall, in the first place, show
the advantages of such serious retirement and meditation ; and shall,
in the second 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 happi-
ness 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 affair;;, is not what religion requires ; nor does it
even enjoin a great retreat from them. Some stations of life
would not permit this ; and there are few stations which render
it necessary. The chief field, both of the duty and of the ira-
SERMON IX.] On Religious Retirement. 107
provement of man, lies in active life. By the 2;races 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 particular 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, with-
out occasional retreat, we must act that part very ill. There will
be neither consistency in the conduct, nor dignity in the charac-
ter, of one who sets apart no share of his time for meditation and
reflection. In the heat and bustle of life, while passion is every
moment tlirowing false colors 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 pre-
sent 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 interruption, in the tumult of the world ? This
incessant stir may be called the perpetual drunkenness of life.
It raises that eager fermentation of spirit, which will be ever
sending forth the dangerous fumes of rashness and folly. Where-
as he who mingles religious retreat with worldly affairs, remains
calm, and master of himself. He is not whirled round, and
rendered giddy, by the agitations of the world ; but, from that
sacred retirement, in which he has been conversant among high-
er objects, comes forth into the world with manly tranquillity,
fortified by the principles which he has formed, and prepared for
whatever may befal.
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 stu-
dy ; 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 plea-
sed long, if enjoyed with temperance and mingled with retire-
ment, being devoured with such eager haste, speedily surfeits
108 On Religious Retirement. [sermon ix.
and disgusts. Hence, these are the persons, who, after having
run through a rapid course of pleasure, after having ghttered
for a few years in the foremost line of pubUc amusements, are the
most apt to fly at last to a melancholy retreat ; not led by re-
ligion or reason, but driven by disappointed hopes, and exhausted
spirits, to the pensive 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 supj)lants him. The ingrati-
tude of a friend slings him this hour ; and the pride of a supe-
rior wounds him the next. In vain he flies for relief to trifling
amusements. These may afibrd a temporary opiate to care ; but
they communicate no strength to the mind. On the conti'ary,
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 inojratitude, 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 aud enlivening
light; there is diffused over his heart a holy calm. His agita-
ted 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 Is'
rael 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 afarofi'; like the noise of distant waters,
whose sound he hears, whose course he traces, but whose waves
touch him not. — As religious retirement is thus evidently conducive
to our happiness in this life, so.
In the second place, it is absolutely necessary, in order to
prepare us for the life to come. He who lives always in pub-
lic, cannot live to his own soul. The world lieth in toickedness ;
and with good reason the Christian is^ exhorted, not to be con-
formed to if, but transformed by the reneiving of his mind. Our
SERMON IX.] On Religious Retiremenf. 109
conversation and intercourse with the world is, in several re-
respects, an education for vice. From our earliest youth we are
accustomed to hear riches and honours extolled as the chief pos-
sessions of man ; and proposed to us, as the principal aim of
our future pursuits. We are trained up, to look with admira-
tion on the flattering marks of distinction 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 seldom behold them brought
into competition with worldly profit. The soft names and plau-
sible colours, under which deceit, sensuality, and revenge, are
presented to us in common discourse, weaken, by degrees, our
natural sense of the distinction between good and evil. We oft-
ten meet with crimes authorised by high examples, and reward-
ed with the caresses and smiles of the world. We discover, per-
haps, at last, that those whom we are taught to reverence, and
to regard as our patterns of conduct, act upon principles no pur-
er than those of others. Thus breathing habitually a contagious
air, how certain is our ruin, unless we sometimes 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 cor-
rupting influence of the world ; and it gives opportunity for bet-
ter principles to exert their power. He who is accustomed 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 occasionally sequestering us from that great scene of vice and
folly, the continued presence of which is so hurtful. Solitude is
the hallowed gi'ound which Religion hath, in every age, chosen
for her own. There, her inspiration is felt, and her secret mys-
teries elevate the soul. There, falls the tear of contrition ; there,
rises towards Heaven, the sigh of the heart ; there, melts the soul
with all the tenderness of devotion, and pours itself forth be-
fore him who made, and him who redeemed it. How can any
one who is unacquainted with such employments of mind, be
fit for Heaven ? 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 ac-
quired any taste for the pleasures of the understanding, and the
heart.
ilO On Religious Retirement. [sermon ix.
The great and the worthy, the pious and the virtuous, have
ever heen addicted to serious retirement. It is the characteris-
tic of little and frivolous minds, to be wholly occupied with the
vulgar objects of life. These fill up their desires, and supply all
the entertainment 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 general 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 ivent out to meditate
in the fields, at the evening tide. David, amidst all the splen-
dor of royalty, often bears witness, both to the pleasure which he
received, and to the benefit which he reaped, from devout me-
ditation. I communed ivith 7ny own heart, and my spirit made
diligent search. I thought on my ivays, and turned my feet
unto God's testimonies. In the multitude of thoughts toithin
me, his comforts delight my soul. Our blessed Saviour him-
self, 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
tlie silence of the night, sought by him, for intercourse with Hea-
ven. When lie had sent the multitude away, he went up into
a inountain, apart, to pray.
The advantages of religious retirement will still more clearly
appear, 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
acknowledged importance ; God, the world, and our own charac-
ter.
I. When you retire from the world, commune with your
hearts concerning God. Impressions of Deity, besides their be-
ing 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 imagi-
nation, and occupying the senses and the heart, what is not
onl}'' 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, iXioiWiey we 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 their conduct. If, at any
time, the idea of God rise in their mind, it rises like a terrifying
phantom, which they hasten to expel, and which they gladly
SERMON IX.] On Religions Retirement. Ill
fancy to be unreal, because they see it make so little impression
on others around them.
Let him who retires to serious meditation, begin with impres-
sing deeply on his mind this important truth, that there is un-
doubtedly a Supreme Governor, who presides over the universe.
But let him not imagine that to commune with his heart concern-
ing 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 proficiency 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 inter-
nal authoritative sense of God, as of a Sovereign and a Father.
It is not to speculate about what is mysterious in his essence, but
to contemplate what is displayed of his perfections. It is to re-
alize the presence of the Supreme Being, so as to produce the
most profound veneration ; and to awaken the earnest desire of
as near an approach as our nature will permit, to that great Foun-
tain of happiness and life.
After this manner was that holy man affected, who uttered
this ardent wish. Oh that I knew inhere I might find hitn, that
I might come even to his seat .'* 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 firmament, and admire his glory. Look round on the earth,
and observe his presence every where displayed. If the gay
landscape, or the fruitful field, present themselves to your eye, be-
hold him smiling upon his works. If the mountain raise its lofty
head, or the expanse of waters roll its tide before you, contem-
plate, in those great and solemn objects, his power and majesty.
Nature, in all its diversities, is a varied manifestation of the Dei-
ty. If you were to take the wings of the morning, and divell
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 workman-
ship of his hands. Nature, in its most awful or most pleasing
* Job, xxii. '^'■
llg On Religious Retirement. [sermon ix.
scenes, exhibits no more than different forms of inanimate mat-
ter. But on these dead forms is impressed the glory of a living
spirit. The beauty, or the greatness, which appears in them,
flows from the Fountain of all greatness and beauty ; in him it
centres ; 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 correspond-
ence, and direct towards this Spiritual Essence our afiection and
regard. In like manner, though here we behold no more of God
than what his works display, yet, in those displays, we are capa-
ble of perceiving the universal Spirit, and of holding corres-
pondence with this unseen Being, in veneration, gratitude, and
love.
It is thus that a pious man, in his retired meditations, viewing
natural olijects 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
conducted from the outer courts into this inmost sanctuary of the
temple, he shall feel himself brought still more nigh to the Sa-
cred Presence. In the great plan of Divine Wisdom, for extir-
pating the evils produced by sin, he shall receive the interpreta-
tion of many of the hidden mysteries of Nature. He shall dis-
cover in Christ, the Deity made, in some degree, visible to sense.
In the benificent works which he performed, and the gracious un-
dertaking 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 employed, he returns to the world like a superior be-
ing. He carries into active life those pure and elevating senti-
ments 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,
concerning the world. The world is the great deceiver, whose
fallacious 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 tlie world has begun, not in forming plans of imaginary
bliss, but in subjecting tlie happiness which the world affords to
SERMON IX.] On Religious Retirement. 113
a strict discussion, the spell would dissolve ; and in the 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 Calcu-
late fairly to what it amounts ; and whether you are not losers,
on the whole, by your apparent gain. Look back for this pur-
pose on your past life. Trace it from your earliest youth ; and
put the question to yourselves, What have been its happiest pe-
riods? Were they those of quiet and innocence, or those of am-
bition and intrigue ? Has your real enjovment uniformly kept
pace with what the world calls prosperity ? As you arc advan-
ced in wealth or station, did you proportionably advance in hap-
piness .> Has success, ahnost in any one instance, fulfilled your
expectation } Where you reckoned upon most enjoyment, have
you not often found least.? Wherever guilt entered"into your plea-
sures, 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 convince 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.—
Anticipate the awful moment of your bidding it an eternal fare-
wel. Think, what reflections shall most probably arise, when
you are quitting the field, and looking back on the scene of ac-
tion. In what light will your closing eyes contemplate those
vanities which now shine so bright, and those interests which
now swell into sucli high importance? What part wiU you then
wish to have acted ? What shall then appear momentous, what tri-
fling, in human conduct?— Let the sober sentiments which such
anticipations suggest, temper now your misplaced ardor.— Let the
last conclusions which you shall form, enter into the present esti-
mate 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
greater part of men behold nothing more than the rotation of
human affairs. They ?ee a great crowd ever in motion; the
iortunes of men alternately rising and falling; virtue often dis-
tressed, and prosperity 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
VOL. I, 15 •
114 On Religious Retirement. [sermon ix.
the retired religious spectator. Lift up that curtain, when you
are alone with God. View the world with the eye of a Christ-
tian ; and you shall see, that w hile man's heart deviseth his way,
it is the Lord who directeth his steps. You shall see, that how-
ever 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 mo-
ral government. You shall behold 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 ih^ fashion of this
world is passing fast away, you shall discern the glory of another
rising to succeed it. You shall behold all human events, our grieis
and our joys, our love and our hatred, our character and our me-
mory, absorbed in the ocean of eternity ; and no trace of our
present existence left, except its being for ever wellimth the
righteous, and ill loith the ivicked. — 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
the ichole world, and lose his own soul ?
III. Commune with your heart concerning yourselves, and
your real character. To acquire a thorough knowledge of our-
selves is an attainment no less difficult than important. For
men are generally unwilling to see their own imperfections ; and
when they are willing to enquire into them, their self-love im-
poses on their judgment. Their intercourse with one another
assists the delusion to which, of themselves, they are prone.
For the ordinary commerce of the world is a commerce of flat-
tery and falsehood ; where reciprocally they deceive and are de-
ceived, where every one appears under an assumed form, pro-
fesses esteem which he does not feel, and bestows praise in order
to receive it. It is only in retreat, 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 difierent from one ano-
llier : One, which he possesses in his own opinion ; another,
which fee carries in the estimation of the world ; and a third,
which he bears in the judgment of God. It is only the last
which ascertains what he really is. ^AVhether 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 conse-
quence, that the character, which you possess in your own eyes,
SERMON IX.] On Religious Retire7nenL 115
be formed upon that which you bear in the si-ht of God. In or
der to try it by th,s great standard, you mustlay aside as much
as possible, al partiaHty to yourselves; and in "^he season of" t
tirement, exp ore your heart with such accurate scrutiny, as may
bring your hidden defects to h^^ht. ^ "^
Enquire, for this purpose, whether you be not conscious that
the fair opinion which the world entertains of you, is founded f
^eir partial knowledge both of your abilities and your virtues
Would you be vvilhng that all your actions should be pubhc y
canvassed .> Could you bear to have your thoughts laid op^^
Are there no parts of your life whicJi you would be uneasyTf an
GodTwh ^"T""- /" ^"^"^ ligl^t, then, must these appear to
ceededlrnilrL T ''^^'- 'i"' ^'r^' '^^^^^^^ innocel^L pro-
ceeded irom puiity of principle, or from worldly motives ? Rise
there no envy or malignity within you, when you compare voui
toTeXeTourtart^f , °' ^^'^^''^ ' «-- ^-^ b-» - -Ss
10 I emulate youi heai t, as to preserve your manners from reproach '
Professing yourselves to be Christians, has the spirit of Chris't
tarv'hasZrh:'"'"'^- '^^^^r^^ ^'^^^ ^- *-p^ ^- ^--o -
sent life? ^^ ^""^ounted undue attachments to the pre-
Such investigation as this, seriously pursued, might produce to
every man many discoveries of himselt'; disco;erie! no pleasin^
perhaps to vanity, but salutary and useful. For he can be onk ?
flatterer, but no true friend to himself, who aims not at knowL^
his own defects as well as virtues. By imposing on the wJrld
h'hSf w^r^ 'T ^^^^" '' '''''''' P^^^^ 'but by Lpos^g ot^
aecewecl heart hath turned him aside, that he cannot deliver
htssoul, nor say, is there not a lie in Lj right JJ?' "'"
1 Hus, 1 have set before you some of those great objects which
ought to employ your meditation in religious retirement. I have
endeavoured to introduce you into a'proper intercourse w'th
your heart, concerning God, the world, Ind your own characto
Let this intercourse terminate in fixing the principles ofvou;
r'Nothf • "^t '' """ '' ^^^^°^'^^ consistency into IZ
lile. Nothing can be more ^vavering and disjointecl, than the
behaviour of those who are wholly m°en of the world, and have
never been inured to commune wkh themselves. Dissipation is
a more frequent cause of their ruin, than determined imSy 1
It IS no so much because they have adopted bad princples'as
because they have never attended to principles of any kind tha
their lives are so full of incoherence and disorder. ^Shovel
on the borders of sin and duty. One day you read the Scrtn
tares, you hear religious discourses, and form good re okuSS
Isaiah, xliv. 20.
j^g On Religious Retirement. [sermon ix.
Next day you plunge into the world, and forget the serious im-
nression, as if it had never 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
cowers? Shall the close of life overtake you, before you have de-
termined how to live ? Shall the day never come, that is to find
vou steady in your views, decided in your plans and engaged m
a course of action which your mind approves? If you wish that
day ever to arrive, retirement and meditation must first bring you
home to yourselves, from the dissipation 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 rational and immortal beings.
Then will your character become uniform and respectable, ihen
vou 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.
Cornelius — a devout man Acts, x. 1.
THAT religion is essential to the welfare of man, can be
proved by the most convincing arguments. But these, how de-
monstrative soever, are insufficient to support its authority over
human conduct. For arguments may convince the understand-
ing, when they cannot conquer the passions. Irresistible they
seem in the calm hours of retreat ; but in the season of action, they
often vanish into smoke. There are other and more powerful
springs, which influence the great movements of the human
frame. In ordpr to operate with success on the active powers,
the heart must be gained. 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. Hap-
py is the man, who, in the conflict of desire between God and
the world, can oppose not only argument to argument, but plea-
sure to pleasure ; who, to the external allurements of sense, can
oppose the internal joys of devotion ; and to the uncertain pro-
mises of a flattering world, the certain experience of \hdX 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 pray-
ers and alms are said to have come up in memorial before God.
Of this character, I intend, through Divine assistance, to discourse ;
and shall endeavour, I. To explain the nature of devotion ; 11.
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 emo-
tions of the heart, which all terminate on the same great object.
The chief of them are veneration, gratitude, desire, and resigna-
tion.
It implies, first, profound veneration of God. By veneration.
I understand an aifection compounded of awe and love, the affec-
118 On Devotion. [sermon x,
tion nhicli, of all others, it best becomes creatures to beai- 1o-
wards 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 de-
jecting emotion ; for he glows, rather than trembles, in the Di-
vine presence. It is not the superstitious dread of unknown
power, but the homage yielded by the heart to him, who is, at
once, the greatest and the best of Beings. Omnipotence, view-
ed alone, would be a formidable object. But, considered in con-
junction with the moral perfections of the Divine nature, it serves
to heighten devotion. Goodness affects the heart witlr double
energy, when residing in one so exalted. The goodness which
we adore in him, is not like that which is common among men, a
weak, mutable, undiscerning fondness, ill qualified to be the
ground of assured trust. It is the goodness of a perfect Gover-
nor, acting upon a regular extensive plan ; a steady principle of
benevolence, conducted by wisdom ; which, subject to no varia-
bleness or .shadow of turning, free from all partiality and ca-
price, incapable of being either soothed by flattery or ruffied by
resentment, resembles, in its calm and equal lustre, the eternal se-
renity of the highest heavens. Thy mercy, Oh Lord ! is in the
heavens, and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds. Thy
righteousness is like the great niQuntains, and thy judgments
arc a great dipth'.
SucTi are the conceptions of the great God, which fill with ve-
neration the heart of a devout man. His veneration is not confin-
ed 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 oa
earth, that is beautiful or fair, that is great or good, he refers to
God, as to tiie supreme origin of all the excellence which is scat-
tered throughout liis works. From those effects lie rises to the
iir?t cause. From those streams he ascends to the fountain whence
they flow. By those rays he is led to that eternal source of light
in which they centre.
Devotion imphes, secondly, sincere gratitude to God for all
ills benefits. Tliis is a warmer emotion that simple veneration.
Veneration looks up to the Deity, as he is in himself: Gratitude
regards what he is towards us. When a devout man surveys
iliis vast universe, where beauty and goodness arc every where
predominant ; 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-
CERMON X.] On Devotion. 119
versal Father, wlio 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 or-
ders of intelligent beings, not that he might receive, but that he
might give and impart ; that he might pour forth himself, and
communicate to the spirits which he formed, some emanations of
his felicity.
The goodness of this Supreme Benefactor he gratefully con-
templates, 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 aft'ection,
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 ten-
der remembrance of the past, and every pleasing enjoyment of
the present devotion enters ; for in all those beloved objects,
it recognizes God. The communication of love from heart to
heart, is an effusion of his goodness. From his inspiration de-
scends all the friendship which ever glowed on earth ; and
therefore, to him it justly returns in gratitude, and terminates oil
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
shown to tlie fallen and miserable, is yet more affecting to the
heart, than iavours 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, ivho loved us, and ivashed ns from our sins in his own
blood. — What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits?
Bless the Lord, Oh my soul ! and all that is within tne, bless
Ms holy name; who forgiveth all thine iniquities, and heal-
eth all thy diseases ; ivho redeemeth thy life from destruction,
and croioneth thee with loving kindness, and ivith fender mer-
cies.
Devotion implies, thirdly, the desire of the soul after the fa-
vour of the Supreme Being, as its chief good, and final rest. —
To inferior enjoyments, the devout man allots inferior and se-
condary attachment. 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 for-
bids, and religion cannot acquire. But from these he expects
not his supreme bliss. He discerns the vanity which belongs to
120 0)1 Devotion. [sermon x.
them all ; and beyond the circle of mutable objects which sur-
round him, he aspires after some principles of more perfect fe-
licity, which shall not be subject to change or decay. But
where is this complete and permanent good to be found ? Am-
bition pursues it in courts and palaces ; and returns from the pur-
suit, 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 loith me. It
cannot he s^ott en for gold ; neither shall silver be iveighed 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 hap-
piness, the}^ seem to him a mighty void, a wilderness of shadows,
where all w^ould 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 existence. TJiou shalt guide m,e icith thy
counsel ; and thmi shalt receive me to thy glory. My flesh and
my heart faileth ; hut God is the strength of my heart, and any
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
murmering 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, 0 God ! in what path soever
" seemeth good to thee. In nothing shall I ever arraign thy
" sacred will. Dost thou require me to part with any world-
'' ly advantages, for the sake of virtue and a good conscience ?
" I give them up. Dost thou command me to relinqush m}-
" friends, or my country ? At thy call I cheerfully leave them.
" Dost thou summon me away from this world ? Lo ! I am rea-
" dy to depart. Thou hast made, thou hast redeemed me, and
'• I am thine. JNIyself, and all that belongs to me, I surrender to
'• thy disporjal. Let the men of the world have their ]jortion in
^' this life. Be it mine, to behold thy face in righteousness :
'' and tvhen I awake, to be satisfied with thy likeness."
This, surely, is one of the noblest acts of which the human
mind is capable, when thus, if we may be allowed the expres-
sion, it unites itself with God. Nor can any devotion be ge-
nuine, which inspires not sentiments of this nature. For de-
votion is not to be considered as a transient glow of affection,
occasioned by some casual impressions of Divine goodness,
which are suffered to remain unconnected with the conduct ot"
SERMON X,] On Devotion. ' 121
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 devo-
tion. It is the union of veneration, gratitude, desire, and re-
signation. 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 heai't which is cold, and insensible to sacred things ; which, from
compulsion perhaps, 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 every kind in religion. We must
beware, lest, by seeking to avoid one rock, we split upon ano-
ther. 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 ri-
tual and external part of religion ; and enthusiasm, on the other,
directing their whole attention to internal emotions, and mysti-
cal communications 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 eacli
of them, into which they are in hazard of precipitating tiiem-
selves. Thus, the horror of superstition has sometimes reached
so far as to produce contempt for all external institutions; as
if it were possible for religion to subsist in the world, without
forms of worship, or public acknowledgment of God. ^t has
also happened that some, who, in the main, are well sii'ected to
the cause of goodness, observing that persons of a Jevout turn
have at times been carried, by warm affections, i'lto unjustifiable
excesses, have thence hastily conclutled that all devotion was
akin 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, hy showing you, first. That true
devotion is rational, and well-founded ; next, That it is of the high-
est importance to every otlier part of religion and virtue ; and
lastly. That it is most conduciw to our happiness.
In the first place. True devotion is rational, and well-found^
ed. It takes its rise from affections, which are essential to the
human frame. We are formed by Nature to admire what is
gi-eat; and to love what is amiable. Even inanimate objects
VOL. I l^
122 On Devotion. [sermon x.
have power to excite those emotions. The magnificent pros-
pects of the natural world, fill the mind with reverential awe.
Its beautifial 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, ar-
gues a defect of sensibility in our powers, it discovers, in the
latter, an odious hardness and depravity in the heart. The ten-
derness 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 al-
so above us, in nature. Let us imagine, that an angel, or any
being of 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
veneration, the warmth and overflowing of heart, which excel-
lence 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 towards 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
sear'>,h, and affords no determinate object to our love or desire.
We go forward, but he is not there : and backward, but we can-
not perceive him : On the left hand, where he wm^keth, but we
cannot behold him : He hideth himself on the right hand, that we
cantvctt see him* Notwithstanding this obscurity, is there any
being ik the universe more real and certain, than the Creator of
the world, and the Supporter of all existence ? Is he, in whom
we live and UiQve, too distant from us to excite devotion ? His
form and essence, indeed, we cannot see ; but to be unseen, and
imperfectly known, in many other instances, precludes neither
gratitude nor love. \i is not the sight, so much as the strong
conception, or deep impression, of an object, which affects tlie
passions. We glow with admiration of personages, who have
lived in a distant age. Whole nations have been transported
with zeal and affection for the generous hero, or public deliver-
er, 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 in-
* Job, XAlii. 8, 9.
SERMOM X.] On Devotion. 123
ternal 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 dispositions of men ;
from what we see of their behaviour, we collect what is invisible ;
but the conjecture which we form is, at best, imperfect; 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? Convinced
that he exists ; beholding his goodness spread abroad in his works,
exerted in the government of the world, displayed in some mea-
sure to sense, in the actions of his son Jesus Christ ! are we not
furnished with every essential requisite which the heart demands,
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
desire, 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 ef-
fects 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
worship, shall he only who directs all his devotion towards thf
Supreme Being, be excluded from a place in the system of ration-
al conduct ? or be censured for having passions, whose sensil^^^^y
corresponds to the great cause which moves them ? — Hav'-^g vm-
dicated the reasonableness of devotion, I come.
In the second place, to show its importance, «»id ^^e high
place which it possesses in the system of relfeion. I address
myself now to those, who, though they rejec* not devotion as ir-
rational, yet consider it as an unnecessary^ refinement ; 321 attain-
ment which may be safely left to re^^^^ and sequestered per-
sons, who aim at uncommon sanct^T- The solid and material
duties of a good life, they hold to be in a great measure inde-
pendent of devout affection ; ^nd think them sufficiently sup-
ported, by their necessary r^nnection with our interest, both in
this and in a future world. They insist much upon religion be-
ing a calm, a sober, a^^t rational principle of conduct. I ad-
mit that it is very laudable to have a rational religion. But
I must admonish you, that it is both reproachful and criminal^
124 On Devotion. [serjion x.
to liave an insensible licart. If we reduce religion into so cool a
state, as not to admit love, afiection. and desire, we shall leave it
in possession of small influence over human life. Look abroad
into the world, and obi.;erve how few act upon deliberate and ra-
tional views of their true interest. The ])ulk of mankind are im-
pelled by their feelings. They are attracted by appearances of
good. Taste and inclination rule their conduct. 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 henco
ai'iscs its importance to the interests of goodness.
Agreeably to this doctrine, the great Autlior of our religion,
who well knew luhat was in inan, laid the foundation of hi«
wliole system in tlie regeneration of the heart. The change vvhich
was to be accomplished on his followers, he did not purpose to
affect, merely by regulating their external conduct ; but by form-
ing within them a new nature ; by taking away the heart of
stone, and giving them a. heart of flesh ; that is, a heart relent-
ing and tender, yielding to the Divine impulse, and readily sus-
ceptible of devout impre-ssions. Thou shalt love the Lord thy
God, with all thy heart, and mind, and soul, and strength :
This is the first and great command^nent. My son, give me
thy heart, is tlie 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 acceptable 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
tl'i's part of religion. Surel}-, let the outward behaviour be ever
so^ iweproachabie, there must be some essential defect in a heart
wnich »>emains always unmoved at the view of infinite goodness.
The affections cannot, in this case, be deemed to flow in their na-
tural channel. Some concealed malignity must have tainted the
J award frame. This is not the man whom you would choose for
your bosom-lnenci , or whose heart you could expect to answer,
with reciprocal warmG^i, to yours. His virtue, if it deserves that
name, is mi of the most ^miable sort ; and may, with reason, re-
ceive the appellation (often jjijudiciously bestowed) of cold and
dry morality. Such a person m^gt, as yet, he far from the king-
dom of Heaven.
As devotion is thus essential to ioligion in its principle, so it
^nters^ into tlie proper discharge of alf 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 cannot, ^erefore, but en-
SERMON X.] On Devotion. 125
noble 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 puri-
fier of the affections. It inspires contempt of the low gratifica-
tions belonging to animal life. It promotes a humble and cheer-
ful 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 pi'ogress in virtue. He who, unacquainted
with devout affections, sets himself to keep the Divine command-
ments, will advance in obedience with a slow and languid pace ;
like one who, carrying a heavy burden, toils to mount the hill.
But he wdiose 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 somewhat be-
sides religion ; the other finds it in religion itself: It is his meet
and drink to do the ivill of that heavenly Father, whom he
loves and adores. Which of these two is likely to make the great-
est improvement in goodness, is easily discerned. Let us now
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; weakness the painful, and cherishes the pleasing emo-
tions ; and, by these means, carries on the life of a pious nxan 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 tlie world leaves us, and to adversity
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 situa -
tion 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 vv'ill sick-
ness, disoppointment, or old age, fall upon his spirits ! But, for
those pensive periods, the pious man has a relief prepared. From
liiis On Devotion. [sermon x.
the tiresome 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 ob-
jects as are the most fitted to cheer the dejection, to calm the tu-
mults, and to heal the v/ounds 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 un-
grateful and base, it displays before him the faithfulness of that
Supreme Being, who, though every other friend fail, will never
forsake him. Consult 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 ter-
minating on some high and assured happiness. Both these are
supplied by devotion ; and therefore we have no reason to be sur-
prised, if, on some occasions, 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 plea-
sures which belong to the highest powers, and best affections of
the soul ; whereas the gratifications of sense reside in the lowest
region of our nature. To the one, the soul stoops below its na-
tive dignity. The other raise it above itself The one, leave
always a comfortless, often a mortifying remembrance behind
them. The other are reviewed with applause and delight. The
pleasin-es of sense resemble a foaming torrent, which, after a dis-
orderly course, speedily runs out, and leaves an empty and offen-
sive channel. But the pleasures of devotion resemble the equa-
ble current of a pure river, which enlivens the fields through
which it passes, and diffuses verdure and fertility along its banks.
To thee, oh 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 pas-
sions. Thou exaltest the heart. Thy communications, and thine
only, are imparted to the low, no less than to the high ; to the
poor, as well as to the rich. In thy presence, worldly distinc-
tions cease ; and under thy influence, worldly sorrows are forgot-
ten. 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 hosts 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 appeaireince before the world, and subject it
to unjust reproach. Let us therefore attend deliberately to its
SERMON X.] On Devotion. 127
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
Being, 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, in
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 ma}'
pray, or praise, when no words are uttered. But if the heart be
unconcerned or ill affected, all the words we can utter, how pro-
perly 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. Devo-
tion, like many parts of religion, may in some lights be consider-
ed 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 pri-
vilege of good men only, to rejoice in God, and to confide in his
friendship. Hence a certain preparation is requisite, for the en-
joyment of devotion in its whole extent. Not only must the life
be reformed from gross enormities, but the heart must have under-
gone that change which the gospel demands. A competent know-
ledge of God must be acquired. A proper foundation must be
laid in faith and repentance, 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 re-
treat to stand always ready for the reception of such as betake
themselves to it, for no reason, but because every other re-
fuge excludes them, betray gross ignorance of this part of reli-
gion. They bring to it, faculties unqualified to taste its plea-
sures ; and they grasp at hopes, to which they are not entitled.
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 supersti-
tious mortifications and austerities, by which the falsely devout
hope to purchase favour from God ; haunted by the terrors of a
guilty conscience, and vainly struggling to substitute a servile and
cringing homage, in the room of the pure affections of a renewed
heart. On such altars the hallowed fire of true devotion can-
not burn ; nor can any incense ascend from them, that shall be
grateful to Heaven. Bring no more vain ohlations. Wash
ye, make you cleayiy put away the evil of your doings from
128 On Devotion. [sermon x.
hefore mine eyes, saith the Lord. Cease to do evil ; learn to do
well. Then draio nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.
— But though devotion requires a pure heart, and a virtuous Ufe,
and necessarily supposes the exercise of frequent retirement, T
must observe,
In the third place, That it is an error to conceive it as requir-
ing 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 ano-
ther. It is evident from the frame of our natute, and from our
common necessities and wants, that we were designed by Provi-
dence for an active part on this earth. The Gospel of Christ,
according]}^, considers us as engaged in the concerns of the
world ; and directs its exhortations to men, in all the various re-
lations, characters, and emplojmients of civil life. Abstraction
from society, therefore, and total dedication of our time to de-
vout exercises, cannot be the most proper method of acquiring the
favour of God.
I mean not, however, to throw any blame on those, who, ha-
ving 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 great-
er 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 attempt to fix upon them unremitting attention, over-
stretch and disorder our feeble powers. The mind, by being re-
laxed, returns to them with more advantage. As none of our
organs can bear intense sensations without injury, as the eye.
when dazzled with ov^erpowering light, beholds imaginary co-
lours, and loses the real distinction of objects ; so the mind, when
overheated by perpetual contemplation of celestial things, ha?
been sometimes found to mistake the strong impressions of fancy,
for supernatural communications from above. To the employ-
ments of devotion, as to all other things, there are due limits.
There is a certain temperate sphere, within which it preserve.'-
longest its proper exertion, and most successfully promotes the
purposes for which it was designed.
SERMON X.] On Devotion. 129
In the fourth place, It is an error to imagine, that devotion en-
joins d 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 pleasures
in themselves innocent, which withdraws the attention of man
from what is serious and important. But it brings amusement
under due limitation, without extirpating it. It forbids it as the
business, but permits it as the relaxation, of life. For there is no-
thing in the spirit of true religion, which is hostile to a cheerful en-
joyment of our situation in the world.
They who look with a severe and indignant eye upon all the
recreations 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 clothing it with the garb of so much unnecessary au-
sterity. And next, they deprive the world of the benefit which
their example might atford, in drawing the line between inno-
cent and dangerous pleasures. By a tempe^'atc ijarticipation of
those which are innooent^ tlioy might successfully exert that
authority which a virtuous and respectable character always
possesses, in restraining undue excess. They would show the
young and "unweary, at what point they ought to stop. They
would have it in their power to regulate, 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 perform. By an indiscriminate
censure of all amusement, they detract from tlie weight of their
reproof, when amusement becomes undoubtedl}'^ sinful. By
totally withdrawing themselves from the circle of cheerfid 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 daji-
gerous sway over the world.
In the fifth place. It is an error to believe, that devotion nou-
rishes a spirit of severity, in judging of the manners and cha-
racters of others. Under this reproach, indeed, it has so long
suffered in the world, that, with too many, the appellation of de-
vout, 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 de-
votion. The very first traces which it imprints on the mind,
are candour and humility. Its principles are liberal. Its geni-
us is iniassuming and mild. Severe only to itself, it makes ev-
ery allowance for others which humanity can suggest. It claims
no privilege of looking into their hearts, or of deciding with re-
spect to their eternal state.— If your supposed devotion produce
VOL. I. 17
130 On Demlion. [sermon x.
contrary 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 esta-
blish your own opinions as an infallible standard for the whole
Christian world, and lead you to consign to perdition aJl who
differ from you, either in some doctrinal tenets, or in the mode of
expressins; them ; you may rest assured, that to much pride you
have joined much ignorance, both of the nature of devotion, and
of the Gospel of Christ, Finally,
In the sixth place. It is an error to think, that perpetual
rapture 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 suscepti-
ble than others of the tender emotions. They more readily re-
lent at the view of Divine goodness, glow with a wanner ar-
dour of love, and, by consequence, rise to a higher elevation of
joy and hope. But, in the midst of still and calm affections,
devotion often dwdls ; and, though it produce no transports in
the mind, diffuses over it a stonrly spronity. Devout sensations
not only vary in their degi'ee, according to the frame of differ-
ent tempers ; but, even among the best disposed, suffer much in-
terruption 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, langour of
spirits, and infirmities of health, frequently indispose us for the
enjoyment of devout affections. Pious men, on these occasions,
are in hazard of passing judgment on their own state with too
much severity ; as if, for some great iniquity, they were con-
demned by God to final hardness of heart. Hence arises that
melancholy, Avhich 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 affected, in
an extreme degree, with the humble sense of its own failings,
and with ardent concern to attain the favour of God. A weak-
ness, 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
merit of Christ.
To conclude. Let us remove from devotion all those mistakes,
to which the corruptions of men, or their ignorance and prejudi-
SERMON X.] 0)1 Devotion. 131
ces, 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 ita
influence. By means of the institutions of the Gospel, let us che-
rish its impressions. And, above all, let us pray to God, that he
may establish its power in our hearts. For here, if any where,
his assistance is requisite. The spirit of devotion is his gift. From
his inspiration it proceeds. Towards him it tends ; and in his
presence, hereafter, it shall attain its full perfection.
SERMON XL
On the duties of the young.
Young men likewise exhort, to be sober-minded. — Titus, li. 0.
SOBRIETY of mind is one of those virtues which the pre-
sent condition of human life strongly inculcates. The uncertain-
ty 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 youthful views and passions, is adverse to sobrie-
ty of mind. The scenes which present themselves, at our en-
tering upon the world, are commonly flattering. Whatever they
be in themselves, the lively spirits of the young gild every open-
ing prospect. The field of hope appears to stretch wide before
them. Pleasure seems to pat forth its blossoms on every side.
Impelled b}" desire, forward they rush with inconsiderate ardour :
Prompt to decide, and to choose ; averse to hesitate, or to en-
quire ; credulous, because untaught by experience ; rasli, because
unacquainted with danger; headstrong, because unsubdued by
disappointment. Hence arise the perils, of which it is my de-
sign at present to warn them. I shall take sobriety of tnind^ in
its most comprehensive sense, as including the whole of that dis-
cipline which religion and virtue prescribe to youtli. 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 consid-
ered as common to both. I intend, first, to show them the im-
portance of beginning early to give serious attention to their con-
duct ; and, next, to point out those virtues whicli they ought
chiefly to cultivate.
As sobn as you are capable of reflection, you must perceive
that there is a right and a wrong in human actions. You see,
SERMON xr.] On the Duties of the Young. 133
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 distinction intlie 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 in much misery, and end in be-
ing a disgrace to their friends, and a burden on society. Ear-
ly, 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 in-
famy, 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 attention, before you have yet committed
any fatal or irretrievable errors ? If, instead of exerting reflec-
tion for this valuable purpose, 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 ex-
pect to follow from such beginnings? — ^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 ? De-
ceive 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 potider the paths of your feet ; to
remember your Creator in the days of your youth. He hath
decreed, that they only loho seek after ivisdo7n shall find it ;
that ybo/5 shall he afflicted, because of their transgressions ; and
that whoso refuseth instruction shall destroy his own soul. By
listening to these admonitions, 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 last-
ing heaviness of heart.
When you look forward to those plans of life, which either
your circumstances have suggested, or your friends have pro-
posed, you will not hesitate to acknowledge, that, in order to
pursue tliem with advantage, some previous discipline is requi-
site. Be assured, tliat, whatever is to be your profession, no
education is more necessary to your success, than the acquire-
J 34 On tJie Duties Lsermon xi.
ment of virluous dispositions and habits. This is the universal
preparation for every character, and every station in life. Bad
as the ^vorld is, respect is always paid to virtue. In the usual
course of human aifairs, it will he found, that a plain understand-
ing, joined with acknowledged worth, contributes more to pros-
perity, than the brightest parts without probity or honour. Whe-
ther science, or business, or public life, be your aim, virtue still
enters, for a principle share, into all those great departments of
society. It is connected with eminence, in every liberal art ;
witli reputation, in every branch of fair and useful business; with
distinction, in every public station. The vigour which it gives
the mind, and the weight which it adds to character ; the gene-
rous 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 triumplis 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 accom-
plishments of the mind. These are tlie qualities whose influence
will last, when the lustre of all that once sparkled and dazzled
has passed away.
Let not then the season of youth bo barren of improvements
so essential to your future felicity and honour. Now is the
seed-time of life ; and according to ivhat you sow you shall reap.
Your 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 vigourous,
disembarrassed, and free, than they will be at any future peri-
od. Whatever impulse you now give to your desires and pas-
sions, the direction is likely to continue. It will form the chan-
nel in which your life is to run ; nay, it may determine its ev-
erlasting issue. Consider then the employment of this import-
ant 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, ac
SERMON X.] Of the Young. 135
cording as it is well or ill spent, influences the happiness of that
which is to follow. Virtuous youth gradually brings forward ac-
complished and flourishing manhood ; and such manhood passes
of itself, without uneasiness, into respectable 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 summer there will be no beauty, and in
autumn no fruit. So if youth be trifled away without improve-
ment, manhood will be contemptible, 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. What
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 becommg 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 proper to kindle those affections, as
the Father of the universe, and the Author of all felicity ? Un-
moved by veneration, can you contemplate that grandeur and
majesty, which his works every where display ? Untouched by
gratitude, can you view that profusion of good, which, in this
pleasing season of life, his benificent hand pours around you?
Happy in the love and affection of those with whom you are con-
nected, 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 reli-
gious homage, as a natural expression of gratitude to him for ail
his goodness. Consider it as the service of the God of your Fa-
thers ; of him, to whom your parents devoted you; of him, whom
in former ages your ancestors 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 offspring of speculation, but the warm and vigourous
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
136 On the Diitieb: [sermon xi.
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 ti'uth in its native purity.
When, upon rational and sober enquiry, you have established
your principles, suffer them not to be shaken by the scoffs of the
licentious, or the cavils of the sceptical. Remember, that in the
examination of every great and comprehensive plan, such as that
of Christianity, difficulties may be expected to occur; and that
reasonable 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. —
Besides the guilt which is thereby incurred, nothing gives a more
odious appearance of petulance and presinnption to youth, than '
the affectation of treating reiigion with levit}'. Instead of being
ane>idenceof supeiior understanding, it discovers a pert and shal-
low mind ; which, vain of the first smatterings of knowledge,
presumes to make light of whai 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 a native, unaffected ease to the behaviour- It is social, kind,
and cheerful ; far removed from that gloomy and illiberal super-
stition 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 con-
trary, connect preparation for Heaven, with an honourable dis-
charge 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 re-
port, wherever there is any virtue, and wherever there is any
praise. Of such religion discover, on every proper occasion, that
you are not ashamed; but avoid making any unnessary 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 3^outh. Modesty is one of its chief ornaments ; and ha.s
e\"er l)een 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
^.vho have srone before vou.
SERMON XI.] of the Young. 137
Of all the follies incident to youth, there are none which either
deform its present appearance, or blast the prospect of its future
prosperity, more than self-conceit, presumption, and obstinacy.
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 friendr., as the timorous suggestions of age. Too
wise to learn, too impatient to deliberate, too forward to be re-
strained, 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. — Positive as you now are in your opinions, and
confident in your assertions, be assured, that the time approach-
es 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 wilh too much eagerness ; nor imagine, that,
by the impetuosity of juvenile ardour, 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 gi-adual pro-
gression in improvement, you may, in due time, command last-
ing esteem ; but by assuming, at present, a tone of superiority,
to which you have no title, you will disgust those whose ap-
probation 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 im-
portance 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,
unamiable in every season of life, but particularly odious in
youth. If, at an age when the heart is warm, when the emo-
tions are sti'ong, 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 de-
VOL. I, 18
13S On the Duties [sermon xi.
pravity, and future shame. It degrades parts and learning ; ob-
scures the lustre of every accomplishment ; and sinks you into con-
tempt 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 powerful 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 mo-
ment* 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 your power to stop. One artifice una-
voidably leads on to another ; till, as the intricacy of the laby-
rinth increases, you are left entangled in your own snare. De-
ceit 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
himself. Whereas, openness of character displays that generous
boldness which ought to distinguish youth. To set out in the
world with no other principle than a crafty attention to inter-
est, betokens one who is destined for creeping through the in-
ferior 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 attained without dishonest arts ; to
brook no meanness ; and to stoop to no dissimulation ; are the indi-
cations of a great mind, the presages of future eminence and dis-
tinction 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 accounts it both base and
u nprofitable ; and who seeks no disguise, because he needs none
to hide him. Lord! ivho shall abide in thy tabernacle? fVho
shall ascend into thy holy hill ? He that ivalketh iLprightly and
ivorketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.
IV. Youth is the proper season of cultivating the benevo-
lent 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, by times, the temper and
the manners which wdll render such connexions comfortable. —
Let a sense of justice be the foundation of all your social qua-
lities, in your most early intercourse with the world, and even
in your youthful amusements, let no unfairness be found. En-
* Prov. xii. 19.
SERMON XI.] of the Young. I39
grave on your mind that sacred rule, of doing all things to others,
according as you tvish that they should do unto you. For this
end, impress yourselves with a deep sense of the original and na-
tural 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 advanced years. At present, it becomes you to act amonf
your companions, as man with man. Remember how unknown
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 dis-
tresses of human life ; as the solitary cottage, the dying parent,
and the weeping orphan. Thou shall not harden thy heart,
nor shut thy hand from thy poor brother ; but thou shall sure-
ly give unto him in the day of his need : Jind thine heart shall
not be grieved when thougivest unto him ; because that for this
thing, the Lord thy God shall bless thee in all thy ivorks.*
Never sport with pain and distress, in any of your amusements ;
nor treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty.
In young minds, there is commonly a strong propensity to
particular intimacies and friendships. Youth, indeed, is the sea-
son when friendships are sometimes formed, which not only con-
tinue through succeeding life, but which glow to the last, with a
tenderness unknown to the connections 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 combinations in pleasure. They are often founded on ca-
pricious likings; suddenly contracted, and as suddenly dis-
solved. 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 connections, 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 inti-
macy ; but when a virtuous friendship is once established, con-
sider it as a sacred engagement. Expose not yourselves to the
reproach of lightness and inconstancy, which always bespeak
* Dent. XV. r, 10.
140 On the Duties [sermon xi.
either a trifling or a base mind. Reveal none of the secrets of
your friend. Be faithful to his interests. Forsake him not in
clanger. Abhor the thought of acquiring any advantage by his
prejudice or hurt. There is a friend that loveth at all times,
and a brother that t.s- born for adversity. Thine own friend,
and thy father'' s friend, forsake not*
Finally, on this head ; in order to render yourselves amiable in
society, correct every appearance of harshness in behaviour.
Let that courtesy distinguish your demeanor, -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 na-
tural ; and of course they will be engaging. Affectation is cer-
tain deformity. By forming themselves on fantastic models,
and vying with one another in every reigning folly, the young
begin with being ridiculous, and end in being vicious and im-
moral.
V. Let me particularly exhort youth to temperance in plea-
sure: Let me admonish them, to beware of that rock on which
thousands, 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 continu-
al feast ; and health, vigour, and high spirits, invite them to par-^
take of it without restraint. In vain we warn them of latent dan-
gers. Religion is accused of insufferable severity, in prohibit-
ing enjoyments ; and the old, when they offer their admonitions,
are upbraided with having 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 pursuit of pleasure. Within these
bounds pleasure is lawful; beyond them, it becomes criminal,
because it is ruinous. Are these restraints 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 possession, and for prolonging
its duration.
Consult your whole nature. Consider yourselves not only as
sensitive, but as rational beings; not only as rational, but so-
cial ; not only a s social, but immortal. Whatever violateb your
nature in any of these respects, cannot afford ti'ue pleasure ; any .
more than that which undermines an essential part of the vital
system can promote health. For the truth of this conclusion we
* I'rov. xvli. \7. — xxvii. 10.
SERMON XI.] of the Young. 141
appeal, not merely to the authority of religion, nor to the testi-
mony of the aged, but to yourselves and your own experience.
We ask, whether you have not found, that in a course of criminal
excess, your pleasure was more than compensated by succeeding
pain? Whether, 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 sim-
ple 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 your
selves 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. Thougoest 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 many rising- capacities and powers are suppressed ! — How
many flattering hopes of parents and friends are totally extin-
guished ! — 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 capti-
vated all hearts, that vivacity which sparkled in every company,
those abilities which were fitted for adorning the highest station,
all sacrificed at the shrine of low sensuality ; and one who was
formed for running 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, Oh 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 en-
dowed 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 most easily acquired. In youth,
the incentives to it are strongest, from ambition and from duty,
from emulation and hope, from all llie prospects which the begin-
142 On the Duties {sermon xi.
nino; of life aftbrds. If, dead to these calls, you already languish
in slothful inaction, what will be able to quicken the more slug-
gish current of advancing years ?
Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but the
foundation of pleasure. Nothing is so opposite to the true en-
joyment 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 indispensable 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,
5'^et 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 wiiich first putrifies by stag-
nation, and then sends up noxious vapours, and fills the atmos-
phere with death.
Fly, therefore, from idleness, as the certain parent both of
guilt and of ruin. And under idleness I conclude, not mere in-
action only, but all that circle of trifling occupations, in which
too many saunter away their j'outh ; perpetually engaged in
frivolous society, or public amusements ; in the labours of dress,
or the ostentation of their persons. — Is this the foundation which
you lay for future usefulness and esteem ? By such accomplish-
ments do you hope to recommend yourselves to the thinking part
of the world, and to answer the expectations of 5' our friends,
and your country ? — Amusements, j^outh requires. It w'ere vain, >
it were cruel to prohibit them. But though allowable as the re-
laxation, they are most culpable as the business, of the young.
For they then become 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 v»^ith satisfaction. —
The acquisition of knowledge is one of the most honourable oc-
cupations 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-disposed mind. Whatever you pursue, be emulous to ex-
cel. Generous ambition, and sensibility to praise, are, especial-
ly at your age, among the marlcs of virtue, Think not that
any affluence of fortune, or any elevation of rank, exempt you
SERMON XI.] of the Young. ^ 143
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 tlie years which now pass over
your heads, leave permanent memorials behind them. From
your thoughtless minds they may escape ; but they remain in the
rememberance of God. They form an important part of the re-
gister of your life. They will hereafter bear testimony, either
for or against you, at that day, when, for all your actions, but par-
ticularly 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 ; pie-
ty, modesty, truth, benevolence, temperance, and industry. —
Whether your future course is destined to be long or short, after
this manner it should commence ; and, if it continue to be thus
conducted, its conclusion, at \fhat 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 mmi-
ber of years. But wisdom, is the gray 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
endeavours after improvement, you ought continually to pre-
serve. It is too common with the young, even when they re-
solve to tread the path of virtue and honour, to set out with pre-
sumptuous confidence 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 human virtue, unsupported by reli-
gion, are equal to the tr3ang 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 constancy sunk ? Every 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 abi-
lities than orphans left to wander in a ti'ackless desert, without
any guide to conduct them, or any shelter to cover them from
the gathering storm. Correct, then, this ill founded arrogance.
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 witJi the solemn words, in
Ill On the Duties of the Young. [sermon xi.
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, knoiv thou the God of thy father's, and serve him ivith a
jperfect heart, and with a willing mind. For the Lard search-
eth all hearts, and understandeth all the imaginations of the
thoughts. If thou seek him, he will he found of thee; but if
thou, forsake him., he will cast thee off for ever*
* Cliron. xxviii, 9.
SERMON XII.
On the duties and consolations of the aged.
The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the why
of righteousness. — Proverbs, xvi. 31.
TO fear God and 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 pf the day, so the rule of re-
ligious conduct is diversified in its application by the different
stages of our present 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 plea-
sure to interest; that is, to pleasure diffused over a wider ex-
tent, and measured by a larger scale. Formerly, the enjoyment
of the present moment occupied the whole attention. Now, no
action terminates ultimately in itself, but refers to some more
distant aim. Wealth and power, the instruments of lasting gra-
tification, are now coveted more than any single pleasure. Pru-
dence and foresight lay their plans. Industry carries on its pa-
tient eftbrts. Activity pushes forward ; address winds around.
Here, an enemy is to be overcome ; there, a rival to be displaced.
Competitions warm ; and the strife of the world thickens on ev-
ery side. To guide men through this busy period, without loss
of integrity ; to guard them against the temptations which arise
from mistaking or interfering interests; to call them from world-
ly 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
addressed to those who are in this season of life: a delineation
VOL. I. 19
146 On the Duties and . [sermon xii.
of the virtues properly belong;ing to middle ao;e, may appear un-
necessary, and would lead us into two wide a field. Let us there-
fore turn our view to a bounded prospect; and contemplate a pe-
riod of life, the duties of which are circumscribed \vithin narrow-
er limits. Old a_^e 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, f^ven
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 loay of righteousness, it is a crown of glory- I shall first
offer some counsels, concerning the errors which are most inci-
det 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
inexperience 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 ad-
ditional burden of glowing infirmities. In the former stages of
their journey, 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.
Though, in the plan of Providence, it is wisely ordered, that
before we are called away from the world, our attachment to ii
siiould 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. I'he burden under which they labour ought to be view-
ed with sympathy, by those who must bear it in their turn, and
Avho, perhaps, hereatter may complain of it as bitterly. At the
same time, the old sliould consider, that all the seasons of life
have their several trials allotted to them ; and that to bear the
infirmities of age with becoming patience, is as much theij' duty.
SERMON XII.] Consolations of the ^ged. 147
as is that of the young to resist the temptation of youthful plea-
sure. 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 recommended 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 aggra-
vate the uneasiness of age, and you alienate those on whose affection
much of your comfort depends. In order to make the two ex-
tremes of life unite in amicable society, it is greatly to be wished,
that the young would look forward, and consider that they shall
one day be old ; and that the old would look back, and, remem-
bering 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
manners; perpetually complaining of the growing depravity of
the world, and of the astonishing vices and follies of the rising
generation. All things, according to them, are rushing fast in-
to 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 surrounding object, similar lamentations were, in the
days of your youtli, 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 corruption of the world in every age. Sufficient ground
there is for the complaints made by serious observers, at all
times, of abounding iniquity and folly. But, though particular
modes of vice prevail 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 has assured us, that
there shall be always a seed ivho shall serve him."^^ Say iwt
thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than
these ? For thou dost not enquire wisely concerning this. Be
not righteous overmuch ; neither make thyself otherwise.^ For-
mer follies pass away and are forgotten. Those which are present,
* Psalm xxii. 30. f Eccles. vii. 10, 16.
148 On the Duties and [sermon xii.
strike observation, and sharpen censure. Had the depravation of
the world continued to increase in proportion to those gloomy cal-
culations, which, for so many centuries past, have estimated each
race as worse than the preceeding ; by this time, not one ray of
good sense, nor 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 changes which may be-
fal. 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 disre-
spect. 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 enjoyment of the pre-
sent ; and to increase in anxiety, about their journey, in pro-
portion as it draws nearer to its close. There are more effectu-
al methods of commanding 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 enjoy-
ment ot the comforts which befit their state. They will then re-
ceive the returns of real respect and love. Whereas, by their
riches, they procure no more than pretended demonsti'ations of re-
gard ; while their ill-judged parsimony occasions many secret wishes
for their death.
As increasing years debilitate the body, so the}'' weaken the
force, and diminish the warmth of the affections. Chilled by the
hand of time, the heart loses tliat 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 re-
peated ; and that, in proportion as their power of advancing the
prosperity of others decreases, their participation of the misfor-
tunes of others should also lessen. However, as, in every period
of life, humanity and friendship conti'ibute 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 re-
call such impressions as may tend to soften their hearts. Let
them not, from having suffered niuch in the course of their long
pilgrimage, become callous to the sufl'erings of others. But re-
membering that they still are men, let them study to keep their
SERMON XII.] Consolations of the Aged. 149
heart open to the sense of human woe. Practised in the ways
of men, tliey are apt to be suspicious of design and fraud ; for
the knowledge and the distrust 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
lualk uprightly, shall continue to walk surely. Having thus of-
fered 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 vigoi'ous periods,
the impulse of active spirit, the necessary business of our station,
and the allowable endeavours to advance our fortune by fair in-
dustry, 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 success ; and there, its comforts are enjoyed with great-
est 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 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 melan-
choly solitude. FcAV are able, in any period of their days, to
bear a total abstraction from the world. There remains a va-
cancy which they cannot fill up. Incapable of being always
employed in the exercises of religion, and often little qualified
for the entertainments of the understanding, they are in hazard
of becoming a burden to themselves, and to all with whom they
are connected. It is, therefore, the duty of the aged, not so
*nuch to withdraw entirely from worldly business, as to contract
its circle ; not so much to break oflT, as to loosen their commu-
nication 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 observation, to domestic
scenes, and serious thoughts ; till, as the decays of life advance,
150 0)1 the Duties and [sermon xir.
the world shull of itself withdraw to a o;rcater distance from their
view, its objects shall g;radiially 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 fa-
tigue of worldly care, it is still more incumbent on them to quit
the pursuit of such pleasures as are unsuitable to their years.
Cheerfulness, in old age, is graceful. It is the natural conco-
mitant of virtue. But the cheerfulness of age is widely differ-
ent from the levity of youth. Many things are allowable in
that early period, which, in maturer years, would deserve cen-
sure ; but whch, in old age, become both ridiculous and crimi-
nal. By awkwardly affecting to imitate the manners, and to
mingle in the vanities of tlie young, as the aged depart from
the dignity, so they forfeit the privileges of gray hairs. But
if, by follies of this kind, they are degraded, they are exposed
to much deeper blame, by descending to vicious pleasure, and
continuing to hover round those sinful gratifications to vv^hich
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 precipitate 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 nature has separated the
pleasures of youth from the comfoils 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 them-
selves, as considerably to advance the interest of religion, and
the happiness of mankind. To them it belongs, to impart to
the young the fruit of their long experience ; to instruct them
in the proper conduct, and to warn them of the various dan-
gers of life ; by wise counsel, so temper their precipitate ardour ;
and, both by precept and example, to form them to piety and
virtue.
It is not by rigorous discipline, and imrelaxing austerity,
that they can maintain an ascendant over youthful minds. The
constraint which their presence will impose, and the aversion
which their manners will create, if the one be constantly awful,
•.md the other severe, tend to frustrate the effect of all their wis-
dom. They must assume the spirit of the companion, and the
fiicnd ; 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
SERMON XII.] Consolations of the Aged. 151
greater dignity, than, when tempered with mildness, and enliv-
ened with good humour, it acts as the guide and the patron of
youth. Religion, displayed in such a character, strikes the be-
holders, as at once amiable and venerable. They revere its pow-
er, when they see it adding so much grace to the decays of na-
ture, 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 atten-
tion to counsels which are mingled with tenderness, and render-
ed respectable |py gray hairs. For, notwithstanding all its pre-
sumption, 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 for-
ward, 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 whicli
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 has 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 de-
ceived, review your conduct with the eye of Christians and im-
mortal beings. After all the tumult of life is over, what now
remains to afford you solid satisfaction ? Have you served God
with fidelity, and discharged your part to your fellow-creatures
with integrity and a good conscience ? Can you look forward
without teiTOr to that day which is to dissolve your connection
with this world, and to bring you into the pressence of him who
made you, in order to give account of your actions ? The re-
trospect of life is seldom wholly unattended by uneasiness and
shame. Though to the good and the bad it presents a very dif-
ferent scene ; yet to all men, it recalls much guilt incurred, and
much time mis-spent. It too much resembles 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 im-
perfect cidtivation.
Turn then your thoughts to the proper methods of making
your peace with God through Jesus Christ, and implore, from
Divine grace, that ntw heart, and right sjiirit, which will fit you
for a better world. Let devotion fill up many of those hours
whicb are now vacant from worldly business and care. Let your
affectipns dwell among divine and immortal objects. In silent
152 On the Duties and [sermon xii.
and thoughtful meditation, walk as on the shore of that vast ocean,
upon which you are soon to embai'k. Summon up all the consi-
derations, which should reconcile you to your departure from life ;
and which may prepare you for going through its last scene with
firmness and decency. Often let your thanksgiving ascend to God,
I'or that watchful care with which he hath 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 ihevalleT/ of the shadow of death,
he may there support you vs^ith his staff, and defend you with
his rod. — Amidst such thoughts and cares, let old age find you
employed, betaking yourselves t« a prudent and 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 ; re-
viewing 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 consola'aons which belong to old age, when
thus Jbund 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 period, have you any just cause to complain, on account
of enduring what the constitution of our being imposes on all ?
Did you expect, that for your sake, Providence was to alter its
established 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 de-
cay. 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 submit-
ted ; and all who shall come after you must yield. After they
have flourished for a season, 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 princi-
pal materials of our comfort or uneasiness lie within ourselves.
Every age will piove 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,
perpetual youth: still they would be restless and miserable,
SERMON XII.] Consolations of the Jlged. . 153
through the influence of ill governed passions. It is not surpris-
ing, that such persons are peevish and querulous when old. Un-
justly they impute to their time of life, that mi?ery 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 be-
longs unalterable and unfading youth. Those that be jilanted
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. *
You can now, it is true, no longer relish many of those plea-
sures 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 tran-
quillity and repose. If you are strangers to the vivacity of enjoy-
ment, you are free, at the same time, from the pain of violent
and often disappointed desire. JVIuch fatigue, much vexation,
as well as vanity, attend that turbulence of life in which the
younger part of mankind are engaged. Amidst those keen pur-
suits and seeming pleasures, 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 tlirows some new distresses into
the scale, it lightens also the weight of others. Many passions
which formerly disturbed your tranquillity, have now subsided.
Many competitions which long 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 rememberance of past woe. — In the beginnings
of life, there was room for much apprehension, concerning what
might befal in its progTess. 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 station, upon the perils you
have escaped, upon the tempest by which you was tossed, and
upon the multitudes who are still engaged 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
• Psalm xcii. 13, 14-.
VOL. T 20
154 On the Duties and [sermon xir-
may luive worn off superficial ornaments, yet what old age looses
in grace, it often gains in dignity. The veneration, as was be-
fore obsei'ved, which gray hairs command, puts 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 fami-
lies long holden together by their authority, and societies accus-
tomed 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 enterprise, if not conducted by aged
prudence. I said, days should speak, and multitude of years
should teach luisdom* Therefore, thou shall 7ise up before
the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear
GodJ
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 gi'ateful to human na-
ture. 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, continue
•unimpaired. The desire of knowledge is not abated by the frail-
ty of the body ; and the leisure of old age affords many opportu-
nities 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 recal the various revolutions which have occuiTed
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 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, per-
haps, surrounded with your families, who treat you with atten-
tion and respect ; you are honoured by your friends ; your cha-
racter is established ; you are placed beyond the reach of cla-
mour, and the strife of tongues ; and, free from distracting cares,
you can attend calmly to your eternal interests. For such com-
forts as these, have you not cause most thankfully to acknow-
ledge 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
* Job, xxii. r. f Lev. xix, 32.
SERMON XII.] Consolations of the Aged. 155
and bless, when you depart, the great Master of the feast ? To
a7nanthatisgoodinhissight,\\he.\hQY\\Q be young or old,
God giveth wisdom^ and knowledge, and joy. For every season
of life, the benignity of his providence hath prepared its own
satisfactions, while his wisdom hath appointed its peculiar tri-
als. 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 Winter
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 affliction 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 infir-
mities, and bowed down by sickness and sorrow. Still there re-
mains this consolation, that it is not long ere the weary shall be
at rest. Having passed through so many of the toils of life, you
may now surely, when your pilgrimage touches on its close,
bear, without extreme impatience, the hardships of its conclud-
ing stage. From the inestimable promises of the Gospel, and
from the gracious presence of God, the afflictions of old age can-
not seclude you. Though your heart shotdd 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 ivill deliver
you.* Leave thy fatherless children : I will preserve them alive ;
and let thy widows trust in we.t
There is undoubtedly a period, when there ought to be a sa-
tiety of life, as there is of all other things ; and when death shall
be viewed, as your merciful dismission from a lung warfare. To
come to the grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in,
in its season,! is the natural termination of the human course. —
Amidst multiplying infirmities, to prolong life beyond its usual
bounds, and draw out your existence here to the last and foul-
est dregs, ought not to be the wish of any wise man. Is it de-
sirable, 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. Na-
ture and Providence summon you, iohQ gathered to your fathers.
Reason admonishes you, that, as your predecessors made way
* Isa. xlvi. 4. t Jer. xlix. 11. ± Job, v. 26.
156 On the Duties, &;c. [sermon xii.
for you, it is just that you should yield your place to those who
have arisen to succeed you on this husy sta2;e ; 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 forgotten 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 de-
jection. But, blessed be God ! far other prospects revive the
spirits of the aged, who have spent their life in piety and vir-
tue. To them, death is not the extinction, but the renovation
of the living principle ; its removal from the earthly house of his
tabernacle, to the house not made tvith hands, eternal in the hea-
vens. 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
ih&vv -w^ij withi7i the veil ; and secured to them the possession
of an inheritance, incorruptible and undefiled, reserved in the
heavens. — Such are the hopes and prospects which cheer the sor-
rows 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 va-
rious 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 he broken ; ivhen the pitcher is bro-
ken at the fountain, and the ivheel broken at the cistern ; they
enable us to say, oh Death I where is thy sting ? oh Grave, where
is thy victory ?
SERMON •XIII.
On the power of conscience.
Slid they said one to another, We are verily guilty concern-
ing our brother, in that we saio the anguish of his soul,
when he besought us ; and ive would not hear : Therefore is
this distress come upon us. Snd 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. — Genesis, xlii. 21, 22.
THIS book of Genesis displays a more singular and inter-
esting scene, than was ever presented to the world by any
other historical record. It carries us back to the beginning of
time, and exhibits mankind in their infant and rising state. It
shows us human manners in their primitive simplicity, before
the arts of refinement had polished the behaviour, or disguised
the characters of men; when they gave vent to their passions
without dissimulation, and spoke their sentiments without re-
serve. Few great societies were, as yet, formed on the earth.
Men lived in scattered tribes. The transactions of families
made the chief materials of history ; and they arc related in this
book, with that beautiful simplicity, which, in the highest de-
gree, both delights tbe imagination, and affects the heart.
Of all the Patriarchal histories, that of Joseph and his bre-
thren is the most remarkable, for the characters of the actors,
the instructive nature of the events, and the surprising revolu-
tions of worldly fortune. As far as relates to the text, and is
necessary for explaining it, the story is to the following pur-
pose: Joseph, the youngest, except one, of the sons of Jacob,
was distinguished by his father with such marks of peculiar af-
fection, as excited the envy of his brethen. Having related te
them, in the openness of his heart, certain dreams which por-
tended his future advancement above them, their jealousy rose
to such a height, that they unnaturally conspired his destruction.
Seizing the opportunity of his being at a distance from home,
'they first threw him into a pit, and afterwards sold him for a
158 On the Power [sermon xiit.
slave ; imposing; on their father by a false relation of his death.
When they hacl thus gratified their resentment, they lost all re-
memberance 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 appeal's,
with the least remorse for the cruel deed which they had com-
mitted.
Meanwhile, Joseph was safely conducted by the hand of Pro-
vidence, through a variety of dangers, until, from the lowest con-
dition, 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 possessed this high dignity, a general famine distressed all
the neighbouring countries. In Egypt alone, by means of his
foresight and prudent administration, plenty still reigned. Com-
pelled 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 pur-
chase corn; little suspecting tlie governor of the land, before
whom they bowed down their faces to the enrth, 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 impression of their ancient ci'uelty. Though,
from that moment, he began to prepare for tliem 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 produced the designed effect. For
while they were in this situation, strangers in a foreign land^
where they had fallen, as they conceived, into extreme distress ;
where they were thrown into prison by the Governor, and treat-
ed with rigour, for which they could assign no cause; the reflec-
tion mentioned in the text arose in their minds. Conscience
brought to remembrance their former sins. It recalled, in parti-
cular, their long-forgotten cruelty to Joseph ; and, without hesi-
tation, they interpreted their present distress to be a judgment,
for this crime, inflicted by Heaven. They said one to another,
•ive are verily f^uilty concerning our brother, in that we saw
the anguish of his soiit, when he besought us ; and we tuould
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
ronduct, or of moral good and evil, belongs to human nature.
SERMON XIII.] of Conscience. 159
11. 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 ad-
versity it will revive. And, IV. That, when it revives, it de-
termines us to consider every distress which we suffer, from what
cause soever it has arisen, as an actual infliction, of punishment
by Heaven. The consideration of these particulars will lead us
to a very serious view of the nature of man, and of the govern-
ment 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 exter-
nal revelation of the divine will subsisted, except what had been
handed down among the patriarchs, from one generation to ano-
ther ; 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 re-
gions of the earth, and among the rudest tribes of men, a distinc-
tion 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 Histo-
rian, 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 per-
ception of a distinction in actions.
But though a sense of moral good and evil be deeply impres-
sed on the heart of man, yet it is not of sufficient power to re-
gulate 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 revelation, which communicates both light and strength ;
which, by the instructive discoveries it makes, and by the pow-
erful assistance it supplies, raises man to a station infinitely su-
perior to that which he possesses under the mere light of Na-
ture.
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
possessed of such a faculty ; and, when it commands them, in
160 On the Power [sermon xiIi.
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
pi'aise, it plainly appeals to the native dictates of their heart.
Nay, unless men were endowed by nature with some sense of
duty or of moral obligation, they could reap no benefit from re-
velation •, they would remain incapable of all religion whatever.
For, in vain were a system of duty prescribed to them by the
word of God; allegiance were in vain requn'ed 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 corresponding 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.'* 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 under-
mine the foundation on which revelation builds its power of com-
manding 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 saio the
anguish of our brother'' s soul, ivhen 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 pz'oof of the wis-
dom of its Author, and of the gracious provision which he has
made for the w^elfare 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 abi-
lity ; but to inflict injuries, is almost always within our pow-
er : 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 promote the happiness of others, should ap-
pear to us as praise-worthy, indeed, and generous ; but that,
* Rom. ii, 14.
SERMON XIII.] of Conscience. 161
to abstain from injuring them, should be felt as matter of the
strictest duty. Amidst the distress which the Patriarchs suf-
fered 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
apprehension ot nierited punishment when Ave have committed
a crime. When it is employed in surveying the behaviour of
others, it distinguishes 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, Remorse. Therefore, said
the brethren of Joseph, is this distress come upon us ; behold also
his blood is required. They acknowledge, not only that they had
committed a wrong, but a wrong for which they were justly doom-
ed to suffer.
Did not conscience suggest this natural relation between guilt
and punishment, the mere principle of approbation, or disappro-
bation, with respect to moral conduct, would prove of small effica-
cy. For disapprobation attends, in some degree, every conviction
of impropriety, or folly. When one has acted unsuitably to
his interest, or has trespassed against the rules of prudence or
decorum, he reflects upon his conduct with pain, and acknow-
ledges that he deserves 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 precedure ; as,
bearing ivitness for or against us; accusing or excusing, judg-
ing and condemning. It will be found, that, in the language of
most nations, terms of the same import are applied to the opera-
tions of conscience ; expressing the sense which all mankind have,
of its passing sentence upon them, and pronouncing rewards or
punishments to be due to their actions.
The sense of punishment merited, you are further 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
VOL. I. 21
162 Oil the Power [sermon xiii.
world, his inward alarms are not quieted by that consideration.
Now, punishment is the sanction of a law. Every law sup-
poses 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 wicked-
ness has never been able to eradicate. It is a belief which arises,
not merely from reasoning, but from internal sentiment. Con-
science is felt to act as the delegates of an invisible ruler ; both an-
ticipating his sentence, and foreboding its c:!s.ecution.
Hence arise 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 under such disquietude, from the dread of merit-
ed punishment, is already to undergo one of the most severe
punishments which human nature can suffer. When the world
threatens us with any of its evils, we know the extent, and dis-
cern 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 mak-
ing resistance or for contriving escape. But when an awaken-
ed 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 ob-
ject 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
sorroiu of mind: Jind his life shall hang in doubt before him;
and he shall fear day and night, a?id have none assurance of
his life. In the morning he shall say, Would to God it were
eve7i : and at even he shall say, Would, to God it were morning,
for the fear of his heart ivherewith he shall fear, and for the sigfit
lohich his eyes shall see. His life shall be grevious unto him.'^
Adversity ! how blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver, in compa-
* Deut. xxviii. 65, C6, 6r, Isa. xv. 4.
SERMON XIII.] of Conscience. 163
rison with those of guih ! — But if such be the power of conscience,
whence, it may be 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
conscience are often suspended : and that adversity is the season
w^hich restores them to their proper force. At the time when
crimes ai'e 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 had subsided, if
a train of new passions be at hand to employ its activity, or a
succession of pleasurable objects occur to engage its attention,
it may for a %vhile remain, tliough not entirely free from inward
misgivings, yet unconscious of the degi-ee of its guilt. Dissi-
pated among the amusements of life, the sinner escapes, in some
measure, from his own view. If he reflects upon himself at all,
the continuance of prosperity 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 propensity to judge of the favour of the
Supreme Being, from the course of external events. When they
are borne with a smootli gale along the stream of life, and behold
every thing proceeding according to their wish, hardly can they
be brought to believe, that Pro\-idence is their enemy. Basking
in the sunshine of prosperity, 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 grossest crimes a covering,
thin, indeed, and slight, yet sufficient to conceal them from a su-
perficial view.
Of this we have a very remarkable instance, in those brethren
of Joseph, whof.e history we now consider. Not only from the
silence 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 tlie pretences, by which, during that pe-
riod, they quieted their minds. For when they were contriving
the destruction 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 hirn to the Ishmaelites ; and let not our hand be
■upon him; for he is our brother, and our flesh: and his bre-
thren ivere content."^ Here you behold them justifying their
crime, by a sort of pretended humanity ; and maldng light of sel-
ling their brother for a slave, because they did not take away his
life. How strangely are the opinions of men altered, by a change
• Gen. xxxvii, 26, 27.
164 \ On the Power [sermon xiii.
in their condition ! How different is this sentiment of the Patri-
archs, 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 prospe-
rity and in adversity, as if they were different creatures. In pros-
perity every thing tends to flatter and deceive. In adversity, the
illusions of life vanish. Its avocations, and its pleasures, no long-
er afford the sinner that shelter he was wont to find from con-
science. 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 soft-
ened for receiving every serious impression. In this situation, a
inan's iniquity is sure to find him out. Whatever has been no-
toriously 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 tim-
hrel and the harp, and 7rjoice at the sound of the organ, they
say, What is the Jllmighty that we should serve him7 But
when they are holden in the cords of affliction, then he shoiueth
them their work, and their transgressio/i, that they have ex-
ceeded. He openeth also their ears to discipline ; and com-
Tuandeth 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 tri-
al 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 pro-
portion 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 no-
thing but our ease, God attends to our spiritual 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
SERMON XIII.] of Conscience. 165
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, that
it is impossible to avoid discerning the relation which the one
bears to the other. But the appointment of Providence, which
we novv consider, reaches farther than this. God has framed us
so, that distresses, which have no perceivable connection with
our former crimes, are nevertheless interpreted by conscience, to
be inflicted on their account. They force themselves upon our
apprehension 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
misconduct 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 instinctively,
drawn back upon his former life ; and if, in the course of that re-
trospect, any flagrant guilty deed occur to smite his conscience, on
this he cannot avoid resting with anxiety and terror, and connect-
ing 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
present misfortmie, and their former cruelty to their brother. —
A long course of years had intervened, during which they flou-
rished 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 conscience formed a connection between events, which, ac-
cording to the ordinary apprehension of men, were entirely in-
dependent of each other. It made them recollect, that Ihey, who
once had been deaf to the supplications of a brother, were now
16G On the Power [sermon xiii,
left friendless and forlorn, implorino; pity in vain from an unrelent-
ing governor ; and that they who had first conspired to kill their
brother, and afterwards sold him for a slave, were themselves de-
prived of liberty, and threatened with an ignominious death.
How undeservedly soever these evils befell them on the part of
men, they confessed them to be just on the part of Providence.
They concluded the hour of retribution to be arrived ; and in the
person of the governor of Egypt, they beheld the Ruler of the
world calling 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
no habitual acknowledgment of God takes place ; nay, where a
daring contempt of his authority has prevailed, conscience, ne-
vertheless, constrains men, in the day of their distress, to recog-
nize 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
Providence 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 proper 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 fre-
quent interpositions of a miraculous kind, the whole order of
human affairs would be unhinged ; 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. Where-
as, by its being so ordered, that several incidents of life shall
carry the same force, and stiike the mind with the same impres-
sion, as if they were supernatural interpositions, the fear of God
is kept alive among men, and the order of human affairs is, at
the same time, preserved unbroken. The sinner sees his distress
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
cdire and the slinjr of a visitation from Heaven,
SERMON XIII.] of Conscience. 167
From the train of thought which the text has suggeted, seve-
ral inferences naturally follow. But I ?hall confine myself to two,
which claim your particular attention.
The first is, the clear evidence which the preceding observa-
tions afford, of a Divine government now exercised over man-
kind. This most important and awful of all truths, cannot be
too often presented 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 form-
ed them, i^ 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 appearances of pleasure, which accompany licen-
tiousness, they enquire 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 go-
vernment 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 pre-
scribe 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 placing in-
ward 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 strong-
er 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 punishment; and that
this dread should so operate on the mind, in the time of distress,
as to make tlie sinner conceive Providence to be engaged against
him, and to be concerned in inflicting the punishment which he
suffers. All these impressions he hath stamped upon the heart
with his own hand. He hath made them constituent parts of our
frame; on purpose that, by the union of so many strong and
pungent sentiments, he might enforce repentance and reforma-
tion, 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 contexture
of human nature, and to pervade the whole course of human af-
168 On the Power. [sermon xiii.
fairs, carries m, evidence not to be resisted. We might, with as
much reason, doubt whether the sun was intended to enhghten
the earth, or the rain to fertiUze it ; as whether he who has fram-
ed the human mind, intended to announce righteousness to man-
kind, as his law.
The second inference which I make from the foregoing dis-
course, respects the intimate connection, wliich those operations
of conscience liave, with the pecuhar 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 objec-
tions, which superficial reasoners are apt to raise against the Chris-
tian 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 Al-
mighty as pursuing him with evil for long-forgotten crimes,
how naturally must he conclude, that, in a subsequent period of
existence, 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 Provi-
dence at sin is displayed by tokens so manifest, what may be
apprehended to follow, when justice, which at present only be-
gins to be executed, shall be carried to its consummation ? What
conscience forebodes revelation verifies ; assuring us that a day is
appointed when God ivill render to every man according to his
ivorks ; to them, who by patient continuance in ivell-doing., seek
for glory, honour, and immortality, eternal life : But unto
them that are contentious, and obey not the truth, but obey un-
righteousness ; indignation and ivrath, tribulation and an-
guish, upon exicry soul of man that doth evil, of the Jeiv 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 tvithout the law ; and as many as have sinned in
the law, shall be judged by the law.*
While the threatenings 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
concerning the method of our deliverance by Christ. They sug-
gest 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
• Rom. ii. 7—13,
SERMON XIII.] of Conscience. 169
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 he-
fore the Lord, and boiv myself before the most high God? Shall
I come before him with burnt offerings, and calves of a year
old? Will the Lord he pleased with thousands of rams, or with
ten thousands of rivers of oil ? Or, shall I give tny first-born for
my transgression ; the fruit of my body, for the sin of my soul?*'
These perplexities 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
inability to extricate itself from the consequences of guilt : The
Gospel reveals the plan of Divine interposition and aid. Na-
ture confessed some atonement to be necessary : The Gospel dis-
covers, 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 reveal-
ed, 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 im-
pressing 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 per-
mitted, with impunity, to gratify his criminal passions, and to make
light of the great duties of life.
" Mical), vi. 6, 7.
VOL. I. 2.3
'SERMON XIV.
On the mixture of joy and fear in religion.
Be/oice with trembling. — Psalm ii. II.
JOY and Fear are two great springs of human action. The
mixed condition of this world gives scope for both ; and, ac-
cording as the one or the other predominates, it influences the
general tenor of our conduct. Each of them possesses a proper
place in religion. To serve the Lord with gladness is the exhor-
tation of the psalmist David.* To serve hint with reverence and
godly fear ^ is the admonition of the apostle Paul.t But under
the present imperfection of human nature, each of these princi-
ples m.ay 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 de-
generates into superstitious servility. The text enjoms 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 essential 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 spi-
rit, which is most suitable to our present condition, and most ac-
ceptable to God.
I. Joy is essential to religion, in two respects ; as religion in-
spires joy, and as it requires it. ]ji other words : To rejoice is
both the privilege, and the duty, of good men.
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 without, and a proper disposition of mind within, to relish
that favourable situation.
* Psalm c. 2. t Heb. xii. 28.
SERMON XIV.] On the Mixture, Sfc. 171
When they examine their situation without, they behold them
selves placed in a world which is full of the influence of a gra-
cious 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
under 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 befall 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, hut delivered him up for them, how shall he
not ivith him freely give them all things ? If their nature is
frail, Divine assistance is promised 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 un-
favourable, it is because a higher interest is consulted, t^ill things,
they are assured, shall ivorJe together 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 nature, faith opens the prospect of
their lasting felicity. Without anxiety they pass through the dif-
ferent periods of their present existence, because they know it to
be no more than an mtroduction 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 sour-
ces of enjoyment or trouble rise. The minds of bad men are
always disorderly ; and hence their lives are so generally unea-
sy. In vain they take the timbrel and the harp, and endea-
vour 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. Oppressed with discontent, their spirits
flag ; and their worn-out pleasures aflbrd them entertainment no
more. — But religion subdues those malignant passions, which are
the troubles of human repose; which either overcast the mind
with the gloom of peevishness, or disquiet it by the violence of
agitation. It infuses, in their room, those mild and gentle dispo-
sitions, whose natural effect is to smooth the tenor of the soul. — ■
Benevolence and candour, moderation and temperance, wherever
they reign, produce cheerfulness and serenity. The conscious-
ness of integrity gives ease and freedom to the mind. It ena-
bles good men to extract from every object, the whole satisfac-
172 0)1 the Mixture of [sermon xiv.
tion which it is capable of yielding; and adds the flavour of in-
nocence, 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 it-
self not to be genuine in principle, and in practice it cannot be
stable.
Religious obedience, destitute of joy, is not genuine ill 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
satisfaction 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 soothle
the heart. We serve, with pleasure, the benefactor whom we
love. We rejoice in every study and pursuit to w^hich 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 arc depraved. We give too evident proof, that
either we believe not the principles of religion, or that we feel
not their power. Exclude joy from religion, and you leave no
other motives to it, except compulsion and interest. But are
these suitable grounds on which to rest the whole of our obedi-
ence to the Supreme Being ? My son, give me thy heart, is the
call of God. Surely if there be no pleasure in fulfilling his com-
mands, the heart is not given him ; and, in that case, the rjiulti-
tude of sacrifices and burnt offerings is brought to his altar in
vain.
As religion, destitute of joy, is imperfect in its principle ; sOj
in practice it must be unstable. In vain you endeavour 1o fix
any man to the regular performance of that in which he finds no
pleasure. 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 wdiere pleasure is all on the one
side, and mere precept on the other. He may study to save ap-
pearances. 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, trembles without rejoicing. Every attempt to-
wards 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 necessity enjoins. To escape from punish-
ment is his sole aim. He bargains for immunity, by every duty
SERMON XIV.] Joy and Fear in JReligion. 173
which he performs ; and all beyond, he esteems superfluous toll.
Such religion as this, can neither purify the heart, nor prepare
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 ido-
later ; but has no concern with the homage of him, who ivor-
ships the. Father in spirit and in truth. His character is, that
WxGJoy of the Lord is his strength.* It ajttaches his heart to reli-
gion. It inspires his zeal. It supports his constancy ; and ac-
celerates his progress.
There is no man but has some object td which he cleaves for
enjoyment ; somewhat that flatters him with distant hope, or af-
fords him present pleasure. Joy is the end towai'ds which all ra-
tional 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 infected air
proves fatal to life ; in the same manner joy, drawn from a cor-
rupted 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 tlie
world. You have drunk too much of its poisoned waters to have
any relish for a pure spring.
Estimate, therefore, the genuineness of your religious princi-
ples ; estimate the degree of your stability in religious practice,
by the degree of your satisfaction in piety and virtue. Be as-
sured, that where your treasure is, there will your delight be
also. The worldly man rejoices in his possessions ; the volup-
tuous in his pleasures ; the social in his friends and companions.
The truly good man rejoices in doing justly , loving mercy, and
walking humbly ivith the Lord his God. He is happy, when
employed in the regular discharge of the great duties of life. Spon-
taneous they flow from the affections of a pure heart. Not only
from the keeping 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 m,ine heritage for ever ; for they are the rejoicing of
my heart. They are tny songs in the house of my pilgrimage.
They are sweeter than honey and the honeycomb. Whom have
I in fieaven 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 were filled ivith peace and joy in-
believing. They rejoice in hope of the glory of God. As soon
as the Ethiopian eunuch received from Philip the light of the
(iospel, that light revived and cheered his heart, A new sun
^ Neh. viii. 10.
174 On the Mixture of [sermon xir,
seemed to arise ; a new glory to shine around him. Every ohject
brightened; mid he ivent on his way rejoicing j^' 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 spi-
rits in a hajjpier 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 otiier side of the argument, and consider the
reasons which render it proper, that when we rejoice, we should
rejoice with tremhling.
In the first place, Because all the objects of religion, which
afford ground for joy, tend to inspire, at the same time, rever-
ence 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
eternal, ijnmortal, and invisible ; at whose presence the moun-
tains shake, and Nature trembles. Every good, and evei^y per-
fect gift, come down from Jiim. But the hand which confers
them, we cannot see. Mysterious obscurity rests upon his es-
sence. He dwelleth in the secret place of tliunder ; and clouds
and darkness surround him. Fle 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 fami-
liarity with him. God is in Heaven, and thou upon earth;
therefore, let thy words he 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 frarne, and re-
members we are dust ; our iniquities, also, are ever before tiim ;
our secret sins in the light of his countenance.
Throughout all his dispensations, greatness, in conjunction
with goo(hiess, strikes our view; and wherever we behold the
Parent, we behold the Legislator also. The death of Christ, in
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 higli transaction, we contemplate God, as at once strict in
* Acts, viii. 39.
SERMON XIV.] Joy and Fear in Religion. 173
justice, and great in mercy. / the Lord keep 7nercy for thou-
sands of them that fear me. I forgive their iniquity, trans-
gression, and sin ; but I ivill by no means clear the gliilty.
When we open the book of the law, we find promises and threat-
enings mingled in the same page. On the one side, we see Hea-
ven displayed in all its glory : On the other, Hell 0]iening 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 ob-
taining grace, and finding mercy ; but where they cannot enter
without being iinpressed 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 appearances 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 nature
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 un-
disturbed 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 au
excess in any of them, which our nature could not bear. If we
were subject to no alarms of danger, the wisest would soon be-
come improvident ; and the most humble, presumptuous, Man
is a pilgi'im on earth. Were his path to be always smooth and
flowery, he would be tempted to relinquish his guide, and to for-
get the purpose of his journey. Caution and fear are the shields
of happiness. Unguarded joy begets indolence ; indolence pro-
duces security ; security leads to rashness ; and rashness ends in
ruin. In order to rejoice long, it is necessary that we 7'ejoice
with trembling. Had our first parsiits observed this rule, man
might have been still in paradisp. He who salth in his heart,
My mountains stand strong i I shall never be moved ; may be
assured, that his state already begins to totter. Religion, there-
fore, performs a kinfl office, in giving us the admonition of the
text. It inspires cheerfulness in the service of God. It propo-
ses joy as our chief spring of action. But it supports joy, by
guarding it with fear ; not suppressing, but regulating ita indul-
gence ; requiring us to rejoice, like persons who have obtained
176 On the Mixture of [sermon xiv.
a treasure, wliich, through want of vigilance, they are exposed
to lose. Dependent beings are formed for submission ; and to
submit, is to stand in awe. Because the Lord rcigneth, let the
earth be glad. We are the subjects of God ; and therefore may
justly rejoice. But still we are subjects; and therefore, ti-embling
must mix itself with our joy.
In the third place, The unstable condition of all human things
naturally inspires fear in the midst of joy. The spirit to which
religion 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 Mien creatures, who are undergoing, in this world, pro-
bation and trial for their recovery ; and are commanded to work
out their salvation with fear and trembling. This view of our
condition infers not habitual dejection of mind. It requires not
melancholy abstraction from the affairs, or total contempt of the
amusements, of life. But it inspires humility. It enforces de-
pendence on divine aid ; and calls forth the voice of supplication
to Heaven. In a situation so critical, and where interests so im-
portant 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 to
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, be-
cause he cannot tell w'hat 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 tn ruin. What, with much exertion
of care and vigilance, ^ve had built up, one unwary action may,
in an evil hour, overthrow. Tug props of human confidence
are, in general, insecure. The sphere of human pleasures is
narrow. While we form schemes for strengthening the one, and
for enlarging the other, death, meanwhile, advances. Life, witli
a swift, though insensible coui'se, 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
SERMON XIV.] Joy and Fear in Religion. 177
of itself, and crumble at length into dust. So that, whether we
consider life or death, time or eternity, all things appear to con-
cur 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 favoura-
h\e situation, which human life affords, for joy ; and it gives us
every assistance, for relishing that joy. It renders it our duty to
cultivate the satisfaction which it yields. It demands a cheerful
spirit, in order to ascertain the sincerity of our principles, and to
confirm us in good practice. At the same time the joy which it
inspires, 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 pre-
sent. The trembling which is here enjoined, is not to be under-
stood as signifying a pusillanimous dejection. It imports no more
than that caution and sobriety, which prudence dictates, as be-
longing to our state. By connecting such trembling with our
joy, religion means to recommend to us a cheerful, but a compos-
ed 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 chastened 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 sur-
mounting the timorous scruples of conscience, promises us a life
of gaiety, festivity, and unrestrained joy? Such pi-omises
vice may indeed make ; but how far it fulfils them, we may safe-
ly refer to the detemiination 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 gi'atifications of licentious-
ness afford the greatest enjoyment of life ? Wliatever hopes vice
may at the beginning inspire, yet, after the trial is made, it has
been always found that criminal pleasures are the bane of happi-
ness, the poison, not tlie cordial, of our present state. They are
pleasures compensated by an infinite overbalance of pain ; mo-
ments of delight, succeeded by years of rejfret ; 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
VOL. T, 23
178 On the Mixture of [sermOxV xiv.
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 plea-
sure, and reducing it to a more sober and regulated state, religion
is, in truth, no other than wisdom, introducing peace and order
into the hfe of man.
While religion condemns such pleasures as are immoral, it is
chargeable with no improper austerity in respect to those whicli
are of an innocent kind. Think not, that by the cautious disci-
pline which it describes, it excludes you from all gay enjoyment
of life, within 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 gi'eat, 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 mental 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 inter-
course.— But though as long as they are kept within due bounds,
it does not censure nor condemn them ; neither does it propose
them as rewai'ds to the virtuous, or as the principal objects of
their pursuit. To such it points out nobler ends of action.
Their felicity engages them to seek in the discharge of an use-
ful, an upright, and honourable part in life ; and, as the habitual
tenor of their mind, it promotes cheerfulness, and discourages
levitv.
Between tliese two there is a wide distinction ; and the mind
which is most open to levity, is frequently a stranger to cheer-
fulness. It has been remarked, that transports of intemperate
mirth, are often no more than flashes from the dark cloud ; and
tliat in proportion to the violence of the effulgence is the suc-
ceeding 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. The one degrades the character ; the other is
-perfectly consistent with the dignity of reason, and the steadv
and manly spirit of religion. To aim at a constant succession
of higli and vivid sensations of pleasure, is an idea of happiness
altogether chimerical. Calm and temperate enjoyment is the
utmost that is allotted to rnan. Beyond this, Ave struggle in vain
SERMON XIV.] Joy and Fear in. Religion. 179
to raise our state ; and, in fact, depress our joys by endeavour-
ing to heighten them. Instead of those fallacious hopes of per-
petual festivity, with which the world would allure us, religion
confers upon us a cheerful tranquillity. Instead of dazzling us with
meteors of joy 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 so-
vereign 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
temper, 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 enthusiastic 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.
%.^nd let us not be weai^y in well-doing ; for in due season we
shall reap, if we faint not. — Galat. \\. 9.
DISCONTENT is the most general of all the evils which
trouble the life of man. It is a disease which every where finds
materials 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 en-
joyed, into occasions 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 cornipts every terrestrial
enjoyment, should have sometimes penetrated into the region of
virtue. Good men are not without their frailties ; and the per-
verseness incident to human nature too readily leads us, who
become v>^eary of all other things, to be iccary, also, in well-
doing.
Let me put a case, which, perhaps, will be found not unfre-
quent 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 tempta-
tions from interest, to adhere to what is riglit and honourable in
conduct. He cultivates acquaintance with religion. He performs,
with seriousness, the offices of devotion. He lays down to him-
self, a rational and useful plan of life ; and, with satisfaction,
holds on for a while in this reformed course. But, by degrees,
discouragements arise. The peace which he hoped to enjoy, is
interrupted, 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 expect-
ed to find in devotion, sometimes fails him ; and the injustice of
the world often sours and frets him. Friends prove ungi'ateful ;
enemies misrepresent, rivals supplant him : And part, at least.
SERMON XV.] On the Motivef!, 8fc. 181
of the mortifications which he suffers, he begins to ascribe to vir-
tue.— Is this all the reward of my serving God, and renouncing
the pleasures of sin? Verily, in vain I leave cleansed my heart
and ivashed tny hands in innocency. Behold, the ungodly
prosper in the world, and have more than heart can loish ;
lohile all the day long I am plagued, and chastened every
morning. To such persons as these, and all who are in ha-
zard of being infected with their spirit, I now address myself. In
reply to their complaints, I purpose to show. That in no state
can they 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 sufficient reason for our being
weary in ivell-dmng ; 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
degree, 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 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.
Enquire 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 ; general-
ly, even in the most prosperous life, there is some corner pos-
sessed by sorrow. He who is engaged in business pines for
leisure. He who enjoys leisure, languishes for want of em-
ployment. In a single state, we envy the comforts of a family.
In conjugal life, we are chagrined with domestic 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 objects which sur-
round 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 arrived 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
182 On the Motives to [sermon xv.
vanity and vexation of life, by engaging in a chase so fruitless.
If you complain of virtue, because there is incident to it a portion
of that uneasiness which is found in every other state, your com-
plaint 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 happiness
any where on earth, gladly embrace that state wiiich contains 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 sor-
row. For vice poisons human happiness in the spring, by intro-
ducing disorder into the heart. Those passions which it seems
to indulge, it only feeds with imperfect gratifications ; and there-
by strengthens them for preying, in the end, or 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, assur-
edly, it will prove a more oppressive burden. Vice allows all
our passions to range uncontrolled ; 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 mortifi-
cations which virtue exacts, are more severe than those which
ambition imposes upon the love of ease, pride upon interest, and
covetousness upon vanity. Self denial, therefore, belongs in com-
mon, 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-de-
nial, by moderating the demand of passion ; the other increases
it, by rendering those demands imperious and violent. What
distresses, that occur in the calm life of virtue, can be compar-
ed to those tortures which remorse of conscience inflicts on the
wicked ; to those severe humiliations, arising from guilt com-
bined with misfortunes, which sink them to the dust; to those
violent agitations of shame and disappointment, which some-
times drive them to the most fatal extremities, and make them
abhor their existence? How often, in the midst of those dis-
astrous 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 ? ^
SERMON XV.] Constancy in Virtue. J83
But, perhaps, you imagine, that to such miseries as these,
great criminals only are exposed ; and that, by a wary and cau-
tious 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 fre-
quently. The world is both a hard and a capricious master.
To submit to a long servitude, in the view of a recompense from
which they are excluded in the end, is known to be often the
fate of those who ai^e devoted to the world. They sacrifice their
present ease to their future prospects. They court the great,
and flatter the multitude. They prostitute their conscience, and
dishonour their character : And, after all their efforts, how uncer-
tain is their success ? Competitors justle, and outstrip them. The
more artful deceive, the more violent, overthrow, them. Fair
prospects once smiled : but clouds soon gather ; the sky is dark-
ened ; the scene changes ; and tliat fickle world, which, a moment
before, had flattered, the next moment forgets them.
God is never mistaken in the character of his servants ; for
he seeth their hearts, and judgeth 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 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 opportvmity of performing. The well-meant endeavours
of the poor find the same acceptance with him as the generous
actions of the rich. The widoiv's mite is, in his eye, a costly offer-
ing ; and even he ivho giveth to a disciple a cup of cold water ^
when he can give him no more, goeth not ivithout his reward.
As the w^orld is unjust in its judgments, so it is ungrateful
in its requitals. Time speedily effaces the memory of the great-
est services ; and when we can repeat them no more, we are ne-
glected 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 ani He; and even to hoary hairs I will
carry yon, J. have made, and! will bear : even Ivnll carry, and
1 S4 On the Motives to [sermon xv.
will deliver you, saith the Lord Jilmighty^* Since, then, in
our several departments, we must labour, what comparison is there
between labouring for God, and for the world? How unjust are
they who become Aveary so much sooner in the service of God,
then they do in that of the most severe and imperious of all mas-
ters.
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 exter-
nal advantages, it must be allowed to possess internal peace in a
much higher degree. This is so certain, that almost all men, at
some period or other of their life, look forward to it, as to a de-
sirable retreat. When the ends of their present pursuit shall be
accomplished, they propose to themselves much satisfaction in an
honourable discharge of the duties of their station, amidst those
modei'ate passions and temperate pleasures, which innocence al-
lows. That which all men agree in holding to be second in im-
portance to the pursuit which they follow, may be safely esteem-
ed to be the first in real worth ; and it may be concluded that, if
they were not blinded by some prevailing passion, they would dis-
cern and adopt it as such.
It is the peculiar effect of virtue, to make a man's chief hap-
piness 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 smiles, and is happy or miserable, in proportion to
its success. But to a virtuous man, success in worldly under-
takings is but a secondary object. To discharge his own part
with integrity and honour is his chief aim. If he has done pro-
perly what was incumbent on him to do, his mind is at rest ; to
Providence he leaves the event. His witness is in Heaven, mid
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 complaining of its discouragements. It
is the imperfection of your virtue, which occasions you to be
weary in tvell-doing. It is because your hearts remain divided
between God and the world, that you are so often discontented :
* Isaiah, xlvi. 4.
SERMON XV.] Constancy in Virtue. 185
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 principle, 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 en-
larges them. If it restrains the excess of some pleasures, it fa-
vours and increases others. It precludes you from none, but such
as are either fantastic and imaginary, or pernicious and destruc-
tive. 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 arc all of one sort only ; he has neither
knowledge, nor relish, of any thing beyond them. His enjoy-
ment, therefore, rests on a much narrower basis, than that of the
servants of God. Enlarge as much as you please, the circle of world-
ly gratifications ; yet, if nothing of the mind and heart, nothing
of a refined and moral nature, enter into that circle, and vary the
enjoyment, languor and weariness soon succeed. Among whom
do you hear more peevish expressions of discontent, or more fre-
quent complaints of low spnits, 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 pleas-
ing. But the continuance of success blunts enjoyment, and flat-
tens desire. Whereas the beginnings of virtue are labourious.
But, by perseverance, its labours diminish, and its pleasures in-
crease. As it ripens into confirmed habit, it becomes both smooth-
er 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, beyond which we cannot reach. But
the prospects of virtue are growing and endless. The righteous
shall hold on in his luay ; 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 vivtue to have brought
VOL. I. 24
186 On the Motives to [sermon xv.
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
encouragement, 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 revelation has made, of a state of future retribu-
tion, we shall take an effectual method of confirming our adher-
ence to religion, and of baffling those temptations which might
lead us to be weary in ivell-doing.
The first, and most obvious presumption, which reason af-
fords in behalf of future rewards to the righteous, arises from the
imperfect distribution of good and evil in our present state.
Notwithstanding 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 suf-
fer for the sake of virtue, and groan under distresses which the)
have not merited from the world. Indeed, were the distribu-
tion 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 ag-
gravate 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 reward-
ing it hereafter. But this is far from being the true state of the
fact. What human life presents to the view of an impartial ob-
server, 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.
SERMON XV.] Constancy in Virtue. 187
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 es-
caped the notice of the rudest nations. Over the whole earth
they have diffused the belief, that Providence is propitious to
virtue, and averse to guilt. Yet these tendencies are, sometimes,
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 consummation reaches into a future world ? If God has
already set his throne for judgment ; 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 evi-
dently show, that a future building is intended. All his other
works are constructed according to the most full and exact pro-
portion. In the natural world, nothing is deficient, nothing re-
dundant. It is in the moral world only that we discover irregu-
larity and defect. It falls short of that order and perfection
which appear in the rest of the creation. It exhibits not, in its
present state, the same features of complete wisdom, justice, or
goodness. But can we believe, 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 sa-
tisfying account can be given, of all the disorders which at
jirescnt take place on earth. Christianity explains their ori-
gin, and traces them to their issue. Man, fallen from his pri-
meval felicity, is now undergoing probation and discipline for
his final state. Divine justice remains, for a season, conceal-
ed ; and allows men to act their parts with freedom on this the-
atre, that their characters may be formed and ascertained. Amidst
discouragements 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 inconsistent. The powers of the inferior animals are per-
fectly suited to their station. They know nothing higher than
their present condition. In gratifying their appetites, they ful-
fil their destiny, and pass away. Man alone, comes forth to act
a part which carries no meaning, and tends to no end. Endow-
ed with capacities which extend far beyond his present sphere ;
188 On the Motives to [sermon xv.
fitted by his rational nature for ruunins; the race of immortahty,
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 knowledge, which is placed beyond his reach.
He thirsts after a happiness, 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 connection with an-
other, must exhibit to his eye ? Did he call into existence this
magnificent universe, adorn it with so much beauty and splen-
dor, and surround it with those glorious luminaries wiiich w^e
behold in the heavens, only that some generations of mortal men
might arise to behold these wonders, and then disappeai' for ever ?
How unsuitable, in this case, were the habitation to the wretched
inhabitant ! How inconsistent the commencement of his being,
and the mighty preparation of his powers and faculties, \vith his
despicable end ! How contradictory, in fine, were every thing
which concerns the state of man, to the n isdom and perfection of
his jVIaker !
Throughout all ages, and among all nations, the persuasion
of a future life has prevailed. It spnmg not from the refine^
ments 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 ci-
vilized regions. Even the belief of the being of a God, is not
more general on the earth than the belief of immortality. Dai'k,
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 perfec-
tion of such pleasures as they knew best and valued most highly,
they placed the rewards of the virtuous. So universal a consent
seems plainly to indicate an original determination given to the
soul by its Creator. It shows this gi'eat truth to be native and
congenial to man.
When we look into our own breasts, we find various antici-
pations 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 interest in what is to happen after they shall
have left the earth. That passion for fame, which inspires so
inuch of the activity of mankind, plainly is animated by the per-
suasion, that consciousness is to survive the dissolution of the
body. The virtuous are supported by the hope, the guilty tor-
mented with the dread, of what is to take place after death. As
death approaches, the hopes of the one, and the fears of the
SERMON XV.] Co)istancy in Virtue. 189
other, are found to redouble. The soul, when issuing hence,
seems more clearly to discern its future abode. All the opera-
tions of conscience proceed upon the belief of immortality. The
whole moral conduct of men refers to it. All legislators have
supposed it. All religions ai'e 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 foundation in truth, is to sup-
pose, that a principle of delusion was interwoven with the nature
of man ; is to suppose, that his Creator was reduced to the neces-
sity of impressing his heart with a falsehood, 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 di-
vine perfections, we flatter ourselves with being of more conse-
quence, than we tiaily are, in the system of the universe. Hence,
the great importance of a discovery proceeding from God him-
self, which gives full authority to all that reason had suggested,
and places this capital truth beyond the reach of suspicion or dis-
trust.
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
studious and reflecting, it would have confined itself to abstract
truth ; it would have simpl}' 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 iveIl-doing,for in due- season you shall
reap, if y oil faint not. But the Gospel has not stopped, at bare-
ly announcing life and immortality to mankind. It was calculat-
ed 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, also, 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 re-
veals the certainty of a future state, but, in the person of tlie gjeat
Founder of our religion, 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 deatli infers not a final extinction of the
living principle. He rose, in order to show, that, in our name,
he had conquered death, and wa'i become the first fruits of them
190 On the Motives to [sermon xr.
that sleep. Nor did he only rise from the grave, but, by ascend-
ing 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, t^s our forerunner he hath entet^ed ivithin
the veil. He appears in the presence of God for us. He ma-
Iceth perpetual intercession for his people. I go, saith he, to my
Father and your Father, to my God and your God. In my
Father^s house are many mansions. I go to 2}repare a place
for you. I will come again, and receive you to myself, that
where I am, there you. may he 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 lie shall discriminate the good from
the bad, are all described. The very words in which he shall
pronounce the final sentence, are recited in our hearing: Come,
ye blessed of my Father ! inherit the kingdom pt^epared 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 him into the city of the living God. They
shall possess the new earth and new heavens, ivherein dwelleth
righteousness. God shall wipe aivay all tears from their eyes.
They shall behold his face in righteousness, and be satisfied
ivith his likeness for ever. By recording such a train of strik-
ing circumstances and facts, the Gospel familiarizes us in some
measure with a future state. — By accommodating this great dis-
covery, in so useful a manner, to the conceptions of men, it fur-
nishes 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 disappoint-
ed in the end ; and be left to sufter 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 b)^ 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 rccora-
SERMON XV. J Comtancy in Virtue. 191
pense 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
belongs 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 reward is withme. 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 morn-
ing star. I will make him a pillar in my temple. He shall
be clothed in ivhile raiment ; and shall sit down luith me on
tny throne*'
* Rev. xxii. 12— ii. 7. 28.— iii. 12, 5. 21.
SERMON XVI.
On the importance of order in conduct.
Let all thins^s be done — in order. — 1 Corinth, xiv. 40.
RELIGION, like every regular and well conducted system,
is composed of a variety of parts ; each of which possesses its se-
parate importance, and contributes to the perfection of the whole.
Some graces are essential to it ; such as faith and repentance, the
love of 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, thougli 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 regularity,
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 ac-
count, 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
confusion. Thence it is natural to infer, that order is friendly
to religion. As the neglect of it coincides with vice, so the pre-
servation of it must assist virtue. By the appointment of Pro-
vidence, it is indispensably requisite to worldly prosperity.
Thence arises the presumption, that it is connected also with spi-
ritual improvement. 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 apos-
tle teaches us in this chapter, that God is not the author of con-
fusion* He is a lover of order ; and all his works are full of
* Ver. 33, '
SERMON XVI.] On the Importance, 8fc. 193
order. But, where confusion is, there is, its close attendant, ev-
ery evil work* In the sequel of this discourse, I shall point out
some of those parts of conduct wherein it is most material to vir-
tue 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 distribu-
tion of your time ; order in the management of your fortune ; or-
der in the regulation of your amusements ; order in the arrange-
ment of your society. Thus let all things be done in order.
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 justling another ; and that which regards the
world may not interfere with what is due to God. In propor-
tion 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 interest. 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 ofthis truth. A strong
propensity has, in every age, appeared among men, to seques-
trate religion from the commerce of the world. Seasons of re-
treat 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 ima-
gine that they have acquired 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 gi-eat field of trial. By
the necessities of your nature, you are called forth to different
employments. By many ties you are connected with human so-
ciety. From superiors and inferiors, from neighbours and equals,
from friends and enemies, demands arise, and obligations circu-
late through all the ranks of life. This active scene was con-
trived by the wisdom of Heaven, on purpose that it might bring
into exercise all the virtues of the Christian character ; your
justice, candor, and veracity, in dealing with one another; your
fidelity to every trust, and your conscientious discharge of every
office which is committed to you ; your affection for your friends ;
your forgiveness of enemies ; your charity to the distressed ;
* James, iii, 16.
VOL. T. 25
194 On the Importance of [sermon xvi.
your attention to the interests of your family. It is by fulfilling
all these obligations, in proper succession, that you show your
convevfiation to be such as becometh the gospel of Christ. It is
thus you make your lights to shine before men, that they may
see your good works, and glorify your Father ivhich is in hea-
ven. 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 huny and perplexity which dis-
order creates ? You wish, perhaps, to perform what your charac-
ter and station require. But from the confusion in which you
have allowed yourselves to be involved, you find it to have be-
come imjjossible. What was neglected to be done in its proper
place, thrusts itself forward at an inconvenient season. A multi-
tude of affairs crowd upon you together. Different obligations
distract you ; and this distraction is sometimes the cause, some-
times the pretence, of equally neglecting them all, or, at least, of
sacrificing the greater 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 pro-
per place, and assigns it its due rank. But where there is no
order in conduct, there can be no uniformity in character. The
natural connection and arrangement of duties are lost. If virtue
appear at all, it will only be in fits and starts. The authority
of conscience may occasionally operate, when our situation af-
fords it room for exertion. But in other circumstances of equal
importance, every moral sentiment will be overpowered by the
tumultuous bustle of worldly affairs. Fretfulness of temper, too,
will generally characterize 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.
Conflicting with difficulties which they are unable to overcome,
conscious 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 themselves into the arms of intemperance and loose plea-
sure ; by either of which they aggravate their guilt, and accele-
rate their ruin. To the cjkI that order may be maintained in your
affairs, il is necessar}^,
II. That you attend to order in the distribution of your time.
Time you ought to consider as a sacred trust committed to you
SERMON XVI.] Order in Conduct. 195
by God, of which you are now the depositaries, and are to ren-
der account at the last. That portion of it which he has allot-
ted you, is intended partly for the concerns of this world, paitly
for those of the next. Let each of these occupy, in the distribu-
tion of your time, that space which property belongs to it. Let
not the hours of hospitality and pleasure interfere with the disr
charge of your necessary affairs ; and let not what you call ne-
cessary affairs, encroach upon the time which is due to devotion.
To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose
under the heaven* 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 carrying you along smoothly. He who every morning
plans the transactions of the day, and follows out the plan, car-
ries 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 dai't* 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 admits 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. Con-
sider 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
measure of their continuance on earth, they highly prize it, and
with the gi'eatest anxiety seek to lengthen it out. But when
they view it in separate parcels, they appear to hold it in con-
tempt, 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 property, and make every frivolous occupation welcorne
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 ob-
served in its distribution. 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, ari-
ses to be the torment of some future season. Manhood is dis-
graced by the consequences of neglected youth. Old age, op-
pressed by cares that belonged to a former period, labours under
a burden not its own. At the close of life, the dying man be-
holds with anguish that his days are finishing, when his prepa-
* Eccles. iii. 1.
196 On th& Importance of [sermom xvi.
ration for eternity is hardly commenced. 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 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 remem-
brance, or they are filled up with such a confused and irregular
succession of unfinished trausaclions, that though he remembers he
has been busy, yet he can give no account of the busmess which
has employed him. Of him, more than of any other, it may with
justice be pronoimced, that he walketh in a vain show; he is dis-
quieted in vain.
HI. 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 reve-
nue. Provide what is necessary before you indulge in what is
superfluous. Study to do justice to all with whom you deal, be-
fore you affect the praise of liberality. In • a word, fix such a
plan of living as you find that your circumstances will fairly ad-
mit and adhere to it invariably against every temptation to im-
proper 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
justifying extravagance, than the fashion of the times, and the
supposed necessity of living like others around them. This turn
of m.ind begets contempt for sober and orderly plans of life. It
overthrows all regard to domestic concerns and duties. It push-
es men on to hazardous and visionary schemes of gain ; and un-
fortunately unites the two extremes of grasping with rapacious-
ness, and of squandering with profusion. In the midst of such
disorder, no prosperity can be of long continuance. While con-
fusion grows upon men's affairs, and prodigality at the same time
wastes their substance, poverty makes its advances like an ai^n-
SERMON XVI.] Order in Conduct. 197
ed man. They tremble at the view of the approaching evil ; but
have lost the force of mind to make provision against it. Ac-
customed to move in a round of society and pleasures dispro-
portioned to their condition, they are unable to break through
the enchantments of habit ; and with their eyes open sink into
the gulph which is before them. Poverty enforces dependence ;
and dependence increases corruption. Necessity first betrays
them into mean compliances ; next, impels them to open crimes ;
and, beginning with ostentation and extravagance, the}^ end in
infamy and guilt. Such are the consequences of neglecting or-
der in our worldly circumstances. 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 excite 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 disquiet and terror ; in training the game-
ster to fraud, the robber to violence, and even the assassin to
blood ?
Be assured then, that order, frugality, and economy are the ne-
cessary supports of every personal and private vjjrtue. How
humble soever these qualities may appear to some, they are, ne-
vertheless, the basis on which liberty, independence, and true ho-
nour, must rise. He who has the steadiness to arrange his af-
fairs with method and regularity, and to conduct his train of life
agreeably to his circ.unstances, can be master of hnnself in every
situation into which he may be thrown. He is under no neces-
sity to flatter or to lie, to stoop to what is mean, or to commit
what is criminal. But he w^ho wants the 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 fide-
lity as a Christian. From the moment you have allowed your-
selves 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 mis-
chiefs, that, as yet, lie hidden ; and to crimes that will end in your
everlasting perdition.
IV. Observe order in your amusements ; that is, allow them
no more than their proper place ; study to keep tliem within due
bounds; mingle them in a temperate succession with serious
duties, and tlie higher business of life. Human life cannot pro-
ceed to advantage without some measure of relaxation and en-
tertainment. We require relief from care. We are not form-
ed for a perpetual stretch of serious thought. By too intense
and continued application, our feeble powers would soon be
worn out. At the same time, from our propensity to ease and
198 On the Importance of [sermon xvi.
pleasure amusement proves, among all ranks of men, the most
dangerous foe to order. For it tends incessantly to usurp and en-
croach, to widen its territories, to thrust itself into the place of
more important concerns, and thereby to disturb and counteract
the natural course of things. One frivolous amusement indulged
out of season, Avill often carry perplexity and confusion through
a long succession of affairs.
Amusements, therefore, though they be of an mnocent kind,
require steady government, to keep them within a due and lim-
ited province. But such as are of an irregular and vicious na-
ture, are not to be governed, but to be banished from every or-
derly society. As soon as a man seeks his happiness from the
gaming-table, the midnight revel, and the other haunts of licen-
tiousness, 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 abandon-
ed. Even the order of nature is by such persons inverted ;
night is changed into day, and day into night. Character, ho-
nour, 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 com-
pany.
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
neither prudently arrange his temporal affairs, nor properly attend
to his spiritual interests. He lives not to himself, but to the workL
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 liber-
tine and vicious kind. If they withdraw you from that atten-
tion to yourselves, 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 excess ; an idle, trifling society is near akin to
such as is corrupting : One of the fii'st principles of order is, to
learn to be happy at home. It is in domestic retreat that eve-
ry 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
SERMON x^i.] Order in Conduct. 199
lono- 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 lang^uid. Whereas, by a due mixture of
public and private life, we keep free from the snares of both, and en-
joy each to greater advantage.
When we review those different parts of behaviour to which
I have shown that order is essential, it must necessaril)'^ occur to
you, that they are all mutually connected, and hang upon each
other. Throughout your affairs, your time, your expense, your
amusements, your society, the principle of order must be equally
carried, if 5'^ou expect to reap any of its happy fruits. For if
into any one of those great departments of life you suffer disor-
der to enter, it will spread through all the rest. In vain, for in-
stance, 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 prin-
ciple 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 pro-
ceed according to tnethod and rule, let all things, as the text ex-
horts, be done in order.
I must also admonish you, that in small as well as in great
aflairs, a due regard to order is requisite. I mean not, that you
ought to look on those minute attentions which are apt to oc-
cupy frivolous minds, as connected either with virtue or wis-
dom. But I exhort you to remember, that disorder, like other
immoralities, frequently takes rise from inconsiderable begin-
nings. 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 affairs 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 principle
to moral and religious conduct must already be evident. — Let us,
however, conclude with taking a summary view of the advantages
which attend it.
First, the observance of order serves to correct that negli-
gence which makes you omit some duties, and that hurry and
precipitancy which make you perform others impefectly. Your
attention 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 dis-
k
200 On the Importance of [sermon xvi.
orJeily 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 fiom the proper line of human
pursuit ; hide from his sight tlie objects which he ought chiefly to
regard, and bring others under his view, which serve no purpose
but to distract and mislead him.
Next, by attending to order, you avoid idleness, that most
fruitful source of crimes and evils. Acting upon a plan, meeting
every 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 fdl up life agreeably. In the course
of human actions there are two extremes equally dangerous to
virtue ; the multiplicity of affairs, and the total want of them. —
The man of order stands in the middle between these two ex-
tremes, and sufiers from neither. He is occupied, but not op-
pressed. Whereas, the disorderly, overloading one part of time,
and leaving another vacant, are at one period overwhelmed with
business, and at another, either idle through want of employ-
ment, or indolent through perplexity. Those seasons of indo-
lence and idleness which recur so often in their life, are their
most dangerous moments. 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 everv 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 staight
line of conduct. Hence arises the propriety of bringing our-
selves under subjection to method and rule ; which, though at
tirst 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 cha-
racteristics of a disorderly mind. It is the parent of steadiness
of conduct. It forms consistency of character. It is the ground
of all the confidence we repose in one another. For, the disor-
derly 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 : wlio acts upon a plan, and not by desultory
molions.
The advantages of order hitherto mentioned belong to recti-
mde of conduct. Consider also hoAV important it is to your self-
onjoyment and felicity. Order is the soufcc of peace; and peace
is the highest of all temporal blessings. Order is indeed the
only region in \vhich tranquillity dwells. The very mention of
confusion imports disturbance and vexation. Is it possible for
that man 1o bs hapjiy, who cannot look into the state of his af-
SERMON XVI.] Order in Conduct. 201
fairs, or the tenor of his conduct, without discerning all to be em-
broiled ; who is either in the midst of remorse for what he has ne-
glected to do, or in the midst of hurry to overtake what he finds,
too late, was necessary to have been done ? Such as live according
to order, may be compared to the celestial bodies, which move in
regular courses, and by stated laws ; whose influence is benificent ;
whose operations are quiet and tranquil. The disorderly resem-
ble those tumultuous elements on earth, which, by sudden and vio-
lent 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 perpetually creating moles-
tation 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 discord and enmity.
Whereas, order is the foundation of union. It allows every man
to carry on his own aflkirs 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 pow-
ers 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 discipline of order. To loalk sinfully, and to walk disor-
derly, are synonymous terms in Scripture. From such as ivalk
disorderly, we are commanded, in the name of the Lord Jesus
Christ, to withdraw ourselves* The kingdom of Satan is the
reign of disorder and darkness. To restore order amongst 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 forever prevail among the
spirits of the just made perfect ; and whatever farther prepara-
tion 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 good order.
* 2 Thess. iii. 6.
VOL. T. 26
SERMON XVII.
On the government of the heart.
Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for out of it are the issues
of life. — Proverbs, iv. 23.
AMONG the many wise counsels given by this inspired
writer, there is none which deserves greater regard than tliat con-
tained in the text. Its importance however, is too seldom per-
ceived 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 charac-
ter, they conceive their duty to be fulfilled. What passes in the
mean time within their mind, they suppose to be of no great con-
sequence, either to themselves, or to the world. In opposition to
this dangerous 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 ivith all diligence,
that is, with sedulous and unremitting care ; for which he assigns
this reason, that out of the heaj't are the issues of life. In dis-
coursing on this subject I purpose to consider, separately, the go-
vernment of the thoughts, of the passions, and of the temper. But
before entering on any of these, let us begin with enquinng, in
what sense the issues of life are 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
cliaracter. The tenor 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, un-
less you resolve at the same time to keep }'our heart pui-e.
SERMON XVII.] On the Government, ^c. 203
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 murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false
witness, blasphemies.* 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 tliat
the importance of the heart to our moral character arises. In-
dependent of all action, it is, in truth, the state of the heart it-
self 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 eflect
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
the motive which moves us to performance, that constitutes us
good or evil in liis siglit. Even among men, the morality of ac-
tions is estimated by the principle from which they are judged
to proceed ; and such as the principle is, such is the man ac-
counted to be. One, for instance, may spend much of his for-
tune in charitable actions ; and yet, if he is believed to be influ-
enced 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 pub-
lic-spirited, but ambitious : and if he bestows a benefit, purely
that he may receive a greater in return, no man would reckon
him generous, but selfisli and interested. If reason thus clearly
teaches us to estimate the value of actions by the dispositions
which give them birth, it is an obvious conclusion, that according
to those dispositions, we are all ranked and classed by him who
seeth into every heart. The rectification of our principles of ac-
tion, is the primary 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 repre-
sented in the Gospel as the most essential requisite in the char-
acter 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 tliere is
far from corresponding 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 rich-
* Matth. XV. 19.
204 On the Government [sermon xvii
es which the world can bestow. They remain without, like things
at a distance from him. They reach not the source of enjoy-
ment. Discomposed thoughts, agitated passions, and a ruffled
temper, poison every ingredient of pleasure which the world
holds out ; and overcasts every object which presents itself, with
a melancholy gloom. In order to acquire a capacity of happi-
ness, it must be our first study to rectify such inward disorders.
Whatever discipline tends to accomplish this purpose, is of great-
er importance to man, than the acquisition of the advantages of
fortune. These are precarious, and doubtful in their effect ; internal
tranquillily 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
over his spirit, is like a city that is broken doion, and without
ivalls."* 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, is making
provision against all the accidents of life. He is erecting a for-
tress, 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 mwe* q/" ///e are
said to be out of the heart. Here rise those great springs of hu-
man 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 icith all diligence, I must mention
another important consideration taken from the present state of
human nature. Think what your heart now is, and \\\\z.i must
be the consequence of remittmg your vigilence of watching over
it. With too much justice it is said in Scripture, to be deceitful
above all things, and desperately wicked. Its bias of innate cor-
ruption gives it a perpetual tendency downwards into vice and
disorder. To direct and impel it upwards, requires a constant
effort. Experience may convince you, that almost every desire
has a propensity to wander into an improper direction ; that
every passion tends to excess ; and tliat around your imagination
there perpetually crowds a whole swarm of vain and corrupting
thoughts. Atter all the care that can be bestowed by the best
men on the regulation of the heart, it freqiiently baffles their efforts
to keep it under proper discipline. Into what universal tumult
then must it rise, if no vigilance be employed, and no govern-
* Trov, xsv. 23.
SERMON XVII.] of the Heart. 205
ment be exercised over it ? Inattention and remissness are all that
the great adversary of mankind desires, in order to gain full ad-
vantage. While you sleep, he sows his tares in the field. The
house which he finds vacant and unguarded, he presently gar-
nishes 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 ac-
quire an unnatural force, and presently the balance of the soul will
be bi'oken 5 its powers will jar among themselves, and their opera-
tions become discordant. — Keep thy heart, therefore, with all
diligence, lor 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
performing 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.
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 enterprises
of the ambitious, and the exploits of the warlike, the virtuous
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. Pas-
sions, they perhaps admit, require government and restraint, be-
cause they are violent emotions, and disturb society. But with
their thoughts, tliey plead, no one is concerned. By these, as
long as they remain in their bosom, no offence can be given, and
no injury committed. 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 rea-
soning 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 espe-
cial manner, the subjects of Divine jurisdiction because they are
cognizable 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
206 On the Guvemrneni [sermon xvir.
however we may act a part in public with propriety, there is be-
fore our eyes no fear of tliat God who searchcth the heart, and
require til truth in the inivard parts.
But, even abstraciini!; from tliis awful consideration, the go-
vernment 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
>'ubstance. So certain is this, that to judge with precision of the
character of any man, and to foretel with confidance what part
he will act, no more w^ere requisite, than to be rendered ca])able
of viewing the current of thought whicli passes most frequently
"\vithin him. Though by such a method we have no access to
judge of one another, yet thus it is always m our power to judge
of ourselves. Each of us, by impartially scrutinizing his indul-
ged 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 are subject to the command of tlie will ? It is plain that
they are not alwa5'^s the offspring of choice. Often they are in-
evitably impressed upon the mind by surroimding objects. Of-
ten they start up, as of themselves, without any principle of in-
troduction which we are able to trace. ,,^s the wind blmvetk
rohere it listeth, and thou canst not tell luhence it cometh, nor
ivhither it gocth, equally rapid in its transition, and inscrutable
in its progress, is the course of thought. Moving along a train
of connections which are too delicate for our observation, it de-
feats all endeavours either to explore or to stop its path. Hence
vain and fantastic imaginations sometimes 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 account of
human frailty. They are misfortunes to be deplored, rather than
crimes to be condemned ; and our gracious Creator, who knows
our frame, and remembers we are dust ; will not be severe in
marking every such eiTor, and wandering of the mind. But, af-
ter these allowances are made, still there remains much scope for
the proper government of thought ; and a multitude of cases oc-
cur, in which we are no less accountable for what we think, than
for what we do.
As, first, Avhen the introduction of any train or thought de-
pends upon ourselves, and is our voluntary act ; by turning our
attention towards such objects, awakening such passions, or en-
gaging in such employments, as we know must give a pecu-
liar determination to our thoughts. ' Next, when thoughts, by
SERMON XVII.] of the Heart. 207
whatever accident they may have been originally suggested, are
indulged with deliberation 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 begin-
ning. If we be thus accountable to God for thoughts either vo-
luntarily 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 prostitu-
ted to every evil thing which pleases to take possession. The
consequences must all be chai'ged 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 ex-
pulsion, if they shall have introduced themselves wittiout consent
of the will.
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, with-
out 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 man-
kind? Of the innumerable hours that have been employed in
thought, how few are marked with any permanent or useful ef-
fect ! How many have either passed away in idle dreams, or have
been abandoned to anxious dis.contented musings ; to unsocial and
malignant passions, 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 themselves ! What crimes would they appear to have perpe-
trated in fancy, which to their most intimate companions they
durst not reveal !
Even when men imagine their thoughts to be innocently em-
ployed, thev too commonly suffer them to run out into extrava-
208 On the Government [sermon xvii.
gant 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 plain-
ly criminal, yet wholly unblameable they seldom are. Besides
the waste of time %vhich 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 pai't con-
nected 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 or-
dinary life. Oh Jerusalem ! ivash thine heart from ivickedness.
How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within thee ?* In
order to guard against all such corruption and abuses of thought
as I have mentioned, it may be profitable to attend to the follow-
ing rules :
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 de-
gree of intellectual improvement. It is the power of attention
which in a great measure distinguishes the wise and the great
from the vulgai' and trifling herd of men. The latter ai-e 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 ti'ack. Every thing floats loose and disjoint-
ed on the surface of their mind ; like leaves scattered and blown
about on the surface of their 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
restraining their irregular motions. Inure yourself to form a
plan of proper meditation ; to pursue it steadily ; and with se-
vere athority to keep the door shut against intrusions of wan-
dering fancy. Let your mind, for this purpose, become a fre-
quent object to itself. Let your thoughts be made the subject
of thought and review. — " 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 judgment, what account
" could I give of it to him ? Shall I be the wiser or the bet-
" ter for dwelling on such thoughts as now fill my mind ? Are
* Jerem. iv. 15,
SERMON xvii.] of the Heart. 209
** they entirely consistent with my innocence, and with my pre-
" sent and future peace ? If they are not, to what purpose do I
"indulge such unprofitable or dangerous musings?" — By fre-
quent 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 improvement, instead of suffering them
to be only the instruments of vanity and guilt.
In the second place, in order to the government of thought, it
is necessary to guard againts idleness. Idleness is the great fo-
menter of all corruptions in the human heart. In particular, it
is the parent of loose imaginations arid 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 per-
petual amusement. Hence a giddy mind, alternately elated and
dejected 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
you would have any thoughts that are worthy of being govern-
ed, provide honourable employment for ti\e 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
regularly carried on as the main business of life, let amusement
possess no more than its proper place in the distribution of your
time. Take particular care that your amusements be of an ir-
reproachable kind, and that all your society be either improving
or innocent. So shall tlie stream of your thoughts be made to run
m a pure channel. Manly occupations and virtuous principles will
expel the taint, which idleness 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 exam-
ple from the unhappy industry which sinners discover in banish-
ing 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 ii%
the noise of company or diversion ! What numxcrous artifices do
they employ to evade the uneasiness which returns of reflection
would produce ! — Where we to use equal diligence in preventing
the entrance of vicious suggestions, or in expelling them when
entered, why should we not be equally successful in a much
better cause 7 As soon as you are sensible that any dangerous
VOL. I. 27
210 On the Government, 6i'c. [sermon xvii.
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 composing and harmonizing your mind. Fly for
assistance to serious studies, to prayer, and devotion ; or even
fly to business, or innocent society, if solitude be in hazard of
favouring the seduction. By such means you may stop the pro-
gress of the growing evil. You may apply an antidote, before the
poison has had time to work its full effect.
In the fourth place, it will be particularly useful to impress
your minds with an habitual sense of the presence of the Al-
mighty. When we reflect what a strong check the belief of Di-
vine Omniscience 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 unbounded scope which he now gives to his imagi-
nation and desire ? Whence, then, comes it to pass, that men,
without fear or concern, bring into the presence of the awful
Majesty of Heaven, that folly and licentiousness of thought
which would make them blush and tremble, if one of their own
fellow-creatures could descry it } At the same time, no principle
is supported by clearer ^pidence, than the omniscience of God.
All religious sects have admitted it, all societies of men, in
their oaths and covenants appeal to it. The Sovereign of the
universe cannot but know what passes throughout his dominions.
He who supports all nature, mustmeeds pervade and fill it He
who formed the heart, is certainly 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 tliat you are never less alone, than when by
yourselves ; for then is he stil! with you, whose inspection is of
greater consequence than tliat of all mankind. Let these awful
considerations not only check the dissipation of corrupt fancy,
but infuse into your spirits tliat 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 dowmvards to sense and va-
nity.
SERMON XVIII.
The same subject continued.
Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for out of it are the issues
of life. — Proverbs, iv. 23.
HAVING treated, in the foregoing discourse, of the gov-
ernment of the thoughts, I proceed to consider the government of
the passions, as the next great duty included in the keeping of
the heart.
Passions ai'e 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 mode-
rate and rule them. When our blessed Lord assumed the na-
ture, without the corruption, of man, he was subject to like pas-
sions with us. On some occasions, he felt the risings of anger.
He was often touched with pity. He was grieved in spii^it ;
he sorrowed, and he wept.
Passions, when properly directed, may be subservient to very
useful ends. Tiiey rouse the dormant powers of the soul. They
are even found to exalt them. They often raise a man above
himself, and render him more penetrating, vigorous, and master-
ly, than he is in his calmer hours. Actuated by some high pas-
sion, he conceives great designs, and surmounts all difficulties in
the execution. He is inspired with more lofty sentiments, and
endowed 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 exer-
tion. But, like all other great powers, they are either useful
or desti'uctive, according to their direction and degree ; as wind
and fire are instrumental in carrying on many of the beneficent
operations of nature; but when they rise to undue violence,
or deviate from their proper course, their path is marked with
ruin.
312 On the Government [sermon xviii.
It is the present infelicity of human nature, that those stronji,
emotions of the mind are hecome 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 j)assions reliellcd against
himself; and, from bemg 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 : lirst, that thi'ough
the present weakness of the understanding, our passions are often
directed towards improper objects ; and next, that even w-hen
their direction is just, and their objects are innocent, they per-
petually tend to run into excess ; they always hurry us towai'ds
their gratification with a blind and dangerous impetuosity. On
these two points tlicn turns the whole government of our passions :
first, to ascertain the proper objects of their pursuit ; and next, to
restrain them in that })ursuit, when they would carry us beyond
the bounds of reason. If there be any passion which intrudes
itself unseasonable into our mind, which darkens and troubles
our judgment, or habitually discomposes our temper ; which un-
fits for properly discharging the duties, or disqualifies us for
cheerfully enjoying the comforts of life, we may certainly con-
clude it to have gained a dangerous ascendant. The great ob-
ject which we ought to propose to ourselves is, to acquire a firm
and stedfast mind, Avhich the infatuation of passion shall not se-
duce, nor its violence shake ; which, resting on fixed principles,
shall, in the midst of contending emotions, remain free and mas-
ter 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
highest attainments of the rational nature. Arguments to show
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 wd)ich poisons the enjoyment
of individuals, 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
passiqn operate not there in such a wide and destructive sphere,
Ave shall find its influence to be no less baneful. I need not men-;
tion the black and fierce passions, such as envy, jealousy, and
SERMON XVIII.] of the Heart. '213
revenue, whose effects are obviously noxious, and whose agita-
tions 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 fmd that gradually, as it ri-
ses, it taints the soundness, and troubles the peace, of his mind
over whom it reigns ; that in its progress, it engages him in pur-
suits 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 in-
volved him, wdth 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 incon-
siderate 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 fonn concer-
ning happiness and misery, give rise to all the mistaken and
dangerous passions which embroil our life. We suffer ourselves
to be dazzled by unreal appearances of pleasure. W^e follow,
with precipitancy, whithersoever the crowd leads. We admire,
without examination, what our predecessors have admired. We
fly from every 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 themselv'es of no value.
By rectifying our opinions, we should strike at the root of the evil.
If our vain imaginations 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 experience 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 passion, than by the want of those things
which give occasion to that passion. Persuade yourselves, that
the favour of God and the possession 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
214 On the Government [sermon xviii.
the conclusion which the wise and thinking part of mankind
have always formed. To these conclusions, after having run the
race of passion, you will prohahly come at the last. By forming
them hetimes, you would make a seasonable escape from that
tempestuous region ; through which none can pass without suf-
fering misery, contracting guilt, and undergoing severe remorse.
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
universal renunciation of the innocent comforts of the world.
Religion requires no such unnecessary sarifices, nor is any such
foe to present enjoyment. It consists in our being ready, on pro-
per occasions, to abstain from pleasure, or to submit to suffering
for the sake of duty and conscience, or from a view to some high-
er and more extensive good. If we possess not this power, we
shall be the prey of every loose inclination that chances to arise.
Pampered by continual indulgence, all our passions will become
mutinous and headstrong. Desire, not reason , will be the ruling
principle 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 of this discipline is the only method of supporting rea-
son in its proper ascendent. 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 per-
suasion, that nothing is what it appears to be when you are un-
der the power of passion. Be assured, that no judgment which
you then form, can be in the least 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 wish-
ed to die rather than to live. Instead of being calmed by tliat
expostulating voice, Dost thou well, oh Jonah ! to be angry be-
cause of the gourd? he replied with great emotion, I do ivell to
he angry even unto death. But did Jonah think so when his pas-
.sion had abated ? Do these sentiments bear the least resemblance to
SERMON XVIII.] of the Heart. 215
that humble and devout prayer, which on another occasion, when
in his calm mind, he put up to God ?* 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. / do
well to he angry ^ is the language of every man when his mind
is inflamed. Every passion justifies itself. It brings in a thou-
sand pretences to its aid. It borrows many a false colour, to hide
its deformity. It possesses a sort of magic, by which it can mag-
nify 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 rememberance of
it be ever at hand, to check the extravagant judgments whicli
you are apt to pass in those moments of delusion. Listen to no
suggestion which then arises. Form no conclusions on whicli
you are to act. Assure yourselves that every thing is beheld
through a false medium. Have patience for a little, and the illu-
sion will vanish; the atmosphere will clear up around you, and
objects return to be viewed in their native colours and just dimen-
sions.
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 pi'edominate 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 shoi'e.
Hasten to call up emotions of an opposite nature. Study to con-
quer one passion by means of some other which is of less dan-
gerous tendency. Never account any thing small or trivial
which is in hazard of introducing disorder in your heart. Ne-
ver make light of any desire which you feel gaining such progress
as to threaten entire dominion. Blandishing it will appear at
the fii-st. As a gentle and innocent emotion, it may steal into
the heart ; but as it advances, it is lilj^ely to pierce you through
with many sorrows. What you indulged as a favourite amuse-
ment, 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 beginnings are treacherous ; their growth
is imperceptible ; and the evils which they carry in their train lie
concealed, until their dominion is established. What Solomon
says of one of them, holds ti-ue of them all, that their beginning
is as when one letteth out ivater.\ It issues from a small chinkl
which once might have been easily stopped : but, being neglect-
ed, it is soon widened by the stream ; till the bank is at last to-
tally thrown down and the flood is at liberty to deluge the whole
plain.
* See Jonah, ii. f Prov. xvii. 14.
216 On the Government [sermon xviu.
In the fifth place, the excess of every passion will be moder-
ated by frequent meditation on the vanity of the world, the short
continuance of life, the approach of death, judgment, and eter-
iiity. 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 enjoy them for ever. Higher and more enlarged pros-
pects of the destination of man, would naturally cool his mispla-
ced ardour. For what can appear so considerable in human
affairs, as to discompose or agitate the mind of him to whose
view eternity lies open, and all the gi^eatness of the universe of
God ? How contemptible 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 remains of their designs and enterprises, of their
passions and pursuits, of their triumphs and tlieir glory ? The
flood of time has passed over them, and swept them away, as if
they had never been. The fashion of the. 7/7or/rt? changes contin-
ually around us. We succeed one another in the human course,
iike troops of pilgrims on their journey. Absurdl}' we spend
our time in contending about the trifles of a day, while we ought
to be preparing for a higher existence. Eternity is just at hand
to close this introductry 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, which shall last forever. • Let such re-
flections 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 hu-
;nan life.
In the last place, to our own endeavours for regulating our
passions, let us join earnest prayer to God. Here, if any where,
"divine assistance is requisite. For such is the present blindness
and imperfection of human nature, that even to discover all the
disorders of our heart, is become difficult ; much more, to recti-
fy them, is beyond our power. To that superior aid, then, which
is promised to the pious and upright, let us look up with hum-
ble minds ; beseeching the Father of mercies, that while we stu-
dy to act our own part with resolution and vigilance, he would
forgive our returning weakness ; would sti^engthen our constancy
in resisting the assaults of passion ; and enable us by his grace so
to govern our minds, that Avithout considerable interruptions we
may proceed in a course of piety and virtue.
SERMON xvlii.] of the Heart. 217
It now remains to treat of the government of temper, as in-
cluded m the keeping of the heart. Passions are quick and
strong emotions, which hy degrees subside. Temper is the
disposition which remains after these emotions are past, and
which forms the liabitual propensity of tlie 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 o|3eration is constant,
it produces effects no less considerable. 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 con-
stitution 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 prevailed, that a l^ad 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 stran-
gers 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 hab-
its. But this affords no justification of 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 as-
sistance of grace, be reformed by attention and discipline. Set-
tled depravity of temper is alv/ays owing to our own indulgence.
If, in place of checking, we nourish that malignity of disposition
to which we are inclined, all the consequences will be placed to
our account, and every excuse from natural constitution be re-
jected at the tribunal of PIcaven.
The proper regulation of temper affects the character of man.
in every relation which he bears; and includes the v.hole cir-
cle of religious and moral duties. This, therefore, is a sub-
ject 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, Avith respect to God,
to his neighbour, and to himself.
First, With respect to God, what he ought to cultivate is a
devout temper. This imports more than the care of perform-
ing the offices of religious worship. It denotes tlie sensibility
VOL. I. 28
218 On the Government [sermon xviii.
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 some-
times prevails among those who are imperfectly good. They
acknowledge, perhaps, the obligations of duty. They feel some
concern to loork 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 bark-
ens 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 transcendant goodness. All nature appears to
his view as stamped with the impress of these perfections. Ha-
bitual gratitude to his Maker for mercies past and cheerful resig-
nation 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 ut-
most attention ; for it contributes, in a high degree, both to our
improvement 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 rejoicing. It forms the current of our affections to flow in.
a placid tenor. It opens pleasing prospects to the mind. It ba-
nishes 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 understand-
ing, 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
charity ought to regulate our disposition in mutual intercourse.
But as this great principle admits of several diversified appearan-
ces, let us consider some of the chief forms under winch it ought
to show itself in the usual tenor of life. Universal benevolence
to mankind, when it rests in the abstract, is a loose indeterminate
idea, rather than a principle of real effect ; and too often floats as
an useless speculation in the }iead, 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
cultivating harmony, and amicable intercourse in society. This
.supposes yielding and condescending manners, unwillingness to
contend with others about trifles, and, in contests that are una-
SERMON XVIII.] of the Heart. *19
voidable, proper moderation of spirit. Such a temper is the first
principle of self-enjoyment. It is the basis of all order and hap-
piness among mankind. The positive and contentious, the rude
and quarrelsome, are the bane of society. They seemed destined
to blast the small share of comfort which nature has here allotted
to man. But they cannot 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 im-
partiality. This stands opposed to a jealous and suspicious tem-
per, 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 connections with others, guard against this
malignant spirit. Study that charity ivkich thinketh no evil ;
that temper, which, without degenerating into ci'edulity, will dis-
pose you to be just ; and which can allow you to observe an er-
ror, without imputing it as a crime. Thus you will be kept free
from that continual 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 re-
quired of a good man. He must cultivate a kind, generous, and
sympathizing temper, which feels for distress, wherever it is be-
held ; 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 con-
trasted with a malicious or envious temper, which wraps itself
up in its own narrow interest, looks with an evil eye on the suc-
cess 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 ex-
ercise, unless when opportunities offer of performing actions of
high generosity, or of extensive utility. These may seldom oc-
cur. The condition of the greater part of mankind, in a good
measure, precludes them. But in the ordinary round of human
affairs, a thousand occasions daily present themselves, of miti-
gating the vexations which others suffer, of soothing their
minds, of 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
220 0)i the Guvernmo.nl [sermon xviii.
human life is chiefly composed. The attentions which respect
these, when suggested hy 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 o'ught to account any rules of Ijchaviour
as below his regard, whicli tend to cement the great brotherhood
of mankind in comfortable! union,
Pailicularly amidst that familiar intercourse which belongs to
domestic 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
passion and liumour. Wliercas 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
Avhat is harsh in their manners. For tliere tlie 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 cultivate a peaceable, a candid, a gentle and friend-
ly temper. I'his 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,
as it respects the individual himself. The basis of all the good
dispositions which belong to this head, is humility. By this I
understand, not that meanness of spirit which leads a man to un-
dervalue himself, and to sink below his rank and character;, but
Avhat the scripture expresses with great propriety, when it ex-
horts every man, not to iJtinJc of himself more highly than he
ought to think, hut to think soberly* He who adopts all the
flattering suggestions of self-love, and forms claims upon the world
proportioned to the imaginary opinion Avhich he has conceived
of his merit, is preparing for himself a thousand mortifications.
Whereas, by checking the risings of ill-founded vanity, and re-
treating within those bounds which a moderate estimation of our
character prescribes, we escape the miseries which ahvays pursue
an ari'ogant 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 Isy man, and one
of the most material requisites to the proper discharge of the
tluties of every station. For, a fretfid and discontented temper
renders one incapable of performing aright any part in life.
Il is unthankful and impious towards God; and towards men.
■ Ronn. Nli. "
SERMON xviii.] of the Heart. 321
provoking and unjust. 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 imj^erfections and
faihngs, in a just light, you will rather be surprised at your enjoy-
ing 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 v>?hich is the proper portion
only of guilt. At the same time, the cheerfulnesb 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. Theii
gaiety is owing to a total want of reflection ; and brings with il
the usual consequences of an unthinking habit, sliamc, remorse,
and heaviness of heart, in the end. The cheerfulness of a well-
regulated mind springs from a good conscience and the favour ol
Heaven, and is bounded by temperance and reason. It makes a
man happy in himself, and promotes the happiness 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 efi'ect 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 nien, peaceable,
candid, affectionate, and humane ; within himself, humble, con
tented, and cheerful. To the establishment of this happy tem-
per, all tlie directions which I before suggested for the due re-
gulation 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 es-
teemed 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 preparation 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 tc;
maintain.
SERMON XIX.
On the unciiangeableness or the divine nature.
Uvcry good and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh
down from the Father of Light,'}, with whom, is no variable'
n"ss, neither shadow of turning. — James, i. 17.
THE divine nature, in some views, attracts our love ; in
others, commands our reverence ; in all, is entitled to the higVi-
est 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 im-
proved ; and if, at any time, his greatness oppresses our thoughts,
his moral perfections always afford us relief. His Almighty
power, his infinite wisdom, and supreme goodness, are sounds
familiar to our ears. In his immutability we are less accus-
tomed to consider him ; and yet it is this perfection which, per-
haps, more than any other, distinguishes the divine nature from
the human ; gives complete energy to all its other attributes,
and entitles it to the higest adoration. For, hence are derived
the regular order of nature, and the steadfastness of the uni-
verse. Hence flows the unchanging tenor of those laws which,
from age to age, regulate the conduct of mankind. Hence the
uniformity of that government, and the certainty of those pro-
mises, which are the ground of our trust and security. Good-
ness could produce no more than feeble and wavering hopes,
and power would command very imperfect reverence, if we were
left to suspect that 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 unchangea-
ble in his nature 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
canduct.
Every good and every perfect gift, cometh doivn 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 li^ht, the
SERMON XIX.] On the XJnchangeablcness, SfC. 223
most universal benefactor of nature, the most regular and con-
stant 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 brightness 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 al-
teration can never take place. For as his existence is derived
from no prior cause, nor dependant on any thing without him-
self, 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 in-
communicable to all other beings. Eternity is described as the
high and holy place in luhich he dwelleth ; it is a habitation in
which none but the Father of Lights can enter. The name
which he taketh to himself is, / am,. Of other things, some have
been and others shall be ; but this is he, which is, which tvas, 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 beginni7ig and the end, the same yesterday, to-day^
and for ever.
As in his essence, so in his attributes and perfections, it is
impossible there can be any change. To imperfect natures only
it belongs to improve and to decay. Every alteration which
they undergo 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 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 di-
vine perfections are described in Scripture by allusions to those
objects to which we ascribe the most permanent stability. His
righteousness is like the strong Tnountains. His mercy is in
the heavens; and his faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds.
These perfections of the divine nature differ widely from the hu-
man 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 goodness and
justice are in the Supreme Being calm and steady principles of
action, which, enlightened by perfect wisdom, and never either
024 On the Unchangcablcness of [sermon xix.
warped by partiality, or disturbed by passion, persevere in one
le^-idar and constant tenour. Among men, they may sometimes
iireak 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,
tliat in the course of his operations towards mankind, in his coun-
cils and decrees, in his laws, his promises and in his threatcnings,
there is no variableness nor shadow of turning with the Al-
mio-hty. Known to him from the beginning were all his works,
Tn*the divine idea the whole system of nature existed, long be-
fore the foundations of the earth w-ere laid. When he said, Let
there be light, he only realised the great plan which, from ever-
lasting, 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
ao-itations of anger or of sorrow, or fear or of hope, can shake
Ins mind or influence his conduct. He rests in the eternal pos-
session of that Supreme beatitude, which neither the virtues nor
the crimes of men can in the least effect. From a motive of
overflowing goodness, he reared up the universe. As the eter-
nal lover of righteousness, he rules it. The whole system of
his crovernment 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, arc employed from accommodation to com-
mon conception ; in the same manner as when bodily organs are,
m other passages, ascribed to God. The scripture, as a rule of
life addressed to the multitude, must make use of the language
of men. The divine nature represented in its native sublimity,
would have transcended 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 dispensations to the alterations wdiich takes place in the
characters of men. His disposition towards good and evil con-
tinues the same, but varies in its application as its objects vary ;
just as the laws themselves, which are capable of no change ol
affection, bring rewards or punishments at different times to the
same person, according as his behaviour alters. Innnutabihly
is indeed so closely connected with the notion of supreme perfec-
tion, that wherever any rational conceptions of a Deity have ta-
ken place, this attribute has been ascribed to him. Reason taught
the wise and reflecting in every age to believe, tliat as what is
eterno.l cannot din, so what is perfect can never vary, aud that
SERMON XIX.] the Divine Nature. 225
the great Governor of the universe could be no other than an un-
changeable 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 doctiune 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 righteousness extendeth not ; whom by no arguments
we can persuade, and by no supplications we can mollify ? 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 meas-
ures which he had previously formed. But they are only crude
and imperfect notions of religion which can suggest such ideas.
The change which our devotions arc intended to make, is upon
ourselves not upon the Ahiiighty. Their chief efficacy is deri-
ved from the good dispositions which they raise and cherish in
the human soul. By pouring out pious sentiments and desires
before God, by adorning his perfection, and confessing our own
unworthiness by expressing our dependance on his aid, our
gratitude for his past favours, our submission to his present
will, our trusts in his futui'e mercy, we cultivate r.uch affections
as suit our place and station in the universe, and are thereby
prepared for becoming objects of the divine grace. According-
ly, frequent assurances are given us in Scripture, that the pray-
ers of sincere worshippers, preferred through the great Media-
tor, shall be productive of the happiest effects. When they ask,
they shall receive; when they seek, they shall find ; when they
knock, it shall be opened to 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, con-
clude 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 umlcrstandi ng, depend upon an immutable Sover-
VOL. T, " 29
226 On the Unchangeabkness of [sermon xix,
eign, 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 requires 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 human duty consists. Assuming it then for an un-
doubted principle, that religion is a reasonable service, and that,
though with the Father of Lights there be oio variableness, the
homage of his creatures is nevertheless, for the wisest reasons, re-
quired by him, I proceed to show what sentiments the contempla-
tion of divnie immutability should raise in our minds, and what
duties it should chiefly enforce.
I. Let it excite us to admit and adore. Filled with pro-
found reverence, let us look up to that Supreme Being who sits
from everlasting on the throne of the universe ; moving all things,
but remaining 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 ivax old as a gar-
ment, and decay like a vesture. At their appointed periods he
raises up, or he dissolves 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 nat-
ural world strikes the mind with solemn awe. What venera-
tion, then, ought to be inspired by the contemplation of an ob-
ject so sublime as the eternal and unchangeable Ruler of the
universe ! The composure and stillness of thought introduced
by such a meditation, has a powerful 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 accompanies devotion with that
profound reverence, which guards it from every improper excess.
When we consider the Supreme Being as employed in works of
love ; when we think of his condescension to the human race iu
sending his Son to dwell on the earth ; encouraged by favours,
and warmed by gratitude, we are sometimes in danger of presu-
ming too much on bis goodness, and of indulging a certain fond-
ness of affection, which is unsuitable to our humble and depen-
dent 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 rap-
turous 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
2ERM0N XIX.] the Divine Nature. 227
nature, has a happy effect in checking the forwardness of imagi-
nation, restraining our affections within due bounds, and compos-
ing 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 advan-
tages and boasted powers, before the eternal Father of Lights ?
With God there is no variableness ; with man there is no stabi-
lity. Virtue and vice divide the empire of his mind ; and wis-
dom and folly alternately rule him. Hence he is changeable in
his designs, fickle in his friendship, fluctuating in his whole cha-
racter. His life is a series of contradictions. He is one thing
to-day, and another to-morrow ; sometimes obliged by experi-
ence to alter his purpose, and often led to change it through le-
vity. Variable and unequal himself, he is surrounded with fleet-
ing objects. He is placed as in the midst of a torrent, where all
things are rolling by, and nothing keeps its place. He has hard-
ly time to contemplate this scene of vicissitude, before he too is
swept away. Thus circumstanced in himself, and in all the objects
with which he is connected, 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 betray him into 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 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 turn-
ing, Cometh down every good and jjerfect gift. The most in-
dependent of all Beings is represented as the most beneficent. He
who is eternal 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 show us that benevolence is divine ;
that to stoop from our fancied grandeur in order to assist and re-
lieve one another, is so far from being any degradation of cha-
racter, that it is our truest honour, and our nearest resemblance to
the Father of Lights.
228 On the Unchangeableness of [sermon xix.
II. Let the consideration of tlic divine immutibility convince
lis, that the method oi" attainin^^ the favour of Heaven is one
and invariable. Where the AIniisjhty a capricious and incon-
stant Being, hke man, we should be at a loss what tenour of con-
duct to hold. In order to concihate his grace, we might tliink
of applying sometimes to one supposed pi'inciple of his inclina-
tion, sometimes to another ; and, bewildered amidst various at-
tempts, would be overwhehiied with dismay. The guilty would
essay to flatter him. The timid, sometimes by austere mortifi-
cations, sometimes by costly gifts, sometimes by obsequious rites,
would try to appease him. Hence, in fact, have arisen all the
corruptions of religious worship among men ; from their forming
the divine character upon their own, and ascribing to the Sove-
reign of the Universe the mutability of human passions. God
is represented by the psalmist David as saying to the wicked,
Thou thoughtcst that I ivas altogether such an one as thyself.*
This continues to be the description of all the superstitious and
enthusiastic sects, which, since the days of David, have sprung up
in the world.
It is our peculiar happiness, under the Gospel, to have God
revealed to us in his genuine character; as ivithout 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 administra-
tion. 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, its substance is the same. It tends continu-
v-illy to one point, the purification of man's heart and life. This
was the object of the original law of nature. This was the scope
of the Mosaic institution amidst all its sacrifices and rites; and
this is unquestional)ly the end of the Gospel. So invariably con-
stant is God to this purpose, that the dispensation of mercy in
Christ Jesus, which admits of the vicarious atonement and righte-
ousness of a Redeemer, makes no change in our obligation to ful-
fil 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 atouy, one jot or tit-
tle shall in no ivise pass from zV.t 'I'his is the only institution
Icnown to men, whose authority is unchanging and constant. Hu-
man laws rise and fall with the empires that gave them birth. Sys-
tems of philosophy vary with the progress of knowledge and light.
Manners, sentiments, and opinions, alter with the course of time.
ijut throughout all ages, and amidst all revolutions, the rule of
' I'salm ].-2\. •^ MaUli. V. 18.
SERMON XIX.] the Divine Natufe. ' 229
moral and religious conduct is the same. It partakes of thai
immutability of the divine nature, on which it is founded. Sucli
as it was delivei'ed 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 of 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 attributes
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 resem-
ble them are laid under great restrictions by the dissimilarity be-
tween 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
iixedness of principle, and uniformity in conduct, as the glory of
the rational nature. Impressed with the sense of that supreme
excellence 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-
regulated plan, and remain consistent with ourselves. Contem-
plating 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
made of the subject, and therefore requires fidl illustration. —
There are three lights in which we may view the benefit redound-
ing to us from that attribute of God which we now consider. It
assures us of the constancy of Nature ; of the regular administra-
tion of Providence ; of the certain accomplishment of all the divine
promises.
First, It gives us ground to depend on the constatnt and uni-
form course of Nature. On the unchangeableness of God rests
the stability of the universe. What we call the laws of Nature,
are no other than the decrees of the Supreme Being. It is be-
cause he is without variableness, or shadow of turning, that those
laws have continued the same since the beginning of the w^orld ;
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
iJSO Oji ike Unchangeabkness of [sermon xix.
regular proo;ress. In all tliosc 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 prescribed line. Hence arises the chief
comfort of our present life. We find ourselves in a regular and
orderly world. We look forward to a known succession of events.
We are enabled to form plans of action. From the cause, we cal-
culate 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
effect 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 suspect that, but for one day, the Sun might not rise, nor the
current of the waters hold their usual course, nor the laws o
motion and vegetation proceed as we have been accustomed to
behold them. What dismay would instantly fill all hearts ! What
hoiTor would seem to overspread the whole face of Nature !
What part could we act, or whither could we run, in the midst
of con\'ulsions, which overturned all the measures we had form-
ed, for happiness, or for safety ? The present abode of man would
then become, as Job describes the region of the grave, a land of
darkness, as darkness itself, and the shadoiu of death ; without
any order : and where the light is as darkness."^' With what
joy ought we then to recognize an unvarying and steadfast Ruler,
under whose dominion v/e have no such disasters to dread ; but
fan depend on the course of Nature continuing to proceed as it
has ever gone on, until the period shall arrive of its fmal disso-
lution !
But though the great laws of Nature be constant like their
A-uthor, yet in the affairs of men there is much variety and
change. All that regards our present possessions and enjoy-
ments was, for wise reasons, left, in a great measure, uncertain ;
and from this uncertainty arises the distress of human life. Sen-
sible of the changes to which we lie open, we look round with
anxious eyes, and eagerly grasp at every object which appeals
TO promise us security. But in vain is the whole circle of hu-
man 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, tri-
umph over all the labours of men. What we build up, they in-
• Job, X. 22.
&ERMON XIX.] the Divine Nature. 231
cessantly destroy. The public condition of nations, and the pri-
vate fortunes of individuals, are alike subject to reverse. Life
never retains long the same form. Its whole scenery is continu-
ally 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, iviih
luhom 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 assured that the great inter-
ests 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 happen which have
place among the kingdoms of the earth ; where princes die, and
new sovereigns ascend the throne ; new ministers and new coun-
sels succeed ; the whole face of aifairs 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 generations.
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 future; gives stability
to things which in themselves are fluctuating, and extracts order
from those which appear most confused. Well may the earth re-
joice, and the multitude of isles be glad, because there reigneth
over the universe such an immutaljle Lord.
Were you to unhinge this great article of faith ; were you
either to to say with the fool, that there is no God, or to suppose
with the superstitious, that tlie good who rules is variable and
capricious ; you would, indeed, lay the axe to the root of the
tree, and cut down with one blow, the hope and security of man-
kind. 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 magnificent spectacle which the world now exhibits, when
beheld in connection with the divine government, it would then
only present to view a multitude of short-lived creatures, spring-
ing out of the dust, wandering on the face of the earth without
guide or protector, struggling for a few years against the torrent
of uncertainty and change; and then sinking into utter obli-
vion, and vanishing like visions of the night. Mysterious ob-
scurity 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 vccove;
232 On the Unchangeabkness of [sermon xix.
an universal sovereign, whose power never fails, and whose wis-
dom and goodness never change, the prospect clears up on every
bide. A ray from the great source of light seems to illuminate the
whole creation. Good men discover a parent and a friend. They
attain a fortress in every danger ; a refuge amidst all storms ; cu
dwelling place in all generations. They are no longer afraid
of evil tidings. Their heart is fixed, tnisting in the Lord.
Though these reasonings, from the unchanging tenor of di-
vine 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
accomplishment. The strength of Isi^ael is not a tnan 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, clianges may befall, either
in their own state, or in the situation of things around them, which
s^iall defeat their best intentions in our behalf, and render all their
promises fruitless. Hence, even setting aside the danger of hu-
man inconstancy, the confidence which we can repose on any
earthly protector 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
^"•annot embarrass him ; nor any unforeseen obstacle retard the per-
formance of his most distant promise. Oiie day is loith the Lord
as a thousand years, and a thousand years arc as one day.
There is no vicissitude 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 hereafter. All their patrons may desert them, and
all their friends may die ; but tJie Lord still lives, luho 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 for-
sake them lohen their strength failcth ; and that even when their
hearts shall faint, and their flesh fail, tie luill be tJie strengt/i
of their lieart, 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 theii*
family, their friends, and their dearest concerns, in tiie hands of
that God who reigneth forever, and whose cou7itc?iance shall at-
SERMON XIX.] the Divine JS/aiure. 233
wai/s behold the upright with the same complacency. Mi/ days
are like a shadow that declineth, and I am laithered like the
grass. But thou, oh Lord, shall endure for ever ; and thy re-
tnemhrance to all generations. The children of thy servants
shall continue ; and their seed shall he established before thee*
Such are the benefits which good men may derive from medi-
tating on God as without variableness or shadow of turning.
It inspires them witli sentiments of devout, liumble, and grateful
adoration. It points out to them the unvarying tenor of conduct
which they ought to hold ; checks their fickleness and incon-
stancy; and amidst all distresses and fears, affords them com-
fort. The immutability of God is the surest basis on which their
hopes can be built. It is indeed the pillar on wliich the whole
universe rests. — On such serious and solemn meditations let our
thouglits often dwell, in order to correct that folly and levity
which are so apt to take possession of the huujan lieart. 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 unchangeablp God we are permitted to look up, through,
a gracious Mediator, w])o, though possessed of divii)e perfection,
is not unconscious of liuman distress and fraiJtv.
IValm, cii M, 12, ■.:«.
/
/
f
1
i VOt. 1. ^0
SERMON XX.
On the compassion of christ.
[i'reached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.j
We have not an high priest which cannot he touched with the
feelings of our infirmities ; but luas in all points tempted like
as we are, yet without sin. — Hebrews, iv. 15.
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 workman-
ship is discerned to be rough and blemished. Whereas the works
of nature gain by the most accurate examination ; and those
which on a superficial survey appear defective or rude, the more
intimately they are inspected, discover the more exact construc-
tion and consummate beauty. In the same manner, the systems
of worldly policy, though at first they seem plausible and pro-
found, soon betray in their progress, the narrowness of the hu-
man 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 thefiesh, was to the Jeivs a stumbling-
block, and to the Greeks foolishness. It contradicted every pre^
possession which their confined ideas of religion and philosophy
led them to entertain. If a superior Being was to interpose tor
the restoration of a degenerate world, they concluded that ne
would certainly appear 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 dispensed instruction in the most winning manner.
He added to insti'uction the grace and the force of his own exam-
SERMON XX.] On the Compassion of Christ. 235
pie He accommodated that example to the most trying and dif-
ficult situations 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 hu-
man guilt.
Besides these ends, so worthy of God, which were accomplish-
ed by the incarnation of Christ, another, of high importance, is
suggested 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
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 pro-
portioned 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. See-
ing that we have a great high priest loho is passed into the
heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us holdfast 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 compassion on the ignorant and them that are
out of the way, seeing that he himself is cotnpassed loith in-
firmity. In order tlieu to satisfy us of our high priest's possess-
ing also the qualifications of mercy and compassion, we are told
that he is touched with the feeling of our hifirmities, and was
in all points tempted like as ive are. The force of this conside-
ration 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 amidst
various 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 expe-
rience both of the external distresses, and of the internal sorrows
of human 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 or-
der 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 inconveniences of that
poor and toilsome life which falls to the share of the most nume-
rous part of the human race, ^yhatever is severe in the disre-
gard of relations or the ingoatitude of friends^ in the scorn of the.
236 On ilie Compassion of Christ . [sermon xx.
proud or the iasulls of the mean, in the virulence of reproach or
the sharpness of pain, was undergone by Christ. Though his
life was short, he familiarized himself in it with a wide compass
of human woe ; and there is almost no distressful situation to
which we can bje 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 gi-ief.
Had this been the case he would have been a sufferer in appear-
ance only, not in reality ; the'e would have been no merit in his
jiatience, or in the resignation which he expressed. On the con-
trary it appears, from many circumstances, that the sensibility of
his nature Avas tender and exquisite. He affected none of that
hard indifference in Avliich some ancient philosophers vainly
glorified. He felt as a man, and he sympathised with the feelings
of others. On diflerent occasions we are informed that he was
troubled in sjnrit, that he groaned, and that he ivept. The re-
lation of his agony in the garden of Gethsemane exhibits a strik-
ing picture of the sensations of innocent nature oppi'essed with
anguish. It discovers all the conflict between the dread of suf-
fering 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
wdiich were then in his view. Father ! if it be possible, let this
cup pass from me. Nevertheless, not as I ivill, but as thou
will. Thy ivill be done. Thus was our Saviour touched luith
the feeling of our infrmities. 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 un-
dergo 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 l)y erery discouragement. He suf-
fered repeated provocations both from friends and foes. His
endeavours to do good were requited with the most obstinate and
perverse opposition. Sometim.os by the solicitations of ignorant
multitudes he was tempted to accept the proffers of worldl}'
greatness. Oftencr, by the insults of multitudes, more blind and
brutal, he was tempted to desert an office which exposed him to
so much misery. Togetlier with the world, the powers of dark-
ness also combined their efforts against him. We are informed
that he was led info the wilderness, and amidst the hoirors of a
wild and drearj' solitude, was tempted of the devil. Tl\e great
adversary of mankin'l seems. to have been permitted to exert
iinusnpl proofs; of hh power and mnlire. on purpose that the trial
SERMON XX. J On the Coiiipassion of Christ. 337
of our Saviour's constancy might be more complete and his victory
over him more illustrious and distinguisjied.
From all these circumstances, the conclusion is obvious, that
our Lord knows, from personal experience, all the discourage-
ments 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 disturbance and commotion which either the at-
tacks of the world or the 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 teinpted like as toe are, yet he was tvithout sin.
Though the conflict was the same, the issue was different. We
are often foiled ; He always overcame. But his disconformity
to us in this respect, is far from weakening the strength of our
present argument. For sin contracts and hardens the heart.
Every degree of guilt incurred by yielding to temptation tends
to dejjase 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, 1
proceed 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
experience of suffering humanizes the heart. In the school of
affliction, compassion is always supposed to be most thoroughly
learned ; and hence in the laws of Moses, when the Israelites are
commanded not to oppress the stranger, this reason is given, for
you know the heart of a stra)iger, seeing ye were strangers your-
selves in the land of Egypt.* The distressed, accordingly, fiy
for consolation to those who have been their companions in woe.
They decline the prosperous, and look up to them with a suspi-
cious eye. They consider them as ignorant of their feelings, and
therefore regardless of their complaints. Amidst the manifold
sorrows of life, then, how soothing is the thought that our great
Intercessor with God was a fellovr-sufferer with ourselves, while he
passed through this valley of tears.
But was it necessary for Christ, it may be said to assume ouj-
nature in order to acquire the knowledge of its infirmity and
distress ? As a divine person, was he not perfectly acquainted
>yith our frame before he descended to the earth ? Did he stand
* Exod. xxiii. 9.
238 On the Compassion of Christ. [sermon xx.
in need of being prompted to compassion by the experience of
our sorrows ? Could his experimental knowledge of human
weakness increase the lienevolence of a nature which before was
perfect? No : he submitted to be touched with the feeling of
our infirmities, and to he 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 hrmer confidence in the goodness
which he possessed, and to convey the sense of it to our hearts
with greater force and effect.
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
ofiered for their encouragement. The representations given us
of the Deity in Scripture, afforded undoubtedly much ground for
trust in his goodness. But the perfection of an Almighty Be-
ing, who dwelleth in the secret place of eternity, luhom 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 supe-
rior to our own, is beheld with a degree of awe, which is ready
to overpower hope. Upon this account, under the Old Testa-
ment 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 Alm.ighty. But we
easily perceive such attributes to be no more than figures and
.dlusions. The comfort which they afford, is not definite nor
precise. They leave the mind under an anxious uncertainty,
iest it err in its interpretation of those allegories of mercy. In
the person of Jesus Christ, tlie object of our trust is brought
iiearer to ourselves ; and of course adapted more effectually 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 I'endered 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
offiesh and blood, Christ himself Ukcivise took part of the same.
In all things it behoved him to he made like unto his brethren,
that he niighl 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 Hea-
ven ! ^^^hat attentive solicitude of goodness is shown in carrying on,
SERMON XX.] On the Compassion of Christ. .230
the dispensation of our redemption upon a plan so perfectly cal-
culated 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 I
Moore particularly, in consequence of the doctrine which I have
illustrared, we are taught to hope,
I. That, under all our infirmities and errors, regard will be
had to human imperfection ; that a merciful distinction will be
made between what is weak and what is wilfully criminal in our
conduct ; and that such measures of obedience only will be ex-
acted, 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 oivr frame, and remembers ive
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 Avith
favourable views of themselves and fond hopes of divine accept-
ance, the slightest apprehension of guilt is ready to alarm the hum-
ble 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 re-
ligion 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 vigilance, are favourable to piety ; while those suspicions
which lead to despondency are injurious to God, hurtful to our-
selves, 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 debihty and wandering of mind you are apt to impute
to some uncommon degree of guilt. You consider it as the symp-
tom 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 insensible of guilt. Your complaints of hardness of
heart, are an evidence of your heart being at that moment con-
trite and actually relenting. Are there any circumstances of in-
ward discomposure and perplexity, of which he is unconscious,
who at a critical period of his life was heavy and sore amaz-
.>4o On the Compassion of Christ. [sermon xx.
,'d •* who was obli2;ecl to complain tliat his soul was tronbkd
■vifhin him, and to^acknowledge that though the spirit luas tvil-
/in"-, yet the flesh ivas weak? To a superior nature, untouched
with human frailty, you might in such situations look up with
some deo-ree of teiTor. But He, who remembers the struggles
of his ov?n soul, will not, surely, judge yours like a hard and un-
feeling- master. Acquainted with the inmost recesses ot human
'lature', he perceivesthe sincerity of your intentions; he sees the
combat you maintain ; he knows how much of your present con-
tusion and disorder is to be imputed, not to your mchnation 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 at-
tempts to serve him, on account 'of the infirmities which you la-
ment. He hears the voice of those secret aspirations which you
•ire unable to express in words, or to form into prayer. i.very
penitential tear which your contrition sheds, pleads your cause
more powerfully with him, than all the argximents witn which
vou could fill your mouth.
■ n From our Saviour's experience of human misery, we may
iustly hope that he will so compassionately regard our distressed
Utate as to prevent us from being loaded with unnecessary trou-
bles He will not wantonly add affliction to the afflicted : nor
willin-ly crush what he sees to be already broken. In the
-ourse of that high administration which he now exercises, he
mav indeed judge certain intermixtures of adversity to be proper
for oar improvement. These are trials of virtue through which
all, without exception, must pass. Rugged was tlie road by
which our divine Mediator himself went before us to glory ; and
bv becoming 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 con-
dition. The severity of his trials tends to lighten ours.— \Mien
the o-eneral of an ai-my lies on the same hard gi-ound, dnnks ot
the ?ame cold stream, carries the same weight ot armour witn
the lowest sentinel, can any of his soldiers repine at wnat they en-
dure ' c
Whatever afflictions our Lord may judge to be necessary lor
A of this we mav rest assured, that he will deal them forth, not
with harsh and imperioflfe authority, but with the tenderness ot
one who knows from experience how deeply the human heart is
wou K ed by every stroke of adversity. He will not lay more
In us than he sees we are able to bear. Though he^^^^f?
yet ivill he have compassion according ^^'^f .^'^"f ^z S//^
fender mercies. He will stay his rough wmd in thz fjy 'J^^^
,a.st wind .-t For it is his state, but not his nature, which .-s now
^ Afark, rn-. ?3. t Tsaiab. sxvii 8.
SERMON XX.] On the Conipassion of Christ. 241
changed. Notwithstanding his high exaltation, he still retains
the compassionate sentiments of the. man of sorroivs. Still, we
are assured by an inspired writer, he is not ashamed to call us
brethren* 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 wxak pity of
men fz'equently injures its objects. It is to the material inter-
ests, more than the present ease, of good men, that he attends.
When under the impatience of sorrow, we exclaim, Hath he for-
gotten to be gracious ? hath he in anger shut up his tender mer-
cies ? we recollect 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 wliich it is
conducted townnls 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 administra-
tion of univei'sal 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 humanity !
III. The text leads us to hope, that amidst all the infirmities
of our state, both under the temptations and under the distress-
es of life, our Blessed Lord will afford us a proper measure of
assistance and support. In that he hath suffered being tempted,
he is able to succour them luho either suffer or are tempted ;t that
is, he is pei'fectly 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 con-
veyed by him to tlie 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 into 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 coun-
sel produce a mucli greater effect? Surely, the Father of spirits
* Hebre-.vs, ii, 11. f Heb. u. IS.
VOL. I. 31
242 On the Compassion of Christ. [sermon xx.
must, by a thousand ways, liave access to the spirits which he
has made, so as to give them wliat determination, or impart to
tliem what assistance he thinks proper, without injuring their frame,
or disturbing their rational powers.
Accordingly, whenever any notions of religion have taken
place among mankind, this belief has in some measure prevail-
ed, 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 conjecture or feeble hope, has received full confirma-
tion from the Gospel of Christ. Not only is the promise of di-
vine 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 where-
with 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,'* shall no celestial mes-
senger 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 sorrows, will, from that height of glory
to which he is now exalted, look down upon us here, contending
with the storm of adversit)', labouring to follow his steps through
the steep and difficult paths of virtue, exposed on every side to ar-
rows aimed against us by the powers of darkness ; and that, seeing
our distress and hearing our supplications ; he will remain an un-
concerned 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 ?
Wliere, the compassion of that Mediator who was trained to mer-
cy in tlie school of sorrow ? — Far from us be such ungrateful sus-
picions of the generous friend of human kind ! Let us exert our-
selves as we can, and we shall be assisted. 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 sor-
row which I once trod. Noiu lam 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. SanC'
tify 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.\
* Luke, xxii. 43. f John, xvii.
S£RMON XX.] On the Compassion of Christ. 243
Such is the comfort which arises to us from our Saviour's par-
ticipation of the infinnities of human nature ; and thus it may be
apphed 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 docti'ine. The amiable view which
it gives of our Lord's clemency, may flatter some men with un-
warrantable hopes, and lead them to imagine, that in his expe-
rience of human weakness an apology is to be found for every
crime. Persons of this character must be taught, that his compas-
sion differs widely from that undistinguishing and capricious in-
dulgence which is sometimes found among men. It is the com-
passion of an impartial mind, enhghtened by wisdom, and guid-
ed 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
sl)all meet with compassion.
A course of deliberate guilt admits of no apology from the
weakness of human nature. For, notwithstanding all the infirmi-
ties incident to it, no man is under a necessity of being wicked.
So far is our Saviour's experience of our nature from affording
any ground of hope to presumptuous offenders, that it ought to
fill them with terror. For it shows them how thoroughly quali-
fied 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 con-
science. He sees that infirmity affords them no excuse ; and that
the real cause of tlieir acting a criminal part, is not because they
cannot do better, but, in truth, because they will not. Having
forfeited every title to compassion, they are left in the hands of
justice ; and according 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
religion in its proper point of view, as a medicinal plan, intended
both for the recovery of mankind from guilt, and for their conso-
lation under trouble. The law was given by Moses ; hut grace
and truth came by Jesus Christ. The Law was a dispensation
of a mere authority. The Gospel is a dispensation, not of authori-
ty only, but of relief. If it discovers new duties, and imposes
new obhgations, it opens also sources of comfort which were be-
fore unknown to the world.
A Mediator between God and his creatures was an object after
244 0)1 i'lic Compassion of Christ. [sermon xx.
•which men In all nations, and under all forms of religion, had
long; and anxiously sou2:;ht. 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 l)y a oonscious sense of sjuilt, nature shrunk
at the thought of adventuring on a direct approach to the Sove-
reign of the universe ; and laboured to find cut some auspicious
introductor to that awful presence. With blind and trembling
eagerness the nations fled to subordinate deities, to tutelar gods,
and to departed spirits, as their patrons and advocates above.
Them they studied to sooth with such costly gifts, such pompous
rites, or such humble supplications as they thought might incline
them to favour their cause^ and to support their interests with the
Supreme Divinity. While mankind were bewildered in this dark-
ness, the gospel not only revealed the true Mediator, who in this
view may be justly called the desire of all nations, but placed his
character 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 pre-
sumptuous. What plan of religion could be more suited to the
circumstances of man, or more worthy of the goodness of his Cre-
ator ? What more animating to the pious worshipper, in perform-
ing those solemn 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 hu-
manity and compassion among men, by those very means which
it employs for inspiring devotion towards God. We are now
drawing nigh to the Supreme Being through a INIediator, 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 iviU not despise ?ior 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 sufl'er-
ings of life, feels not for the distressed ; he who relents not at his
neighbour's griefs, nor scans his failings with the eye of a brother,
must be sensible 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 Christian religion approves itself as worthy of God, by con-
necting devotion in strict union with charity. As in its precepts
the love of God and the love of man are joined, so in its institu-
tions the exercise of both is called forth ; and to worship God
through the mediation of a compassionate High Priest, necessarily
.supposes in the worshippers a spii'it of compassion towards their
own brethren.
SERMON XXI.
On the love of praise.
For they loved the praise of men, more than the praise of God,
John, xii. 43.
THE state of man on earth, is manifestly designed for the
trial of his virtue. Temptations every where occur ; and perpe-
tual vigilance and attention are required. There is no passion,
or principle of action in his nature, which may not, if left to it-
self, 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 ;
hut hy means of those also which are seemingly the most fair
and innocent, such as the desire of esteem and praise. Of this
the text suggests a remarkable instance. When our Lord ap-
peared in the land of Judea, the purity of his doctrine, and the
evidence of his mii'acles, procured him a considerable number of
followers, chiefly among the lower classes of men. But the Pha-
risees, who were the leading, and fashionable sect, galled with
the freedom of his x'eproofs, 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 giv-
en, 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, ex-
amine the nature of this passion. Let us consider 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.
246 , 0)1 the Love of Praise. [sermon xxr.
We are intended by Providence to be connected witb one ano-
Iher in society. Single unassisted individuals could make small
advances towards any valuable improvement. By means of so-
ciet}^ our wants are supplied, and our lives rendered comforta-
ble; our capacities are enlarged, and our virtuous aSfecLions
called forth into proper exercise. In order to confirm our mu-
tual connection, it was necessary tliat some attracting power,
which had the effect of drawing men together, and sti'engthen-
ing 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 au
unharmonious and discordant state. Instead of mutual attrac-
tion, 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 from sloth, invigorates activity, and stimulates our efforts to
excel. It has given rise to most of the splendid, and to many of
the useful enterprises of men. It has animated the patriot and
fired the hero. Magnanimity, generosity, and fortitude are
what all mankind admire. Hence, such as were actuated by the
desire of extensive fame, have been prompted to deeds which
either participated of the spirit, or, at least, carried the appear-
ance 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 ignoble mind, on which no moral impres-
sion 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 principle guards of virtue is removed, and the path
opened to many opprobrius 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 witli tlie
love of praise as a principle of action, the esteem of our fellow-
creatures is an object which, on account of tlie advantages it
brings, may be lawfully pursued. It is necessary to our suc-
cess in every fair and honest undertaking. Not only our pri-
vate interest, but our public usefulness, depends in a great
SERMON XXI.] On the Love of Praise. 241
measure upon it. The sphere of our influence is contracted or en-
larged in proportion 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 or cen-
sure, is so far from being a virtue, that it is a real defect in char-
acter.
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 ob-
serve, that it is entitled to no more than our secondary regai'd.
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 sub-
ordinate station. But when, passing its natural line, it becomes
the ruling spring of conduct ; when the regard which we pay to
the opinions of men, encroaches on that reverence which we owe
to the voice of conscience and the sense of duty ! the love of
praise having then gone out of its proper place, instead of improv-
ing, corrupts ; and instead 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-glo-
ry usurps the throne of virtue; when ostentation produces ac-
tions which conscience ought to have dictated ; such actions, how-
ever 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 conjec-
ture, 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 solicitude 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 ol'
248 On the Love of Praise. [sf.rmon xxi.
God. But wlien 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 ai'guments 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 inen 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 actions, are entitled to rise above the crowd, we
might justly be flattered by possessing a rare and valuable dis-
tinction. But, how far is this from being the case in fact ? How
often have the despicable and the vile, by dexterously catching
the favour of the multitude, 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 un-
just reproach ? Tine laurels which human praise confers, ai'e
withered and blasted by the un worthiness 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 en-
enthusiasts, of ignorant pretenders and supei'ficial reasoners, who,
by various arts, have attained as high a rank as himself in tem-
porary 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 ac-
counted to contain itself within just bounds, and to run in its
proper channel. But the testimony of the discerning few, mod-
est 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 general 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 in-
discriminate 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 ap[)earances, and pursue false gods ; who inquire superficially
and judge rashly ; whose sentiments are for the most part errone-
ous, always changeable and often inconsistent. Nor let any one ima-
SERMON XXI.] 0)1 the Love of Praise. 249
gine, 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 understandings of men, or in their judicious
disti'ibution of praise. Luxury, pride and vanity, have frequent-
ly as much influence in corrupting the sentiments of the great, as
ignorance, bigotry, and prejudice, have in misleading the opi-
nions 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 ex-
cellent. 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 ren-
der you, to be indifferent with respect to this, and to be solicit-
ous about a name alone, a fictitious, imaginary character, which
has no existence except in the opinions of a few weak and credu-
lous men around you ? They see no fartlier 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 pubhc 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 perfoiTning. For
he sees them in their principle ; he judges of you by j^ur in-
tentions; 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 wilder field for praise, than what the world can af-
ford 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 judgment 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 search-
er of all hearts, and the standard of all perfection ? — The testimo-
ny 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 sweet-
er to the soul of a virtuous man, than the loudest shout;^ of that
tumultuary applause which proceeds from the world.
VOL. T. 32
250 On the Love of Praise. [sermon xxr>
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
confined to a small district of the earth ; and that when he looks
a little beyond the region which he inhabits, he will find him-
self 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, gi-eat as he may fancy
it to be, occupies no more than an inconsiderable corner. — Let
him think what multitudes of those among whom he dwells, are
totally ignorant of his name and character ; how many imagine
themselves too important to regard him ; how many are too much
occupied with their own wants and pursuits, to pay him the least
attention ; and where his reputation is in any degree spread, how
often it has been attacked, and how many 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 pixr.essive 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 assumes is often fair; and its garb and appearance are near-
ly 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 distance, they strike the eye with uncommon brightness ;
^)ut, on a nearer and stricter survey, their lustre is often tar-
nished. They are found to want that sacred and venerable dig-
nity which characterises true virtue. Little passions and selfish
interests entered into the motives of those who performed them.
They were jealous 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. Consult such as have been intimately con-
SERMON xxi.j On the Love of Praise. 251
nected 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 examination.
But supposing the virtue of vain-glorious men not to be al-
ways false, it certainly cannot be depended upon as firm or sure.
Constancy 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 rnen, but of God ; whose 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 tenor of his behaviour these chan-
ges produce no etfect. 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
Jwnour and dishonour, through good report and bad report, he
pursues the path which conscience 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 regards, they fluctuate and fall with these.
Excited by public admiration, they disappear when it is withdrawn ;
like those exhalations 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
principles of pi'obity, by substituting inferior motives in their
stead, but frequently also impels men to actions which are direct-
ly criminal. It obliges them to follow the current of popular
opinion withersoever it may carry them ; and hence shipwreck
is often made both of faith and of a good conscience. Accord-
ing as circumstances 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
inake liypocritical professions of religion. In another, they will
be ashamed of their Redeemer, and of his words. They will bo
afraid to appear in their own form, or to utter their genuine Sen-
timents. Their whole character will become fictions, 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 fidelity or attachment on any trying occasion.
In private life, he will be a timorous and treacherous friend. In
}>ublic conduct, he will be subtle 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
252 On the. Ixyve of Praise. [sermon xxr.
in that heart, where, instead of ree;ard to the divine approbation,
there reigns the sovereign desire of pleasing men.
In the third place, this passion, when it becomes predomi-
nant, most commonly defeats its own end, and deprives men of
the honour which they are so eager to gain. Witliout preserving
liberty and independence, we can never command respect. That
servility of spirit which subjects us to the opinion of others, and
renders us tributaries to the world for the sake of applause, is
what all mankind despise. They look up with reverence to one
■n-ho, imawed 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 judgment, they consider as
their vassal. They even enjoy a malignant pleasm^e in humbling
his vanit}-, and withholding that praise w^hich he is seen to court-
By artifice and show, he may shine for a time in the public eye ;
but it is only as long as he can support the belief of acting
from principle. When the inconsistencies into v/hich lie falls de-
tect his character, his reputation passes away like the pageant
of a day. No man ever obtained lasting fame, who did not, on
several occasions, 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 justice and to truth, superior to all terrors that would
shake, and insensible of all pleasures that would betray it ; un-
conquerable by the opposition of the world, and resigned to God
alone ; these are the qualities which render a man truly respec-
table and great. Such a character nuny, in evil times, incur un-
just reproach. But the clouds which envy or prejudice has ga-
thered 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 deter-
mined regard to principle beyond all opinion, which has crowned
t)ie characters of such as now stand highest in the rolls of lasting
fame. The truly illustrious arc they who did not court the praise
of the world, but who performed the actions which deserve it.
They were perhaps traduced in their life-time, by those whom
they opposed. But posterity has done them ample justice ;
and they nre the men whom the voice of ages now concurs in
celebrating. The memorial of virliie is iminortal ; 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
SERMON XXI.] On the Love of Praise. 253
it. It lueareth a crown, and triumphcth forever ; having got-
ten the victory ; striving for undefiled rewards.*
In the fourth place, as an immoderate passion for human praise
i.s 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 tenor of con-
duct, which in all situations is the same ; which engages us in no
perplexities, and requires no artful refinement. TValking up-
rightly, 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 be always on the stretch. He will
be obliged to listen with anxious attention to every whisper of the
popular voice. The demands of those masters whom he has sub-
mitted to serve, will prove frequently contradictory and incon-
sistent. He has prepared a yoke for his neck, xvhich he must
resolve to bear, how much soever it may gall him.
The toils of virtue are honourable. The mind is supported un-
der 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 recc-ive 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-
w^ard voice ; and if a man is reduced to be ashamed of himself,
what avails it him to be caressed by others ?
But, in truth, the reward towards which he looks who propo-
ses human praise as his ultimate object, will be always flying,
like a shadow, before him. So capricious and uncertain, so fic-
kle 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 pepetual
mortifications. If the greatest and best can seldom retain it
long, we may easily believe, that from the vain and undeserving
it will suddenly 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 inspect him in every part. Every opportu-
nity will be watched, of bringing him down to the common le-
• Wisdom of Solomon, iv. 1, 2.
254 On the Love of Fraise. [siiKMON xxx-
vel. 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 si-
lence and neglect. He puts himself under the {X)wer of every one
to humble him, by withholding expected praise. Even when
praise is bestowed, he is mortified by its being either faint or trite.
He pines when his reputation stagnates. The degree of applause
to which he has been accustomed, grows insipid ; and to be always
praised from the same topics, becomes at last much 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 bemg thought
so ; \vho pursues the praise of the 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 approbation, he enjoyr. himself, in peace, whether human
praise stays with him, or flies away. With vie it is a small
thing to be judged of you, or of man's judgment. He that
judgeth me is the Lord. My ivitness is in heaven, and my
record is on high.
Im 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-
lition with those which flow ironi the praise of God. The for-
mer are necessarily confined within the verge of our present ex-
istence. The latter follow us beyond the grave, and extend
tJirough 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 pros-
perity. It may then sooth tlie 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 unsubstantial : And surely, the value of any possession is to
be chieflly 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, v/hen 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 dis-
tant voices, in which he has small concern. But then is the sea-
son when the praise of God supports and upholds the labouring
soul. Brought home to the heart by the testimony of a good con-
science, and by the divine spirit bearing witness ivith our spi-
rits, it inspires fortitude, and produces a peace which passeth un-
derstanding.
SERMON XXI.] On the Love of Praise. 256
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 render-
ed to every vian 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 in the silent obscurity of humble but steady goodness,
shall be distinguished as the favourites of Heaven ; while the
proud, the ambitious, and the vain, are left to everlasting disho-
nour. The great Judge hath declared, that whosoever hath been
ashamed of him and of his words, of that man shall he be
ashamed ivhen he comefh in the glory of his Father, ivith all
the holy angels. Every departure from duty shall, at the period
of final retribution, terminate in ignominy. True hoi\ourand 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 XXII.
Om the proper estimate of human life,
Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity.
ECCLESIASTES, xii. 8.
NO serious maxim has been more generally adopted, tlian
ihat of the text. In every age, the vanity of human life has
been the theme of declamation, and tlie subject of complaint. It
is a conclusion in wliich men of all characters and ranks, the
high and the low, the young and the old, the reli2;ious and the
worldly, have more frequently concurred, than in any other. —
But how just soever the conclusion may be, the promises which
lead to it are often false. For it is prompted by various mo-
tives, and derived from very different views of things. Some-
times the language of the text is assumed by a sceptic, who ca-
vils at Providence, and censures the constitution of the world.
Sometimes it is the complaint of a peevish man, who is dis-
contented 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 invol-
ved them. Invectives against the vanity of the woild whicli
tome 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 attention is, when
uttered, not as an aspersion on Providence, or a reflection on
human affairs in general ; not as the language of private discon-
tent, or the result of guilty suflferings ; but as the sober conclusion
of a wise and good man, concerning the imperfection of that hap-
piness 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 therefore, he
who looks to nothing beyond them, shall have frequent cause to
deplore their vanity.
SERMON XXII.] On the proper Estimate, ^'C. 257
Nothing is of highei* importance to us, as men and as Chris-
tians, than to form a proper estimate of human life, without ei-
ther loading it with imaginary evils, or expecting from it greater
advantages than it is able to yield. It shall be my business, there-
fore, 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, 1. To show in what
sense it is true that all eartly pleasures are vanity. II. To en-
quire, 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 chai'ge of vanity. And, IV. To point
out the proper improvement 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 posses-
sion.
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 ingenuity can devise, some the patience of industry, some
the boldness 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 life, leads unerringly to success. The race is not always
to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor riches to men of
understanding. We may form our plans with the most pro-
found sagacity, and with the most vigilant caution may guard
againt 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 objects on which, as on distant meteors, they gaze
from afar, without drawing personal instruction from events so
much above them. But, alas ! when we descend into the region'^
vol.. T. ,33
25S Oil the proper Eslimale [sermon xxii.
of private life, we find disappointment and blasted hope equally
prevalent there. Neither the moderation of our views, nor the
justice of our pretensions, can ensure success. But time and
chance happen to all. Against the stream of events, both the
worthy and the undeserving are obliged to struggle ; and both are
frequently overborne alike by the current.
Besides disappointment in pursuit, dissatisfaction in enjoy-
ment is a farther vanity to which the human state is subject.
This is the severest of all mortifications ; after having been suc-
cessful 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 at-
tained. Disappointed hope is misery ; and yet successful hope
is only imperfect bliss. Look through all the ranks of mankind.
Examine the condition of those who appear most prosperous;
and ;^ou 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 plenitude of satisfaction which they ex-
pected 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 success-
full.
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 enjoy-
ments are adequate to the high desires and powers of an immor-
tal spirit. Fancy paints them at a distance with splendid co-
lours; but possession unveils the fallacy. The eagerness of pas-
sion bestows upon them at first a brisk and lively relish. But
it is their fate always to pall by familiarity, and sometimes to pass
from satiety into disgust. Happy would the poor man think him-
self 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 contemplat-
ed 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
circumstances 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,
SERMON XXII.] of Human Life, 259
gnaws like a worm, the root of his feUcity. When there is noth-
ing from without to disturb the prosperous, a secret poison oper-
ates within. For worldly happiness ever tends to destroy itself,
by corrupting the heart. It fosters the loose and the violent pas-
sions. It engenders 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 de-
ceitfulness in enjoyment ; suppose them to be fully attainable,
and completely satisfactory ; still there remains to be considered
the vanity of uncertain possession and short duration. Where
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 thmg 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 somewhat to disquiet or alarm
thee. For life never proceeds long in an uniform train. It is
continually varied by unexpected events. The seeds of altera-
tion are every where sown ; and the sunshine of prosperity com-
monly accelerate? their growth. If your enjoyments be numer-
ous, you lie more open on diflerent 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 pleas-
urable feelings decline. The silent lapse of time is ever carry-
ing somewhat from us, till at length the period comes when all
must be swept away. The prospect of this termination of our
labours and pursuits is suflicient to mark our state with vanity.
Our days are a hand-breadth, and our age is as nothing. With-
in 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 our 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 op-
posite side ; and how often, by undue attachment to the present
state, they both feed the most sinful passions, and /j/erce them-
selves through with many sorrows. Let us proceed to enquire*
260 0)1 the proper Estimate. [sermon xxii.
II. How this vanity of the world can be reconciled with the
perfections of its divine author. This enquiry involves that great
difficulty which has per[)lexed the thoMp;htful and serious in every
age. If God be good, whence the evil that fills thc^, 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 reve-
lation, that it is the consequence of his voluntary apostacy from
God and a state of innocence. By this, his nature was corrupt-
ed ; his powers were enfeebled ; and vanity and vexation intro-
duced into his life. All nature became involved in the condemna-
tion 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 ancf 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 v,-as 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 perversion and disorder, so the world which we inhabit bears
the symptoms of having been convulsed in all its frame. Natu-
ralists point out to us every where the traces of some violent
change which it has suO'ered. Islands torn from tlie continent,
burning mountains, shattered precipices, uninhal)itable wastes,
give it all the appearance of a mighty ruin. The physical and
moral state of man in this world mutually synipathize and corres-
pond. 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 magnificient. Let us observe,
In the second place, that as this vvas not the original, so is it
not intended to be the final, state of man. Thougli, in conse-
quence 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 Creator that they should be permitted to reign for ever.
He hath made ample provision for the recovery of the penitent
and faithful part of bis subjects, by the merciful undertaldng of
that great Restorer of the world, our Lord Jesus Cliriat. By him
life and immortality tvere both purchased and brought to light.
The new heavens and tlv new earth are discovered, ivherein
dweJhth righteousness ; where, through the divine grace, hu-
man nature shall regain its original honours, and man shall re-
turn to be what once he was in Paradise. Through those high
discoveries of the Gospel, this life appears to good men only in
SERMON XXII.] of Human Life. 261
the light of an intermediate and preparatory state. Its vanity and
misery, in a manner, disappear. They have every reason to sub-
mit, without complaint, to its laws, and to wait in patience 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 hu-
man life, without the smallest impeachment of divine goodness.
The sufferings we here undergo are converted into discipline
and improvement. Through the blessing of Heaven good is ex-
tracted from apparent evil ; and the very misery which originated
from sin, is rendered the means of correcting sinful passions and
preparing us for felicity. There is much reason to believe that
creatures 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 passions 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 suffering virtues. How much soever we complain of the va-
nity of the world, facts plainly show, that if its vanity were less,
it could not answer the purpose of salutary discipline. Unsatisfac-
tory 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 entirel}'^ would it
have seduced our affections, 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 reconciled with the infinite goodness of the Sovereign
of the universe. 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. Af-
ter having taken this view of things, the cloud, which in the
preceding pait 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 its behalf. We are allowed to entertain
better hopes ; and are encouraged to enquire, as was proposed for
the
Illd Head of discourse. Whether there be not, in the present
condition of human life, some real and solid enjoyments, which
362 On the proper Estimate [sermon xxir-
come not under the general charge of vanity of vanities. The
doctrine of the text is to he considered as chiefly addressed to
worldly men. Them Solomon means to teach, that all expec-
tations of bliss, which rests solely on earthly possessions and
pleasures shall end in disappointment. But surely he did not in-
tend to assert, that there is no material difference in the pursuits
of men, or that no real haj)piness of any kind could now be at-
tained by the virtuous. For, besides the unanswerable objec-
tion 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, wisdmn, and knowledge, and joy*
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 mis-
fortunes fr^n wounding our heart. But after this concession is
made, will it follow that there is no object on earth which de-
serves our pursuit, or that all enjoyment becomes conleniptible
which is not perfect ? Let us survey our state with an impar-
tial 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 ai'e sufficient to give solidity to the enjoyment's
of the righteous. In the exercise of good affections, 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 felici-
ty ; they possess a happiness which, descending from a purer
and more perfect region than this world, partakes not of its va-
nity.
Besides the enjoyments peculiar to religion, there are other
pleasures of our present state, which, though of an inferior or-
der, must not be overlooked in the estunate of human life. It
is necessary to call attention to these, in order to check that re-
pining and unthankful spirit to which man is always too prone.
Some degree of importance must be allowed to the comforts of
health, to the innocent gratifications of sense, and to the enter-
tainment 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 plea-
sures of affectionate intercourse with those whom we love. —
These comforts are often held in too low estimation, merely be-
cause they are ordinary and common ; although that be the cir-
cumstance which ought, in reason, to enhance their value. They
* Eccles. ii. 26.
SERMON XXII.] of Human Life. 2(i2>
lie open, in some degree, to all ; extend through every rank of
life, and fill up agreeably many of those spaces in our present ex-
istence which are not occupied with higher objects, or with seri-
ous cares.
We are in several respects unjust to Providence in the com-
putation of our pleasures arid our pains. We number the hours
which are spent in distress or sorrow ; but w^e forget those which
have passed away, if not in high enjoyment, yet in the midst of
those gentle satisfactions and placid emotions which make life
glide smoothly along. We complain of the frequent disappoint-
ments which we suffer in our pursuits. But we recollect not,
that it is in pursuit, itiore than in attainment, that our plea-
sure 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 efforts, 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 whieh entirely exclude it. Forms of expected
bliss are often gleaming upon us through a cloud, to revive and
exhilarate the most distressed. If pains be scattered through
all the conditions of life, so also are pleasures. Happiness, as far
as life affords it, can be engrossed 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 Providence, adjust them-
selves 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 plea-
sure, they would be found far to exceed tlie 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 satisfaction which, in the midst of earthly vanity, man is per-
mitted to enjoy, the three following observations claim our atten-
tion :
The first is, that many of the evils which occasion our com-
plaints of the world are wholy imaginary. They devive their
existence 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, w-e may observe that
the persons who live most simply, and follow the dictates of
plain unadulterated nature, are most exempted from this class of
evils. It is among the higher ranks of mankind that they chief-
ly abound; where fantastic refinements, sickly delicacy, and
264 On the proper Estimate [sermon xxir.
eager emulation, open a thousand sources of vexation peculiar to
themselves. Life cannot hut prove vain to them who affect a dis-
relish of every pleasure that is not both exquisite and new ; who
measure enjoyment, not by their own feelings, but by the stand-
ard 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 occasioned 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 scep-
tres which haunt them. Fancy has formed the cloud which hangs
over their l^fe. Did they allow the light of reason to break forth,
the spectres would vanish, and the cloud be dispelled.
The second observation on this head is that, of those e\dls
which may be called real, because they owe not their existence
to fancy, nor can be removed by rectifying opinion, a great pro-
portion is brought upon ns by our own misconduct. Diseases,
poverty, disappointment, and shame, are far from being, in every
instance, the unavoidable doom of men. They are much more
frequently the offspring of their own misguided choice. Intem-
perance engenders disease, sloth produces poverty, pride cre-
ates disappointment, and dishonesty exposes to shame. The
ungoverned passions of men betray them into a thousand fol-
lies, their follies into crimes; and their crimes into misfor-
tunes. Yet nothing is more common than for such as liave 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 ]ds tvay, and then his heart fret teth against
the Lord.
I do not, however, maintain, that it is within our power to be
altogether free of Ihose 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? Nev-
ertheless, much is here left to ourselves ; and, imperfect as we
are, the consequences of right or of wrong conduct make a wide
difference in the happiness of men. Experience every day shows,
that a sound, a well-governed, and virtuous mind, contributes
greatly to smooth the path of life ; and ihxiXioisdom excelleth folly
as far as Uglit excelleth darkness. The way of the ivicked iv
as darkness ; they know not at what they stumble. But the
righteonsness of the perfect shall direct his ways ; and he that
walkcth itprightly, walketh surely. The tendency of the one is
towards a plan anti safe region. The course of the other leads him
amidst snares and precipices. The one occasionally may, the
SERMON XXII.] of Human Life. %^h
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 tliose which, thi'ough
divine assistance, a wise and good man may, in a great measure,
escape.
The third oliservation which I make respects those evils
which are both real and unavoidable ; from which neither wis-
dom nor goodness can procure our exemption. Under these this
comfort remains, that if they cannot be prevented, there are
means, however, by vvhich they may be much alleviated. Reli-
gion is the great principle which acts under such circumstances,
as the corrective of human vanity. It inspires fortitude, sup-
ports patience, and, by its prospects and promises, darts a cheer-
ing ray into the darkest shade of human life. If it cannot secure '
the virtuous from disappointment in their pursuits, it fomns them
to such a temper as renders their disappointments more light and
.easy than those of other men. If it does not banish dissatisfac-
tion from their worldly pleasures, it confers spiritual pleasures
in their stead. If it insures them not the possession of what
they love, it furnishes comfort under the loss. As far as it esta-
blishes a contented frame of mind, it supplies the want of all that
worldly men covet to possess. Compare the behaviour of the
sensual and corrupted with that of the upright and holy, whea
both are feeling the effects of human vanity, and the cliftbrence
of their situation will be manifest. Among the former, you are
jlikely to find a querulous and dejected, among the latter, a com-
posed and manly spirit. The lamentations 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 peev^ish and fretful disposition ; those of
the latter soften the teinper, and improve the heart. These
consequences extend so far as to give ground for asserting that,
a good man enjo}s 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 affliction could send
forth such a triumphant voice as proclaims the complete victory
which he had gained over the evils of life ! Troubled on everi/
side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not in despair ; perse-
cuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed. For,
though our outward man perish, our inward man is renewed,
day by day.* Such though perhaps in an inferior degree, will be
the influence of a genuine religious principle upon all true
Christians. It begins to perform that office to them here, which
* Corinth, iv. 8, 9, 16.
VOL. I. 34
266 On the proper Estimate [sermon xxii.
hearcafter 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 ob-
tained ; 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 depres-
sion ; 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 cannot fail him ; and though the present be not
altogether according to his wish, yet with the confidence of cer-
tain hope he anticipates futurity. Hence the anguish of disap-
pointments fills the world ; and evils, which are of themselves
suificiently severe, oppress with double force the unprepared and
unsuspecting mind. Nothing, therefore, is of greater conse-
quence 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 destroy our joys by devouring
them before-hand with too eager expectation. We ruin the
happiness of life when we attempt to raise it too high. A to-
lerable and comfortable state is all that we can propose to
ourselves on earth. Peace and contentment, not bliss nor tran-
sport, is the full portion of man. Pefect 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
show, that, notwithstanding the vanity of the w^orld, a consider-
able degree of comfort is attainable in the present state. Lei
the recollection of this serve to reconcile us to our condition,
and to check the arrogance of complaints and murmers. — W^hat
art thou, oh son of man ! who having sprung but yesterday out
of the dust, darest to lift up thy voice against thy Maker, and
to anaign his providence, because all things are not ordered
according to thy wish? What title has thou to find fault with the
order of the universe, whose lot is so much beyond what ther
SERMON XXII.] of Human Life. 263
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 access to all the comforts which Nature, with a
bountiful hand, has poured forth round 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 hap-
pier state of existence ? When thou comparest thy condition with
Ihy 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 pre-
sent refuses thee more. Rest in this conclusion, 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
influence for correcting Its vanity. There are two great lines
of conduct which offer themselves to our choice. The one leads
towards the goods of the mind ; the other towards those of for-
tune. 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 followed 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 wc cannot wrap ourselves up entirely in the care
of the mind, yet the more wc make its welfare our chief object,
the nearer shall we approach to that happy independence on the
world, which places us beyond the reach of suffering from its
vanity.
That discipline, therefore, which corrects the eagerness of
worldly passions, which fortifies the heart with virtuous princi-
ples, which enlightens the mind with usefid knowledge, and fur-
nishes to it matter of enjoyment from within itself, is of more
consequence to real felicity, than all the provision which we can
raiake 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
caanot rule fortune, study at least to rule ourselves. Let us
26S On the proper Estimate, &t^c. [sermon xxii.
propose for our object, not worldly success, which it depends
not on us to obtain ; but that upright and honourable discharge
of our duty, in every conjuncture, which, throu2;h the divine as-
sistance, is always within our power. Let our happiness be
sought Where our proper praise is found ; and that be account-
ed 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 or.ler to carry on with success this rational and man-
ly plan of conduct, it is necessary, in the last place, that to mo-
ral we join religious discipline. Under the present imperfection
of our minds, and amidst the frequent shocks which we receive
from human evils, much do we stand in need of every assistance
for sujiporting our constancy. Of all assistance to which we
can have recourse, none is so powerful as what may be 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 superior Being, and to lean upon a strength that is
greater tlian his own. All the considerations which we can
offer for confirming his mind, presuppose this resource, and de-
rive from it their principal efficacy.
Never then let us lose sight of those great objects which re-
ligion :)nngs 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 connection with the great Father of Spirits
which our conditon 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 ])lessed 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 princi-
ples, we shall be enabled to hold a steady course through this
mixed region of pleasure and pain, of hope and fears ; 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.
Yea, tliough I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil ; for thou art with me; thy ?W and thy
staff they comfort me. — Psalm, xxiii. 4.
THIS Psalm exhibits the pleasing picture of a pious man
rejoicing 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 laaters. 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 bring-
ing 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 approach of death.
But on the Psalmist it produced no such elFect. 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 pros-
pect, 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 rne ; and
pursuing the allusion with which he had begun, exults in the hope
that the shepherd who had hitherto conducted him, would support
him with his staff, while he passed through tliat dark and per-
ilous region, and with his rod, or pastoral crook, would guard him
from every danger.
270 On Death. [sermon xxiir.
Such is the happy distinction which good men enjoy, in a sit-
uation 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 he 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 reli-
gion to confer upon us so high a privilege, let us adventure to
contemplate steadily this last foe whom we must all encounter.
Let us consider what death is in itself, and by what means good
men are 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 can-
not 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 deatli, beyond that
holy man whose sentiment is now before us. Those gi'eat 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
melancholy and dejected. In the third it is awful and alarming.
One of the first inquiries which occurs concerning it is, for what
pui'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
consequence of the fall, death was inflicted as a puhishment upon
the human race. But no unnecessary severities are ever exer-
cised 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, absolutely requisite to the proper government of the
world. The terrors of death are, in fact, the great guardians
of life. They excite in every individual that desire of self-pre-
servation, which is Nature's first law. They reconcile him to
bear the distresses of hfe with patience. They prompt him to
undergo its useful and necessary labours with alacrity ; and they
restrain him from many of those evil courses by which his safe-
ty would be endangered. While they are in so many respects
SERMON xxiii.J On Death. 271
beneficial to the individual, they are, at the same time, the safe-
guard of society. If death were not dreaded and abhored 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 loose their effect. The scaffold and the executioner would
be derided ; and the violent left to trample unrestrained on the
rights of the peaceful. If, notwithstanding the restraints which
self-preservation imposes, society is 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 val-
ley of death has been planted with terrors to the apprehen-
sion 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
ascendent 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, barken
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, de-
serves not to have lived. You might as reasonably complain
that you did not live before the time appointed for your coming
272 On Death. [sermon xxiii.
into the world, as lament that you are not to live longer, when
the }3eriocl of your quitting it is arrived. What divine Provi-
dence 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 pi'ivilige have you to plead,
or what reason to urge, why you should possess an exemption
from the common doom ? All things around you are mortal
and perishing. 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 ]ieasant the renow-
ned 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 calamity, which is common to you with
every thing that lives on earth ; which is an event as much ac-
cording 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 the imagination that it owes its chief power of deject-
ing 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 ruslied upon it ; revenge has
disregarded it; grief a thousand times has wished for its ap-
proach. 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 inconstancy 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 5'ou its whole store
of diseases and sorrows ? You lament tliat you are to die ; but
did you view your situation properly, you would have much
greater cause to lament if you v/ere cliained to this life for two
or tln-ee hundred years, without possil)ility of release. Expect
therefore calmly that which is natural in itself, and which must
be fit, because it is tlie appointment of Heaven. Perform your
SERMON XXIII.] On Death. 27S
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 tliat the 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
perpetual misery from the fear of dying.
Such discourses as these are specious at least, and plausible.
The arguments are not without strength, and ought to produce
some 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 dis-
tance, than when beholding it at hand. When the critical mo-
ment arrives, which places tlie 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 somewhat on which it can lay hold
for support amidst the struggles of labouring nature. Hence, the
great importance of those discoveries wliich revelation has made,
and of those principles with which it fortifies the heart. To the
consideration of these let us next proceed, and observe their su-
perior efficacy for surmounting tlie fear of death. In order to
judge of their importance, it will be proper to take a view of
death in each of tb.osc lights in wliicli 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 con-
cluding scene of any course of action in which we have been en-
gaged 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 bid-
ding an eternal adieu to the light of day : to every pursuit which
had occupied our attention as citizens of the world ; and to eve-
ry friend and relation who had attached our hearts ! How de-
jecting is the thought to the greatest part of men, that the
sun shall rise, and the seasons shall turn to others, but no more
to them ; and that, while their neighbours are engaged in the usu-
al affairs of life, they shall be shut up in a dark lonesome mansion,
forgotten and cut off from among 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 be-
hold man no more with the inhabitants of the ivorld.^'
VOL. I.
tsaiali, xxxviii. 10, 11,
374 On Death. [sermon xxiir.
Let us now observe, that the dejection in which we are apt to
sink at such a juncture, will bear proj)ortion to the degree ol"
our attachment to the objects which we leave, and to the impor-
tance 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 or settle-
ment and comfort, will have very different feelings at the time
of departure. Such is the difference which, at the hour of death,
takes, place between the righteous and the ungodly. The latter
knows nothing high^- or better than the present state of exist-
ence. His interests, his pleasures, his expectations, all center-
ed here. He lived solely for the enjoyments of this world.
Dreadful, tlierefore, and insupportable must be that event which
separates him from these for ever. Whereas, the culture of re-
ligion had previously formed the mind of a Christian for a calm
and easy transitory from this life. It had instructed him in the
proper estimate of sublunary happiness. It had set higher pros-
pects 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 connections and alliances with spi-
ritual objects, which ai"e unknown 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 prepara-
tion should be finished, he expected a removal ; and when Pro-
vidence gives the signal, he bids adieu to the world with com-
posed resolution and undisturbed heart. What though death
interrupt him in the middle of his designs, and break off the
plan? 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 gra-
ciously 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 luhich standeth i)i length of time, nor that which is mea-
sured by number of years. But wisdom is the gray hair to
onan ; and an iinspotied life is old age.* When he beholds his
friends and relations mourning around him, his heart may melt, but
will not be overpowered ; for it is relieved by the thought that he i'
* Wisilom of Solomon, iv, 8, 9.
SERMON XXIII.] On Death. 275
bidding Ihem 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 sooths his spirit with those comforting words,
Leave thy fatherless children ; I will preserve them alive ; and
let thy ividow trust in me*
But death is more than the conclusion of human life. It is
the gate, which, at the same time that it closes on this world,
opens into eternity. Under this view, it has often been the sub-
ject of terror to the serious and reflecting. The transition they
were about to make was awful. Before them lay a vast undis-
covered region, from whose bourn no traveller ever returned to
bring information of the reception which he found, or of the ob-
jects which he met with there. The first conception which sug-
gests itself is, that the disembodied spirit is to appear before
its Creator, who is then to act as its judge. The strict inqui-
sition which it must undergo, the impartial doom which it must
hear pronoanced, and the unalterable state to which it shall be
assigned, are awful forms rising before the imagination. They
ai'e ideas which Conscience forces upon all. Mankind can nei-
ther avoid considering themselves as accountable creatures, nor
avoid viewing death as the season when their account is to be
given. Such a sentiment is w^ith 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 difi'erence between the last moments of the righteous and
the sinner. But whose conscience 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 everla.sting fote 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 general-
ly, superficial ; slight excuses satisfy their minds, and the avo-
cations 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 ti'eml)ling mind casts every where around an an-
xious exploring eye after any power that can uphold, any mercy
that will shield and save it. And accordingly we see how eagerlv
* Jerem. xlix. 11.
276 ^Jii Dcallu [sermon xxiu.
every device iuis been eml)i'ace(l, which superstition could invent
in various coautries, for quietini^ tlic alarms of the departing
spu'it.
Here appears the groat importance of those discoveries which
Christianity has made concerning the j;;overnment of the universe.
It displays the ensi^uis of grace and clemency. It reveals the
Almighty, not as a Creator only and a Judge, but as a compas-
sionate Parent, loiio knows our frame, loho j^enieynbers we are
dust, who pities us as a father pitieth his children; and with
tahoni there is forgive )iess, that he may be loved as well as fear-
ed.— These general views, however, of the divine administration,
would not have been sufficient to give full relief, if they had not
been confirmed by certain 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
lo men than this, that guilt must be expiated by suffering. All
i^overnment is founded on tlie principle, that public justice rc-
quii'es compeiisation for crimes ; and all religions proceed upon
the belief, tiaat, in oi'<ler to the pardon of the sinnner, atonement
must be made to the justice of Heaven. Hence the endless va-
riety 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 giv-
ing 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 consis-
tency with justice and order. But still some anxiety might re-
main concerning the extension of that mercy to our own case in
})articular. 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 experi-
enced our frailty ; who has all the feelings of a brother for hu-
man infirmity and distress; who liimself 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 en-
couragement to commit the charge of our departing spirit. Such
is the provision \vhich Christianity has made for comforting the
last hours of man. The atonement, and the intercession of
Ciirist, are the refuge of the penitent sinner, and the consolation
of the saint. By their means, the throne of the universe is en-
circled with mercy. The cloud which hung over the invisible
world begin*^ to he dispersed : and hone biiditcns through th(i
gloom.
SERMON xxiii.'l On Death. Zll
But ^vhat completes the triumpli 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 tlie miseries of life and the fears of death. On this, the learn-
ed and the ignorant, the civilized and the savage tribes of man-
kind, bent their longing eyes ; eagerly grasping at every argu-
ment, 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, philoso-
phical mind was, at the hour of dissolution, left in painful sus-
pense. Christianity has put an end to all hesitation and doubt
on this important subject. 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
everlasting rest, the city of the living God. Not only has it in-
formed us that a state of perfect felicity is prepared for the righ-
teous, but it has added to this information a variety of circum-
stances 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 de-
scribes it as cm 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 fore-runner, entered
into the heavenly regions. / am the resurrection and the life.
He that believeth on me, though he ivere dead, yet shall he live.
I give unto v^y sheep eternal life. I ascend to my Father and
>/cmr Father, to my God and your God.*
Hence, to those who have lived a virtuous life, and who die in
ihe 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 soli-
tary 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 str-angers and unknown ; but to enter
on a land, new indeed to sight, but by faith and hope frequented
long before ; 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 innu-
tneraljle multitude, gathered, out of all nations, and tongues
and people, ivho stand before the throne of God. They leave be
* John, xi.2.?.— XX. IT
278 On Death. [sermon xxiir.
hind the dregs of their nature ; and exchange this confined c^nd
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 W\\s inuhon, resting froiyi their la-
labours, and followed by their tvorks. Good men are detained
at present in the outer coiut of the temple : Death admits them
into the holy place. As yet, they sojourn in the territories of
pilgrimage and exile. Death hrings them home to the native
land of Spirits. In this world, they are divided from one ano-
ther, and mingled witli the worthless and vile : Death unites in
one assembly oil the pure and the just. Jn the sight of the uni-
verse they seemed to die, and their departure was taken for utter
desttmction. But they are in peace. Their reward also is ivitlt
the Lord, and the care of them with the Most High.* — 0 Death !
tvhere is notv thy stijig ? 0 Grave, ivhere is thy victory I Where
are the terrors with which thou hast so long affrighted the na-
tions ? 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, the visionary hor-
rors have fled. The spell is broken. The dawn of the celestial
morning has dispelled thy dismal gloom ; and, instead of the habi-
tations of dragons, appears the paradise 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
circumstance which renders death formidable to many ; that is,
the shock which nature is apprehending to sustain at the separa-
tion of the soul from the botly. Formidable, I admit, this may
justly render it to them whose languishing spirits harve no in^valxl
fund whence they can then draw relief. Firmness and strength
of mind are peculiarly rec^uisite for the support of nature in its
last extremity ; and that strength is sup}>lied by religion. The
te.stimony of a good conscience, and the i-emembrance of a vir-
tuous life, a well-grounded trust in the divine acceptance, and
a firm hope of future felicity, are princi}>les sufficient to give
composure and fortitude to the heart, even in the midst of ago-
ny. In what a high degree they can suspend or alleviate the
feelings of pain, has been fully demonstrated, by the magnani-
mous behaviour of such as have suffered death in the cause of con-
science and religion. How often has the world beheld them ad-
vancing to meet that suppc^ed king of terrors, not with calmness
only, but with joy ; raised by divine prospects and hopes, into an
entire neglect and contempt of bodily suffering?
It is not without reason that a peculiar assistance from hear
ven is looked for by good men at the hour of death. As they
are taught to believe, tlyit in all their emergencies of their life
* Wisdom of Solomon, iii. 2, 3, — v. 15,
SERMON XXIII.] On Death. 279
divine goodness has watched over tliem, they have ground to con-
ckide, that at the last it will not forsake them ; hut that, at the
season when its aid is most needed, it shall be most liberally com-
municated. Accordingly, a persuasion so congruous to the be-
nignity and compassion of the Father of mercies, has been the
comfort of pious men in every age. My flesh and my heart
faileth ; hut God is the strens^th of my heart. In the valley of
the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with ')ne.
When the rod and staff oi i\\h Shepherd of Israel are held forth
to his expiring servants, declining nature needs no other support.
The secret influence of his reviving Spirit is sufficient for their
consolation and strength, while the painful struggle with mortali-
ty lasts ; till at length when the moment arrives that the silver
cord must be loosed, and the golden bowl be broken, tlieir Al-
mighty 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 enjoying till the
last moment of reflection, the pleasing thought, that he has not
lived in vain ! I have fought a good fight ; I have finished my
course ; I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for
me a crown of righteonsness, which the Lord the righteous
Judge shall give me at that day.*
After tlie view which we have taken of the advantages pos-
sessed by good men for overcoming the fears of death, the first
sentiment which should arise in our minds, is gratitude to Hea-
ven for the hopes which we enjoy by means of the Christian re-
ligion. How depressed and calamitous was the human condition,
as long as the terror of death hung, like a dark cloud, over the in-
habitants of the earth ; when, after all the toils of life, the melan-
choUy silence of the grave appeared finally to close the scene ol"
existence ; 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 pro-
duced by the discoveries with which we are blessed, concerning
the government of the universe, the redemption of the world,
and the future destination of man. How much dignity is there-
by added to the human character, and state ! What light and
cheerfulness is introduced into our abode ! What eternal praise
is due to Him, who, according to his abujidant mercy, hath be-
gotten us again into a lively hope, by the resurrection of Jesus
Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorrujitible, undefiled,
and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven !
* 2 Tim. iv. 7, 8,
:j80 On Death. [sermon xxiii.
The next eflfect which the subject we have considei-ed 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 peaceful and happy death is, by the
appointment 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 conscience^ if we hope for comfort at our last hour. To
prepare for this last hour every wise man should consider as
his most important concern. Death may justly be held the
test of life. Let a man have supported his character with es-
teem and applause, as long as he acted on the busy stage of
the world, if at the end he sinks into dejection and terror,
all his former honour is effaced ; he departs under the impu-
tation of either a guilty conscience or a pusillanimous mind. In
the other parts of human conduct, 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 j^roper composure and dignity, we naturally infer in-
tegrity and fortitude. We are led to believe that divine assist-
ance supports the soul, and we presage its transition into a happiei'
mansion. Mark the perfect man, and behold the iqiright ; for
the end of that man is peace. ^
The last instruction, which our subject points out, respects
the manner in which a wise and good man ought to stand affect-
ed towards life and death. He ought not to be servilely attach-
ed to the one. He has no reason abjectly to dread the other.
Life is the gift of God, which he may justly cherir.h and hold
dear. Nay, he is bound by all fair means to guard and pre-
serve it, that he may continue to be useful in that post of duty
where Providence has placed him. But there are higher prin-
ciples to which the love of life should remain subordinate. —
Wherever religion, virtue, or true honour, call him forth to dan-
ger, life ought to be hazarded without fear. Tiiere is a gene-
rous contempt of death, which should distinguisli those who live
and walk by the faith of immortality. This is the source of cour-
age in a Christian. His behaviour ought to show the elevation of
liis soul above the present world ; ought to discover the liber-
ty which he possesses, of following the native sentiments of his
mind, without any of those restraints and fetters which the fear oi
death imposes on vicious men.
At the same time, this rational contempt of death must care-
fully be distinguished from that inconsiderate and thoughtless
indifference, with which some have affected to treat it. This is
* Psalm xxsvli. 37.
SERMON XXIII.] On Death. 28J
what cannot be justified on any principle of reason. Human
life is no trifle, which men may play away at their pleasure.
Death, in every view, is an important event. It is the most so-
lemn 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 disposition of dependent beings, when the
dust is about to return to its dust, we may deliver up the spirit
to Him V)ho gave it.
VOL. I. 36
SERMON XXIV.
On the happiness of a tutuke state.
[Preached at the Celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.]
Sfttr this I beheld, and, lo ! a great multitude, which no man
could i7iim,be?% of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and
tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, cloth-
ed with white robes, and palms in their hands. Revela-
tions, vii. 9,
IN this mysterious book of Scripture many revolutions arc
foretold, which were to take place in the church of God. They
are not indeed so foretold as to afford clear and precise infor-
mation 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 whicli covers futurity. The intention of the Spi-
rit of God was not to gratify the curiosity of the learned, by dis-
closing to them the fate of monarchies and nations, but to satisfy
the serious concerning the general plan, and final issue of the
divine government. Amidst those distresses which befel Chris-
tians during the first ages, the discoveries made in this book
were peculiarly seasonable ; as they showed that there was an
Almighty Guardian, who watched with particular attention over
the inieiests of the church which he had formed, wlio 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 open-
ed in Heaven ; of trumpets sounding ; and vials poured forth.
The kingdom of dai'kness was to maintain for a while a violent
Struggle against the kingdom of light. But at the conclusion, a
reice was to be heard as the voice of many waters and of mighty
SERMON XXIV.] On the Happiness, 8,'e. 283
thunderings, saying, Mlelujah, for the Lord God Omnipotent
reigneth. The kingdoms of this uoorld are become the kingdoms
of our Lord, and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever*
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 closing the canon
of scripture, he, with great propriety, leaves upon our mind deep
impressions of the triumphs of righteousness, and of the blessed-
ness of the redeemed. After this I beheld, and, la I a great mul-
iitude, which no man could number^ of all nations, and kin-
dreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and be-
fore the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their
hands.
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 partic-
ular, when we are to commemorate the dying love of our Sa-
viour, 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 tiie
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, endear
vour 1o illustrate, in some imperfect degree, the prospect which
is here afforded us of a state of future felicity ; and then shall make
practical improvement of the subject.
I. What the words of the text most obviously suggest is,
that lieaven is to be considered as a state of blessed society, %/i
7nultitude, a numerous assembly, are here represented as sharing
together the same fcUcity and honour. Without society, it is
impossible for man to be happy. Place him in a region where
he was surrounded with every pleasure ; yet there, if he found
himself a solitary individual, he would pine and languish.
They are not merely our wants, and our mutual dependence,
but our native instincts also, which imjDel us to associate togeth-
er. The intercourse which we here maintain with our fellows,
is a source of our chief enjoynients. But, alas ! how much are
these allayed by a variety of disagreeable circumstances that
enter into all our connections! Sometimes we suffer from the
(distresses of those whom we love ; and sometimes from their
vices or frailties. Where fi'iendship is cordial, it is exjwsed to
the wounds of painful sympathy, and to the anguish of violent
separation. W^here 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 in-
* Eev. six, 6.— si, 15.
284 On the Happiness [sermon xxiv.
tercourse, 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 company, in order to be
relieved from wearisome cori-espondence with ourselves ; and the
vexations which we meet with in society, drive us back again
into solitude. Even among the A'irtuous, dissensions arise;
and disagreement in opinion too often produces alienation of
heart. We form few connections where somewhat does not occur
to disappoint our hopes. The beginnings are often pleasing. —
we flatUn- ourselves with having found those who will never
give us any disgust. But weaknesses are too soon discovered.
Suspicions arise ; and love waxes cold. We are jealous 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 caresses of dis-
sembled 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
spirits in a happier world. Here, it is with difficulty that we
can select from the corrupted crowd a few with whom we wish
to associate 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 disagreement to interrupt their perpetual harmony. Artifice
and concealment 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 reciprocal communications of love and friendship at
once receives from and adds to the sum of general felicity. Re-
new 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 adhere to the human character. Recal the
most pleasing and tender moments which you ever enjoyed in
their society ; and the remembrance of those sensations may as-
sist you in conceiving that felicity winch is possessed by the saints
above. The happiness oi brethren dwclUng toii;eiher 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 t lie precious ointment poured on the head of
Aaron ; and like the dew of Hern) on, even the dew that descend-
6th on the mountains of Zion,ivhere the Lord commandeth the.
blessing, even life for evermore.*-
' Psalm cxxxiii. ?,
SERMON XXIV.] Of a Future Slate. 285
Besides the felicity which sprinj^s from perfect love, there are.
two circumstances which particularly enhance the blessedness of
that multitude ivho stands before the throne ; these are, access
to the most exalted society, and renewal of the most tender con-
nections. The former is pointed out in the Scripture hy joining
the innumerable company of angels, and the general assembly
and church of the fii'st-born ; by sitting down with Abraham,
and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of lieaven f a promise
which opens the sublimest prospects to the human mind. It al-
lows good men to entertain the hope, that, separated from all the
dregs of the human mass, from that mixed and polluted crowd in
the midst of which they now dwell, they shall be permitted to min-
gle with prophets, patriarchs, and apostles, with legislators and he-
roes, with all those great and illustrious spirits, who have shown in
former ages as the servants of God, or the benefactors of men ;
whose deeds we are accustomed to celebrate ; whose steps we now
follow at a distance ; and whose names we pronounce with vene-
ration.
United to this high assembly, the blessed at the same time re-
new those ancient connections 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 doom-
ed 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. Me-
mory, 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 lhe peaceful shore where they dwell,
no revolutions of nature shall ever be able to part us more ! — Sucln
is the society of the blessed above. Of such are the multitude com-
posed 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 handful to gain admission, after making their escape from
the general wreck of the human race. In m,y Father's house.
■iaid our Saviour, there are many mansions. That city of the
* Hcb. xli. 22, 23. Mallh. viii. 11.
-;2SG On the Happiness [sermon xxiv.
living God, towards whicli 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 dilliculties there are in the
way which leads to it, ihey have been often surmounted. The
patli, though narrow, is neither impassible, nor untrodden.
Thougli the ^te 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
Christians, the uncharitalile 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 Gud 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 v/ith us, might be brought to the kingdom of heaven ?
Is this all the deliverance he has wrought tipon the earth ? He
was with child ; he was in pain ; and shall he not see of the tra-
vail of his soul and be satisfied? Surely, the Scripture has gi-
ven us full ground to conclude, that the trophies of our Redeem-
er's grace shall coiTespond to the greatness of his power. The
Captain of our salvation shall bring many sons with himself
lo glory. The pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.
He shall see his seed ; He shall justify many. Men shall he
blessed in him, and. all nations shall call him blessed. For our
farther encouragement let us observe,
III. That the heavenly society is represented in the t6xt, as
srathered out of all the varieties of the human race. This is in-
timated by the remarka!)le 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 no-
tions of the extent and power of divine grace. They whom dis-
tant seas and regions now divide, whose languages and manners
are at present strange to one another, shall tlien mingle in the
same assembly. No situation is so remote, and no station so un-
favourable, as to preclude access to the heavenly felicity. A road
is opened by tlic Divine 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 cot-
tages of the ])Oor, and from the palaces of kings ; from the dwell-
ings of ignorance and simplicity, and from the regions of science
SERMON XXIV.] of a Future State. 287
and improvement. They shall come, says our blessed Lord him-
from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from
the south, and sit down in the kingdom of God*
Such discoveries serve both to enlar2;e 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
permitted to draw aside the veil, and to view that diversified as-
sembly of the blessed who surround the throne, you would be-
hold among them numbers who have overcome the same difficul-.
ties which encoimter you, and which you dread as insupera-
ble. 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 youth-
ful 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 or
impiety ; many who in the most difficult and ensnaring cir-
cumstances, in the midst of camps and armies, and corrupted
courts, had preserved unsullied integrity. In a word, from all
kindreds and people ; 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 fu-
ture 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 tvitnesses 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 de-
spair enervate or deject our minds ? From the happy multitude
above, there issues a voice which ought to sound perpetually irt
the ear of faith. Be ye faithful unto the death ; and ye shall
receive the crown of life : Be strong in the Lord, aiid in the.
power of his might : Be followers of us who, through faith
and patience, are now inMriting the promises. Consider,
IV. The description given in the text of the happiness, and
glory of the heavenly society. They were beheld by the Apos-
tle standing before the throne, and before the La^nb, clothed with
white robes, and palms in their hands. All that \hcs&palms and
ivhite 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 victory ! and are undoubtedly employed here to repre-
sent that distinguished felicity and honour to which human nature
shall be then advanced. But we must be endowed with the fa-
culties of the blessed, in order to comprehend their employ-
* liuke, xiii, 29.
388 On the Happiness [sermon xxiv.
ments and pleasures ; and therefore on this part of the subject
I sliall not attempt to enlarge. The silence of humble and re-
spectful hope better becomes us, than the indulgence of those
excursions of fancy, \\hich degi'ade the subject they endeavour to
exalt,
One circumstance only cannot fail to attract particular atten-
tion ; That the ble?sed are hpre described as standing before tlie
throne, and before the Lanu ; that is, enjoying the immediate
presence 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 sourcf^ of all our woes. Those territories which
we inhabit, are not His abode. They are regions of exile. They
are the dwellings of a fallen race ; and are condemned to be in-
vested with clouds and darkness. Here, God standeth afar 08".
In vain we often pursue his presence through his works, his ways,
and his religious institutions. He is said to be a God that hidetJi
himself He dwelleth, as to us, in the secret p)lace of thnnder.
He JioldetJi bacJc the face of fiis tJirone, and sj)readeth a thicJc
cloud tipon it. The manifestation of his presence shall be
the signal for the renovation 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 briglitness of his face. For neither guilt nor misery can re-
main where God dwells. As the rising of the sun transforms at
once the face of nature, and converts the v^hole 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 bli'ss
over all who behold it. It imT^OYXs, filness of joy, and pleasure
for evermore. The inspired writer of this book thus describes its
effects ; Ttiere shall be no more death ; neither sorrow, nor
crying, nor jmin : ,for t lie former things arc passed away.
He that sat upon the throne said. Behold, I make all tilings
new. They shall hunger no more, neither tliirst any more. But
the Lamb which is in the midst of tJie tJirone shall feed them^
and shall lead them unto living fountains of water. God shall
ivipe away all tears from ttieireyes. 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, say-
ing unto me. What are these wtiich are arrayed in ivliite robes 7
and whence came they ? And I said unto Jam, Sir, thou knowest.
And tie said unto me, These are they ivhich come out of great
tribulation.* This explanatory circumstance may relate particu-'
Rev vii. 13 14.
SERMON XXIV.] of a Future State. 2S9
larly to the case of those primitive sufferers who endured severe
I^ersecution 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 tribula-
tion and conflict. No man is thoioughly at ease, in his con-
dition. Pursuits succeeding to pursuits keep us in constant
agitation ; while frequent returns of disappointment break our
plans and oppress our spirits. — Fatigued by such a variety of
toils, mankind have ever looked forward to rest as their favour-
ite 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.
The nature and laws of our present state admit not the gra-
tification of this favourite wish. For, besides the necessity of
trouble, in order to fulfil the purposes of discipline and im-
provement, our very happiness, such as it is in this world, re-
quires a circulation of labours. Our enjoyment consists in pur-
suit, not in attainment. Attainment is with us, for the most
part, the grave of pleasure. Had wc no oiiject to excite fresh
activity, and to impel us to new toils, human life would quick-
ly 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, reniaineth at last a rest for the people of God ; rest from
the disturbance of passion, the vanity of pursuit, and the vexa-
tion of disappointment ; rest from all the sins and the sorrows
of this miserable world ; rest, which shall not be merely an indo-
lent cessation from labour, but a full and satisfying enjoyment.
Good men sliall rest from their labours, and their works shall
folloio 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 heav^enly
bliss. Not only have they come out of great tribulation, but,
as the Spirit of God adds in explaining the text, thei/ liave icash-
ed their robes, and made thera white in the blood of the
\o\.. \. 37
290 On the Happiness [sermon xxiv-
Lamh* Two things are here suggested ; the sanctity of the
blessed, and the means by which it is attained.
First, their sanctit}' or purity is emblamatically described, by
their being clothed in rubes ivhich are washed and made ivhite. —
In order to qualily human nature for the enjoyment of such hap-
piness as I have endeavoured to tlescribe, it must undergo a
chaige 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 regen-
eration, consist not only the necessary preparations for future
felicity, but which is not so commonly attended to, consists an
essential part of that felicit}' itself. For whence arises the mi-
sery of this present world ? It is not owing to our cloudy atmo-
sphere, our changing seasons, and inclement skies. It is not
owing to the debility of our bodies, or to the unequal disb'ibu-
tion of the goods of fortune. Amidst all disadvantage of this
kind, a pure, a steadfast, and enlightened mind, possessed of ex-
alted virtue, could enjoy itself in peace, and smile at the impo-
tent assaults of fortmie 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 wo. Thence discontent and remorse gnaw
the hearts of individuals. Thence society is torn by open violence,
or undermined by secret treachery ; and man is 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 5'ou would behold the present habitation of
men changed into the paradise of God. The undisturbed en-
joyment 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
dilTerent appearance around us. That golden age, which was
so long the subject of the phdosopher's dream, and of the
poet's song, would in fact take place. According to the beauti-
ful language of ancient pi'ophecy, springs would then rise in
the desert, and rivers be opened in the thirsty land. The ivil-
derness and the solitary place would he glad. The wolf would
dwell with the lamb, and the leojxtrd lie down ivith the kid.
Judgment would dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness re-
* Hev. v'li. 14.
SERMON XXIV.] of a FutuTe. State. 291
main in the fruitful field. The desert loould rejoice, and blos-
som 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 7ieiv 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, to use the language of the text, are sullied
v^'ith so many stains, as to convey no adequate idea of the origi-
nal 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 of God 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 re-
mission 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 existence as to mingle with angels. —
We had neither sufficient knowledge to discover, nor virtue to
merit, nor ability to qualify ourselves for enjoying, celestial glo-
ry. 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 his generous
undertaking has conferred upon the human race, will tend highly
to increase the felicity of the blessed. The sense of being dis-
tinguished by so illustrious a benefactor, and the corresponding
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 re-
lates to the mind and heart; in good dispositions and a purified
soul ; in unity and friendship with one another ; and in the di-
vine presence and favoiu'. If such things form the principal
articles of future bliss, they cannot but be essential to our hap-
piness in the more early periods of existence ; and he who seeks
392 (Jn the Happiness [sermon xxiv.
his chief enjoyment from an 0]:)})0site quarter, errs widely from
the path which conckicts to feUcity.
Wc are farther taught whence to derive constancy and perse-
verance, amidst tlie present discouragements of a virtuous life.
In this world, we often iiehold gootl men depressed, and the
wicked prospering around us. Our f)est dc^ds 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, tJiat in vain we have clean-
sed our hearts, and washed our hands in innocency. Let us
rest on the assurance, that these disorders extend not far in the
kingdom of God. They affect 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 staiid before the throne. Until the
day arrive which shall join us to that 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 ; stablish
your hearts. The coming of the Lord draiveth nigh.
From the prospects which the text has afforded, we may like-
wise learn what the spirit is which should regulate our life.
Sanctity 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
undoubtedly lies the chief scene of human action, of human du-
ty. But while we act as inhabitants of the earth, we ought at
the same time so to remember our connection with a better world,
as not to debase ourselves with what is mean, not to defile our-
selves with what is impure, not to entangle ourselves among what
is ensnaring, in the present state. Let neither its advantages
elate, nor its disappointments deject us ; but with an equal spirit
with a mind full of immortality, let us pass through all the changes
of this mortal life.
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 mercies, and the great Restorer of the fallen race of men.
Particularly when approaching to God in solemn acts of devo-
tion, such as we are at 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
SERMON XXIV,] of a FutuTe State. 293
the obligations which we lie under to this great Benefactor of
manJiind. When just ready to suffer for our sake, he instituted
this holy sacrament, and said, Do this in remerabi^ance of me. —
Whom, Oh blessed Jesus ! shall we ever remember, if we are ca-
pable of forgetting Thee ? Thee, to whom we owe the forgive-
ness of sin, and the restoration of divine favour ; our victory over
death, and our hope of life eternal ! Thou hast enlarged our
views beyond those territories of disorder 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 gatherest out of every na-
tion, and kindred, and people, that multitude which stand be-
fore the throne. Thou bringest them out of great tribulation.
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.
SERMON XX\
On candour.
Charity — thinketh no evil. — 1 Corinth, xiii. 5.
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 Hves, of its subjects. But
the defect 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 insuf-
ficiency of law, by striking at the root of those disorders which
occasion so much misery in the world. Its pi'ofessed scope is to
regulate, not actions alone, but the temper and inclinations. By
this means it ascends to the sources of conduct ; and very ineffec-
tual would the wisest system of legislation prove for the hap-
piness 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
context, of charity, that great principle in the Christian system.
The Apostle places it in a variety of lights, and under each of
them explain its operation by its internal effects ; not by the
actions to which it gives rise, but by the dispositions which it
produces in the heai't. He justly supposes, that if the temper be
duly regulated, propriety of action will follow, and good order
take place in external loehaviour. Of those characters of cha-
rity, I have chosen one for the subject of this Discourse, which
leads to the consideration of a virtue highly important to us.
SERMON XXV.] On Candour. Z^5
both as Christians and as members of society. I shall endea-
vour, 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 to
be understood in a scene altoo-ether 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 compla-
cency, 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 be-
tween 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 occasions, to express our indignation
openly against it. But the Apostle, with great propriety, des-
cribes the temper which he is recommending, 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 inculcate, is that which is known
by the name of Candour : a virtue, which, as soon as it is men-
tioned, every one will acknowledge to be essential to the charac-
ter of a worthy man ; a virtue which we seldom fail of ascribing
to any person whom we seek to recommend to the esteem of
others ; but which, I am afraid, when we examine our own con-
duct in a religious view, is seldom the subject of enquiry.
It is necessary to observe, that true Candour is altogether
different from that guarded, inoffensive language, and that stu-
died 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 Chris-
tian virtue, consists 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 senti-
ment. Its mannex's 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 eas} cre-
dulity 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 inter-
course which v\'e are obliged to carry on with persons of every
different character, suspicion, to a certain degree, is a necessa-
ry guard. It is only when it exceeds the bounds of prudent
caution, that it degenerates into vice. There is a proper mean
296 On Candour. [sermon xxv.
between undistinguishing credulity and Universal jealousy, which
a sound understanding discerns, and which the man of candour
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 ii; unwilling to believe that there is any
without some commendable quality. In the midst of many de-
fects, 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 to those defamatory reports and dark sugges-
tions, 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 requires full evidence before he will
condemn. As long as an action can be ascribed to different
motives, he holds it as no mark of sagacity to impute it always
to the worst. Where there is just ground for doubt, he keeps
his judgment undecided ; and, during the period of suspense,
leans to the most charitable construction which an action car>
bear. When he must condemn, he condemns with regret ; 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 cen-
sure, 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 sub-
version of all sound principles ; nor, from one bad action, con-
clude that all regard to conscience is overthrown. When he be-
holds the mote in his b?^other's eye he remembers the beam in
his oion. He commiserates human frailty ; and judges of othei-s,
according to the prmciples by which he would think it reasona-
ble that they should judge of him. In a word, he views men
and actions in the cleai- 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.
I^et us Ijegin 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 bestows
upon charity, is alone suiBcient to prove it. He places this grace
at the head of all the gifts and endowments which can be pos-
sessed by man ; and assures us, that though ive had all faith,
so that we could remove mowitains, yet if we be destitute ol
otRMON XXV.] On Candour. 297
charity, it will profit us nothing. Accordingly, love, gentleness ^
meekness and long-suffering, are enumerated as distinguishing
fruits of the sjyirit of Christ.* But it is impossible for such vir-
tues 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 necessaiy inti'oduction to all good-will
and kindness. They form, if we may speak so, the only climate
in which love can grow up and flourish. A suspicious temper
checks in the bud every kind affection. It hardens the heart,
and estranges mon from man. What friendship or gratitude
can you expect fiom him, who views all your conduct with dis-
trustful 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 as-
sured of ; as to the suspicions to which he is a prey will afford him
frequent pretexts for departing from truth, and for defending him-
self with the same arms which he conceives to be employed
against him. Unhappy will they be who are joined with him by
any close connection ; exposed to every malignant suspicion which
arises in his own mind, and to every unjust suggestion whicli the
malice of others may insinuate against them. That store of poi-
son which is collected within him, frequently throws out its ve-
nom 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 capaci-
ty, seditious and turbulent, prone to impute the conduct of his su-
periors to improper motives, and upon loose information to con-
demn their conducts.
The contrary of all this may be expected from a candid tem-
per. Whatever is amiable in manners, or useful in society, na-
turally and easily ingrafts itself upon it. Gentleness, humanity,
and compassion, flow from it as their native spring. Open and
cheerful in itself, it diffuses cheerfulnsss and good-humour over
all who are under its influence. It is the chief ground of mutual
confidence and union among men. It prevents those animosities
from arising, which are the ofi'spring of groundless prejudice ; or,
by its benign interposition, allays them when arisen. In the ma-
gistrate, it tempers justice with lenity. Among subjects it pro-
motes good order and submission. It connects humanity with
piety. For he who is not given to think evil of his fellow-crea-
tures, will not be ready to censure the dispensations of his Crea-
tor. Whereas the same turn of mind which renders one jealous
and unjust towards men, will incline him to be queralous and im-
pious towards God.
In the second place, As a suspicious uncharitable spirit is jft~
* Gal. V. 22, 23.
'VOL. I. oS
29B On Candour. [sermon xxv^
consistent with all social virtue and happiness, so, in itself, it is
unieasonable and unjust. In order to form sound opinions con-
cernins; characters and actions, two thin2;s are especially requi-
site, information and impartiality. But such as are most forward
to decide unfavourably, arc commonly destitute of both. Instead
of possessing, or even requiring, full information, the grounds on
which they proceed are frequently the most slight and frivolous.
A tale, perhaps, which the idle have invented, the inquisitive
have listened to, and the credulous have propagated, or a real in-
cident which rumour, in carrying it along, has exaggerated and
disguised, supplies them with matei'ials of confident assertion, and
decisive judgment. 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
reason, than such precipitate judgments. Any man who attends
to what passes within himself, may easily discern what a compli-
cated system the human character is, and what a variety of cir-
cumstances 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 attending 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 as-
cribe to him ; and, where you suppose him impelled by bad de-
sign, he may have been prom])ted by conscience and mistaken
principle. Admitting the action to have been in every view cri-
minal, 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
incui'sions of temptation ; while the other avenues of his heart were
firmly guarded by conscience.
No error is more palpatile than to look for uniformity from
human nature ; though it is commonly on the supposition of it
that our general conclusions concerning character are formed.
Mankind are consisten neither in good nor in evil. In the pre-
sent state of frailty, all is mixed and blended. The strongest con-
trarieties of piety and hypocrisy, of generosity and avarice, of
truth and duplicity, often meet in one character. The purest hu-
man virtue is consistent with some vice ; and, in the midst of
much vice and disor'ler, amiable, nay respectable, qualities may
be found. There are few cases in which we have ground to con-
SERMON XXV.] 0?i Candour. 2W
elude that all goodness 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 from reflection, may, on 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 darkness, where our knowledge of the
heai'ts and characters of men is so limited, and our judgments
concerning them are so apt to err, what a continual call do we
receive, either to suspend our judgment, or to give it on the fa-
vourable side ? especially when we consider, that as, through im-
perfect 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 the
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 lauda-
ble attachment 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
wi'ong. W'e claim an exclusive possession of goodness and wis-
dom ; and, from approving warmly of those who join us, we
proceed to condemn, with much acrimony, not onlv the princi-
ples, but the characters, of those from whom we difter. Hence,
persons of well-disposed minds are too often, thorugh the strength
of partial good affection, involved in the crime of uncharitable
judgment. 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 sla-
vish ; and therefore his whole sentiments 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
300 On Candour. [serjmon xxv.
thought. Another is connected with a sect which we have been
taught to accouut relaxed ; and therefore he can have no sanc-
tity.— Are these t!ie judgments of candour and charity ? Is true
piety or virtue ^o very hmited 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 mis-
lead the honest mind, there are other, and much more culpable,
causes of uncharitable judgment. 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 appear-
ance of one, as a satisfying proof. When rivalry and competi-
tion concur with pride, our desire to espy defects increases, and
by consequence the grounds of censure multiply. Where no
opposition of interests takes place, envy has too much influence
in warping the judgment of many. Even when none of these
causes operate, the inward consciousness of depravity is suffi-
cient to fdl the mind with evd thoughts of others. Whence
should a nian so readily draw his opinion of men as from that
character with v,-hich he is best acquainted, because it is his
own ? A person of low and base mind naturally imputes to
others tlie 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 aie no better than himself; that his weaknesses and
crimes are those of all men ; and that such as appear most dis-
tinguished ibr virtue possess no real superiority, except great-
er dexterity in concealing their vices. Soothing themselves
\vith 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 suitaljle to the sources whence a
jealous and suspicious temper proceeds, are the effects which it
produces in the v.ovld, the crimes and mischiefs with which it
tills 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 the)^ commit. Am.idst the uproar of othi;r 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 fi'om any such check or controuJ.
Through the infatuation of prejudice, his judgment is perverted;
conscieuce is misled ; ihe light within him is turned into dark-
SERMON XXV.] On Candour. 301
ncss. Viewing; the objects of liis 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 ai'C 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
gi'eater and more serious evils frequently ensue. What direful
effects, for instance, have often flowed from rash and ill-founded
jealousy in privite life ? No sooner has one allowed that daemon
to take possession of his mind, than it perverts his understand-
ing, 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
liis 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 vio-
lent convulsions ; the husband armed against the wife, the father
against the son, the friend against the friend ; the plan of trea-
chery and assassination contrived, and the dagger plunged into
the bosom of the innocent. — In public life, how often have king-
doms 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 pas-
sion on which it acts, and to render every contest into which it
enters, uncommonly ardent; because the objects which it pre-
sents are of such a nature, as strongly to seize and engage the
human mind. When zeal for their own principles has prompted
men to view those of a different persuasion in the odious lights
which bigotry 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
restrain the violent and bloody hand of persecution ; and the un-
charitable 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 particulai'ly to one awful instance of the guilt
which men may contract, and of the ruin which they may bring
upon themselves, through tlie want of fairness and candour. The
nation of the Jews were almost noted for a narrow and unchari-
table spirit. When John the Baptist, and our blessed Lord, ap-
peared among them, because the former was austere in his tern-
30^ 0)1 Candour. [sermon xxv.
per, and retired in his life, they pronounced of him that he had
an evil spirit ; and, because the latter was open and sociable in
his manners, 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 cotne out of
Nazareth ? When his miracles repelled this reproach, and suffi-
ciently proved 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 tem-
poral 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 re-
ligion. Because he prophesied 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 become so inflamed as to make them cry out with one
voice, Jiway with this man to the death, and give us Barab-
bas the robber. Viewing in this dreadful event the consequen-
ces of want of candour, let every man tremble to think evil rash-
ly of his brother. No one can tell how far uncharitable prejudi-
ces may carry him in guilt, if he allows them to harbour and ga-
ther strength within his breast. The cloud which rose from the
sea, no bigger than a man^s head, 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 is the source of so ma-
ny crimes and calimities in the world, so it is the spring of cer-
tain misery to the person who indulges it. His friends will be
few ; and small will be his comfort in those whom he possesses.
Believing others to be his enemies, he will of course make them
such. Let his caution be ever so gi'eat, the asperity of his thoughts
will often break out in his behaviour; and, in return for suspect-
ing and hating, he will incur suspicion and hatred. Besides the
external evils which he draws upon himself, arising from alienated
friendship, 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 I
Looking npon 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 au irritated and cm^^
feittered mind.
SERMON XXV.] On Candour. 3Q3
So numerous and great are the evils arising; from a suspi-
cious disposition, that of the two extremes it is moie 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 ne-
ver to trust. Safety is purchased at too dear a rate, when, in
order to 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 candou?- 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 beauti-
ful 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 falsehood, deceit, and treache-
ry, resembles the traveller in the wilderness, w'ho discerns no
objects around him but what are either dreary or terrible ; cav-
erns that open, serpents that hiss, and beasts of prey that howl.
Hence, in him are verified those descriptions 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 sliall 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.. 1 add,
In the sixth and last place. That there is nothing which ex-
poses men in a more marked and direct manner to the dis-
pleasure of the Almighty, than a malignant and censorious spi-
rit. I insist not now on the general denunciations of divine wrath
against malice and hatred. Let us only consider under what
particular description the Spirit of God brings this crime of un-
charitable judgment. 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 privi-
lege 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 ser-
vant ? To his own master he standeth or falleth. Judge no-
thing before the time, until the Lord come, who shall make
manifest the counsels of the heart.*
It deserves our most serious attention, that in several passages
af Scripture, the great Judge of the world is represented, at the
day of final retribution, as proceeding upon this principle, ofren-
* Rom. xiv. 4. 1 Corinth, iv 5.
304 On Ciuiduur. [sermon xxv.
deling to men according to the manner in which they have acted
towards tlieir brethren. With the merciful , thou wilt show thy-
self merciful ; and with the froward, thou wilt show thyself
froward. With ivhat judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged ;
and with ivhat measure ye mete, if shall be measured to youa-
gain* It is impossible ^to form an argument of more force
than this, to restrain all severity of judgment among such as
look forvyard to the tribunal of God. The argument extends
not indeed so far, as to represent our acceptance with the Deity,
as entirely suspended upon the candour which we show in form-
ing our sentiments of others. We know that other graces be-
sides 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 fair-
ness and candour, the Spirit of God certainly dwells not ; and
that whatever appearances of religion the uncharitably man may
assume, on him the Sovereign of the universe looks with no fa-
vour Thou, who art a man full of frailties, who standest in
need, not merely of impartiality in thy divine Judge, but of in-
dulgence and mercy : Thou who imj)lorest daily this mercy from
Him, and prayest that He would remember thou art dust, and
not to 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 7 Oh thou hypocrite ! (for by what other name
can we call thee ?) vain are all thy pretensions to piety. Inef-
fectual is every plea which thou canst form for mercy from Hea-
ven. The precedent which thou hast established against thyself
is decisive. Thou hast dictated the sentence of thine own con-
demnation.
On the whole, it clearly appears that no part of the govern-
ment of temper deserves attention more, than to keep our minds
pure from uncharitable prejudices, and open to candour and hu-
manity 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 infimity and corruption, doubtless, ad-
heres to it; yet tempered also it is with A^arious 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 an mo-
• Psalm, xviij "25, 25. Matth. vii. 2.
SERMON xxv.J On Candour. 3Q5
dest, and requires particular situations to bring it forth to pub-
lic notice. The prophet Elijah, in a time of prevailing corrup-
tion, imagined that all true religion had forsaken the land. /,
even I only, said 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 ^
tvho have not bowed the knee to BaalJ*
The aged, and the unfortunate, who have toiled through aa
unsuccessful life with long experience of the falsehood and fraud
of evil men, are apt to be the most severe in the opinions which
they entertain of others. For such, their circuinstances may be
allowed to form some degree of apology. But if, in youth and
prosperity, the same haixl suspicious spirit prevail j if they who
are beginning the career of life set out with all the scruples of
distrust ; if, before they have had reason to complain of the
world, they betray the diffidence of a jealous, and the maligni-
ty of a censorious mind ; sad is the presage which may thence
be drawn of their future dishonour. From such, you have noth-
ing to look for that shall be either engaging in private life, or
respectable in public character. To youth it particularly be-
longs to be generous in sentiment, candid in opinion, undesign^
ing in behaviour, open to the most favourable construction of ac-
tions and conduct. Throughout all the stages uf life, candour is
one of the most honourable distinctions of the human character %
it is connected with magnanimity; it is justified by wisdom; it i^
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 judgments, let that awful denunciation frequently
resound in our ears, He shall have judgment vyitkout mer^y
who hath showed no mercy.
» ) King-s, six. 1^.
VOL. I. .IS
SERMON XXVI.
On the character of Joseph,
Now therefore he not grieved nor angry with yourselves that ye
sold me hither ; for God did send me before you to preserve
life. So nov) it was not you that sent me hither, but God.
Genesis, xlv. 5. 8.
IN this generous manner, Joseph frames an apology for the
unnatural behaviour of his brethren. He extenuates the atro-
city of their crime, by representing the happy effects which it
had produced. He looks beyond all second causes ; and re-
cognizes, 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 vicissi-
tudes 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 over-
seer 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 integrity and pru-
dence soon rendered him conspicuous, even in that dark man-
sion. 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 circum-
stance so striking and interesting, as his behaviour to his bre-
thren, who had sold him into slavery. The moment in which
he made himself known to them, that moment at 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 oc-
curs in the course of human events ; and is calculated to draw
SERMON XXVI.] On the Character of Joseph. 3©7
the highest attention of all who are endowed with any degree of
sensibility of heart. Let us consider the sentiment which Joseph
utters in the text, under two views, each of which is very instruc-
tive to all Christians. I. As a discovery of his cordial forgive-
ness of his brethren ; and, II. As an instance of his dutiful atten-
tion to the Providence of God.
I. The most cordial foregiveness is here displayed. I shall
not recapitulate all the precedmg history respecting Joseph and
ins brethren ; as it is well known by every one who has the least
acquaintance with the sacred writings. From the whole tenour
of the narration it appears, that though Joseph, upon the arrival
of his brethren in Egypt, made himself strange to them, yet
fi'om the beginning he intended to discover himself; and studied
so to conduct the discovery 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 arrived there ; and Benjamin among the rest, who
was his younger brother by the same mother, and was particu-
larly beloved by Joseph. Him he threatened to detain ; and
seemed willing to allow the rest to depart. This incident renew-
ed their distress. They all knew their father's extreme anxiety
about the safety of Benjamin, and with what difficulty he had
yielded to his undertaking 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
bad particularly 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 go-
vernor •, and gave him a full account of the circumstances of Ja-
cob's lamily.
Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than this dis-
course of Judah, as it is recorded in the preceding chapter. — Lit-
tle knowing to whom he spoke, he paints, in all the colours of
simple and natural eloquence, the distressed situation of the aged
Patriarch, hastening to the close of life ; long afflicted for the loss
of a favourite son, whom he supposed to have been torn in pieces
by a beast of prey ; labouring now under anxious concern about
liis youngest son, the child of his old age, who alone was left
alive of his mother, and whom nothing but the calamities of se-
vere 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, ive shall bring down the grey hairs of thy
servant, our father, ivith sorrow, to the grave. I pray thee,
therefore, let thy servant abide instead of the young man, a
hondman 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.
308 On the Character of Joseph, [sermox xx\r.
Upon this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain himself.
The tender ideas of his father and his father's house, of his an-
cient home, his country 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 loept aloud. The tears which
he shed, were not the tears of grief. They were the bursts of af-
fection. They were the effusions of a heart overflowing with all
the tender sensibilities of nature. Formerly he had been moved
in tlie same manner, when he first saw his brethren before him.
His bowels yearned upon them ; he sought for a place ivhere to
loeep. He went into his chamber; and then washed his face
a)ul returned to them. At that period, his generous plans were
not completed. But now, when there was no farther occasion for
constraining 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-
nonnce, are the most suitable to such an affecting situation which
were over uttered ; / am Joseph; doth my Father yet live?
What could be, 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 expres-
sion; no parade of kindness; but strong affection hastening to
utter what it stronglj^ feJt. His brethren could not answer
him ; for they were troubled at his presence. Their silence is
as expressive of those emotions of repentance and shame, which,
on this amazing discovciy, filled their breasts, and stopped their
utterance, as the few words which Joseph speaks are expressive
of the generous agitations which struggle for vent within him.
No painter couitl seize a more striking moment for displaying the
characteristical features of the human heart, than what is here pre-
sented. Never was there a situation of more tender and virtuous
joy, on the one hand ; nor, on the other, of more overwhelming
confusion and conscious guilt. In the simple narration of the sa-
cred historian it is set before us with greater energy and higher
effect, than if it had been wrought up with all the colouring of
the most admired modern eloquence.
When Joseph had a little recovered himself from the first
transports of emotion, he proceeds to explain his situation to his
brethren, and to show them the beneficent purposes for which he
conceived 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 an-
gry withyourselccs ihut ye sold ?ne hither : for God did send me
'4ERM0N XXVI.] Oil the Character of Joseph, 309
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 E^ypt. This apology was, in truth, no satisfactory
excuse for their crime. For thou2;h 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 unforseen consequences follow from that crime, did
not, could not exculpate them from guilt. It vvere an impious
conclusion, that because God extracts good from our evil, we are
not answerable for the evil which we perpetrate. God cannot
be teinpted with evil, neither ternpteth he any 7nan.* But the
sentiment in the text is to be considered as a colour which the
generous humanity of Joseph prompted him to throw on the con-
duct 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 wringing their
hearts with anguish, by representing to them the happy effects
which that crime had produced. He sets them free from all un-
easiness 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 acknoledging and ador-
ing the hand of the Almighty,
How different is this amiable spirit whicli 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 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 forgiveness. 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 bre-
thren by an extenuation of their guilt ; and, while he is prepar-
ing to make their circumstances comfortable, studies at the same
time to render their minds easy and tranquil.
This was not merely a transient emotion with Joseph, ow'ing
* .JameK, u t-',
310 On the Character of Joseph. [sermon xxvi.
to the first burst of affection on discovering himself to his bre-
thren. We have a clear proof, fi'om 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, tJiat when Jacob died, his sons began to be
seized with fear concerning the treatment which they might re-
ceive from their brother. The guilty are always suspici-
cious. 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 fathers
death. They dreaded that the resentment of Joseph against
them had hitlierto been only suppressed or concealed. They
said urnong theynselves, peradveniure he will now hate us, and
requite all the evil which we did unto him. Under this appre-
hension, they first sent a humble message to deprecate his dis-
pleasure by the memory of their common father ; and then ap-
pearing in his presence, they fell down before his face, profes-
sing 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 she contrary, when he beheld his brethren
in this affecting situation, bereaved of their ancient protector, and
reduced, as they imagined, to the necessity of holding up their
hands to him for mercy, he was overpowered by a tide offender
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 ; far, though ye
thought evil against 7ne,God meant it unto good. Now there-
fore fear ye not ; I will nourish you, and your little ones. And
he comforted the?n, and spake kindly unto them.*
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
adversity, patient and faithful ; in the highest prosperity, benefi-
cent 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 be-
hold human nature possessing its highest honours. The senti-
ments which it inspires tend to ennoble our minds ; and to pre-
vent their imbibing the spirit of those hard, interested, and self-
seekino: men with whom the world abounds.
The striking example of forgiveness which the text displays
ought frequently to occur to our thoughts, amidst the various
occasions of provocation and offence which arise in our inter-
^ Genesis,, 1. 21.
SERMON XXVI.] On the Character of Joseph. 311
course with the world. If one so worthy and amiable, in the
days too of his youth and innocence, suffered such cruel treat-
ment from his brothers, ought we to be surprised if, even from
our nearest relations, 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 man ought to prepare
himself for what he is to encoimter in passing through this thor-
ny 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 pas-
sion and impatience, so the alleviating circumstances which rea-
son will suggest, ought to mollify resentment. Think of the va-
rious constructions which the actions of men will bear. Consi-
der how different the motives of liim 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 interferring of interests, we suffer by others
preferring 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
atrocious 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 un-
relenting dispositions towards our brethren, we send up to Hea-
ven prayers for mercy to ourselves, those prayers return like
imprecations upon our heads ; and our very devotions seal our
condemnation.
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 con-
scious of frailties and crimes, consider forgiveness as a debt
which they owe to others. Common failings are the strongest
lesson of mutual forbearance. Were this virtue unknown among
men, order and comfort, peace and repose, would be strangers
rii;2 On the Character of Joseph, [sermon xxvi,.
to human life. Injuries 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 itx
endless succession, till the world was rendered a field of blood.
Of all tiie 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 prosecut ion of revenge. The violence of an enemy can-
not 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 misery, are re-
presented 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 of-
fended by the unrighteousness, and insulted by the impiety of
men, is long-suffering, and slow to anger. His Son, when he
appeared in our nature, exhibited, both in his life and his death,
tjie most illustrious example of forgiveness which the world ever
lieheld. 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. Re-
venije 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 assaults ; and, with
generous pity, rather than with anger, looks down on their un-
worthy 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 tlie 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 accum.ulatlon of disgrace which despotic power enabled
him to Inflict. Had he acted this part, he might for a while
have t^een sootlied by the pleasures of his high station ; but,
remorse, in the end, would have stung his soul. Cruelty would
have rendered 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 chai'acter stands among the foremost
in the ranks of spotless fame. His memory is blessed to all ge-
SERMON xxvi.J On the Character of Joseph. 313
nerations. His example continues to edify the world, and he
himself shines in the celestial regions, as the brightness of th£
firmament, and as the stars, for ever and ever. Let us now,
II. Consider the sentiment contained in the text, not only as
a discovery of cordial forgiveness, but as an expression of de-
vout attention to the conduct of Providence, So now it was not
you that sent me hither, but God. Remark how beautifully pi-
ety 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 pa-
triarch's heart. In a person of low and vulgar mind, the sensa-
tions on such an occasion would have been extremely different.
Looking back on the past events of his life, he would have as-
cribed all the adversity which he had suffered, to the perverse
treatment of his brothers ; and all the prosperity which he af-
terwards attained, to his own good conduct and wisdoiii ; and by
consequence would have remained embittered against the instru-
ments of the one, and filled with pride and self-sufficiency on ac-
count of the other. But the elevated and noble mind of Joseph
rejected such unworthy sentiments. 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 en-
tirely 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 meditations. It is the
reflection of one, who was leading a busy and a 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 wliich was paid to him, preserving the
moderation and simplicity of a virtuous mind ; and, amidst the
idolitary and false philosophy of the Egytians, maintaining 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 import-
ant instruction ; that a devout regard to the hand of God in the
Tarious 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 malignant p;»ss;ons which break out in the intercourse of
men, arises from confining their attention wholly to second cau-
ses, and overlooking the first cause of all. Hence they are in-
solent in prosperity, because they discern nothing higher than
tfieir own abilities -, and in adversity they are peevish and un-
Ibrgiving, because tliey have no object on which to fix theif
"POT,, r. 40
314 On the Character of Joseph, [sermon xxvi.
view, but the conduct of men who have acted as their enemies.
They behold no plan of wisdom or goodness carried on through-
out nature, which can allay the discomposure of their mind. As
soon as their temper is rufled, the world appears to them to be
a continued scene of disasters and injuries, of confused events,
and of unreasonable men. Whereas, to the pious man, the con-
templation of the universe exhibits a very diflbrent spectacle. In
the midst of seeming confusion 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 con-
flicting passions and interests ; guiding, with imperceptible in-
fluence, the hand of the violent to beneficent purposes ; accom-
plishing unexpected ends by the most improbable means ; obli-
ging the wrath of man tojyraise him ; sometimes humbling the
mighty, sometimes exalting the low ; often snaring the wicked
in the devices which their hands have wrought. Respectful ac-
knowledgement of this divine government, controuls the disor-
ders 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 wordly disasters occasion. The irritation of pas-
sion and resentment will always bear proportion to the agita-
sion 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 be-
longing to this great machine. He who refere 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 car-
ried along by the motion of the universe.
How can mildness or forgiveness gain place in the temper of
that man, who, on occasion 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 vio-
lence of an enemy, 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 frequently more grating to him than
the distress itself. Whereas, he who in every event looks up to
God, has ahvays in his view a great and elevating object which
inspires him with magnanimity. His mind lies open to every
relieving thought, and is inclined to every suggestion of gene-
rosity. He is disposed to say with Joseph, it luas not you that
sent' me hither, but God; with David, it is the Lord; let him
do what see.meth good in his eyes ; and, with a greater personage
SERMON XXVI.] On the Character of Joseph. 315 I
than either of these, the cup which tny Father hath given me to j
drink, shall I not drink it ? Hence arises superiority to many of \
the ordinary provocations of the world. For he looks upon the j
whole of his present life as part of a great plan which is car- •
ried 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 ■'
occasionally 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 in praying, Father^ forgive them, for they
knov) not what they do.
SERMON XXVir.
On the character of hazael.
Jlnd Hazael said, Why weepeth my Lord ? *Rnd he ansiuered.
Because I know the evil that thou wilt do unto the children
of Is ael. Their strong holds wilt thou set on fire, and their
young men loilt thou slay with the sivord, and wilt dash their
children, and rip up their loomen ivith child. *^nd 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 shall be king over Syria. — 2 Kings, viii. 12, 13.
IN the days of Joram, king of Israel, flourished the prophet
Elisha. His character was so eminent, and his fame so widely
spread, that Benliadad, the king of Syra, though an idolater,
sent to consult him concerning the issue of a distemper which
threatened his life. The messenger employed on this occasion
Avas Hazael, who appears to have been one of the princes, or
chief men, of the Syrian court. Charged with rich gifts from
the King, he presents himself before the Prophet, and accosts
him in terms of the highest respect. During the conference
which they held together, Elisha fixed his eye steadfastly on the
countenance of Hazael ; and discerning, 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, in-
quired into the cause of this sudden emotion, the Prophet plain-
ly informs him of the crimes and barbarities 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 ;
anl, 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
SERMON xxvii.] On the Character of Hazael. 317
his condition ; The Lord hath showed me that thou shalt he
king over Syi'ia. In course of time, all that had been predicted
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 ;* 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 de-
serves 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 im-
possible for him ever to be concerned in committins" them ; that,
same man, by a change of condition, transformed in all his sen-
timents, 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 abhor-
rence at guilt arc natural. H. That, notwithstanding those sen-
timents, the mind may be brought under the dominion of the vi-
ces which it had most abhorred. IH. That this unhappy revo-
lution is frequently owing to a change of men's external cir-
cumstances 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 gene-
x^al use.
I. Sentiments of abhorrence at guilt are natural to the hu-
man 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 per-
petrate crimes which would render him unworthy of bearing the
name of a man ? This is the voice of human nature, while it
is not as yet hardened in iniquity. Some 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 dis-
tinction 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, falsehood, or impiety ; let him
view it in a cool moment, when no passion blinds, and no inter-
est warps him ; and you will find that his mind imm^ediately
revolts against it, as shameful and base, nay, as deserving pun-
ishment. Hence, in reasoning on the characters of others, how-
* 2 Kinffs, xiii. 33.
318 0)1 tJie CJuiracter of Hazael. [sermon xxvir.
ever 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 tlieir judgment. 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
passions in the commission of the greatest crimes, he always
palliates them to his own mind by some extenuation or apolo-
g)^, some pretended necessity, or some borrowed colour of inno-
cence. Such power, the undeniable dignity of virtue, and the
acknowledged turpitude of vice, possesses over every human
heart. These sentiments 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 with-
in us ; and which, though it be now greatly obscured, yet con-
tinues to shoot a feeble ray athwart the darkness of human na-
ture. 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 in-
famous for those very crimes which at present he holds in
detestation. This observation is too well verified by the his-
tory 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 them-
selves than desirous to discover the truth, they trust to their be-
ing possessed of every virtue which has not been put to the
trial ; and reckon themselves secure 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 circumstances
every moment.
The man who glows with the warm feelings of devotion, ima-
gines it impossible for him to lose that sense of the divine
goodness which at present melts his heart. He whom his
friend had lately saved from ruin, is confident that, if some
ti'ying emergency shall put his gratitude to proof, he will ra-
ther die than abandon his benefactor. He who lives happy and
SERMON XXVII.] On the Character of Hazael. 3iy
contented in frugal industry, wonders how any man can give
hin.self up to dissolute pleasure. Where any of those persons
informed by a superior spirit, that the time was shortly to
come when the one should prove an e> ample of scandallous im-
piety, 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 abhorance as
Hazael did, upon hearing the predictions of the Prophet. Sin-
cere 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 re-
sented with such ardour the imputation of cruelty. The Apos-
tle 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 showed. So false to its princi-
ples, too frequently is the heart of man ; so weak is the founda-
tion of human virtue ; so much reason there is for what the Gos-
pel perpetually inculcates concerning the necessity of distrusting
ourselves, and depending 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 pro-
mising beginnings, have gradually apostatized from every princi-
ple 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 ad-
vance to such a height in wickedness !
In such cases as I have described, what has become, it may
be enquired, of those sentiments of abhorrence at guilt which
were once felt so strongly ? Are they totally erased ? or, if in
any degree they remain, how do such persons contrive to satis-
fy themselves in actmg a part which their minds condemn ? —
Here, there is a my&tery of iniquity Avhich requires to be un-
folded. 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 deformity 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 intro-
duction to vice. The irregular gratifications into which it oc-
casionally seduces him, appear under tlie form of venial weali,-
.520 On i/ie Character of Hazael. [sERuoti XXV II.
nesses ; and are indulged, in the beginning, with scrupulousness
and reserve. But, by longer practice, 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 he glaring, con-
science endeavours to remonstrate. But conscience is a calm prin-
ciple. 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 ma:;kincl advance from step to step
in sin, partly hurried by passion, and partly blinded by self-de-
ceit, without any just setise of the degree of guiit which they con-
tract. By inveterate habits, their judgment is at length pervert-
ed, and their moral feelings are deadened. They see now with
other eyes ; and can look without pain on evil actions which
they formerly abhorred.
It is proper, ho^vever, to observe, that though our native sen-
timents of abhorrence at guilt may be so borne iown, or so elu-
ded, as to lose their influence on conduct, yet those sentiments
belonging originaiiy to our frame, and being never totally eradi-
cated from the soul, will still retain so much authority, as if not
to reform, at least, on some occasions, to chasten the sinner.
It is only during a course of prosperity, that vice is able to car-
ry on its delusions without disturbance. But, amidst the dark
and thoughtful situations of life, conscience regains its rights ;
and pours the whole bitterness of I'emorse on his heart, who
has apostatized from his original principles. We may well be-
lieve that, before the end of his days, Hazael's first impressions
would be made to return. In the hour of adversity, the remem-
brance 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, ail the honours of royalty would be
unable to save him from the inward sense of baseness and
intamy.
From this view which has been exhibited of the progress of
corruption, and of the danger to which we are exposed, of fal-
ling from principles which once appeared firmly established, let
SERMON XXVII.] On the Character of Hazael. 321
lis receive useful admonition for our own conduct. Let not him.
that girdetho7i 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. Fa-
miliarize not yourselves with it, in the slightest instances, without
fear. Listen with reverence to every reprehension of conscience ;
and presei-ve 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 rain 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. Remember 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 h'ls glory with exceeding joy . I proceed now to the
Hid Observation from the text, That the power which cor-
ruption acquires to pervert the original principles of man, is
frequently owing to a change of their circumstances and condi-
tion in the world. How diflerent was Hazael the messenger of
Benhadad, from Hazael the king ; he who started at the men-
tion 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
shall 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 produce that change in thy character,
which now thou canst not believe. Whose experience of the
world is so narrow, as not to furnish him with instances similar
to this, in much humbler conditions of life ? So great is the in-
fluence of a new situation of external fortune ; such a different
turn it gives to our temper and affections, to our views and de-
sires, that no man can ibretel wliat his character would prove,
should Providence either raise or depress his circumstances in
a remarkable degree, or throw him nito some sphere of action,
widely different Irom 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 for-
ward, 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 mista-
ken, even by ourselves. Pride, for instance, in certain situa-
tions, has no opportunity of displaying itself, but as magnanim*
ity, or sense of honour. Avarice appears 99 necessary and \m~
VOL. I. 41
322 On the Character of Hazael. [sermon xxvii.
dable oeconomy. What in one station of life would discover it-
self to be cowardice and baseness of mind, passes in another
for prudent circumspection. What in the fulness of power would
prove to be cruelty and oppression, it is reputed, in a subordinate
rank, no more than the exercise of proper discipline. For a
while, 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 disposition ; which strikes
on certain latent qualities of his soul, and awakens them into ac-
tion ; and as the leaves of a flower gradually unflold to the sun, so
shall all his true character open full lo view.
This may in one light, be accounted not so much an altera-
tion of character produced by a change of circumstances as a
discovery brought forth of the real character, which formerly
lay concealed. Yet at the same time, it is true, that the man
himself undergoes a change. For opportunity being given for
certain dispositions, which had been dormant, to exert them-
selves without restraint, they of course gather strength. By
means of the ascendency 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 divine assistance, remains superior to
this influence of fortune on his character, who having once imbi-
bed worthy sentiments, and established proper principles of ac-
tion, 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 abhorred 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 con-
sistency among men, while they are passing through the difier-
ent stations and periods of life ! When they are setting out in
the world, Ijefore their minds have been greatly misled or deba-
sed, they glow with generous emotions, and look with contempt
on what is sordid and guilty. But advancing 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 con-
tend with this man's craft, and that man's scorn ; accustomed,
sometimes, to conceal their sentiments, and often to stifle their
feelings, tliey become at last hardened in heart, and familiar
with corruption. Wlio 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 prin-
ciples 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 liis life ?
5ERMON XXVII.] On tJie Character of Hazael. 323
The instance of HazaePs degeneracy leads us to reflect, in
particular, on the dangers which arise from stations of power
and greatness; 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 condition affords for the indulgence of
pleasure, are perilous circumstances to virtue, when men live
among their eqnals, and are accustomed to encounter the hard-
ships of life, they are of course reminded of their mutual depen-
dence 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 api to separate their
interest from that of all around them ; to wrap themselves up in
their vain grandeur ; and, in the lap of indolence and selfish plea-
sure, to acquire a cold indifference to the concerns even of those
whom they call their friends. The fancied independence 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 ive 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
furnish the only formidable trials to which our virtue is exposed.
It will be found, that we are liable to no fewer nor less danger-
ous temptations, from the opposite exti'cme of poverty antl de^
pression. When men who have known better clays are thrown
down into abject situations of fortune, their spirits are broken,
and their temper soured. Env}' rankles in their breast at such
as are more successful. The providence of Heaven is accused
in secret murmurs ; and the sense of misery is ready to push
them into atrocious crimes, in order to better their state. —
Among the inferior classes of mankind, craft and dishonesty
are too often found to prevail. Low and penurious circumstan-
ces depress the human powers. They deprive men of the pro-
per means of knowledge and improvement ; aud where igno-
rance is gross, it is always in hazard of engendering profli-
gacy.
Hence it has been, generally, the opinion of wise men in all
ages, that there is a certain middle condition of life, equally re-
mote 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 to happiness. For there,
luxury and pride on the one hand, have not opportunity to en-
eoi'vate or intoxicate the mind, nor want and dependence on the
•SS4 On the Character of Hazael [sermon xxvii,
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 in-
dustry without being overcome by toil, and their powers called
forth into exertion, without being either superseded by too much
abundance, or baffled by insuperable difficulties ; there, a mix-
ture of comforts and of wants, at once awakens their gratitude
to God, and reminds lliem of their dependence on his aid ; and,
therefore, in this state, men seem to enjoy life to most advan-
tage, and to be least exposed to the snares of vice. Such a con-
dition 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 ivitlt food convenient for me. Lest I be ftill, and de-
ny Thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor, and steal,
and take the name of my God, in vain.*'
From the whole view which we have now taken of the sub-
ject, we may, in the first place, learn the reasons for which a
variety of conditions and ranks was established by Providence
among mankind. Tliis life is obviously intended to be a state
of probation and 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 situa-
tions of fortune. But on account of men themselves, and of the
■world around them, it was necessary that trials should take
^lace, and a discrimination of characters be made ; in order
that true virtue might be separated from false appearances of it,
and the justice of PIcaven be displayed in its final retributions ;
in order that the failings of m-m might be so discovered to
themselves, as to afford them proper instruction, and promote
their amendment : and in order that their characters might be
shewn to the world in every point of view, which could furnish
either examples for imitation, or admonitions of danger. The
accomplishment of these important purposes required, that hu-
man life should not always proceed in one tenor ; but that it
should both be chequered with many revolutions, and diversi-
fied 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 or 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 deserved infamy, as a warning to succeeding
* Prcv XXX, 8, 9.
5ERM0N XXVII.] On the Character of Hazael. 325
In the second place, We learn from what has been said, tlie
importance of attending, with the utmost care, to the choice
which we make of our employment and condition in life. It
lias 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 everlasting 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 hereafter. Yet how often is the determination
of this most important article left to the chance of accidental
connections, 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 become rich, or, as it is expres-
sed, make his way to most advantage in the world ? Are there
no other objects tlian this to be attended to, in fixing the plan of
life ? Are there no more sacred and important 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 bis abilities w^ere 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,
%vhich 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 succeed-
ing occurrences in life. If you bring one whom you are rear-
ing 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, answerable for the consequences
that follow. In vain you trust to his abilities and powers. Vice
and corruption, when they have tainted the heart, arc 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
degree of men's advancement in the world. Always betrayed
by appearances, the multitude are caught by nothing so much
as by the show and pomp of life. They think every one blest,
>5.vho is raised far above others in rank. From their earlies'.
326 On the Character of Hazael. [sermon xxvii.
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 con<luct, this is the most general. — Hazael, on the
throne of Syria, would, doubtless, be more envied, and esteem-
ed by the multitude a far happier man, than when, yet a sub-
ject, he was employed by Benhadad to carry his message to
Elisha. Yet, Oh 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; forfeiting thy
first and best character; rushing into crimes which were once
thine 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
innocent 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
slumbers broken by night with the shocking remembrance of thy
cruelties 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
enquiries respecting felicity are, not what a man's external con-
dition is, but with what disposition of mind he bears it; whe-
ther he be corrupted or improved by it ; whether he conducts
himself so as to be acceptable to God, and approved of by good
men. For these are the circumstances which make the real and
important distinctions among the conditions of men. The effects
of these are to last for 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 situ-
ation, 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 uncertain. After the utmost precautions
taken by human w'isdom, 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 appear-
ed at first most unpromising and adverse, often brings forth in
the issue both temporal and spiritual felicity. Who knoiveth
luhat is good for a man in this life, all the days of his vain life,
which he spendcth as a shadoiv ? When wc consider the dark-
ness of our present state, the imbecility of human nature, and the
doubtful and ambiguous value of all that Ave call prosperity, the
SERMON XXVII.] On the Character of Hazael. 327
exhortation of the Psalmest comes home with great force on ev-
ery reflecting mind, Commit thy way unto the Lord* 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 situation of
life God shall place thee, look up devoutly to Him for grace
and assistance ; and study to act the part assigned thee with a
fai hful and upright heart. Thus shalt thou have peace within
thyself, while thy course is going on ; and when it draws to-
wards a close, with satisfaction thou shalt review thy conduct
For, after all the toils and labours of life, and all the vain strug-
gles which we maintain for pre-eminence and distinction, we
shall find at the conclusion of the whole scene, i]\dii to fear God
and keep his commandments is the whole duty of man,
* Psalm xxxvii. 5,
SERMON XXVIII.
On the benefits to be derived from the house of
mourning.
(t 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. Son^ow is better than langh-
ter ;for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made
better. The heart of the ivise is in the house of mourning i
but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. — ^Ecclesi-
astes, vii. 2, 3, 4.
MANY of the maxims contained in tiiis book of Ecclesias-
tes will appear strange sayings to the men of the Avorld. But
when they reflect on the character of him who delivers them,
they cannot but admit that his tenets deserve a serious and at-
tentive examination. For, they are not the doctrines of a pe-
dant, who, from an obscure retirement, declaims against plea-
sures which he never knew. They are not the invectives of a
disappointed man, who takes revenge upon the world, by sati-
rizing 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 assert 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 unreasona-
ble doctrines. They may, perhaps, be accounted enemies to
the innocent enjoyment of life who give countenance to so severe
a system, and thereby increase the gloom which already sits suf-
SERMON xxviii.] Oil the Benefits, 4'C. 329
ficiently heavy on the condition of man. Eut let this censure be
suspended, until we examine ^vith care into the spirit and mean-
ins; 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 discipline, on-
ly. He vieAVS 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 countenance, 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 explain-
ed according to the principles of sound reason ; and to be under-
stood with those limitations which the eastern style, in deliver-
ing moral precepts, frecpiently requires. He bids us go to the
house of mourning ; but he does not command us to dwell there.
When he prefers 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 cheer-
ful entertainment of social life. Such an interpretration would
be inconsistent with many other exhortations in his own wri-
tings, which recommend temperate and innocent joy. It would
not suit with the proper discharge 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 consequence to real happiness,
than the habitual indulgence of giddy and thoughtless mirth ; that
for the attainment and cultivation 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 sympathize with in the lot of others, much wis-
dom and improvement may be derived. These are the senti-
ments which I purpose at present to justify and recommend, 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 irt
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, ren-
ders them too deeply susceptible of every mournful impression ;
whose spirits stand more in need of being supported and cheer-
ed, than of being saddened by the dark views of human life. In
VOL. T. ' 43
330 On the Benefits to be derived [sermon xxviii.
such cases we are commanded to lift up the hands ivhich hang
down, and to confirm the feeble knees J^ But this is far from be-
ing the commoii disposition of men. Their minds are in general
incUned to levity, much more than to thoughtful melancholy ; and
their hearts more apt to be contracted and hardened, than to re-
lent with too much facility. I shall therefore endeavour to show
them, what bad inclinations their compliance with Solomon's ad-
vice 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 hy 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, per-
petual 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 pros-
perity without a reverse, and no joy 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. Providence,
whose wisdom is conspicuous in all its works, has adjusted with
exact proportion the inward powers to the outward state of ev-
ery rational being. It has for this purpose implanted the se-
rious and sympathetic feelings in our nature, that they might
correspond with the vicissitudes of sorrow in our lot. He wlio
endeavours to repel their influence, or to stifle them m unsea-
sonable mirth, acts a violent and unnatural part. He strives with
vain effort against the current of things, contradicts the inten-
tions of his Maker, and counteracts the original impulses of his
own heart.
It is proper also to observe, that as the sadness of the counte-
nance 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 etforts of constant repetition, all their pleasures fail.
They draw them oS so close to the dregs, that they become in-
sipicf and nauseous. Hence even in laughter their heart issor-
7'ouful, and the end of their mirth is heaviness.^ 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 fu-
ture pleasure, damp and sicken the moment of enjoyment : but
" Isaiiilij .\sxv. 3. Heb. xii. 12. f Prov. xiv. 13.
SERMON XXVIII.] from the House of Mourning. 331
of those which take rise from the mind retreating into itself,
and opening to the sentiments of rehgion and humanity. Such
hours of virtuous sadness brighten the gleams of succeeding
joy. They give, to the temperate enjoyments of the pious and
humane, a refined and dehcate rehsh, to which the hardened and
insensible are entire strangers. For it will be found, that in
proportion as the tender afl'ections 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 mourn-
ing, will, in the most social hour of 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 ef-
fects 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
indolence 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 them-
selves to the pursuit of amusement through all its different forms.
The skilful arrangement of its successive scenes, and the pre-
paratory study for shining in each, are the only exertions on
whicli their understanding is employed. Such a mode of life
may keep alive, for a while, a frivolous vivacity. It may improve
men in some of those exterior accomplishments, 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 human chai'ac-
ter 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 acquir-
ed, which may give more dignity and steadiness to conduct ;
Avhere, I pray you, are these to be looked for? Not surely in
the house of feasting, 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
332 Cfn the Bcncjil^ to be derived [sermox xx\ hi.
vanity is made to turn, and a new direction j^ven to tlie cun-ent
of thought. When some affecting incident presents a strong
discovery of the deceitfuhiess of all worldly joy, and rouses our
sensibility 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 liiie 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 wa5 to commune with his heart on any serious sub-
ject, now puts tlie question to himself — For what purpose he
was sent forth into this mortal, transitory state : what his fate
is likely to be when it concludes ; and what judgment 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 tlioughtful melancholy, that airy edifice
of bliss, which fancy had raised up for him, vanishes a^vay. 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 mis-spent, 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 sor-
row, can at least procure him consolation amidst the distressful
exigencies of life ? Such meditations as these, suggested hy
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 the dissipated mind : and give
rise to principles and conduct m.ore rational in themselves, and
more suitable to the human state.
In the second place. Impressions of this nature not only pro-
duce moral seriousness but awaken sentiments of piety, and
bring men into the sanctuary 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 g-«*cM ilitm all things richly to enjoy. Yet such is
their corruption, that they arc never more ready to forget their
benefactor, than when loaded with his benefits. The giver is
concealed from their careless and inattentive view, bv the cloud
SERMON Kxviii.'\fro77i the house of Mourning. .j3J
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 ahow themselves to receive from
the circumstances of others, any admonitions of human instabili-
ty ; they not only become regardless of Providence, but are in
liazard of contemning it. Glorying in their strength, and lifted
up by the pride of life hito supposed independence, that impious
sentiment, if not uttered by the mouth, yet too often lurks in
the hearts of many, during their flourishing period. What is
the Almighty that xoe should serve him ; and what profit should
loe have, ifivepray unto him?
If such be the tendency of the house of feasting, how neces-
sary is it, that, by soinc change in their situation, men should
be obliged to enter in the house of mourning, in order to reco-
ver a proper sense of their dependent state ? It is there, when
forsaken by the gaieties 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 quick-
ly 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 prosper-
ity 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
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 de-
gree, the surrounding gloom. A Mediator and Intercessor with
the Sovereign of the universe, appear comfortable names ; and
the resurrection of the just becomes the powerful cordial of
grief. In such moments as these, which we may justly call hap-
py moments, the soul participates of all the pleasures of devo-
tion.— It feels the power of religion to support and relieve. It
is softened, without being broken. It is full, and it pours itseli
forth ; pours itself forth, if we may be allowed to use the ex-
pression, into the bosom of its merciful Creator.
yo4 On the Benefits to be derived [sermon xxviii.
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 them-
selves, and their own pleasures, they behold with indifference
the most affectins; 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 infe-
riors, as if they were creatures of a different species from them-
selves. Is this an amiable temper, or such as becomes a man ?
When appearing in others, do we not view it with much displea-
sure ? 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 sub-
ject us to much of this discipline in our own lot, let us draw im-
provement from the harder lot of othei's. Let us sometimes step
aside from the smooth and flowery paths in which we are per-
mitted to walk, in order to view the toilsome march of our fel-
lows through the thorny desert. By voluntarily going into the
iiouse of mourning; by yielding to the sentiments which it ex-
cites, and mingling our tears with those of the afflicted, we shall
acquire that humane sensibility which is one of the highest or-
naments of the nature of man. Perceiving how mucli the com-
mon distresses of life place us all on a level, and render the
high and the low, the rich and the poor, companions in misfor-
tune and mortality, we shall learn to set no man at nought, and
least of any, our afflicted brother. Prejudices will be extin-
guished, and benevolence opened and enlarged, when looking
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
ofiice of every one to alleviate, as much as possible, the common
burden. W^hile the vain and the licentious are revelling in
the midst of extravagance and riot, liow little do they think of
those scenes of sore distress which are going on at that moment
throughout the world 5 multitudes struggling for a poor sub-
sistence 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, unattended and unmourned ; many, appa-
rently in a better situation of life, pining away in secret with
concealed griefs ; families weeping over the beloved friends
dERMON XXVIII.] from the House of Mourning. 335
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 al-
most to the heart of every man who has not divested himself of
his natural feelings, whether the admission of such views of hu-
man life might not, sometimes at least, furnish a more worthy
employment to the mind, than iYizimirth of fools which Solo-
mon compares to the crackling of thorns under apot f the tran-
sient burst of unmeaning joy ; the empty explosion of giddiness
and levity ? Those sallies of jollity in the house of feasting are of-
ten 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, con-
vey satisfaction to the heart. The gracious appointment of Hea-
ven has ordained that sympathetic pains should always be accom-
panied with a certain degree 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
Avhich they afford us of feeling what men and Christians ought
to feel.
In the fourth place, The disposition recommended in the text,
not only improves us in piety and humanity, but likewise as-
sists us in self-government, and the due moderation of our de-
sires. The house of mourning is the school of temperance and
sobriety. Every wise man will find it for his interest to enter
into it sometimes of his own accord, lest otherwise he be com-
pelled to take up his dwelling there. Seasonable interruptions
of our pleasures are necessary to their prolongation. For, con-
tinued scenes of luxury and indulgence hasten to a melancholy
issue. The house of feasting 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 for-
tune, can they also prevent those disorders which such habits
will introduce into their minds ? Can they escape that wrath of
the Almighty, which will infallibly pursue them for their sins
both here and hereafter? For whence, so much as from the un-
checked pursuit of pleasure, do all those crimes arise which
* Eccles. vii. 6,
.V3(i On the Benefits to be deynveci [sermon xxv hi,
stain the cliaracters of men with the deepest 2;uilt, and expose
them to the severest judgments of Heaven ? Whence, then, is
the corrective of those mischiefs to be sought, but from such dis-
cipline as shall moderate 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 fan-
cy, abate the eagerness of passion, and afford scope to reason for
fixerting her restraining powers. You would behold this world
>tripped of its false colours, and reduced to its proper level.
Manv an important instruction you would receive from the hu-
miliation of the proud, the mortification of the vain, and the suf-
ferings of the voluptuous, which you would see exemplified before
you in the chambers of sorrow, of sickness, and of death. You
would then be taught to ?rjoice as though you rejoiced not, and
lo weep as though you weeped not ; that is, neither in joy and
in grief, to run to excess : but to use this toortd 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 ex-
pect from the world ; a lesson too seldom studied by mankind,
;ind to the neglect of wdiich, much of their misery, and much of
iheir 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 betra3'ed. Hence, the
vexation of succeeding disappointment and blasted hope. Hence,
rheir criminal impatience of life, and their better accusations of
(^od and man ; when, in truth, they have reason to accuse only
ihcir own folly. Thou, who wouldst act like a wise m.an,
and build thy house on the rock, and not on the sand, contem-
plate human life not only in the sunshine, but in the shade. —
Frequent the house of morning, as well as the house of mirth.
Study the nature of that state in which thou art placed ; and ba-
lance 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. Thou
seest the storm hovering every where in the clouds around thee,
lie not surprised if on thy head it shall break. Lower, there-
fore, th}'^ sails. Dismiss thy florid hopes; and come forth pre-
pared either to act or to suffer, according as Heaven shall decree.
Thus shalt thou be excited to take the propcrest 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
nind shall adjust itself to follow the order of his Providence.
Thou shalt be enabled, with equanimity and steadiness, to hold
thy course through life.
SERMON XXVIII.] from the house of Mourning. 337
In the fifth place, By accustoming ourselves to such serious
views of life, our excessive fondness for life itself will be mode-
rated, 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 last-
ing 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 affection and
censual pleasure 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 discipline
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 connexion
with those divine and immortal objects, among which it is de-
signed to dwell.
Enough has now been said to convince any thinking person
of the justice and reasonableness of the maxims in the text ; and
to show, that on various occasions, sorroiv may be belter than
laughter. Wouldst thou acquire the habit of recollection, and
fix the principles of thy conduct ; wouldst 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 ten-
der affections which delight the compassionate and humane ;
wouldst thou have the power of sensual appetites tamed and cor-
rected, and thy soul 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 adventure to dwell for a while among
objects that will soften thy heart. Contemplate the lifeless re-
mains of what once was fair and flourishing. Bring home to thy-
self the vicissitudes of life. Recall the remembrance of the friend,
the parent, or the child whom thou tenderly loved st. Look back
on the days of former years; and thii'k oq the companions of
thy youth, who now sleep in the dust. Let the vanity, the mutabi-
VOL. I. 43
3S8 On the Benefits, Sfc. [sermon xxviii.
lity, and the sorrows of the human estate, rise in full prospect
before thee ; and thoug;h 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 en-
able 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.* 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
present 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 or-
der. It assures us, that though here, for wise ends, misery and
sorrow are permitted to have place, these temporary evils shall,
in the end, advance the happiness of all who love God, and are
faithful to their duty. It shews them this mixed and confused
sfeene 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 occa-
sionally chasten our mirth with sadness of countenance, yet un-
der that sadness it allows not the heart of good men to sink ; it
calls upon them to rejoice, because the Lord reigneth loho 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 human life,
or injuriously to ascribe to it more evil than it contains. Mix-
ed as the present state is, she pronounces, that generally, if not
always, there is more happiness than misery, more pleasure than
pain, in the condition of man.
* Matth. V. 4. Psalm cxxvi. 5.
SERMON XXIX.
On the divine government of the passions of men.
Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee ; the remainder of
wrath shalt thou restrain. — Psalm Ixxvi. 10.
THIS Psalm appears to have been composed on occasion
of some ^remarkable deliverance obtained by the Jewish nation,
It is generally 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, dis-
comfitted the whole Assyrian host, and smote them with sudden
destruction. To this interposition of the Divine arm, those ex-
pressions in the context may naturally be applied ; There brake
he the arroius of the boio, 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. M thy re-
buke, Oh 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 had been
carried on by the enemies of his country, and upon the issue to
which Providence had 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 passions can devise or execute ;
the projects of ambition and resentment, the rage of persecution,
the fury of war ; the disorders which violence produces 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 pur-
poses, which his providence makes them accomplish ; from their
poison extracting health, and converting things, which in them-
selves are pernicious, into instruments of his glory, and of public
benefit : So that, though the wrath of man worketh not the
340 On the Divine Governmetit. [sermon xxix.
righteousness of God, it is nevertheless forced and compelled to
minister to his praise. The Psalmist adds, the remainder of
zurath shalt thou restrain ; that is, God will allow scope to the
wrath of man as far as it answers his i^ood purposes, and is sub-
servient to his praise ; the rest of it shall be curbed and bound up.
When it would attempt to 2;o beyond its prescribed limit, he says
to it, as to the waters of the ocean. Hitherto s/ia/t thou come,
but no farther ; and here shalt il\y proud waves be staid.
All this shall be fully verified and declared by the last issue of
thin2;s ; when we shall be able more clearly to trace the Divine
administration through its several steps, by seeing the consum-
mation of the whole. In some cases, it may be resesved for this
period to unfold tlie mysterious wisdom of Heaven. But in ge-
neral, as much of the Divine conduct is at present manifest, as
gives 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 Avrath 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 Uni-
verse, 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 him-
self, from a principle of ostentation or vain glory. Independent
and self-suflicient, he rests in the enjoyment of his own beati-
tude. 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 controul their actions, and render them subservient .o
purposes, which they neither foresaw nor intended. Hence the
propriety of God's makidg tlie wrath of tnan 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 in-
ordinate passions of bad men arc made to praise him, in conse-
quence of the useful purposes which they are compelled to ac-
complish, this, in a particidar manner, distinguishes and signa-
lizes a Divine hand ; this opens a more wonderful prospect of
the administration of Heaven, than if all its subjects had been
loval and willingly obedient, and the course of human affairs had
proceeded in a quiet and regular tenor.
SERMON XXIX. J of the Passions of Men. .i!41
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 nian-
kind. To reitrn with sovereign command amidst the most tur-
bulent 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, diveUing in the darkness and the tempest ;
that is, making the most violent powers in the universe minister
to his will ; giving them scope or restraining them, according
as suits the purposes of his dominion. As he stills, at his plea-
sure, the raging of the seas, and the 7ioise 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 burstmg
into execution ; often, by some unexpected interposition, 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, des-
tined to carry destruction to neighboring 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 hu-
man i;trength ; but the issues of battle are with Him. He sus-
pends on high the invisible balance which weighs the fate of na-
tions. According 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
cliecking the eflTorts 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 ; Iwillput my
hook, says the Almighty, in thy nose, and tny bridle in thy lips,
and I will turn thee back by the loay by which thou earnest.'^ In
that night the destroying angel smote the host, and he departed,
loith shame of face to his own land. When the heathen rage,,
and the people imagine a vain thing ; ivhen the kings of the
earth set themselves, and its rulers take council together, He tha t
sitteth in the heavens shall laugh ; the Lord shall hold them in
derision.\
11. The wrath of m,an is made to praise the wisdom as well
as the power of God. Nothing displays more remarkably the
admirable counsel of Heaven, than its arranging the train of
events in such a manner, that the unruly passions of the wicked
* 2 Kings, six. 2R t Psalm ii. 1, 2, 4.
343 On the Divine Government [sermon xxix.
shall contribute to overthrow their own designs. History
abounds with examples of their being rendered the unconscious
ministers of Providence to accomplish purposes directly oppo-
site to those which they had in view. Thus, the cruelty of the
sons of Jacob, in pursuing the destruction of their brother Jo-
.seph became the means of effecting his high advancement.
Thus, the wrath of Pharoah against the Israelites, and his un-
just attempts to detain them in bondage, j)roved the occasion of
bringing them forth from the land of slavery, with signal marks
of the favour of Heaven, Thus, the inhuman plan which Haman
had formed for ruining Mordrcai, and extirpating the whole Jew-
ish nation, paved the w^ay for Mordecai's high promotion, and
for the triumph of the Jews over all their enemies.
After this manner the Almighty S7iareth the wicked in the
works 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 connection
with all their consequences, are often found to give it additional
lustre. The beauty and magnificence of the universe are much
heightened by its being 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. Interfering interests, and jarring passions,
are in such manner balanced against one another ; such proper
checks arc 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 submissive to the Divine au-
thority ; some rise up in rebellion against it ; others, absorbed
m their pleasures and pui-suits, are totally inattentive to it ; they
are all so moved by an imperceptilile influence from above, that
the zeal of the dutiful, the wrath of the rebellious, and the indif-
ference of the careless, contribute finally to the glory of God.
All are governed in such a way as suits their powers, and is con-
sistent with rational freedom ; yet all are subjected to the necessi-
ty of fulfdling 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 ador-
ation and praise.
III. The ivrath of man praises the justice of God, by being
employed as the instrument of inflicting punishment on sin-
ners. Did bad men trace the course of events in their life
with attentive eye, they might easily discover the greatest part
of the disasters w^hich they sufler, to be brought upon them by
their own ungoverned passions. The succession of causes and
SERMON XXIX,] of the Passions of Men. 343
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 naturally 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
has no occasion to unlock the prisons of the deep, or to call
down the thunder from Heaven, in oi-der 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 fierce
passions which render bad man the disturbers of others, to ope-
rate 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 draivn out the
sword, and bent their how, to cast down the poor and needy ;
hut their sword shall enter into their own heart.*'
The wrath ofm,an also praises the justice of God in the pun-
ishment of other criminals, as well as of the wrathful themselves.
Ambitious 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 be-
come 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 him-
self 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 pros-
per and be exalted, that he might shew in him his power ; and
that his name might he declared th'oughout all the earth.\
The Divine administration is glorified in the punishment con-
trived for the workers of iniquity, as well as in the reward pre-
pared for the righteous. This is the purpose which the Lord hath
• Psalm xxxviii. 14. 15 ^ Exod. ix. 16.
J44 On the Divine Government, [sermon xxix.
purposed upon all the earth ; and this is the hand that is stretch-
ed forth over all the nations*
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 government 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
discipline 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 atmosphere 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 the have gained with a heavy and oppressiv^e
hand, the virtuous are apt to exclaim, in bitterness of soul.
Where is the Lord ? and where the sceptre of righteousness
and truth ? Hath G-od forgotten to be gracious? or doth he in-
deed see, and is there knowledge in the Most High ? Their
oppressors are, in truth, no more than the ministers 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 eai'th are often represented in
Scrij)ture, as scoui'ges in the hand of God, employed to inflict chas-
tisement 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 ; / 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 iti 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 Jerusalem, I will punish the
fruit of the stout heart of the king of Jlssyria, and the glory of
^ Isuiuh siv. 26.
SERMON XXIX.] of the Passions of Men. 345
his high looks* In vain, then, cloth the wrath of man lift itself up
against God. He saith, by the strength of my hand I have done
it, and by m,y ivisdom^for I am prudent. Shall the axe boast it-
self against him that heweth therewith ? or shall the saio magni-
fy itself against him that shaketh it ? All things, whether they
will it or not, must work together for good to them, that loveGod.
The tvrath 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 sta-
tion with the famine, the pestilence, and the flood. Their tri-
umphs are no more than the accomplishment of God's correction ;
and the remainder of their wrath shall he restrain.
Secondly, God makes the wrath of man contribute to the
benefit 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 vir-
tue by the violence of the wicked, what room would have
been left for some of the highest and most generous exertions of
the soul of man ? How many shining examples of fortitude, con-
stancy, and patience, would have been lost to the world ? What
a field of virtues peculiar to a state of discipline had lain unculti-
vated ? 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 be-
longs 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 gra-
ces which are among the highest ornaments of the human soul.
It is thus, that the illustrious band of true patriots and heroes, of
corifessors and martyrs, have been set forth to the admiration of
all ages, as lights of the world ; while the rage and fury of ene-
mies, 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 distres-
ses which it brings upon them, frequently lay the foundation of
their future success. The violence with which wicked men pur-
sue tht,'r resentment, 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 behold-
ers. The extremities to which they are reduced by injustice
* Isaiah, x. 6, 7. 12.
VOL. I. 44
346 On the Divine Governvient [sermon xxix.
and oppression, rouse their courage and activity ; and often give
occasion to such vigorous efforts in their just defence, as overcome
all opposition, and terminate in prosperity and success. — Even in
cases where the wrath of man appears to prevail over the peace-
able and the just, it is frequently, 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 after-
wards seen would have occasioned their ruin ? — Whoso is wise,
and will observe these things, even he shall understand the lov-
ing-kindness of the Lord*
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 ap-
pointed 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. Pro-
vidence seems, at first view, to have abandoned public affairs to
the misrule of human passions. Yet from the midst of this con-
fusion, order is often made to spring; and from these mischiefs
lasting advantages to 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
their foes. Inveterate prejudices are corrected ; and latent sour-
ces 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 fer-
ment 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 ivrath of man, when it breaks forth in the
persecution of religion, praises the divine goodness, by being
rendered conducive to the advancement of truth, and propaga-
tion 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 extin-
guish this divine light. Though all the four winds blew against
it, it only shone brighter, and flamed higher. — Many waters
* Psalm cvii.43
SERMON XXIX.] of fh° Passions of Men. 34T
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, asssulting a
rock with impotent fury, discover its immoveable stability, while
they dash themselves in pieces at its feet.
I SHALL only add one other instance oiih^wrath of man prai-
sing God, by accomplishing ends of most extensive benefit to
mankind. Never did the rage and malice of the wicked ima-
gine that they had obtained a more complete triumph, than in
the death of Jesus Christ. When they had executed their pur-
pose of making him suffer as a malefactor, they were confident
that they had extinguished his name, and discomfited his follow-
ers for ever. Behold, how feeble are the efforts of the lurath 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 appa-
rent 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 remainder ofiorath, suffer-
ed the rage of our Saviour's enemies to suggest no other things
to them than what, long before, he had determined, and his pro-
phets 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 disor-
ders 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 re-
dounc 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 soufs of men. By a secret tendency, they
advance the welfare of those whom they appear to threaten with
evil. Surely, 0 God ! the wrath of man shallpraise thee ; the re-
mainder of wrath shall thou restrain, — In thy hand it is ; and
348 On the Divine Government, [sermon xxix.
Thou never lettest it forth hut in weight and in measure. It is
wild and intractable in its nature ; hut 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 retrenchcst all the superfluity of its fury. Let us now
consider, what improvement is to be made of this meditation 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
ordinary course of human affairs, we behold a very mixed and
busv 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 vicissitudes. In all this, if we attend only to the operation
ol 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 thmgs : 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 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 be found ; and where
they imagine they guide themselves, they are guided and control-
led 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 m .-ely to the actings of men, but to the
ways of God ; and conside ourselves, and all our concerns, as in-
cluded in his high admini .ration.
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
ths discourse, of human passion and wickedness rendered sub-
servient 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 onlv by parts, we must
irequently be at a loss in judging of the whole. The way of God
%s }), the sea, and his paths in the i^reat ivaters ; his footsteps
arc not known.'' But althmigh thou sayest thou canst not see
* Psulm Ixxvii. 19.
SERMON XXIX.] of the Passions of Men. 349
him, yet judgment is before him, therefore trust thou in him*
As in the natural world no real deformity is found, nothing
but what has either some ornament or some use ; so in the mo-
ral world, the most if-regular and deformed appearances contri-
bute, in one way or other, to the order of the whole. The Su-
preme Bemg, from the most opposite and disagreeing princi-
ples, forms universal concord ; and adapts even the most harsh
and dissonont notes to the harmony of his praise. As he hath
reared the goodly frame of nature from various and jarring el-
ements, 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 contrarieties with-
in 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 multi-
plicity 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 ! Oh the depth of the riches,
both of the wisdom and. kncm^ledge of God ! how unsearchable
are hisjtidgm.ents, and his ways past finding out .'t
In the third place, We see, from what has been said, how
much reason there is for submission to the decrees of Heaven.
Whatever distresses we suffer from the wrath oftnan, we have
ground to believe that they befall 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 de-
signs are going on. God is always carrying forward his own
purposes ; and if these terminate 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 pro-
tection 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 belongs to restrain it at pleasure. Whereas,
when we are placed under his protection, all human wrath is di-
vested of its terrors. If he be for us, who, or what, can be
against us? Let us pursue the measures which he hath appoint -
* Job, XXXV. 14. f Rom. xi. "j.
350 On the Divine Government, 4*c. [sermon xxix.
ed for obtaining his grace, by faith, repentance, and a holy hfe,
and we shall have no reason to be afraid of evil tidings ; our
hearts ivill be fixed, triisting in the Lord. When the religious
fear of God possesses the heart, it expels thte 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 tvind He giveth strength and
victory to his jicople ; he clothtth them tvith salvation. The
wrath of man shall praise him and the remainder of ivrath
shall he restrain.
SERMON XXX.
On the importance of religious knowledge to
MANKIND.
[Preached before the Society in Scotland for propagating Christian
Knowledge.]
They shall not hurt nor destroy in all tny holy mountain ;for
the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the
waters cover the sea. — Isaiah, xi. 9.
THIS passage of Scripture, is understood, by all Christian
interpreters, to refer to the days of the Gospel. The Prophet
describes in the context, the auspicious influence of the Mes-
siah's reign, as extending over all nature, and producing uni-
versal felicity. The full accomplishment of this prediction is
yet future, and respects some more advanced period of the king-
dom of God, when true religion shall universally prevail, and
the native tendency of the 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 beautiful view of the state of the world, as
a state of returning innocence. He represents all nature flourish-
ing in peace ; discord and guile abolished ; the most hostile
natures reconciled, and the most savage reformed and tamed.
The ivolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard lie down
with the kid ; and the calf, and the young lion, and the falling
together, and a little child shall lead them. The lion shall eat
straw like the ox ; and the suckling child shall play on the hole
of the asp, and the weaned child shall 2)ut his hand on the
cockatrice den. 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>
352 On the Importance of [sermon xxx.
Upon reading these words, we must immediately perceive the
great encouragement which they give to all good designs for
promoting 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 assured by the Divine promise, that truth and righte-
ousness shall at length prevail, and that the increasing influence
of religion shall introduce general happiness. It is a pleasing
and animating reflection, that, in carrying on such designs, we
act upon the Divine plan ; and co-operate with God for advan-
cing the kingdom of the Messiah. We have no reason to be
discouraged by any unfavourable circumstances which at present
oppose our pious endeavours. Though the ignorance, super-
iitition, and corruption, which now fill so great a part of the
world, have a dark and mysterious aspect, it is not beyond
the power of that Supreme Being, Avho brings light out of dark-
ness, to clear up those perplexing appearances, 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 pre-
vail in its full influence. At the rise of Christianity, the dis-
proportion was, at least, as great, between the apparent human
causes, and the efiect which has actually been produced, as there is
in our age, between the circumstances of religion in the world,
and the effect whicli we farther expect. The Sun of righteous-
ness having already exerted its influence in breaking th'ough
the thickest darkness, we may justly hope, that it is powerful
enough to dispel all remaining obscurity ; and that it will as-
cend by degrees to that perfect day, when healing shall be un-
der its ivings to all the nations. Ji little one shall become a
thousand ; and a small one a strong nation. I the Lord wUl
hasten it in its time*
Besides tlje 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 man-
kind. The Jcnoivledge 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 gi'ound. W^hether Chris-
tianity shall be propagated farther or not, is treated as a matter
* Isaiah Ix. 22-
SERMON XXX. Religious Knowledge to Mankind. 353
of no great concern to mankind. The opinion prevails among
many, that moral virtue may subsist, with equal advantage, in-
dependent of religion. For moral principles great regard is
professed ; but articles of religious belief are held to be abstract
tenets, remote from life ; points of mere speculation 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 pre-
sent state of things ; and religious knowledge can therefore stand
in no necessary connection with their happiness and prosperity.
How adverse 5uch 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, 1 hope to make
appear to candid minds.
By the knowledge of the Lord, in the text, is not to be under-
stood 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 government, 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 individual; II. as a member of soci-
ety.
I. Considering man as an individual, let us inquire how far
the knowledge of true religion is important, first, to his improve-
ment ; next, to his consolation.
First, With respect to the improvement of man; the ad-
vancement of his nature in what is valuable and useful, the ac-
quisition of such dispositions and habits as fit him for acting his
part with propriety 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 knowledge is improvement to the under-
standing. The more that its sphere is enlarged, the greater
number of objects that are submitted to its view, especially when
tliese objects are of intrinsic excellence, the more must those ra-
tional powers, which are the glory of man, be in the course of
attaining their proper strength and maturity. But where the
knowledge of religion merely speculative, though the specula-
tion 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 concep-
tions 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 Au-
thor of every good and perfect gift -, conducting his whole admi-
voi,. J. 45
354 On t/ie Importance of [sermon xxx.
nistration with an eternal regard to order, virtue, and truth ;
ever favouring the cause, and supporting the interests of righte-
ous men ; and applying, in this direction, the vi^hole 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 improve-
ments on what the light of nature had imperfectly suggested. A
high dispensation of Providence is made known particularly suit-
ed to the exigenfies 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 righteous-
ness 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
propitiation for the sins of the world, with this express intention,
that he might bring in everlasting righteousness ; that he might
ptoge our consciences from dead loorks to serve the living God ;
that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify unto
Imnself a peculiar people zealous of good ivories, such a mer-
ciful interposition of the Creator of the world, while it illustri-
ously 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 ar-
gument could yield, it appeals to a distinguished fact ; and is en-
abled 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*
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 extremely awful and solemn
in the wliole doctrine of redemption. It is calculated to strike the
mind with reverence for the Divine adminisiration, 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 Sovereit.\. of the world to depart
from the ordinary 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
* Bom. viii. 32.
SERMON XXX.] Religious Knowledge, to Mankind. 356
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 connection in which this hfe stands
with a future eternal state. We are represented as sowing nowy
tvhat loe are to reap hereafter ; undergoing a course of probation
and trial, which according as it terminates in our improvement,
or leaves us unreformed and corrupted, will dismiss us to lasting
abodes, either of punishment or reward. Such a discovery rises
far above the dubious conjectures, and uncertain reasonings,
which mere natural light suggests concerning the future condi-
tion of mankind. Here we find, what alone can produce any
considerable influence on practice, explicit promise and threat-
ening ; 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 ad-
ministration is opened to us in the Gospel of Christ ; and noth-
ing is omitted that can impress mankind with the persuasion of-
their being all, in the strictest sense, subjects of the moral govern-
ment 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 knowlf^dgje 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,
on various occasions, the most useful sentiments ; to provide ad-
ditional 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 connection ; and that therefore the propagation
356 On the Importance of [sermon xxx,
of tlie one, cannot give us any assurance of proportionable im-
provements following in the other. — This, in part, is granted to
be true ; as \vc admit that religious knowledge and belief are
susceptible of various degress, before they arrive at that real
Christian faith which the Scripture represents as purifying the
heart. But though the connection between principle and prac-
tice be not necessary and invariable, it will not, I suppose, be
denied, that there is some connection. 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 distinguished examples of true religion and
virtue, which have, more or less, adorned every age of the Chris-
tian asra, what numbers may thei'e 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 accomplishmg their full effect, their influence
is, frequently not altogether lost. Impressions of religion often
check vice in its career. They prevent it from proceeding its
utmost length ; and though they do not entirely reform the offen-
der, they serve to maintain order in society. Persons who are
now bad, might ])robably have been worse without them, and the
world have suttered more from unrestrained licentiousness.
They often sow Infpnt eccdy of (Toodnpss in the heart, which pro-
per circumstances and occasions afterwards ripen ; though the
reformation of the ofi'ender may not be so conspicuous as his
former enormities have be(m. From the native tendency of re-
ligious belief, there is reason to conclude, that those good effects
of it are not so rare as some would rqjresent them. By its na-
ture and tendency, we can better judge of its effects, than by ob-
servations drawn from a supposed experience, which often is nar-
row in its compass and fallacious in its conclusions.
The actual influence of principle and belief of mankind admits
of clear illustration from uncontested matter of fact. They who
hold the good effects of Christian principles to be so inconsider-
able, 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 hav-
ing poisoned the tempers, and transformed the manners of men ;
of their having overcome the strongest restraints of law, of rea-
son and humanity. Is this then the case, that all principles,
except good ones, are of such miglity energy ? Strange ! that
false religion should be able to do so much, and true religion s9
SERMON XXX. Religious Knowledge to Mankind. 357
little; that belief, so powerful in the one case, should be so im-
potent in the other. — No impartial inquirer, surely, can enter-
tain this opmion. The whole history of mankind shews that
their religious tenets and principles, of whatever nature they be,
are of great influence in forming their character, and directing
their conduct. The mischief 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 alledged that superstition is likely to be more
powerful in its effects than truth, because it agrees better \vith
the follies and corruptions of the world, we may oppose to this,
on the other hand, that truth has the Divine 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 spi'ead the incorruptible seed
as widely as we can, and trust in God that he will give the in-
crease.— Having thus, shewn the importance of Religious know-
ledge 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 incontestably triumphs ; and its happy effects in
this respect, furnish a strong argument to every benevolent mind
for wishing them to be farther diffused throughout the world. —
For without the belief and hope afforded by divine Revelation,
the circumstances of man are extremely forlorn. He finds him-
self placed here as a stranger in a vast universe, where the pow-
ers 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
aay certainty, whence he sprung, or for what purpose he was
brought into this state of existence ; whether he be subjected to
the government of a mild, or of a wrathful rdler ; what construc-
tion 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 discon-
solate situation to a serious inquiring mind ! The greater degree
of virtue it possesses, its sensibility is likely to be the more op-
pressed 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 melancho-
ly apprehension, from the evils which ho may have to cncoun-
358 On the Imjiortance of [sermon xxx.
ter, before he arrives at the close of life. In this distressed con-
dition, 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, lie who was before a desti-
titute orphan, wandering in the inhospitable desert, has now gain-
ed 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
comfort. It is of power to enlighten the darkest hour, and to
assuage the severest wo, by the belief of divine favour, and the
prospect of a blessed immortality. In such hopes the mind ex-
patiates with joy ; and when bereaved of its earthly friends, so-
laces itself with the thought of one Friend, who will never for-
sake it. Refined reasonings concerning the nature of the hu-
man condition, and the improvement which philosophy teaches
us to make of every event, may entertain the mind when it is at
ease ; may perhaps contribute to sooth 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 andsted-
fast. This has given consolation and refuge to many a virtuous
heart, at a time when the most cogent reasonings would have pro-
ved 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 liglit, the high value of the
discoveries made by the Gospel ; not only life and immortality
revealed, but a Mediator with God discovered; mercy proclai-
med, through him, to the frailties of the penitent and the hum-
ble ; and his presence 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 trying period, this laboring hour of na-
ture, how shall the unhappy man support himself, who knows
not, or believes not, the discoveries of religion; Secretly con-
scious 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 re-
membrance. 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 perplcxeties, the trembling, re-
SERMON XXX.] Religious knowledge to Mankind. 359
luctant soul is forced away from the body. As the misfortuneb
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 Lo7'd is, both to the im-
provement and the consolation 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 wliich man re-
ceives as an individual, redounds to the benefit of the public. —
Society reaps the fruit of the virtues of all the members who com-
pose it ; and in proportion as each, apart, is made better, the
whole must flourish.
But, besides this effect, Religious Knowledge has a direct
tendency to improve the social intercourse of men, and to assist
them in co-operating for common good. It is the great instru-
ment of civilizing the multitude, and fonning them to union. —
It tames the fierceness of their passions, and softens the rude-
ness 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 scat-
tered tribes of men from the woods, and to unite them in cities
and communities, 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 society, how much more that rea-
sonable worship of the true God, which is taught by the Gos-
pel ? True religion introduces the idea of regular subjection, by
accustoming mankind to the awe of superior power in the Dei-
ty, 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 ;
tlie 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 connection. The doctrine of Christianity is most
adverse to all tyranny and oppression, but highly favourable to
the interests of good government among men. It represses
the spirit of licentiousness and sedition. It inculcates the duty
of subordination to lawful superiors. It requires us to fear
[H}(j On the Importance of [sermon xxx,
God, to honour the king, and not to meddle luith them thai
are given to change.
Religious Knowledge forwards all useful and ornamental im-
provements in society. Experience shows, that in proportion
as it diffuses its light, learning flourishes, and liberal arts are
cultivated and advanced. Just conceptions of religion promote
a free and manly spirit. They lead men to think for themselves ;
to form tlicir principles upon fair enquiry, 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 Ma-
hom.cian or Pagan darkness ; where the throne of violence has
been supported by ignorance and false religion. In the Chris-
tian world, during those centuries in which gross superstilion 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 Knoioledge of the Lord revived, at the aus-
picious ffira 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 mAich farther than to effects of this kind. It is not only
subsidiary to the improvement, but necessary to the preserva-
tion of society. It is the very basis on w^hich it rests. Reli-
gious principle is what gives men the surest hold of one another.
The last and greatest pledge of veracity, an oath, without
which no society could subsist, derives its w^hole authority from
an established 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 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 legis-
lation ; if no belief of future rewards and punishments were to
overawe conscience, and to supply tlic defects of human govern-
ment.
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
immediately conceive them as abandoned to rapine and violence,
to perfidity and treachery; as deceiving and deceived, oppressing
SERMON XXX.] Religious Knowledge to Mankind. 361
and oppressed ; consumed by intestine broils, and ripe for be-
coming a prey to the first invader. On the other hand, in or-
der to form the idea of a society flourishing in its highest glo-
ry, we need only conceive the belief of Christian principle ex-
erting its full influence on the hearts and lives of all the mem-
bers. Instantly, the most amiable scene would open to our
view. We should see the causes of public disunion removed
when men were animated with that noble spirit of love and cha-
rity which our religion breathes, and formed to the pursuit of
those higher interests, which p-ye no occasion to competition
and jealousy. We should see families, neighbourhoods, and
communities, living in unbroken amity, and pursuing, with one
heart and mind, the common interest; sobriety of manners, 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 mea-
sures contrived by human wisdom can supply the defect. In
proportion as they prevail, they raise the state of society from,
that sad degeneracy into which it is at present sunk, and carr)- it
forward, under the blessing of Heaven, towards that happy period,
when nation shal not lift up their siuord against nation, nor
learn war any more.
In order to prove the importance of Religious Knowledge to
the interest of society, one consideration more, deserving parti-
cular attention, remains to be mentioned. It is, that if good
sense be 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 supernatural 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 varions mischiefs they have produced to society,
is too well knov\'n. Nor is this the whole of the danger. De-
signing men are always ready to take advantage of this popular
weakness, and to direct the superstitious bias of the multitude
to their own ambitious and interested ends. Superstition, in it-
self a formidable evil, threatens consequences still more formi-
dable 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,
^vhich dangerous fanaticism will otherwise usurp.
voT.. I. 46
362 On the Importance, ^x. [sermon xxx.
This consideration alone is sufficient to show the high utility
of the design undertaken by the Society for propagating Chris-
tian 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 ; whei'e the
inhabitants, by their local situation, were more imperfectly sup-
plied 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 suc-
cess ; 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 gratitu de to Heaven for confer-
ring it upon them. Thus shall they make the blessings of those
who are now ready io perish through lack of knoivledge, descend
upon their heads. Thus shall they contribute their endeavours
for bringing forward that happy period, foretold by ancient pro-
phecy ; 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 ; h\yi judgment shall dwell in
the wilderness, and righteousness remain in the fruitful field
the desert shall rejoice, arid blossom as the rose : and the earth
shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover
the sea*
• Zech. xiv. 9. Malaclii, ill. Isaiah, sxsii. 16. xsxv. 1,
SERMON XXXI.
On the true honour of man.
Exalt her and she shall promote thee ; she shall bring thee t6
honour. — Proverbs, iv. 8.
THE love of honour is one of the strongest passions in the
human heart. It shows itself in our earliest years ; and is co-
eval with the first exertions of reason. It accompanies us
through all the stages of subsequent life ; and in private sta-
tions discovers itself no less than in the higher ranks of soci-
ety. In their ideas of what constitutes honour, men greatly va-
ry, and often grossly err. But of somewhat which they con-
ceive to form pre-eminence and distinction, all are desirous. All
wish, by some means or other, to acquire respect 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 princi-
pal thing, says Solomon, in the passage where the text lies, Mere-
fore get icisdom ; and, with all thy getting, get understanding.
Exalt her, and she shall promote thee ; she shall bring thee to ho-
nour, 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 throughout all the sacred writings, and particular-
ly 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 meUf and to keep the path of therighteous.*'—
* ProY. ii, 20.
564 On the true Honour of Man. [sermon xxxi.
Man is then regulated by the ivisdoni ivhich is from ahove^
when he is formed by piety to the duties of virtue and morahty ;
and of the wisdom which produces this effect, it is asserted in the
text, that it bringeth 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 notion^ of honour are apt to run in a very
different channel. Wherever religion is mentioned, they con-
nect it with ideas of melancholj- 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 ;
an.(! that to persons of a peculiar turn of mind it may afford con-
solation under the distresses of life : but from the active scenes
of the world, and from those vigorous exertions which display
to advantage t!ie human abilities, they incline totally to exclude
it. It may soothe the timid or the sad : But they consider it as
having no connection with what is proper to raise men to honour
and distinction. I shall now endeavour to remove this reproach
from relision ; and to show that in every situation in human life,
even in the highest stations, it forms the honour, as well as the
hafipiness of man.
But first, let us be careful to ascertain what true religion is.
I admit that there is a certain species of religion, (if we can
give it that najne,) which has no claim to such high distinction ;
when it is placed wholly in speculation and belief, in the regu-
larity of external homage, or in fiery zeal about contested opi-
nions. 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 maj' be flattered by their prostrations, ap-
peased by their gifts, and gained by loud protestations of at-
tachment to his interest, and of enmity to all whom they sup-
pose to be his foes. But this is not that ivisdoni to which So-
lomon ascribes in the text such high prerogatives. It is not the
religion which we preach, nor the religion of Christ. That reli-
gion 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 uni-
verse in the acts of worship and devotion. It consists in justice, hu-
manity, and mercy ; in a fair and candid mind, a generous and aff-
ectionate 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.
Bv the true honour of man is to be understood, not what
merely commands external respect, but what commands the re-
SERMON xxxi] On the true Honour of Man. 365
spect of the heart : what raises one to acknowledge eminence
above others of the same species ; what always creates esteem,
and in its hisrhest 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 purpose to sliow of what small account they are in the
sight of God. Experience every day proves that the posses-
sion of them is consistent with the most general contempt. On
this point therefore I conceive it not necessary to insist any
longer.
Neither does the honour of man arise from mere dignity of
rank or office. Were such distinctions always, or even general-
ly, obtained in consequence of uncommon merit, they would in-
deed 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 con-
joined with meanness and baseness of character. To persons
graced with noble birth, or place in high stations, much ex-
ternal honour is due. This is what the subordination of society
necessarily requires ; and what every good member of it will cheei-
fully yield. But how often has it happened that such persons,
when externally respected, nevertheless, despised by men in
their hearts ; nay, sometimes execrated by the public ? Their ele-
vation, if they have been unworthy of it, is so far from procur-
ing 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, sig-
nal victories and conquests, may render the name of a man fa-
mous, without rendering his character truly honourable. To ma-
ny brave men, to many heroes 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 man-
kind. Their eminence, nevertheless, may not be of that sort
before which we bow with inward esteem and respect. Some-
thing more is wanted for that purpose, than the conquering
arm and the intrepid 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 hove been stained by
366 On the tribe Honour of Man. [sermon xxxi.
rapine and inhumanity ; if sordid avarice has marked his charac-
ter ; 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 immense size struck the spectator afar off with astonish-
ment ; but when nearly viewed, it appears disproportioned, un-
shapely, and rude.
Observations of the same kind may be applied to all the re-
putation derived from civil accomplishments ; from the refined
politics of the statesman ; or the literary efforts of genius and
erudition. 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 valu-
able, when employed in advancing the good of mankind. 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
judgment of the thinking. Fame may give praise while it
withholds esteem : True honour implies esteem mingled with re-
spect. 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 him-
self is far from being honourd. 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 every 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 ^vhich he belongs ; in
a word, we must look to the mind and the soul. A mind su-
perior to fear, to selfish interest and corruption ; a mind gov-
erned by the principles of uniform rectitude and integrity ; the
same in prosperity and adversity ; which no bribe can seduce,
or terror overawe ; neither by pleasure melted into effeminancy,
nor by distress sunk into dejection ; such is the mind which
forms the distinction and eminence of men. One, who in no si-
tuation 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 pri-
vate interests and pleasures, but zealous foj' public interest?
SERMON XXXI.] On the true Honour of Man. 367
and happiness ; magnanimous, without being proud ; humble,
without being mean ; just, without being harsh : simple in his
manners, but manly in his feelings ; on whose word you can en-
tirely 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, opera-
ting on conscience, determine it uniformly to pursue whatsoever
things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things
are just, 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* By those means, wisdom,
as the text asserts, 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
independent 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 shew themselves, and you will
revere him as a private citizen ; or as the 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 retirement, or in
the retreat of old age, such a man sinks not into forgotten ob-
scurity ; his remembered virtues continue to be honoured, 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
hfe, he had dazzled the world, this was owing to his deficiency
♦ Philip, iv. 8.
368 On the true Honour of Man. [sermon xxxi.
in the essential qualities having not been suspected. As soon as
the imposture is discovered, the falling star sinks in darkness,
There is, therefore, a standard of independent, intrinsic worth,
to which we must bring in the end whatever claims to be honour-
able among men. By this we must measure it ; and it will al-
ways be found, that nothing but what is essential to man has pow-
er to command the respect of man's heart.
It is to be farther observed, that the universal consent of
mankind in honouring real virtue, is sufficient to shew what the
genuine sense of human nature is on this 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 coun-
try are highly honoured, in another are lightly esteemed. Nay,
what in some regions of the earth distinguishes a man above
others, might elsewhere expose him to contempt or ridicule,
But where was ever the nation on the face of the globe who did
not honour unblemished worth, unaffected piety, steadfast, hu-
mane, and regular virtue ? To whom were altars erected in the
Heathen world, but to those whom their merits and heroic la-
bours, by their invention of useful arts, or by some signal acts
of beneficence to their country, or to mankind, were found wor-
thy, in their opinion, to be transferred from among men, and
added to the number of the Gods? — Even the counterfeited ap-
pearances of virtue, which are so often found in the world, are
testiUiOnies to its praise, The hypocrite knows that, without
assuming the garb of virtue, every other advantage he can pos-
sess, is»insufficient to procure him esteem. Interference of in-
terest, or perversity of disposition, may occasionally lead individ-
uals to ojjpose, even to hate, the upright and the good. But how-
ever the characters of such persons may be mistaken or misre-
presented, yet, as far as they are acknowledged to be virtuous,
the profligate dare not traduce them. Genuine virtue has a lan-
guage 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 judgment is the standard of
truth and right ; whose approbation confers a crown of glory that
fadeth 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
goodness, accompanies us tlirough the whole progress of our
existence. It enters with man into a future state ; and continues
to brighten throughout eternal ages, ^^'hat procured him respect
SERMON XXXI.] On the true Honour of Man. 369
on earth, shall render him estimable among the great assembly
of angels and spirits of just men made perfect ; where, we are as-
sured, they who have been eminent in righteousness shall shinQ
as the brightness of the firmament, and as the stars for ever and
ever* Earthly honours are both short-lived in their continu-
ance, and, while they last, tarnished with spots and stains. On
some quarter or other, their brightness is obscured ; their exal-
tation is hum.bled. But the honour which proceeds from God,
and virtue, is unmixed and pure. It is a lustre which is de-
rived from Heaven ; and is likened, in Scripture, to the light
of the morniiig when the sun riseth, even a morning ivithout
clouds ; to the light ivhich shineth more andrnore unto the pe/ feet
day A Whereas, the honours which the world confers, resemble
the feeble and twinkling flame of a taper ; which is often clouded
by the smoke it sends forth ; is always wasting, and soon dies to-
tally 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 ai'e worthy of his nature, Let him not rest on any of
those external distinctions which vanity has contrived to intro-
duce. These can procure him no more than the semblance of
respect. Let him not be flattered by the applause which some
accasional display of abilities may have gained him. That ap-
plause may be mingled with contempt. Let him look to what
^vill 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 crow)i of
glory shall she deliver to hi7n. 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 dis-
tinguish himself by worthy and virtuous conduct, as to command
Ihe respect of those around him ; and what is highest of all, to
obtain praise and honour from. God,
Let no one imagine that in the religious part of this charac-
ter there is any thing which casts over it a gloomy shade, or
derogates from that esteem which men are generally disposed to
yield to exemplary 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 wo
sullen gloom ; no melancholy austerity, tending to withdraw
men from human society, or to diminish the exertions of active
virtue. On the contrary, the religious principle, rightly under-
stood, not only unites with all such virtues, but supports, forti-
fies, and confirms them. It is so far from obscuring the lustre
* Daniel, xii. o. f 2 Sam. xxii. 4. Prov. iv. 18.
VOL. I. 47
370 On the ty'ue Honour of Man. [sermon xxxr
of a character, that it heightens and ennobles it. It adds to all
the moral virtues a venerable and authoritative dignity. It ren-
ders the virtuous character more august. To the decoration of
a palace it joins the majesty of a temple.
He who divides religion from virtue, understands neither the
one nor the other. It is the union of the two, which consum*
mates the human character and state. It is their union which
has distmguished 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 ivhich is from above ; that wis-
dom 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 apocryphal books of Scripture : with whose beautiful and
emphatical expressions I conclude this discourse : The memorial
of virtue is im,m.ortal. It is knoivn luith God, and with men.
When it is present, men take exam.ple 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. Wis-
dom is the breath of the power of God, and a pure influence
flowing from the glory of the Mmighty. Therefore can no
defiled thing fall into her. She is the brightness of the ever-
lasting 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 beau-
tiful than the sun ; and above all the order of the stars. Be-
ing compared ivith light, she found before it.*
* Wisdom of Solomon, iv. 2, S.—vii. 25, 26, 27, 28, 29.
SERMON XXXH.
'On sensibility.
liejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that
iveep. Romans, xii. 15.
THE amiable spirit of our holy religion appears in nothing
more than in the cai'e 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 loith them that weep ; the one calculated to promote the
happiness, the other to alleviate the sorrows, of our fellow crea-
tures ; 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 Sensibility ; 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 ; em-
ployed as a cover, sometimes to a capricious humour, sometimes
to selfish passions. I shall endeavour to explain the nature of
true sensibility. I shall consider its effects ; and, after shewing
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
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
promote his own welfare than any other person can possibly
have to promote it. It was therefore fit, it was necessary? that
372 On Sensibility. sermon xxxii.
in each individual self-love should be the stron2;est and most ac-
tive instinct. This self-love, if he had been a being who stood
solitary and alone, might have proved 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 atten-
tion to his particular interest, encountering tlie self-love and the
interests of another could not but produce frequent opposition,
and innumerable mischiefs. It was necessarj^, therefore, to pro-
vide a counterbalaiice to this part of his nature ; which is accord-
ingly done by implanting in him tl^ose social and benevolent in-
stincts which lead him in some measure out of himself, to follow
the interest of others. The strength of these social instincts is,
in general, proportioned to their imjiortance in human life.
Hence that degree of sensibility which prompts us to iveep loith
them that weep, is stronger than that which prompts us to rejoice
with them that rejoice ; for this i-eason, that the unhappy stand
more in need of our fellovv-feeling and assistance than the pros-
perous. 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 for the preservation of his life and well
being. But as the quantity requisite for this purpose is apt both
to en2;ross 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
affection, render man equally useful to himself, and to those with
Avhom 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 arc the words of the text ex-
press 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 oiirself ; 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 hear one another'' s burdens,
and so to fulfil the law of Christ.* The dispositions opposite to
sensibility are cruelty, hardness of heart, contracted attachment to
worldly interests ; which eA cry one will admit to be directly op-
posite to the Christian character. According to the different
degrees of constitutional warmth in men's affections, sensibility
mav, even among the virtuous, prevail in different proportions.
Foi- all derive not from nature the same happy delicacy and ten-
derness of feeling. With some, the heart melts, and relents, in
kind emotion, much more easily than with others. But with
* LitVe, X. "T". Philip, ii. 4. 1. Pfter, iii. « Kphps, iv. 25. Calat, vi. 2.
SERMON XXXII.] On Sensibility. 373
^every one who aspires at tlie character of a good man, it is
necessary that the humane and compassionate 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 ivith 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 be-
loved friend, and saw his relations mourning around it, he pre-
sently caught the impression of their sorrow ; he groaned in
spirit and ivas 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, to-
gether with the weeping friends, Jesus wept.*
Let us next proceed to consider the effect of this virtuous
sensibility 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 ha-
rassing 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 principles, and in different waj-s. Sometimes
they are perfoi'med merely from decency and regard to charac-
ter ; sometimes from fear, and even from selfishness, which
obliges men to shew 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 de~
pendance 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 in-
terested 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 regidar tenor. Such men act from
conscience and principle. So far they do well, and are worthy
of praise. They assist their friends; they give tb the poor;
* John ii. 35.
374 Gn Sensibility. [sermon xxxii.
they do justice to all. But what a diflerent complexion is given
\o 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 aflfection, even supposing him influenced by
principle, he will go no further than strict principle appears to
require. He will advance slowly and reluctantly. As it is jus-
tice, not generosity, 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 oflice 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 be-
nefit he confers rises in its value, on account of its carrying the
affection of the giver impressed upon the gift. It speaks his
beart, and the discovery of the heart is very frequently of great-
er consequence than all that liberallity can bestow. How often
will the affectionate smile of approbation gladden the humble,
and raise the dejected ? How often will the look of tender sym-
pathy, 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 perform-
ed to more advantage, and endeared in the performance. From
true sensibility flow a thousand good offices apparently small in
themselves, but of high importance to the felicity of others ; of-
fices which altogether escape the observation of the cold and un-
feeling, 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 prevail-
ed 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 voilh them that rejoice and to weep with them
that iveep !
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 ac-
cess. 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 nature yields a
satisfaction to him which the insensible can never know. The
profusion of goodness which he beholds poured forth on the uni-
verse dilates his heart with the thought that innumerable multi-
tudes around him are blest and happy. When he sees the labours
ef men appearing to prosper, and views a countiy flourishing in
wealth and industry ; when he beholds the spring coming forth
SERMON XXXII.] On Sensibility, 21§
in its beauty, and reviving the decayed face of nature ; or in au-
tumn beholds the fields loaded with plenty, and the year crown-
ed with all its fruits ; he lifts his affections with gratitude to
the great Father of all, and rejoices in the general felicity and
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 sen-
sation which they who feel it would not exchange for the grati-
fications 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 same
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 con-
fined to what affects his own 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 felicity. His
powers are much more frequently called forth into occupations
of pleasing activity. Numberless occasions open to him, of in-
dulging his favourite taste, by conveying satisfaction to others.
Often it is in his power, in one way or other, to sooth the afflict-
ed heart, to carry some consolation into the house of woe. In
the scenes of ordmary life, in the domestic and social intercour-
ses of men, the cordiality of his affections cheers and gladdens
him. Every appearance, every description of innocent happi-
ness, is enjoyed 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 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
.•37ti 0)1 Semibilily. [sermon xxxh.
from one another by competitions and jealousies, when in cordial
tmion he might be so much more blest ? How long will ye seek
vour happiness in selfish gratifications alone, neglecting tliose
purer and better sources of joy, which flow from the affections
and the heart ?
Having now explained the nature, and shown the value and
iiigh advantages of true sensibility, I proceed to point out some
of the mistaken forms and abuses of this virtue. In modern
limes, 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 socie-
ty, it has had considerable influence. It has abated the spirit of
persecution ; it has even tempered tliQ horrors of war ; and man
is now more ashamed, than he was in some former ages, of act-
ing as a savage to man. Hence, sensibility is become so repu-
table 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 pro-
duce gentleness of behaviour, and when such behaviour flows
from native affection, it is valuable and amiable. But the exte-
rior manner alone may be learned in the school of the world ;
and often, too often, is found to cover much unfeeling hai'dness
of heart. Professions of sensibility on every trifling occasion,
joined with the appearance of excessive 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 ten-
der 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
otliers, they who aflect the highest sensibility are apt to carry
Ihis delicacy to excess. They are, perhaps, not incapable of the
warmth of disinterested friendsliip ; but they are become so re-
fined in all their sensations ; they entertain such high notions of
^vhat ought to correspond in the feelings of others to their own ;
they are so mightily hurt by every thing which comes not up to
rlieir ideal standard of reciprocal affection, as to produce disquiet
and uneasiness to all with whom they are connected. Hence,
unjust suspicions of their friends; hence, groundless upbraid-
ings and complaints of unkindness; hence, a proneness to lake
violent offence at trifles. In consequence of examining their
friends with a microscopic eye, what to an ordinar}^ observer
would not be unj>leasing, to them is grating and disgusting. At
fhe bottom of tho character of such persons there always lie
SERMON XXXII.] On Sensibility. 377
much pride and attention to themselves. This is indeed a false
species of sensibihty. It is the substitution of a capricious and ir-
ritable 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 allowances for the imperfections which are
sometimes adherent to the most amiable qualities.
There are others who afiect not sensibility to this extreme^
but who found high claims to themselves upon the degree of in-
terests which they take in the concerns of others. Although their
sensibility can produce no benefit to the person who is its object,
they always conceive that it entitles themselves to some profita-
ble returns. These, often, are persons of refined and artful cha-
racter ; who partly deceive themselves, and partly employ their
sensibility as a cover to interest. He who acts from genuine af-
fection when he is feeling along with others in their joys and sor-
rows, thinks not of any recompense to which this gives him a ti-
tle. 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 I'eturn mingle with the feelings of affection, sen-
sibility acts an imperfect part, and entitles us to small share of
praise.
But supposing it to be both complete and pure, I must cautioa
you against resting the whole merit of your character on sensi-
bility alone. It is indeed a happy constitution of mmd. It fits
men for the proper discharge of many duties, and gives them ac-
cess to many virtuous pleasures. It is requisite for our acceptance
either with God or man. At the same time, if it remain an in-
stinctive feeling alone, it will form no more than an imperfect
character. Complete virtue is of a more exalted and dignified na-
ture. It supposes sensibility, good temper, and benevolent affec-
tions ; it includes 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 thoi-e 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 pas-
sion and pleasure into many criminal deeds. Almost every man
values 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 sen-
sibility, 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, afi'ected chiefly by the powers of de-
VOL. T, 48
37d On Sensibility. [sermon xxxii,
scriplion, 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 ap-
plaud themselves for the goodness of their hearts •, and conclude
that with such feelings they cannot fail to be agreeable to Hea-
ven. At the same time these transient relentings make slight im-
pression on conduct. They give rise to few, if any, good deeds ;
ind 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 plea-
sures. This sort of sensibility affords no more than a fallacious
claim to virtue, and gives men no ground to think highly of them-
selves. We must enquire not merely how they feel, but how their
feelings prompt them to act, in order to ascertain their real cha-
racter.
I SHALL conclude with observing, that sensibility, when genu-
ine 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 sen-
sibility 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 sen-
sibility. He has reason to suspect, tliat 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 uni-
formly good ; just and upright, as well as pitiful and courteous ;
pious, as w^ell as sympathizing. Let us pray to him who made
the heart, that he would fill it with all proper dispositions ; recti-
fy all its errors ; and render it the happy abode of personal integ-
rity and social tenderness, of purity, benevolence, and devotioiv.
SERMON XXXin.
On the improvement of time-.
vind Pharoah said unto Jacob, How old art thou 9-
Genesis, xlvii. &
TIME is of so great importance to mankind, that it cannot
loo often employ religious meditation. There is nothing in the
management of which wisdom is more requisite, or where man-
kind 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 man 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 momenta-
ry 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 im-
pressions were habitual. The question put to him by the Egyp-
tian monarch, produced, in his answer, such reflections as were
naturally suited to his time of life. And Jacob said unto Pha-
roah, 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 pit-
380 On the Improvement of Time, [sermon xxxiii-
griinage. But the peculiar circumstances of the Patriarch, or
the numher of his years, arc not to be the subject of our present
consideration. My purpose is, to shew how we should be affect-
ed in ever}'^ period of human life, by reflection upon our a,^e, whe-
ther we be younj::;, or advanced in years ; in order that the ques-
tion Hoiv old art thoii ? 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
ouajht to be affected by attending to each of these.
I. Let us review that part of our time which is past. Ac-
cording to the progress which we have made in tlie journey of
hfe, 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, re-
members not many errors and many follies in his past beha-
viour? 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 remembrance ; 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 pastime be gone, we are not to consider it as ir-
redeemably lost. To a very profitable purpose it may yet be ap-
plied, 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 wis-
dom. 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
SERMON XXXIII.] On the Improvement of Time. SSI
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 gi'ace to guide you safely through 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 for ever, and on which we considered our whole happiness
or misery as suspended ? We look back upon them now, as upon
a dream which has passed away. None of those mighty conse-
quences have followed which we had predicted. The airy fabric
has vanished, and left no trace behind it. We smile at our for-
mer violence ; and wonder how such things could have ever ap-
peared so significant and great. We may rest assured, that
what hath been shall again be. When time shall once have laid
his lenient hand on the passions and pursuits of the present mo-
ment, they too shall loose 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 into the eagerness of contest, by anticipating that
period of coolness, which the lapse of time will, of itself, cer-
tainly bring. When we look back on years that are past, how
swiftly do they appear to have fleeted away ! How insensibly has
one period of life stolen upon us after another, like the succes-
sive incidents in a tale that is told ! Before we were aware, child-
hood had grown up into youth ; youth had passed into manhood ;
and manhood now, perhaps, begins to assume the gray hair, and
to decline into old age. When we are carrying our views for-
ward, months and years to come seem to stretch through a long
and extensive space. But when the time shall arrive of our look-
ing back, they shall appear contracted with nari'ow bounds. —
Time, when yet before us, seems to advance with slow and tar-
dy steps ; no sooner is it past, than we discern its wings.
It is a remarkable peculiai'ity 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 for-
mer years, many objects arise to view, which make the most un-
thinking, grave ; and render the serious, sad. The pleasurable
scenes of youth, the objects on which our affections had been
382 0)1 the Improvement of Time, [sermon xx^m,
early placed, the companions and friends with whom he had
spent many happy days, even the places and the occupations to
which we have been lon^ 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. They are apt to produce a fruitless me-
lancholy ; to deject, without bringing much improvement ; to
thicken the gloom which already hangs over human life, without
furnishing proportionable assistance to virtue.
Let me advise you rather to recall to view such parts of for-
mer conduct, if any such there be, as afford in the remembrance
a 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
innocent, the virtuous, the honourable parts of your past life ;
when you were employed in cultivating your minds, and im-
proving them with useful knowledge ; when, by regular applica-
tion and preserving labour, you were laying the foundation of
future reputation and advancement ; when you were occupied in
discharging with fidelity the duties of your station, and acquir-
ing the esteem of the worthy and the good ; when, in some try-
ing situation, you were enabled to act your part with firmness
and honour ; or had seized the happy opportunity of assisting the
deserving, of relieving the distressed, and bringing down upon
your heads the blessings of those that ivere 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 sad-
ness, 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 experience of the past, judge of the quar-
ter to which we must in future turn, if we would lay a founda-
tion for permanent satisfaction. After having thus reviewed the
former years of our life, let us consider.
SERMON xxxiii.] On the Improvemeyit of Time. 383
II. What attention is due to that period of asje in which we
are at present placed. Here lies the immediate and principal
object of our concei^n : For, the recollection of the past is only
as far of moment as it acts upon the present. The past, to us
now, is little ; 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 incon-
siderate steps let us not pass along it ; but remember well, how
much depends upon our holding a steady and properly conduct-
ed course. Whatsoever thine handfindeth to do, do it now ivith
all thy might ; for noio is the accepted time ; now is the day
of salvation. Many directions might be given for the wise and
religious improvement of the present ; 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
importance remains to be done. If we suffer the present time
to be wasted either in absolute idleness or in frivolous employ-
ments, it will hereafter call for vengeance against us. Remov-
ing, therefore, what is merely superfluous, let us bethink our-
selves of what is most material to be attended to at present :
As, first and chief, the great work of our salvation ; the dis-
charge of the religious duties which we owe to God our Crea-
tor, and to Christ our Redeemer. God waiteth as yet to be gra-
cious ; whether he will wait longer, none of us can tell. Now,
therefore, seek the Lord ivhile he may hefonnd, call upon him
ivhile he is mar. 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 your's ;
and though you should live to enjoy it, you must not overload it
with a burden not its own. Sufficient for the day ivill prove
the duty thereof
The observance of order and method is of high consequence
for the improvement of present time. He, who performs every
employment 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
arrangement 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 em-
ployment of time an object of thought. Ask yourselves, about
what you are now busied? What is the ultimate scope of your,
3S4 On the Inijn'ovement of Time, [sermon xxxiii.
present pursuits and cares ? Can you justify them to yourselves ?
Are they likely to produce any thing that will survive .the mo-
ment, 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 einployment 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 blessings you enjoy. If you must admit, that
you are now in health, peace, and safety ; without any particu-
lar or uncommon evils to afflict your condition ; what more can
you reasonably look for in this vain and uncertain world ? How
little can the greatest prosperity add to such a state ! Will any
future situation ever make you happy, if now, with so few
causes of grief, you imagine yourselves miserable ? The evil lies
in the state of your mind, not in your condition of fortune ; and
by no alteration of circumstances is likely to be remedied. Let
us now,
in. Consider with what dispositions we ought to look for-
ward to those years of our life that may yet be to come. Mere-
ly to look forward to them, is what requires no admonition.
Futurity is the great object on wliich the imaginations of men
are employed ; for the sake of which the past is forgotten, and
the present too often neglected. All time is in a manner swal-
lowed up by it. On futurity men build their designs ; on futu-
rity they rest their hopes ; and though not happy at the pre-
sent, they always reckon on becoming so at some subsequent pe-
riod 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 in-
dulged and grossly abused. The curiosity which sometimes
prompts persons to enquire 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 un-
known 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 be certainly knowfi
and foreseen.
SERMON XXXIII.] On the Impruvemeyit of Ti?}ie. 385
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
flowing; but which soon escapes out of our sight, and is cover,
ed with mists and darkness. Some of its windings we may en-
deavour to trace ; but it is only for a very short way that we are
able to pursue them. In endless conjectures we quickly find
ourselves bewildered ; and often, the next event that happens,
baffles all the reasons we had formed concerning the succession
of events. The consequence which follows from this is, that all
the anxiety about futurity, 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
inconsiderate and headlong. We must make, as far as we are
able, provision for future welfare ; and guard against dangers
which apparently threaten. But havmg 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-mov"
row ; for thou knoivest not ivhat 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 ima-
ginary fears. The impending black cloud, to v/hich 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 certain as if we already saw it, that
life, in its future periods, v/ill continue to be what it has here-
tofore been ; that it will be a mixed and varied state ; a che-
quered scene of pleasures and pains, of fugitive joys and tran-
sient 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. Accord-
ing to this measure, estimate your future pleasures ; and calcu-
late your future gains. Carry always along with you a modest
and a temperate 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 eve-
ry future situation of life, a good conscience, a well ordered
VOL. T. 4P
3S6 On the Improvetneiit of Time. [serWon xxxiii
mind, and a humble trust in the favour of Heaven, will prove the
essential 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 princi-
ples and in good practice. You will be enabled to look to futu-
rity without fear, if, whatever it brings, it shall find you regularly
employed in doing justly, loving mercy, and ivalking humbly
with the Lord your God.
Lastly, Whatever other things may be dubious in futurity,
two great events are undoubtedly certain, death and judgment.
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 Christians. 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 his coming, let us look with a steady eye ; and
as life advances through its progresisve stages, prepare for it?^
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 shewn 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 question may always leave some serious impression
behind it; and may dispose us so to number the. yearsof our life.
that ive may apply our hearts unto ivisdom.
SERMON XXXIV.
On the duties belonging to middle age.
■When I became a man, I put away childish things.
1 Corinthians, xiii. 11.
TO every thing, says the wise man, there is a season ; and a
time to every purpose under heaven* As there are duties which
belong to particular situations of fortune, so there ai'e duties also
which result from particulaf periods of human life. In every
period of it, indeed, that comprehensive rule takes place. Fear
God and keep his commandments j for this is the whole duty of
manA Piety to God, and charity to men, are incumbent 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 proprie-
ty to conduct, and add dignity to character. In former discour-
ses I have treated of the virtues which adorn youth, and of the
duties which especially belong to old age. J 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, daring those years wherein one is sensible tliat he has ad-
vanced 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 sug-
gest, to the mind. Inconsiderate must he be, who, in his gra-
dual progress throughout middle age, pauses not, at times, to
think how far he is now receding from youth ; how near he
* EcclcF, iii. 1. t Eccles. xii. 13. I See Sermons XI and XII.
33S On the Dulies belonging [sermon xxxir,
draws to the borders of declining age ; what part it is now in*
cumbent 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 materially concern the greatest part
of those who are now my hearers.
I. I BKGiN' 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. These have had their reign ; a reign j^erhaps too
long; and to which a termination is certainly proper at last.
Much indulgence is due to youth. Many things admit of ex-
cuse then, which afterwards become unpardonable. Somethings
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 exposmg ourselves to
reproach, by an unseasonable remainder of juvenility on the one
hand, or by precise and disgusting formality on the other. Na-
ture has placed certain boundaries, by which she discrimmates
the pleasures, actions, and employments, that are suited to the
different stages of human life. It becomes us neither to over-
leap those boundaries by a transition too hasty and violent ; nor
to hover too long on one side of the limit, when nature calls us
to pass over to the other.
There are particularly two things in which middle age should
preserve its distinction and separation from youth ; these are le-
vities of behaviour, and intemperate indulgence of pleasure.
The gay spirits of the young often prompt an inconsiderate de-
gree of levity, sometimes amusing, sometimes ofiensive ; but for
xvhich, 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 affecta-
tion of youthful vanities degrades the dignity of manhood ; even
renders its manners less agreeable ; and by awkward attempts
to please, proiluces contempt. Cheerfulness is becoming in ev-
ery age. But the proper cheerfulness of a man is as different
from the levity of the I'oy, 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 wliich the young are unhappily prone.
From these we cannot too soon retreat. They open the path to
ruin, in every period of our days. As long, however, as these
excesses are confined 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 liave power to influence conduct,
3ERM0N XXXIV.] to Middle *^ge. oSii
But after the season of youth is past, if its inleniiieratc spirit
remain ; if, instead of listening to the calls of honour, and bend-
ing attention to the cares and the business of men, the same
course of idleness and sensuality continue to be pursued, the
case becomes more desperate. A sad presumption arises, that
long immaturity is to prevail ; and that the pleasures and pas-
sions of the youth are to sink and overwhelm the man. Diffi-
cult, I confess, it may prove, to overcome the attachm.ents 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, m 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 ob-
serving eye. It studies their behaviour ; and interprets all their
motions, as presages of the line of future conduct which they
mean to hold. Now, X\\ev&ioYe, put away childish things ; dis-
miss your former trifling amusements, and youthful pleasures ;
blast not the hopes which j^our 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,
n. To point out the particular duties which open to those
who are in the middle period of life. They are now come for-
ward 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 impor-
tant in human affairs is incessantly going on around them. Tiis
time of youth was the preparation for future action. In old age
our active part is supposed to be finished, and rest is permit-
ted. 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 socie-
ty 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 em-
ployments, 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 ranis:, nor station, no dignity
390 On the Duties belonging [sermon xxxiv.
of birth, nor extent of possessions, exempt any man from contri-
buting 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 hiir self, 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 not any
man imagine that he is of no importance, and has, upon that ac-
count, a privilege to trifle with his days at pleasure. Talents
have been given to all ; to some ten ; to others five ; to others
two. Occupy with these* till I come, is the command of the
great Master to all. Where superior abilities are possessed, or
distinguished advantages 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 so-
ciety, though the sphere of usefulness be more contracted, no one
is \e.it entirely significant. Let us remember, that in all sta-
tions and conditions, the important relations take place, of mas-
ters 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
poition of the work assigned to the middle age of man. Though
the part we have to act may be confined within a 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 dignity ; will make the current of our years, as they roll,
iiow along in a clear and equable stream, without the putrid stag-
nation 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 bus-
tle 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 re-
gretted, that in the present state of things there is no period of
man's age in which his virtue is not exposed to perils. Plc3-
* Luke, sis. 31.
SERMON XXXIV.] to Middle Age. 391
sure 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 pas-
sion 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 affec-
tions 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
or refined. It contracts the aflections 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, jealousy, and envy, combine with interest to ex-
cite 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 re-
tained for some time an aversion to whatever appeared disho-
nourable. But here, he is encountered by the violence of an en-
emy. There, he is supplanted by the address of a rival. The
pride of a superior insults him. The ingratitude of a friend pro-
vokes him. Animosities ruffle his temper. Suspicions poisons
his mind. He finds, or imagines that he finds, the artful and de-
signing 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 charac-
ter, which he observes to be frequent, and which often has ap-
peared to him successful.
To these, and many more dangers of the same kind, is the
man 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 hink that though it may be desirable to in-
;J92 On the Duties belonging [sermon xxxiv,
crease his opulence, or to advance his rank, yet what he ought
to hold much more sacred is, to maintain his integrity and hon-
our. If these be forfeited, wealth or station will have few charms
left. They will not be able to protect him long from sinking in-
to contempt in the eye of an observing world. Even to his own
eye he will at last appear base and wretched. Let not the af-
fairs of the world entirely engross his time and thouglits. From
that contagious air which he breathes in the midst of it, let him
sometimes retreat into the salutary shade consecrated to devo-
fion 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 disor-
ders, which intercourse with the world had excited and increas-
ed. In order to render this medicine of the mind more efiectu-
al, it will be highly proper,
IV. That, as we advance in the coiu'se of years, we often at-
tend to the lapse of time and life, and to the revolutions which
these are ever affecting. In this meditation, one of the first re-
flections which should occur is, how much we owe to that God
•vho hath hitherto helped us ; who hath brought us on so far
in life ; hath guided us through the slipper}^ paths of youth
•and now enables us to flourish in the strength of manhood.
Look l)ack, my friends, to those who started along with your-
selves 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 devastation, you have been preserved
and blessed ; consider seriously v»'hat returns you owe to the
goodness of Heaven. Inquire whether your conduct has cor-
jcspondcd to those obligations ; whether in public, and in pri-
vate, you have honoured, as became you, the God of your fa-
thers ; and uhether, amidst the unknown occurences that are
yet before you, you have ground to hope for the continued pro-
tection of the Almighty.
Bring to mind the various revolutions' which you have beheld
in human affairs, since you became actors on this busy thea-
tre. Reflect on the changes which have taken place in men and
manners, in opinions and customs, in private fortunes, aud ia
public conduct. By the observations you have made on these,
and the experience jou have gained, have you improved pro-
portionably in wisdom ? Ha^e the changes of the v>'orld which
you have witnessed, loosened all unreasonable attachment to it?
ilavcthey 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, an* snch pauses as these 'in life; such resting-places of
SERMON XXXI v.] to Middle Jlge. 393.
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 persua-
sion 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 \i\
God, will enable us to encounter properly the vicissitudes of our
state. No quah"ty i«! 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.
unexperienced, who are amusing themselves with florid prospects
of bhss. 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 pi'ospect of suc-
cess.— 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 satisfac-
tion, as to the period of retreat and rest. But let them not de-
ceive 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 requi-
site ; and that preparation consists chiefly in three particulars ;
in the acquisition of knowledge, of friends, of virtue. There is
an acquisition of an other 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 moi-e material acquisition
than all the three I have named, it may be confidently pronoun-
ced, that without these other requisites, all the wealth we can lay
up in store will prove insuflicient 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 thout.ht
and enquiry, 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 aw, a vacant, uninformed
mind, where no knowledge dawns, where no ideas rise^ which
VOL. I. 50
394 On the Duties belonging [sermon xxxiv.
has nothing to feed upon within itself, many a heavy and com-
fortless day he must necessarily pass. Next, when a man de-
clines 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 infir-
mities, relieve him of his labours, and cheer him with their so-
ciety. Let him, therefore, now, in the summer of his days,
while yet active and flourishing, by acts of seasonable kind-
ness and beneficence, ensure that love, and by upright and ho-
nourable conduct lay foundation for that rcopcct, which in old
age he would wish to enjoy. In the last place, Let him con-
sider a good conscience, peace with God, and the hope of Hea-
ven, 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 tenor 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 af-
fairs 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 ad-
vance in years, they care less to think of death. Perhaps it
occurs oftener to the thoughts of the young, than of the old.
Peebleness of spirit renders melancholy ideas more oppressive j
and after having been so long accustomed and inured to the
world, men bear worse with anything which reminds them that
the}^ must soon 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, 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 too long
on earth, we might only live to witness a great 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 use-
ful to mankind ; he who in his life has been respected and be-
loved ; whose death is accompanied with the sincere regret of
SERMON XXXIV.] to Middle Age. 395
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 tifne, nor that which is mea-
sured hy number of years ; but wisdom is the grey hair to
man ; and an unspotted life is old age*
• Wisdom, iv. 8, 9.
SERMON XXXV.
On death.
■ ■ ■ Man goeth to his long home, and the moiirnei's go about
the streets. — Ecclesiastes, xii. 5.
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 shew us man going to his long home. Were death a
rare and uncommon object; were it only once m 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 be-
came 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 fre-
quency of their recurrence ; and so tempered by the mixture of
ofher 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, som.e impression
should be made upon our minds. It ought not to pass over, as
one of those common incidents which are beheld without con-
cern, and 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. Ih
the context, the wise man had described, under a variety of im^
SERMON XXXV.] On Death. 397
ages suited to the Eastern stile, the growing infinities of old
age, until they arrive at that period which concludes them all ;
when, as he beautifully expresses it, the silver cord being loosen-
ed, 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 m.ourners 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 shew 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 in-
different 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 undistin-
guishing 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 I'ich^
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 as-
sembled ; 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 ivindhas 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
tender ? What heart but then warms with the glow of humani-
ty ? In whose eye does not the tear gather, on revolving the fate
of passing and shortlived man ? Such sensations are so conge-
nial to human nature, that they are attended with a certain kind
of sorrowful pleasure. Even voluptuaries themselves sometimes
indulge a taste for funeral melancholy. After the festive asscm-
398 On l)eatli. [sermon xxxv,
bly 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 soniething
exists after death ; sentiments which unite at the view of the housei^
apjjointed /o.' 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 mquietudes of life, and sets
before us the image of eternal rest. There, in the elegant expres-
sions 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 m.aster. It is very re-
markable, that in all languages, and among all nations, death has
been described m 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 belief of the soul's immortality ; but assuredly
conveys no high idea of the boasted pleasures of the world. It
shews 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
to be expected only in the grave.
There, says Job, are the small and the great. There the
poor man lays down at last the burden 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 whon>
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 de-
cayed neighbours 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, ne-
glected 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 opened to receive the rich and proud man.
For, as it is said with emphasis in the parable, the rich tnan also
died, and loas buried."^ He also died. His riches prevented not
his sharing the same fate with the poor man ; perhaps, through
luxury, they accelerated his doom. Then, indeed, the mourners
go about the street ; 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 anotlier witii
* Luke, xvl 12.
SERMON XXXV.] On Death. 3^9
jealous eyes, and already beginning; to quarrel about the division
of his substance.- One day, we see carried alono; the coffin of
the smiling infant ; the flower just nipped as it began to blossom,
in the parent's view ; and the next day we behold a young man
or young woman, of blooming form and promising hopes, laid
in an untimely gi'ave. While the funei-al is attended by a nu-
merous unconcerned company, who are discoursing to one ano-
ther about the news of the day, or the ordinary affairs of life,
let our thoughts rather follow to the house of mourning, and re-
present 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 seliish hardness of
our hearts will be gradually softened, and melted down into hu-
manity.
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 pas-
sed, it is likely, through varieties of fortune. He has experi-
enced prosperity and adversity. He has seen families and kin-
dreds 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
succession of men, A race who knew him not, had arisen to
fill the earth. Thus passes the world way. Throughout all
ranks and conditions, one generation passeth and another gene-
ration comet h ; and this great inn is by turns evacuated, and
replenished by troops of succeeding pilgrims. Oh vain and
inconstant world ! Oh 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,
n. Consider the death of our friends. Want of reflection,
or 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
4fib On Death. [sermon xxxv.
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 the most beloved or respected members being torn from
them ; when the husband or the spouse are separated for ever
from the companion, who, amidsst every vicissitude of fortune,
solaced their life ; who had shared all their joys, and participated
in all their sorrows ; when the weeping parent is folded in his
arms the dying child whom he tenderly loved ; when he is giv-
ing his last blessing, receiving the last fond adieu, looking for
the last time on that countenance, now wasting 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 m.anner ia
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 employ-
ed to restrain the bursting emotion. Let the heart seek its re-
lief, in the free effusion of just and natural sorrow. It is becom-
ing in every one to shew, 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 ivho 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 certain
bounds, becomes unmanly ; when it lasts beyond a certain time,
becomes unseasonable. 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 remem-
brance. Let him consider, that it is in the power of Provi-
dence 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 tlie prospect of a future meet-
ing 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 Father. The toils of their pilgri-
mage 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 tliese blissful habitations. Until this season of reunion
SERMON XXXV.] On Death. 401
arrive, no principle of religion discourages our holding cor-
respondence of affection with them by means of faith and
hope.
Meanwhile, let us respect the virtues, and cherish the memory
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 aflection to those that remain. The nar-
rower the circle becomes of those we love, let us draw the closer
together. Let the heart that has been softened by sorrow, mel-
low into gentleness and kindness ; make liberal allowance for
the weakness of others ; and divest itself of the little preju-
dices that may have formerly prepossessed it against them. The
greater havoc that death has made among our friends on earthy
let us cultivate connection more with God, and heaven, and vir-
tue. Let those noble views which man's immortal character af-
fords, 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 connections 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, there-
fore,
IIL Consider how we ought to be affected, when they from
whom suspicions have alieniated, or rivalry has divided us ;
they with whom we have long contended, or by whom we ima-
gine ourselves to have suffered wrong, are laid, or about to b(^
laid, in the grave. How inconsiderable then appear those broils
in wliich we had been long involved, those contests and feuds
which we thought were to last for ever ? The awful moment
that now terminates them, makes us feel their vanity. If there
be a spark of humanity left in the breast, the i-emembrance of
our common fate then awakens it. Is there a man, who, if he.
were admitted to stand by the death-bed of his hitterost rnemy*
VOL. I. 51
402 On Death. [sermon xxxt.
and beheld him enduring 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 depo-
sited in the dust, feels not, in that moment, some relentings at
the remembrance of those past animosities which mutually em-
bittered their life ? — *' There lies the man with whom I contend-
*•• ed so long, silent and mute for ever. He is fallen, and I am
" about to follow him. How poor is the advantage which I now
" enjoy ? Where are the fruits of all our contest ? In a short
" time we shall be laid together ; and no remembrance remain
" of either of us under the sun. How many" mistakes may there
'' have been between us ? Had not he his virtues and good qua-
'^ lities as well as I ? When we both shall appear before the
" jndgment-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
inveteracy of prejudice, to cool the heat of anger, to allay the
fierceness of resentment. How unnatural is it for animosities
•50 lasting to possess the hearts of mortal men, that nothing can
extinguish them but the cold hand of death ? Is there not a suf-
ficient proportion of evils in the short span of human life, that
we seek to increase their number, by rushing into unnecessary
contests with one another ? When a few suns more 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 on-
wards 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 pil-
grimage 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 of this nanire are obvious, let it not be thought that they
are without use. They require to be recalled, repeated, and en-
forced. 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 impression of them, which has influence
on practice. Neither let it be thought that such meditations
are unseasonable intrusions upon those who are living in health,
in affluence, and ease. There is no hazard of their making too
deep or painful an impression. The gloom which they occasion
SERMON XXXV.] On Death. 405
is transient ; and will soon, too soon,' it is probable, be dispelled
by the succeeding affairs and pleasures of the world. To wisdom
it certainly belongs that men should be impressed with just views
of their nature and their state ; and the pleasures of life will al-
ways be enjoyed to most advantage when they are tempered
with serious thought. There is a time to mourn as well as a
time to rejoice. There is a virtuous sorrow, which is better than
laughter. There is a sadness of the countenance^ by which the
heart is made better.
SERMO^i XXXVI.
On the progress of vice.
Be not deceived: Evil comniiinications corrupt good Tiianners.
1 Corinthians, xv. 33.
THOUGH human nature be now fallen from its orisjinal
honour, several good princijoles still remain in the hearts of men.
There are few, if any, on whose minds the reverence for a Su-
preme Being continues not, in some degree, impressed. In eve-
ry 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 im-
provement; 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 perpe-
tual 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 o^ evil communications ; that is, the contagion which
is diffused by bad examples, and heightened by particular con-
nections with persons of loose principles, or dissolute morals. —
This, in a licentious state of society, is the most common source
of those vices and disorders which so much abound in great cities ;
and often proves, in a particular manner, fatal to the young ;
even to them whose beginnings were once auspicious and promi-
sing. It may therefore be an useful employment of attention, to
trace the progress of this principle of corrujition, to examine the
SERMON XXXVI.] Oil the Progrcss of Vice. 405
means by which evil cominunications pjradually undermine, and
at last destroy , good 77ia?iners, or (which here is the proper sig-
nitication of the original word) good morah. It is indeed disa-
greeable to contemplate human nature, in this downward course
of its progress. But it is always profitable to know our own in-
firmities 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 princi-
ples 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 feel-
ings, 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 dis-
orderly passions. Ministers of vice are seldom wanting to en-
courage, and flatter the passions of the young. Inferiors study
to creep into favour, by servile obsequiousness to all their desires
and humours. 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 pupillage ; or to he 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 liberality of their views, will fully justify their
emancipating themselves, in some degree, from the rigid disci-
pline 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 gaiety and
pleasure, finding these loose ideas countenanced by too general
practice, they gradually become bolder in the liberties they take.
If they had been bred to business, they begin to tire of industry,
and look with contempt on the plodding race of citizens. If they
fee of superior rank, they think it becomes them to resemble their
equals ; to assume that freedom of behaviour, that air of for-
wardness, that tone of dissipation, that easy negligence of those
with whom they conveKse, which appear feshionable in high life.
406 On the. Progress of Vice, [sermon xxxvi.
If affluence of fortune unhappily concur to favour their inclina-
tions, and amusements and diversions succeed in a perpetual round ;
night und day arc confounded ; 2;aming fills up their vacant in-
tervals ; they live wholly in puhlic 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 ha»"dened and de-
termined always take the lead. The rest follow them with im-
plicit submission ; and make proficiency in the school of iniquity
in exact proportion to the weakness of their undertakings, and
the strength of their passions.
How many pass away, after this manner, some of the most val-
uable years of their life, tost in a whirlpool of what cannot be cal-
led pleasure, so much as mere giddiness and folly ? In the habits
of perpetual connection with idle or licentious company, all re-
flection is lost ; while circulated from one empt3^ head, and one
thoughtless heart, to another, folly shoots up into all its most ridi-
culous forms ; prompts the extravagant unmeaning frolic in pri-
vate ; or sallies forth in public into mad riot ; impelled sometimes
by intoxication, sometimes 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. Gen-
erosity 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 use-
ful and respectable stations in the world, if virtuous and improv-
ing society should happily succeed to the place of that idle crew
with whomtheynow associate ; if important business should occur,
to bring them into a different sphere of action ; or if some rea-
sonable stroke of affliction should in mercy be sent, to recall them
to themselves, 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 engross 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. Fortune is squandered ; health is broken ; friends
are offended, afiionted, estranged ; aged parents, perhaps, sent
afflicted and mourning to the dust.
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 princi-
ples, 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
3ERM0N XXXVI.] On the Progress of Vice. 407
and restraint which had hitherto remained, is taken away. He
who, in the beo^inning of his course, soothed himself with the
thought that while he indulged his desires, he did hurt to no man j
now pressed by the necessity of supplying those wants into which
his expensive pleasures have brought him, goes on without re-
morse to defraud and to oppress. The lover of pleasure now be-
comes 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 circum-
stances form his excuse ; that by necessity he is impelled ; and
that, in gratifying the passions which nature had implanted with-
in 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 con-
temning 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 counter-
acting 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 ; de-
frauding 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 reproacl
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 standeth, and if yet
a moment be left for retreat ; think how thou mayest escape, and
be saved.
This brings to me what I proposed as the next head of dis-
course ; to suggest some means that they may be used for stop-
ping in time the progress of such mischiefs ; to point out some
remedies against the fatal infection of evil communications.
The first and most obvious is, to withdraw from all associa-
tions with bad men, with persons either of licentious principles,
or of disorderly conduct. I have shewn to what issue such dan-
gerous connexions are apt to bring men at last. Nothing, there-
fore, is of more importance for the young, to whom I now chief-
ly 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
40S On the Progress of Vice, [sermon xxxvi.
The circumstances which chiefly attract the liking and the friend-
ship of youth, are vivacity, good humour, engagmg manners, and
a cheerful or easy temper ; quaUties, I confess, amiable in them-
selves, and useful and valuable in their place. But I intreat you
io 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 attach-
ment 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 lit-
tle, amid a few circles of the frivolous and superficial ; but it im-
poses not on the discernment of tlie public. The world in gene-
ral 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 intei'ested motives ; and if any taint or
suspicion lie on their character, under the cover of your rank,
your fortune, or yoiu' 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 tJiat walketh with wise men
shall be wise ; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed. Where-
fore, enter not thou into the council of the scorner. Walk not
in the way with evil men ; avoid it ; pass not by it, turn from
it, and pass away.'^
In order to prevent the influence oi evil communications, it is
fartlier needful that you fix to yourselves certain principles of
conduct, and to 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 pro-
gress. But when conduct is viewed in a moral and religious
light, the effect of having fixed no principles of action, of having
* Prov. iv. 14. -xiii, 20,
SERMON XXXVI.] 0)1 the Progress of Pice. 409
formed no laudable standard of character, becomes more obvi-
ously fatal. For hence it is, that the youn<2; and thoughtless im-
bibe 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 vic-
tims of momentary inclination or caprice; reUgious and good
by starts, when during the absence of temptation and tempers,
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 "bn 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 macie it appear that
they were determined to conduct themselves by certain rules and
principles, not only would they escape innumerable dangers^ but
they would command respect from the licentious 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 father corrective of evil coynniunications, and as a foun-
dation to those principles which j/ou 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 are 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 in-
tervals to you 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, per-
haps 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 is pleasing to
you at twenty, will not be equally so at forty or fifty years of
age ; and that what continues lon2;est pleasing, is alvvays most
valuable. Recollect vour own feclinss in different scens of life.
Inquire on what occasions you have felt the truest satisfliction ;
whether days of sobriety and a rational employment have not
left behind them a more agreeable remembi'ance, than nights of
licentiousness and riot. Look round you on the world ; reflect
on the different societies which have fallen under your obse' va-
tion ; and think who among them appear to enjoy life to most
vol.. I. 52
410 On the Progress of Vice, [sermon xxxvi.
advantage ; wliether 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, vir-
tuous, 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 be-
gin 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 to wisdom
is always honourable.
Were such meditations often indulged, the evil comnmnications
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 vvith 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 enjoymem of old age. That is
a period 30U wish to see ; but how miserable when it arrives, if
it yield you nothing but the dregs of life ; and present no retros-
pect, except that of a thoughtless and dishonoured youth.
Let me once more advise you, to look forward sometimes be-
yond old age ; to look to a future world. Amidst evil communi-
cations, let your belief, and your character as Christians arise to
your view. Think of the sacred name in which you were bap-
tised. Think of the God whom your fathers honoured and wor-
shipped ; of the religion in which they trained you up ; of the
venerable rites in which they bi'ouglit you to partake. Their
paternal cares have now ceased. Tliey have finished their earth-
ly course ; and the time is coming when you must follow them.
You know that you are not to live always here ; and you sure-
ly do not believe that your existence is to end with this life. In-
to 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 3^our present trifling and ir-
regular 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 fair-
ly 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
SERMON XXXVI.] Oti the Progress of Vice. 411
were in their concludiuo- moments ; 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 com-
munications 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. Corne out from
amongst them, and be separate. Remember thy Creator in the
days of thy youth. Fear the Lord, and depar't from evil. The
way of life is above to the wise ; and he that keepeth the com-
mandment, keepeth his own soul.'*
• Prov. i. 10. 2 Corinth, vi. 17. Eccles. xii. 1. Prov xv. 24.
V
SERMON XXXVll.
On forti tude.
Though an host should eiicamp against me, my heart shall
not fear. Psalm xxvii. 3.
THIS world is a region of danger, in which perfect safety
is possessed by no man. Though we live in times of establish-
ed tranquillity, 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 to themselves wings and flee away. The firmest
health may in a moment be shaken. The most flourishing family
may unexpectedly be scattered. The appearances of our securi-
ty 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 tliis 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 de-
gree. Fortitude was justly classed, by the ancient philosophers,
among the cardinal virtues. It is indeed essential to the sup-
port of them all ; and it is most necessary to be acquired by ev-
ery one who wishes to discharge with fidelity the duties of his
station. It is the armour of the mind, which will fit him for en-
countering the trials and surmounting the dangers, that are like-
ly 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 shews that it may also be acquired by prin-
:jERMON XXXVII. J On Fm^litudt. ' 413
ciple, and be fortified by reason ; and it is only when thus ac-
quired, and thus fortified, that it can be accounted to carry the
character of virtue. Fortitude is opposed, as all know, to timi-
dity, irresolution, a feeble and a wavering spirit, It is placed,
like other virtues, in the middle between two extremes ; stand-
ing 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 shew the importance of fortitude or constan-
cy ; 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 tranquility. The man of feeble and timorous
spirit lives under perpetual alarms. He foresees exery distant
danger, and trembles. He explores the regions of possibility,
to discover the dangers that may arise. Often he creates ima-
ginary 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 adversi-
ty, he desponds. Instead of exerting himself to lay hold on the
resources that remain, he gives up all for lost ; and resigns
himself to abject and broken spirits. — On the other hand, firm-
ness 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 sug-
gests good hopes. It supplies resources. It allows a man to
retain the full possession of himself, in every situation of for-
tune. Look into the heart of this man, and you will find com-
posure, cheerfulness, and magnanimity. Look into the heart of
the other, and you will see nothing but confusion, anxiety, and
trepidation. The one is the 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 over-
flows.
If fortitude be thus essential to the enjoyment of life, it is
equally so to the proper discharge of all its most important du-
ties. He who is of a cowardly mind is, and must be, a slave
to the world. He fashions his whole conduct according to its
hopes and fears. He smiles, and fawns, and betrays, from ab-
ject considerations of personal safety. He is incapable of either
conceiving, or executing any great design. He can neither stand
ihe clamour of the multitude nor the frowns of the mighty. The
414 On Fortitude. [sermon xxxvii.
wind of popular lavour, 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 prin-
ciples 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 dignity. I do not say that this dis-
position 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 Chris-
tian. For his profession, as such, requires him to be superior
to thatye«;* of man which hringeth a snare ; enjoin?^ him, for the
aake 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-*
markable occurrence of his life. After having long acted as the
Apostle of the Gentiles, his mission called him to go to Jerusa-
lem, where he knew that he was to encounter t!ie utmost violence
of his enem_les. Just before he set sail, he called together the el-
ders of his favourite church at Ephesus, and in a pathetic speech,
which does great honour to his character, gave them his last fare-
well. Deeply afiected 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 PauVs neck, and kissed him ; sorrowing most of all for
the wo?'ds luhichhe spake, that they should see Ids 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 hound in the spirit into Jerusa-
lem, not knowing the things that shall befall me there ! save that
the Holy Ghost ivitnesseth, in every city, saying, that bonds and
afflictions abide me. But none of these things move me ; neith-
er count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish m,y
Course with joy, and the ministry ivhich I have received of the
SERMON XXXVII.] On Fortitude. 415
LordJesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God. ^ 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 consequences be what they will.
Till I die, I will not remove my integrity from me. My righte-
ousness I holdfast, and. will not let it go. My heart shall not re-
proach m,e so 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 fortitude
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 con-
federates, the discovery 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 ren-
dered men daring in the most flagitious attempts. But this fool-
hardness of the rash, this boldness of the ruffian, is altogether
different from real fortitude* It arises merely from warmth o.
blood, from want of thought, and blindness to danger. As it
forms no character of value, so it appears only in occasional sal-
lies ; and never can be uniformily maintained. It requires ad-
ventitious props to support it ; and, in some hour of trial, always
fails. There can be no true courage, no regular presevering
constancy, but what is connected with principle, and founded on
a consciousness of rectitude of intention. This, and this only,
erects that biazen wall, which we can oppose to every hostile at-
tack. 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 con-
science approves, but who knows that every good man, nay the
whole unbiassed world, if they could trace his intentions, would
justify and approve his conduct ?
• Acts, XX. 22, 23, 24. 37, 38. f Job, xxvii, 5, 6.
41b On Fortitude. [sermon xxxvii.
He knows, at the same, time that he is acting under the im-
mediate eye and protection of the Ahnighty. Behold, tny ivitness
is in heaven ; and my record is on high* Here opens a new
source of fortitude to every vii'tuous man. The consciousness
of such an illustrious spectator invigorates and animates him.
He trusts, that the eternal Lover of righteousness not only be-
holds and approves, but will strengthen and assist ; will not suf-
fer him to be unjustly oppressed, and will reward his constancy
in the end, with glory, honour, and immortality. A good consci-
ence, thus supported, bestows on the heart a much greater de-
gree of intrepidity than it could otherwise inspire. One who
rests on an almighty, though invisible. Protector, exerts his
powers with double force ; acts with vigour not his own. Accord-
ingly, it was from this principle of trust in God, that the Psalm-
ist derived that courage and boldness which he expresses in the
text. He had said immediately before. The Lord is my light and
my salvation ; the Lord is the streii gth of my life. The consequ-
ence which directly follows is, Of whom shall I be afraid ?
Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not
fear. It remains.
HI. 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, lirst, that it is of
high importance to every one, who wishes to act his part with
becoming resolution, to cultivate a religious principle, and to be
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 onr
frame, favours the sincere and upright ; that the supreme admi-
nistration of the universe is always on the side of truth and vir-
tue ; 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 Fi-om a
sense of our own weakness or danger. The records of all na-
tions afibrd 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 fee-
ble have vjaxed strong, and have despised dangers, sufferings,
and death. Handfuls of men have defied host that were encamp-
ed against them ; and have gone forth, conquering and to con-
quer. The sword of the Lord'and of Gideon have called forth a
* .Tub, xvl lf>
EiERMOiV XXXVII.] 0)1 Fortihide, 417
Valour which astonished 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 shews that these may
be possessed by the worthless, as well as by the deserving;. It
consists in being deterred by no danger when duty calls us forth ;
in fulfilling our alloted part, whatever it may be, with faithful-
ness, bravery, and constancy of mind. These qualities never
fail to stamp distinction on the character. They confer on him.
who discovers 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 to
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 fortitude to stand a shock, he has forfeited every pre-
tension to a manly mind. He must reckon on being exposed to
general contempt; and, what is worse, he will feel that he de-
serves 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 hefe
lies the chief source of our weakness and pusillanimity. We
overvalue the advantages of fortune, rank, and riches, ease and
safety. Deluded by vain opinions, we look to these as our ulti-
mate 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 pur-
pose 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 Al-
mighty 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 surface of the world
dazzles the vulgar. Consider how many are contented and
happ)^ without those advantages of fortune, on which you put so
extravagant a value. Consider whether it is possible for you to
VOL. T. "^^
41S On Fortitude. [sermon xxxt'ii.
be happy with them, if, for their sake, you forfeit all that is es-
timable in man. The favour of the ji;reat, 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 ambi-
tion ! 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 endan-
gered, by adhering to conscience and vnlue. 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 das-
tardly behaviour, you would, at any expense, preserve it. That
life which you are so anxious to preserve, can at any rate be pro-
longed 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 to .ict 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 vir-
tue, rise in the end to an immortal state.
Son of Man, remember thy original honours ! Assert the dig-
nity 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, / count not tny
life dear unto myself, so that I may finiah m.y course ivithjoy.
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 close. This is the period which
brings every thing to the test. Illusions may formerly have im-
posed on the world ; may have imposed on the man himself. But
all illnsion 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 sa-
tisfaction or^add so much dignity, as the reflection on having
surmounted with firmness all the discouragements of the world,
and having persevered to the end in one uniform course of fide-
lity and honour ? We remarked, before, the magnanimous beha-
SERMON XXXVII.] On Fortitude. 419
viour 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 approached ; and remark the
majesty and ease with which he looked on death. / am now
ready to be offered, and, the time of my departure is at hand.
I have fought the good fight. I have finished m,y course. I
have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown
of righteousness.* How many years of life does such a dying
moment overbalance ? Who would not chuse in this manner to
go off the stage, with such a song of triumph in his mouth, ra-
ther than prolong his existence through a wretched old age, stain-
ed with sin and shame.
Animated by these considerations, let us nourish that forti-
tude of mind, which is so essential to a man and 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. God 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 over-
cometh, saith our blessed Lord, / xoill grant to sit with me on
vny throne ; even as I also overcame, and am set down with my
Father on his throne.\
« 2 Timothy, iv. 6, 7. f Kev. ii. 10.— iii. 21.
SERMON XXXVIII.
On E-nvy.
Charity envieth not. 1 Coriniuians, xiii. 4.
ENVY is a sensation of uneasiness and disquiet, arising
from the advantages which others are supposed to possess above
us, accompanied with maUgnity to\vards those who possess them.
Tills is universall}'^ admitted to be one of the blackest passions
in the human heart. In this world we depend much on one an-
other ; and were therefore formed by God to be mutually useful
and assisting. The instincts of kindness and compassion which
belong to our frame, shew how much it was the intention of our
Creator that we should be united in friendship. If any infringe
this great law of nature, by acts of causeless hostility, resentment
may justly arise. No one is to be condemned for defending his
rights, and shewing displeasure against a malicious enemy. But
to conceive ill-will at one who has attacked none of our rights,
nor done us any injury, solely because he is more prosperous
than we are is a disposition altogether unnatural ; it suits not the
human constitution, and partakes more of the rancor of an evil
spirit. Hence, the character of an envious man is universally
odious. All disclaim it; and they who feel themselves under
the influence of this passion, carefully conceal it.
But it is proper to consider, that among al^ our passions, both
good and bad, there are many different gradations. Sometimes
they svvim on the surface of the mind, without producing any
internal agitation. They proceed no farther than the beginnings
of passion. Allayed by our constitution, or tempered by the
mixture of other dispositions, they exert no considerable influ-
ence on the temper. Though the character, in which envy forms
^e ruling passion, j^nd reign? in all its force, be one too odious,
SERMON XXXVIII.] 0;^ Envy. 421
I hope, to be common ; yet some shade, some tincture, of this
evil disposition mixes with most characters in the world. It is,
perhaps, one of the most prevailing infirmities to which we are
subject. TheTe are few but who, at one time or other, have
found somewhat of this nature stirring within them ; some lurk-
ing uneasiness in their mind, when they looked up to others,
wiio enjoyed a gi'eater share than had fallen to their lot, of
some advantages which they wished, and thought themselves en-
titled, to possess. Though this should not embitter their dis-
position ; though it should create the uneasiness only, without
the malignity, of envy; yet still it is a disturbed state of mind ;
and always borders upon, if it actually include not, some vici-
ous affections. In order, as far as possible, to remedy this
evil, I shall now consider what are the most general grounds
of the envy which men are apt to bear to others ; and shall ex-
amine what foundation they afford, for any degree of this trou-
blesome and dangerous passion. The chief grounds of envy
may be reduced to three: Accomplishments of mind; advan-
tages of birth, rank, and fortunq ; superior success in worldly
pursuits.
I. Accomplishments, or endowments of the mind. The
chief endowment for which man deserves to be valued, is vir-
tue. This unquestionably forms the most estimable distinction
among mankind. Yet this, which may appear surprising, ne-
ver forms any ground of envy. No man is envied for being
more just, more generous, more patient, or forgiving than
others. This may, in part, be owing to virtue producing in
every one who beholds it, that high degree of respect and love,
which extinguishes envy. But, probably, it is more owing to
the good opinion which every one entertains of his own moral
qualities. Some virtues, or at least the seeds of them, he finds
within his breast. Others he vainly attributes to himself
Those in which he is plainly deficient, he undervalues, as either
not real virtues, or virtues of very inferior rank, and rests sa-
tisfied that on the whole, he is as worthy and respectable as his
neighbour.
The case is different, with regard to those mental abilitie?j
and powers which are ascribed to others. As long as these are
exerted in a sphere of action remote from ours, and not brought
into competition with talents of the same kind, to which we have
pretensions, they create no jealousy. They are viewed as dis-
tant objects, in which we have not any concern. It is not until
they touch our own line, and appear to rival us in what we wish
-to excel, that they awaken envy. Even then envy is, properly
speaking, not grounded on the talents of others. For here, too,
.our self-complacency brings us relief; from the persuasion that.
422 On Envy. [sermon xxxviii.
were we thoroughly known, and full justice done to us, our abi-
lities would be found not inferior to those of our rivals. What
properly occasions envy, is the fruit of the accomplishments of
others ; the pre-eminence which the opinion of the world be-
stows, or which we dread it will bestow, on their talents above
ours. Hence, distinguished superiority in genius, learning, elo-
quence, or any other of those various arts that attract the notice
of the world, often become painful grounds of envy ; not in-
deed to all indifferently, but to those who follow the same line
of pursuit. Mere rivality, inspired by emulation, would carry
no reproach ; were not that rivality joined with obliquity, and
a malignant spirit; did it not lead to secret detraction, and
unfair methods of diminishing the reputation of others. Too
frequently has such a spirit tarnished the character of those who
sought to shine in the elegant arts ; and who, otherwise, had a
just title to fame. Let such as are addicted to this infirmity
consider how much they degrade themselves. Superior merit,
of any kind, always rests on itself. Conscious of what it de-
serves, it disdains low competitions and jealousies. They who
are stung with envy especially when they allow its malignity
to appear, confess a sense of their own inferiority ; and ia
effect, pay homage to that merit from which they endeavour to
detract.
But in order to eradicate the passion, and to cure the disquiet
which it creates, let such persons farther consider, how inconsi-
derable the advantage is which their rivals have gained, by any
superiority over them. They whom you envy, are themselves
inferior to others who follow the same pursuits. For how few,
how very few, have reached the summit of excellence, in the art
or study which they cultivate ? Even that degree of excellence
which they have attained, how seldom is it allowed to them by
the world, till after they die? Public applause is the most fluc-
tuating and uncertain of all rewards. Admired as they may
be by a circle of their friends, they have to look up to others,
who stand above them in public opinion ; and undergo the same
mortifications which you suffer in looking up to them. Consider
what labour it has cost them to arrive at that degree of eminence
they have gained; and, after all their labour, how imperfect
their recompense is at last. Within what narrow bounds is
their fame confined ? With what a number of humiliations is it
mixed ? To how many are they absolutely unknown ? Among
those who know them, how many censure and decry them?
Attending fairly to these considerations, the envious might come
in the end to discern, that the fame acquired by any accomplish-
ment of the mind, by all that skill can contrive, or genius can
executCj amounts to no more than a small elevation ; raises the
SERMON XXXVIII.] On Envy. 42^
possessor to such an inconsiderable height above the crowd, that,
others may, without disquiet, sit down contented with their own
mediocrity.
II. Advantages of fortune, superiority in birth, rank, and
riches, even qualifications of body and form, become grounds of
envy. Among external advantages, those which relate to the
body ought certainly, in the comparative estimation of ourselves
and others, to hold the lowest place ; as in the acquisition of
them we can claim no merit, but must ascribe them entirelv to
the gift of nature. But envy has often shewed itself here in
full malignity ; though a small measure of reflection might have
discovered that there was little or no ground for this passion
to arise. It would have proved a blessing to multitudes, to
have wanted those advantages for which they are envied. How
frequently, for instance, has beauty betrayed the possessors of
it into many a snare, and brought upon them many a disaster ?
Beheld with spiteful eyes by those who are their rivals, they,
in the mean time, glow with no less envy against others by
whom they are surpassed ; while, in the midst of their competi-
tions, jealousies, and concealed enmities, the fading flower is
easily blasted; short-lived at the best, and trifling at any rate,
in comparison with the higher and more lasting beauties of the
mind.
But of all the gi-ounds of envy among men, superiority in
rank and fortune is the most general. Hence the malignity
which the poor commonly bear to the rich, as engrossing to
themselves all the comforts of life. Hence the evil eye, with
which persons of inferior station scrutinize those who are rbove
them in rank, and if they approach to that rank, their envy is
generally strongest against such as are just one step higher
than themselves, — Alas ! my friends, all this envious disquietude,
which agitates the world, arises from a deceitful figure which
imposes upon the public view. False colours arc hung out : the.
real state of men is not what it seems to be. The order of
society requires a distinction of ranks to take place ; but, in
point of happiness, all men come much nearer to equality than
is commonly imagined ; and the circumstances, which form any
material difference of happiness among them, are not of that
nature which renders them grounds of envy. The poor man
possesses not, it is true, some of the conveniencies and pleasures
of the rich ; but, in return, he is free from any embarrassments
to which they are subject. By the simplicity and uniformity of
his life, he is delivered from that variety of cares, which per-
plex those who have great affairs to manage, intricate plans to
pursue, many enemies, perhaps, to encounter in the pursuit.
In the tranquillity of his small habitation and private family,
424 On Envy. [sermon xxxviii.
he enjoys a peace which is often unknown at courts. The gra-
tifications of nature, which are ahvays the most satisfactory, arc
possessed by him to their full extent ; and if he be a stranger
to the refined pleasures of the wealthy, he is unacquainted also
with the desire of them, and by consequence feels no want. His
plain meal satisfies his appetite, with a relish, probably higher
than that of the rich man who sits down to his luxurious ban-
quet. His sleep is more sound ; his health more firm ; he knows
not what spleen, langour, or listlessness are. His accustomed
employments or labours are not more oppressive to him, than the
labour of attendance on courts and the great, the labours of dress,
the fatigue of amusements, the very weight of idleness, frequent-
ly are to the rich. In the mean time, all the beauty of the face
of nature, all the enjoyments of domestic society, all the gaiety
and cheerfulness of an easy mind, are as open to him as to
those of the highest rank. The splendour of retinue, the sound
of titles, the appearances of high respect, are indeed soothing,
for a short time, to the great. But, become familiar, they are
soon forgotten. Custom effaces their impression. They sink
into the rank of those ordinary things which daily recur, with-
out raising any sensation of joy. Cease, therefore, from look-
ing up with discontent and envy to those whom birth or fortune
have placed above you. Adjust the balance of happiness fair-
ly. When you think of the enjoyments you want, think also
of the troubles from which you are free. Allow their just va-
Iqe to the comforts you possess ; and you will find reason to
rest satisfied, w^ith a ver}'- moderate, though not an opulent and
splendid, condition of fortune. Often, did you know the whole,
you would be inclined to pity the state of those whom you now
e^nvy.
III. Superior success in the course of worldly pursuits is a
frequent ground of envy. Among all ranks of men, competi-
tions arise. Wherever any favourite object is pursued in com-
mon, jealousies seldom fail to take place among those who are
equally desirous of attaining it; as in that ancient instance of
envy recorded of Joseph's brethren, who hated their brother^
because their father loved him more than all the rest* " I
•' could easily bear," says one, " that some others should be
'■■•' more reputable or famous, should be richer or greater than I.
•• — It is but just, that this man should enjoy the distinction to
" which his splendid abilities have raised him. It is natural
'• for that man, to command the respect to which he is entitled
" by his birth or his rank. But when I, and another, have
''' litarted in the race of life, upon equal terms, and in the same
* Gen. xxvii. 4.
SERMON XXXVIII.] On Envy. 435
" rank ; that he, without any pretension to uncommon merit,
" should have suddenly so far outstripped me ; should have
" engrossed all that public favour to which I am no less enti-
" tied than he ; this is what I cannot bear ; my blood boils,
" my spirit swells with indignation, at this undeserved treat-
" ment I have suffered from the world." Complaints of this
nature are often made, by them who seek to justify the envy
which they bear to their more prosperous neighbours. But if
such persons wish not to be thought unjust, let me desire them
to enquire, whether they have been altogether fair in the compa-
rison they have made of their own merit with that of their ri-
vals ? and whether they have not themselves to blame more than
the world, for being left behind in the career of fortune ? The
world is not always blind or unjust, in conferring its favours. —
Instances, indeed, sometimes occur, of deserving persons pre-
vented, by a succession of cross incidents, from rising into pub-
lic acceptance. But in the ordinary course of things, merit,
sooner or later, receives a reward, while the greater part of
men's misfortunes and disappointments can, generally, be traced,
to some misconduct of their own. Wisdom hringeth to honour :
The hand of the diligent makethrich ; and, it has been said, not
altogether without reason, that, of his own fortune in life, eve-
ry man is the chief artificer. If Joseph was preferred by the
father to all his brethren, his subsequent conduct shewed how
Avell he mented the preference.
Supposing, however, the world to have been unjust, in an un-
common degree, with regard to you, this will not vindicate ma-
lignity and envy towards a more prosperous competitor. You
may accuse the world ; but what reason have you to bear ill-
will to him, who has only improved the favour which the world
shewed him ? If, by means that are unfair, he has risen, and, to
advance himself, has acted injuriously by you, resentment is
justifiable ; but, if you cannot accuse him of any such impro-
per conduct, his success alone gives no sanction to your en-
vy. You, perhaps, preferred the enjoyment of your ease, to
the stirs of a busy, or to the cares of a thoughtful life. Retired
from the world, and following your favourite inclinations, you
were not always attentive to seize the opportunities which of-
fered for doing justice to your character, and improving your
situation. Ought you then to complain, if the more active and
labourious have acquired what you were negligent to gain ? —
Consider, that if you have obtained less preferment, you have
possessed more indulgence and ease. Consider, moreover, that
the rival to whom you look up with repining eyes, though more
fortunate in the world, may perhaps, on the whole, not be more
VOL. 1. 54
42C On Envy. [sermon xxxviii.
happy than you. He has all the vicissitudes of the world be-
fore him. He may have much to encounter, much to suffer,
from which you are protected by the greater obscurity of your
station. Every situation in life has both a bright and a dark
side. Let not your attention dwell only on what is bright on
the side of those you envy, and dark on your own. But, bring
ing into view both sides of your respective conditions, estimate
fairly the sum of felicity.
Thus I have suggested several considerations, for evincing
the unreasonableness of that disquietude which envy raises in
our breasts ; considerations, which tend at least to mitigate and
allay the workings of this malignant passion, and which, in a
sober mind, ought totally to extinguish it. The scope of the-
whole has been to promote, in every one, contentment with his
own state. Many arguments of a different nature may be em-
ployed against envy ; some taken from its sinful and criminal
nature ; some from the mischiefs to which it gives rise in the
world ; others from the misery which it produces to him who
nourishes this viper in his bosom. But, undoubtedly, the most
'efficacious arguments are such as shew, that the circumstances
of others, compared with our own, afford no ground for envy.
The mistaken ideas which are entertained of the high import-
ance of certain worldly advantages and distinctions, form the
principal cause of our repining at our own lot, and envying that
of others. To things light in themselves, our imagination has
added undue weight. Did we allow reflection and wisdom to
correct the prejudices which we have imbibed, and to disperse
those phantoms of our own creating, the gloom which overcasts
us would gradually vanish. Together with returning content-
ment, the sky would clear up, and every object brighten around
us. It is in the sullen and dark shade of discontent, that noxi-
ous passions, like venomous animals, breed and prey upon the
heart.
Envy is a passion of so odious a nature, that not only it is
concealed as much as possible from the world, but every man iaf
glad 1o dissemble the appearances of it to his own heart. Hence
it is apt to grow upon him unperceiveci. Let him who is desir-
ous to keep his heart chaste and pure from its influence, exam-
ine himself strictly on those dispositions which he bears towards
his prosperous neighbours. Does he ever view, with secret un-
easiness, the merit of others rising into notice and distinction ?
Does he hear their praises with unwilling ear ? Does he feel
an inclination to depreciate what he dares not openly blame ?
When obliged to commend, does his cold and awkward ap-
probation insinuate his belief of some unknown defects in the
applauded character ? — From such symptoms as these he may
SERMON xxxvm.] On Envy. 427
infer that the disease of envy is forming; ; that the poison is begin-
ning to spread its infection over his heart.
The causes that nourish envy are principally two ; and two
which, very frequently, operate in conjunction ; these are, pride
and indolence. The connection of pride with envy, is obvious
and direct. The high value which the proud set on their own
merit, the unreasonable claims which they form on the world,
and the injustice which they suppose to be done to them by any
preference given to others, are perpetual sources, first of dis-
content, and next of envy. When indolence is joined to pride,
the disease of the mind becomes more inveterate and incura-
ble. Pride leads men to claim more than they deserve. In-
dolence prevents them from obtaining what they might justly
claim. Disappointments follow ; and spleen, malignity, and
envy, rage within them. The proud and indolent are always
envious. Wrapt up in their own importance, they sit still,
and repine, because others are more prosperous than they ; while,
•with all their high opinion of themselves, they have done nothing
either to deserve, or to acquire prosperity. As, therefore, we
value our virtue, or our peace, let us guard against these two
evil dispositions of mind. Let us be modest in our esteem, and,
\>y diligence and industry, study to acquire the esteem of others.
So shall we shut up the avenues that lead to many a bad pas-
sion ; and shall learn, in whatsoever state we are, therewith to
be content.
Finally, in order to subdue envy, let us bring often into
view those religious considerations which regard us particular-
ly as Christians. Let us remember how unworthy we are in
the sight of God ; and how much the blessings which each of
us enjoy, are beyond what we deserve. Let us nourish rever-
ence and submission to that Divine Government, which has
appointed to every one such a condition in the world as is fit-
test for him to possess. Let us recollect how opposite the
Christian spirit is to envy ; and what sacred obligations it lays
upon us, to walk in love and charity towards one another. In-
deed, when we reflect on the many miseries which abound in
human life; on the scanty proportion of happiness which any
man is here allowed to enjoy ; on the small difference which
the diversity of fortune makes on that scanty proportion ; it is
surprising that envy should ever have been a prevalent pas-
sion among men, much more that it should have prevailed
among Christians. Where so much is suffered in common,
little room is left for envy. There is more occasion for pity
and sympathy, and inclination to assist each other. To our
own good endeavours for rectifying our dispositions, let us not
forget to add serious prayers to the Author of our being, that
On Envy. [sermon xxxviii.
he who made the heart of man, and knows all its infirmities,
would thoroughly purify our hearts from a passion so base and so
criminal, as envy. Create in me, Oh God, a clean heart ; and
renew a right spirit within me. Search me, and know my heart.
Try me, and knoiv my thoughts. See if there be any wicked
way in me, and lead me in the tvay everlasting.*'
* Psalm, li. 10. cxxxix. 23, 24.
SERMON XXXIX.
On idleness.
•Why stand ye here all the day idle? — Matthew, xx. 6.
IT is an observation which naturally occurs, and has been
often made, that all the representations of the Christian life in
Scripture are taken from active scenes ; from carrying on a
warfare, running a race, striving to enter in at a strait gate ;
and, as in this context, labouring in a vineyard. Hence the con-
clusion plainly follows, that various active duties are required of
the Christian ; and that sloth and indolence are inconsistent with
his hope of Heaven.
But it has been sometimes supposed, that industry, as far as
it is matter of duty, regards our spiritual concerns and employ-
ments only ; and that one might be very busy as a Christian,
who was very idle as a man. Hence, among some denomina-
tions of Christians, an opinion has prevailed, that the perfection
of religion was to be found in those monastic retreats where ev-
ery active function of civil life was totally excluded, and the
whole time of men filled up with exercises of devotion. They
who hold such opinions, proceed on the supposition that religion
has little or no concern with the ordinary affairs of the world ?
that its duties stand apart by themselves, and mingle not in the
intercourse which men have with one another. The perfect
Christian was imagined to live a sort of angelic life, seques-
tered from the business or pleasures of this contemptible state.
The Gospel, on the contrary, represents the religion of Christ,
as intended for the benefit of human society. It assumes men
as engaged in the business of active life ; and directs its ex-
hortations, accordingly, to all ranks and stations ; to the magis-
trate and the subject, to the master and the servants, to the rich
and the poor, to them that buy and them that sell, them that
430 On Idleness. [sermom xxxix.
use and them that abuse the world. Some duties, indeed, require
privacy and retreat. But the most important must be performed
in the midst of the world, wiiere we are commanded to shine as
lights and by our good works to glorify our Father which is in
Heaven. This world, as the context represents it, is God's
vineyard, where each of us has a task assigned him to perform.
In every station, and every period of life, labour is required.
At the third, the sixth, or the eleventh hour, we are commanded
to work, if we would not incur, from the great Lortl of the
vineyard, this reproof, JVhy stand ye here all the day idle ?
We may, I confess, be busy about many things, and yet be found
negligent of the One thing needful. We may be very active, and,
withal, very ill employed. But though a person may be indus-
trious without being religious, I must at the same time admon-
ish you that no man can be idle without being sinful. This I
shall endeaviour to show in the sequel of the discourse ; wherein
I purpose to reprove a vice which is too common among all
ranks of men. Superiors admonish their inferiors, and parents
tell tlieir childeon, that idleness is the mother of every sin ;
while, in their own practice, they often set the example of what
they reprobate sevei'ely in others. I shall study to show, that
the idle man is, in every view, both foolish and criminal ; that
he neither lives to God ; nor lives to the world ; nor lives to
himself.
I. He lives not to God. The great and wise Creator cer-
tainly does nothing- in vain. A small measure of reflexion
might convince every one that for some useful purpose he was
sent into the world. The nature of man bears no mark of in-
significancy, or neglect. He is placed at the head of all things
here below. He is furnished with a great preparation of fa-
culties and powers. He is enlightened by reason with many
important discoveries; even taught by revelation to consider
himself as ransomed, by the death of Christ, from misery ;
and intended to rise, by gradual advances, to a still higher
rank in the universe ot God. In such a situation, thus distin-
guished, thus favoured and assisted by his Creator, can he hope
to be forgiven, if he aim at no improvement, if he pursue no
useful design, live for no other purpose but to indulge in sloth,
consume the fruits of the earth, and to spend his days in a dream
ofvanit}'? Existence is a sacred trust; and he who thus mis-
employs and squanders it away, is treacherous to its Author. —
Look around you, and you will behold the whole universe full
of active powers. Action is, to speak so, the genius of nature.
By motion and exertion, the system of being is preserved in
vigour. By its different parts always acting in subordination
pne to anothw, the perfection of the whole is carried on. Tho
sERifoN XXXIX.] On Idknessj. 431
heavenly bodies perpetually revolve. Day and night incessantly
repeat their appointed course. Continual operations are going; on
in the earth, and in the waters. Nothing stands still. All is
alive and stirring throughout the universe. — In the midst of this
animated and busy scene is man alone to remain idle in his place ?
Belongs it to him, to be the sole inactive and slothful being in
the creation when he has so much allotted him to do : when in
so many various ways he might improve his own nature ; might
advance the glory of the God who made him ; and contribute his
part to the general good ?
Hardly is there any feeling of the human heart more natural,
or more universal, than that of our being accountable to God.
It is what the most profligate can never totally erase. Almost
all nations have agreed in the belief, that there is to come some
period when the Almighty will act as the Judge of his creatures.
Presentiments of this, work in every breast. Conscience has al-
ready erected a tribunal, on which it anticipates the sentence
which at that period shall be passed. Before this tribunal let us
sometimes place ourselves in serious thought, and consider what
account we are prepared to give of our conduct to Him who
made us. " I placed you," the great Judge may then be sup-
posed to say, " in a station where you had many occasions for
" action, and many opportunities of improvement. You were
" taught, and you knew your duty. Throughout a course of
*' years I continued your life. I surrounded you with friends
" to whom you might be useful. I gave you health, ease, lei-
" sure, and various advantages of situation. Where are tlie
" fruits of those talents which you possessed ? What good have
''you done with them to yourselves? What good to others?
" How have you filled up your place or answered your destina-
*' tion in the World ? Produce some evidence of your not hav-
" ing existed altogether in vain." Let such as are now mere
blanks in the world, and a burden to the earth, think what an-
swer they will give to those awful questions.
II. The idle live not to the world and their fellow creatures
around them, any more than they do to God. Had any man a
title to stand alone, and to be independent of his fellows, he
might then consider himself as at liberty to indulge in solitary
ease and sloth, without being responsible to others for the man-
ner in which he chose to live. But on the face of the earth,
there is no such person, from the king on his throne, to the beg-
gar in his cottage. We are all connected with one another by
various relations ; which create a chain of mutual dependence,
reaching from the highest to the lowest station in society. The
or aer and happiness of the world cannot be maintained, without
perpetual circulation of active duties and offices, which all are
432 On Idleness. [sermon xxxix.
called upon to perform in their turn. Superiors are no more in-
dependent of their inferiors, than these inferiors are of them.
Each have demands and claims upon the other ; and he, who in
any situation of life, i-efuses to act his part, and to contribute his
share to the general stock of felicity, deserves to be proscribed
from society as an unworthy member. If any man will not
work, says the Apostle Paul, neither should he eat* If he will
do nothing to advance the purposes of society, he has no title to
enjoy the advantages of it.
It is sometimes supposed, that industry and diligence are du-
ties required of the poor alone, and that riches confer the privi-
lege of being idle. This is so far from being justified by rea-
son, how often soever it may obtain in fact, that the higher
one is raised in the world, his obligation to be useful is propor-
tionably increased. The claims upon him from various quar-
ters multiply. The sphere of his active duties widens on every
hand. Kven supposing him exempted from exerting himself
in behalf of his inferiors, supposing the relation between supe-
riors and inferiors abolished, the relation among equals must
still subsist. If there be no man, however high in rank, who
stands not frequently in need of the good offices of his friends,
does he think that he owes nothing to them in return ? Can he
fold his arms in selfish indolence, and expect to be served by
others, if he will not exert himself in doing service to any ?
Were there no other call to industry, but the relation in which
every one stands to his own family, the remembrance of this
alone should make the man of idleness blush. Pretends he to
love those with whom he is connected by the dearest ties, and
yet will he not bestir himself for their guidance, their support,
or their advancement in the world ? How immoral, and cruel,
is the part he acts, who slumbers in sensual ease, while the
wants and demands of a helpless family cry aloud, but cry in
vain, for his vigorous exertions. Is this a husband, is this a
father, that deserves to be honoured with those sacred names? —
How many voices will be lifted up against him at the last day !
Let such persons remember the awful words in Scripture, and
tremble. It is written in the First Epistle to Timothy, the fifth
chapter and eighth verse, If any provide not for his own, and
specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith j
and is worse than an infidel.
III. The idle man lives not to himself with any more advan-
tage than he lives to the world. It is indeed on a supposition
entirely opposite, that persons of this character proceed. They
imagine that, how deficient soever they may be in point of duty,
* 2 Thess. iii, 10.
SERMON xxxix.J Ofi Idleness. 438
they at least consult their own satisfaction. They leave toothers
the drudgery of life ; and betake themselves, as they think, to
the quarter of enjoyment and ease. Now, in contradiction to
this, I assert, and hope to prove, that the idle man, first, shuts
the door against all improvement ; next, that he opens it wide to
every destructive folly ; and, lastly, that he excludes himself from
the true enjoyment of pleasure.
First, He shuts the door against improvement of every kind,
whether of mind, body, or fortune. The law of our nature, the
condition under which we arc placed from our birth, is, that no-
thing good or great is to be acquired without toil and industry.
A price is appointed by Providence to be paid for every thing :
and the price of improvement is labour. Industry, may, indeed,
be sometimes disappointed. The race may not be always to the
swift, nor the battle to the strong. But, at the same time it is
certain, that, in the ordinary course of things, without strength,
the battle cannot be gained ; without swiftness, the race cannot
be run with success. In alllahoxir, says the wise man, there is
profit : but the soul of the sluggard desireth and hath nothing*
— If we consult either the improvement of the mind, or the health
of the body, it is well known that exercise is the great instru-
ment of promoting both. Sloth enfeebles equally the bodily and
the mental powers. As in the animal system it engenders dis-
ease, so on the faculties of the soul it brings a fatal rust, which
corrodes and wastes them ; which, in a short time, reduces the
brightest genius to the same level with the meanest understand-
ing. The great differences which take place among men, are
not owing to a distinction, that nature has made in their original
powers, so much as to the superior diligence with which some
have improved these powers beyond others. To no purpose do
we possess the seeds of many great abilities, if they are suffered
to lie dormant within us. It is not the latent possession, but the
active exertion of them, which gives them merit. Thousands
whom indolence has sunk into contemptible obscurity, might have
come forward to the highest distinction, if idleness had not frus-
trated the effect of all their powers.
Instead of going on to improvement, all things go to decline with
the idle man. His character falls into contempt. His fortune is
consumed. Disorder, confusion, and embairassment, mark his
whole situation. Observe in what lively colours the state of his
affairs is described by Solomon. I went by the field of the sloth-
ful, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding :
and lo I it was all grown over with thorns ; and nettles had cov-
ered the face thereof: and the stone loall thereof mas hrokfn
' P:-ov. xiv. 23. xii* 4
VOL. r. ^^
434 On Idleness. [sermon xxxix,
down, Then I saw and considered it well ; Hooked upon it, and
received instruction* In the midst too of those distresses which
idleness brings on its votaries, they must submit to innumerable
mortilications, which never fail to attend their shameful conduct.
They must reckon on seeing themselves contemned by the virtuous
and wise, and slighted by the thriving part of mankind. They must
expect to be left behind by every competitor for rank or fortune.
They will be obliged to humble themselves liefore persons, now
far their superiors in the world, whom, once, they would
have disdained to acknowledge as their equals. Is it in this
manner that a man lives to himself? Are these the advantages
which were expected to be found in the lap of ease ? The down
may at first have appeared soft : But it will soon be found
to cover thorns innumerable. Hoio long ivilt thou sleep, Oh
sluggard ? JVheji wilt thou arise out of thy sleep ? Yet a little
sleep, yet a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep.
So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth : and thy want
as an armed tnanA But this is only a part of the evils which
persons of this description bring on themselves : For,
In the second place, while in this manner they shut the door
against every improvement, they open it wide to the most de-
structive vices and follies. The human mind cannot remain al-
ways unemployed. Its passions must have some exercise. If
we supply them not with proper employment, they are sure to
run loose into riot and disorder. While we are unoccupied by
what is good, evil is continually at hand ; and hence it is said
in Scripture, that as soon as Satan found the house e??ipty, he
took possession, and filled it wither// spirits.X Every man who
recollects his conduct, may be satisfied, that his hours of idleness
have always proved the hours most dangerous to virtue. It was
then that criminal desires arose ; guilty pursuits were suggested ^
and designs were formed, which, in their issue, have disquieted
and embittered his whole life. If seasons of idleness be dange-
rous, what must a continued habit of it prove ? Habitual indo-
lence, by a silent and secret progress, undermines every virtue
in the soul. More violent passions run their course, and ter-
minate. They are like rapid torrents, which foam, and swell,
and bear down every thing before them. But after having over-
flowed their banks, their impetuosity subside. They return by
degrees into their natural channel ; and the damage which they
have done can be repaired. Sloth is like the slowly-flowing,
putrid stream, which stagnates in tlie marsh, breeds venomous
animals, and poisonous plants ; and infects with pestilential va-
pours the whole country round it. Having once tainted the soul,
* Prov. xxiv. 30. 31. o2. f Prov, xxlv, oo, 34. MaUli. xii. 44.
SERMON XXXIX.] On Idleness. 435
it leaves no part of it sound ; and at the same time gives not
those alarms to conscience, which the eruptions of bolder and
fiercer emotions often occasion. The disease which it brings on,
is creeping and insiduous ; and is, on that account, more certain-
ly mortal.
One constant effect of idleness is, to nourish the passions,
and, of course, to heighten our demands for gratification ; while
it unhappily withdraws from us the proper means of gratifying
these demands. If the desires of the industrious man be set up-
on opulence or rank, upon the conveniences or the splendour of
life, he can accomplish his desires by methods which are i'air and
allowable. The idle man has the same desires with the indus-
trious, but not the same resources for compassing his ends by
honourable means. He must therefore turn himself to seek by
fraud, or by violence, what he cannot submit to acquire by in-
dustry. Hence the origin of those multiplied crimes to which
idleness is daily giving birth in the world ; and which contri-
bute so much to violate the order, and to disturb the peace of
society. — In general the children of idleness may be ranked
under two denominations or classes of men ; both of whom may,
too justly, be termed, the Children of the devil. Either inca-
pable of any effort, the}^ are such as sink into absolute meanness
of character, and contentedly wallow with the drunkard and de-
bauchee, among the herd of the sensual ; until poverty overtake
them, or disease cut them off: Or they are such as, retaining
some remains of vigour, are impelled, by their passions, to ven-
ture on a desperate attempt for retrieving their ruined fortunes.
In this case, they employ the art of the fraudulent gamester to
ensnare the unwary. They issue forth with the highwayman to
plunder on the road ; or with the thief and the rolDber, they in-
fest the city by night. From this class, our prisons are peopled ;
and by them the scaffold is furnished with those melancholy ad-
monitions, which are so often delivered from it to the crowd.— ^
Such are frequently the tragical, but well-known consequences
of the vice against which I now warn you.
In the third, and last place, how dangerous soever idleness
may be to virtue, are there not pleasures, it may be said, which
attend it? Is there not ground to plead, that it brings a release
from the oppressive cares of the world ; and soothes the mind
with a gentle satisfaction, which is not to be found amidst the
toils of a busy and active life? This is an advantage which,
least of all others, we admit it to possess. In behalf of inces-
sant labour, no man contends. Occasional release from toil, and
indulgence of ease, is what nature demands, and virtue allows.
But what we assert is, that nothing is so great an enemy to the
lively and spirited enjoyment of Ufe, as a relaxed and indolenc
436 On Idleness. [sermon xxxix.
habit of mind. He who knows not what it is to labour, knows
not what it is to enjoy. The fehcity of human Hfe depends on
the regular prosecution of some laudable purpose or object, which
keeps awake and elivens all our powers. Our happiness consists
in the pursuit, much more than in the attainment, of any tem-
poral <i;ood. Rest is agreeable; but it is only from preceding la-
bours that rest requires its true relish. When the mind is suf-
fered to remain in continued inaction, all its powers decay. It
soon languishes and sickens ; and the pleasures wliich it propos-
ed to obtain from rest, end in tediousness and insipidity. To
this, let that miserable set of men l)arc witness, who, after spend-
ing great part of their life in active industry, have retired to
what they fancied was to be a pleasing enjoyment of themselves
in wealthy inactivity, and profound repose. Where they expect-
ed to find an elysium, they have found nothing but a dreary and
comfortless waste. Their days have dragged on, in uniform lan-
guor ; with the melancholy remendnance often returning, of the
cheerful hours they passed, when they were engaged in the hon-
est business and labours of the work}.
We appeal to every one who has the least knowledge or ob-
servation of life, whether the busy, or the idle, have the most
agreeable enjoyment of themselves? Compare them in their fa-
xndies. Compare them in the societies with which they mingle ;
and remark, which of them discover most cheerfulness and gaie-
ty ; which possess the most regular flow of spirits ; whose tem-
per is most equal ; whose good humour most unclouded. W^hile
the active and diligent both enliven and enjoy society, the idle
are not only a burden to themselves, but a burden to those with
whom they are connected ; a nuisance to all whom they oppress
with their company. On whom docs time hang so heavy, as on
the slothful and lazy ? To whom are the hours so lingering? Who
are so often devoured with spleen, arc obliged to fly to every ex-
pedient which can help them to get rid of themselves ? Instead
of producing tranquillity, indolence produces a fretful restless-
ness of mind ; gives rise to cravings which are never satisfied ;
nourishes a sickly eflfeminate delicacy, which soars and corrupts
every pleasure.
Enough has now been said to convince every thinkmg per-
son, of the folly, the guilt, and the misery, of an idle state. Let
these admonitions stir us up, to exert ourselves in our diflerent
occupations, v/ith that virtuous activity whicii becomes men and
Christians. Let us ai'ise from the bed of sloth ; distribute our
time with attention and care ; and improve to advantage the op-
portunities which Providence has bestowed. The material bu-
siness in which our several stations engage us, may often prove
not sufficient to occupy the whole of our time and attention. In
.SERTMON XXXIX.] 0?i Idleness. 437
the life even of busy men, there are frequent intervals of leisure.
Let them take care, that into these, none of the vices of idleness
creep. Let some secondary, some subsidiary employment, of
fair and laudable kind, be always at hand to fill up those vacant
spaces of life, which too many assign, either to corrupting amuse-
ments, or to mere inaction. We ought never to forget, that en-
tire idleness always borders either on misery or on guilt.
At the same time, let the course of our employments be order-
ed in such a manner, that in carrying them on, we may be also
promoting our eternal interest. With the business of the world
let us properly intermix the exercises of devotion. By religious
duties and virtuous actions, let us study to prepare ourselves for
a better world. Li the midst of our labours for this life, it is ne-
ver to be forgotten, that we must Jit^st seek the kingdom of Gody
and his righteousness ; and give diligence to make our calling
and election sure. Otherwise, how active soever we may seem
to be, our whole activity will prove only a laborious idleness :
We shall appear, in the end, to have been busy to no purpose, or
to a purpose worse than none. Then only we fulfil the proper
character of Christians, when we join that pious zeal which be-
comes us as the servants of God, with that industry which is re-
quired of us, as good members of society ; when, according to
the exhortation of the Apostle, we are found not slothful in busi-
ness, and, at the same \hwG, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.*
* Rom. xii, 2,
SERMON XL.
©N THE SENSE OF THE DIVINE PRESENCE.
-I am continually with Mee.— Psalm Ixxiii. 23.
WE live in a world which is full of the divine presence
and power. We behold every where around us the traces of
that supreme goodness which enlivens and supports the universe.
Day uttereth speech of it to-day ; and night sheweth knowledge
of it to-night. Yet, surrounded as we are with the perfections
of God, meeting him wherever we go, and called upon by a thou-
sand objects, to confess his presence, it is both the misfortune
and the crime of a great part of mankind that they are stran-
gers to Him, in whose world they dwell. Occupied with nothing
but their pursuits of interest and pleasure, the)^ pass through
this world, as though God were not there. The virtuous and
reflecting are particularly distinguished from the giddy and dis-
solute, by that habitual sense of the Divine presence which cha-
racterises the former. To them, nothing appears void of God.
They contemplate his perfections in the works of nature ; and
they trace his providence in the incidents of life. When retired
from the world, he often employs their meditation. When en-
gaged in action, he always influences their conduct. Wherever
a pious man is, or whatever he does, in the style of the text, he
is continually ivith God.
The happy effect of this sentiment on the heart, is fully dis-
played in the context. We see it allaying all the disquiet which
the Psalmist, in the precedmg verses, describes himself to have
suffered on account of the prosperity of the wicked. The first
reflection which restored tranquillity to his mind, was the remem-
brance of the presence of God. Nevertheless, I am continu-
SERMON XL.] On the Sense, Sj-c^ 43i>
ally with thee ; thou hast holden me by my right hand. He
became sensible, that whatever distresses the righteous might suf-
fer for a time, they could not fail of being compensated in the end^,
by that Almighty Protector, whose propitious presence ever con-
tinued to surround them. Whereupon follow those memorable
expressions of his trust and joy in God. Thou shalt guide me
with thy counsel ; and afterwards receive me to glory. Whom
have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth I de-
sire besides thee.
There are principally two effects, which the sense of the Di-
vine presence is fitted to produce upon men. One is, to restrain
them from vice ; the other to encourage their virtue. Its ope-
ration, as a check upon the sinner, is obvious. The perpetual
presence of so powerful and venerable a witness, is one of the
most awful considerations which can be addressed to the disso-
lute. It removes all the security which secrecy can be supposed
to give to crimes. It aggravates the guilt of them, from being
committed in face of the Almighty ; and has power to strike
terror into the heart of the greatest criminal, in the midst of
his misdeeds. While this principal of religion thus checks and
terrifies the sinner, it produces also another effect, that of
strengthening, and comforting the good man, in the practice of
his duty. It is the influence of the Divine presence on good
men which, in consequence of the Psalmist's sentiment, I pro-
pose to consider. To their character it belongs to be continually
with God. I shall endeavour to shew the high benefit and com-
fort which they derive from such a habit of mind ; and shall,
for this end, first consider their internal moral state ; and next,
view them as they are affected by several of the external acci-
dents and situations of life.
Let us begin with considering them in their internal state.
The belief of Divine presence acts upon them here, first, as an
incitement to virtue. The presence of one whom we highly es-
teem and revere, of a sovereign, for instance, a father, or a
friend, whose approbation we are solicitous to gain, is always
found to exalt the powers of men, to refine and improve their
behaviour. Hence, it has been given as a rule by ancient mo-
ralists, that in order to excel in virtue, we should propound to
ourselves some person of eminent and distinguished worth ; and
should accustom ourselves to act, as if he were standing by, and
beholding us. To the esteem and approbation of their fellow-
creatures, none are insensible. There are few who, in the con-
spicuous parts of their life, when they know the eyes of the
public to be fixed on them, act not their part with propriety and
decorum. But what is the observation of the public ; what is
the presence of the greatest or wisest men on earth, to that pre-
440 On the Sense of [sermon xl
sence of the Divinity which constantly surrounds us. The man
who reahzes to his mind this august presence, feels a constant in-
centive for acquitting himself with dignity. He views himself as
placed on an illustrious theatre. To have the Almighty for the
spectator and witness of his conduct, is more to him than if the
whole world were assembled to observe him. Men judge often
falsely, always imperfectly, of what passes before them. They
are imposed on by specious appearances ; and the artful carry
away the praise which is due to the deserving. Even supposing
them to judge fairly, Ave may want the opportunity of doing jus-
tice to our character, by any proper display of it in the sight of
the world. Our situation may bury in obscurity those talents^
and virtues which were entitled to command the highest esteem.
But He, in whose presence the good man acts, is both an im-
partial, and an unerring, judge of worth. No fallacious appear-
ances impose on him. No secret virtue is hidden from him. He
is attentive equally to the meanest and the greatest ; and his ap-
probation confers eternal rewards. The man therefore, who sets
the Lord always before him, is prompted to excel in virtue by
motives which are peculiar to himself, and which engage, on the
side of duty, both honour and interest. / have kept thy precepts
and thy testimonies ; for all my ways are before theer
Supposing, however, his virtuous endeavours to be faithful,
many imperfections will attend them. A faultless tenor of un-
blemished life is beyond the reach of man. Passions will some-
times overcome him ; and ambition or interest, in an unguarded
hour, will turn him aside into evil. Hence he will be ashamed
of himself, and disquieted by a sense of guilt and folly. In this
state, to which we are often reduced by the Vv^eakness of human
nature, the belief of God's continual presence brings relief to
the heart. It acted before as an animating principle. It now
acts as a principle of comfort. In the midst of many imperfec-
tions, a virtuous man appeals to his Divine witness, for the sin-
cerity of his intentions. He can appeal to him who knows his
fra'ine, that, in the general train of his conduct, it is his study to
keep the law of God.
Mere law, among men, is rigid and inflexible. As no human
law-giver can look into the hearts of his subjects, he cannot,
pven though he were ever present with them, estim-ate their cha-
racter exactly. He can make no allowance for particular situa-
tions. He must prescribe the same terms to all whom he rules x
and treat all alike, according to their outward actions. But ev-
ery minute diversity of character, temper, and situation, is
known to God. It is not only from what his servants do, bu*
* Psalm cxix. 163.
SERMON XL.] the Divine Presence. 441
from what they seek to do, that he forms his judgment of them.
He attends to all those circumstances which render the trial of
their virtue, at any time, peculiarly hard. He hears the whisper
of devotion as it rises in the soul. He beholds the tear of con-
trition which falls in secret. He sees the good intention strug-
gling in its birth ; and pursues it, in its progress, through
those various obstacles which may prevent it from ripening into
action. Good men, therefore, in their most humbled and deject-
ed state, draw some consolation from his knowledge of their
heart. Though they may sometimes have erred from the right-
path, they can look up to Him who is ever with them, and say,
as an Apostle, who had grieviously offended, once said to his
great Master, Lord, thou hnoivest all things ; thou knowest that
I love theeJ^
Appealing thus to their omniscient witness, they are natural-
ly soothed and encouraged by the hope of his clemency. At the
same time, it is the peculiar advantage of his Sentiment of the
Divine presence, that it prevents such hope from flattering them
too much, or rising into undue presumption. For while it en-
courages, it tends also to humble, a pious man. If it encourage
him by the reflection on all his good dispositions being known
and attended to by God, it humbles him, by the remembrance,
that Ms secret sins also are ever in the light of the divine counte-
nance. So that, by dwelling under the sense of God being con-
tinually with us, we keep alive the proper temper of a Christian
in the soul ; humility without dejection ; fear mingled with hope.
We are cheered, without being lifted up. We feel ourselves ob-
noxious to the all-observing eye of justice ; but are comforted
with the thoughts of that mercy which, through Jesus Christ,
the Discerner of all hearts, holds forth to the sincere and peni-
tent. Such are the blessed effects which this principle of reli-
gion produces upon the inward moral state of a good man. Let
us now.
In the second place, consider his external circumstances ; and
examine the influence which the same principle has upon his
happiness, in sevei'al different situations of life
Let us first view him in what the world calls prosperity ;
when his circumstances are easy or affluent, and his life flows in
a smooth untroubled stream. Here it might be thought, that a
sense of the Divine presence could operate upon him only, or
chieflly, for promoting temperance, and restraining the disorders
incident to a prosperous state. Valuable effects, indeed, these
are ; and most conducive to the true enjoyment of all that is
agreeable in life. But though it, doubtless, does exert this sa-
• John, xxi.l7.
VOL. \. 56
'14S 0?i the Sense of [sermon xl,
lutaiy influence, yet it stops not there. It not only preserves
the virtue of a good man amidst the temptations of pleasure, but
it gives to his prosperity a security, and a peculiar relish, which
to others is unknown. He who is without a sense of God upon
nis mintl, beholds in human afiairs nothing but a perpetual fluc-
tuation, and vicissitude of events. He is surrounded with un-
known causes, which may be working his destruction in secret.
He cannot avoid perceiving, that there hangs over him the irre-
sistible arm of that Providence, whose displeasure he has done
nothing to stay or avert. But he who, in the days of prosperity,
dwells with God, is delivered from those disquieting alarms. He
dweils as with a friend and protector, from whence he conceives
his blessings to proceed. He can appeal to bin. for the thank-
fulness with which he receives them ; and for his endeavours to
employ them well. He trusts that the God whom he serves will
not forsake him ; that the goodness which he has already expe-
rienced, will continue to bless him ; and though he believes him-
self not exempted from the changes of the world, yet, in the
midst of these, he has ground to hope, that sources of comfort
and happiness shall always be left open to him.
Moreover, the pleasures of life, while they last, are unspeak-
ably heightened by the presence of that Benefactor who bestows
them. The pleasing emotion of gratitude to the giver, mingles
with the enjoyment of the gift. While to the mere worldly man,
the whole frame of nature is only a vast irregular fabric ; and
the course of human afiairs no more than a confused succession
of fortuitous events; all nature is beautified, and every agree-
able incident is enlivened to him who beholds God in all things,
-^ence arise a variety of pleasing sensations, to fill up those so-
litary hours, in which external prosperity supplies him with no
entertainment. In the smiling scenes of nature, he contemplates-
the benignity of its author. In its sublime objects, he admires
his majesty. In its awful and terrible ones, he adores his pow-
er. He dwells in this world as in a magnificent temple ; which
is full of the glory of its founder ; and every v^'here views nature
ofiering up its incense to him, from a thousand altars. Such
ideas, exalt, and ennoble the human mind ; and reflect an addi-
tional lustre on the brightness of prosperity.
From the prosperous, let us next turn to the afilicted condition
of a good man. Eor as prosperity may, affliction certainly will,
at one time or other, be his lot. It enters into the appointed
trial of his virtue ; and, in one degree or other, is the doom of all.
Here we shall find various situations occur, in which no relief is
equal to what a virtuous and holy man derives from a sense of the
perpetual presence of God.
Is he, for instance, thrown into an obscure condition in the
worldj; without friends to assist him, or any to regard and coa-..
>SERMON XL.] the Divine Presence. 4^3
sider his estate ? He enjoys the satisfaction of thinking, that
though he may be neglected by men, he is not forgotten of God.
Inconsiderable as he is in himself, he knows, that he will not be
overlooked by the Almighty, amidst the infinite variety of being,
or lost in the imm.ensity of his works. The poor man can, with
as much encouragement as the rich or great, lift up his eyes to
Heaven, and say. Nevertheless, Oh Lord, lam continually with
thee : Thou holdest me by my right hand. The gracious pre-
sence of that Supreme Being is affected by no diversity of rank
or fortune. It imparts itself alike to all the virtuous and upright ;
like its glorious image, the sun in the firmament, which oheds its
rays equally upon the humble cottage, and upon the palace of
kings. In the presence of the great Lord of heaven and earth,
all the distinctions which vanity has contrived to make among
men totally disappear. All ranks are on one level. The rich
and the poor here indeed meet together ; without any other dis-
tinction than what arises from the heart and the soul. The
sense of this lifts the poor man above contempt; supports his
spirits when apt to be dejected ; and bestows dignity on the part
which he acts. How inconsiderable soever that part may appear
in the estimation of an injudicious world, it is ennobled, when
virtuously performed by the approbation of his Divine witness.
He can bear with indilJbrence the scorn of the proud as long as
he knows, that there is one higher than the highest to regard
him. He can enjoy himself with pleasure in his mean habitation,
because he believes that God dwells wath him there. The Divine
Presence cheers to him the most lonely retreat. It accompanies
his steps to the most distant regions of the earth. If he should
be driven into exile from all his friends, and obliged to dwell in
the uttermost parts of the sea, even there God's hand would
hold him, and his right hand would guide him. Though left
without companion or friend, he never thinks himself desolate,
as long as he can say, lam still with God.
But though raised above obscurity or poverty, yet, in any
situation of fortune, calumny and reproach may be the lot of
the servant of God. His good intentions may be misconstrued ;
his character unjustly traduced ; and, to the open reviling of en-
emies, the more bitter unklndness of friends may sometimes be
joined. In this situation, when wounded in spirit, and, perhaps,
unable to make his innocence appear, to whom shall he have re-
course for defence, to whom make his last appeal, but to that
God who is ever present with him, and who knoweth his heart ?
How frequently amidst the injustice and oppression of the world,
has distressed innocence had no otiier relief but this ?. " God
" is my witness. God is my avenger. He hath seen it, and he
" will repay." A good conscience, it is true, is of itself, a pow-
erful support. But God is Lord of the conscience ; and it is
444 On the Sense of [sermon xl^
only when connected witli a sense of Divine prtsence and appro-
bation, that a good conscience becomes a steady principle of for-
titude in the mind, under all discouragements. Hence, a virtu-
ous man possesses a high degree of independence, both on the
praise and on the censure of the world. It is enough to him if,
when undergoing the same reproaches which Job suffered from
his mistaken friends, he can say with him, Behold my ivitness is
in heaven, and my record is on high* He affects not to divulge
his good deeds to the world. ^ He is without concern whether
the world be acquainted with him or not. He knoweth that his
Father which is in Heaven seeth in secret ; and that his prayers
and his alms come up in grateful memorial before him,. With
me it is a small thing to bejudgedofyou, or of mayi^ s judgment ;
he that judged me is the Lord.\ He shall bring forth my right-
eousness, at last, as the light, and my judgment, as the noon day.
In this consciousness of integrity he looks down with indiffer-
ence, as from a superior station, upon the liarsh censures of a gid-
dy and ignorant wor.d. The sense of being continually with
God diffuses over his soul a holy calm, which unjust reproach can-
not disturb. In the presence of that august and venerable wit-
ness, all the noise and clamours of men, like the murmurings of
a distant storm, die away.
Lastly, Supposing the character of a good man to be un-
tainted by reproach, supposing also bis external situation to be
opulent or distinguished ; many, notwithstanding, and severe,
are the distresses to which he may be exposed. Secret griefs
may be preying upon him ; and his heart left to feed in silence
on his own bitterness. He may labour under sore disease, and
discern his earthly frame gradually moulder into dust. He may
be deprived of those friends and relatives who had been the chief
comforts of his state ; or may be obliged to prepare himself for
taking farcwel of them for ever. In the midst of these various
afflicting scenes of human life, no consolation can be more pow-
erful than what arises from the presence of a Divine protector
and guardian, to whom our case, with all its sorrows, is perfect-
ly known. To him, says the Psalmist, I poured out my com-
plaint. I shewed before him my trouble. Hooked on 7ny right
hand and viewed ; but, behold, there was no man ivho cared for
viy soul. I said unto thee. Oh Lord, thou art my refuge IVhen
my spirit ivas overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest m,y
path.\
We all know that to communicate our grief to a faithful
friend, often gives ease and relief to the burdened heart. Such
communication we are encouraged to make, and such -relief we
may expect to find, in pouring out our heart before that God in
* Job, xvi. 19. t 1 Cor. iv. 3, 4. % Psalm cxiii. 2, 3, 4.
SERMON XL.] the Divine Presence. 445
tohoni compassions flow. We may have no earthly friend to
whom we can with full confidence disclose all our sorrows ; or
we may want words in which to express them. But God is the
searcher of all hearts ; and the hearer of all prayers. To the
secret an2;uish of the soul, he is no inattentive witness. Every
groan which is heaved from the labouring; bosom, though heard
by no human ear, reaches his throne. As he knows our frame,
so he rememhers we are dust ; and thence light arises to the
upright in darkness. For the hope naturally springs, that this
beneficent Being will pity them as a father pitieth his children ;
and in the midst of those distresses which the present circumstan-
ces of man render unavoidable, will send them help from his
sanctuary. Surrounded with this compassionate presence of the
Aim ghty, good men never view themselves as left in this vale
of tears, to bear, solitary and alone, the whole weight of human
woe. In their dark, as well as in their brighter hours, God is
with them. Even in that valley of the shadow of death, where
no friend, no comforter, can go along to aid them, he is with them
stUl. In the last extremity of nature, the rod and staff of the
Shepherd of Isi^acl support them.
Thus I have shewn, though in an imperfect manner, what
benefits holy men derive from an habitual sense of the Divine pre-
sence. It animates and strengthens their virtue. It enlivens
and brightens their prosperity. Under various forms of adver-
sity, it affords them consolation and relief. — Such considerations,
undoubtedly, form a strong argument in favour of a devout spi-
rit, and a virtuous life. But they are considerations which may,
probably, be regarded, by some, as ideal and visionary ; requir-
ing aid from a heated, or an enthusiastic fancy, in order to give
them force. I readily admit tliat, amidst the hurry and turbu-
lence of the world, it may be difficult to bring these religious
sentiments as fully into view as is necessary for their making a
just impression on the soul. This requires the effort of an in-
telligent and feeling mind; and therefore cannot be expected to
be commonly found. To the unreflecting crowd, nothing appears
real, but what is exposed to sense. What is invisible, is the same
to them, as if it had no existence. But by the grossness of their
own conceptions, they have no title to measure those of others.
While they aft'ect to treat all considerations, taken from the sense
of the Divine presence, as visionary and enthusiastic, it can, on
the contrary, be clearly shown, that they are founded on the most
certain and unquestionable principles of reason. They essen-
tially belong not to revealed only, but to natural religion. Their
reality can be denied by none, but those who deny that God ex-
ists, or that he governs the world. For if he exists, he must un-
doubtedly pervade and inspect the world which he governs. He
must know what is going on throughout his own universe ; and
446 On the Sense, 8fe [sermon xi*.
especially must know what passes In the hearts which he has made,
and of which he is to judge. To be every where present, is the
attribute of his nature, which, of all others, is the most necessary
to his administration of the universe. This, accordingly, is an
attribute which all religions have ascribed to him. All nations
have believed in it. All societies appeal to it, in the solemnities
of an oath, by which they determine controversies. This attri-
bute being once admitted to belong to the Deity, the consequen-
ces which I have deduced from it, plainly and naturally follow :
And every good man has ground to say, Oh Lord, I am contin'
tutlly ivith ifi^e.
SERMON XLt
On patience.
in your Patience possess ye your souls. — Luke xxi.
19.
THEi possession of our souls is a very emphatieal expressioR,
It describes that state in which a man has both the full command,
and the undisturbed enjoyment, of himself; in opposition to his
undergoing some inward agitation which discomposes his pow-
ers. Upon the least reflection it must appear, how essential
such a state of mind is to happiness. He only who thus posses-
ses his soul is capable of possessing any other thing with advan-
tage ; and in order to attain and preserve this self-possession,
the most important requisite is, the habitual exercise of patience.
I know that patience is apt to be ranked, by many, among
the more humble and obscure virtues ; belonging chiefly to those
who groan on a sick bed, or who languish in a prison. If their
situation be, happily, of a dift'erent kind, they imagine that there
is no occasion for the discipline of patience being preached to
them. But I hope to make it appear, that, in every circumstance,
of life, no virtue is more important, both to duty and to happi-
ness ; or more requisite for forming a manly and worthy cha-
racter. It is not confined to a situation of continued adversity.
It principally, indeed, regards the disagreeable circumstances
which are apt to occur. But in our present state, the occurrence
of these is so frequent, that in every condition of life, patience
is incessantly called forth. Prosperity cannot be enjoyed, any
more than adversity supported, without it. It must enter into
the temper, and form the habit of the soul, if we would pass
through the world with tranquility and honour. What I propose
is to point out some of the chief occasions on which patience is
required ; and to recommend and enforce the exercise of it, in or-
4er to our possessing our souls.
44S On Patience. [sermon xi,i.
I. Patien-ce under provocations. The wide circle of human
society is diversified by an endless variety of characters, dispo-
sitions, and passions. Uniformity is, in no respect, the genius
of the world. Every man is marked by some peculiarity which
distinguishes him from another; and no where can two indivi-
duals be found who are exactly, and in all respects, alike. Where
so much diversity obtains, it cannot but happen, that, in the in-
tercourse which men are obliged to maintain, their tempers shall
often be ill adjusted to that intercourse ; shall jar, and interfere
with each other. Hence, in every station, the highest as well as
the lowest, and in every condition of life, public, private, and
domestic, occasions of irritation frequently arise. We are pro-
voked, sometimes, by the folly and levity of those with whom we
are connected ; sometimes by their indifference, or neglect; by
the incivility of a friend, the haughtiness of a superior, or the
insolent behaviour of one in lower station. Hardly a day passes,
without somewhat or other occurring, which serves to rutfle the
man of impaiieat spirit. Of course, such a man lives in a con-
tinual storm. He knows not what it is to enjoy a train of good
humour. Servants, neighbours, friends, spouse, and children, all,
through the unrestrained violence of his temj-er. become sources
of disturbance and vexation to him. In vain is affluence ; in vain
are health and prosperity. The least trifle is sufficient to discom-
pose his mind, and poison his pleasures. His very amusements
are mixed with turbulence and passion.
I would beseech this man to consider, of what small moment
the provocations which he receives, or at least imagines himself
tp receive, are really in themselves ; but of what great moment
he makes them, by suffering them to deprive him of the posses-
sion of himself. I would beseech him to consider, how many
hours of happiness he throws away which a little more patience
would allow him to enjoy ; and how much he puts it in the
power of the most insignificant persons to render him misera-
ble. " But who can expect," we hear him exclaim, " that he
" is to possess the insensibility of a stone? How is it possible
" for human nature to endure so many repeated provocations ?
" or to bear calmly with such unreasonable behaviour ? My
brother ! If you can bear with no instances of unreasonable be-
havioiu', withdraw yourself from the world. You are no longer
fit to live in it. Leave the intercourse of men. Retreat to the
mountain and the desert; or shut yourself up in a cell. For
here, in the midst of society, offences must come. You might,
as well expect, when you beheld a calm atmosphere, and a clear
sky, that no clouds were ever to rise, and no winds to blow, as
that your life was long to proceed without receiving provoca-
tions from human frailty. The careless and the imprudent, the
giddy and the fickle, the ungrateful and the interested, everjr
Sermon xli.} On Patience. 449
where meet us. They are the briars and the thorns, with which
the paths of human life are beset. He only who can hold his
course among them with patience and equanimity, he who is
prepared to bear what he must expect to happen, is worthy of
the name of man.
Did you only preserve yourself composed for a moment, you
would perceive the insignificancy of most of those provocations
w^hich you magnify so highly. When a few suns more have
rolled over your head, the storm will have, of itself, subsided :
the cause of your present impatience and disturbance will be
utterly forgotten. Can you not, then, anticipate this hour of
calmness to yourself; and begin to enjoy the peace which it will
certainly bring ? If others have behaved improperly, leave them
to their own folly, without becoming the victim of their caprice,
and punishing yourself on their account. Patience, in this
exercise of it, cannot be too much studied by all who wish their
life to flow in a smooth stream. It is the reason of a man, in
opposition to the passion of a child. It is the enjoyment of peace,
in opposition to uproar and confusion. He that fiath no rule over
his oiun spirit, is like a city I fiat is broken down and without
walls.* The next important exercise of patience is,
II. Patience under disappointments. These will often hap-
pen to the best and wisest men ; sometimes to the wisest and
best-concerted plans. They may happen, too, not through any
imprudence of those who have devised the plan, not even through
the malice or ill design of others ; but merely in consequence of
some of those cross incidents of life which could not be foreseen.
On such occasions persons of a warm and sanguine temper are
presently in a ferment. They had formed their hopes, as they
think, upon the justest grounds. They had waited long for
success ; and borne with many delays. But when their designs
are brought to so unexpected an issue ; when, without any fault
of their own, they find their hopes finally blasted, all patience
forsakes them ; they no longer possess their souls ; the most
passionate exclamations break forth. " To whom, except to
" them, could such a disappointment have happened ? Since the
" creation of the world, was such a combination of disastrous
" incidents ever beheld ? Why are they doomed to be so unfor-
" tunate beyond all others ?" Alas ! how unskilfully have
you calculated the course of human events ! How rashly and
presumptuously had you trusted to success ! To whom was it
ever given, to guard against all the vicissitudes, which the fluc-
tuating fashion of the world, is incessantly bringing about ? If
one friend, to whom you looked up, has died, or another has lost
* Prov. XXV. 28.
VOL. I. 57
450 On Patience.. [sermon xli-
his influence and power ; if the opinion of the public is changed,
and its favour has been withdrawn ; if some mistakes have oc-
curred to lessen the good-will of a patron on whom you de-
pended ; if through the concurrence of these, or such like cir-
cumstances, a more fortunate rival lias prevailed against you ;
what is there in all this, that differs from the ordinary lot of
man? Are we not, each in his turn, doomed to experience the
uncertainty of worldly pursuits ? Why, then, aggravate our mis-
fortunes by the unreasonable violence of an impatient spirit ? —
If our designs have failed through rashness or misconduct, let
us blame ourselves. If they have failed through circumstances
wliich we could not prevent, let us submit to the fate of man ;
and wait, with patience, till a more favourable opportunity shall
occur of regaining success.
Meanwhile let us turn to the other side of the prospect; and
calmly consider how dubious it was, whether 'he success which
we longed for, would have proved a blessing. Who knowth
ivhat is good for man in this life ? Perhaps the accomplishment
of our designs might have been pregnant with misery. Perhaps
from our present disappointment, future prosperity may rise.
Of such unlooked-for issues, we all know there have been many
examples. Who can tell, whether our case may not add one to
the number ? At any rate, let us recollect, that there is a Su-
preme Ruler, who disposes of the affairs of men ; under whom,
all second causes work only as subordinate agents. Looking up
to that irresistible arm which is stretched over our heads, let us
be calm ; let us submit and adore. Either to despair, or to rage,
under disappointments, is sinful. By the former we injure our-
selves, by the latter we insult Providence, and provoke its dis-
pleasure to continue. To possess our souls inpatience is, at once,
our wisdom as men, and our duty as Cliristians. The benefits of
this virtue are so often repeated in this world, that good policy
alone would recommend it to every thinking man. Disappoint-
ments derange, and overcome vulgar minds. The patient and the
wise, by a proper improvement frequently make them contribute
to their high advantage. Let me next recommend,
III. Patience under restraints. Numerous are the restraints
imposed on us, by the nature of the human condition. To the
restraints of authority and law, all must submit. The restraints
of education and discipline lie on the young. Considerations of
health restrain the indulgence of pleasure. Attentions to fortune
restrain expens6. Regard to friends, whom we are bound to
please ; respect to established customs, and to the opinions of
society, impose restraint on our general behaviour. There is no
man, in any rank of life, who is always at liberty to act accord-
ing as he would incline. In some quarter or other, he is limited
SERMON XL I. J On Patience. 451
by circumstances, that either actually confine, or that ought at
least to confine and restrain him.
These restraints, the impatient are apt to scorn. They will
needs burst the barriers which reason had erected, or their situ-
ation had formed ; and, without regard to consequences, give
free scope to their present wish. Hence, many dangerous ex-
cesses flow ; much confusion and misery are produced in human
life. Had men the patience to submit to their condition, and to
wait 'till it should allow them a freer indulgence of their desires,
tliey might, in a short time, obtain the power of gratifying them
with safety. If the young, for instance, would umlergo with pa^^
tience, the labours of education, they would rise at a proper pe-
riod, to honours, riches or ease. If the infirm would, with pa-
tience, bear the regulations which their constitution demands,
they might regain the comforts of health. If persons of strait-
ened fortune had patience to conform themselves to their circum-
stances, and to abridge their pleasures, they might, by degrees,
• improve and advance their state. Whereas, by eagerness of tem-
y. per, and precipitancy of indulgence, they forfeit all the advanta-
ges which patience would have procured ; and incur the opposite
• evits to their full extent.
'-..- .In the present state of human affairs, no lesson is more neces-
•." • Sary to be learned by all, to be inculcated on the young, and to
, • be practised by the old, than that of patient submission to neces-
;. . sity.i For under the law of necessity, we are all inevitably pla-
;• jced. No man is, or can be, always his own master. We are
. ■ ipbliged, in a thousand cases, to submit and obey. The discipline
• ^-pf patience preserves our minds easy, by conforming them to our
• state. By the impetuosity of an impatient and unsubmitting tem-
• ^er, we fight against an unconquerable power, and aggravate the
«vils we must endure. — Another important exercise of the virtue
■ concerning which we discourse, is,
.; IV. Patience under injuries and wrongs. To these, amidst
ihe present confusion of the world, all are exposed. No station
•' is so high, no power so great, no character so unbleJtiished, as
, . lo exempt men from being attacked by rashness, malice, or en-
'vy. To behave under such attacks with due patience and mode-
Tation, is, it must be confessed, one of the most trying exercises
of virtue. But, in order to prevent mistakes on this subject, it
is necessary to observe, that a tame submission to wrongs is not
• .-required by religion. We are by no means to imagine that re-
ligion tends to extinguish the sense of honour, or to suppress the
exertion of a manly spirit. It is under a false apprehension of
this kind, that Christian patience is sometimes stigmatized in
discourse as no other than a different name for cowardice. On
the contrary, every man of virtue ought to feel what is due to
452 On Patience. [sermon xli.
his claaracter, and to support properly his own rights. Resent-
}nent of wrong, is an useful principle in human nature ; and for
the wisest purposes was implanted in our frame. It is the neces-
sary guard of private rights, and the great restraint on the inso-
lence of the violent, who, if no resistance were made, would tram-
ple on the gentle and peaceable.
Resentment, however, if not kept within due bounds, is in ha-
zard of rising into fierce and cruel revenge. It is the office of
patience, to temper resentment by reason. In this view, it is
most properly descrii)ed in the text, by a man's possessing his
soul ; acting the part which self-defence, which justice, or honour
require him to act, without being transported out of himself by
the vehemence of anger, or insisting on such degrees of repara-
tion as bear no proportion to the wrong that he has sufl'ered.
What proportion, for instance, is there between the life of a man,
a/vj an affront received by some rash expression in conversation,
which the wise would have slighted ; and which, in the course
of a few weeks, would have been forgotten by every one? How
faatastic, then, how unjustifiable, are those supposed laws of
modern honour, which, for such an affront, require no less repa-
ration thin the death of a fellow-creature ? and which, to obtain
this reparation, require a man to endanger his own life ? Laws,
which as they have no foundation in reason, never received the
least sanction from any of the wise and polished nations of anti-
quity, but were devised in the darkest ages of the world, and
are derived to us from the ferocious barbarity of Gothic man-,
ners. -
Nothing is so inconsistent with self-possession as violent an-,
ger. It overpowers reason ; confounds our ideas ; distorts the
appearance, and blackens the colour, of every object. By the
storra which it raises within, and by the mischiefs which it oc-
casions without, it generally brings, on the passionate and re-
vengeful man, greater misery than he can bring on his enemy.
Patience allays this destructive tempest, by making room for
the return of calm and sober thought. It suspends the blow
which sudden resentment was ready to inflict. It disposes us to
attend to the alleviating circumstances, which may be discovered
in the midst of tlie wrongs we suppose ourselves to have sufier-
ed. Hence it naturally inclines to the moderate and gentle side ;
and while it allows all proper measures to be taken, both for
safety, and for just redress, it makes way for returning peace.
Without some degree of patience exercised under injuries, human
life would be rendered a state of perpetual hostility ; ofiences and
retaliations would succeed to one another in endless train ; and
the world would become a field of blood It now remains to
recommend,
^?ERMON XLI.] On Patience.. 453
V. Patience under adversity and affliction. This is the
most common sense in which this virtue is understood ; as it
respects disease, poverty, old age, loss of friends, and the other
calamity which are incident to human life. Though a man live
many years and rejoice iri them all, yet let him remember the
days of darkness, for they shall be many.* The various duties
to which patience, under this view, gives rise, afford a larger sub-
ject to discourse than I am at present to pursue. In general, there
are two chief exercises of patience under adversity ; one respect-
ing God, and another respecting men.
Patience, with respect to God, must, in the days of trouble,
suppress the risings of a murmuring and rebellious spirit. It
must appear in that calm resignation to the will of Heaven, which
is expressed in those pious sentiments of ancient good men ; I was
dumb ; I opened not my mouth, because thou didst it. It is the
Lord, let him do ivhat seeyneth good in his eyes. Shall ive re-
ceive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil
also 7 This is loyalty to the great Governor of the universe.
This is that reverence which so well becomes creatures who
know they are dependant, and who must confess themselves to
be sinful. Such a spirit is fitted to attract the favour of Heaven,
and to bring the severe visitation sooner to a close. Whereas
the stubborn and impatient, who submit not themselves to the
decrees of the Most High, require to be humbled and subdued
by a continuance of chastisement.
Patience in adversity, with respect to men, must appear by
the composure and tranquillity of our behaviour. The loud
complamt, the querulous temper, and fretful spirit, disgrace ev-
ery character. They shew a mind that is unmanned by mis-
fortunes. We weaken thereby the sympathy of others ; and es-
trange them from the offices of kindness and comfort. The ex-
ertions of pity will be feeble, when it is mingled with contempt.
At the same time, by thus weakly yielding to adversity, we al-
low its weight to bear us down with double pressure. Patience,
by preserving composure within, resists the impression which
trouble makes from without. By leaving the mind open to ev-
ery consolation, it naturally tends to alleviate our burden.
To maintain a steady and unbroken mind, amidst all the shocks
of the world, forms the highest honour of a man. Patience, on
such occasions, rises to magnanimity. It shews a great and
noble mind, which is able to rest on itself, on God, and a good
conscience ; which can enjoy itself amidst all evils ; and would
rather endure the greatest hardships, than submit to what was
dishonourable in order to obtain relief. This gives proof of a
* Ecclcs. xi. 8,
454 On Patience. [sermon xli.
strength that is derived from Heaven. It is a beam of the im-
mortal light, shining on the heart. Such patience is the most
complete triumph of religion and virtue ; and accordingly it has
ever charcterized those whose names have been transmitted with
honour to posterity. It has ennobled the hero, the saint, and the
martyr, fVe are troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; we
are perplexed, but not in despair ; persecuted, but not forsaken ;
cast down, but not destroyed*
Thus I have traced Patience through several of its most im-
portant operations in different circumstances of life ; under pro-
vocations ; under disappointments ; under restraints ; under in-
juries ; and under afflictions. We now see that it is a virtue of
universal use. No man, in any condition, can pass his days with
tolerable comfort who has not learned to practice it. His pros-
perity will be continually disturbed ; and his adversity will be
clouded with double darkness. He will be uneasy and trouble-
some to all with whom he is connected ; and will be more trouble-
some to himself than to any other. Let me particularly ad-
vise those who wish to cultivate so necessary a virtue, to begin
their cultivation of it, on occasions when small offences and pro-
vocations arise. It is a great but common error, to imagine, that
we are at liberty to give loose reins to temper among the trivial
occurrences of life. No excuse for irritation and impatience can
be woi'sc, than what is taken from the person being inconsidera-
ble, or the incident being slight, which threw us off our guard.
With inconsiderable persons we are surrounded. Of slight inci-
dents the bulk of human life is composed. In the midst of these
the ruling temper of the mind is formed. It is only by modera-
tion and self-command then acquired, that we can inure ourselves
to patience, when the great conjunctures of life shall put it to a
severer trial. If neglected then, we shall afterwards solicit its
return in vain. If thou hast run with footmen and they have
wearied thee, how canst thou contend with horses ? And if in
the land of peace wherein thou trustest, they wearied thee, then
how wilt thou do in the swellings of Jordan !\
In order to assist us m the acquisition of this grace, let us
often contemplate that great model of it, which is displayed in
the whole life of our Saviour Jesus Christ. Whose temper was
ever tried by more frequent provocations, more repeated disap-
pointments, more flagrant injuries, or more severe distress ? Yet
amidst them all, we behold him patiently enduring the contra-
diction of sinners ; to their rudeness opposing a mild and unruf-
fled, though firm spirit, and, in the cause of mankind, generous-
ly bearing with every indignity. Well might he say, Learn of
* 2 Cor. iv. 8, 9, t Jer xii. 5.
SERMON XLi.] On Patience. 455
me, /or I am m,eek and lowly in heart* Having such a high
example before our eyes, let us be ashamed of those sallies of
impatience which we so often suffer to break forth in the midst
of prosperity. By a more inanly tranquillity and self-command,
let us discover to the world, that, as men, and as christians, we
have learned in patience to possess our souls.
* Matth. xi. 29
END OF VOL. J.
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