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Storms may howl, and clouds may gather—
3 Soul! then know thy full salvation—
Risè o'er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find in every station
Think, what spirit dwells within thee—
Think that Jesus died to save thee—
4 Haste thee on, from grace to glory,
Armed by faith, and wing’d by prayer—
Heaven's eternal day's before thee—
Soon shall close thy earthly mission!
Hope shall change to glad fruition—
Cruelty to Animals.—CowPER.
I would not enter on my list of friends, (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility,) the man. Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 5 An inadvertent step may crush the snail, That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarm’d, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 10 And charg’d perhaps with venom, that intrudes A visiter unwelcome into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, th’ alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die. A necessary act incurs no blame. 15 Not so, when held within their proper bounds, And guiltless of offence they range the air, Or take their pastime in the spacious field.
There they are privileg'd. And he that hurts
The cardinal fact of Christianity, without which all, her other facts lose their importance, is the resurrection, from the dead, of a crucified Saviour, as the prelude, the pattern, and the pledge of the resurrection of his 5 followers to eternal life. Against this great fact the ‘‘children of disobedience,” have levelled their batteries. One assails its proof; another its reasonableness; all, its truth. When Paul asserted it before an audience of Athenian philosophers, “ some mocked”—a short 10 method of refuting the Gospel; and likely, from its convenience, to continue in favor and in fashion. Yet with such doctrines and facts did the religion of Jesus make her way through the world. Against the
superstition of the multitude—against the interest, influence, and craft of their priesthood—against the ridicule of wits, the reasoning of sages, the policy of cabinets, and the prowess of armies—against the axe, the cross, and the stake, she extended her conquests from Jordan to the Thames. She gathered her laurels alike upon the snows of Scythia, the green fields of Europe, and the sands of Africa. The altars of impiety crumbled before her march—the glimmer of the schools disappeared in her light—Power felt his arm wither at her glance; and, in a short time, she who went, forlorn and insulted, from the hill of Calvary to the tomb of Joseph, ascended the Imperial throne, and waved her banner. over the palace of the Caesars. Her victories were not less benign than decisive. They were victories over all that pollutes, degrades, and ruins man; in behalf of all that purifies, exalts, and saves him. They subdued his understanding to truth, his habits to rectitude, his heart to happiness. The disregard which some of old affected to whatever goes by the name of evil; the insensibility of others who yield up their souls to the power of fatalism; and the artificial gaiety which has, occasionally, played the comedian about the dying bed of “ philosophy, falsely so called,” are outrages upon decency and nature. Death destroys both action and enjoyment—mocks at wisdom, strength, and beauty—disarranges our plans— robs us of our treasures—desolates our bosoms—breaks our heart-strings—blasts our hope. , Death extinguishes the glow of kindness—abolishes the most tender relations of man—severs him from all that he knows and loves—subjects him to an ordeal which thousands of millions have passed, but none can explain; and which will be as new to the last who gives up the ghost, as it
was to murdered Abel—flings him, in fine, without any
avail from the experience of others, into a state of untried being. No wonder that nature trembles before it. Reason justifies the fear. Religion never makes light of it: and he who does, instead of ranking with heroes, can hardly deserve to rank with a brute. What have unbelievers to gild their evening hour, to bind up their aching head, to soothe their laboring heart? What living hope descends from heaven to
smile on the sinking features, whisper peace to the retiring spirit, and announce to the sad surrounding relatives that all is well? There is none! Astonishment,
60 dismay, melancholy boding, are the “portion of their
eup.”. Sit down, ye unhappy, in the dosolation of grief. Consolation heard the voice of your weeping: she hastened to your door, but started back affrighted; her commission extends not to your house of mourning; ye have no hope!
Character of Mrs. Graham.—MAsoN.
Recall the example of Mrs. Graham. Here was a woman—a widow—a stranger in a strange land—without fortune—with no friends but such as her letters of introduction and her worth should acquire—and with a family of daughters dependent upon her for their subsistence. Surely if any one has a clear title of immunity from the obligation to carry her cares beyond the domestic circle, it is this widow; it is this stranger. Yet within a few years this stranger, this widow, with . no means but her excellent sense, her benevolent heart, and her persevering will to do good, awakens the chamities of a populous city, and gives to them an impulse, a direction, and an efficacy, unknown before! What might not be done by men; by men of talent, of standing, of wealth, of leisure? How speedily, under their well-directed beneficence, might a whole country change its physical, intellectual, and moral aspect; and assume, comparatively speaking, the face of another Eden—a second garden of God? Why then do they not diffuse, thus extensively, the seeds of knowledge, of virtue, and of bliss? I ask not for their pretences; they are as old as the lust of lucre; and are refuted by the example which we have been contemplating—I ask for the true reason, for the inspiring principle, of their conduct. It is this—let them look to it when God shall call them to account for the abuse of their time, their talents, their station, their “unrighteous mammon.”—It is this: They believe not “the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” They labor under no want but one—they want the heart!
That venerable mother in Israel, who has exchanged the service of God on earth for his service in heaven, has left a legacy to her sisters—she has left the example of her faith and patience; she has left her prayers; she 35 has left the monument of her Christian deeds: and by these she “being dead yet speaketh.” Matrons! has she left her mantle also? Are there none among you to hear her voice from the tomb, “Go and do thou likewise?” None whom affluence permits, endowments 40 qualify, and piety prompts, to aim at her distinction by treading in her steps? Maidens! Are there none among you, who would wish to array yourselves hereafter in the honours of this “virtuous woman?” Your hearts have dismissed their wonted warmth and gene45 rosity, if they do not throb as the reveiend vision rises before you—then prepare yourselves now, by seeking and serving the God of her youth. Yea, let me press upon all who hear me this evening, the transcendent excellence of Christian character, and '50 the victorious power of Christian hope. The former bears the image of God; the latter is as imperishable as his throne. We fasten our eyes with more real respect, and more heart-felt approbation upon the moral majesty displayed in “walking as Christ also walked,” than up55 on all the pomps of the monarch, or decorations of the military hero. More touching to the sense, and more grateful to high heaven, is the soft melancholy with which we look after our departed friend, and the tear which embalms her memory, than the thundering plau60 dits which rend the air with the name of a conqueror. She has obtained a triumph over that Foe who shall break the arm of valour, and strike off the crown of kings.
The heart-breaking necessities of a works ought to
rouse us from our selfish stupor. To say nothing of
the multitudes who are swarming the way to death in
the most favoured regions; to say nothing of whole na
5 tions in the Romish and Greek Churches, who, though