press the important question, for philosophy has already drained its resources.

Our hopes and fears are not limited to this brief existence, nor are they confined to this transitory world. No; they stretch themselves forward to immortality, and hover over worlds of bliss and misery. Eagerly do we desire to live for ever; more eager still are we to enjoy an eternity of bliss. But these desires are connected with the body which dies; will they exist when death triumphs over us? Philosophy is silent. Our desire of life is associated with the thought of existing in these bodies; it cannot be disconnected from it. We can by nature have no idea of a life essentially different from the present. Nothing but the word of God can assure us of the resurrection of the body, and Philosophy must answer, therefore, whether these desires will ever be satisfied. Cheerless and discouraging indeed is it to hear her reply, -Of the immortality of the soul we have conjectures, but no proof.

Refer to the histories of heathen nations, and you will find that their notions on this subject were as vague and obscure as the sources from which they derived them; some among them believing, some doubting, and others denying the immortality of the soul.

The Bible alone settles the question, and teaches us that when "the dust shall return to the earth as it was, the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." It disperses every doubt by assuring us, that the impress of eternity is stamped upon every human soul.

That a heaven of unchanging glory and eternal happiness is prepared for the good, can be proved only from revelation. That we are the subjects of moral government might be supposed without the revelation of this fact, from the workings of conscience within us. Why is there a judge seated in every breast to approve some

actions, and disapprove others? Why does it urge us to do right, and dissuade us from wickedness? Why does it torture us with fears, and allure us with hopes? Why does it drive even to confession and reparation, unless it be the agent of a higher Power who smiles on virtue ? But if he govern us, why has he not clearly revealed his laws? Why do the wicked prosper while the good suffer? Would a moral government be thus loosely administered? Are we not rather our own masters?

But if there be a moral government maintained in this world, will it not end here? Will the day ever arrive when the virtuous shall be rewarded, and the wicked punished? Can reason, aside from revelation, point to a judgment-day when these apparent discordances shall be harmonized, and perfect justice commence its eternal course? Can uninspired reason tell us that moral government is founded upon the immutable and eternal principles of right? that moral government will be maintained when the heavens and the earth shall pass away? Could it do so, it might have anticipated revelation. The philosopher, aided by the light which science has shed. around him, may teach us that our world is accompanied by others which revolve around the sun as their common centre; and with wonderful exactness may calculate their distances, their magnitudes, and the periods of their revolutions. He may bid us gaze on the "midnight glory" of the heavens, and exultingly assure us that every twinkling star which adorns the skies is a world of surpassing magnitude and beauty. But can he point us to one of them as our future and eternal residence? On the wings of fancy he may travel to the most distant star that rolls on its glittering orbit in the regions of space, but he cannot trace the flight of the deathless spirit!

Philosophy, assisted by art in her investigations, has almost annihilated space, and has brought distant worlds

to view; but it has not given us one glimpse of the celestial city whose walls are "jasper," and whose streets are gold." It hath not seen that "land of pure delight, where saints immortal reign." Never, O never has it discovered a world where "there shall be no night;" where " they need no candle, neither light of the sun;" where "they shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more;" but where "the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters;" and where "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."

The wisest of the heathen thought of no such heaven. Many of them believed, that when the body died the soul wandered forth, and entered into some other body; strange and degrading as it may seem to us upon whom the light of the gospel hath shone, they asserted that the human soul became the inmate of brutes and reptiles, and thus for ages dragged out a constantly shifting and miserable existence on the shores of time. Socrates and Plato, the wisest and the best of the Grecian philosophers, could only teach their followers that "virtue is its own reward in the present world, and is entitled also to reward in the life to come." But that reward they could not promise to their most devoted friends. No wonder then that their efforts were so feebly put forth, and so feebly felt.

The Bible, however, removes the veil from futurity, and bids us behold the resting-places of the saints, and the abodes of the lost. It clears up all mysteries, and harmonizes all the apparent discrepancies in the present state of things. Specially was it reserved for our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ to bring "life and immortality to light through the gospel." He rehearsed, when on earth, a part of that language which he himself will utter when the drama of time is finished, and its scenes brought to an eternal close. "Come, ye blessed of my Father,

inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." "Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels." When his mission on earth was nearly completed, and he was about to leave his disciples, he gave them the kind assurance, "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so I would have told you. I go to prépare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." My brethren, how dear to our hearts are these glorious truths! How dear to us then should be the volume of inspiration whence they are derived! How adored and glorified by us should be that Being who hath placed this treasure in our hands!

II. The character of him who can adopt the language of

the text.

1. The infidel has neither " part nor lot in this matter." Over the grave all is darkness to him, as thick as that which covered the ancient heathen; as appalling as that which now hangs over the plains and vales of paganism. Why should it be otherwise? He has discarded revelation, and shut out the only light which can break in upon the darkness of his soul. Look at France while infidelity was in the ascendency in that fair land! Pass by its crowded grave-yards, and in its cheerless inscription, "Death is an eternal sleep," read the creed of infidels! And yet behold these same men holding on to life with an eagerness more than proportioned to the innumerable dangers which surrounded them; clinging to earth, when it was dyed with the blood and whitened with the bones of their murdered friends; running to the poor fountains of earthly happiness, when they knew them to be poisoned by hatred, and saw them turbid with blood: yea, carrying with them in every step of their wanderings a mountain

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load of suffering and wretchedness. Why not exchange all this turmoil, and suffering, and wo, for an "eternal sleep"-" secure from wordly chances and mishaps"-but for the "dread of something after death?"

"To sleep! perchance to dream,-ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause." :

Cheerless indeed would be even the doctrine of an eternal sleep; but even this infidels cannot embrace, else would they court it. In the language of one of them, "Death is a leap in the dark,” learn their fearful belief. Well might Rousseau, on the evening of his death, ask to be seated by his window that he might gaze upon the glories of the setting sun. The darkness of death was gathering in around him, and, unattended, he was to pass through its gloomy valley. That light once gone down, none other would dawn upon him! O infidelity; cruel, relentless monster! instead of smoothing thy votary's passage to the tomb, thou hast added new terrors to the "king of terrors!"

2. The nominal Christian cannot enjoy the assurance of the apostle. He may use these words as expressive of an abstract truth, but he cannot feel that heaven is secure to him. Are there no conditions of admittance into that "house not made with hands?" The Bible answers by saying, "If any man will be my disciple, let him deny. himself, and take up his cross, and follow me." It enjoins holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord." Have I complied with these conditions? Alas, a life of carnal ease, of following a sinful world, and of placing the best affections of the heart upon its worthless, sinful objects, leaves no room for hope, but boundless cause for fear. Conscience asks imperatively the all-deciding question, Am I holy? and thunders back the accusing answer, No! Ask the man who fully believes in the necessity of