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defer seeking that which is precious, would propose to his own mind what in reality he does say, not what, to satisfy appearances, he seems to say. What is the meaning of a man's saying that he will give to-morrow to God? Is it promising to-morrow, or to refuse to-day? To-morrow is not yours; you have no assurance that it will be bestowed upon you, no promise. "Night certifieth night, and day certifieth day," in the world around: but there is no promise that the living to-day, that man's drawing the breath of life to-day, shall ensure his breathing that same breath to-morrow: that he who is a pensioner upon the bounty of an hour, a precarious dependant upon Him who giveth every moment, has any certain promise of the next. Just judge, each of you, what is in reality the appearance of the meaning of that conditional and postponed promise; and say whether it is not the truth, that if you say in your heart, "I will to-morrow address myself to God," you are not, in truth, saying this, and this only-" I will not to-day address myself to God?" It is not giving a promise, but a denial.

Let me put to you, what you yourselves would be disposed to judge-put to you a case, and say, how would you be disposed to judge in a matter of far less moment. Suppose a man came to offer himself to be engaged in your service, and that he made his proposals thus: " I wish you to hire me as your servant: I wish you to bestow upon me food, and raiment, and shelter, and protection: and I in return give you a promise, that at some future period, when it shall be less painful to me than it is now, I will in return for these services that you bestow upon me, render to you such services as I am capable of performing. It is not that I now find my interest separated from your service; it is not that I have more real enjoyment in the courses in which I am engaged than I would in performing duty to you: it is not that these courses conduce more to my worldly interest; but yet I have some entanglement from which I am not willing at this moment to be loosed; some occupation in which it is pleasing to me sometime longer to continue. And therefore if you will take me nominally into your service, and give me all the benefits of service-I will, not now, but at some future period (I cannot exactly specify the time or the hour)-I will give myself in return to your service." Now what would you think of an engagement of this nature? Would you think it was the engagement of a rational man? Would you not think it was the engagement of one who was mad enough to think he could impose upon you, or that you were so insane that he could impose upon you, and now desired to impose upon you? And will you live day after day in the habit of making to Him upon whom you are dependent for the life you breathe-will you live day after day in the habit of making to Him such professions as would cause you to dismiss from your sight and presence any servant on earth who should presume to address them to you?

Am I not, then, justified in saying, that he who promises that he will at some future period turn himself to holiness, is not promising that he will at some period turn, but is simply denying that he will at the present time? And observe the danger: it keeps up a false and perilous complacency in the soul: it deludes you into the notion that you can at some future period turn yourself; and it leaves your life, meantime, under the influence of sin, which is weaving

its chains more closely, and wasting the strength of your heart, and causing you-while you promise at some future period you will awaken to a hope of glory-causing you to live in a state in which, if the doctrine of a future world present itself to your mind, it should be a terror, not a hope. What is it that causes you to be indifferent to this great influence upon yourselves? Examine for yourselves; and, before the world has been stripped of its delusions by an unconquerable hand, unveil it for yourselves, and compare its promises and possessions with the promises of immortality. Are the promises of this world and its possessions so great, as that you should give yourselves up altogether? Is the hope of future blessedness so poor a thing, as to be wisely relinquished for the transient felicities of earth? Are the objects of human avarice and ambition so mighty-are the appetites within the heart of man so resistless, as to justify even to ourselves, the being called off by them from that momentous question" What shall I do to be saved?" He does not think so to whom the hour has come; to whom the question is to be, not "What shall I do?" but "What have I done?" Wherein have I trusted that I may have hope? He does not think so to whom the hour has come when death presents itself, either as a beneficent angel, who veils under the solemnity of a strong regard the intimation of approaching joy, or as a tormentor, who desires the despairing victim to read the anticipation of the world to come in the wickedness of the life that has been passed.

Shall we, then, to many of whom this hour may be at hand, continue to comport ourselves as though it were never to come? And shall our conversation be so wholly in this world, that death, whenever it comes, shall surprise us in the midst of our complex machinations? And this, what is it? Will you say that the influence of the world is such that it interposes between you and God; that the petty objects of this life are so engrossing, as that they do not allow you to think of Him, in whose presence this whole world is as a small grain of dust in the balance, yea, as a drop of the morning dew that falleth down upon the earth? Why is it that this world has the power to eclipse the light of divine truth? It is because you do not look upon it with a mind which the Gospel has enlightened; and that you do not read the character of the world with a mind which the Gospel has instructed to read it. If you did so, you would find that God has traced upon this world itself, in characters which cannot be misunderstood, warnings not to bind yourselves in implicit confidence to it. Do you not see that the heavenly bodies increase and decay? Do you not see that the seasons swell into the ripe summer bloom, and sink again into winter's desolation? Do you not see those insects, whose rejoicing is so thick over the air, at one time swarming with them, at another time all quiet, and calm, and desolate? And shall these things be written night and day-might I not say, too, when I speak of night and day, that sleep convinces you? Could not He who made us, make us so that we should not require the indulgence or the refreshment of sleep? Could He not thus, if it so pleased him, lengthen our time, prolong our existence, by taking out of oblivion the hours now given to it, and leave us still fresh, without so humiliating a means of repairing strength? But it is useful, greatly useful. Every night that we lie down to rest we should remember, that we give ourselves up for a time into

a state, in which, if it pleased God to call us away, we could not lift a voice to pray for mercy. Thus day and night all warn us of the time when we must lie down in the dust.

To what purpose, my brethren, is this given, if these warnings cry to us as we hear distant music, without knowing the intelligent words that accompany it-if we hear it as the followers of our Lord heard his parables, when they received the words and "understood not" the signification? Shall we be indifferent, when God makes that world from which our dangers are to come thus sensibly to preach unto us? Shall we see, without turning to our edification, the still more solemn and affectionate appeals, under which our hearts are often saddened, though our lives are not changed; the strong man suddenly bowed down; the enterprising called off from his complex machinations; and the pride of the young heart falls in the bloom of youthful hope, withered by the breath of the angel of death!

O brethren, let not these warnings be in vain; but let them keep up in our minds the thought of that solemn hour, which will cause all the hopes of this world to be eclipsed and lose its enchantments; and will make us seek, more and more earnestly, that hope, which can render life pure, and death tranquil. Without that hope, when the final hour approaches, when friendship can no longer soothe us, and vanity can no more be flattered, and the world will not continue its delusions, what is the hope, what is the state of the afflicted and dying man-one who looks back upon a misspent life, and deploringly acknowledges before God, that there is not one good deed to which he can cling, for that all is marked by disobedience towards God, and black ingratitude towards his Redeemer? That is the hour when no chequered deeds of mingling good and evil can satisfy the awakened spirit: that is the hour when all human dependance melts away, and nothing endureth but the faith which has been builded upon the Rock of Ages; the hope which relies not upon the merits of man, but upon the mercies of the Saviour.

But to him whose life has been familiar with this purifying hope, the hour of death is not an hour of bitterness. Many a time have surviving friends been assured of the witness of its presence, and have seen the departing Christian go to his repose with exultation-go as one departeth, when the voice of his blessed Lord calleth him. O what death is this! In that fearful hour, when life is mingling with eternity, and in the dread commotion mortal hearts are sinking; when the whole head is sick, and the heart faint, and life is rushing into eternity-think what a consolation it is, to be sustained by that sure and steadfast anchor which is cast within the veil: to hear, through the terrors of the storm, the voice of the Redeemer, "Be not afraid; be of good cheer; it is I:" to know that he is not to go alone in his own insufficiency, before a God whom he has offended; but that the Saviour, whom he has confessed in life, will confess him before his Father, who is in heaven, and be his Mediator at the judgment-seat.

May God, in his great mercy, grant that this shall be our portion, that we shall feel our trust in Christ's mercy, in that hour when all other trust is found vain; and when we have entered into that region, where flesh and blood enter not, may our hopes be found certain, and may we hear the good

assurance given, that our warfare is accomplished, and that our iniquity is pardoned.

I will not longer detain you. You will have to go and perform that work by which the ministration of the church is kept up, and by which the Gospel is to be preached to the poor. I shall simply say to you, that as you love the Gospel, you will be glad to distribute of your abundance for its support.

THE ANALOGY BETWEEN THE WORKS OF NATURE AND THE WORKS OF GRACE.

REV. W. JAY,

GREAT QUEEN STREET CHAPEL, MAY 1, 1835 *.

"For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: so shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.-ISAIAH, lv. 10, 11.

Now, my brethren, the literal description which is contained in this passage, is again partly fulfilled and partly fulfilling. The winter is past; the clouds pour down their treasures, and the grateful soil is teeming with the promises of loveliness and fertility; and every rural walk is beginning to remind us of the language of David's fine ode on the spring: "He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills. They give drink to every beast of the field the wild asses quench their thirst. By them shall the fowls of the heaven have their habitation, which sing among the branches. He watereth the hills from his chambers: the earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works. He causeth the grass to grow for the service of cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth; and wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart."

In this case two things should follow. First, we should adore that God who never leaves himself without a witness, in that he is continually doing us good, and sending us rains and fruitful seasons, and filling our hearts with food and gladness. For why are we thus indulged? Have we abandoned our sins as a people? Have we returned with weeping and supplication unto Him from whom we have so deeply revolted? Have we duly improved any of his former loving-kindnesses? Yea, have we not in numberless instances converted them into weapons of rebellion against our infinite Benefactor? "Not unto us, O Lord;"" It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed." And O that his goodness may lead us to repentance, and that while again "the earth shall yield her increase, God, even our own God shall bless us."

And the second is, to derive religious instruction from it. There are very few persons who are really lovers of nature. The greater part of mankind are carried away by something artificial, and they are much more struck with the works of man than the works of God. But as Cowper says, "God made the country, and man made the town." The excellent Mr. Dodd, when pressed by his Anniversary Sermon for the Wesleyan Missionary Society.

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