and deadly slumber; that they might for some brief interval of excitement strengthen the things which remained, and then soon again leave the briefly replenished lamp to sink into the dull and dying flame; that they might, while the call of God was in their ears, remember their blessings both of providence and grace, and yet soon forget them as the idle wind which passeth by; that they might for one renovated effort hold fast their feeble hold

upon religion, and yet soon let go their grasp. But he tells them, that superadded to all, there must be a holy and genuine effort of repentance; that the concentrated energies of their hearts, newly awakened into life, must be engaged in this business, and that then, and not till then, would they watch with fidelity, strengthen the remains of religion with energy and power, remember with a bright and sanctified recollection the benefits and privileges vouchsafed, and hold fast with a tenacity to the religion which no grasp save the iron grasp of death could wrench from their possession.

These, brethren, form the subject matter of the counsel given to the members of the Church at Sardis. But this is followed by a threat of the most tremendous description, in case the counsel should be disregarded. "If therefore thou shalt not watch, I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee." These figurative terms are of the most easy apprehension; they imply that those who should despise the exhortation of God would be visited with some terrible and unexpected destruction. The exhortation was despised, and the threat was literally executed. It is impossible for me to describe, and it is impossible

for you adequately to conceive the dismay and terror which came on this city and Church of Sardis, in consequence of disobedience. You may exert all the energies of an imagination raised to its highest pitch of excitation, and picture to yourself all the horrors which you suppose would attend the irruption of a barbarous enemy, but it all would fall short of the dread reality. I have no doubt that you have read the description given of the terrific calamities of the ill-fated Scio, when its Turkish oppressors broke in like a flood, sparing neither age nor sex, lisping childhood or hoary-headed age, virgin or matron. Such was the fate of Sardis. Like a thief in the night it came, and Sardis, the once opulent capital of the mighty Croesus, the once splendid residence of the Satraps of Asia, the once flourishing city and Church of Christianity, now almost defeats the search of the passing traveller, who looks over desolated plains for something which may bear at least a melancholy vestige of its former greatness, but looks in vain. In the neighbourhood are a few miserable huts, with two or three individuals who pass by the name of Christians, though with not one of the distinguishing features of the Christian profession. Reduced to a most melancholy condition of desolation, Sardis now stands, a monument of the wrath of God against a Church whose religion sunk into formality, and which refused to hear the exhortation calling to repentance.

Thus much, my brethren, as the subject has connected itself more particularly with the condition of the Church at Sardis. Would to God that in the lapse of ages since Sardis fell, there had been none to follow the example of her crime. But alas, the

eye which now painfully rests upon the past, has in this respect little to relieve it when it would seek to contemplate the present; and from the portion of my subject which has been brought before your attention at this time, I shall seek to draw some practical reflections which will bear on our condition and our prospects.

First then, brethren, I ask you to enter on a present deep examination of your hearts, and my anxiety is that the examination may be confined to the all-important topics of personal, experimental religion. In what condition is religion in your own hearts? Were I to describe the religion of many, fidelity to you, and fidelity to God would compel me to say, "they have a name to live, but are dead." This subject formed the fruitful theme of much of my last discourse. I may not at present enter on the repetition. I come to-day to ask some questions of a different import, and to describe the religion of many under a different aspect; and the subject of necessity confines my attention more to those who have reason to believe that their profession of religion is something better than formality. Let it be granted that there are those who are not deceiving themselves with a name to live, while they are dead; let it be granted that there are those who can believe that they have been truly converted unto God, and are building their hopes only on the Lord Jesus Christ; let it be granted that they do exercise love to God; then let me ask you, my friends, who believe yourselves in this condition, how wears religion in your bosoms? Is it in bright and lively, and animating exercise, or is it low and languishing-not yet dead, but dying? There is many an

one, believe me, whose religion, though real as to its principle, is pale and sickly in its operation. It has none of the energy, none of the life of godliness; it is cold and dull; it is content with present attainments; it is not pressing towards the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Does the religion you possess, my brethren, feel little of warmth in its love towards God? Does it lead you to but little activity in its exhibition of love towards men? Is there coldness in your repentance, weakness in your faith, uncertainty in your hope, cherished defectiveness in your obedience, dullness in your private, remissness in your social, and little profit and little pleasure in your public devotions? Be persuaded, be persuaded, I beseech you, to look about you; your situation is one of peril; the little religion you possess is dying. Of all that you have had, or of all that you should have, there is but a remnant that is left, and that remnant may be in the last stage of its existence; like an individual whose fleeting breath is passing away, and whose strength is continually decaying. there are any whose personal religion is in this languishing, this decaying, this dying state, let the voice of Him who spake to the Church at Sardis be heard, and heard in terms which will take no denial and tolerate no neglect or indecision. "Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die." Be watchful; your present condition is decidedly in consequence of your failure in the vigilance required. You have suffered yourselves to slumber and sleep while the enemy of your salvation has made his insidious approaches. Can you doubt his vigilance? You have not

If

watched against the world, but have permitted it to gain an undue ascendency over your affections; you have not as yet crucified the flesh. Wake up into life and activity the most intense and persevering; be up and doing the work which most concerns you, the work of your individual, personal salvation, and preparation for eternity. Remain no longer in the dull and languishing condition in which you have suffered yourselves to fall. "Strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die." Replenish the fading lamp with fresh oil. If you have have any faith, let it lead you to the most unreserved and unhesitating devotedness of yourselves to God. Hold fast to the attainments you have made, and as you love your salvation, let there be no further declension. The word of God to you is onward. Grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

But, brethren, if your personal religion is, or has been, in this languishing and decaying condition, then rest not even here, for your past neglects call for a deep and pungent sorrow that you have thus permitted yourself to fail in your high and holy obligations. Repent; let no partial, no half-way, no momentarily excited resolutions be made; let deepfelt penitence mourn over the defections of the past, and let the throne of grace be beset with importunities that a fresh and vigorous effort may be begun; an effort which shall never again be relaxed, but distinguished by a renovated zeal, a firmness of purpose, a consistency of determination, a tenacity of hold, which, under grace, shall cut off from the enemy the very possibility of victory.

I know, my friends, that to those who have suffer