The description before us appears to me to contain a beautiful intimation of the character of true religion, as opposed to superstition on the one hand, and infidelity on the other. In the first of these aspects we may suppose it particularly addressed to the Jews, who, notwithstanding all the instructions of Moses and the prophets, were unaccountably prone to the lowest and most contemptible superstitions. In the time of Elijah, in particular, there was a very general apostacy from the true religion; the altars of God were deserted for those of Baal. "I have been very jealous," says he, "for the Lord God of Hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy Prophets with the sword, and I, even I only am left."

Now, the rise of idolatry and superstition may very naturally be traced to that disposition, so deeply rooted in unenlightened minds, of supposing every part of nature to be endowed with sentiment and passion; and, as the unity and connection which run through the whole scheme are not so apparent as to draw the attention of a barbarian, he will commonly be induced to regard every detached appearance as the indication of a separate being, which, according to the character of his own mind, he will invest with gloomy or with cheerful attributes. It is likewise a feature in human nature to be inattentive to what is common, however great and stupendous it may be in reality, and to bestow admiration only on what is new and surprising. The feeling of dread and apprehension too, excited by unexpected exertions of terrible power, operates on the mind of uninstructed man far more powerfully than that of gratitude for familiar and accustomed bounty; and he is

more disposed to tremble before the destructive energies of nature, than to confide in the harmony and mildness of its ordinary administration.

From these observations, however briefly stated, a reflecting mind will easily be enabled to discover in what manner a plurality of gods is so common a tenet in the superstition of barbarous nations; why the Deity is rather supposed to be traced in the irregular convulsions of nature than in its steady uniformity; and in what way the mind is more inclined to fix on the gloomy and horrible, than on the amiable and conciliating views of religion. The force of these remarks cannot be more comprehensively expressed than in the imagery of the passage we are considering. The mind of untutored man looks for its gods in the great and strong wind, in the earthquake, and in the fire; while it is deaf to the still small voice which speaks from all the corners of creation. The lesson conveyed to the Jews in this description was therefore of the most striking kind. God, they were told, was not in the wind, in the earthquake, or in the fire. sions of nature, however stupendous, were not to be regarded as manifestations of Deity; still less, therefore, could they conceive him included in any limited bodily form. Traces of him they might find everywhere; but he himself was nowhere to be seen. Behold,"

These convul

says Job, "I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand where he doth work, but I cannot behold him he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him.”—They were, in fact, told, that it is superstition alone which seeks to embody the Deity, and to fix him in any

particular department of his works, or supposes that he is chiefly to be found in the midst of noise and fury and desolation; and that it is true religion and philosophy which traces through all the mechanism of nature, and in all the course of events, silent marks of the Divine hand; which, without pretending to find himself, bends before the footsteps of Deity, and listens with sacred composure to the still small voice that speaks from the harmony and order of the universe.

So far, then, the description before us may be supposed to reprove idolatry and every form of superstition, and, in this light, to have been admirably calculated for the instruction of that people to whom it was originally addressed. But it may convey a wider lesson, and one more adapted to a philosophical and inquisitive age. Men are not now much disposed to see God in the wind, in the earthquake, or in the fire. The bent of the present times is not to superstition. Inquiries are made, and made with admirable success, into the natural causes of things; and many appearances which, to the mind of a savage, might seem completely miraculous, are discovered to follow from the common laws of nature. The The proper tendency of such inquiries is to throw light upon the plan of the universe; to discover, the farther they are conducted, more traces of wisdom and benevolence in nature, and to confirm the proofs of religion. But on some minds they have a different effect; and, resting in second causes, some men seem to overlook the existence of the Supreme Cause of all. Not finding him in the wind, in the earthquake, or in the fire, such inquirers are sometimes led to conclude, that God is not anywhere to be discovered in nature; and thus philosophers have

not unfrequently run into almost the same delusion with that which misleads the meanest and least instructed barbarian.

The errors of both proceed on the same gross and vul. gar conceptions of religion; on the supposition that God, if anywhere, is, in a manner, to be seen or touched. The only difference is, that the savage fancies he sees him, while the atheist is blind. In opposition to both these delusions, the words of the text point out beautifully the nature of the proofs for religion. "After the fire, a still small voice." The general sentiment is, that God does not obtrude himself on our notice. "No man has seen God at any time." Even the proofs for his existence and attributes, however irresistible when attended to, are not of such a nature as to force themselves on the careless and unthinking. There is a voice, indeed, and a voice which may at all times be heard. "Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge: there is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard." Yet it is "a still small voice." In fact, too, though this has not been sufficiently noticed, it is always heard, but men do not always attend to its import. There is not a man in existence who does not constantly perceive, and invariably act upon the supposition that nature is an established system or plan; but few men consider as they ought, and some appear to forget entirely, that a plan, by the very force of the term, implies an author or designer. The very regularity of nature, the very constancy of its laws, makes us lose sight of Him who ordered and disposed it. The voice is so unvarying in its sound, that it scarcely affects the ear.

The lesson, then, my brethren, which we ought to receive from this fact is, that the proofs of religion are not hastily and presumptuously to be judged of. Wherever the voice seems to sound, wherever to the ear of reason and reflection a hint on this important subject is conveyed, let man listen with reverence, and be ready to receive instruction. Let him not vainly suppose that the voice has ceased to sound because he has ceased to hear it; that the language of nature does not convey the same import, although he has forgot the interpretation.

So much it may be sufficient to have said on religion in a speculative view; but mere speculative views of religion are of no importance unless they lead to practice. Religion, as it influences practice, has the same general character which we have attempted to explain: here, too, it is "a still small voice." It must contend with the internal convulsions in the mind of man, the fury of his passions, his worldly principles, and innumerable corruptions. It must oppose the seduction of present objects, and point to the riches of futurity. No wonder, then, my brethren, that it is so often either not heard at all, or heard only to be stifled and overpowered. Yet, whether we hear it or no, it still speaks, and will make itself be heard at one time or another. It will be heard in adversity or in death, if it is unattended to in the hours of prosperity, and in the gay presumption of life. Or even if we should succeed in drowning its voice entirely in this world, it will be heard to speak terrible things in the world which is

to come.

How important, then, is the endeavour to listen now to its gentle but solemn call; that call which invites us