to be unhappy, who sits down only to enjoy; and still further has he provided, that we shall find our highest satisfactions, only when we most completely forget ourselves in the pursuit. The man, who has been living only for himself, wonders that he is not happy; while the blissful and beneficent God looks down, and compassionates the shortsighted selfishness of mortals.

If such then is the great law of nature, and of christianity, that no man liveth to himself, I call on you, whom God has distinguished with talents, whom he has prospered with good fortune, whom he has crowned with honours, whom he has elevated to stations of activity and trust,—I call on you for unrelaxed and generous exertions. The more extended is your influence, the more intimately do you depend upon others, and the more solemn are your obligations. The more various or exalted are your enjoyments, the more are your wants multiplied, and the demands of society increase in return. Have ye ever thought, ye rich and great, have ye ever

thought how brief is the whole life of man and how much shorter is the period of his activity? Have you ever subtracted the days of helpless infancy; the years of childhood, when you lived on the care of others; the period of youth, in which you did little for others, or yourselves; one third of life always sunk in sleep; as much more consumed in the indulgences of appetite; and an indefinite length lost in absolute inaction; and do you know what is left? A very few months or years, perhaps, in which you have lived for the highest purpose of your being.-And how long do

you think the period of vigour and exertion will last? Have

the future waste of

Have you calculated sickness, the palsying

influence of pain? Have you thought of the inroads of old age; the days when you will live only to burden, and not to benefit society? O you, who are now in the vigour of health and usefulness, consider, I beseech you, that, of threescore years and ten, you may not have ten, perhaps you may not have one more, to give to society and to God. And will this discharge your

incalculable obligations? One year, to gain a title to the blessing of future generations, and the glory of eternity!-If this is the treasury of human merits, then, indeed, pride was not made for man!

II. No MAN DIETH TO HIMSELF. This is a proposition, which most men hear with more surprise and reluctance than the former. They have accustomed themselves to look forward to death, only as the termination of life. They regard it simply as an event, which dissolves their connexion with the world; and which, as it closes forever the common inlets of suffering and enjoyment, effaces, at the same moment, their obligations and their powers. They flatter themselves, that they have nothing to do in that last and dreaded hour, but to compose their limbs for the moment of dissolution, and, with quiet insensibility, submit to be extinguished. But, I again repeat, not only is it appointed unto all men once to die; but, as the apostle says, no man dieth to himself.

1. Because, in the first place, of all the changes, to which our nature is subjected by the ordinance of God, this is that, which is least within our power. No man hath power over the spirit, to retain the spirit in the day of death. We have neither influence to retard, nor right to accelerate this consummation. It is an event, which the most sordid creature finds it impossible to convert to his purposes of selfinterest. Then, if ever, the commission, which God has granted us of life, is thrown up into his omnipotent hand. Then, if ever, we are not our own; but God remains the only, and uncontrouled sovereign of the human soul, and it is for him alone to say, that it shall live again. Every thing is annihilated, but the consciousness that we are God's, with whom rests the destination of the living principle. For when the frame of clay is falling, and our last connexions with the external world are in a moment to be rent asunder, with whom is man left, but with his God?

2. Again: no man dieth to himself, because most of the attachments, satisfactions, ob

ligations, habits, hopes, and fears, which have hitherto constituted that complex object, we call ourself, are dissevered by this last and greatest transition, and, if we should continue to exist, we can hardly be said to live for the same self, to which we have hitherto been attached. The act of expiring seems to leave the soul nothing of all, which before engrossed it, but its moral bias, and its God. Our habitual anxieties for health and support, our concern for those who remain last and nearest to us, our favourite pursuits and daily duties, our apprehensions and expectations. from the world, and all the petty passions and prejudices, which have so long interested and agitated the mortal dwelling in flesh, are on the point of vanishing, like the spectres and visions of a midnight dream, and man wakes a new creature, in the morning of an unknown region, and an eternal day. As that last crisis approaches, the care of the surrounding attendants diminishes; the anxious expression of the observers grows less distinct; the half-audible lamentations of our friends