us who have taken those solemn vows upon us, which will never be cancelled while eternity rolls on, ever reflect on the important responsibility which rests with us as to the proper improvement of the Sabbath? Do we, dear friends, sufficiently value and improve its privileges? We need not draw a comparison between our own condition, and that of the teeming myriads of our fellow-creatures to whom this hallowed day brings no enjoyment, who have never bowed the knee to any shrine but one of wood and stone, to convince us of the happiness of our condition. O no! our own hearts tell us too plainly that our lot is a happy one; and that among the many privileges we enjoy, "the day of rest" is one of no slight, no unimportant character. None of us are permitted to unveil the future, to discover how long we shall continue on this stage of being, how many more Sabbaths we shall spend on earth. Though some of us may be in the spring time of life, and though the bloom of health may now mantle on our cheeks, we possess no security against the encroachments of the king of terrors. Would we meet the hour of dissolution with tranquillity, at whatever period it may arrive? O then we must improve our Sabbaths aright. Would we spend a never-ending Sabbath in the presence, and under the smiles of our dear Redeemer? O then let us be increasingly anxious to spend our earthly Sabbaths in that manner as will best fit us for the society of heaven. Some of us may perhaps have to spend weeks, months, or even years, on beds of languishing, ere we shall be called to our final home; and under such circumstances would not all of us desire to look back with pleasure on the improvement we made of Sabbaths gone by, when we used to repair to the house of our God, and when our voices were accustomed to unite with our christian friends in ascriptions of adoration, gratitude, and praise? O, yes! and while reflecting on the many thousands who were permitted to bend their willing feet to the house of prayer, while we were confined to the chambers of affliction, do not each one of us desire, that the deep-toned piety and resignation breathed in the following deeply affecting lines of Mrs. Hemans', should be our own. "I may not tread With them those pathways,-to the feverish bed It may be, dear friends; it was the experience of one who was tossed on a sea of troubles, whose highly gifted and sensitive mind was made the subject of no ordinary measure of human suffering, and whose experience plainly demonstrates that the possession of neither reputation nor genius can afford any safeguard from the "thousand nameless ills" of mortality. O may the flame of sacred piety which burned so brightly in her bosom when racked with suffering and pain, support each one of us should we be called to pass through the furnace of affliction; and may we, while still favoured with health and vigour, be more than ever concerned to improve all our privileges aright-to keep our lamps well supplied with oil, that when the bridegroom shall come, we may go out to meet him, and receive from him the welcome plaudit, 'Well done, good and faithful servants, ye have been faithful in a few things, I will make you rulers over many things, enter ye into the joy of your Lord." G. P. Derby. CONSOLATION FOR A FRIEND IN TROUBLE. To the Editor of the General Baptist Repository. [Mr. Editor,-The following letter, which has never been published, contains so many consoling truths so well expressed, and is, on the whole, so admirably calculated to comfort the feeble-minded and desponding, that I think it ought not any longer to be kept hidden in a corner. Perhaps you will give it a place in your valuable publication, that should any of your readers be on the verge of despair, they may rejoice for the consolation." I am yours, T. S. N.] ture. My dear brother, It is very distressing to know that your mind is so depressed; but it must be much more so to be in the state to which you are reduced. By such dispensations God is pleased to teach us how entirely our peace depends on his merciful care and benediction. It seems to me, however, that you injure yourself by whatever course of reasoning you have reduced the foundation of your hope to one or two passages of ScripTo me it appears, we depend not so much on passages of Scripture, as on persons. All nature, providence, and inspired revelation, unfold to us a merciful God, who in Christ is ever waiting to be gracious. Dr. Owen, in his exposition of Psalm cxxxix., has clearly shown, that our safety in the depths of sin and sorrow is found in this fact, that the author of our salvation is God, and not man. He provides redemption with divine munificence, constructs his promises with divine wisdom, fulfills them with divine faithfulness, and interprets them with divine tenderness, which is ever exercised in all our infirmities. He compassionates sinners not merely as a father, but as a divine father: he sees the secret wish of a returning prodigal before he has time to construct his prayer; and while he is yet covered with his ruin, meets him when yet a great way off. The cases which illustrate this feature in his love are very numerous; and that in the parable to which I have just alluded, serves as a mirror to reveal the heart of God, which delights in exercising mercy glorious as himself. It is in coming to him that we obtain peace. Every promise is a pledge, and every providence is a clue to the interpretation of his pledge. The sum of all his deeds will thus explain the method we should adopt in appreciating his truth. If at any time we see that sinners have obtained less than they expected from his mercy, then we might tremble at asking too much; but if we find that they have ever obtained more than they could ask or think, this very feature in his dispensations ought to reprove our doubts, and raise our expectations to the utmost limit of thought. Such a use of facts is, I think, most just both to him and to ourselves. To him, because the evil that appears around us only serves to show what this world would be if he were to withhold from it his fatherly care. Every misery which his creatures suffer, is to be traced to the violation of some of his moral or physical laws. Every thorn is the abortion of a flower, which has become an abortion by some deviation from those laws which guide the germ of a flower to perfection. Every disease is the result of some similar violation of the laws of life; and every agonizing remorse in an intelligent mind, proceeds from some sin that has been committed, or from some error that is still indulged. If our contempts of his law were left unrestrained, and the results of them unmitigated, every vestige of virtue and happiness would soon be destroyed from the face of the earth; all the evil, therefore, is only a tolerated exposure of our folly, while all the good-every flower that blossoms, every fruit that ripens, every perfect child that is born, and every moment of health and peace we enjoy on earth, with all the means of augmenting and securing them-all the good, I say, without any exception, is claimed in justice as a mass of evidence by which the nature of divine mercy is explained, and his willingness to administer it testified. I do not wish to look on the evil, therefore, as if I saw it not. From it I learn what I should be if infinite mercy were not constantly preventing the legitimate consequences of my own sin. Because the ulcer of my disease is no worse, I know that my physician has power over the malady; and because it is so malignant and deadly, I commit myself with more earnestness, and more unreservedly, to that treatment by which he is mercifully working a cure. By being unjust to him, you are moreover also unjust to yourself. By sticking a thorn in your eye when you enter the forest, you are rendered incompetent to admire its foliage, its flowers, and the symmetry of its ancient trees, and its beautiful prospects. If all the wilderness of this world were in a moment restored to the blessedness of its ancient paradise, this thorn in your eye would not suffer you to enjoy its scenes of felicity. How different it would be if you were quietly to take a flower in your hand and pass through the wilderness, delighting your senses with its fragrance and beauty; you might then enjoy whatever in this wilderness is given to be enjoyed, and though the path be sometimes strewed with thorns, the clear and unwounded vision of your faith would help you to perceive that it leads to a better inheritance. Bad as this world may be, evil is not our only portion yet, and blessed be God it need not be. The remembrance of the good we possess, and the still greater good we hope to gain, is often our best relief in sorrow. This remembrance of good is due to him who gives it, and it is due to ourselves, being necessary to its improvement. For every cripple in a city, there are multitudes of beautiful and majestic human beings, with whom it is our mercy to commune; and if at any time the body of an ill-formed dwarf should fall into my hands, I would place it with all due respect in my museum, that it might often recall to my mind the fact, that if all the bad passions of the human family were represented by bodily deformity scarcely a human being would exist on earth who would not be as deformed as hell. I write, my brother, as if I were combating my own adversaries, for these bad habits of thought have done me more harm than you think; but they ought to be irradicated. Let us begin at once to make much of our mercies, to number them with care, to retain a recollection of them, and not suffer them to go out of our thoughts till we have praised God for them as much as it is our duty to do; by this means we shall often become glad in spite of ourselves; and a glad heart does good like a medicine. You will excuse my freedom with you in remarking on the suggestions of your own note, since my only intention is to recall your thoughts to that eternal fountain of mercy which is opened to us through the Redeemer's death. O when shall we be as grateful for this love as we ought to be? When shall we have praised him for his mercy as it demands we should do? We need other powers of thought, of feeling, of experience, and of action, before this can be effected; and the theme will fill the ages of eternity. May we be permitted to share in its final fruition, and be daily preparing for its inheritance. Believe me, Yours with much affection, VOL. 3.-N. S. Ꮓ ***** SKETCH OF THIS WORLD AT THE MILLENIUM. From "Future Prospects of this World," by W. M'Combie. MAY we now be permitted to imagine, that our world has attained the height of its millenial glory: that it is (in our hemisphere) drawing to the close of a mild autumnal day: that one of those celestial beings who "fly swiftly" to execute the divine commands, in returning from the earth lingers in mid air to survey the varied scenery which slowly revolves beneath him. Encircled by the ocean, appear Albion and "Green Erin," side by side, united in the bonds of love, with their family of little isles around them, displaying the sublime and beautiful scenery of lofty mountains, covered with "shaggy wood," precipitous rocks, deep valleys, plains, and sloping hills, variegated with yellow corn, imbrowned pastures, and luxuriant green crops; shining lakes, and rivers winding their way to the ocean; scattered hamilets, towns, and cities; forests of masts in every port, and many a white sail on the surrounding sea. The slanting rays of the sun causing alternate brilliance and shade, lighting up the white cottages, and the walls of the houses on the city's western side. Companies of labourers hastening to their homes, glad that they are at the end of their six days' toil, (for we suppose it Saturday evening) and at the approach of the Sabbath of the Lord the season of spiritual exercise and enjoyment, the preparative for, and foretaste of heaven. The avenues to the city are crowded with people hastening out to enjoy the salubrious evening air. The Thames is a forest of masts, but no war-ship is there, and neither oaths nor obscenity is heard on deck; but the peaceful and pious sailors are retired to worship God, and from every vessel may be heard the song of praise, and the voice of supplication. Where once stood the low tavern, the brothel, and the gaminghouse, now stand the school, the college, and the church; and instead of the frequent proud emblazonry of "Licensed to retail spirits," is the unpretending intimation of comfortable accommodation for the way-faring man. But the scene before him is passing into the shade; tops of mountains and towers only catch the retiring radiance. 'Tis the hour of prayer; from every dwelling rises "the voice of psalms," of grateful thanksgiving, and humble supplication. The wide Atlantic now plays beneath him in silent ripple, its waves glancing in the level ray. The Canaries, the Azores, and the Cape de Verd isles lie in quiet beauty, secure amid the sea; but long after they have all retired beneath the shades of night, the lofty peak of Teneriffe glows with the splendour of the sun. Over the vast expanse of water many a ship is gliding pleasantly, and from the deck the evening hymn of praise is floating over the waves. The vast region of South America now rises on his view. Mighty rivers pouring their waters far into the midst of the ocean. Mountains, valleys, and wide plains, clad in the deep green beauty of Spring; and, out in the distant horizon, the stupendous Andes thrusting their heads above the clouds. The land where the Spaniards once spread death and desolation, is now peaceful and secure; the light and freedom of the religion of Christ, have displaced the crucifix and the sword. Northward appear the West Indies; but no son of Africa now writhes beneath the lacerating whip. None now forbids the Negro to bow his knee, and raise his heart to God. Groups of people, of all colours, sit under the plaintain trees, listening to one who reads; or feeling the joy and gratitude of their present state enhanced by reverting to the unhappy condition of their sires. The northern branch of the New World is now full in his view. The vast and fertile valley of the Mississipi, where once met the extremes of liberty and bondage; where the planter, while with one hand he brandished the sword of defiance against his paternal government, riveted with the other the manacles of the slave! The states of New England, the retreat of the exiled puritans, who brought thither that spirit of freedom, civil and sacred, which now encircles the globe. The Apalachian mountains, covered with such forests as once overspread the plains around them. The isthmus of Darien, the land of gold, source of the ignominy and poverty of Spain. The white cherishes no cruel antipathy towards the black; the Spaniard and the native "love as brethren;" the tomahawk is buried, and the Indian scalps his enemy no more, for he has now no enemy to scalp. The vast Pacific now emerges into view, spotted with green isles, once the abodes of revengeful and libidinous savages, sunk as low as humanity could sink; but now densely peopled with pure and quiet inhabitants, the ships of every region trading in their ports, and the white sail of their own canoes moving like swans upon the sea. The eastern coast of China now appears-China, the region of mysterious secrecy, which so long remained spell-bound in the pride of its own fancied superiority, disdaining intercourse with the western nations, and jealously prohibiting the exploration and benevolent visits of their inhabitants; whose monarch, in the plenitude of his condescension, gave permission to all others to reign. China is now open and free; her daughters are at liberty; her wall is broken down, and her celestial emperor dethroned. Instead of the temples of Fo, are now raised temples for the service of "the living God," into which the people are now thronging, for it is the evening of the sacred day. India next rises before him in luxuriant verdure. The Ganges rolls on as majestically as ever, but no expiring devotee now washes away his sins in its sacred waters, for its waters are not sacred now. The bereaved widow is calm and resigned. "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." The bands of caste are broken; the brahmin has become the minister of Christ; and where the bones of the prostrate victim once crashed beneath the heavy wheels of Juggernaut, now stands the temple of the true God, where is heard "the voice of joy and praise." Within lofty mountains covered with wood, Thibet appears to the northward-the Switzerland of Asia; but her Lama is not now her God. The Tartar has ceased to roam; and the once savage and inhospitable wilds of Siberia, now wave with yellow grain. Persia is now beneath him, with its lofty Ararat, on which the subsiding waters left the ark. Persia, once the seat of extended empire, but long subjected to the crescent, has now ranged herself under the cross. Follows Arabia, the land of spices and perfume, birth-place of Mohammed, and cradle of Islamism, from which the fierce and fanatical Saracens once burst like a tornado, carrying death and desolation over the fairest portions of the earth. The long trains of pilgrims that streamed from all quarters towards Mecca, have ceased; the black stone of the Kaaba is neglected; and the tomb of the prophet forsaken. Where once rose the war-shout of " Allah,” is now heard the song of "Glory to God and the Lamb!" Northward, appears Asia Minor, and the contiguous nations; there are Sinai and Lebanon, Jordan and Euphrates-classic mountains and streams of inspiration. Land where Eden bloomed in the brief morn of innocence ! |