exist, and will exist in the perception, feeling, thought -of the glorious mind.

Indeed, it is the soul alone that gives any value to the things of this world; and it is only by raising the soul to its just elevation above all other things, that we can look rightly upon the purposes of this life. This, to my apprehension, is not only a most important, but a most practical view of the subject.

I have heard men say that they could not look upon this life as a blessing. I have heard it more than insinuated, I have known it to be actually implied in solemn prayers to God, that it is a happiness to die in infancy. And nothing, you are aware, is more common than to hear it said, that youth, unreflecting youth, is the happy season of life; and when, by reason of sickness or the infirmities of age, men outlive their activity and their sensitive happiness, nothing is more common than to look upon the continuance of life, in these circumstances, as a misfortune.

Now I do not wonder at these views so long as men are as worldly as they usually are. I wonder that they do not prevail more. "Oh! patient and peaceable men that ye are!" I have been ready to say to the mere men of this world-"peaceable men and patient! what is it that bears you up? What is it but a blind and instinctive love of life, that can make you content to live?" But let the soul have its proper ascendancy in our judgments, and the burthen is relieved. Life is then the education of the soul, the discipline of conscience, virtue, piety. All things, then, are subordinate to this sublime purpose. Life is then one scene of growing knowledge, improvement, devotion, joy and triumph. In this view, and in this view only, it is an unspeakable blessing; and those who have not yet taken this view,

who have not given the soul its just pre-eminence, who have not yet become spiritually-minded, are not yet prepared to live. It is not enough to say, as is commonly said, that they are not prepared to die; they are not prepared to live.

I would not address this matter, my friends, merely to your religious sensibility; I would address it to your common sense. It is a most serious and practical matter. There are many things in this world, as I have more than once said, which are called interests. But he who has not regarded his soul as he ought, who has gained no deep sense of things that are spiritual, has neglected the main interest, the chief use of this life, the grand preparation for living calmly, wisely, and happily. It is a thousand times more serious for him, than if he had been negligent about property, about honour, or about worldly connections and friendships.

With this reasonable subjection of the body to the soul, with this supreme regard to the soul as the guiding light of life, every man would feel that this life is a blessing; and that the continuance of it is a blessing. He would be thankful for its continuance with a fervour which no mere love of life could inspire; for life to him, and every day of it, would be a glorious progress, in things infinitely more precious than life. He would not think the days of unreflecting youth the happiest days. He would not think that the continuance of his being upon earth, even beyond active usefulness to others, was a misfortune or a mystery. He would not be saying, "Why is my life lengthened out?" He would feel that every new day of life spread before him glorious opportunities to be improved, glorious objects to be gained. He would not sink down in miserable ennui or despondency. He would not faint or despair, or be overwhelmed with doubt, amidst difficul

ties and afflictions. He would feel that the course of his life, even though it pass on through clouds and storms, is glorious as the path of the sun.

Thus have I endeavoured to show that the care of the soul is the most essential of all human interests. Let no worldly man think himself wise. He might be a wise animal; but he is not a wise man. Nay I cannot admit even that. For, being what he is--animal or man, call him what you will-it is as truly essential that he should work out the salvation of his soul, as it is that he should work with his hands for his daily bread. How reasonable, then, is our Saviour's exhortation, when he says, "Labour, therefore, not for the meat which perisheth but for that which endureth unto everlasting life."

II.

ON RELIGIOUS SENSIBILITY.*

AND I WILL GIVE YOU A HEART OF FLESH.-Ezekiel, xxxvi. 26.

THE subject to which I wish to invite your thoughts in this discourse, is that religious sensibility, that spiritual fervour, in other words, that "heart of flesh," which is spoken of in the text.

To a sincere, and at the same time, rational cultivator of his religious affections, it seems, at first view, a thing almost unaccountable, that Christians, apparently serious and faithful, should everywhere be found complaining of the want of religious feeling; that the grand, universal, standing complaint of almost the entire body of Christians, should be a complaint of dullness. To one who has studied the principles of his own nature, or observed its tendencies-who knows that, as visible beauty is made to delight the eye, so moral beauty is made to delight the mind; it seems a tremendous moral solecism, that all the affections of this nature and mind, should become cold and dead, the moment they are directed to the Infinite Beauty and Glory. It will not solve the problem to say that human nature is depraved. If, indeed, the depravity of men were such, that all enthusiasm for excellence had died out in the world, the general reason assign

* The substance of the two following discourses was addressed to the graduating class, in the Theological Department of Harvard University, in 1834. This circumstance will account for the form that is given to some of the topics and illustrations.

ed might satisfy us. But what is the fact? What is the beauty of nature, but a beauty clothed with moral associations? What is the highest beauty of literature, poetry, fiction, and the fine arts, but a moral beauty which genius has bodied forth for the admiration of the world? And what are those qualities of the human character which are treasured up in the memory and heart of nations, the objects of universal reverence and exultation, the themes of celebration, of eloquence and of festal song, the enshrined idols of human admiration and love? Are they not patriotism, heroism, philanthropy, disinterestedness, magnanimity, martrydom?

And yet the Being, from whom all earthly beauty and human excellence are emanations, and of whom they are faint resemblances, is the very Being whom men tell us that they cannot heartily and constantly love and the subject which is held most especially to connect us with that Being, is the very subject in which men tell us they cannot be heartily interested. No observing pastor of a religious congregation who has been favoured with the intimacy of one mind awaking to this subject, can fail to know that this is the grand complaint. The difficulty about feeling, is the first greatly difficulty; and it is one which presses upon every after step of the religious course. Few arrive at that point where they can say with the apostle, "I know in whom I have believed." The common language and tone in which even religious confidence is expressed, do not go beyond such distrustful and desponding words as these; "I hope that I love God; I hope I have an interest in religion;" alas! how different from the manner in which friendship, love, domestic affection, breathe themselves into the ear, and thrill through the heart of the world!