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THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.
Vol. XXXII.—No 26.
®riflinal Ijoetrg.
Nepenthe.
In the darkness, when the glimmer
Os the least of stars is gone,
Light, all light may gently linger,
Round the life that seems undone.
In the hour when friends are failing,
And we grope in paths forlorn,
One, whose lore is all-abiding,
Claims the weary ones His own.
When the way is all beclouded,
And we know not how to go,
Howaoe’er in gloom enshrouded,
He will lead us evermore.
When the mortal may be blaming.
Judging the unwary deed,
God in pity may be soothing.
Knowing how the heart doth bleed.
And when life’s bright hopes are broken,
Like some wrecked barque on the sea,
Cometh then the blessed token :
“Child thy God remembers Thee.”
Then—sinee all things well Thou doest,
Yield I ail my days to Theq». , .».. -
ToFTT now "whatever" Ttiou sende9t,
Still, Thou art most kind to me.
Stillwood Angela.
Contributions.
The Preacher’s Obligation—No. 11.
BY H£V. W. F. EASTERLING.
Having, we think, placed the obligation
to <jo upon its right footing, let us notice
the object of the preacher’s going. “Preach
the gospel,” says Obrist. “Preach the
word,’’ says Paul. We consider the pre
sumption strong, that written sermons
either read or spoken from memory, do not
fulfil the obligation enjoined by the com
mand of the Saviour to preach. However
this may be, it seems at least strange to us
that any man can look upon the results of
extemporaneous preaching in the days of
the Apostles, in the age of the Reforma
tion, during the revival of vital piety in the
English Church in the eighteenth century
and also during the great awakening in our
own country, and yet give himself up to
the habit of reciting or reading his ser
mons.
Results certainly ought to decide the
preacher. What is the object of his preach
ing ? To save souls. To do this he must
instruct, convince and rouse his hearers.
Is he as likely to accomplish these results
with his manuscript as he who addresses
his congregation with a warm, loving heart
that fires his intellect and gives flow and
Eoint and power to his utterance ? The
istory of all revivals teaches the contrary
The speaker must feel, or his hearers will
not feel. The memorized sermon grows
stale, before it is delivered, and as to the read
sermon its pointlessness is well nigh pro
verbial. The extemporaneous speaker has
this advantage, his head and heart arc both
free, and he consequently, will most proba
bly persuade and move his hearers. Who
ever thinks of a man’s writing the address
with which he expects to win a woman’s
heart, without laughing ? What client
would not feel that his interest had been
trilled with, should his attorney, in an im
portant cause go before the jury with a
written speech ? Rut it may be said, that
the effect of the sermon depends upon the
Spirit of God and not upon the preacher.
True, wc answer; yet, God works through
preaching, in accordance with the laws of
mind and feeling. If this be not so, the
fact is nevertheless patent, that He has
seen fit, for some reason or other, to work
more graoiously and effectively through
the extemporaneous than the manusoript
preacher. The sermon in manuscript, in
our opinion, bears almost the same relation
to preaching that hobbling on stilts docs to
walking. The effect, both upon the con
gregation and the preacher himself, of the
habit of reading sermons, is sueh that its
reprobation can hardly be too deoided and
earnest. The instances in which good
preachers have greatly impaired their use
fulness by this habit are not few. Let the
congregation know that their pastor is read
ing his sermon, aud we would suppose that
they wouid listen ancf feel as though he
had written a great many things, no matter
how important or pointed, about them , but
was not preaching to them. When this
becomes the habitual feeling of the hearer,
the main object of preaohing is, of course,
effectually defeated. We would not of
oourse, be understood as maintaining that
no results of good are to be expected from
the read sermon. God can bless and make
profitable the reading of a paragraph from
a book or newspaper; but in the very na
ture of thiugs results must be less decisive
than when the man of God, with excited
sympathy and yearning love, speaks forth
from his heart the message of salvation.
The one is stale water, the other, the stream
gushing fresh from the fountain. The read
sermon is life poorly represented ; the spo
ken is life itself, glowing with thought and
feeling, and speaking under divine influ
ence.
But, the ambassador for God, must de
liver his message. To preach the gospel is
simply and wholly his duty. To read a
well conceived and beautifully expressed
essay upon some Christian virtue or moral
obligation is but trifling with duty, and giv
ing the congregation a stone instead of
bread. To deliver an elaborate and well
finished lecture or address, in which many
good and beautiful things are said in gen
eral, and nothing said with aim and em
phasis and power—nothing directly, point
edly to the individual heart and conscience,
is but to sink the preacher into a mere per
former, to destroy the spirit of devotion,
and to send his starving people away unfed.
To preach such a sermon as that the
thouzhts of the hearer are divided between
religion and literature, science and kindred
themes, is a degradation, a desecration of
the sacred office, an offence against God
and an insult to every pious soul that lis
tens. “I don’t know how brother
can face that sermon in the judgment,”
said a pious woman, who had gone to church
to hear preaohing and returned disappoint
ed, having listened to a beautiful speech.
A discourse cannot have purely and entire
ly a religious effect unless it be wholly and
thoroughly religious. It must be the gospel
that is preached, and nothing but the gos
pel, if the design of God in giving the gos
pel be accomplished. As we have already
said, the design of preaching is to save
souls. It is the gospel of Christ—the pure
gospel, unmixed with any worldly thought
or theme that is the power of God unto sal
vation. If then God has adapted it to the
great purpose of saving souls, why should
we desire to connect anything else with it ?
Whence our authority ? “And I, brethren,
when I came unto you came not with exoel
lenoy of speech or of wisdom, deolaring
unto you the testimony of God.’’ “And
my speech and my preaching was not with
enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in
demonstration of the Spirit and of power
that your faith should not stand in the
wisdom of man, but in the power of God.”
What presumption to undertake to im
prove upon God’s plan of redeeming man !
What folly to attempt to make divine truth
more attractive by clothing it in gorgeous
apparel! What trifling for “a dying man
talking to dying men,’’ to parade mere hu
man knowledge and worldly wisdom before
Sanlbmt Christian JUtotaU.
them! We are in great danger at this
point. The preaober has authority to
preach the gospel and nothing else. His
oharaeter is sacred as an ambassador few
God, beseeching men in Christ’s stead ; and
his announcements of gospel truths are
heard with reverence; but when he preaches
philosophy, and evtnoes iu his discourse
great concern for his reputation or .attempts
to make a display of his attainments, he
stands upon a different platform, is regard
ed as an ordinary man in no solemn engage
ment, and listened to with a spirit of oriti
cism that feels no rebuke at the prompt re
jection of anything he may say. Bishop
MoTyeire once said that he had known con
gregations “preached to death with fine
preaching.’’ Nothing will more effectually
drive the Spirit from the preacher’s heart,
and fill him with pride than this fine
preaching. Nay, it is the evidence of pre
existing pride. It will also kill the spirit
of true devotion in the congregation. v The
services over, the people may retire to talk
of the great sermon, the learned and elo
quent orator, bat not to thank God for the
word of life and the good Christ's
An Enormous Robbery.
We sometimes observe, in secular news
papers, great, flaming posters, written in
large capitals, at the head of a thrilling oc
currence or even an advertisement, in order
to attract attention thereto. This is one of
too many instances wherein the children of
this world are wiser than the ohildren of
light. Occurrences, which are exceedingly
tame, in comparison to the great announce
ments of revelation, are paraded before the
people, and “noised abroad’’ with great
earnestness; yet the great truth—the tre
mendous truths—which relate to the eter
nal world are comparatively unknown.
There are experts who have resorted to the
most wincing and wily modes of attracting
one’s eye to their advertisements, and who,
knowing men’s love for originality, have
taxed their ingenuity to render them ori
ginal Confirmatory of this read any of
the daily newspapers. Since the world to
come, and the things which relate thereto,
are the only realities —since it is acknowl
edged by all of sane mind that “There's
nothing true but Heaven’’ —why, is it we
treat what we say is real, as imaginary ;
and what we say is imaginary, as real ? oh !
what a paradox !
Now, I wish to state a plain, unvarnished
truth about a thing which has been occurring
ever since the fall, which oceurs every day,
and, whioh by its constant occurrence, men
have deemed the less awful; but— they
are deceived—‘■'■blinded by the gad of this
world.'’ Perhaps —but it is a very diminu
tive “ perhaps ” —there are those in the
church, as well as elsewhere, who have not
heard of it before; very especially that class
who “throw in” some paltry fractions of a
dollar, with a sigh and distortion of coun
tenance, when a “collection” is made for
“the poor of the church,” or for the noble,
self-crucified man in China —Young J. Al
len. (The brother who gets offended is
guilty.) Now, here is our announcement:
AN ENORMOUS R011BERY! CIOD IS ROBBED
WITH THE MOST IMPIOUS DARING ! A
WHOLE NATION IS CURSED !
Now, we weed uot go iuto details. We
need simply to affirm that the awful crime
has been committed alike in the still, dead
hours of night, and at noonday. It is per
petrated, when we spend our time in vain,
which in some “season of refreshing,’’ we
consecrated to purposes of God’s glory;
when we refuse to give alms; when we go
to God’s house, “to sec and be seen,” in
stead of to worship; when we neglect op
portunities of doing good ; when we abuse
our talents; and when we withhold our
“tithes aud offerings ’’ But why multiply
these instances ?
Reader, go and examine the Bth and 9th
verses of the third chapter of Malachi, and
think with what sacrilege God was robbed
in the days when He propounded the ques
tion, “YVill a man rob God?” But in
‘‘that day’’ it will be more tolerable for the
robber of that period than for these of the
nineteenth century—these who have the
blessed gospel of Christ—these who are
hoarding up their filthy lucre, whiie the
Macedonian cry is unheeded, and while im
mortal souls are crowding the cheerless way
to death. Reader, have you robbed God?
Alas ! we all have. Now, let us have done
with the awful crime, for the booty we get
by such process will never do ant/ good.
There is no cave in the universe where we
can hide, it from God. Moreover, if we
persist in it, the spoils we get thereby, will
keep us out of heaven, and we can not take
them to hell O Holy Spirit, enable us to
render unto God the things that are God’s,
and to liy up our treasure in Heaven.
A Penitent Robber.
Oxford, Ga , June 1869.
Pulpit Profanity.
Are preachers ever profane ? Too often
we fear—not wilfully it is presumable, but
thoughtlessly it is certain ; for if the min
isters were to ponder and duly weigh the
divine injunction, “Thou shalt not take the
name of the Lord thy God, in vain; for
the Lord will not hold him guiltless that
taketh His name in vain ,” would we so
frequently hear him saying “God bless you
this,” and “God bless you that," when he
dees sot a ki«JL and
solemn benediction ; KJ, Sttflply throws in
this profane ejaculation to fill up, or give
vent to his excited feelings ? It is because
of the apparent thoughtlessness of salva
tion’s heralds, that I write this little article ;
not voluntarily, but by request; for it
seems that other ears besides mine tingle,
and gentle woman, too mild to protest or
remonstrate, too modest to spread her
thoughts on paper and send them to you,
is sensitive enough to feel that those err
here who should be qualified to teach her,
and jealous enough of her Maker’s claims
to shrink from the profanely careless itera
tion and reiteration of His name, His titles,
His attributes, even in the pulpit.
I would that I could address myself to
ministers exclusively and not canvas pub
licly what seems to have, in men of sacred
calling, the complexion of weakness and
error; but, alas! brethren, we, (for I, too,
am a miuister,) stand before the world
judged in advance of our perceptions, not
only in this, but in many other respects,
and the world decides, perhaps before we
think of it, that we are wanting in charity,
wanting in industry or wanting in venera
tion, and men, who are themselves openly
profane, are surprised to hear the name of
God vainly used in His, own sanctuary and
by His own servants, and to notice in the
man of God the same tendency to expletive
which induces them to interlard their con
versation with imprecation.
A short time since I attended a church
where a revival was drawing to a close
The preacher in charge seemed to be much
excited because there were some in the
congregation who could not be persuaded
to come to the altar, and, standing on a
bench, he vehemently urged them “in the
name of God, great God, good God, great
God Almighty,” to repent and come to the
altar. It is no hyperbole to say, that the
cold chills ran over me ; for I am persuad
ed that I have rarely, if ever, in a fish
market or a street fight, heard more pro
fanity compressed into twenty minutes;
and yet, we know that, much as these errors
shook the dispassionate and sensitive hear
erg they resolve themselves into simple want
of consideration and reverence.
Returning to that often used and ever
objectionable, “God bless you” when no
blessing is implored. I ones erred in this
particular, and was at onee eared of it,
with a single application, by that dear
friend, F. Milton Kennedy, of the 8. G.
Conference. “That bad Georgia habit,” he
called it, which I thought was a little bit
of South Carolina egotism. Bat never
mind, I only hope that the bad habit may
be restricted to Georgia, and in the Georgia
Conference and “locality,’’ as a friend of
mine calls the fifth-wheel of oar economy,
died and be buried
Brethren, kindly, let os amend in this
particular. The fervency and effectuality
of prayer do not, in any wise, depend upon
the changes we ring on the name of Deity,
the number of times we sob, or murmur, or
scream, or thnnder the ease absolute. In
prayer we may take His, name in vain.
The boanergetic part of preaohing does
not consist of sputtering through clenched
teeth and compressed lips the more awful
titles of the Jehovah. If yon often repeat
His name vehemently your congregation
will be shocked with your profanity, if in
differently, with your want of reverence.
Let us approach the name of God as rever
ently as we would the footstool of His
presence. Let us beware of expletive and
redundancy. How shall the following sen
tence be parsed in the school of Christ —
“God Almighty’s round earth,” as follows :
God, a noun, the name of the Deity, un
necessary and therefore profane in this sen
tence ; Almighty, an adjective part of the
title signifying omnipotence but equally un
necessary and therefore equally profane
put in the possessive case, not because
“The earth is the Lord’s,” but for reasons
to be imagined; round, an adjective quali
fying earth, but not calculated to teach the
congregation anything, as even the Sabbath
school children know that the earth is
round ; earth, a well understood name and
the only essential word in the sentence, as
it conveys the whole of the preacher’s
meaning—expletive and profane redun
dancy aside.
In this ends my little exhortation found
ed on part of the 20th chapter of Exodus,
but elicited by the appeal of a venerable
mother in Israel, who seems often to hear
in the church which she attends, things
that shock the very sensibilities to which
we have referred. Yes, let us amend;
God give us the meekness and teachable
ness of wisdom that we may learn one of
another. C. J.
Atlanta, June 12tA, 1869.
Loving the Preacher too Well.
Bro. Get all-you-can, and his wife, were
members of the Wire-grass church, on the
Frog Pond circuit, and seemed exceedingly
fond of the preacher and his family -most
too fond. They had both been brought up
in the back woods, but by dint of hard
work and much self denial, their parents
had accumulated a sulfioient arnouat of
property to enable them to give their chil
dren a tolerably fair education, and to af
ford them opportunities of seeing much of
the world. They had seen, and they knew
enough to have done better than they did.
They were seldom absent from church,
paid great attention to preaching, praised
the sermon, sung as loud as any body else,
and the good brother would sometimes close
the services with prayer; but he never gave
one cent to support the gospel.
Unfortunately this good brother lived
next door to the preacher. I say unfortu
nately, because he and his wife seemed to
think the preacher under more obligation
to them than they to him—for there are
some who act as if they were conferring a
great favor on the preacher to hear him
preach. His rule was to get all he could
out of the poor, laborious, self-denying
preacher, and to let the preacher get noth
ing out of him.
At the period of which I am writing,
times were unusually hard with our good
brother. Corn especially was scarce. As
incredible as it may seem, our friend, though
living out halt mile off, has been known to
go with horse, wife and children, and spend
the night at the parson ago—to come wrtli
two horses and families and spend the Sab
bath, when it put the preacher’s wife to her
wits end to get. up a dinner—to come over
for breakfast, bring his horse and remind
the preacher that the horse had not been
fed—to send his family to spend the Sab
bath with the preacher’s family, with the
positive injunction that the horse must be
well fed with corn. Now, if Bro. Large
heart, giving liberally to the support of the
preacher had done this, nothing would
have been thought of it; but for one who
never gave a shin-plaster for the support of
the preacher it was unpardonable meanness.
This same brother being present, while a
company of brethren were discussing the
probabilities of certain men being appointed
to the circuit the ensuing year, one of the
circuit stewards, who had been liberal in
supporting the church, expressed a desire
that the Rev. Mr. should be sent to
the circuß, but he objected. When asked
for his reasons, he said, “oh ! his family is
too large—he will be too burdensome to the
charge.” On which the steward inquired,
“how much have you given for the support
of the church, this year ?” Bro. Get-all
you-can answered, “nothing.” The other
sensibly replied, “then you need not care
how large the family, or how heavy the bur
den, if you do not have it to bear.” We
fear that such Christians are to be found
elsewhere. Perambulator.
godrine anb experience,
The Careless Sinner’s Thoughts Con
cerning the Blood of the Cross.
Perhaps there is nothing connected with
Christ and his work which the careless sin
ner slights so much as the blood. In his
eye it has no value and no attractions. He
dislikes all reference to it in connection
with salvation. Thus he tramples it under
foot.
He thinks less of it, lays less stress upon
it, ascribes to it less of sacredness and of
value than a Jew, or even a heathen, in re
gard to the blood of their victims. Its very
name is repulsive, as if the mention of it
suggested only what was unpleasant and
unnatural. To owe salvation to this blood
alone, seems not only unreasonable, but
hateful. Words such as these, “by his
stripes we are healed,’’ have no relish, and
no meaning to him. They who make ref
erence to the blood, are perhaps accused of
want of refinement and delicacy, or des
pised as enthusiasts and mystics. Thus,
“the blood of the Lamb” is trifled with or
despised, or scoffed at in wantonness of un
belief.
It was so when Christ was on earth.
From his cradle to his cross this contempt
was exhibited ! Herod sought to shed his
blood in infanoy. The people of Nazareth,
“where he had been brought up,” laid
hands upon him that they might slay him.
Frequently throughout his ministry—his
life was aimed at, as if it would have been
a light thing to shed his blood. And when
betrayed at last, thirty pieces of silver was
the goodly prioe at which his blood was
valued! It was all that man would give
for it! Then in their eagerness to abed it,
they urged Pilate to put him to death,
PUBLISHED BY J. W. BURKE & CO., FOR THE M. E. CHURCH, SOUTH.
Macon, Ga.», Friday, June 25, 1869.
crying, “Crucify him, crucify him,” ptt
ferring Barabbas to Jeans, setting a highe
price on the blood of the robber than on
that of the Son of God. And as if to show
their utter disregard for it, —as if in mock'
ery of it—they volunteered to bear the
curse whioh that blood might bring down
on its shedders—“his blood be upon us
and our children.” Then, lastly, on thy
cross it was poured out like water. The
thorns, the scourge, the nails, the spear,,
were man’s instruments for draining tha;
blood, that, flowing down upon the ground,
it might be trodden under foot, and treat
ed as the vilest thing on eart|i. So vile
did they reckon it, that though bent on
shedding it, they woold not allow this to
be done within Jerusalem. It mufit be
shed “without the ■ city,’’ as if it would
have been pollution to the temple of God,
and the dwellings of Israel, to have al
lowed it to be shed within its eonseorated
walls They treated it as the blood of one
who was not only unworthy to live, bntun-,
worthy even to die within Jerusalem. -■
Such were man’s thoughts
blood in the days when Christ was heuJj
Such was his estimate of its value, such j
his idea of its sacredness.
And in this, do we not see not only in-1
difference hut contempt —not only contempt
but mockery —not only mockery, but ha- ]
tred ? In this treatment of the blood of j
Christ, do we not discover the natural heart .
of man speaking out, or rather acting out j
its enmity ?
It is still the same. There has beeu no
relenting on man’s part; no aoftenirg of
the carnal heart. His estimate of the
blood has not risen higher since these days.
His indifference and his enmity are unre
moved. And sometime* we find the form
er of these, and sometimes the latter, in
exercise. When the subject is not pressed
home upon his conscience so as to confront
him, it is indifference that we find. When
that blood is presented to him, and he
is told of its power either to eleanse or to
oondemn, and of his own interest in it, so
that it must be either for or against him
for ever, then his displeasure awakes; the
hidden enmity of his soul comes up, and
he manifests a feeling of hatred, suoh as
would have placed him, perhaps, among
the foremost ranks of the crucifiers.
Even should he remain calm and candid,
he will not admit the preciousness of the
blood, or the claims which it has upon him.
Claims! He rejects the thought. He
thinks he does well if he admits that it is
the blood of a holy man shed without
cause. But as to the claims of blood shed
eighteen hundred years ago, this seems
monstrous. He does not see how blood shed
so many centuries ago can affect his pres
ent or his future condition, either for con
demnation or salvation. He deems it un
reasonable in us to ply him with such an
id< a, aud he thinks it would bo unjust in
God to deal with him in such a way and in
such terms as these. ►
Even should he be disposed to listen
with more than candor—with something
like commencing anxiety and teachable
ness, he still stumbles at this stumbling
stone. He does not see how this blood
alone, without oae good thing in iisclf,
can justify. Forgetting that it is what
God sees iu this blood that gives it all its
justifying and cleansing power, he refuses
to receive the truth concerning forgiveness
of sin solely through the blood of the cross.
He does not understand how the sight of
that blood a.one should give peace to the
troubled spirit, and allay its rising storms.
It seems incredibie that in simply believiug
God’s testimony concerniug that blood, our
consciences are purged from dead works to
serve the living God.
Such is man’s sense of the value of this
blood ! How different from God’s ! And is
it conceivable that God can allow such a
difference of opinion to exist between him
and the sinner, on a matter in which his
own honor, and the honor of his Son, arc
concerned, and yet this difference is triv
ial ? Is it possible that God would give
that blood to be shed for sinners, and yet
allow them to treat it as they please, either
rejecting it or despising it as each one may
think it ?
Careless sinner! Trifle not with that
blood. It is too precious to be sported with
or slighted. And woe be to him who,
either by indifference, or denial, or deris
ion, shows that he has dared to form an
estimate of it different from that of God.—
Bonar.
The Moment of Peril
More than a quarter of a century ago
two vessels in a gale off the Southern coast
and wrapped in the darkness of the night,
were sailing towards each other. The com
manders knew it not until suddenly, from
the deck of one of the ships, rang out the
trumpet shout, “Hard a starboard !” The
cfficer had caught sight of the approaching
vessel through the gloom when near the
prow of his own. Instantly was heard in
response the thrilling words, “Hard-a-lar
board !” Every heart on these ships was
still, as the white robed arms of the levia
thans of the seawave seemed to interlock
in a terrific struggle, then part forever.
Each swept onward towards its destined
port, bearing the pale spectators of the
scene.
Those ships had doubtless often been in
danger, but never before nor afterwards was
such threatened destruction warded off by
a breath through a speaking trumpet, and
escaped by so small a margin of deliverance.
We believe that in heaven every ransom
ed soul will see in the lite-voyage, among
many dangers encountered, some single
peril of decisive interest. It may have
been the avoiding of a meeting with a dan
gerous companion, or stopping at the en
trance of a theatre, when the forces of evil
were in wait for him, turning as it were, a
hair breadth aside, because upon the inward
ear fell just in time the warning tone of the
silver trumpet borne by them of whom it is
written, “And He shall give His angels
charge concerning thee, to keep thee in all
thy ways, lest at any time thou dash thy
foot against a stone.”
That escape will have a solitary impor*
tance in all the earthly past, and will send
up to the throne a strain of thanksgiving.
Such was its relation to life; to have failed
of deliverance then was certain ruin for
ward.
Some Christians can now look back upon
this moment of dark and awful peril. Mul
titudes are daily passing safely, or making
shipwreck at such critical moments in pro
bation.— American Messenger.
Compassion of Jesus. —What a pat
tern to His people, the tender compassion
of Jesus! He found the world he came to
save a moral Bethesda. The wail of suf
fering humanity was everywhere borne to
his ear. It was his delight to walk its
porches, to pity, relieve, comfort, save!
The faintest cry of misery arrested his
footsteps—stirred a ripple in this fountain
of infinite love. Was it a leper —that
dreaded name which entailed a life-long
exile from friendly looks and kindly words ?
There was One, at least, who had tones and
deeds of tenderness for the outcast— “ Jesus,
being moved with compassion, put forth his
hand and touched him.” Was it some blind
beggars on the Jericho highway, groping
in darkness, pleading for help? “Jesus
stood still, and had compassion on them, and
touched their eyes!” Was it the speeoh-
less pleadings of a widow’s tears at the
gate of Nain, where she followed her
earthly pride and prop to the grave ? When
the Lord saw her, he had compassion on
her, and said, “Weep not!” Even when
he rebukes, the bow of compassion is seen
in the cloud, or rather, that cloud, as it
passes, dissolves in a rainshower of mercy.
He pronounces Jerusalem "desolate,” but
the doom is uttered amid a flood of an
guished sorrow! — MacDuff.
Growth
BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.
Not in one blissful day
Bre*k9 on the silence of the wintry earth
The song and bloom that crown the summer’s birth ;
But through her myriad veins.
Still as the footsteps of the dropping rain,
In slow, soft pulses, creeps her life again.
Not in one glowing throng
Cluster the leaves and blossoms of the vine,
With the full vintage, swelling with its wine ;
Nor, in ono perfect hour
From the warm bosom of the fertile plain
Bprings the ripe harvest of the rustling grain.
Not in one gclden year
Will thy soul ripen to its glorious prime
And the rich fruitage mark the harvest time;
But slowly, day by day,
In the full sunshine aud the midnight gloom
'Host grow the fruit that crowns iu wondrous bloom.
What though the blossom fade I
Better than a>l the tender charms of spring.
The summer verdure where the birds may sing,
And build their sfeltered nests
In their glad songs perchance thy soul may hear
Some heavenly echoes stealing to thine ear.
What though the leaf may fall I
So the full light of autumn suns may glow
With ripening warmth on precious fruit below,
Fit for the Master’s hand
And the fra ; l vine may nobly stand at length.
Nursed by the tempest to its sturdy strength.
Onoe, on a stormy sea.
A ship rode darkly through the midnight drear,
Her trembling crew forgetful, in their.fear,
Os Him whose tender love
Its constant watch above bis children kept,
Though worn with toil, the weary Master slept.
Safe is thy ship, O Soul!
Bearing such precious freight, tnough skies be black
And angry surges beat across thy track.
If Jesus sail with thee
Keep thou the watch, and in each fearful hour
The wind and wave will own the Master’s power.
Put on thy shining robes ;
Some happy morn thy feet shall touch the strand,
And thy glad soul await the beckoniog band,
, Smiling and unafraid;
And pass with singing through the golden gates
To the fair palace where thy Father waits.
—Advance
Beloved in the Lord, —How is it with
you? I think I can answer my own ques
tion. "It is well,” and will always and
ever be so with the saints of the Most High
God. How oau it be otherwise ? Jesus
and you are one. Realize this, and you will
be enable! to transfer all your burdens, —
those of sin, and care, and trial —upon One
all-6uflioient to sustain them. You need
cot touoh them with your little finger. Do
not pause to reason in your own mind what
you shall do in this or that matter, but at
once, at that very moment it occurs, uplift
four heart and tell Jesus; place it in his
hands, and He will undertake and do it all
tor you. In your new and more dependent
position, you will have a double claim upon
His love, care and sympathy. You will
find now, from experience, more in Christ
toan you could have imagined. Oh, it is
n ost blessed to be oast upon Him, and to
realize that He is all that He says He is.
Ve must prove Him ; and for this He often
a jfliots us in the flesh ; and but for this fur
ies work, wn should not know one hun
and rcu’iUpart of Christ’s love and faithfulness.
What must have been the prophet Daniel’s
views of Jesus as he lay at the bottom of
the lion’s den, kept in absolute safety amid
such peril, and in perfect peace amid suoh
trial. What cannot Jesus do ? We know
how swift is thought. Before we can ar
range our minds to plan and scheme for
ourselves, in an instant our hearts can tako
flight and repose in the Lord’s wisdom,
piwer, and love, to engage on our behalf.
“Now, Lord, direot, guide in this matter,
and leave me not to myself.” "In all thy
ivays acknowledge Him, and He shall direct
thy paths.” Walk in this divine precept,
and He will fulfil this divine promise.
How many stripes have I had in my event
ful pilgrimage from not fully following His
command. I have tasked my poor brains
to find out a way to surmount a certain dif
ficulty, or to master a certain obstacle, and
after I have made up my mind as t,o what
would be best, have gone and asked counsel
cf God. And what have been the results ?
Just what iu this half-hearted dealing
have been expected—thorns and
tmstles have sprung up at every step, and
all has gone wrong. Then I have repaired
to the Lord to inquire the reason. And
now He has made me to see that it was be
cause I trusted in my own deceitful heart
and erring understanding. And so, dear
friend, I feel from past experience I am
enabled to caution others that they fall not
into the same snare.— Heaven Opened.
Going to Church.
‘ I’ve a good mind to say i’ll never go to
church again 1” said Mrs. Ball, wife of an
industrious mechanic, that day at the even
ing meal.
“What’s up ?” inquired the husband,
who was not, like his wife, “a member of
the church ”
“Oh! well! nothing that ought to be, I
s’pose,” said she. “I dessay it’s all my
wrong feeling; only I worked all the week
as tight as I could spring, every spare min
ute I had, to turn my old cloth sack, and
to fix over my bonnet, and went to church
feeling as if I looked spruce and a little
like folks. But you ought to uv seen the
ladies in their winter rigs!’’ she continued.
“I wish you could ‘a’ seen Mrs Honiton
come into church, everybody lookin’ at her,
and she wa3 dressed so elegant. Os course
I know it to be wrong to covet; and I don’t
covet, as I know of. She is welcome to her
silks, and her velvets, and her front pew,
and sioh, for all of me. But I know one
thing,” continued Mrs. Ball, warming:
“it’s ridiculous for me to belong to the
same church with her, and to go there Sun
day after Sunday just a purpose to be made
ashamed of myself every Sunday of my
life. Husband,’’ she continued, earnestly,
“I do wish there was some church where
poor folks was as good as rich folks! I
don’t mind it week-days; but Sundays I
should like to feel that the Lord loves me
as muoh as he does anybody—if I could I’’
“Better do like me,’’ replied her husband
—“not go at all. All churches are alike —
they a’n’t meant for ‘one-horse folks’ like
us.”
Mrs. Ball did not like this conclusion;
but, not knowing how to overthrow it, she
dropped the conversation.— Advance.
■c
‘•Show mo Christ.”
A man blind from his birth, a man of
muoh intellectual vigor and with many en
gaging social qualities, found a woman who,
appreciating his worth, was willing to oast
in her lot with him and become his wife.
Several bright, beautiful ohildren became
theirs, who tenderly and equally loved both
their parents. An eminent F-ench sur
geon while in this country called upon
them, and examining the blind man with
much interest and care, said to him, “Your
blindness is wholly artificial; your eyes are
naturally good, and could I have operated
upon them twenty years ago, I think I
could have given you sight. It is barely
possible that I oau do it now, though it will
cause you much pain.” “I can bear that,’’
was the reply; “so you but enable me to
see.’’ The surgeon operated npon him, and
was gradually successful; first there were
faint glimmerings of light, then more dis
tinot vision. The blind father was handed
a rose; he had smelt one before, but had
never seen one; then he looked upon the
face of bis wife who had been so true and
faithful to him ; and then his ohildren were
brought, whom he had so often fondled,
and whose oharming prattle had so fre
quently fallen upon his ears, but whose
beaming countenances he had never beheld.
He then exclaimed, “0, why have I seen
these things before inquiring for the man
by whose skill I have been enabled to be
hold them ! Show me the doctor !’’ and
when he was pointed out to him, he em
braced him with tears of gratitude and joy.
So when we reach heaven, and with un
clouded eyes look upon its glories, we shall
not be oontent with a view of these. No,
we shall say, Where is Christ ?—He to
whom lam indebted for what heaven is ;
show me Him, that with my soul l may
adore and praise Him through endless ages.
From the Free Christian Commonwealth.
The Preaching for the Times.
The temptation to the minister “to
preach up the times,” in order to attract
the attention of the orowd, is very great.
In some parts of the country, at the press
ent time, this oustom prevails to an alarm
ing extent; and all sorts of sensational
sermons are indulged iu to the manifest
injury of the gospel. Ethioal disquisitions
appended to a shred of Soripture; politi
oal dissertations adapted to a partisan view
of affairs, made up from the daily papers;
expositions of science wherein a mere the
orist, or it may be tyro, makes the multi
tude stare at the vastness of his learning
and research; metaphysical subtleties spun
by some man with “two Webster’s Dic
tionaries ;” poetical quotations from popu
lar authors, nicely strung together and har
moniously imbedded in smooth prose de
signed to make the people exolaim, “how
beautiful!”—these are the substitutes for
the grand and simple gospel of Jesus, made
on the idea that the people get tired of
hearing the same thing too much—of hav
ing Jesus set forth before them so constant
ly. This is then the residuum of that
tremendous agitation of the public mind,
during the rooent war, so largely stirred
up by these preachers themselves, who, in
the stead of a consuming zeal for the sor
vice and honor of their Master, exhibited
themselves as simply the tools of debased
and debasing radicalism, which fears not
God neither regards maD. They raised a
storm which they could not control. They
“ran” the public, and now the public is
“running” them. In the desperate en
deavor to retain their influence, they resort
to those speeial topics and this sensational
nonsense.
The Lord sent them to feed the soul,
and in their folly they substitute chaff for
the food that oometh from heaven. The
KiDg sent them to be his ambassadors to
make reconciliation, and they ally them
selves with tho King’s enemies while they
still wear the livery of heaven. Christ
gave them a commission to preach the gos
pel of life and peace, and they turn from
it to the enticing words of man’s wisdom.
Ah, how sad and awful is an apostasy such
as this, wherein men love the praise of man
rather than tho praise of God, and leavo
the ways of God’s appointment for the dim
and uncertain way lighted only by their
own judgments! What a terrible mistake
this in the calculation of means to ends,
and how tremendous the responsibility as
sumed in this trifling with sacred things !
Now in view of this alarming phase of
modern religion, largely induced by false
pulpit ministrations, what is the duty of
every true and devoted minister of Jesus
Christ? The answer is plain, Preach the
gospel; determine to know nothing but
Christ and him crucified. Know as much
as you can of public affairs, of science, of
literature, of everything, but when you
stand up to preach, know only the message
of salvation to a lost world through “Him
who was dead, but is alive again, and be
hold he liveth forevermore.” Such is our
advice to the preacher who enquires, “what
is the preaching fur the times?” We have
sometimes wondered what might Vte the re
flections of our modern pulpit sensational
ist when arising from a perusal of Paul’s
Epistles to Timothy. What an abyss there
is between Paul's method of dealing with
the times and that of your modern preach
ers who “draw.” These men seem to for
get that the gospel is designed for ail time
and all phases of the times. It is the
glory, therefore, of the minister of Christ
to stand firmly by the truth as it is in Jesus.
The very highest compliment he can re
ceive is to be known as a preacher of a
simple gospel, the power of God unto sal
vation. With the sword of the Spirit he
can smite the hosts of the Lord’s enemies,
and iu the conflict he will be brought off
conqueror. What does it matter if men
for a while run after vanity and leave
truth ? What does it matter if the cause
of God seem for a while overwhelmed ?
“Truth crushed to earth shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;
But error wounded, writhes in pain
And dies amid her worshippers.”
God has declared, “My word shall nto
return unto me void ’’ He has ordained
the means whereby His own glorious ends
are to be attained; and his servants dis
charge their duty most effectually when
they fall in with the ways of his appoint
ment. To unfold to the hearts and minds
of men the scheme of redemption as por
trayed in the word; to make the word a
“living word’’ to this generation ; to speak
for Jesus, to labor for him, and to suffer
with him; this by word and act, is the
preaching which is exactly suited to the
times. All else is labor in vain or worse
than in vain.
Individual Work.
Whenever a churoh so far mistakes the
end of its existence as to suppose that its
main business is to keep itself warm and
comfortable by the enjoyment of its ordi
nances, it is certain to discover its error
sooner or later. Ordinances will prove de
ceitful cordials to men who will not work
the work of God. The warmth which once
they found in the services of the Lord’s
house, will die out of them, and professors
will shiver, even in the midst of them, as
we sometimes shiver bofore a fire, when wo
seek for that heat without which would
come at once, were we by vigorous exer
cise to accelerate the circulation.
It surely is not an extravagant demand
to make, when we say that no man ought
to be a member of a Christian church, who
is not able to point definitely to some work
he is doing for Christ, or to assign some
sufficient reason why he is doing none at
all. In many instances it may be almost
wholly restricted to the home circle. This
must be the case with many Christian
mothers, who have families demanding all
their available time and energy. It is not
for these to climb into garrets, and dive
into cellars, to visit and relieve the victims
of sickness and poverty. Christ has found
them work in their own house. They are
to make their ehildreu the daily witnesses
of their piety; they are to oonvinoe thorn
that Christianity has not spoiled, but sanc
tified, and even glorified their motherhood.
But there are thousands in our churches
who are not environed by such narrow limits.
Home does not present a sphere sufficiently
wide to exact and exhaust all their time
and energy, and these oannot seoure an ac
quittal, either from their conscience or
their God, unless they have elsewhere some
well-defiDed work, to whioh they have giv
en themselves as by vow and consecration.
There is no slight criminality attaching to
that man or that woman, who, if the gnat
Husbandman were to come at any moment
of the day or night, would be unable to
show him where is hia post of labor in the
vineyard. If he be neither planting, nor
watering, nor gathering out stones, nor
burning destructive roots, nor mending the
fences, what advantage does the vineyard
or its owner reap from his presence at all ?
And how will he face the hour of reckon
ing when only those who have toiled will
receive wages ? — Rev. E. Mellor, England.
“I am Alone in the World.”
The following touching incident is ex
tracted from the eloquent appeal for the
“Richmond Male Orphan Asylum.” de
livered on its twenty second anniversary,
by Maj. Stiles:
One of the batteries of our old battalion
was composed chiefly of Irishmen from a
Southern city—- gallant fellows, but wild
and reckless. The captaincy beooming va
cant, a backwoods Georgia preacher named
C. was to command them The men,
at first half amused, half insulted, soon
learned to idolize as well as fear their
preacher captain, who proved to be, all in
all, such a man as one seldom sees, a com
bination of Praise-God Barebones and Sir
Philip Sidney, with a dash of Hedley Vioars
about him. He had all the stern grit of
the Puritan, with much of the chivalry of
the Cavalier, and the zeal of tho Apostle.
There was at this time but one other Chris
tian in his battery, a gunner named Allan
Moore, also a backwoods Georgian, and a
noble, enthusiastic man and soldier. The
only other living member of Moore’s family
was with him, a boy of not more than
twelve or thirteen years, and the devotion
of the elder brother to the younger was as
tender as a mother’s The little fellow was
a strange, sad, prematurely old ohild, who
seldom talked and never smiled. He used
to wear a red zouave fez that ill befitted
that peculiar, sallow, pallid complexion of
the piny-woods Georgian ; but he waß a
perfect hero in a fight. 'Twas at Cold Har
bor in ’64. We had been all day shelling
a wonting party of the enemy, and about
sunset, as adjutant of the battalion, I was
visitiug the batteries, to arrange the guns
ior night-firing. As I approached C.’s po
sition, the sharp-shooting had almost ceased,
and down the line I could see the figures
of tho oannoneers standing out boldly
against tbe sky. Moore was at the trail,
adjusting his piece for the night’s work.
His gunnery had been superb during the
evening, and his blood was up. I descend
ed into a little valley and lost sight of the
group, but heard C.’s stern voice : “Sit
down, Moore, your gun is well enough; tho
sharpshooting isn’t over yet. Get down.”
I rose the hill. “One moment, Captain.
My trail’s a hair’s breadth too much to the
right!” and the gunner bent eageily over
the handspike. A sharp report —that un
mistakable crash of the bullet against the
skull, and all was over. ’Twas the last rifle
shot on the lines that night. The rushing
together of the detachment obstructed my
view; but _as I came up, the sergeant
stepped aside and said, “Look there, adju
tant.” Moore had fallen over on the trail,
tha blood gushing from his wound all over
liiß face. His little brother was at his side
instantly. No* wildness, no tumult of
grief. He knelt on the earth, and lifting
Moore’s head on to his knees, wiped tho
blood from his forehead with the cuff of his
own tattered shirt sleeve, and kissed the
pale face again and again, but very quietly.
Moore was evidently dead, and none of us
eared to disturb the child. Presently he
rose—quiet still, tearless still, —gazed down
on his dead brother, thon around at us, and
breathing tho saddest sigh I ever heard,
said just these words: “Well, I am alone
iu the world.” The preacher captain in
stantly sprang forward, and placing his
hand on the poor boy’s shoulder, said eol-
emnly but cheerfully, “No, my ohild, you
are not alono, for the Bible says, ‘when my
father and mother forsake me, then tho
Lord will tako me up,’ and Allan was both
father aud mother to you; besides, I’m go
ing take you up too; you shall sleep under
my blanket to night.” There was not a dry
eye in the group; and when, months after
wards, the whole battalion gathered on a
quiet Sabbath evening, on the banks of the
Appomattox, to witness a baptism, and 0.
at the water’s edge tenderly handed this
child to the officiating minister, and receiv
ing him again when the ceremony was over,
threw a blanket about the little shivering
form, carried him into the bushes, changed
his clothing, and then reappeared, carrying
the bundle of wet ciothes, and he and the
child walked away hand in hand to camp,—
then there were maro tears, manly, noble,
purifying tears; and I heard the sergeant
say, “Faith ! the captain has fulfilled his
pledge to that boy.” My friends, hear the
plea of tbe orphan : “I am alone in the
world.” How will you answer it ? What
will you do with it? Will you pass my
noble Georgian’s pledge to “take him up ?”
Will you keep it as he kept it ?
The Pen of Iron.
When Bishop Latimer was on his trial
he at first answered carelessly. But pres
ently he heard the pen going behind the
tapestry, which was taking down his words
—then lie was careful what he said. There
is an all-recording pen behind the curtain
of the skies, taking down our words and
acts for judgment.
It is a pen of iron. “The sin of Judah
is written with a pen of iron, and the
point of a diamond ’’ It graves deep its
records on the imperishable tablets of eter
nity—a rcoord of every thought, word, and
act. How ought we to live, sinoo we can
almost hear the all-recording pen going
every hour, since we know that every day
wc arc filling a page in the book that shall
be opened at the judgment and the record
is imperishable as eternity ?
A rich landlord in England onoo perform
ed an aot of tyrannioal injustice to a wid
owed tenant. The widow’s son, who saw
it, became a painter, and years after suc
ceeded in placing a painting of that scene
where their oppressor saw it. As his eye
fell on the picture, the rich man turned
pale and trembled, and offered any sum to
purohase it, that ho might put it out of
sight. If every scene of wickedness,
through which a man passes, should be
painted, aud the paintings hung up about
him, so that he would always see the por
trait of himself with the evil passions ex
pressed on his countenance, and himself in
the very act of wiokedness, he would be
wretched. Such a picture gallery there is;
aud in eternity the sinner will dwell in it;
for everyj feature’ and lineament of the
soul, in every feeling and act of wioked
ness, is portrayed ini perishably, and will be
exhibited to the gazs of the universe for
ever.
By the discoveries of modern science,
the rays of tho sun are made to form tho
exact portrait of him on whom they shine.
We are all living in the sun light of eter
nity, whioh is transferring to plates more
enduring than brass, the exact portrait of
the soul in every successive aot, with all its
attendant circumstances.
Interesting to the antiquarian, is the
moment when he drags out from the sands
of Egypt some obelisk, on whioh the “pen
of iron, and the point of a diamond” have
E. H. MYERS, D. D., EDITOR.
Whole Number 1757
graven the portraits, the attitudes, the dress
es, and the pursuits of men who lived and
died 3000 years ago. But nono can utter
the interest of that moment when from tho
ailenoe of eternity shall be brought out tab
lets thickset with the sculptured history of
a sinful soul, and men and angels, with the
sinner himself shall gaze, appalled on the
faithful portraiture of a life of sin. Re
member, then, O transgressor, you must
meet the record of your sin in eternity.
From the Christian Observer.
The “Dead Head” Family in the
Church.
The writer is inolined to think, that (ho
first notice we have of this romarkable con
nexion is found in Matthew xxv, and iu
Revelation iii: 13. tiomc suppose, large
numbers of them were in each of the seven
flourishing churches of Asia; aud it may
be so. This strange name, howevor, does
not appear to have been given them at that
time, and for wise reasons, perhaps; nor do
we find it thus written in the list of church
members; vet, our elders, and generally
the pastor also, can tell who are the “Dead
Heads’’ in the church. Some churches re
port a great many, while others have only a
few: it is supposed, however, that if the
roll of our whole church was called, the
number of “Dead Heads’’ would surprise
many.
Twenty years ago, the writer travelling
for his health, was in the city of .
In it was a ohuroh whioh reported to the
General Assembly eleven hundred mem
bere He enquired of one of its elders,
how many there were of whom they knew
nothing, or who were of no manner of ser
vioe to the church. He replied: “Six
hundred: six hundred ‘Dead Heads 1’ ”
The members of this family are entirely too
numerous for one church, thought the travel
er. The Rev. receiving a call from a
ohuroh at a great distance, looked at tho
minutes of the Assembly to learn its mem
bership, and read sixty five members; be
coming its pastor, he disoovered that there
were at least thirty of this remarkable fami
ly, whose names were on the ohuroh book.
Others, it is supposed, have made a similar
discovery, but no ono ever ackuowhdged
that it gave him muoh courage.
It is suspected that there are some in
every churoh ; how it happens I do not
know, as our elders always opposo it, and it
is oertainly against the rules and policy and
spirit of'-the ohuroh to reoeivo ono member
of tho “Dead Head’’ family. Every elder
would vote against it; indeed, they always
demand that they will be living und loving
members—that they will serve the Lord
Jesus in His Church, and insist that they
depend upon them to pray for the ohuroh,
to give for the ohuroh, to work for the
ohuroh, to work with tho ohurcb, and to
manifest by their spirit and life that thoy
are for Christ and with His people; and
every one enters into a covenant with the
ohuroh and with God that he will do all
this.
Tho common idea, and I am not prepared
to say that it has no foundation in truth, is
that there are no “Dead Heads” in heaven,
the ohurch above, so there ought to be none
in the ohurob below; and 1 know more
than ono cider, who is so sensitive upon
this subjeot, that he is almost afraid to re
ceive any one into the cliuroh, lest after all
his oare, and after all the vows of the one
who applies for membership, he should turn
out only a “Dead Head,’’ and not one of
“tho great family on earth and in heaven,”
as he wishes him to be.
Our Lord speaks of five wise virgins and
five foolish. The latter, it is supposed were
of this family, and there aro certainly
enough of them already in the church, try
ing, in all charity we conclude, to get to
heaven in a very easy way of their own. It
may be said of them, however, that they
are charitable in their way ; that is, provid
ed they arc not disturbed, but allowed to be
what they wish, and to do as they please,
and to do nothing if they prefer, they are
willing that all wbo differ from them may
live for Christ and for His Church, may
deny themselves and take up their
and may give and work as much as they
please: the “Dead Head 1 ’ family in the
church wish a “free passage" to heaven;
some of them think they have it, while
others hope to seoure one. Tho conversion
of their heads and hearts—of their purses
and hands —would make a ohurch a great
power. We could send our missionaries to
the heathen—we could educate our candi
dates for the ministry—we could sustain
the church, supply our waste places, keep
up our Sabbath-schools and prayer-meetings
—wbat could we not do if the “Dead
Heads” were only converted over again, and
would feel and act in and for tho church,
as they do in and for everything else ? I
verily believe they with the “Living’’fami
ly in the church could work wonders; for
they have tho means, talents and force, arc
pleasant and kind ; and putting their hearts
in and with the church, they would be a
power for good. The only fault with them,
that is the only one spoken of, is that they
will not work with the c-lders for Christ aud
the church ; and the reason sometimes giv
en for this is—their strange idea, that be
ing in the church, the “Dead Head” fami
ly think they have. “free passage” to
he iven, and are r favored than the
members oi the “1 .g’’ family, of whom
it is expected, th( ucy will do their own
work and theirs, also.
The Error.
Many persons err, waiting for ability or
opportunity of doing great things— great
good for themselves and others, wholly neg
lecting to improve the means and the op
portunities they have. It was not so with
the poor widow with the two mites, who
for her deed of charity met with so high
an approval from the All-seeing Judge. It
was not so with the good Samaritan; there
was one case of reel distress—he would re
lieve that now, without waiting for others.
It was not so with our Saviour at the well
in Samaria, there was one hearer, and the
opportunity should not be lost of preaching
the .gospel. And that discourse who oan
calculate the good that has resulted and
will to all eternity result from it!
Many fall into a similar error in regard
to getting good, receiving benefit from the
ordinary means of graco, or improving the
smaller measures of grace given them.
They are waiting for great occasions, re
markable seasons, wonderful operations of
the Spirit. Like Naaman, they arc fixing
in their own minds a plan for God to work
by; and it must be in this way or that, or
they will not design to act —nay, they will
bo greatly displeased ! There are few ways
in which men now grieve the Spirit, and
do themselves so great a wrong. It is to
those who improve what they have, tl at
more shall be given; but those who neglect
to improve even the little that is afforded
them—from them shall be taken away even
that which they have. If men could cher
ish tbe gcctle, constraining influences of
the Spirit, more grace would be imparted.
If they would improve the ordinary means
of grace, they would find them adequate to
their full and eternal salvatioa. But this
they will not do, they must wait for great
things. In thus waiting, the end comes
and they perish forerer.
Advice.—Advioe is like snow; the
softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon,
and the deeper it sinks into the mind.—
Coleridge.