of any one Christian grace. Those persons who take a painful satisfaction in pondering upon their outward troubles and inward conflicts, who choose to dwell on their disconsolate state, and who do little else than call in all the melancholy objects and associations in their power, to augment their despondency, have very mistaken views of the nature of true piety. If I am addressing any one child of God of this character, I would say to such a Christian, that he dishonors the sources of consolation that are treasured up in the Lord Jesus; that he has much more reason to contemplate the goodness of God than his severity, and his past and promised mercies than his present frowns; and that it is his own spirit of distrust which is his greatest enemy.

There is one way of obtaining the full assurance of hope, which is almost always successful: it is, by growing in grace. Large and replenished measures of grace have a happy tendency in removing those doubts which distress the mind, and so often make it like the troubled sea when it cannot rest. They are naturally attended by increasing knowledge of the truth, by invigorated confidence in God, and by that heaven-imparted gratitude and cheerfulness which make the yoke of Christ easy, and his burden light. "Then shall we know, if we follow on, to know the Lord; his going forth is prepared as the morning; and he shall come unto us as the rain, as the latter and former rain to the earth.' 99 That is a most precious exhortation of the affectionate apostle, "Wherefore, my beloved brethren, cast not away your confidence, which hath great recompense of reward." Those seasons are the most humble, the most distinguished for prayer, the most active, and the most strongly marked by self-denying effort, that are the most full of hope. Piety is then the most winning and lovely. Assurance

is no phantom. Press after it. "Give diligence to make your calling and election sure." When the storm lowers, look aloft. Your shattered bark may labor and plunge, but the wind is fair, and the land is nigh.

There is but one class of persons that have a divine warrant for despair: they are those whose impenitence is incorrigible. We can assure all such persons that religion is the sweetest consolation under every trial of this life, effectual support in the hour of death, and the triumphant expectation of a "far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;" but we must also assure them, that the same reasons which urge the penitent to hope, urge the incorrigible to fear. Sooner or later, every incorrigible sinner must despair. He will outlive his hopes. Absolute, perfect despair will, ere long, be one of the very elements of his being. And is this the heritage, the frightful heritage, of any one of those who read these pages? Where is the man that must be such a sufferer? My heart fails me in thinking of his woes. Of all the spectacles of grief ever contemplated, the most mournful is such a man.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE WORLD CRUCIFIED BY THE CROSS.

Ir were a gorgeous description to speak in appropriate words and befitting imagery of the things of time and sense. All that can please the eye of man seems to be spread around him for his gratification. The universe itself is displayed before him, like a magic picture endowed with life and motion, beauty and grandeur, in an endless variety of forms. The ocean heaves its billows, the torrent dashes from the precipice, the stream glides through the rich meadow, for him. The lofty mountain, the quiet valley, the vast and silent forest, are for him. From the teeming grass at his feet up to the unnumbered and immeasurable orbs above him, a wide field is extended for the eye, and imagination, and heart of man. Gold glitters, honors are resplendent, pleasure sparkles, to inflate his avarice and pride, and to infatuate his sensuality. The domain is vast, its wealth countless, its beauty ravishing, and its variety exhaustless. The reason with which man is endowed has in a great degree subdued the elements under his control; every year sees new trophies added to his conquests over the kingdom of nature; earth, sea and air own his sway. The brute creation minister to his needs and pleasures-fear him, love him, obey him. The intelligent beings, also, who walk the earth and constitute its chief worth and adornment,

the honors and pleasures they pursue, their toil and attainments, offer a busy and attractive scene to his eye. Their literature, their bustle and traffic, their arts, their talent and character, their schemes, improvements, passions, affections and purposes, form not the least interesting part of the great spectacle. It would seem as if in all this there were enough to satisfy our hearts-as if the utmost craving of our desires would here find a limit.

It were no marvel, formed as it is with such exquisite wisdom and goodness, and so full of God and of love to the creatures he has made, if this exterior world should present strong attractions. But the Cross of Christ possesses attractions that are yet more strong. "God forbid," says the great apostle, "that I should glory, save in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified to me, and I to the world!” "What things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ; yea, doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung that I may win Christ."

The power of the Cross in thus crucifying the world, every Christian has experienced. In this great feature of his character he is not what he once was. "If any

man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are done away, and all things are become new." The turning of the thoughts and desires from time to eternity is the sum and substance of that spiritual renovation by which Christianity lives in the hearts of men, and without which no man can enter into the kingdom of God. Men there have been, who, in comparison with other and more enduring interests, have not thought this world worthy of a glance. If they thought of it, it did not absorb their attention; if they sought it, they were not

ensnared by it; if they felt an interest in it, it was only that interest which religion enjoins.

sense.

The Cross sets in their true light the things of time and It shows that they are but the things of time. and sense. It proclaims that, with all their enchantment, they have this inherent blemish, that they are temporal. The remedy for a sinning, is a remedy for a dying race: it shows nothing more clearly, than that the objects of sense are limited to time as well as to earth; they relate to the present, and have no concern with the future. No quality nor excellence can render them permanent. If beauty could render them durable, why is the flower so fading, and why does infant loveliness wither on its mother's bosom? If grandeur could render them permanent, wherefore do empires crumble, and the dark clouds dissolve in lightning and thunder? If learning, and intellect, and wit, and fancy could give them perpetuity, why are names forgotten, and volumes lost, which once filled the world with their fame? Or if strength and variety would make them lasting, wherefore is it that princes "die like men," or "riches take to themselves wings, and fly away as an eagle toward heaven?" and why do forests fall, or the whirlwind pass away that uproots them? The rainbow that plays in the adverse sunlight seems for the moment a vast and stable arch, that spans the earth, and reaches to the clouds: we look again, and it is gone; not a vestige remains; all is vacancy. Thus it is with all earthly things. They are like a vision, or like those false waters which flow in eastern deserts, and at the approach of the thirsting wanderer vanish into air. The "pleasures of sin are for a season;" the "fashion of this world passeth away." They are dark shadows which fall upon the world, when seen from the Cross. Nor is it merely the evanescent