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Book of Life. If their steps were aot accompanied by
a splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels
had charge over them. Their palaces were houses not

30 made with hands : their diadem crowns of glory which
should never fade away !

On the fich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests,
they looked down with contempt : for they esteemed
themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and elo-

35 quent in a more sublime language, nobles by the right
of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of
a mightier hand. The very meanest of them was a be-
ing to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance
belonged — on whose slightest action the spirits of light

40 and darkness looked with anxious interest, who had
been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to
enjoy a felicity which should continue when heaven and
earth should have passed away. Events which short-
sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes, had been

45 ordained on his account. For his sake empires had
risen, and flourished, and decayed. For his sake the
Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evan-
gelist, and the harp of the prophet. He had been res-
cued by no common deliverer from the grasp of no com-

50 mon foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no
vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It
was for him that the sun had been darkened, that the
rocks had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all
nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring

55 God !

Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men,
the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion ;
the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He pros-
trated himself in the dust before his Maker : but he set

60 his foot on the neck of the king. In his devotional re-
tirement, he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and
tears. He was half maddened by glorious or terrible il-
lusions. He heard the lyres of angels, or the tempting
whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the beatific

65 vision, or woke screaming from dreams of everlasting



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992 BXBRC18B8. [Ex. 106.

fire. Like Vane^ he thought hinuielf introsted with the
sceptre of the millenial year. Like Fleetwood, he cri-
ed in the bitterness of his soul that God had hid his face
from him. But when he took his seat in the council,

70 or girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings
of the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them.
People who saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth
visages, and heard nothing from them but their groans
and their hymns, might laugh at them. But those had

75 little reason to laugh who encountered them in the hall
of debate, or in the field of battle.

The Puritans brought to civil and military affairs,
a coolness of judgment, and an immutability of purpose
which some writers have thought inconsistent with their

80 religious zeal, but which were in fact the necessary ei-
fects of it The intensity of their feelings on one sub-
ject made them tranquil on every other. One ov^^rpow-
ering sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred,
ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors, and pleas-

85 ure its charms. They had their smiles and their tears,
their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the things
of this world. Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had
cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and
prejudice, and raised them above the influence of dan-.

90 ger and of corruption. It sometimes might lead them
to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means.
They went through the world like St. Artegales's iron
man Talus with his flail, crushing and trampling down
oppressors, mingling with human beings, but having

95 neither part nor lot in human infirmities : insensible to
fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain : not to be pierced by
any weapon, not to be withstood by any barrier.

Such we believe to have been the character of the Pu-
ritans. We perceive the absurdity of their manners.

100 We dislike the gloom of their domestic habits. We
acknowledge that the tone of their minds was often in-
jured by straining after things too high for mortal reach ;
And we know that, in spite of their hatred of popery,
they too often fell into the vices of that bad system, in-

105tolerance and extravagant austerity. Yet, when all cir-
cumstances are taken into consideration, we do not hea-



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Ex. 109.] SACRED ELOQUENCE. 393

itate to pronounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and
a useful body. Edin. Review.

109. Ah enlightened Ministry.

Christianity now needs dispensers, who will make
history, nature, and the improvements of society, tribu-
tary to its elucidation and support ; who will show its
adaptation to man as an ever progressive being ; who
5 will be able to meet the objections to its truth, which
will naturally be started in an active, stirring, inquiring
age ; and, though last not least, who will have enough
of mental and moral courage to detect and renounce the
errors in the Church, on which such objections are gen-

10 erally built. In such an age a ministry is wanted
which will furnish discussions of religions topics, not
inferior at least in intelligence to those, which people
are accustomed to read and hear on other subjects^
Christianity will suffer, if at a time when vigor ^ and

15 acuteness of thinking are carried into all other depart*
ments, the pulpit should send forth nothing but wild de«
clamati5n, positive assertion, or dull common places,
with which even childbopd 19 satiated. Religion mus(
be seen to be the friend and quickener of intellect. It

20 must be exhibited with clearness of reasoning and varie*
ty of illustration ; nor ought it to be deprived of the
bepefits of a pure and felicitous diction, and of rich and
glowing imagery, where these gifts fall to the lot of the
teacher. It is not meant that every minister must be

25 a man of genius ; for genius is one of God's rarest in-
spirations ; and of all the beamings and breathings of
genius, perhaps the rarest is eloquence. I mean only
to say, that the age demands of those, who devote them-
selves to the administration . of Christianity, that they

30 should feel themselves called upon for the highest culti-
vation and fullest devebpement of the intellectual nature.
Instead of thinking, that the ministry is a refuge for
dulness, and that whoever can escape from the plough
is fit for Qod's spiritual husbandry, we ought to feel that

35 no profession demands more enlarged thinking and
more various acquisitions of truth.



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SM BXfiftcisics. [£x. no:

In proportioB as society becomes enlightened, talent
acquires inflaence. In rude ages bodilj strength is the
most honorable distinction, and in subsequent times

40 military prowess and skill confer mastery and eminence.
But as society advances, mind, thought, becomes the
sovereign of the world ; and accordingly, at the present
moment, profound and glowing thought, though breath-
ing only from the silent page, exerts a kind of omnipo-

45 tent and omnipresent energy. It crosses oceans and
spreads through nations ; and at one and the same mo-
ment, the conceptions of a single mind are electrifying
and kindling multitudes, through wider regions than
the Roman Eagle overshadowed. This agency of mind

^0 on mind, I repeat it, is the true sovereignty of the world,
and kings and heroes are becoming impotent by the
side of men of deep and fervent thought. In such a
state of things, Religion would wage a very unequal
war, if divorced from talent and cultivated intellect, if

55 committed to weak and untaught minds. God plainly
intends, that it should be advanced by human agency :
jand does he pot then intend, to summon to its aid the
ijiightjesi aod Opbjest power with wbicb man is gifted ?

Chanmnff.
no. Prayet,

Prayer is an action of likeness to the Holy Ghost,
the spirit of gentleness and dove-like simplicity ; an
imitation of the Holy Jesus, whose spirit is meek up
to the greatness of the biggest example, and a con-
5 formity to God, whose anger is always just, and march*
es slowly, and is without transportation, and often bin-'
dered, and never hasty, and is full of mercy : prayer is
the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the
evenness of recollection, the seat of meditation, the rest

10 of our cares, and the calm of our tempest ; prayer is
the issue of a quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts, it is
the daughter of charity, and the sister of meekness ; and
he that prays to God with an angry, that is, with a troub-
led and discomposed spirit, is like him that retires into

15 a battle to meditate, and sets up his closet in the out
quarters of an army, and cbooses a frontier garrison to be



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Ex. 111.] SACRED KLOQtJBNCB. W6

wise io. Aager Is a perfect alienatioii of the mind
from prayer, and therefore is contrary to that attention,
which presents our prayers in a right ]ine to God. For

20 so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and
soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get
to heaven, and climb above the clouds ; but the poor
bird was beaten back with the loud sighiuga of an
eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and incon-

25 stant, descending more at every breath of the tempest,
than it could recover by the libration and frequent
weighing ^ his wings ; till the little creature was
forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the storm was
over, and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise

30 and sing as if it had learned music and motion from an
angel, as he passed sometimes through the air about
his ministeries here below : so is the prayer of a good
man ; when his affairs have required business, and his
business was matter of discipline, and his disipline was

35 to pass upon a sinning person, or had a design of chari-
ty, his duty met with the infirmities of a man, and an-
ger was an instrument, and the instrument became
stronger than the prime agent, and raised a tempest and
overruled the man; and then his prayer was broken,

40 and his thoughts were troubled, and his words went up
towards a cloud, and his thoughts pulled them back
again, and made them without intention : and the good
man sighs for his infirmity, but must be content to lose
the prayer, and he must recover it, when his anger

45 is removed, and his spirit is becalmed, made even as
the brow of Jesus and smooth like the^ieart of Qod ;
and then it ascends to heaven upon the wings of the
holy dove, and dwells with God, till it returns like
the useful bee, loaden with a blessing and the dew of

50 heaven. Jtr, Taylor.

111. Gray's Elegy,

1 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
The k>wing herd winda slowly o'er the lea.
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way
And leavesUhe world to darkness — and to me.



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996 EXERCISES. [Ex.11 1 .

2 Now fades the glimin'ring landscape on the sight.

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ;

3 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the Moon complain
Of such, as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r.
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

4 Beneath those ragged elms, that yew tree's shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in its narrow cell Ibrever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

5 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered muse.

The place of fame and elegy supply :

And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

6 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey.

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned.
Left the warm precints of the cheerful day.
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?

7 On some fond breast the parting soul relies.

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted Ares.

8 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead.

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ;
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

9 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn.
Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away.
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn i

10 There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech.
That wreaths its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch.
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.



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£x. 112.] SACRED ELOQUENCE. 397

11 Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove ;
Now drooping, wofu! wan, like one forlorn.
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

12 One morn I miss'd him on the customed hill.

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree :
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ;

13 The next, with dirges due, in sad array.

Slow thro' the church-yard path we saw him borne ;
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

14 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ;
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

15 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send ;
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear ;

He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

16 No farther seek his merits to disclose.

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his father and his God. Gray.

112. Obligation to the Heathen, .

Let me never fall into the hands of the man, who
while he refuses to aid the missionary efibrts of his
brethren coolly says that he submits the fate of the
heathen to God. Do you call this submission ? Put
6 it to the test ; — does it preserve you equally composed
by the bed of your dying child ? While the pressure of
private afflictions can torture your soul, call not the ap-
athy with which you view nations sinking into hopeless
ruin,— call it not submission, nor bring the government
10 of God to sanction a temper as crnel as it is common.
34



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906 BXERCI8B8. [Ex. Il2

Will the goYernment of God convert the heathen with-
out the means of grace ? What nation was ever so con-
verted 7 It is contrary to the established method of di-
vine grace. "How shall they believe in him of whom

15 they have not heard 7 And how shall they hear with-
out a preacher V No, my brethren, missionaries must
go among them ; and they must be supported . They
cannot support themselves ; they cannot derive support
from the heathen ; nor can they expect to be fed by

20 ravens. Who then shall sustain the expense, if not the
christian world 7 and what portion of the christian
world rather than the American churches 7 and what
district of these churches rather than that in which we
are assembled 7 and what individuals rather than onr-

25 selves 7 Heaven has given us the means ; we are living
in prosperity on the very lands from which the wretched
pagans have been ejected ; from the recesses of whose
wilderness a moving cry is heard, When it is well with
you, think of poor Indians. This is not ideal ; we have

30 received such messages written with their tears.

I have nothing to spare, is the plea of sordid reluc-
tance. But a far different sentiment will be formed
amidst the scenes of the last day. Men now persuade
themselves that they have nothing to spare till they can

35 support a certain style of luxury, and have provided for
the establishment of children. But in the awful hour
when you, and I, and all the pagan nations, shall be
called from our graves to stand before the bar of Christ,
what comparison will these objects bear to the salvation

40 of a single soul 7 Eternal mercy ! let not the blood
of heathen millions in that hour be found in our skirts !
— Standing, as I now do, in sight of a dissolving uni-
verse, beholding the dead arise, the world in flames,
the heavens fleeing away, all nations convulsed with

45 terror, or rapt in the vision of the lamb, — I pronounce
the conversion of a single pagan of more value than all
the wealth that ever omnipotence produced. On such
an awful subject it becomes me to speak with caution.
But I solemnly aver, that were there but one heathen

50 in the world, and he in the remotest corner of Asia, if



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Ex. 113.] SACRED ELOaCENCB. 399

DO greater duty confined us at home, it would be worth
the pains for all the people in America to embark to-
gether to carry the gospel to him. Place your soul in
his soul's stead. Or rather consent for a moment to

55 change conditions with the savages on our borders.
Were you posting on to the judgment of the great day,
in the darkness and pollution of pagan idolatry, and
were they living in wealth in this very district of the
church, how hard would it seem for your neighbors to

60 neglect your misery I When you should open your
eyes in the eternal world, and discover the ruin in which
they had suffered you to remain, how would you re-
proach them that they did not even sell their posses-
sions, if no other means were sufficient to send the ^os-

65 pel to you. My fle^h trembles at the prospect ! — But
they shall not reproach us. It shall be known in heav-
en that we could pity our brethren. We will send
them all the relief in our power, and will enjoy the
luxury of reflecting what happiness we may entail on

70 generations yet unborn, if we can only effect the con-
version of a single tribe. Griffin,

113. Infatuaiion of men with regard to the things of time*

But if no danger is to be apprehended while the thun-
der of heaven rolls at a distance, believe me, when it
collects over our heads, we may be fatally convinced, that
a well-spent life is the only conductor that can avert

5 the bolt. Let us reflect, that time waits for no man.
Sleeping or waking, our days are on the wing. If we
look to those that are past, they are but as a point.
When I compare the present aspect of this city, with
that which it exhibited within the shoj-tspaceof my own

10 residence, what does the result present, but the most
melancholy proof of human instability ? New charac-
ters in every scene, new events, new principles, new
passions, a new creation insensibly arisen from the ash-
es of the old ; which side soever I look, the ravage of

15 death has nearly renovated all. Scarcely do we look
around us in life, when our children are matured, and
remind us of the grave ; the great feature of all nature,



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400 EXBR0I8B8. [Ex. 113. '

18 rapidity of growth and declension. Aged are renew-
ed, but the figure of the world passeth away. God on-
20 ly remains the same. The torrent that sweeps by, runs
at the base of his immutability ; and he sees, with in-
dignation, wretched mortals, as they pass along, insult-
ing him by the visionary hope of sharing that attribute,
which belongs to Him alone.
25 It is to the incomprehensible oblivion of our mortali-
ty, that the world owes all its fascination. Observe for
what man toils. Observe what it often costs him to
become rich and great — dismal vicissitudes of hope and
disappointment — often all that can degrade the dignity
30 of his nature, and offend his God ! Study the matter of
the pedestal, and the instability of the statue. — Scarce
is it erected — scarce presented to the stare of the multi-
tude — when death, starting like a massy fragment from
the summit of a mountain, dashes the proud colossus
35 into dust ! Where, then, is the promised fruit of all
his toil ? Where the wretched and deluded being, who
fondly promised himself that he had laid up much goods
for many years ? — Gone, my brethren, to his account, a
naked victim, trembling in the hands of the living God I
40 Yes, my brethren, the final catastrophe of all human pas-
sions, is rapid as it is awful. Fancy yourselves on that
bed from which you never shall arise, and the reflection
will exhibit like a true and faithful mirror, what shadows
we are, and what shadows we pursue. Happy they
45 who meet 'that great, inevitable transition, full of days !
Unhappy they who meet it but to tremble and despair !
Then it is that man learns wisdom, when too late ;
then it is that every thing will forsake him, but his vir-
tues or his crimes. To him the world is past ; digni-
^0 ties, honors, pleasure, glory ; past like the cloud of the
morning ! nor could all that the great globe inherits, af-
ford him at the tremendous hour, as much consolation^
as the recollection of having given but one cup of cold
water to a child of wretchedness, in the name of Christ
55 Jesus! Kirwan.



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Ex. 114] SACRED BLOaCJENCE. 401

1 14. Death of Hamilton.

A short time since, and he who is the occasion of our
sorrows, was the ornament of his country. He stood on
an eminence ; and glory covered him. From that em-
iuence he has fallen — suddenly, forever, fallen. His
5 intercourse with the living world is now ended ; and
those who would hereafter find him must seek him in
the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is the heart which
just now was the seat of friendship. There, dim and
sightless is the eye, whose radiant and enlivening orb
10 beamed with intelligence ; and there, closed forever are
those lips, on whose persuasive accents we have so often
and so lately hung with transport.

From the darkness which rests on his tomb there
proceeds, methinks, a light in which it is clearly seen
15 that those gaudy objects which men pursue are only
phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the splendor
of victory — how humble appears the majesty of gran*
deur. The bubble which seemed to have so much so-
lidity has burst : and we again see that all below the sun
20 is vanity.

True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced. The
sad and solemn procession has moved. The badge of
mourning has already been decreed, and presently the
sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to perpet-
25 uate the name of Hamilton, and rehearse to the passing
traveller his virtues.

Just tributes of respect ! And to the living useful.
But to him, mouldering in his narrow and humble habi-
tation, what are they ? — How vain? how unavailing ?
30 Approach, and behold — while I lift from his sepult
chre its covering. Ye admirers of his greatness, ye em-
ulous of bis talents and his fame, approach and behold
him now. How pale I how silent ! No martial bands
admire the adroitness of his movements. No fascina-
35 ted throng weep — and melt — and tremble at his elo-
quence ! — Amazing change. A shroud ! a coffin ! a
narrow subterraneous cabin ! This is all that now re-
mains of Hamilton ! And is this all that remains of



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402 EXERCISES. [Ex. 115.

him ! — During a life so transitory, what lasting monu-

40 ment then can our fondest hopes erect ?

My brethren ! we stand on the borders of an awful
gulf, which is swallowing up all things human. And is
there, amidst this universal wreck, nothing stable, noth-
ing abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, frail, dy-

45 ing man can fasten ?

Ask the hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you
have been accustomed to. revere, and he will tell you.
He will tell you, did I say ? He has already told you,
from his death-bed, and his illumined spirit still whispers

50 from the heavens, with well-known eloquence, the sol-
emn admonition :

'* Mortals ! hastening to the tomb, and once the com-
panions of my pilgrimage, take warning and avoid my
errors — Cultivate the virtues I have recommended —

55 Choose the Savior I have chosen — live disinterestedly —
Live for immortality ; and would you rescue any thing
from final dissolution, lay it up in God." Nott.



115. The Crucifixion.

When our Redeemer expired on the cross, sympa-
thizing nature was convulsed ! The sun was suddenly
enveloped in midnight darkness, and confusion reigned !
But I shall pass by these terrific events, in order to lead
5 your attention to more important objects. The cross
erected on Mount Calvary was the standard of victory,
to which even thought was to be led captive, and before
which imaginations were to be cast down ; that is to
say, human wisdom and skeptic reluctance. No voice

To sublime was heard sounding from a thunder^bearing
cloud, as of old from the heights of Sinai ! No approach



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