is possessed of such power." And in this praise we unite. What the Lord Jesus was formerly, he is doubtless the same now, and is so in no inferior degree wherever two or three are met together in his name. And of that power which he had of old who shall rob him? It is his, and will be his, to the end of the world. Would you have a true apprehension of his power? It is made manifest on earth in the forgiveness of sin. Even now, from his own mouth, we may hear that our sins are washed away in his blood; even now, the silent consciousness of delight, because of the forgiveness of sin, may be our blessed experience. As this earth is the theatre of sin, so also of grace. "Peace on earth," was the song of the angels over Bethlehem's hills: and he himself, even Jesus, solemnly testified, before his ascension into heaven, that all power was given unto him alike on earth and in heaven. In the face of such declarations, what becomes of the comfortless doctrine of the Romanists, that on earth no man can be assured of the forgiveness of his sins, or of future blessedness? What becomes of the "Enlighented ones," with their nonsensical talk that it is arrogance, or fanaticism, to maintain that here one may obtain the forgiveness of God? O, away with all this! Such assertions, what are they, but a denial of the living God, or, at least, a charge against the Lord Jesus of having, in this world, covered for us only a "table of shew bread?" The language, however, in which he addresses us is not, "Come and sec," but, "Come, eat and drink." O, then, let us comply with this call, and repair to the throne of grace. All that is needed on our part is, that, as poor sinners, we hunger and thirst after forgiveness-that we give ourselves to him with unreserved confidential trust-that, out of the depth of our heart, we exclaim, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me," and then wait for his aid in silent expectation. Wherever such is the spirit manifested, relief will not be deferred. The words of Jesus, "Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out," will find the way to our heart. A sign will be given to us which implies that we are heard. The Spirit will witness with our spirits: "Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven thee." And, united to him, we shall feel that henceforth we cannot do without him; for who but he has "the words of eternal life!" And if we know this, we are indeed rich. We have the pearl, and stand in need of nothing more. Then, while others around us are disputing who Christ is, we "sit under his shadow with great delight," and are gladdened with his precious loving-kindness. Then, let what will, in the external framework of the Church, fall with a crash, and become a ruin, we know that we are hidden within that Church against which the gates of hell shall not prevail. Then, while the blind deny that "the Sun of Righteousness" hath arisen, we bask in the beams of that very sun, and look with a smile of pity on those poor blinded men. Then, with our convictions unshaken, we can hear the unbeliev ing declare that Jesus has long since ceased to have a concern about what is passing on this earth; we look from the window of the house of Bethany, and say, "Children, only come in hither to us, and be convinced of the contrary." Unmoved by the alarms of Antichristian opposition, we pass, animated by the sweet secret in our souls, serenely and cheerfully through the scene of wild confusion, only trembling for the blasphemer. And even should the prince of darkness himself rise up against us, and point his poisoned dagger at our heartshould he try to cement "the hand-writing" that has been torn asunder, and thus seek to fill us with discouragement, or to drive us to despair; or should he exhibit death to us as a frightful spectre, and trouble us with the hell of Cain and Judas by the way; we are washed from all our sins in the blood of the Lamb-we knowit-Jesus himself hath told us, "Our trans- | gressions are no more remembered against us;" | and, "If God be for us, who can be against us?" O may the Holy Spirit give to those of us who are thus blessed, full and undoubted assurance that our sins are forgiven! May he bring us low at the feet of "the Man" who is like unto God in the highest; for there only, there only will the precious announcement be made to us. So long as we are without this.' assurance, and until he hath "kissed us with the kisses of his mouth," let us not quit our i station at his feet. Even this day great peace may be imparted to us. And then, with a blessed Sabbath in our souls, we shall be enabled, as strangers and pilgrims, to pass through all the agitations and alarms of time. unto thy rest, O my soul: for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee. Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living." O, sweet, blessed accents of peace! May they speedily be breathed upon our souls, and rest upon them! Amen. Return MOUNT MORIAH. ADVERTISEMENT OF A LOST DAY. BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. LOST! lost! lost! A gem of countless price, Cut from the living rock, And graved in Paradise. Set round with three times eight Large diamonds, clear and bright, And each with sixty smaller ones, All changeful as the light. Lost-where the thoughtless throng In fashion's mazes wind, Where thrilleth folly's song, Leaving a sting behind; Yet to my hand 'twas given A golden harp to buy, Such as the white-robed choir attune To deathless minstrelsy. Lost! lost! lost! I feel all search is vain; That gem of countless cost Can ne'er be mine again! I offer no reward, For till these heart-strings sever, I know that heaven-intrusted gift Is reft away for ever! But when the sea and land, Like burning scroll have fled, I'll see it in His hand Who judgeth quick and dead; And when of scathe and loss That man can ne'er repair, The dread inquiry meets my soul, What shall it answer there? MOUNT MORIAH. BY THE REV. J. T. HEADLEY, NEW YORK. MOUNT MORIAH stands just without Jerusalem, and is now crowned with the Mosque of St. Omar, whose entrance has long been forbidden to the Christian, and kept sacred for the followers of Mahomet. It stands where the rude altar of Abraham rose nearly four thousand years ago. The proud city has risen and fallen beside it, the generations of men come and gone, and whole dynasties of kings disappeared one after another; yet there it stands as it stood in the wilderness, when it was trodden only by the wild beast of the forest. The sacrifice of Abraham, which consecrated Mount Moriah, is to me one of the most touching events in human history. I can never read over the unostentatious, brief account given in the Bible without the profoundest emotions. Knowing that parental feeling and human nature are the same in all ages, my imagination immediately fills up the sketch in all its thrilling details. The shock of the announcement by God-the farewell with Sarah-the three days' lonely journey-the unconscious 67 playfulness of Isaac on the way, and the stern struggle of the father's heart to master its. emotions, all rise before me, and I seem to hold my breath in suspense till the voice of the angel breaks the painful spell, and the uplifted knife is stayed. Abraham had long wished and prayed for a son who should inherit his property-bear up his name, and transmit it to posterity, until it had become the absorbing thought of his life. Isaac was the child of his old age-his only son -the single link on which every thing rested, and on him were garnered all the love and hopes of his noble heart. But if he was an object of such intense affection and priceless worth to Abraham, what must he have been to Sarah? Oh, who can tell with what absorbing love, what inexpressible fondness, the mother bowed over his cradle and watched his growing strength. Isaac-that name was to her the embodiment of every thing beautiful and lovely, and his clear laugh never rung out on the morning air without sending a thrill through her bosom almost painful from its intense delight. His voice without the tent would arrest her in the midst of any occupation, and there was no world where her boy was not. But this beautiful scion was to be cut off-this bright young being slain, and the father's hand was to do the deed. So came the command from Heaven; and the bolt that then and there crushed through Abraham's heart none but God saw enter. "Take now thy son, thy only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt-offering on one of the mountains I shall tell thee of." The lightning had fallen, and the aged tree was struck, though not shattered. The patriarch's fear had come upon him, and he turned to his tent that night with a cloud on his soul the light of faith could scarcely pierce. The voice of his son which had heretofore made his heart leap for joy, now sent a pang through it, as if it were the last cry of suffering rather than the call of affection. No sleep visited his eyes that night; yet he kept the fearful tidings to himself, and summoned all his energies to meet the terrible trial that awaited him. What! tell the mother that her boy was to be slain, and the father to do the deed! that the lamb of her bosom and the only joy of her heart was to be gashed and marred by the cruel knife, and his body burned on a far desolate mountain! that he was to come back no more-his voice to cheer her loneliness no more, but his ashes to be scattered over the bleak hill-side by the winds of heaven! Oh no! the burden was heavy enough already, without taking upon himself the mother's grief. Beside, that boy could never leave the tent in the morning unconscious of his approaching fate, if the mother's farewell was to be a last one. That fatal leave-taking would be a double sacrifice, and before the time. is possessed of such power." And in this praise we unite. What the Lord Jesus was formerly, he is doubtless the same now, and is so in no inferior degree wherever two or three are met together in his name. And of that power which he had of old who shall rob him? It is his, and will be his, to the end of the world. Would you have a true apprehension of his power? It is made manifest on earth in the forgiveness of sin. Even now, from his own mouth, we may hear that our sins are washed away in his blood; even now, the silent consciousness of delight, because of the forgiveness of sin, may be our blessed experience. As this earth is the theatre of sin, so also of grace. "Peace on earth," was the song of the angels over Bethlehem's hills: and he himself, even Jesus, solemnly testified, before his ascension into heaven, that all power was given unto him alike on earth and in heaven. In the face of such declarations, what becomes of the comfortless doctrine of the Romanists, that on earth no man can be assured of the forgiveness of his sins, or of future blessedness? What becomes of the "Enlighented ones," with their nonsensical talk that it is arrogance, or fanaticism, to maintain that here one may obtain the forgiveness of God? O, away with all this! Such assertions, what are they, but a denial of the living God, or, at least, a charge against the Lord Jesus of having, in this world, covered for us only a "table of shew bread?" The language, however, in which he addresses us is not, "Come and see," but, "Come, eat and drink." O, then, let us comply with this call, and repair to the throne of grace. All that is needed on our part is, that, as poor sinners, we hunger and thirst after forgiveness-that we give ourselves to him with unreserved confidential trust-that, out of the depth of our heart, we exclaim, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me," and then wait for his aid in silent expectation. Wherever such is the spirit manifested, relief will not be deferred. The words of Jesus, "Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out," will find the way to our heart. A sign will be given to us which implies that we are heard. The Spirit will witness with our spirits: "Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven thee." And, united to him, we shall feel that henceforth we cannot do without him; for who but he has "the words of eternal life!" And if we know this, we are indeed rich. We have the pearl, and stand in need of nothing more. Then, while others around us are disputing who Christ is, we "sit under his shadow with great delight," and are gladdened with his precious loving-kindness. Then, let what will, in the external framework of the Church, fall with a crash, and become a ruin, we know that we are hidden within that Church against which the gates of hell shall not prevail. Then, while the blind deny that "the Sun of Righteousness" hath arisen, we bask in the beams of that very sun, and look with a smile of pity on those poor blinded men. Then, with our convictions unshaken, we can hear the unbeliev ing declare that Jesus has long since ceased to have a concern about what is passing on this earth; we look from the window of the house of Bethany, and say, "Children, only come in hither to us, and be convinced of the contrary.” Unmoved by the alarms of Antichristian opposition, we pass, animated by the sweet secret in our souls, serenely and cheerfully through the scene of wild confusion, only trembling for the blasphemer. And even should the prince of darkness himself rise up against us, and point his poisoned dagger at our heartshould he try to cement "the hand-writing" that has been torn asunder, and thus seek to fill us with discouragement, or to drive us to despair; or should he exhibit death to us as frightful spectre, and trouble us with the hell of Cain and Judas by the way; we are washed | from all our sins in the blood of the Lamb-we"! knowit-Jesus himself hath told us, “Our transgressions are no more remembered against us;" and, "If God be for us, who can be against us?" a O may the Holy Spirit give to those of us who are thus blessed, full and undoubted assurance that our sins are forgiven! May he bring us low at the feet of "the Man" who is like unto God in the highest; for there only, there only will the precious announcement be made to us. So long as we are without this assurance, and until he hath "kissed us with the kisses of his mouth," let us not quit our station at his feet. Even this day great peace may be imparted to us. And then, with a blessed Sabbath in our souls, we shall be enabled, as strangers and pilgrims, to pass through all the agitations and alarms of time. "Return unto thy rest, O my soul: for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee. Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living.” sweet, blessed accents of peace! May they speedily be breathed upon our souls, and rest upon them! Amen. BY THE REV. J. T. HEADLEY, NEW YORK. lovely, and her b was no beant e MOUNT MORIAH stands just without Jerusalem, and is now crowned with the Mosque of St. to Omar, whose entrance has long been forbidden. to the Christian, and kept sacred for the followers of Mahomet. It stands where the rude sleep altar of Abraham rose nearly four thousand fear. years ago. The proud city has risen and fallen his beside it, the generations of men come and aw gone, and whole dynasties of kings disappeared boy w one after another; yet there it stands as it stood de in the wilderness, when it was trodden only by je the wild beast of the forest. 1 The sacrifice of Abraham, which consecrated f Mount Moriah, is to me one of the most touch-La ing events in human history. I can never read over the unostentatious, brief account given in the Bible without the profoundest emotions. Knowing that parental feeling and human nature are the same in all ages, my imaginab tion immediately fills up the sketch in all its th thrilling details. The shock of the announce fa ment by God-the farewell with Sarah-the three days' lonely journey-the unconscious ON. ore Israel, and that the Lord on them unto re which died dren of Israel ver of hailor at least xt literally of reat stones to and many the sword." it not that Der bearing state that than to exd execution ression common in ed in most many intere been disnes as the tion. This wish to That is hailstones пу 68 The morning broke clear and beautiful-the asses were saddled, and all was ready for departure; yet still Isaac lingered in the tent, covered with the fond caresses of his mother. To part with him a week seemed like losing him an age. But at length she led him forth to the door of the tent, and imprinting a last kiss on his bright young forehead, bade him go. As Abraham saw him approach with half a smile and half a tear on his face, he thought of his own return without him, and the mute despair and crushing agony that would meet him as he stood speechless, and helpless, and desolate before his wife. Who could answer her inquiries? who still her piercing cries for Isaac her only son? All these thoughts rushed over the patriarch's beart, bearing him to the earth; yet his firm soul never betrayed his emotions, and he turned away to meet the struggle before him without faltering or delay. His tent disappeared in the distance, and the last object visible on the plain was the form of Sarah watching them from afar. For three weary days did Abraham journey on, pressed with a single thought, crushed by one over-mastering sorrow, and yet without a heart to sympathize with him. Isaac, on whose pure spirit young hopes lay like morning dew-drops-to whom life was fresh, joyous, and radiant, and the earth belted with rainbows-talked ceaselessly of the new objects and scenes that passed before them. But his delights, his innocent enjoyment, brought only a deeper shade on Abraham's brow, and, if he smiled to please his child, it was a smile more painful to behold than his look of sadness. Each answer to his inquiries seemed a heartless deception, and the weary hours a mere prolongation of the mockery of his young affections and desires and joys. And when that son pillowed his head on his bosom at night, and Abraham, too desolate to sleep, listened to his calm breathings, methinks his purpose to slay him almost faltered; and, when the morning broke over the landscape, and he watched him still in beauty by his side, the task required of him seemed too great for human strength. But the darker the hour grew, and the more fixed the irrevocable decree, the heavier he leaned on the Omnipotent arm. After three days' toilsome travel, the mountain at length rose before them, and Abraham bidding his servants wait his return, took his son and began to ascend its rugged sides. Like the great antitype who bore his own cross up Calvary, Isaac carried the wood for the burnt-offering on his shoulders, while Abraham took the fire and knife in his hand. "So they went both of them together." It requires no vivid imagination to fill up this scene, so slightly sketched in the Bible. Human nature is the same the world over, and as the hour of stern trial approached, Abraham became silent and sad. The fire and knife in his hand, caused him to shudder, for they made what had before been a vision, a passing fact, and he started as the blade glittered in the sun-light, as if he already saw it quivering in his son's bosom. But Isaac, unconscious of the fate before him, continued to talk with all the gaiety and carelessness of boyhood, until, at length, sobered by his together, he too grew silent. father's stern aspect, and the toil of the way spirits subsided, his thoughts naturally turned upon the solemn event that seemed so to absorb As his buoyant and subdue his father. Suddenly it flashed ing, and, thinking it must have been forgotten, over him that there was no lamb for the offerhe turned to his father with an awakened, inquiring look, and exclaimed, "Father, father!" "Behold the wood and the fire, but where is the "What, my son?" was the half absent reply. lamb for the offering?" Oh, who can tell the pang that question shot through the father's || heart. The tone, the look, all showed the very soul of confidence and love, and Abraham staggered under the sudden gush of feeling, as if smitten by a blow. But pressing down by a strong effort the emotions that suffocated him, he replied in a faint and tremulous voice: "My offering." son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt again into silence, though his youthful heart This satisfied him, and he lapsed began to tremble before a vague undefined fear of some coming evil. The mountain breeze, as it swept by, had a mournful sound-not a living thing disturbed the solitude, and "so they went both of them together." But when Isaac saw his father begin to bind him, as he had often terrible truth at length flashed on his mind that seen him bind the lamb for sacrifice, and the he was to be slain, who can tell the consternation of his young heart! Oh, who can tell the pleading looks and still more pleading language, and tears with which he prayed his father to spare him? And who can tell the anguish of that paternal heart as it met each sob and agonizing cry with the stern language, son, God has chosen thee as the lamb for the burnt-offering." Methinks, as fear gradually yielded to filial obedience, and to the command My of Heaven, and the moving words, "My mother, my mother," died away in indistinct murmurs, fatal blow, but opened them instinctively on that Isaac did not close his eyes against the his father, his only help in that fearful hour, and still watched the glittering blade as it quivered like a serpent's tongue above his bosom, But, oh! who nerved the parent's heart in that for it was his father who was about to strike. terrible moment? As his hand put back the clustering ringlets from that fair young forehead, and his glance pierced the depth of those who gave steadiness to his arm, and strength eyes fixed so lovingly yet despairingly on him, to his will, as he bent to the fatal stroke? He who cried, "Abraham, Abraham! spare thy son; Lay not thy hand upon the lad, neither do anything unto him; for now I know that thou |