wrong and evil in man, is the perversion of something that is good and right. To that good and right, I contend that religion should speak. To that it must speak, for there is nothing else, that can hear it. We do not appeal to abstractions of evil in man, because there are no such things in him; but we appeal to affections; to affections in which there is a mixture of good and evil. To the good, then, I say, we must appeal, against the evil. And every preacher of righteousness, may boldly and fearlessly approach the human heart, in the confidence that however it may defend itself against him, however high it may build its battlements of habit and its towers of pride, he has friends in the very citadel.

I say, then, that religion should address the true moral nature of man, as its friend, and not as its enemy; as its lawful subject, and not as an alien or a traitor; and should address it, therefore, with generous and hopeful confidence, and not with cold and repulsive distrust. What is it, in this nature to which religion speaks? To reason, to conscience, to the love of happiness, to the sense of the infinite and the beautiful, to aspirations after immortal good; to natural sensibility, also, to the love of kindred and country and home. All these are in this nature, and they are all fitted to render obedience to religion. In this obedience they are satisfied, and indeed they can never be satisfied without it.

Admit, now, that these powers are ever so sadly perverted and corrupted, still, no one maintains, that they are destroyed. Neither is their testimony to what is right ever, in any case, utterly silenced. Should they not, then, be appealed to in a tone of confidence?

Suppose, for instance, to illustrate our observation, that simple reason were appealed to any subject not religious; and suppose to make the case parallel, that the reason of the man on that subject were very much perverted, that he was very much prejudiced and misled. Yet would not the argument be directed to his reason, as a principle actually existing in him, and as a principle to be confided in and to be recovered from its error? Would not every tone of the argument and of the expostulation show confidence in the principle addressed?

Oh! what power might religion have had, if it had breathed this tone of confidence; if it had gone down into the deep and silent places of the heart as the voice of friendship; if it had known what dear and precious treasures of love and hope and joy are there, ready to be made celestial by its touch; if it had spoken to man as the most affectionate parent would speak to his most beloved, though sadly erring child; if it had said in the emphatic language of the text, "unto you, 0 men, I call, and my voice is to the sons of men;" lo! I have set my love upon you-upon you, men of the strong and affectionate nature, of the aspiring and heaven-needing soul-not upon inferior creatures, not upon the beasts of the field, but upon you have I set my love; give entrance to me, not with fear and mistrust, but with good hope and with gladness; give entrance to me, and I will make my abode with you, and I will build up all that is within you, in glory, and beauty, and ineffable brightness." Alas! for our erring and sinful, but also misguided and ill-used nature; bad enough, indeed, we have made it or suffered it to be made; but if a better lot had befallen it,

if kindlier influences had breathed upon it, if the parent's and the preacher's voice, inspired with every tone of hallowed feeling, had won it to piety, if the train of social life, with every attractive charm of goodness, had led it in the consecrated way, we had ere this known, what now alas! we so poorly know— we had known what it is to be children of God, and heirs of heaven.

My friends, let religion speak to us, in its own true character, with all its mighty power, and winning candour and tenderness. It is the principle of infinite wisdom that speaks. From that unknown period before the world was created--so saith the holy record -from the depth of eternity, from the centre of infinity, from the heart of the universe, from "the bosom. of God"-its voice has come forth, and spoken to us— to us, men, in our lowly habitations. What a ministration is it! It is the infinite communing with the finite; it is might communing with frailty; it is mercy stretching out its arms, to the guilty. It is goodness, taking part with all that is good in us, against all that is evil. So full, so overflowing, so all-pervading, is it, that all things give it utterance. It speaks to us in every thing lowly, and in every thing lofty. It speaks to us every whispered accent of human affection; and in every revelation that is sounded out from the spreading heavens. It speaks to us from this lowly seat at which we bow down in prayer-from this humble shrine veiled with the shadows of mortal infirmity; and it speaks to us alike, from those altar-fires, that blaze in the heights of the firmament. It speaks where the seven thunders utter their voices; and it sends forth its voice-of pity more than human, of

agony more than mortal-from the silent summit of Calvary.

Can a principle so sublime and so benignant as religion, speak to us but for our good? Can infinity, can omnipotence, can boundless love, speak to us, but in the spirit of infinite generosity, and candour, and tenderness? No; it may be the infirmity of man to use a harsh tone, and to heap upon us bitter and cruel upbraidings; but so speaks not religion. It says-and I trace an accent of tenderness and entreaty in every word "unto you, O men, I call; and my voice-my voice is to the children of men."

O man! whosoever thou art, hear that voice of wisdom. Hear it, thou sacred conscience! and give not way to evil; touch no bribe; touch not dishonest gain; touch not the sparkling cup of unlawful pleasure. Hear it, ye better affections! dear and holy! and turn not your purity to pollution, and your sweetness to bitterness, and your hope, to shame. Hear it, poor, wearied, broken, prostrate, human nature! and rise to penitence, to sanctity, to glory, to heaven. Rise now; lest soon, it be for ever too late. Rise, at this entreaty of wisdom, for wisdom can utter no more. Rise, arise at this voice for the universe is exhausted of all its revelations-infinity, omnipotence, boundless love have lavished their uttermost resource in this one provision, this one call, this one Gospel, of mercy!

92

DISCOURSE VI.

SPIRITUAL INTERESTS, REAL AND SUPREME.

JOHN VI. 26, 27. JESUS ANSWERED THEM and said, VerILY
VERILY I SAY UNTO YOU, YE SEEK ME, NOT BECAUSE YE SAW
THE MIRACLES, BUT BECAUSE YE DID EAT OF THE LOAVES
AND WERE FILLED.
LABOUR NOT FOR THE MEAT WHICH

PERISHETH, BUT FOR THAT MEAT WHICH ENDURETH UNTO
ETERNAL LIFE.

THE contrast here set forth, is between a worldly mind and a spiritual mind: and so very marked and striking is it, that the fact upon which it is based, may seem to be altogether extraordinary—a solitary instance of Jewish stupidity, and not applicable to any other people, or any after times. Our Saviour avers that the multitude who followed him, on a certain occasion, did so, not because they saw those astonishing miracles, that gave witness to his spiritual mission; but simply, because they did eat of the loaves, and were filled. Yet, strange as it may seem, the same great moral error, I believe, still exists; the same preference of sensual to spiritual good, though the specific exemplification of the principle can no longer be exhibited among men. But let us attend to our Saviour's exhortation. "Labour not for the meat that perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto eternal life."