positions in the world. Such were the discourses of our Saviour. Nothing could be farther from loose, rambling, common-place exhortations. Nothing could be farther from that style, which says, "Oh! my hearers, you must be good; you must be pious men ; and you must feel on this great subject." No, the hearers, by close, cogent, home-put argument, were made to feel; and they said, "never man spake like this man."

I may be thought singular, but I verily believe, that in most moral discourses at this day, the grand defect is not so much a defect of feeling, as it is a defect of close and discriminating argument; and that higher powers of argumentation are precisely what are wanted, in such sermons, to make them more weighty, practical and impressive. And it is not the intellectual hearer, who can perhaps supply the deficiency, that most needs this; but the plain hearer who is mystified, misled and stupified, by the want of clear and piercing discrimination. I have that respect for human nature in its humblest forms, as to think that the highest powers of man or angel, would not be thrown away upon it and I cannot believe that nothing but truisms and common-places, vague generalities and unstudied exhortations, are required in teaching religion to such a nature.

It is required of a man, to be sure, according to what he hath, and not according to what he hath not. But if it be thought that the utmost, and far more than the utmost measure of human talent, may not be well employed in religious discussion, how, let me ask, is that opinion to be defended against the charge of doing dishonour to religion? There is no other interest which is not held to be worthy of the profoundest discussion. He who is to plead the cause of some earth

ly right or property before the judges of the land or its legislators, will, by deep study, prepare himself to give the most able and elaborate views of the subject; be it of a title or a tariff, a bond or a bank. It is a great occasion, and must task all the powers of the mind to do it justice. But "a little plain sense,❞—is not this the thought of some? "a little plain sense, a little common-place thought, is good enough for religion !"

There are tasks for the religious teacher; and to name no other, that of disembarrassing religious experience from the many mistakes in which it is involved, is one that must carry the preacher far enough beyond the range of common-place truths, valuable as they may be; and one that is very necessary to the promotion of a just and healthful religious sensibility. And this only amounts to saying, that there are new things to be said, new views to be given in religion; that, not plain and obvious things only are to be said, but that there is to be something to be told to many which they did not think of before. And what though the preacher feel his subject, and the people be impressed; yet after all, the impression, the feeling may have much in it that is wrong. The whole subject of religious sensibility, its sources and the methods of its culture, may be very ill understood; and there is no little evidence that it is ill understood, from the fact, that most religious feeling is so artificial, so mechanical, so periodical, and fluctuating, and uncertain, instead of being habitual and healthful and strong. A man may feel very much, within a very narrow compass of thought. Who has not often observed it? But who that has observed it, would not think it desirable to carry him beyond this little mechanism, by which he contrives from time to time, (if I may speak

so) to grind out a certain amount of feeling,-to carry him beyond, I say, to those wide and generous views of religion, to that intelligent culture of his nature, from which religious feeling will spring naturally and freely, and flow abundantly, and in a full and living stream. There is all the difference here, and only of infinitely greater importance, that there is between the slavish artisan, governed by rules, and the intelligent machinist, discovering principles, constantly inventing and improving, and ever going on to perfection.

But it is time that I should proceed from the defence to the more particular application of my proposition. The proposition is, that feeling in religion, to be deep and thorough, to be habitual, to be relied on to spring up with unvarying promptitude at every call of religion, must be rational, perfectly rational; rational in its nature, its methods of culture, its ends. You ask how you shall learn to feel on the subject of religion, -with spontaneous freedom, with unaffected delight, and with true-hearted earnestness; how you shall learn to feel in religion as you do in friendship, and in the family relations; and I answer, rationally. And I say, moreover, that provided a man really and honestly desires and strives to feel, the reason why he fails, is, that there is something irrational in his views, irrational in his seeking, irrational in the whole method of his procedure. He has irrational views of the nature of religious feeling. He expects it to be some strange sensation, or something supernatural, or some hallucination, or something, he knows not what. Or he has wrong views of God. He does not see the glory and loveliness of his perfection. Or he has wrong ideas of the methods of obtaining religious feeling. He is indolently waiting for it, or irrationally expecting it to come upon him in some indescribable manner, or un

reasonably looking for an influence from above, which God has never promised. For although he has promised help, he has not proffered in that help, anything to be substituted for our own efforts: and our efforts are to be every way just as rational, as if he had promised nothing. Or, the seeker of religion has irrational views of the end. He does not distinctly see, that his perfection, his happiness is the end. If he did, he would be drawn on to seek it, with a more willing and hearty earnestness. No, but he feels as if the demand for his heart in this matter, were a mere arbitrary requisition, as if it were the bare will of some superior Being, without any reason for it. He seeks religion, because he vaguely and blindly apprehends that it is something that it is the prominent idea of thousands -something which he must have.

I say that the process of obtaining a high and delightful religious sensibility, that sensibility which makes prayer always fervent and meditation fruitful and satisfying, must be rational, and nothing but rational. And I do not say this, in any spirit of defiance towards that prevailing opinion which has fastened on this word, rational, the idea of coldness and indifference. I say it, because in sober truth and earnestness, I know of no other way to feel the deep sense of religion, but to feel it rationally. It is out of my power— is it within any man's power?-to conceive of any other way to awaken emotion, but to fix the mind on those objects that are to awaken it. If I would feel the sentiment of gratitude and love to my Creator, I can conceive of no way of doing so, but to think of his goodness, his perfection; to spread before my mind, all the images and evidences of his majesty, his perfection, his love. If I would feel the charms of virtue, I must contemplate her; I must see "virtue in her

shape, how lovely." If I would love good men, which is a part of religion, I must know them, and mingle with them; I must talk with them, or read of them, and spread the story of their generous and blessed deeds before me. And thus also, and for the same reason, if I would love God, I must not only contemplate him, as has been already said, but I must be familiar with the contemplation of his being and perfection. Earth through all her fair and glorious scenes, must speak to me of Him. The sacred page, with all its gracious words of teaching and promise, must speak to me of Him. And I must listen with gladness, with a sense of my high privilege, and with joy must I commune with all the teachings of God to me, as I would commune with the words of a friend. This is the rational process.

But this, my friends, is not to say, that "we hope we shall some time or other, attain to the love of God," or that "we desire it," or that, "it is difficult," or that

we fear we never shall reach it;" it is not saying, and saying, this or that, in a sort of ideal, or idle speculation; but it is doing something. It is seeking to feel the power of religion, as we seek to feel the power of other things; of the arts, of philosophy, of science, of astronomy, or of music; attentively, sedulously, with a careful use of opportunities, with a heedful regard to circumstances. The rational method, then, is the method of attention.

But in the next place, the rational method is the method of association; or, in other words, it is a method, which regards that great law of the mind, the law of association. It pays regard to places and times and seasons, and moods of mind. It is partly an indirect method. It is, to put ourselves in the way of obtaining a sense of religion.