DISCOURSE XII.

REFLECTIONS AT THE CLOSE OF DAY.

GENESIS XXIV. 63. AND ISAAC WENT OUT TO MEDITATE

IN THE FIELD AT EVENTIDE.

THE employment of the evening hour, here described, and attributed to the ancient patriarch, is variously represented by different commentators. Some say that he went out to meditate, others to pray, and others render it, that he went out simply to walk in the field, at eventide. I have only to remark that there is no impropriety in supposing either of these to be the true meaning; and that all of them might be very naturally united, in such an hour and place.

But be this as it may-I am about to propose to you some of those reflections which are suitable to the close of day.

I. And the first and most natural reflection to make at the return of the evening, is, on the blessings we have enjoyed the blessings of nature, of existence,

and the blessings with which life and the world, are filled. To the contemplation of nature simply considered to the contemplation of that grand display which every day's revolution opens to us, there is a prevailing indifference, arising, I think, from causes which are not altogether of a moral character. There have been so many fanciful and merely pretty descriptions of nature, as to have brought a kind of discredit on all professed meditations of this kind. It is almost felt as if it were the province of poets and sentimentalists only, with which common men on common occaAnd thus many of sions, have little or nothing to do. us, by a sort of formal maxim, have shut ourselves out from some of the most delightful and ennobling reflections. We have a natural obstacle to contend with of sufficient strength, without creating any artificial ones. The commonness which attaches to every thing in the world around us, has almost unavoidably tended to bring down all that is splendid, beautiful and majestic in nature, to the character of what is tame, ordinary, and uninteresting. With what emotion does a man enter into some populous and magnificent city, which he has never before seen! With what enthusiasm do our travellers visit Rome, and survey its noble ruins of aqueducts, and temples, and triumphal arches! With what a fascination of the senses, should we wander through some of those Oriental palaces or halls, of which we read; amidst magnificent decorations of every material, form, and coloring-golden lamps, and resplendent mirrors, carved work and tapestry, and silken couches and carpets rich with all the dyes of the East; where luxury, and art, and imagination have gathered

all their treasures-where the air that circulates through them is loaded with perfume, and breathes with music : -we should probably feel almost as if we were in another and etherial world. And yet I do not hesitate to say, that all this is perfectly flat and insipid compared with what we witness in the revolution of every day! Let it only be new,-let it be seen for the first time--let the earth be surveyed in such a season as this which is now passing over us ;--let a being like ourselves, be brought from some region where the sun never shone, where the fields were never clothed with verdure nor the trees with foliage-let him behold first, the glorious coming of the day, the golden East, the Sun as he would burst from the clouds that wait upon his rising; let him look up to the heavens that spread in awful beauty and sublimity above him; let him gaze upon the earth around him with all its fair and various forms, its fresh verdure and flowery fields, its trees and forests, all waving in the breeze of morning; let him hear the song from the groves-the song of happiness that blends with all the sounds of the wakening earth; let him catch in his view the living streams as they flow, the extended plains, the majestic mountains, and then go forth and survey the boundless tracts of ocean; let him wander the live-long day, through all this world of beauty and magnificence,-and how poor and meagre would be to him, all the works of human power and art! Would he not meditate, as he walked forth at the eventide of such a day? Would he not say-"what a day has this been? a day of wonders!" Would he not almost instinctively bow down in adoration and gratitude, and in language like that which the

poet has put into the mouth of the first man who saw all this loveliness and glory, would he not say,

"These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair. Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable-who sitest above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine."

Another subject of reflection appropriate to the eventide is life; life I mean, now, as a blessing.

A day's existence, since there are innumerable days like it, is commonly regarded, I believe, as one of the most indifferent matters of reflection; as scarcely worthy of notice, unless it be to speak of its vanity and unimportance, and the little it has offered of what is either interesting or estimable. Such, alas! is the fruit of prevailing irreligion. If it be asked of most persons concerning the day that has passed over them, what it has offered that is worthy of note, it is common to hear it spoken of with the greatest indifference, and often with ennui and weariness. It seems to be thought of, as a hasty and vanishing moment; and a moment, too, which if it had not been hasty, would have been far worse than indifferent or wearisome. I do not say, that we should be often making grave or sentimental comments on the day that is past; but I fear that the opposite habit of speaking-the light or indifferent or dull habit, but too well indicates the insensibility there. is to the value of existence, to the value of a day.

Others may feel something of its value. In their even

ing offerings of thanksgiving, they may acknowledge the favor of God to them that they have lived another day. But how little-may it not be ?-that the most considerate and devout feel the import of this acknowledgement! How great is the privilege of existence !-to live, to think, to be to have come forth, as we have, from darkness, from nothingness, to the joyful precincts of life and light; to be clothed with these senses, mysterious ministers, that bring all nature around, subject to us-all its fruits, its fair forms, its beautiful colors, its fragrance and its music, subject to our dominion. Doth not the ephemeral insect, that perishes in the hour or the day of its birth, that is confined to a little spot of earth, or pool of water—yet doth it not sport in the beams of life? Is not the winged creature, the frail passer-by of a season, buoyant and melodious with the joy of its transient being? Hath not the goat upon the high hills-hath not the eagle in the mountaintop, a gift, for which he might well pay thanks, if he could do so? And what thanks then shall man render for his rational, religious, immortal being-man that he is, unlike the beasts of the field, capable of being thankful? Theirs is a life of sensation; his, a life of the soul. Their guidance and limit is instinct; he walks in the paths of knowledge, of improvement-yea, in the everlasting paths of improvement and hope. They shall pass away-from every valley and mountain, from every living stream, and every region of air, they shall quickly pass to the shades of eternal oblivion. But man that liveth now, shall live for. The day that is passing over him, belongs to a series of endless days and ages. What value shall he not attach to such an existence? What tribute of gratitude

ever.