your homes and by your firesides wherein you may act as nobly, as if all your life long you visited beds of sickness and pain. Yes, I say, the million occasions will come, varying every hour, in which you may restrain your passions, subdue your hearts to gentleness and patience, resign your own interest for another's advantage, speak words of kindness and wisdom, raise the fallen and cheer the fainting and sick in spirit, and soften and assuage the weariness and bitterness of the mortal lot. These cannot indeed be written on your tombs, for they are not one series of specific actions, like those of what is technically denominated philanthropy. But in them, I say, you may discharge offices not less gracious to others, nor less glorious for yourselves, than the selfdenials of the far-famed sisters of charity, than the labours of Howard or Oberlin, or than the sufferings of the martyred host of God's elect. They shall not be written on your tombs; but they are written deep in the hearts of men-of friends, of children, of kindred all around you: they are written in the secret book of the great account!

How divine a life would this be! For want of this spiritual insight, the earth is desolate, and the heavens are but a sparkling vault or celestial mechanism. Nothing but this spirit of God in us can 66 create that new heavens and new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness." For want of this, life is to many dull and barren, or trifling, uninteresting, unsatisfactory-without sentiment, without poetry and philosophy alike, without interpretation or meaning or lofty motive. Whirled about by incessant change, making an oracle of circumstance and an end of vanity, such persons know not why they live. For want of this spiritual insight, man degrades himself to the worship of condition, and loses the sense of what he is. He passes by a grand house, or a blazoned equipage, and bows his whole lofty being before them-forgetting that he himself is greater than a house-greater than an equipage-greater than the world. Oh! to think that this walking majesty of earth should so forget itself, that this spiritual power in man should be frittered away, and dissipated upon trifles and vanities-how lamentable is it! There is no Gospel for such a being; for the Gospel lays its foundations in the spiritual nature. There is nothing for man but what lies in his spirit-in spiritual insight-in spiritual interpretation. Without this, not only is heaven nothing, but the world is nothing. The great Apostle has resolved it all in few words. "There is no condemnation to them who are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit but to all others there is condemnation,-sorrow, pain, vanity, death. For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace."

LIFE CONSIDERED AS AN ARGUMENT

FOR FAITH AND VIRTUE.

MATTHEW iv. 4: "But he answered and said, It is written that man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God."

THE necessity to man, of something above all the resources of physical life, is the subject to which, in this discourse, I shall invite your attention.

In two previous discourses on human life which I have addressed to you, I have endeavoured to show, in the first place, and in general, that this life possesses a deep, moral significance, notwithstanding all that is said of it, as a series of toils, trifles, and vanities, and in the next place, and in pursuance of the same thought, that everything in life is positively moral-not merely that it is morally significant, but that it has a positive moral efficiency for good or for evil. And now I say in the third place, that the argument for the moral purpose, is clenched by the necessity of that purpose, to the well-being of life itself." Man," -says our Saviour, with solemn authority-"shall not live by bread alone, but "--by what! how few seem to believe in it!—" by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God."

How few seem to believe in it-how few do believe this, in the highest sense-and yet how true is it! Into how large a part even of the most ordinary life, enters a certain kind and degree of spirituality! You cannot do business, without some faith in man—that is, in the spiritual part of man. You cannot dig in the earth, without a reliance on the unseen result. You cannot step, or think, or reason, without confiding in the inward, the spiritual principles of your nature. All the affections, and bonds, and hopes, and interests of life, centre in the spiritual. Break that central bond, and you know that the world would rush to chaos.

But something higher than this indirect recognition is demanded in our argument. Let us proceed to take it up in form.

There are two principles, then, involved in the moral aim, and embracing its whole scope, whose necessity I propose now to consider. They are faith and virtue: the convictions, that is to say, on which virtue reposes, and the virtue itself. Something above a man's physical life must there be to help it-something above it in its faithsomething beyond it in its attainment.

In speaking of faith as necessary to human life, I need not here undertake to define its nature! This will sufficiently appear as we

My

proceed. What I wish to speak of, is, in general, a faith in religionin God, in spiritual truth and hopes. What I maintain, in general, is the indispensableness to human life of this religious faith. present purpose is, to offer some distinct and independent considerations. in support of this faith: and these considerations I find based, imbedded, deep-founded in human life.

To illustrate the general character of the view which I wish to present, let us make a comparison. Let it be admitted, then, and believed, on the one hand, that there is a God; let the teachings of Jesus, also, be received-that this God is our Father; that he has a paternal interest in our welfare and improvement: that he has provided the way and the means of our salvation from sin and ruin; that he hears our prayers, and will help our endeavours; that he has destined us, if faithful, to a future, and blessed, and endless life; and then, how evident is it, that upon this system of faith, we can live calmly, endure patiently, labour resolutely, deny ourselves cheerfully, hope steadfastly, and be conquerors," in the great struggle of life," yea, and more than conquerors, through Christ who has loved us!" But take away any one of these principles; and where are we? Say that there is no God, or that there is no way opened for hope, and prayer, and pardon, and triumph, or that there is no heaven to come, no rest for the weary, no blessed land for the sojourner and the pilgrim; and where are we? and what are we? What are we, indeed, but the sport of chance, and the victims of despair? What are we, but hapless wanderers upon the face of the desolate and forsaken earth-surrounded by darkness, struggling with obstacles, distracted with doubts, misled by false lightsnot merely wanderers who have lost their way, but wanderers, alas! who have no way, no prospects, no home? What are we, but doomed, deserted voyagers, upon the dark and stormy sea, thrown amidst the baffling waves, without a compass, without a course, with no blessed haven in the distance to invite us to its welcome rest?

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What now is the conclusion from this comparison? It is, that religious faith is indispensable to the attainment of the great ends of life. But that which is necessary to life, must have been designed to be a part of it. When you study the structure of an animal, when you examine its parts, you say, This was designed for food; there must be food for this being, somewhere; neither growth, nor life is possible without it." And when you examine the structure of a human mind, and understand its powers and wants, you say with equal confidence, "This being was made for faith; there must be something, somewhere, for him to believe in; he cannot healthfully grow, he cannot happily live without it."

The argument which I now urge for faith, let me distinctly say, is not that which is suggested by worldly prudence-that religion is a good thing for the State, useful to society, necessary for the security of property; and therefore to be received and supported. The concession that the great interests of the world cannot be sustained without religion, and therefore that religion is necessary, is considered by many, I fear, as yielding not to reasoning fairly, but to policy. This was the view of religion, doubtless, which pervaded the ancient systems of polytheism. It was a powerful state engine; a useful social economy; and hence, with multitudes, it was little more than a splendid ritual.

It

was not a personal thing. It was not received as true, but only as expedient. Now, that which I maintain is this-not that religion is necessary, and therefore respectable; not that religion is necessary, and therefore to be supported, in order that the people may be restrained and managed, and held in check; but my argument is, that religion is necessary, and therefore true. The indispensableness of religion, I hold, is not merely a reason for its being supported, but a reason for its being believed in.

The point maintained, let me now more distinctly observe, is this; that in every kind of existence, in every system of things, there are certain primary elements or powers, which are essential to its just order and true well-being, and that under a wise Providence, these elements must be regarded as bearing the stamp of divine appointment and authority. Find that which is necessary to any being or thing, and you find that which was designed to be a part of that being or thing. Find that which in the long run, injures, hurts, or hinders; find that which is fatal to the growth, progress, or perfection of any being or thing, and you find that which does not properly belong to it. He who would cultivate a tree, knows that a soil, and a certain internal structure, are necessary to that end. And if he should, with that end in view, set himself to deprive it of those essential elements of growth, his act would be one of perfect fatuity.

Let us dwell upon this point, and the illustration of it, a little longer.

In the human body, we say, food is necessary. Stint it, and the body languishes; cut off the supply, and it ceases to exist. So in the human body, the circulation of the blood is necessary. Interrupt it, and the body is diseased; stop it, and the body dies. How truly has our Saviour denominated his doctrine, the very food and life-blood of the soul. Verily, verily, I say unto you, except ye eat the flesh, and drink the blood of the Son of Man, ye have no life in you; whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life;" meaning, according to a figurative and well-known use of language at that time, his spirit and doctrine. And how manifestly true is it! Cut off from any soul all the principles that Jesus taught the faith in a God, in immortality, in virtue, in essential rectitude; and how inevitably will it sink into sin, misery, darkness, and ruin! Nay, cut off all sense of these truths, and the man sinks at once to the grade of the animal.

Again, in the system of the universe, there is one principle that is essential to its order-the principle of gravitation. Sever this bond that holds all worlds and systems together, and they would instantly fly into wild and boundless chaos. But society, in its great relations, is as much the creation of heaven, as the system of the universe. Sever, then, all the moral bonds that hold it together; cut off from it every conviction of truth and integrity--of an authority above it, and of a conscience within it; and society would immediately rush to disorder, anarchy, and ruin. If, then, to hold society together, and to bind it in happy order, religion be as necessary as gravitation is to hold together the frame of nature, it follows, that religion is as really a principle of things as gravitation; it is as certain and true.

Once more; animal life has its law-instinct. And when we look

at the races of animals, and see how indispensable this law is to their welfare; when we see, that without this principle, they would inevitably fall into misery and destruction, we have no doubt that instinct is a heaven-ordained law. Equally necessary to man, is some law. What is it? He has appetites, propensities, passions, like the animal; but he has no instincts to control them, and keep them safe. What law, then, must he have? Will it be said, that prudence, the love of himself, the love of happiness, is sufficient to guide him? That will depend upon his idea of happiness. If it is purely sensual, then he is left to the impulses of sense; and that, too, without the guardianship of instinct, and with all the additional peril, in which the infinite cravings of his soul put him, and against which, indeed, no barrier of instinct or prudence could ever defend him. But if his idea of happiness includes a spiritual good, that implies a faith in the spiritual; and this is the very faith for which I contend. And I contend, too, that this faithfaith in moral principles, faith in virtue and in God-is as necessary for the guidance of a man, as instinct is for the guidance of an animal. This, I believe, will not be denied. I believe that every man must be conscious, that to be given up to his sensual impulses, without any faith in virtue or in God, would be as certain ruin to him, as it would be to an animal to be sent into the world without the control of instinct. And if it be so, then has the one principle a place as truly appointed, a mission as truly authentic in God's providence, as the other.

But further; man and animal too, need more than safety. They need some positive good-something that satisfies. The animal has it, in the pleasures of sensation. But will these suffice for a man? It would be an insult to any one, feeling as a man, formally to answer the question. But if higher pleasures are demanded, these must be the pleasures of the soul. And these pleasures must depend on certain principles: they must recognise a soul; that is, they must recognise the properties and responsibilities of a soul: they must recognise a conscience and the sense of an authority above us; and these are the principles of faith.

Moreover, the soul on earth is placed in fearful straits of affliction and temptation. This too, it would be but an insult to human feeling, formally to prove. And in this view, I maintain, and I only maintain what every reflecting man must feel to be true, that no tolerable scheme of life-no tolerable scheme of a rational, tried, suffering, and yet improving and happy existence-can be formed, which leaves out the religious principle, the principle of faith. I do not ask you to receive this as what is said in the pulpit, or is wont to be laid down in religious discourse; but I desire you to see that it stands and stands eternally, in the very truth of things. A man cannot suffer and be patient; he cannot struggle and conquer; he cannot improve and be happy, without conscience, without hope, without God in the world. Necessity is laid upon us to embrace the great truths of religion and to live by them, to live happily; and can the language of this necessity be mistaken? Can it be, that while there is one thing, above all others, necessary to support, strengthen, guide, and comfort us, that one thing-upon which, moreover, the hearts of the wise and good have ever rested-should be, of all things in the world, the thing most false, treacherous, and delusive?