Scripture relating to the world, nay, in the spirit of it, may be properly applied to us at this day. In these circumstances, we need, as men ever have needed, and ever will need, a faith that overcomes the world.

On the whole, let us remember, that although the circumstances of the early revelation have passed away, the religion itself, has, if I may speak so, an everlasting freshness and novelty. There was something in the instructions of the apostles that was appropriate to their age; but all that is essential and spiritual remain for us. There is a broad basis of moral truth; there is an everlasting foundation, on which the men of all ages may stand. Though the form of its superstructure shows the architecture of the age-though some of its former appendages on which Christians gazed with admiration, are fallen off, though the burnished dome no longer kindles in the first splendours of the morning, yet the mighty temple of its worship is still open for us to enter, and to offer the sublime homage of our devotion.

In fine, though the form and the costume, and the aspects of circumstance have fallen off, with the signs and wonders of the early age, religion is but presented to us in a more sublime and spiritual character. And our progress in this religion will be marked by a closer adherence, and a more exclusive regard to the spirit and essence of it, and a less concern about particular modes of phraseology, and the particular forms of its exhibition. We shall pass through the intervening veils, which different dispensations, and different ages, which systematic speculations and sectarian prejudices have thrown around it, and shall approach the great reality. We shall pass through the rent veil of the temple, and enter the holy of holies. We shall thus make our progress in knowledge and devotion, a suitable preparation for a state of being more spiritual and sublime; where infirmity shall no longer need forms to support it; nor inquiry guards to preserve it-where different systems and dispensations shall no more mislead, nor prejudice, nor divide us; but there shall be one eternal conviction-that of the truth: and one eternal dispensation-the dispensation of the spirit.

A DISCOURSE

DELIVERED AT THE

DEDICATION OF THE CHURCH OF THE MESSIAH,

IN BROADWAY, NEW YORK.

PSALM xciii. 5: "Holiness becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever." "HOLINESS!" No place, however sacred -no occasion, however interesting, can be so great as the principle which consecrates it. Holiness becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever.

When I think of this spiritual consecration, all outward adornments, decent rights, visible prosperity-the thronged gates and the gathering of a multitude, sink to nothing before me, and I feel that the great and sacred intent for which we have built this structure, could make any place sacred and sublime. Nay, my brethren, I can well conceive of circumstances in which loneliness, and desertion, and danger, would ennoble and endear to us a scene like this. If this, instead of being a temple of prosperous worship, were the altar of a forlorn hope; if we were met here to-day, to pledge a lofty and solemn fidelity to a rejected and scorned faith; if this were the cave or the catacomb to which the early Christians stole in silence and darkness; greater and dearer might it be to us, than this fair sanctuary. Better than cushioned seats and painted walls, might be the ragged stone or the cold sarcophagus on which they leaned; and sweeter than chant or anthem, the stern and deep-toned voice of their great resolve.

I speak thus, my brethren, not to praise goodly temples the less, but to praise sanctity and solemn intent the more. Meet it is, that the temples of a nation's worship should be goodly and fair. I cannot think that this is the only point at which liberality is to pause, and expense to be carefully restricted. Every large city in the country is each year lavishing upon luxuries, entertainments, spectacles-upon things that perish with the passing year-enough to build ten noble churches; and every town and village is doing the same thing in its proportion. Now surely, if there is anything for which a people should be willing even to strain their resources somewhat, it is to do that well which is to be done but once in the course of some hundred years; to bestow some unusual care and expense on that which is to be associated with religious ideas, and in that important relation to be viewed, with pleasure or disgust, by the eyes of passing generations.

Architecture is a language, as truly as sculpture and painting-nay, as truly as literature, as poetry. The front of a majestic and beautiful

church is known and read of all men. The stranger, the gazer, the passer-by, though he read nothing else, reads that. And there are

religious edifices in the world, whose effect in elevating the mind, cannot be transcended by any painting or statue, by any poem or eloquent discourse. And suppose that such poem or discourse could be so depicted as to be set up in an enduring form, and to make an instant and inevitable impression, by the very way-side where multitudes and generations are walking. Would it not be a goodly work to place it there? Would not the very idea, the bare possibility of it awaken the utmost enthusiasm? But a magnificent piece of architecture is such a poem-is such a discourse. Insomuch that I will venture to say, and say it advisedly and deliberately, that I should value as much, in any city or town, the effect of the York Minster in England, as of that great work of England's sublimest bard, the "Paradise Lost." He who gazes upon such a structure, is melted, enraptured, overwhelmed, with delight and veneration; he feels as he does when he gazes upon the sublime objects of nature. And to place a majestic cathedral in one of our cities—would that it might yet be done here!-would be, as if you could place the loftiest mountain of the Alps in its neighbourhood, to bear up the thoughts of its inhabitants to sublimity, to beauty, to heaven!

I

A church, too, is more than a work of art; it is a symbol. It is a symbol of religion; a visible sign and setting forth of the religious sentiment. Churches are the outward consecration of our cities, of our villages, of our country, of the world. They are visible tokens of the invisible; they lead the thoughts to the unseen and infinite. Their rising towers, their pointed spires, recognise a communication between earth and heaven. They are like the ladder which Jacob saw in vision, on which the angels of God were ascending and descending; and he who pauses beneath them in the sacred hours, to meditate and pray, is sometimes led to exclaim, with the ancient patriarch, "how dreadful is this place! this is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven!" What would a city or a village be, in appearance, even to the passing traveller, without churches!-a city of habitations and warehouses, and houses of entertainment for the wayfaring man, and houses of pleasure for the gay; but without one structure to recognise the sense of devotion and of duty? Would not the very traveller hasten, for his life, from such a city as the city of destruction? And what a striking testimony is it, to the universal sense of some kind of religion, that one such city was never found in the world!

Man is ever struggling upward to something above and beyond him. I do not say that he is always making the right moral effort; but that his thought, his mind, his feeling, never satisfied with the earth, soars, instinctively soars, away from it—even though he scarcely knows whither. But, my brethren, do not we know where our thoughts soar? Have we not a purpose in this erection? Do we not feel that we have need of such a place of resort? We know that the lights of heaven are often obscured by earthly mists, and we build here a tower of observation, where we may come up and gaze upon their unclouded brightness. We know that the waves of our earthly fortunes and experiences roll in wild and fearful commotion around us; and we build here a Pharos, a light-house, to guide us upon the dark and stormy sea. And long as

that lofty tower stands, may it bear the blessed light of guidance and hope to us and our children!

We have departed from the custom of our churches, by giving this structure a name. We denominate it, the Church of the Messiah. We did not wish that it should bear down to future times a sectarian title, or that its name should change with successive pastors. We are sensible that it will often be called by these names, and we pretend not to force a name upon any one; though the congregation have unanimously adopted the one now designated. But we hope that in process of time it will come to bear this title in familiar usage. We hope that this name one permanent name-a name most sacred-will become venerable and hoary, through the associations of coming years and the attachment of succeeding generations. At the same time, we do not lay aside our denomination as a religious society. We are 66 The Second Congregational Unitarian Society," worshipping in the Church of the Messiah.

II. I have thus spoken in general of the consecration of this place to the great sentiment of religion. But this naturally leads us to something more specific; in other words, to the distinct views and uses which have been contemplated in the erection of this building.

Let me then say, that our main desire and purpose is, to consecrate this place of worship, not to any extraordinary novelties; not to any strange and singular opinions; not to any controversial dogmas; not to any vain presumption that we alone, on all points, are right, and that others, on all points, are wrong. We would consecrate this Church, not to pride of opinion, but to modesty and humility; not to assurance, but to inquiry: not to any unbecoming claim of infallibility, but to the great principle of religious progress. We stand here on a humble spot, upon a vast globe, which is yet itself but a humble spot amidst the infinitude of worlds and systems-and here, in the morning twilight of our being, we build an altar to lowly seeking and earnest prayer for light; we build an altar not only to the truth which we do know, but the truth which we hope to know. Yet none the less do we build it, to the truth which we do know. To the old, the primal, the time-hallowed truths of all religion; to the elder faith of Christians, sanctified by their prayers and sealed with their blood; to the common, so far as it is the most heartfelt faith of all Christians now, do we dedicate this temple. To the unity of the faith in the bond of peace, do we dedicate it; to one God, the Father; to one Saviour, Jesus Christ; to one Divine Spirit, sent to enlighten, sanctify, and save us; to the faith of a divine revelation, and of an universal and kind providence; to the boundless grace of God in the Gospel, to the instruction of mankind in righteousness, to their redemption from sin, and to the hope of everlasting life. Above all, and emphatically, do we dedicate this church to the cross of Christ. We call it after the name of the great Messiah. We dedicate it to his cross. That symbol, if the act would not be misunderstood, would I gladly see raised high above the tower of this consecrated building. It is the distinctive symbol of our salvation. that cross, to my eyes, shine most brightly, the mercy of God and the hope of man. In saying this, I intend to say nothing blindly or mysteriously. Out of mystery into reality, would I bring that great sacrifice; out of a vague and ineffectual reliance, into a distinct and

In

living sympathy; out of theory, into practice; out of study into the neart. I utter no professional dictum, when I say that I hold the heartfelt knowledge of what that cross meaneth, to be the dearest knowledge on earth. Truly and deeply, and in a sense not yet enough understood, it is saving knowledge. The Catholic worships that cross. I too would have it worshipped; but it should not be the worshipping of a mere symbol, nor of the mere agony that it sets forth. It should be the "worship of sorrow," endeared by its patience; it should be the worship of divine meekness, of victorious humiliation, of all-conquering forgiveness, of all-consummating self-sacrifice. It is a worship, which, if I could put it into the heart of any worldly and self-indulgent being, would make him a new and a happy creature. Before that cross, were it rightly revered and worshipped, all worldly pride and vain glory would sink to the dust; all Christian virtues would spring up-amidst tears, amidst penitence, amidst self-renunciation, they should spring up-fair and beautiful like the life and the love of Jesus. By this sign should men conquer-not as Constantine conquered; the world's very ambition should then be conquered, won, redeemed to the service of God; and the paths-the till now weary and darkened paths of earthshould be bright and happy, I had almost said, as the regions of heaven! You will not suppose, I trust, that I wish you to infer from what I have now said, that the liberty of explaining Christianity, which every body of believers claim for themselves, is to be denied to us. We have our explanation; and not denying that others have it in part, yet of such price do I hold it, that it involves, in my estimation, almost the entire value of Christianity itself. But there is not space here, and now is not the time, when I wish to go into minute explanations. We look upon these walls, in which we trust that the worship of centuries is to be celebrated-of centuries, in whose growing light we believe that many a glaring and fiery dispute of present times will fade away-and our thoughts are not of controversy. We are thinking rather of that uncontroverted and venerable Christianity, which, through this durable monument, we wish to bequeath to them that shall come after us. We rejoice that not by the breath of words only, which die in the utterance, but through these massive walls, our mind, our purpose, our desire, shall stand declared. I lay my hand upon this pulpit-this altar-place of our prayer—and from that dim future of some distant century, comes one, now unborn and unknown, and lays his hand upon it; and we speak to him and to the brethren yet to stand here with him. We tell them of our care, while in life, for the precious cause of religion and virtue; we tell them that we thought of our children and of our children's children; we commit to them, in sacred trust, that blessed religion in which alone the generations of mankind can be blessed and conducted to heaven; we invoke upon them, through the flight of years, the mercy of that God who "showeth mercy to thousands of them that love him and keep his commandments."

III. But beyond the views which I have presented to you, of the general consecration of this church, and of the doctrinal principles and prospects to which it is devoted, there is another point, which I could not satisfy myself on this occasion, without bringing more distinctly before you.

This church is especially dedicated to practical religion-to a religion that has the most intimate connexion with our daily life and welfare.