66 But does it not throw a fearful solemnity over this thought, when we consider that to it we shall be gathered one by one? We live together; we act together; but we must die alone. I mean not that in that solemn hour we need be separated from the sympathy, or excluded from the intercourse of our friends; but I mean that as there is an individuality in life, so there is yet more fearfully an individuality in death. Life has its individuality. Our journey here is apparently performed by us in companies; but we are in reality travelling one by one. Even they who commence the race of life together, and who have apparently advanced with perfectly equal speed, know not which of them is nearest to the goal. With the bounding heart and eager step of youth we mount the hill of life, and gaze entranced upon its fair, delusive prospects, one by one; and while we gaze, our nearest neighbour will disappear from our side. Onward we pace, every man walking in a vain show," wrapped round in the pleasure or pain, the anxiety or care of this mortal world, along the broad avenues of maturity, one by one; and our anthems are constantly turned into dirges by the disappearance of dear friends from among us. We begin to wish to pause, but it is not permitted; onward we press, the shadows lengthening as the sun goes down, along the narrow passage of old age, one by one, and if we journey far here we are utterly alone. Such is life; and death likewise has its individuality. This journey, likewise, you must perform for yourself. Think you that any conceivable bribe could induce another to perform it for you? You yourself must be brought to the bed of sickness and the wastings of disease; for you the chamber must be hushed, and the curtains closely drawn, and the footfall softened, and the voice of affection speak with bated breath and choking utterance, and the eye grow anxious and distressed, and the careful physician count earnestly the faint flutterings of a scanty pulse. The last day shall come, and the last hour shall come, and the last moment shall come, and to you shall approach, in his sombre majesty, the king of terrors, and beckon with his fleshless hand. Ah! you will feel your individuality then. In the solemn solitude of that responsibility which you try now to forget, your spirit will have to explore the unknown paths of the shadowy land, as it returns to God who gave it; and the body, when affection has paid its last tribute, gazing with loving eye upon its placid and passionless beauty-the body shall go the earth as it was; and a hundred years hence, my brethren, when the fate of this assembly is rehearsed, if it is thought worth the rehearsal, all our hopes and fears, all our joys and sorrows, all our wealth, and health, and strength, and beauty, will be briefly wrapped up in this "They were gathered one by one!" Oh! shall not this consideration lead you to remember your individuality now, and one by one to prepare for that hour by working out your salvation with fear and trembling? Solemn, however, as is this gathering of the grave, it derives fresh importance from the fact, that we need not fear, and we must not hope that it will be the last gathering. Behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump; for the trumpet shall sound, and we shall be raised incorruptible." Oh! brethren, what a gathering that shall be! "They shall come from the east and from the west, from the north and fro.n the south." They shall come, the dead of all generations-from Adam to Noah, from Noah to Abraham, from Abraham to David, from David to the Saviour, from the Saviour to us, from ourselves to the judgment; they shall come-the dead, unremembered by reason of their numbers or obscurity, that slumber beneath the village sod, or mingling with the dust of cities, are trodden beneath our heedless feet; they shall come, the dead ignominious for their crimes, the wave-swept bones of the deluge, the calcined dust of Sodom; they shall come-the dead illustrious for their virtues, whose holy sepulchres are ivied over with the twining memories of a grateful world; they shall come―" the goodly fellowship of the prophets, the glorious company of the apostles, the noble army of martyrs:" all shall come; the sea shall give up the dead that are in it, and the earth the dead that are in it, and death and hell the dead that are in them; and the whole posterity of Adam, young and old, rich and poor, countless as the sands on the sea-shore, or the stars of heaven-all, without exception, shall be gathered there. But let us not forget the principle before us. We "shall be gathered one by one." Each individual of that mighty gathering will retain his own personal identity. The monarch shall, indeed, be there without his crown, and the slave without his chain; the noble shall miss his coronet, and the beggar shall put off his rags; but though these external accidents of worldly circumstance shall be forgotten, each individual shall retain his own identity. We doubt not that even the body, though changed immensely, shall be recognised by the friends of each; and with reference to the soul, all those peculiar features of character, those varying shades of disposition, those powers and passions, those talents and infirmities, that distinguished us from each other on earth, shall be stereotyped into an undying permanence and distinction. The clear brow of virtue shall glow with immortal grace, and the sinister countenance and stooping gait of vice shall be seen in their own deformity. We, my brethren, shall be there. To our last resting place, wherever it may be, the sound of the trump of God shall reach; the long silence and slumber of the grave shall be broken; one by one we shall awake, and one by one come forth, each conscious of our own condition and desert"they that have done good to the resurrection of life, they that have done evil to the resurrection of damnation "-thinking not of our neighbours, our friends, our church, but simply of ourselves, for we "shall be gathered one by one." This, however, is but the opening scene of a yet more tremendous tragedy. It is but the lurid dawning of "the great and terrible day of the Lord." There shall be yet another gathering, the most momentous gathering of our race, and the last. It is thus described by the holy apostle St. John: "I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works." What mortal tongue is adequate to the description of the terrors of that scene, where he who knoweth the secrets of all hearts shall sit Judge himself-where there shall want no evi dence to convict the guilty, and no advocate to clear the innocent-where no false excuse can be admitted, and where no real one can be excluded-where every man, with all his talents, with all his abilities, with all his opportunities of knowing and doing the will of God, shall be weighed in the balance, and dealt with in accordance with the strictest principles of eternal justice. But among all the thoughts that give solemnity to this terrible gathering, I ask you for the present to confine your attention to this one-its individuality. I will limit my remarks to one quotation from St. Paul-" So, then, each one of us shall give account of himself to God." Let us seek to realise the conception. One by one, as our several turns arrive, we must advance to the front of that mighty multitude, stand face to face with the Searcher of hearts, and each one of us must "give an account of himself to God." "Give an account of himself!" Methinks, if the record of our life were read by an angel, it were more tolerable. But no; each mouth must utter its own condemnation-each mouth repeat all its own words, and tell all its own actions. "Give account of ourselves!" To the mind of each, the whole history of life, from the very earliest dawnings of reason, will vividly occur. The ghastly memories of crimes long since buried in the crowded grave-yard of a willing forgetfulness, will start to life, and crowd upon our vision; and, without a solitary reservation, every word, and every act, and every thought will have to be rehearsed to God; and this by each one of us— one by one;" not standing as a congregation, not judged as families, but in an awful individuality, with the universe around us, with a flaming Judge before us— we "shall be gathered one by one." Such, my brethren, and so solemnly tremendous, are some of the scenes in anticipation of which I want to lead you to consider seriously that principle of which we speak. You should learn thus that you have an individuality. Each one of you has powers, duties, talents, responsibilities, which you cannot share with any other being in the universe, of God. As certainly as though you were the only inhabitant of this teeming universe, each one of you lives for himself, each one of you will die by himself, and each one of you must give an account of himself to God. You may commit sin in a crowd; but when you are judged for it you must stand alone. While you do it now, you follow a multitude to do evil; but then the multitude will be glad to abandon you. Not a voice of the thousands that applaud you now will dare to applaud you then. Think of this, my brethren, when you are tempted to do evil, because the world does it; when you think you may break God's commandments, and live without an interest in Christ, because every one else does it; remember, it is no matter, we shall have to be "gathered one by one." Let the knowledge of this, my brethren, lead you to think seriously how you are to escape the guilt you have already incurred. Remember, you must give an account for the past, as well as for the future-for every thought of your heart, every word of your mouth, every action of your life. "What!" I seem to hear exclaim the inmost heart of the merely moral man," must every action be detailed ?" Yes, verily; what you have done in the darkness must be heard in the light; that which you have spoken in the ear in closets must be proclaimed before the world; for "every work shall be brought into judgment, and every secret thing, whether good or evil." "What!" again I seem to hear exclaim the sons and daughters of worldly fashion-" what! must every word be repeated ? It cannot be that those harmless conversations with which we have whiled away the time of this weary world will have to be uttered again in sober earnestness before an assembled world, and the holy angels, and a righteous God!" Yes, verily ; "every idle word that men speak, they shall give account of at the day of judgment; for by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned." "All this I could bear," I seem to hear murmured again by a heart possessing all the purity that is possible in a heart unrenewed by the Holy Ghost, "but must our very thoughts be uttered? I have had thoughts whose very memory distresses me-thoughts that I would sooner die than tell to my nearest friend!" Alas! I know it; but in that day you must tell them all; "the secrets of all hearts shall be opened." "Then there is no hope; then I am utterly undone." Ah! if you see that-if you feel your utter wretchedness and ruin -harden not your hearts. I beseech you, harden not your hearts. If a sinner like yourselves has been able to show you the terrors of the judgment, what must it be to appear before Him "who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity ?" What will you do then? or, rather, what shall you do now? For then it will be too late; but now you have a Saviour. Yes, a Saviour-one who is "able to save to the very uttermost all that come unto God by him;" not a Saviour who will desert you" in the time of tribulation, in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment," but a Saviour who will pass with you through the dreary valley where none else can go-a Saviour who will watch over every grain of your sleeping dust-a -a Saviour, wrapped in whose unspotted righteousness, you shall stand boldly before the bar of God! Are you willing to come to this Saviour, that you may have life? Will you open the door of your hearts to him who says in so tender a voice, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me"? Will you believe that the Saviour is here now-that he spreads over you his wounded hands-that he speaks to you in the same broken voice in which he spake to Jerusalem, and says, "How often would I have gathered you together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wing, and ye would not ?" And will ye be gathered now-gathered to the Saviour's arms- gathered in the forgiveness of your sins-gathered in the sanctification of your nature -" gathered one by one"? Angels of heaven! ye who meet with us in our worship, and carry the report of it to the church above, what report will you carry of the service of this day? Can you say that one sinner here has resolved to give up his sins, and to go "from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God ?" Yes! God, your God and our God, is faithful; he will give glory to his word! Search, and you will find in some corner of this sanctuary one who is humbled, who weeps, who prays! Carry with you his tears to heaven, and sing over him the song of the prodigal son-" He was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found!" And we on earth will reply, in the words you taught us on the plains of Bethlehem-"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men!" "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name be glory, for thy mercy and thy truth's sake." PARIS EXHIBITION SERMONS. SECOND SERIES. NO. XXVI. PAUL'S PRAYER FOR THE EPHESIANS. A Sermon Addressed to Members of the Young Men's Christian Association, ON SUNDAY, AUGUST 19, 1855, BY THE REV. CHARLES COOK, D.D., IN THE PROTESTANT EVANGELICAL CHAPEL, RUE DE LA MADELEINE, PARIS. "Wherefore I also, after I heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus, and love unto all the saints, cease not to give thanks for you, making mention of yon in my prayers; that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give unto you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him: the eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints, and what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe, according to the working of his mighty power, which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places."—Ephesians i.15—20. I ONLY learned on my arrival in this town, in the middle of last week, that I was expected to address you on this occasion. It would have been desirable, certainly, to have had some time for preparation, especially as I am accustomed to preach in another language; however, what I had heard of the Young Men's Christian Association suggested to me, that the text which I have just read in your hearing, would afford profitable matter for meditation and encouragement. We have in these words of the apostle Paul, in the first place, an expression of the feelings with which he regarded the manifestation of the grace of God in the persons of the people to whom he addressed this epistle; we have, in the second place, the result of the feelings excited in his mind. He prayed that they might receive those blessings, which would enable them completely to fulfil the design of their heavenly Father and gracious Redeemer, in calling them out of darkness into marvellous light. The consideration of these two principles will form the plan which we have purposed to follow in addressing you this morning. May the God of grace and of mercy enable us rightly to expound the divine oracles, and enable No. 2,473 2 T |