broken arch. Look into nature; the seed sinks into the ground, and the sapling springs from the soil, and the tree throws wide and far its shady branches, and the leaves fall, and the wind shivers the decaying trunk, and, in a little time, the noble tree, on which our ancestors have looked with wonder, is reduced to the fragments which crumble to the touch. And if this be so with external nature, there is no essential difference in all that belongs to man. The institutions which he has formed with most deliberate wisdom and the shrewdest prudence wear out by decay, or progress still forward to some better end. Empires and dynasties appear in their turn, and then are remembered on the page of history alone; and even that itself has passed away, and left no record of the events of kingdoms, and the ambition of conquerors. And to descend to the more humble walks of life, and not to embarrass the subject by too wide a scope, take the simple history of a generation; look at the shifting character of public opinion, the restless desire for some yet future good; the eagerness to be continually moving onwards to some goal, which recedes in proportion as we advance. What is there in our very nature, character, pursuits, and taste, which exhibits not the same marks? Look to the history of a single year, nay, of a single day; and, if you are conversant with the workings of your own mind, you will trace the same spirit at work within, bent ever upon carrying you forward to some end not yet attained, but which seems attainable; or if, from indolence of disposition, you are wearied with the activity and energy of thought, still the desire for repose, and the aversion to change, are masked under a deceitful guise of still progressing, in order to keep your footsteps firmly planted upon the ground that is passing from under you. We can watch and feel the changes of the seasons; but marked and defined as they are, the change is not less in ourselves. And feelings, and hopes, and desires experience the same change-new hopes finding their cradles in the graves of others; and the swift revolution of the world on its axis, and its still wider course round the sun, are not to inanimate matter changes and progresses more defined and striking than the rapid movement of thoughts and hopes within the breast of man, to attain an end which eludes, perhaps, his definition, but to which he is ever pressing forwards. If the fixed spot is not to be found without, on which the ancient philosopher might move a world, he would not be less baffled to find the fixed spot within. We think the position we have taken so admissible, when plainly stated, that we have not attempted to prove its correctness, as was open to us; and if it be so, why must religion, the state of our minds and hearts to God and eternity, when all else is hurrying onwards to some perfection or decay, be practically in such a state of fixed and settled rest? Why is there not the fear that we may perhaps be losing ground; or, to use the scriptural word, become backsliders? Why is there not the same anxiety in religious truth to be advancing, that characterises man in every other pursuit of life? Why are we contented, for the most part, to continue exactly in the same state as we were some weeks, or months, or years that are past, taking no pains to ascertain the exact condition of the soul, or to note its various snares and tendencies, its tastes and habits? Why, to come more nearly to the truth, do we delude ourselves into the belief that there is no necessity for progress in religion; that the same hopes and fears are to produce no greater or less influence upon our minds by repetition, than they exercised a twelvemonth since? Why does it give us no concern, when we analyse our hearts, to find that the world and all that belongs to it is not less wedded (not to say more) to our hearts now than then? Why, in giving the analysis of all that in religious knowledge charms or terrifies, interests or wearies us, are we contented, year after year, in returning the same report, though thousands of events and ten thousands of thoughts have all had their momentary possession of our souls? Has the influence of these, think you, been nothing? Is it possible that we have preserved the same individuality of character, been affected by the same causes, and to the same degree? Time lays his rude hand upon our persons, and we can trace his progress onward in the grey hairs and the enfeebled walk; taste becomes corrected, knowledge increased, experience matured: but what is the history of the soul in all these changes? That we are what we have been, if we think at all about the matter-is it not true?—becomes a subject of secret complacency rather than of regret. "By the grace of God I am what I am," was apostolic confession and thanksgiving; but is not the silent language of our hearts, when musing upon eternity, "by the grace of God I am what I was?" as if not to be backsliders were all that was required of us, rather than to be moving onwards. Should this be so, let me read to you from the inspired book : "Lord, increase our faith," was the prayer of the apostles. "Grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ" (2 Pet. iii. 18). "The righteous shall flourish like the palm-tree; and grow like a cedar in Lebanon" (Ps. xcii. 12). And St. Paul, in narrating the gifts of apostles, and evangelists, and prophets, to the Church, declares, that "they were given that we might come, in the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ; that we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men and cunning craftiness whereby they lie in wait to deceive; but, speaking the truth in love, may grow up unto Him in all things, which is the head, even Christ." "Furthermore, then, we beseech you, brethren, and exhort you, by the Lord Jesus, that as ye have received of us how ye ought to walk and to please God, so ye would abound more and more. We do not cease to pray for you, that ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God. Wherefore, leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection." "Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect: but I follow after, if that I may apprehend that for which also I am apprehended of Christ Jesus. Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus." These passages, out of many which might be cited, are surely sufficient to warrant the preceding remarks. We now take up the language of our text to you, my brethren; it is to you it is addressed. 66 Speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward." If there are any here who fain would linger on their way, or even retrace their steps from weariness or despondency, or feel how impossible it is for them to advance, let me remind them of the circumstances when our text was delivered, and we shall find that there were three courses open to the children of Israel -they might retreat, remain, or advance. The last we will consider first. I. There was the Red Sea directly before them. Wearied with long marches, they had avoided the wilderness, and had reached the small settlement of Etham, when, by the command of the Lord, they retreated along the borders of the desert, and encamped beneath Migdol, a mountain of some importance, and Pi-hahiroth, which is the last town on the south before entering the wilderness of Etham. Behind them were the advancing hosts of Egypt; before them, the waters of the Red Sea; and escape by that way never probably entered into their minds. They might rush into the foaming waves; but, too wide to cross by swimming, too deep to ford-how could they hope to escape? The tide might carry them from the reach of Pharaoh, but as it returned would dash their bodies on the coral reef that skirted its shores; and if life still remained in their exhausted bodies, the Egyptians were there to slaughter them. And the difficulty would be all the greater from the time in which this happened. Remember, it was by night that they arrived at the beach. There was no moonlight to soften the dangers of the path by shining on the track; for it was seven days after the full moon when the journey was made. The cloud of fire was their only guide, and this stood over the sea, which opposed all further progress. Imagine, then, their feelings when the cry, "Go forward!" first reached their ears. There had been no instance upon record that seas had divided at a word; but they were reassured by their remembrance of all His power and goodness, their better faith returned; the rod was stretched over the sea, and the waters became a wall unto them on the right hand and on the left, and they went into the midst of the sea on dry land. And now, believer, what is there in thy path, to prevent thy progress, so formidable as that which stood in the way of the Israelite? You have left Egypt behind you, even the things of the world, and it is your earnest hope to journey onwards, like him, to the promised land; but having mastered some difficulties, which at first discouraged you, you seem now to be at a standstill. After carefully surveying the ground where you are, the next step forward seems, like the Red Sea, one which you cannot cross. The natural resources for extricating yourself from the difficulty seem all to have died away. The darkness of night seems to wrap itself over you-no ray of light, however faint, to disclose a path; when the word of God, which, like the pillar of fire to the Israelites, as light to your way, and as a lamp to your path, reveals the road where you must walk. A voice seems to reach you- Child of Israel, go onward in thy course. But you are still disposed to loiter. You fear to take the next step. It may be a decided one. It may be, perhaps, the very one that will transfer you in the judgment of the world to another class of men, and fasten on you a name of reproach. It may be one that human strength is too weak to take. But do you forget, then, the promise of the Most High, that "as thy day, so shall thy strength be;" that in every temptation there will be a way to escape? The arm that divided the billows, is it shortened, that it cannot save you? The ear that heard the groans of the Israelite, is it heavy, that it cannot hear you? The future may all seem teeming with difficulties, of Abraham, whose inheritance is promised and every day to bring some new trouble, me beyond the sea that I dare not cross; but some new yoke to bear, at the thought of I can hide myself in the desert till escape is which your untried courage seems to sink more easy." Can we not fancy that such within you: but your path is still forward; were the feelings in many a breast, when first behind you the world is calling you, seeking to the command, "Go forward!" was announced? destroy you; you may turn aside from duty, But had such a course been persevered in, but you will only delay the danger, not avert could any doubt be entertained of the issue? it. It is better to rush at once upon the The hill could afford only a temporary fortopposing billows, with God to sustain you, ress. It was as open to the pursuer as to the than to flee without him to a rock for your fugitive; and it was rising above the danger refuge. O never forget that your life here is only to fall more deeply in it; for if the blow but a journey through a perilous land, where it of vengeance has been eluded, will it not fall is danger for the traveller to loiter, and death the more heavily when it reaches? And how to remain! Forward is your path-new vir- were they prepared for resistance? The staff tues to attain, new graces to cherish, new of the passover was but a slender weapon; temptations to conquer, new trophies to win. and close confinement to the construction of And does it seem so arduous still to perse- bricks but a poor apprenticeship for war. vere? Brace up your mind to obey the What, either, could the desert give that could voice which beckons you on, and the diffi- deserve the name of protection? Torn by culty almost vanishes with the resolution. the briars and brambles which overrun its Think, then, of the vanguard of the Israelites, waste; exposed to all the noxious animals, the foremost rank who entered between the whose haunts had been unmolested till they divided waves; the multitudes followed only intruded; if escape from these were posin their track; but they were treading where sible, there were the pangs of hunger, which human foot had never been. Now faith like no desert could satisfy. Where was the wilthis is not asked from you. Admit, for an derness to find springs for the thirsty, shelter instant, that the difficulty, which now tries for the way-worn, food for the starving? your obedience, is to the resisting spirit as You will perceive also, that if they did not full of danger as the passage of the Red perish by the perils that surrounded them, Sea to the Israelite; yet you cannot imagine they could not escape the Egyptians, who it is one that never has been demanded of were in pursuit; and the probability would man before. It is not one opening for the be, that, had they attempted to remain, as first time to you. Thousands and thousands it were, on this neutral ground, it would be have been before you-have passed it, and a resolution that would quickly vanish; they are safe on the other side. You have but to would soon go over to the Egyptians; the tread in their steps. There is One mightier yoke of slavery, grievous as it had been, was than them all, who will stand by your side more light than the heavy hand of death; with smiles of love to cheer you on, will and more fortunate, they might flatter themreach back a helping hand should your foot-selves, they would be in their next attempt steps slip, will hold you up should your strength fail; and if troubles come so fast and thick upon you whilst you are in the path of duty, O disciple of little faith, your Guide is your Creator too, and he will create a new path for you, rather than you should be overcome! What will He not do, I ask, for the humble believer, who will not retire, but still go forward, even though a sea of troubles is ready to roll over him? II. But that the course pursued by the Israelites was also the safest, will appear if we pass on to the second division of our subject. The timid might have wished to remain where they were. There was the hill of Migdol to protect them on one side, the sea in their rear, the trackless desert on the other. A show of resistance might frighten the pursuer; and if he still was bent on destroying them, escape into the desert might baffle him. "I will not," one might say, "desert to the Egyptians; I will remember that I am a child at escape from thraldom. O believer, is there no counterpart to this in your history, or in your prospects? Say, when the voice of God has called you to go onward, have you not eluded it by reasoning and conduct like this? You would not relinquish your faith; you remember your baptismal vows, you shudder to be a backslider, you would not go back to the ways of the world again, again join the ranks of the Egyptians; but, then, you dare not advance; and you cheat your conscience in thinking you will remain until the path becomes easier for you. O, if it be thus with you (and lay bare your hearts, that the light of God's truth may shine on you), consider what a state of danger you are in. God tells thee to go on, but thou remainest. Will the pillar of light linger beside thee, because thou dost? Is there not reason to fear it may become to thee a pillar of cloud, throwing darkness where once there was light on thy path; leav ing thee to walk where thou willest, now that thou art departing from the path where it could guide thee? For, it has been well remarked, there is a bright and dark side to all God's institutions and ordinances, and that He turns one or the other accordingly as his people follow or desert him; and if God desert thee, if he who has led thee hitherto leave thee to thyself, say, O weak believer, what must the issue be? Satan is pursuing thee is close behind thee; he remains not still, though thou wouldst do so; the interval between him and thee is lessening every minute. How canst thou foil him, if departed from God? Will this world furnish thee with means? Is it not a desert, as wild and barren as that of Etham, as full of dangers, as void of resources? If the Fountain of living water is forsaken, will the broken cistern, that can hold no water, allay thy thirst? You may run to some little eminence, as that of Migdol, and so rise above the trouble for a time; but the Egyptian will soon overtake thee; Satan is not to be eluded by any cunning of thine. To remain where thou art, may be to perish. The wages of sin will seem more alluring, the path of the sinner more inviting, repentance more easy by delay; and you will return to the course you once abhorred, and put on again the yoke from which you were freed; and if such a course be determined on, a captive in the hands of Satan may be your history after all. III. But if to remain were dangerous to the Israelite, then the only course open to him that we have not mentioned was to retreat. We read that some were anxious to do so. But half-believers in the power of God, in spite of all their experience of deliverance, the sea and desert presented too fearful an aspect; and they began to reckon up all the sorrows of the past, in hopes that by comparison they might seem less than those which surrounded them now. "Because there were no graves in Egypt, hast thou taken us away to die in the wilderness? wherefore hast thou dealt thus with us, to carry us forth out of Egypt? Is not this the word that we did tell thee in Egypt, saying, Let us alone, that we may serve the Egyptians? For it had been better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness." Say, believer, hast thou never reasoned like this? When God first revealed to thy heart the exceeding sinfulness of sin, the Egyptian yoke which gave thee no rest, and then declared the wonders of redeeming love, shewed thee the Saviour crucified to save thee from ruin, and such a light streamed in upon thy heart that thou wentest on thy way rejoicing; say, although freed from many difficulties which unaided had been too much for thee, thou comest at last to one so powerful, so threatening, that thou knowest not how to proceed; self-confident, relying too much on thy own skill, forgetting that it was God that had led thee hitherto, thou art now dispirited and overcome, because thou lookest only to thy own prudence to baffle it, and God hides his countenance to let thee feel thy helplessness, that so he might induce thee to trust him fully. The pillar, which had guided thee once, so light and beautiful, now dimmed before thee; the eyes, forgetting their upward gaze, turn to every side for succour, but all as helpless as the Red Sea and wilderness of Etham. To remain where thou art, to stand still until the difficulty lessens, is thy first thought; but a traitor within thy bosom veils all the miseries of the past, speaks of the pleasures of the world, the gay and easy laugh of its votaries, their freedom from all the anxieties which rack thy bosom, the numbers that thou wilt find there to countenance thee, the utter impossibility of proceeding further, of continuing a route where such dangers meet thee on every hand; and then comes the impious thought, that God has failed in his promises, that He has not delivered thee, though thou hast besought his aid. Oh, is there no soul before me who has passed into such a state? who not only is halting between two opinions, but is almost determined to be a backslider-an apostate, to join the ranks of the Egyptians? Let me entreat him to pause and reflect upon the course he is taking. Is thy memory so treacherous that all the times where God has interposed to deliver thee are forgotten? The difficulty that now appalls thec, is it one that he has led thee to, intending thee to pass? or is it a barrier that he has erected, forbidding thee to proceed? Where is thy chart? where is thy guide? The word of God, what does it reveal to thee? The answer of thy heart, when brought under its guidance, what does it declare? Child of redemption, it speaks to thee. 'The God who delivered thee from the land of Egypt, and the house of bondage, who, in thy journey of life, has never left thee, now calls thee to go forward.' O turn not back thy thoughts to the world; steel thy heart against all the bland and winning smiles that would court thee back. vier yoke will await him who once struggled to be free, and then returned. The last state of that man shall be worse than the first. He who putteth his hand to the plough and looketh back is not fit for the kingdom of God. A hea If, then, to remain is dangerous, and to retreat perdition, can I press upon you too anxiously, too earnestly, the duty of ad vancing in your Christian course? O be not content with present acquisitions, with present devotedness, with present zeal. Look at the model of the Son of God, and then upon yourselves; see how faultless the one, how frail and sinful the other. I know that you can never reach that pure and sinless state; but Forward! should be your cry, nearer and nearer should you press to the prize of your high calling. Are you the same men now that heretofore you were? What has become of all your vows and resolutions, your fears and your hopes? Have you been losing ground, or standing still, or going forward? Are the same passions indulged in now as then? the same grovelling tastes, the same unchristian tempers, the same selfishness of spirit, the same love of the world? With all the incitements to progress that you have hadwith all the strong mercies of your God to acknowledge-with all the deliverances which have marked your way to record,-where, O children of Israel, are we to seek you now? Hankering after the pleasures of Egypt, loitering in the deserts of Etham, or trembling beside the waters of the Red Sea? Where does the voice of the Lord reach you? Forward, forward! does it cry, whatever obstacles may keep you back; forward! though an host encamp against you; forward! though all the blandishments of a world would detain you; forward! though death may await you if you advance a single step. The Lord thy God will be with thee; underneath thee are the everlasting arms, above thee is the crown of glory, beyond thee the promised land. Be thou faithful unto death, and he will give thee the crown of life! GRACE IN EARLY YOUTH.* Ox arriving at my esteemed friend's, the chaplain's house, I found it likely to become ere long the house of sorrow and mourning, from the following melancholy circumstance. On the 10th October, 1820, his only son, John, was playing with a little dog belonging to his father's Coachman, when suddenly the dog, without being at ail provoked (for the child was too kind-hearted to tease even a dog) bit him twice in the arm. Poor John ran into his father's bunglow (a gentleman's country-house in India), crying a little, as the bites caused much pain, but not making much noise lest he sould frighten his mother. Mr. S., as soon as he saw the arm, sent for a surgeon, who, when he came, dressed the wound; but thought there was no other apprehension to be entertained, than that of a trifling pain and inflammation. Nearly two months passed away without John feeling unwell, and the bites in his arm were apparently quite healed, when, on the 8th of December, he began to appear quite shy and uneasy, never lifting his eyes from off the ground, or venturing to look any one in the face; as yet, however, he complained of nothing. On the 9th he continued to appear uneasy, and loathed • From "The Diary of a Tour through Southern India." his food, shewing an especial dislike to any thing liquid. The doctor was again sent for, and adminisonly a slight bilious complaint. At breakfast next morning, which happened to be the Sabbath, I sat next him, and offered him a saucer-full of tea, when a sudden convulsive shuddering seized him, and tears started into his eyes, but with a strong gulp he swallowed down the tea, as he saw his mother looking anxiously and sadly towards him. The nature of his disease, the dreadful hydrophobia, was become too tered some trifling medicines, but still thought it was evident for concealment. John was put to bed, and his mother remained with him, while I accompanied Mr. S. to church. The congregation knew not what had happened, and were astonished at seeing this excellent man's eyes filled with tears, when, in the course of the sermon, the subject turned on the dreadful sacrifice by which Abraham, in the strength of Divine faith, offered up, at the command of God, 66 his son, his only son Isaac, whom he loved." Our pastor's voice became at last almost inarticulate; but a strong sense of his sacred duty, and the never-failing support of Him in whom he trusted, enabled him to complete the divine service of the day; and we returned from it together, in melancholy foreboding of the dreadful spectacle that would present itself to us on our arrival. Slight convulsions had seized John before our return; and we found with him, besides his mother, three three physicians, and a kind-hearted and indefatigable lady, the wife of one of them, who was a native of India. At about two o'clock in the afternoon, the convulsions became stronger, and all power of swallowing medicine was lost. A cure was clearly hopeless; but with a view to diminish the violence of the paroxysms, the patient was bled, and a warm bath prepared, into which he was plunged; though the instant he saw it, he screamed most violently, struggled, and shook with extreme terror. After having been immersed for a short time, he was taken out, laid upon his bed, and not again removed from it, as it was thought useless to attempt any further remedy. Nothing was done from this time but the occasional wiping from his mouth the foam which collected there during the violence of the paroxysms. To these were now added a sense of oppression on the chest, and a painful difficulty of breathing, which denoted the further progress of the disorder. At this time, during sufferings which I have rarely seen equalled in a man, and never before in a child, John only once permitted a word of complaint to escape from him: he said, "It is very sore to die." In moments of intermission from acute pain, he sometimes begged his mother to read to him out of a little book containing stories from the Bible; at other times he wished her to sing some of his favourite hymns. His poor mother being, as may be supposed, in such circumstances, quite incapable of singing, now and then repeated to him the words of a hymn, to which he listened with evident pleasure. When sorrow overcame her, and tears flowed down her cheeks, he would say, "Don't cry, dear mamma; I am quite happy;" but when the sacred spirit of a Christian silenced in her for a time the anguish of a mother, and she once asked him, "Whether he did not know that he had often been a great sinner in the pure eyes of Almighty God?" "O yes, mamma," said the little sufferer," but Jesus Christ died on the cross for me." "But, Johnny," she added, "do you feel a firm hope of going to heaven?" "Yes, mamma; and when I am a little angel, I will attend on you, and take care of you." The mother could bear no more, and few who were present were able to restrain their tears. At the time when his paroxysms were most violent, he would never suffer his mother to come near him, lest, as in his momentary madness he snapped at every thing within his reach, he might by chance do it even to her. IIe |