SERMON IV. GALATIANS V. VERSE XXV. The fruits of the spirit are, love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, &c. In this epistle to the Galatians, as in many parts of his writings, St. Paul distinguishes between the works of the flesh, and of the spirit; meaning by the first, the gratification of those bad appetites, and passions incidental to our nature; and by the last, those virtues which we are taught by the Christian religion. The catalogue of natural vices exhibits a true, and disgusting picture of man une taught, and unpurified by his Creator. The works of the flesh, says he, are hatred, variance, strife, wrath, emulations, envyings, and seditions: But the Christian religion teaches another mind; the fruits of that spirit it would inculcate, àre love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, and goodness: In this manner, the general scope of Christianity is pointed out in a few words, and a test afforded us, by which we may estimate our progress in religion. We say, in our language, to seize on the spirit of a thing; we talk of the spirit of our political constitution, of the spirit of our civil, and criminal law; and we seem to mean by the expressions, those few leading principles which uniformly pervade these respective codes, and give them consistency of character; in this sense, the apostle unfolds to us the spirit of Christianity, the object, and tendency of all its laws; they are instituted to increase love, and affection amongst mankind; to make us happy, to diffuse peace, to inculcate mutual forbearance, gentleness, goodness, and meek The fruits of the spirit are love.-By love, the apostle means philanthropy, the general love of our fellow-creatures, a passion dwelling more often on the lip, than in the heart, and rather a theme on which we declaim, than a motive from which we act. The mass of us who are called Christians do not hate our fellow-creatures, but we do not love them. Misanthropy is a compound of ill temper, disappointment, and folly, which does not often occur: But most men are indifferent to that part of the species, which is out of the pale of their own private acquaintance; the cry of public wretchedness never reaches them; they never seek for hidden misery; they shrink from that courageous benevolence which, wades through mockery, and contempt, and horror, to curb the infamous with laws, and comfort the poor with bread; and when the rain, and the tempest blacken the earth, they gather round their comforts within; and make fast the bars of their gates against the crying Lazarus, and leave his sores to the dogs, and his head to the storm. Again nothing can be more dissimi |