ed the purpose for which it was sent. The privation is probably intended both for the individual interests of the sufferer, and for the reproof of those who have neglected to profit by his labors. Perhaps God more especially thus draws still nearer to himself, him who had drawn so many others.

But to take a more particular view of the case, we are too ready to consider suffering as an indication of God's displeasure, not so much against sin in general, as against the individual sufferer. Were this the case, then would those saints and martyrs who have pined in exile, and groaned in dungeons, and expired on scaffolds, have been the objects of God's peculiar wrath instead of his special favor. But the truth is, some little tincture of latent infidelity mixes itself in almost all our reasonings on these topics. We do not constantly take into the account a future state. We want God, if I may hazard the expression, to clear himself as he goes. We cannot give him such long credit as the period of human life. He must every moment be vindicating his character against every skeptical cavil; he must unravel his plans to every shallow critic, he must anticipate the knowledge of his design before its operations are completed. If we may adopt a phrase in use among the vulgar, we will trust him no farther than we can see him. Though he has said, "judge nothing before the time," we judge instantly, of course rashly, and in general falsely. Were the brevity of earthly prosperity and suffering, the certainty of retributive justice, and the eternity of future blessedness perpetually kept in view, we should have more patience with God.

Even in judging fictitious compositions, we are more just. During the perusal of a tragedy, or any work of invention, though we feel for the distresses of the personages, yet we do not form an ultimate judgment of the propriety or injustice of their sufferings. We wait for the catastrophe. We give the poet credit either that he will extricate them from their distresses, or eventually explain the justice of them. We do not condemn him at the end of every scene for the trials of that scene, which the sufferers do not appear to have deserved; for the sufferings which do not always seem to have arisen from their own misconduct. We behold the trials of the virtuous with sympathy, and the successes of the wicked with indignation; but we do not pass our final sentence till the poet has passed his. We reserve our decisive judgment till the last scene closes,

till the curtain drops. Shall we not treat the schemes of infinite wisdom with as much respect as the plot of a drama.

But to borrow our illustration from realities.-In a court of justice the by-standers do not give their sentence in the midst of a trial. We wait patiently till all the evidence is collected, and circumstantially detailed and finally summed up. And-to pursue the allusion-imperfect as human decisions may possibly be, fallible as we must allow the most deliberate and honest verdict must prove, we commonly applaud the justice of the jury and the equity of the judge. The felon they condemn, we rarely acquit; where they remit judgment, we rarely denounce it.-It is only INFINITE WISDOM on whose purposes we cannot rely; it is only INFINITE MERCY whose operations we cannot trust. It is only "the Judge of all the earth" who cannot do right. We reverse the order of God by summoning HIM to our bar, at whose awful bar we shall soon be judged.

But to return to our more immediate point-the apparently unfair distribution of prosperity between good and bad men. As their case is opposite in every thing-the one is constantly deriving his happiness from that which is the source of the other's misery, a sense of the divine omniscience. The eye of God is a pillar of light " to the "and a cloud and darkness to the other. It is no less a terror to him who dreads His justice than a joy to him who derives all his support from the awful thought THOU GOD SEEST!

one,

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But as we have already observed, can we want a broader line of discrimination between them, than their actual condition here, independently of the different portions reserved for them hereafter? Is it not distinction enough that the one though sad is safe; that the other, though confident is insecure? Is not the one as far from rest as he is from virtue, as far from the enjoyment of quiet as from the hope of heaven? as far from peace as he is from God? Is it nothing that every day brings the Christian nearer to his crown, and that the sinner is every day working his way nearer to his ruin? The hour of death, which the one dreads as something worse than extinction, is to the other the hour of his nativity, the birth-day of immortality. At the height of his sufferings, the good man knows that they will soon terminate. In the zenith of his success the sinner has a similar assurance. But how different is the result of the same conviction! An invincible faith sustains the one, in the severest calamities, while an inextinguish

TEMPER AND CONDUCT OF THE CHRISTIAN, &c. 217

able dread gives the lie to the proudest triumphs of the other.

He, then, after all, is the only happy man, not whom worldly prosperity renders apparently happy, but whom no change of worldly circumstances can make essentially miserable; whose peace depends not on external events, but on an internal support; not on that success which is common to all, but on that hope which is the peculiar privilege, on that promise which is the sole prerogative of the Christian.

CHAP. XXI.

The Temper and Conduct of the Christian in Sickness and in Death.

THE Pagan philosophers have given many admirable precepts both for resigning blessings and for sustaining misfortunes; but wanting the motives and sanctions of Christianity, though they excite much intellectual admiration, they produce little practical effect. The stars which glittered in their moral night, though bright, imparted no warmth. Their most beautiful dissertations on death had no charm to extract its sting. We receive no support from their most elaborate treatises on immortality, for want of him who "brought life and immortality to light." Their consolatory discussions could not strip the grave of its terrors, for to them it was not "swallowed up in victory." To conceive of the soul as an immortal principle, without proposing a scheme for the pardon of its sins, was but cold consolation. Their future state was but a happy guess; their heaven but a fortunate conjecture.

When we peruse their finest compositions, we admire the manner in which the medicine is administered, but we do not find it effectual for the cure, nor even for the mitigation of our disease. The beauty of the sentiment we applaud, but our heart continues to ache. There is no healing balm in their elegant prescription. These four little words "THY WILL BE DONE, "contain a charm of more powerful efficacy than all the discipline of the stoic school. They cut up a long train of clear but cold reasoning, and supersede whole volumes of argument on Fate and Necessity.

What sufferer ever derived any ease from the subtle distinction of the hair-splitting casuist, who allowed "that pain was very troublesome, but resolved never to acknowledge it to be an evil?" There is an equivocation in his manner of stating the proposition. He does not directly say that pain is not an evil, but by a sophistical turn professes that philosophy will never confess it to be an evil. But what consolation does the sufferer draw from the quibbling nicety? "What difference is there," as Archbishop Tillotson well inquires, "between things being troublesome and being evils, when all the evil of an affliction lies in the trouble it creates to us?"

Christianity knows none of these fanciful distinctions. She never pretends to insist that pain is not an evil, but she does more; she converts it into a good. Christianity therefore teaches a fortitude as much more noble than philosophy, as meeting pain with resignation to the hand that inflicts it, is more heroic than denying it to be an evil.

To submit on the mere human ground that there is no alternative, is not resignation but hopelessness. To bear affliction solely because impatience will not remove it, is but an inferior, though a just reason for bearing it. It savors rather of despair than submission when not sanctioned by a higher principle.-"It is the LORD, let him do what seemeth him good," is at once a motive of more powerful obligation than all the documents which philosophy ever suggested; a firmer ground of support than all the energies that natural fortitude ever supplied.

But

Under any visitation, sickness for instance, God permits us to think the affliction "not joyous but grievous." though he allows us to feel, we must not allow ourselves to repine. There is again a sort of heroism in bearing up against affliction, which some adopt on the ground that it raises their character, and confers dignity on their suffering. This philosophic firmness is far from being the temper which Christianity inculcates.

When we are compelled by the hand of God to endure sufferings, or driven by a conviction of the vanity of the world to renounce its enjoyments, we must not endure the one on the low principle of its being inevitable, nor, in flying from the other, must we retire to the contemplation of our own virtues. We must not, with a sullen intrepidity, collect ourselves into a centre of our own; into a cold apathy to all without, and a proud approbation of all within. We must not contract our scattered faults into a sort of dignified

selfishness; nor concentrate our feelings into a proud magnanimity; we must not adopt an independent rectitude. A gloomy stoicism is not Christian heroism. A melancholy non-resistance is not Christian resignation.

Nor must we indemnify ourselves for our outward selfcontrol by secret murmurings. We may be admired for our resolution in this instance, as for our generosity and disinterestedness in other instances; but we deserve little commendation for whatever we give up, if we do not give up our own inclination. It is inward repining that we must endeavor to repress; it is the discontent of the heart, the unexpressed but not unfelt murmur, against which we must pray for grace, and struggle for resistance. We must not smother our discontents before others, and feed on them in private. It is the hidden rebellion of the will we must subdue, if we would submit as Christians. Nor must we justify our impatience by saying, that if our affliction did not disqualify us from being useful to our families, and active in the service of God, we could more cheerfully bear it. Let us rather be assured that it does not disqualify us for that duty which we most need, and to which God calls us by the very disqualification.

A constant posture of defence against the attacks of our great spiritual enemy, is a better security than an incidental blow, or even an occasional victory. It is also a better preparation for all the occurrences of life. It is not some signal act of mortification, but an habitual state of discipline which will prepare us for great trials. A soul ever on the watch, fervent in prayer, diligent in self-inspection, frequent in meditation, fortified against the vanities of time by repeated views of eternity-all the avenues to such a heart will be in a good measure shut against temptation, barred in a great degree against the tempter. "Strong in the Lord and in the power of his might," it will be enabled to resist the one, to expel the other. To a mind so prepared, the thoughts of sickness will not be new, for he knows it is the "condition of the battle: "The prospect of death will not be surprising, for he knows it is its termination.

The period is now come when we must summon all the fortitude of the rational being, all the resignation of the Christian. The principles we have been learning must now be made practical.-The speculations we have admired we must now realize. All that we have been studying was in order to furnish materials for this grand exigence. All the strength we have been collecting must now be brought in