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mighty thunders; he is to remember "the kingdom and the greatness of the kingdom" given unto Him before whom "all knees bow," and in which his sect is but an obscure encampment that will vanish at morning light, or, at best, a poor village of clay and thatch, far removed from the metropolis, and endured only for the season. This temporary encampment, this humble village, is not his country, his father-land, his home-land. The eternal kingdom into which he has been born, in the new birth, is far other than these, and worthier of his love.

The Christian who finds himself the convert and the admirer of some great religious teacher, is not to pin his faith upon that good man's word; is not to break the precious box of his heart's dearest love even upon his honored head. The eloquent preacher, the wise and gentle pastor, is not the captain of his salvation; is not the Lord before whom his knee should bow. There is no such name given under heaven whereby he is to be saved. In bestowing his faith upon the one only name, in yielding his love to the divihe heart of Jesus Chist, he is freed from all narrower service, from all bondage to human leaders; and whomsoever he may follow, he follows but as the disciple of the Lord; to whomsoever he may be attached in love, he is not excluded from loving others; and whatever guide he may call his own, he is permitted to feel that all others are his likewise, could be but use them. The whole church, with all its learning and spiritual wisdom, the earthly kingdom of God in the greatness of its power and the splendor of its wonderful destiny, its immortal and glorious Head, these all are his. My brethren, "All things are yours." II. "THE WORLD," as well as the Church. Such is the declaration of the apostle. What can he mean? How can this be true? In the first place, it is plain that the apostle did not mean to say that all things belonged to the Christians in fee simple under human law. They held but a small part of the universe by this tenure. The lands and the towns, the mines and the gardens, the fleets and palaces, the stores of rich metals and woven stuffs, the pomps and elegancies, the grandeur and the beauty; these possessions, most valuable in the general estimation of mankind, were not the property of the disciples of Christ under any human law. They could not rest upon the purple couches, they could not eat at the gilded tables, they might not ride in the glancing chariots, or wear the scarlet robes or the golden crowns.

The multitude of

servants did not come and go at their bidding; nor could they do all that they would with the things of this world which were their

own.

These possessions were, secondly, not even theirs to use. They had not a life interest in them. They could not control the "usufruct." The gardens, and parks, and mansions were barred against them. The rich viands and costly habiliments were pro

tected from their touch by the whole force of the law. Nor, again, could they bequeath either of these rights to their descendants. Their children would inherit no more control over these things than they themselves possessed. Paul well knew all this, and yet he says to them: "All things are yours; the world." The world as God made it, and as man has adorned it; the world-the privilege of its rivers and oceans, uses of land and water, the airs of its mountains and of sunny valleys, its wholesome fruits, its medicinal herbs, its quarries of beautiful stone, its mines of gold, its store of gems, its thronging tribes of life; the world-its dignities and splendors, its power, its honors, says the apostle, all are yours. "How? How?" it is asked. I reply, 1st: These are ours, my Christian friends, to enjoy at least in the enjoyment of others. Jesus Christ, we read, sought not to please himself. The true disciple of Christ, then, is not selfish. He does not seek to appropriate the whole world to his private use. Were it in his hands, completely at his control, the use that he would make of it would be to give it to a great multitude to enjoy, as God has done. He wants it not for himself. Even what he desires he seeks not for himself alone, but as well for others also. What he has, he devotes not to his private good exclusively, but a part of it to the good of man, and all, under some form, to the glory of God. The true Christian, therefore, looking around upon the wondrous wealth of this world, and beholding it divided into many parts for as many sentient beings, is satisfied in the accomplishment of his own wish, rejoices in beholding their joy, and turns with new gratitude to God, in the ever fresh recognition of his bounteous goodness; and none but the Christian heart can do this. The world is ours. For us the birds sing and the lambs play. For us the clouds range their battalions in the sky, and flocks and herds feast, and rest, and frolic on the mountains. For us the winds blow, and the rivers run, and the sea claps his hundred hands, and lifts up his voice upon the shore. Unto us the sunrise and the stars are given, day and night, seed time and harvest. We enjoy them all. And for us, too, as well as for themselves, the world is peopled with the thronging multitudes of mankind. In their happiness is ours too; and we would live that we may make both greater, while, in doing this, we are rendering glory unto God. We envy not him who rejoices in his home among sublime mountains, the inhabitant of fruitful valleys, or the lord of princely palaces. It is for us that men build themselves stately mansions. These splendors please our eye, and they are grateful to our heart; for they speak of prosperity; they tell of the gratification of human hopes, of the accomplishment of cherished purposes; they are images of strength, and they make the country look athletic and glad. Double your wealth, and you shall multiply our joy, if you spend your wealth without sin. We

can get good from every thing but sin. The state of the Christian's heart prepares him for the enjoyment of the whole creation of God, and of the good providence of God, in all the happiness and glory of man.

But we must not delay upon these things. This is not the most important sense in which the text is true. But, 2dly: The world is ours, not for our temporal happiness, but for our spiritual and eternal benefit. To this end chiefly was the world made, that it might become a temporary habitation of immortal spirits, their school of preparation for the secure peace, the full beatitude, and the endless progress of the eternal state. The parts innumerable of this immense system of the universe all harmonize in this purpose, contributing each a share to this end. As in the living body, then, each member derives some advantage from every other, so in this great universe, which is all alive with the presence of God, every individual soul ought to receive some furtherance from every part of the immense whole; and he does, unless selfexcluded, self-cursed; unless by his own act placed under the ban of the empire, excommunicated from its unity, so that the good creatures of God cannot any more give him food and comfort. The world, by original appointment, and the chief design of God, contributes to the furtherance of the Christian on his way to heaven. Upon this theme, however, I may not now delay; and therefore only remark briefly, that the material universe is all of it either for the Christian's comfort, instruction, or trial: and trial, my hearers, is the instructor of the heart: it is the tonic of the debilitated spirit, the sanctification of the perverted will, the fire of the change through which the soul escapes from the pit of sin, and rises purified up toward God. "All things are yours;" whether the church, the world, or,

III. LIFE.

Can you tell me what influence the days here spent shall have upon the great time to come? What shall be the final purport and result of your present experiences? What effect upon your soul, what effect upon your circumstances, shall these present scenes, these labors, these leisures, these sufferings, these joys, these sins, this struggling against sin-all; what effects shall these finally result in? Good, or bad? Is this life YOURS? Are you quite sure it is your friend, and that it will work you benefit? Is it yours, and can you by-and-by call in the investments that you are here making, and reclaim them all with accumulated interest?

In early youth, we were neglected, perhaps, by those whose duty it was to have instructed and warned us, and we fell into errors and sins. In early maturity, our own passions and foolish vanity led us astray. In middle life, evil habits have fastened upon us with so strong hold, that we almost despair of victory,

and give ourselves up to the mercy of the current. Now, who shall assure us that all these things shall not be of permanent injury to us? We look back upon the past; we see that much of it was blameworthy, and much more, perhaps, was unfortunate. Now who shall insure to us that these sins and misfortunes shall not work us evil and only evil, for ever and for ever? that our life, in all these particulars, has not been worse than thrown away? that so far as these matters affect us, our case is not hopeless, utterly and for everlasting? Who shall assure us of this? You have been greatly prospered, it may be. Now we all know that prosperity is dangerous; more dangerous to most than adversity. It is the voice of all time-Beware of success! When you triumph, fear! when you are at ease, be watchful! when exalted, humble yourself! You have been greatly prospered. Answer now to your own soul, and tell unto it what shall be the final result of this prosperity upon its character and its state. Are you able to say whether it shall be good or bad?

Sorrows have

You have been broken down with adversity. come upou you like a flood. They smote you, they stunned your senses, they broke your spirit. What shall be the result of this on your eternal state? Or, a silent, incurable, secret grief has been gnawing, half your days, in your heart's core. No one has known it; you have even sought to deny it to yourself. Still there it has been, there it is. It saps your strength; it aggravates your troubles; it takes off the edge from all your joys, enfeebles your hope, and tinges remembrance with gloom. Your life has been without bloom and fragrance. It has no glow, no bounding energy, no deep and full content; it is a song in the minor key, with discords in the harmony. Now answer unto your soul, and tell unto it whether all this faintness, this pallor and gloom shall at last be for its benefit. Shall the soul be any the richer for this long impoverishment? any the stronger for this protracted debility? any the more serene and glad for this long eclipse of trouble and sadness? Is this life YOURS? Every reflective mind must have been troubled at times with such questionings as these. It makes the heart sink to recall the disadvantages with which we have had to contend here, and to feel that they may never be compensated for; to review all the follies which have stained our lives, and to think that, perhaps, these follies have made an indelible impression on our life. Above all, it fills us with anguish to remember our wilful transgressions, to see all our faults, to know, to acknowledge even to the very depth of our souls, that we were blameworthy, and then to have the dreadful thought come over us-Is it possible that these stains, these scars, this deep dishonor, this self-inflicted curse can ever be taken away; and that we shall be as good, and as happy, and as strong, and as fair, as though we had never sinned? Is it POSSIBLE

that our life, being such as it undeniably is, can be OURS FOR GOOD and only good! Is it our property? or is it not rather our debt? Is it our friend? or not rather our enemy? Oh the misery of a lost life! Oh the despair of feeling that IT IS GONE! all GÒNE!—in vain! worse than in vain!-that this blessed mortal life, given that it might be such a joy, and the seed of so much greater joy, the fountain of an immortal river, full of blessing-that it is all squandered! gone! beyond recall-gone! and no hope! Is this life yours, for your good, or is it not? Answer to your own soul.

Saith the apostle to his fellow Christians: "All things are yours; whether the church or the world, or life." My Christian friends, "LIFE" IS YOURS; life in all its experiences of misfortune and success, of affliction and joy, of sin and holiness; all is yours, for your good. The very wrath of man shall sing an anthem to the praise of God. The very sins of the Christian soul, repented of, shall prove a new bulwark of strength, a new foundation for beauty, and honor, and blessing for evermore. These present afflictions" shall work out for you a far more exceeding, even an eternal weight of glory." For consider, trouble and grief are essential elements of your necessary spiritual food. They are strong meat, indeed, and unfit therefore for weak and sickly constitutions; and accordingly it is only the healthful heart, the Christian heart, which is fitted to bear them, and is able to get new strength from them. Unto all others, affliction is an evil, except it prove the means of turning them to God. But the Christian is able to say, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted." He finds that his soul had been drugged by opiates, and that its senses were not awake to the most glorious realities of his state; that its vision of spiritual truths had been exceedingly obscure; that its estimate of the value of worldly objects had been false. But he feels now that a new sense is opening within him; that the veil which conceals realities-and every thing in this life wears its veil-is growing thinner; that the countenance of his Father, God, bends over him with clearer light, with a new tenderness of love. Having had one of the bonds that attach his heart to earth rudely snapped, and having been made to feel, as never before, the extreme uncertainty of earthly hopes, and his own utter helplessness, he has cast himself with greater fulness of surrender into the arms of God, and he trusts with a warmer, more confiding, freer love. Sorrowful but strong, dejected and yet glad, hopeless and full of hope, weary in spirit from sore struggles, yet more fearless and more firm of heart than ever before, he returns to the conflicts of life, with a new harness on, a stronger and broader shield, and a sword of better temper. can say, even with heart ready to burst, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted." Till we can gauge the fulness of joy which is at the right hand of God, till we discover an arithmetic by which

He

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