146 AN INFERENCE FROM THE SEASON OF THE YEAR. MAY 18. Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it: thou makest it soft with showers · thou blessest the springing thereof. Ar this season, the earth, with the heavens, declares the glory of God. The spring has gone forth in its grandeur, munificence and promise; and the heart of man dilates with new gratitude to the God of nature. Our gardens and fields are now decorated with the beauties of spring, and every region presents the most delightful aspect. The eternal word of the Creator, pronounced when he formed the world, has produced all these effects; his all-creating hand has again renovated the earth, and in a measure created it anew for the pleasure and happiness of his creatures. It is God alone who calls for the spring, and orders it to appear. Approach, O man, and try what thy wisdom and thy power can execute ! Canst thou make one tree to blossom, or one leaf to germinate ? Canst thou call from the earth the smallest blade of grass, or order the tulip to rise in all its splendour? Contemplate these flowers; examine them with attention. Can they be more perfect, can their colours be more beautifully blended, or their forms more elegantly proportioned? Can the pencil of the painter equal the warmth of the blooming peach, or imitate the richness of the clustering apple? So far from imitating, no one can conceive all the beauties of renovated nature; and if there were no other proofs of the power and wisdom of God on earth, the flowers of spring would sufficiently display them. Every tree that blossoms, every plant, every flower, manifests a portion of that wisdom and beneficence so abundantly diffused through the earth. There is an infinite diversity among the blossoms of trees; though all are beautiful, they differ in degree, one surpassing another; but there are none which do not possess some beauty peculiar to themselves. Some have flowers of a pure white; others have streaks of red and shades, and add to beauty and elegance the most exquisite fragrance. But all these multiplied varieties do not affect their productiveness. From the consideration of these circumstances, we may receive profit and instruction. We may reflect, that, though we are not favoured with the same advantages that some possess, we should neither be discouraged nor afflicted. The privation of some accidental benefits can in no degree injure our well being. Though we may not be quite so rich, so powerful or so handsome, as some are, these are trifling things in the estimation of the virtuous and the wise; for without them we can be equally happy, equally useful to our fellow creatures, and equally pleasing to God. True beauty consists in the works of piety, and the fruits of virtue. The blossoms of a fruit-bearing tree please more than the splendour of the tulip, or the richness of the auricula; because from the one we expect, when the blossoms are over, to receive fruit; while the others please for a moment, and are seen no more. Let us not then prefer the mere lustre and charms of external beauty the rosy tints of health, the elegance of form, and the freshness of youth, are fleeting, and soon fade; they alone cannot secure present peace, nor durable happiness. Those blossoms only which promise fruit worthy of God, and useful to mankind, deserve our regard, and merit our approbation. And deliver them, who, through fear of death, were all their life-time subject to bondage. THE virtuous man may possibly be rendered in some measure unhappy by the fear of death, and even his last moments may be embittered by a dread of that awful change of worlds which he is obliged to make. The truly pious man may be all his life-time subject to bondage, through fear of its final period; and in that solemn crisis when nature sinks beneath the pressure of mortality, though supported by the testimony of an approving conscience, and the declarations of unchangeable mercy, his christian confidence may be shaken, and his christian fortitude may in some degree forsake him. Such may be the effects both of mental and corporeal infirmity; but they certainly have no foundation in the nature of religion; on the contrary, it powerfully tends to produce a totally opposite state of mind; to inspire with courage, and to animate with hope. The sickness which has reduced him to the borders of the grave may have considerably affected his mental faculties, and if so, we cannot wonder at the consequence; or, if he should continue to possess the powers of his mind, he will, he must, feel the sting of death in the dissolution of the tender connexions of friendship and affection. But above all, there is an awful solemnity in the prospect before him, which, considering the general weakness of humanity, may well be expected to disturb the tranquillity of his soul. The great journey of life is now finished; he is now arrived at the brink of the grave and the borders of eternity; the first foundation of his everlasting destiny is laid, and in a few moments the impartial Judge of the whole earth may fix his decisive seal upon it. In such infinitely momentous circumstances, no wonder the recollection of sin' even forsaken, and therefore blotted from the book of the divine remembrance, should awake some anxiety in his bosom, which, united with a humble sense of present imperfection, may mingle emotions of painful apprehension with the christian hopes of the departing spirit. Such it is granted may be the consequences of the weakness of dissolving nature; but when considered in their proper light, they are at worst but imperfections in the dying christian's happiness; and surely they must be far over-balanced by the prospect which presents itself, when he turns his view to that noble display of the divine benevolence with which the gospel presents him. Though he cannot but feel the stroke of separation from the beloved objects of his virtuous esteem and deeply rooted affection, he looks forward with delight to a reunion with them, which shall never be interrupted; though he laments the follies of his life and his present defects, the glorious promises which are annexed to the prevailing principles of piety reanimate him with courage; the foundation of his hope is fixed and immoveable; that hope is full of immortality; and he looks forward to its accomplishment with a delight, which dispels his fears, which smooths the bed of death, and which supports his fainting spirit, till it gently falls asleep in Jesus. Let us take these consolations to our hearts, thanking God, that Christ has illumined the path which leads us to his Father's house. 148 THE INFLUENCE OF OUR CReed on our AFFECTIONS. MAY 20. Charity, thinketh no evil. As the general aspect of nature is evidently calculated to attract and please the human imagination, so are mankind formed to be objects of mutual affection and complacency. What a misfortune were it to have one's sight so disordered, as to darken and deface all the beautiful scenery of the inanimate creation! But how much greater the unhappiness, to have one's imagination so perverted, as to give to the cheerful face of society, such a frowning expression, such a melancholy tinge, as would deprive us of all comfort in the company of our friends, and render our fellow creatures odious in our eyes! Viewing mankind as universally selfish and totally depraved, we should dwell amongst them, not as among brethren, but enemies, either avowed or secret; the more therefore to be dreaded and abhorred, in proportion to their assumed benevolence. When such an idea as this has become fixed in the heart of man, farewell to all the soothing complacencies of social life; the ties of brotherhood are broken, friend and kindred are no more. Oppressed by the most dismal of all solitudes, that which subsists in the very bosom of society itself, the misanthrope languishes out his alike unprofitable and uncomfortable existence. On the contrary as a candid and charitable frame is, in itself the happiest, so its influence upon others is of the most pleasing kind. Conceal your sentiments as cautiously as you can, the effect of them will still be manifest in your demeanour, and you cannot altogether repress it. They who are ever inclined to suspect and think ill of others, are not likely to enjoy or impart a large measure of social happiness. The man who lives in constant dread of the assassin's dagger, shrinks involuntarily from the grasp of friendship— shudders at the approach of familiarity. His eye is fixed in unrelaxing vigilance-his very smile is tainted with anxiety. At best, a cold and dark civility chills every one who converses with him— and however desirous he may be of conciliating and obliging, he is still conscious of repelling and being repelled by all. Cordial esteem and kindness, on the other hand, seldom fail to excite corresponding feelings. The human mind yields to their impression, as the melting wax to the sun; or the softening earth to the showers of spring. He who beholds his fellow creaturesas they are-frail and imperfect, but possessing noble and even God-like qualities, rarely, and with difficulty to be effaced-will regard them with those mingled emotions of pity and admiration which deeply interest the heart. Too conscious of belonging to the same order of beings, to consider any thing human as unworthy of his care, and attaching himself, with a true sympathy, to whatsoever concerns the welfare of his species, he feels himself entitled to their grateful and affectionate regards; and he believes them not incapable of entertaining these sentiments. This gives a glow to his social feelings, a satisfaction and an energy to his benevolent exertions, scarcely to be conceived by those who have formed less just and amiable ideas of human nature. Genuine, unaffected liberality of sentiment-the growth of just reflection on ourselves, our fellow-creatures, and Him who made us -is the very basis and ground of social virtue and social comfort; and consequently, one of the most ornamental and valuable quali ties of man. CHRIST THE FOUNTAIN OF LIVING WATERS. MAY 21. 149 Jesus answered and said unto her, whosoever drinketh of this water, shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst. As our Saviour, in journeying to Jerusalem, had sat down to rest, by the side of Jacob's well,-a woman of Samaria coming to draw water there,-Jesus requested of her some water to drink; the woman, seeing him in the habit of a Jew was surprised at the request-because the Jews had no dealings with the Samaritans. Religion, which should make all men friends, had made them enemies; and they continued to worship in different ways and in different places, and to hate one another for doing so, while the temple of mount Gerizim and that of Jerusalem continued to exist.Then said Jesus unto the woman, "hadst thou known who it is that said unto thee, give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water." The woman's attention being now awakened, Jesus proceeds, "Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again—but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst ;" these were words of authority, and the woman, struck with reverence, earnestly replies"Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw." Who would not prefer a happiness, rising independently within himself, to that which is derived from precarious external sources ? -Who values not a happiness flowing without interruption, more than one only to be enjoyed by intervals ?-Who would not choose a happiness that endureth for ever, before the happiness of a moment? "Whosoever drinketh of this water, said Christ, shall thirst again :" that is, whoever would quench his natural thirst of happiness at the fountains of this world, can obtain only a temporary respite of his cravings. Here is no permanent object of desirethey are but sudden showers of refreshment, absorbed as they fall -in the sands of the wilderness-and when the springs of earthly comfort are thus exhausted, we thirst again; and thirst often, without remedy. "But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him"-said our Saviour, shall never complain, that his soul is devoid of consolation-"it shall be in him a well of water, springing up into everlasting life." "It shall be in him" -a fountain of self satisfaction, unlike those uncertain supplies of external good, which men so eagerly contend for; which rather irritate than quench the thirst of nature; "the water that I shall give him" shall not only allay the fever of inordinate desire, but infuse into the soul an immortal vigour and thus, after inspiring the true taste of rational and virtuous enjoyment, shall extend and perpetuate the blessedness to eternity-it shall be a well of peace and joy, "springing up into everlasting life." Strange infatuation, that men should be more solicitous about this transitory life, than about that life, which endureth for ever! Yet how anxiously do they strive, not only for life itself, but for the mere superficial appendages and ornaments of life! What ardent passions beat, in mortal bosoms, for transitory objects! But he who strives, at these broken cisterns, to quench the thirsty soul, shall soon thirst again-shall thirst with the solicitude of unsatisfied desire, till he applies to that fountain of living water "which springeth up into Life Eternal." 150 DEATH OF A PIOUS DISTINGUISHED AND USEFUL CITIZEN. MAY 22. One dieth in his full strength. AT intervals the community is stunned with the shock caused by the departure of some controuling and presiding mind. Call before you such an one. Take a brief review of him.-His understanding was rapid, clear, comprehensive and marked by the soundest ultimate views. His imagination was ardent, chaste, splendid, inventive and abounding in the richest illustration.-His taste was discriminating, cultivated, delicate without affectation, accurate without fastidiousness, and simple while it was classical.-His affections were open, generous, natural and benevolent, for his pursuits and acquirements corrupted not, but exalted and enlarged, what his Maker had bountifully given him.-His sympathies were accustomed to frequent exercise, not where they would have been blunted by the temptation of avarice and selfishness; but where they would be fostered, refined and ennobled, while they were concentrated by the promises, hopes and offices of religion.-His moral sensibility was unperverted by the maxims or intrigues of worldly policy. It was cherished by an enlightened conscience, by an honest, faithful and steady pursuit of simple truth.-His mind was imbued with that humility and piety, which spring not from mysticism and fear, but from the most noble, affectionate and intelligent views of the divine character and government. His eloquence was the combined expression of all these talents, sentiments and motives, supported by the various stores of general political and sacred literature; and employed in the most holy and momentous of human concerns, the improvement of society. His hope, is the hope of the good.-Nay! no longer hope, but knowledge and fruition. For why, if the soul is immortal, should it be condemned, as the language of some is, to sleep away ages? Why imprison it in the tomb, while century rolls away after century, till millions are forgotten; if ever it is to live again, and act and enjoy in the same individual character? Why this, not annihilation indeed, but indefinite loss of being? Why here reverse the order of nature, which is progression, and go back to blank unconsciousness, only to begin ages hence, what had better begin now? For what end do you make this immeasurable chasm, in the providence of God, for intellectual creatures ?—It is inconceivable, that immortal souls should find any object in the tremendous duration of insensibility? Rest is useless, unless it follows and prepares for action. Sleep is absolute loss unless it be for the restoration of exhausted vigour. Action is the delight and sloth the abhorrence of nature. Why have faculties and powers without end or use? Why seek the monstrous doctrine of percipient and feeling existence without either perceptions or feelings? No. If we are immortal, then immortal now; we ask no compromise with atheism, for this almost endless death. If we are to live at all, we are to live at once, and seek the ends for which all beings live, the consciousness, the action and the enjoyment of being. I repeat it, it is no longer hope but knowledge and fruition. God is not the God of the dead but of the living. What Christ, once said to a penitent at his own death, is now realized by the departed good-this day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Religion points to joys on high; 'Tis this that makes our darkness day, |